Chapter #6A Temporary Reassertion of Normality by: Seuzz   "Yeah, sure," you say, and take Justin's money. Maize looks away and mutters under his breath. "I'll leave you to have fun with it," you add, and beat a retreat.
Only later, when you're back at your car, do you pause to hope that the book really isn't the kind of thing someone can have "fun" with.
* * * * *
"Check it out," Caleb says, and holds a thumb drive up between his forefinger and thumb.
"What's that, your cock?"
He flips you off. "Close."
"It's a digitized version of your cock?"
He leans back in his chair, and a flying elbow dislodges some of the crap piled up on his bedroom desk as he pulls at his zipper. "Hey, if you're so fascinated by my cock, Will--"
"Gyah!" You scoot back on his bed. "Just tell me what's on your mind."
He snickers. "Porn."
"I know that."
"I mean, that's what I've got here. It's for Walberg, for his time capsule. Brilliant, huh?"
No, at best it's a crazy thing even for your best friend to say. "That's stupid! You can't tell Walberg you're putting porn in the time capsule--"
Caleb snorts. "I'm not going to tell him. You think I'm an idiot? Shut up. I'm just going to tell him it's, you know, internet documents. Which is true. I got 'em off the internet."
"Pictures?"
"Fuck yeah. What, you think I went looking for Harry Potter slash fiction? I got some of my favorites on here. As many as I could squeeze onto eight gigs."
It's rarely a good idea to get Caleb to explain himself, but somehow you can't resist being drawn into this imbecility. "What the fuck good is it to send porn into the future?"
"What the fuck good is it to send anything to the future?" he retorts.
"The point," you say, remembering what Justin had said, "is to send things that are, like, representative of life today."
He throws back his head as he cackles and hoots. "And porn isn't representative of life today?" he gasps. "Oh, fuck, if that's what we're doing, I should totally tell Walberg exactly what I'm giving him. I'd get an A for sure."
Then he catches his breath, blinks and suddenly looks thoughtful. A terrible suspicion grips your chest. "No, you're not actually thinking of telling him--"
"Huh? Oh. No. I guess it would be stupid." He cocks his head. "Still, maybe I could suggest it to him, just to see what he says."
"And then he'd know that's what you put on that thing. And that's another reason you shouldn't turn that in to him. He'll check it out for himself and catch what you put on it."
"Pssh. The guy still uses a typewriter. That's actually why I'm giving him a thumb drive. Or, that's what I'm going to tell him if he asks."
It just gets stupider and stupider. "You're giving him a thumb drive because he uses a typewriter?"
"No, dipwad. Because they're not going to be able read a thumb drive in the future."
You press your temples. Caleb is smart, so you're pretty sure this surreal idiocy is too subtle for you. But by now you're tired of giving him the satisfaction of explaining it to you. "Makes sense," you mutter.
"Then explain it to me." He grins.
"Oh, fuck you. Okay, professor. Why are you sending an unreadable thumb drive full of porn into the future?"
"As a demonstration of the obsolescence of technology!" he exclaims in the triumphant tone of a philosopher who has just demonstrated the necessity of his own existence.
You stare. "I'd just go with the porn explanation. You know, that's what life is like these days."
He shrugs. "What are you going to give him?"
You tug your ear. "How about a bottle of cologne? Or aftershave?" You'd not given five seconds of thought to the assignment yourself, and Justin's suggestion seems like a reasonable one.
Caleb guffaws. "Brilliant."
"Fuck you. It's like--" You struggle to remember what Justin had said. How could a guy who was probably stoned out of his head have spoken so cogently about cologne as a key to an understanding of the past? "It's like, do you know what the past smells like?"
"Sure. It smells like your underwear. You haven't changed it in--"
You leap at him, and spend a good minute giving him a light but satisfying throttle before falling back onto the bed. "No, it's like, they all wore this cologne and stuff a hundred years ago. That's what the past smelled like. But we don't know what it smelled like because the colognes have all changed."
"It smelled like horseshit, that's what the past smelled like," Caleb retorts.
"Aside from that--"
"And who cares what the past smelled like? Jesus!"
"Well, I haven't got anything else!" It seemed to make much more sense when it was Justin talking about it.
Caleb shrugs. "So give him a bottle of your aftershave. It's your funeral. Or, it will be after he stuffs you inside that capsule and sends you to the future. As an example of how stupid his own students could be."
* * * * *
Well, whatever. Walberg doesn't say anything when you give him a bottle of aftershave--a new and fairly expensive bottle too, so he wouldn't think you were using his capsule as a trash receptacle--and he brushes off your lame attempt to explain your choice.
A week later the class traipses out to bury the capsule--a welcome respite from the usual lecture. "Dearly beloved and deeply bereaved, we are gathered here today--" Caleb snickers in your ear. You chortle, but choke it off when you catch Walberg glaring in your direction.
"Mr. Mansfield," the teacher says. Geoff steps forward, holding the steel box like it's a fucking sterling silver tea service, and lowers it into a deep, freshly dug hole. Then Kelsey Blankenship--that fucking, stuck-up bitch--reads a smug little speech for the occasion. Caleb's joke was on the nose: It really does feel like a parody of a funeral.
As she drones on, you edge past Caleb and Jonas Martin and the rest of the crowd until you're next to Lisa Yarborough. Carefully, as though on accident, you brush against her. She glances at you, but doesn't otherwise react.
* * * * *
"Yeah, I saw what you did back there," Caleb snorts as the class troops back to the room.
"Shut up," you growl. You're watching the back of Lisa's head, and the curls of her long, dark hair as they bob against her shoulders. You'd be walking next to her, but Mansfield had brutally cut in, pushing you away.
Like the way he had cut in and robbed you of her company at the start of school year.
Back in the room, Mr. Walberg taps his lectern. "And now I want a one-page paper from you all, describing what you put in the capsule and why you chose it." A collective groan goes up from the students. "Due Friday," he adds.
Brooke Galloway's hand shoots up. "Why didn't you tell us this before," she whines. "We just buried it!"
"So now we'll see how much thought you put into it," Walberg says with a grim smile. "If you actually thought about it, it will be an easy assignment. And if you don't remember what you put in the capsule, Miss Galloway--" He shrugs.
Some of the students snicker as Brooke reddens. You shrug too, for you have Justin's explanation to draw on, and it probably won't be too much work to work it out to a couple of paragraphs. But you have to look over at Caleb.
He looks serene. You lean in. "So what are you going to write for him, Hef? What did you put in the capsule?"
"I'm going to tell him I put porn in," he quietly replies with a smile. You gape. "Sure," he snickers. "I already talked to him about what I wanted to do. He said it was a brilliant contribution!"
Your jaw drops, and you swing around to stare at the teacher. Mr. Walberg: fat, middle-aged, sour-faced, walrus-moustached Mr. Walberg. You'd not peg him as the tolerant type.
* * * * *
It's during the break between fifth and sixth period that you find Maize Tsosie at your locker. He was hidden in the crowd, or you'd have tried sneaking past. "Yo," he says, and his eyes are twisted up, as though you're a horrible and loathsome thing in his sight.
"Yo yo," you tentatively reply. And before you can stop yourself: "Hula hoops and slinky toys."
He just scowls. "Where the fuck did you say you got that book?"
You blink. That book? What book?
It takes you several slightly terrified moments to figure out that he's talking about the freaky book of supposed magic, for for you'd not thought about it in almost a week. "Oh," you hastily say as his frown deepens. "Uh, Arnholm's?"
"You askin' me?"
"Definitely Arnholm's."
He looks around, then leans in close. "I wanna talk to you after school. Out where I saw you last time."
"What about?"
He grasps you by the collar. "About that--"
"Hey Maize!" You now you do quail, for it's Jason Lynch. He stops cold, and grins, and his eyes twinkle. "Am I interrupting something?"
"Naw." Maize releases you. "I just gotta talk to this--" His lip curls.
But Jason is still watching you; wheels of malice spin behind his psychotic blue eyes. "Hey, I seen you around," he chortles. "Yeah, you're friends with Lamont and them." You shrug and look away. "Huh," he grunts. "Yeah, anyway--"
You bury your face in your locker and try to shut out Lynch's voice as he talks to Maize about some baseball business. Maize mutters back monosyllabically. You're relieved when he moves off.
But when you turn back around, Lynch is still there. "Oh yeah," he snickers. "I definitely seen you with them." He sniggers, and steps back into the surging hallway.   indicates the next chapter needs to be written. |
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