Author: Servo Blue
AUTHOR'S NOTE: ============= Here's to everybody who writes me about my story, and who I never have a timely response for: Thank you. Thank you for your kind words and support.
I know I don't get to everybody like I should, but don't think for a minute that I don't appreciate the time you took to write to me. Again, I thank you.
--Servo Blue
DISCLAIMER: ========== It is not the Author's fault that he took so long in posting this edition of The Out-Crowd. Blame your cat. Yeah, that's right.
The Out-Crowd ===========
Part 15: More Loose Ends.
"What the hell?" I asked, in a totally baffled manner.
"Just what I said," came the response. "But it's not like he's gonna go nuts or anything. I mean, he probably could, but he takes these pills, like, everyday, I think. I don't really know. He told me about it a couple years ago. See, we were talkin' about a buncha junk at his house one night, and he said that House 2 was better than the first one, and I told him he was crazy. Had I been aware that he'd been diagnosed with it before hand, I would've chosen my words differently. He just started cryin' and when I finally got him to calm down he told me the whole sha-bang. I just thought you oughtta know."
I just sat there for a minute, taking in this news about a potential friend.
"Oh, my God," I said in a whisper. That's all I could say.
"You O.K., C?" asked Mikro, sounding a little concerned.
"Y-yeah," I said, stuttering. My brain was fighting off so many thoughts just then! "Just...just thinkin', is all."
"Oh," he said.
We hung around at our so-called 'job' until two guys showed up who were introduced to me as Leo and Killer--and damn, I could tell right away why they call that work of art 'Killer'--and took our places. Mikro offered me a ride home, and after a good ten minutes of me saying 'That's O.K.,' and him saying, 'Please, I insist,' he'd gotten me into his car and to my house. I saw that Shelby's car was there, and I got pissed all over again, but not nearly so enraged as I had been earlier.
I waved a goodbye to Mikro and I walked into the house. The first thing I saw was Dad, Shelby and Wallop; Shelby in the big ol' recliner, and Wallop splayed across Dad's lap on the couch. They all looked over as I shut the door behind me.
"Hi," I said with an indifferent tone.
"Do I say it too much?" asked Shelby. I hate starting things in the middle.
"What?" I asked, for lack of information.
"'Boss'." came the reply. "Do I say it too much?"
I thought for a minute, considering the idea. Then I said, "Think of it this way; I only recall you using my name twice, one of which was an introduction, the other was when you told Kate, I believe, to be nice to me. Every other reference to me has been 'hey, boss'."
"I see," he said, casting his eyes to the floor in a thoughtful manner. We were all just kinda there for a minute, Shelby thinking, Dad petting Wallop's head, Wallop wagging his tail, and me standing on the tile part of the floor in front of the door. Shelby looked up at me and said, "I hear you've been talkin' with Luis and Mikro." I didn't know how I was supposed to respond to that, so I just nodded. "Cool. Those two have been my friends for as long as I can remember havin' any. What have those blatherskites told ya?" he asked with a smile growing across his face.
"'Blatherskites'?" I asked, losing my fight with a smile of my own.
"Yeah, blatherskites. People who talk so much you'd like to kill 'em." he confirmed.
"Oh," I laughed. "Well, I only spoke with them yesterday, and I talked with Mikro at work today."
"Just so I'm not off on a tangent somewhere," started my Dad, "Mikro's not, like, a little person...is he?"
Shelby and I looked at him for second, then each other, then back at him, and busted up laughing.
"No, Dad," I said, "Mikro is not a little person. He's a little weird, but not a little person."
"Ah," said my father. "Just clarifying."
"His name is Mike, and there's about seven different Mikes in our grade alone. We just jazzed his name up to individualize him." said Shelby.
The phone rang, and Shelby ran into the kitchen to get it. A few seconds later he popped back into the living room covering the receiver and said, "Hey, Lor wants to know if I can come over for a couple hours. That cool?"
"I don't know," said my dad in his 'nagging parent' voice. "It's kinda late. And it IS a school night...."
"It's 6:30!" Shelby exclaimed. "I'll just be gone for a few hours. Please??"
Seeing the distressed look on Shelby's face, my dad chuckled and gave in.
"Yes, go, get outta here," he said. Shelby's face exploded into a smile and he ran back into the kitchen. A minute later we heard the back door in the kitchen close and Shelby's car pull out of the drive and head down the street.
"You know, it's perfectly alright if you'd like to sit down," said my dad. I was, in fact, still just standing in the doorway. I meandered over to where Shelby had been sitting and took my spot on the old recliner.
"What is it?" he asked.
"Huh?" I asked, confused. "You asked me to sit down."
"Yeah, because you've got 'Somebody Help Me' written on your face in big, fat marker, so what's up? And you're not gettin' out of it this time."
I sat there for a minute, then looked up at him.
"It's nothing, Dad. Really." I got up to go upstairs, and my dad started to rub Wallop's face around, getting him stirred up.
"Alright, Casey, keep it bottled up." he said, as I made it to the steps. "Oh, by the way," he said, fighting Wallop to the floor, "Jeremy called while you were at work."
"Oh," I said. "Thanks."
"Yeah--nine times." he said. I looked at him sharply, and he had an irritated expression. Then Wallop rammed him to the floor and they commenced killing each other. Dear Lord, my father is a nut.
I walked into my room and fell face-up onto my bed. At first, this whole "moving" deal seemed like an O.K. plan. All my old friends said that they'd come out some time, so it'd all be cool. And on my first official day in town, I'd met four decent people right away. But now things are just gettin' kinda weird. A little too weird, actually. In fact, there is so much of this weirdness coming at me from so many directions right now, that I could almost wish it all gone, and myself back to Ohio. But it's all too interesting to give up on. Damn it.
"I've got someone you are supposed to meet," said the Undertaker. Scared the hell out of me, too, 'cause he just popped in out of nowhere. I looked around and saw that I was in a small wooden room, illuminated by an unknown source.
"Uh-huh?" I asked, not knowing what the hell was going on...again.
"You've seen him around, but you've never met. You need to." he said.
"Yeah, O.K., I get it, let's go find Mr. Right," I said standing up.
I followed him as he walked through the door and out into a street in what appeared to be a city in the 1800s. What the hell, right? I followed him down nearly half the street, at least it seemed it, until he stopped at a coffin that was standing upright. I hadn't noticed the fog set in or the city vanish. The Undertaker turned to me.
"You must find him," he said. "It is he who will prevent the disaster, but only if he is given reason to do so."
"The d--" I tried, but he wouldn't let me.
"Listen! You must ignore the names. Only one name truly adorns him...."
As he said that last sentence, he placed a hand on the coffin's lid, and pulled it back. The Corpse was there, eye's glowing red, arms folded on his chest. The Undertaker leaned in with a terrifying smile and snarled the name, just above a whisper: "Zombie!"
"But--but I know him--we met--" I started. The Undertaker stood tall and slapped his palms together, dusting them off.
"You know very little, if anything more, boy," he said, looking at his hands instead of me. The Corpse--well, Zombie--let his arms drop and took a step out of the coffin, placing a hand on either side to balance himself.
"Leave me to my daunted slumber," he said, stepping out of the coffin entirely. His eyes were still red, and I was getting a little scared.
"I--I didn't get you up," I told him, in a shakey voice. I didn't know what he wanted me to say. What the hell is a 'daunted slumber', anyway?
"Leave me to my daunted slumber," he repeated, staggering toward me. "And take away the trouble!"
I stepped back again, and screamed as I fell into the darkness. It must've been a bottomless pit, or something, because I couldn't see anything, and there was no sign of me stopping. A giant face appeared in the dark; The Undertaker. I continued to fall, but the image stayed in front of me the whole time.
"You must do as he has told," he told me, "Lest you wish to lay down cold."
The image faded to black, but instantly the face of the Zombie faded in where the 'Taker had been. He waited a moment, then gave a roar that launched me from my sleep.
I sat up and looked around me. All my lights were still on, so I don't know how in the world I fell asleep to begin with, but it was definitely night. It was pitch black out the window. I looked at my clock. Ten thirty. 'Sure, why not?' I thought to myself. I trekked downstairs, and saw my parents watching some show on TV. I waved at them, walked into the kitchen, made myself a sandwich, and went back upstairs. I was now unmistakably tired, should 'unmistakably' turn out to be an actual word, and as I finished my sandwhich, I got undressed and went to bed, with no fucked-up dreams to follow.
The next day went almost normal, which I've come to see as a bad thing. "Normal", that is. My locker was still decorated with that colorful phrase, and I made a mental note to talk to the first janitor and/or custodian (because there actually is a difference, and a few get rather testy if you don't aknowledge it) I saw that day to see about a plan for getting rid of it.
I actually spoke to people during first period that day, which is more than I could've done Monday. I don't really know why, maybe it was because of the slam I got in, but Rudy's bullshit wasn't bugging me today. In fact, I felt so good about the fact that Rudy wasn't the only thing on my mind, I almost forgot to pay attention to what Micheal was saying at the end of class, while we were changing in the locker room.
"And I mean, it's not like with you; you were a hero, in your own right, and we all just liked you from the start. But this kid has a little problem, and--well, I don't really know why, but I kind of think we can help. And you seem to be getting pretty good at that lately, you know."
My, can he go on.
"Micheal," I said, in kind of a tired voice, as I pulled my gym shirt over my head and tossed it into my locker, "Look; from what I can tell, Wally is the big Kahuna in our little group. If you want to ask him about helpin' this kid out, by all mean, hop to it, and tell him I said it was a good idea. Just don't act like it's my decision."
He had a slightly dejected look on his face as he pulled his dark blue T-shirt over his head.
"Hey, I'm not tryin' to sound like a jerk," I said, "it's just that other than Shelby, I'm the new guy. I don't have the authority, or whatever, to make decisions like that. However, I am behind you ninety-nine and forty-four one-hundredths percent, pal." I said, slapping him on the back as I left the locker room.
Lunch that day was kinda creepy. For the first few minutes, everyone just sat and poked at their food, not making much eye contact. so, I figured, what the heck, I created the akward silence when I went nuts yesterday, why not be me who breaks it? So I did.
"I heard that kid who's always got his head down in my first study hall is all zonked like that 'cause he's a crackhead."
Yeah, that should do it. Way to start a conversation, Casey!
"What?" asked Wally, sounding a little surprised.
"That's what this kid behind me said. He said he started here at the begining of the year, a couple months before me, and he's always got this dazed look in his eyes and he's all pale and stuff."
I am such an ass.
"Um...have you seen this person?" asked Kate, a confused look on her face.
"The crackhead? Yeah, I told ya, he sits in the back of my study hall."
"No," said Kate, rubbing her temples, "I mean his face. Have you seen his face, Casey?"
"Of c--...no," I said, thinking about it for a second. "No, I guess I haven't."
"Then why would you believe something like that?" she asked.
"I never said I beLIEVED it--" I started, but she cut me off.
"You never said you didn't, either, and you came off sounding like you did," she said. It's really kind of amazing, because she never once sounded like she was really mad at me or anything, and I know that if I had been her, I'd have sounded at the least very irate. Guess it's a chick thing.
"Well, I'm sorry," I said, a bit more sternly than I meant, "but next time I try to start up a conversation, I'll make sure I don't know what I'm talking about. I'd hate for such a wonderful tongue-lashing as this to be a one-time thing."
"Well, I'm sorry, too, but the least you can do is stop using that word," she said.
"What, 'crackhead'?" I asked.
"Yes, 'crackhead'!" she exclaimed.
"Wait," said Wally, pointing a fork in my direction, "Did you say 'crackhead'?"
"Stop saying that word!" Kate said, causing Shelby to nearly spit his drink all over the floor as he tried to supress a burst of laughter.
"Yeah," I said, answering Wally. "Why?"
"Nothin', really," he said, "Just reminds me that Micheal wants to talk to ya."
"Oh," I said, then remembered our conversation this morning. "Oh, hey, he already did. I told him that it's something he needs to ask you about, though. It's a real management issue."
"I see," said Wally, a quizzical look in his eyes.
After lunch, the last two periods sped by rather nicely, and before we knew it, the bell had rung that signalled the end of the day.
Now see, usually, I make my way from my locker down to the main corridor of the building, then down the hall past the cafeteria, past the doors to the auditorium, and wait for Shelby and Wally to walk home with. Usually. Today, however, on my way past the cafeteria, a rather sullen-looking figure in a gray trench coat, about a head and a shoulder taller than me, collided with my shoulder. I landed on my ass, and my bag hit the floor beside me. I looked up to see the number on the truck, and saw a very angry person looking down right at me. He had dark brown hair with these golden highlights. It was cut fairly short around, but on top it was long enough that when he looked down, it hung in front of his eyes. His sharp, hazel eyes, which at the moment, had he been a demon, would've been glowing red. We were like that for about three seconds; me, on the floor, staring up at a beautiful, angry person, and he, standing in front of me, scowling down at me as if I'd called him a cum-chuggin' grease fire.
He extended his right hand, and I grabbed his wrist, as he grabbed mine. I swiped the strap on my bag as he pulled me to my feet. The thing is, he didn't let go of my wrist, and he held me about a foot away from him. He had an entirely menacing look on his face.
"Watch where you're going, Jack," he growled. At this, he placed his heel behind my ankle nad shoved me back, throwing me back down to the floor. By the time I'd landed and turned to find him, he was already gone in the crowd. I was pissed, and now my ass was starting to hurt.
I stood up and dusted myself off, ignoring, as per usual, the streams of people trying to leave the building. I didn't know what was taking Shel and Wally so long, but I also didn't really care about it, as long as they showed up soon so I could still vent about what just happened while my bad mood was still good. I went a far as the auditorium doors, to get out of the mainstream. Most people weren't filtering through this far, because even though there were doors beyond the auditorium that lead to the parking lot, there was another set of lot doors on the opposite wall, about five yards ahead of the aud. doors.
It was at this point that I heard it. The muffled, near silent plinking of piano keys. At first, I was trying to block it out, because what I could hear of it was about a thousand times cheerier than I wanted to be. But, after about a minute, I got really curious, and I opened the auditorium door, just a crack, and as quietly as possible. I could hear the music very well now, and although I couldn't tell you the name of the song, I knew plain as day that it was ragtime.
I love ragtime.
I opened the door enough, now, that I could stand in the space between the open door and the closed one. My eyes meandered through the auditorium, then landed on the figure playing the piano, set at stage left. My mouth dropped open. Well, this was surprise.
"What's up, boss?" asked Shelby behind me, dropping a hand on my shoulder.
"Sorry we took so l--" started Wally, but I shushed them both, and pointed to the stage. They looked on behind me, both just as surprised.
"Well," said Shelby, "I'll be damned."
===========================================================================
....To Be Continued....
Writers' Block, O.K.? That, and with graduation, falling in love, and WrestleMania just last night, I've had lots of stuff to deal with lately. Please forgive me, though, for the disgusting wait in this edition, I do sincerely apologize.
Any Comments or Criticism go to me at servo_blue@usa.com or inverse@mindless.com Whatever floats your boat.