Premonitions Page 8

  Stinger scowled at her. Lighting a cigarette, he chucked the can in disgust. The ruffians disappeared under the Berkshire canopy and glided over a gilded carpet of fallen pine needles. At last, they had arrived. Lynn lowered her satchel and dumped goodies like a Halloween bounty. The insatiable savages clawed at the loot like pirates. After the decadent feast, the gang rested in the shade amongst the strewn empties.

  A cool breeze tickled the pines; the Holsteins lowed in the distance.

  “Sh! Here that?” Stinger hopped up on the log and cupped his hand to his ear. “…Reb’s love call.” Reb growled at the chuckling crowd.

  “Cows are stupid animals,” Patti remarked, nursing a brew. “You lead, they’ll follow. Too bad they’re corralled.”

  “Pity. They ain’t got no place to go.” Lynn frowned.

  “Neither do we,” Stinger whispered with a bowed head. Repeatedly flipping his knife open and shut, a wicked grin stole across his face. “Bet I could cut the barbed wire…”

  “Say, that’d solve both our problems,” Patti added. “Let’s do it!”

  “Rrrright, pea brain.” The giantess knocked on Stinger’s forehead. “How ya gonna cut the wires?”

  “Actually…” Stinger held up his jackknife. “With this.”

  “You can’t be serious. The blade’s too dull…like you.”

  “Love ya, too, Lynn.”

  Itching for excitement, the gang clambered across the log and parted the tall grasses, blazing a trail to their destination. The brawny girl tugged on the wire fencing, testing its strength.

  “Like I said, it’ll take more than a pocket knife to cut these strands.”

  “That’s where you’re wrong, buttercup. The blade’s notched at the base…see? Simply insert wire and squeeze.” Stinger offered his knife to the youngest in the pack. “Care to do the honors, Patti? After all, it was your idea.”

  The girl shrunk back, shaking her head in protest. “Oh, no…not me! Only someone really big and strong could do that.”

  “Let a real man handle this.” Reb flexed his muscles and grabbed for the cutting tool.

  Stinger snatched the knife away. “Lucky I’m here…” Three little snaps, and the barbed wire strand trio recoiled against the opposite fence post with a twang.

  Lynn whipped around and delivered a hook kick, knocking down the feeble fencepost with her boot heel. “Well, duuh!” she sneered at the puzzled crowd. “You want it to look like an accident, don’tcha?”

  One hungry heifer nosed her way out of the pen, and the rest of the herd followed.

  “Let the games begin,” Patti declared, watching the cows disappear over the hill.

  * * *

  Danny spent that wretched afternoon in the basement, cowering from his neighborly welcome. Overhead, Mother prepared some culinary delight choreographed to the clamor of crockery. If only he could escape to the safety of his bedroom – free from maternal interrogation. That was a pipe dream. The boy dried his eyes and, mustering courage, emerged into the kitchen.

  “Aye, there yea be, Denny!” Mum said in surprise. “Why, I didn’t hear yea enter.”

  There came no reply.

  “Back so soon?”

  “Yes, Mum…”

  “Be a-makin’ some friends, did yea now?”

  “Sure…” Danny sighed, rolling his eyes. “I made some all right.”

  “Didn’t I tell yea? And, yea be makin’ even more pals in school…”

  “I guess…” Danny strolled into the living room.

  “Yea be growin’ up so fast,” Mum remarked. “Me wee one’s a-startin’ sixth grade!”

  “Mum! There’s a cow on our front lawn!”

  “Oh, Denny, always the joker…”

  “No, I’m serious!” Danny stared out the front window in shock.

  “Jist like yer father,” Mum laughed until she wheezed. “Git away wit yea! Stop it, now!”

  “Look!”

  Mum rushed to the window and cow stared straight back at her.

  “Be still me heart!” Mum cried. “What the Bejeebers do yea suppose…?” Mum paraded out the front door for a better view.

  Three cows grazed in the yard. Another two foraged next door. All in all, thirty fugitives left Devonshire's farm seeking greener pastures – the lavish lawns lining the cul de sac.

  “Shoo!” Mum shouted. “Go on, git! Off wit yea, now!”

  “Mooooooh! Mooooooh!”

  “Oh, fir the love of…they be a-eatin’ me ornamentals! Back in the house, Denny!” Mum lifted the receiver to her ear. “Right time we call the authorities… Hullo? Aye, that’s correct…” Mum telephoned the local barracks. “…Sakes, right as rain, I’m forthright serious!” Mum insisted. “Cows! All over creation!”

  Danny kept a watchful eye on the situation while Mum persuaded the officer on the phone. A pick-up full of men drove down the street. Danny watched the hired hands and their canine companions steer the cows back to the pasture through some bovine choreography.

  Mum hung up the phone. “They’ll be a-sending’ round the authorities jist as sure as—”

  “Too late!” Danny declared from his post at the living room window.

  “What?” Mum glanced over her son’s shoulder in time to witness the last of the herd head down the hill and into the field. “There’s poop all over the yard! Heavens! Now, who yea suppose’ll be a-pickin’ it up?”

  Mum stared down at her son. Danny recognized that look in his mother’s eye. It was a certain look that meant she needed a favor. And, a favor to Mum really meant she had a chore for him. Danny would have done just about anything for Mum. But, alarm bells sounded in his brain watching the wheels turn in his Mum’s head. He had to bail out of this one, and fast.

  “I hear manure’s good for the soil…”

  “Git yer mates to help.”

  “You mean…” Danny swallowed hard, removing the lump in his throat. “My new friends?”

  “Why, of course, lad! Who else?”

  “Uh, Mum?” Danny paced the floor. “How soon until school starts?”

  CHAPTER XII

  School Daze

  The first Tuesday in September marked the start of school. In preparation, Danny launched the Great “Anti-Academic” War of 1978. The historic log reads:

  Operation Sabotage: Risk level? High. Objective? The evil schedule. Mission? Perilous night mission…penetrate enemy territory…slip into Able Baker Charlie’s kitchen. Seize family calendar…flip back one month…annex days into August. Result? Today is now August 33rd. Mission accomplished!

  Operation Blackout: Risk level? Looney. Objective? Communications. Mission?

  No news, in or out (mostly in). Engage stealth mode…belly crawl…blend with the furniture…camouflage into shrubs. Censor mail…mutilate newspapers…bury “back-to-school” circulars…squelch “back-to-school” signals (TV and radio), kill power if necessary. Result? Radio silence. Mission accomplished!

  Operation Cutoff: Risk level? Outta sight! Objective? Cooperation. Mission? Close borders…shutdown the annual “fitting of new school clothes” parade…cut relations with enemy forces. Special instructions? Hazardous duty pay authorized…excessive force authorized…take no prisoners. Calculated risks? Hunger strike…solitary confinement… torture…all perfectly acceptable. Compromised information? Just name, rank, and serial number. Damage Report? A few lost meals…and some privileges. Result? A truce – clothes shopping optional. Mission accomplished…kinda!

  Undermined by seditious lies, Danny could not refute Persephone’s departure. Oh, her shifty rabble-rousers duped people with cooler days and changing leaves. Alas, the frosty handwriting was on the windows. Fun was fleeting south for the winter on gossamer wings. Danny could no longer live in denial; his endless summer campaign failed. The first day of school had arrived.

  The prisoner dragged his feet along death row’s sidewalk, unescorted: no family, no clergy, no last-minute Gubernatorial reprieve. Chirpy crickets serenaded
the convict, taunting him every step of the way. Annoyed, he climbed the concrete path with a slope as insurmountable as his schoolboy blues. Mourning doves offered their condolences, and withering foliage drooped in sympathy. It seemed Mother Nature was equally depressed by the approaching fall. Couldn’t he have just remained in bed?

  Danny reached the summit of his street and glanced back. In the distance, Lantern Lofts towered over the wooded ridge; its coppery forest speckled in an evergreen patina. The view had appeal if one must greet the day. Then, his woeful eyes glanced homeward, but home disappeared from view. There was no turning back now.

  The serf resumed his quest. Lonely Luna skulked below the rooftops; her nocturnal sanctuary but a sun-bleached memory. Sol welcomed the boy, resting a warm hand upon his back. Even the old hothead himself had mellowed in autumnal decline.

  Doomed, Danny was transported to a Strong family barbeque. Debbie and he were catching fireflies while Misty pranced at their heels. The boy yearned for those simpler times.

  Whatever happened to that birdie t-shirt? He hadn’t seen his prized shirt since the move. Like those glorious summers with Debbie, perhaps it, too, was lost forever. Only the smoldering embers of burning memories remained.

  The powerless sun slunk into a cloudbank, ashamed; a shadowy veil swept the landscape. The air turned colder now, snapping Danny from his reverie. The crisp air breathed inspiration into the downtrodden child. He raced to the schoolyard. His heart leapt into his throat. The prattle of a mass gathering grew louder. He tingled with unfettered bliss. Someone anticipated my arrival!

  Bubbles tickled his tummy, unclenching the knots. Curiosity piqued, the boy tore down the dirt path leading to the school grounds. Now, the chatter of children stole the air like a flock of cackling crows. Danny’s heart pounded in syncopation. Longing to fly, he sprinted with unbridled delight from the ball fields to the playground. He shivered with anticipation. Yes, he sensed it!

  He closed in on his target, rocketing along the school perimeter where children awaited admittance outside their respective classrooms. Danny pushed through mobs of youngsters; their shocked faces but a blur.

  Had I been here before?

  He stomped around the corner. A sea of scornful eyes held him powerless. Alas, there was no one there to meet him–not one familiar face. Danny gawked at the strangers, paralyzed by those new school jitters. He sputtered, trying to catch his breath.

  Why, oh why, did I rush to come to this godforsaken place?

  The embarrassed outcast slithered to the rear, and his classmates returned to their affairs. Danny was surprised to discover his classmates divided amongst two lines – one for girls and one for boys. This was foreign to him, but there they obediently stood like sentinels, anticipating the bell. Enveloped in the maelstrom of jabber, he stood in silence holding his backpack in one hand and his lunch in the other. As the effervescent children recounted their summer adventures, he studied their cheerful faces.

  “Whatcha lookin’ at, punk?” snickered a boy with feathery, black hair.

  “Who? …Me?” Danny was flabbergasted. “Nothing.”

  “Then, go stare in the mirror.”

  Danny’s ears reddened. He shied away only to be jostled to the ground – blindsided by two jouncing hooligans. The school, disturbed from its summer slumber, popped open one Venetian eyelid. A disparaging finger tapped upon the window in vain. A haggard face impaled the darkened interior and clung to the glass like a hideous moth. The roughhousing persisted under surveillance. Danny staggered to his feet when the classroom door burst open. A stout lady with fiery eyes arrived on the scene.

  “Stop it, you three!” Her crotchety voice scolded. Immediately, the horseplay ceased. Paying the woman no mind, Danny unfurled his mussed outfit and straightened his disheveled hair. Not a moment too soon, the bell rang, and the children rushed the portal. The instructor blocked the entrance and cleared her throat in disgust.

  “Ladies first!” she scolded, holding the door for the young ladies. The boys grumbled their protests until the last girl flounced into the classroom. “Any day now…gentlemen!”

  “Just a minute…you there!” Danny’s hunched form challenged the woman’s authority. “Look alive!”

  Obediently, Danny neglected his untied shoe. The conspicuous boy turned tail to join the line; consequently, the line had joined him. His jaw dropped in horror. Duped by his peers, he was thrust to the forefront. Behind him stood the mischievous pair, the feather-haired boy, and a score of nameless faces all awaiting his first move.

  “Don’t dawdle!” The teacher propped the door open, sporting a menacing grin.

  The fretful leader inched forward, uncertain why he deserved this dubious honor. The group approached the stoop when, again, the woman obstructed the entrance. Trapped, the boys wriggled like flies caught in the old woman’s web. They could neither advance nor retreat nor dodge her dissecting glare. Like generations before, yet another class had fallen victim to her clandestine initiation: the ultimate baptism by fire.

  “I am the boss, lest you forget!” the teacher hissed. “Do I make myself clear?” One by one, her high-spirited minions buckled under her weighty stare. “LEST YOU FORGET!!!” She groped her prey with the evil eye. Branded by her infernal words, the rites of passage concluded.

  “Not so fast!” she snapped. “As for you two...”

  Danny and Andy did a double-take. “W-w-what did we do?” the duo protested.

  “Back of the line!” The woman flicked her wrist. “Go on, you two!”

  “Who two? Me and him?” two others griped. “How ‘bout them two?”

  “Us two!?!” another pair shrieked. “What about those two?” Flying accusations blossomed into a game of tattle-tag:

  “Who two?”

  “Us two!?! And, them two?”

  “No! not us two! …Maybe those two?”

  “Who two? Us two? …too?”

  “She means them two!”

  “Not us two, too? …right?”

  “QUY-IET!!!!!” The woman’s thunderous echo scared a distant flock of birds into flight. “This is no place for tomfoolery!”

  “Glad ole Tom’s absent today…” Danny snickered.

  His classmates giggled, but the teacher was fuming.

  “Lest you forget!” Without warning, she snagged the instigator’s wrist and forcibly escorted him to the rear of the line. Danny had to trot beside his accuser to avoid being dragged. Stomping back to her post, she flung open the door in a huff and stepped inside.

  “Today, gentleman!” The black widow held the door half-cocked. The precession stalked forward, but her rotund waist further constricted the gap. “Dare to cross my stoop?” she cackled. “But, don’t dare stoop to crossing me!” She took a miserly, quarter step back and permitted the broken-spirited boys to squeeze through.

  At last, it was Danny’s turn. “Dare I enter your parlor?” he smirked, triumphantly crossing the threshold.

  “There she blows!” the irritated woman bellowed.

  “What was it?” The hapless boy glowered at the great outdoors. “Whatcha see?”

  “Your freedom!” Inexplicably, the teacher’s arm slipped, and the prison door slammed Danny’s behind. Sixth grade had officially begun.

  Reading Class:

  A potpourri of crayons, paints, and clay permeated the room. Danny found the sweet perfume anaesthetizing. The band of boys joined the giddy girls pressed against the walls.

  “Two lines!” The school marm clapped her hands, and the students jumped at her command. “Silently, people!” She lectured with pointed finger. “There’s no need for noise.” A hush fell across the room as the last students straggled into their respective queues.

  Danny studied her pinched-up face. Wearing a permafrost frown, the anxious lady existed in constant state of constipation. Perhaps if she loosened her tight bun, Danny thought, she just might smile.

  “All right, class,” the teacher announced. “You may choose your
seats.” But, the instant the children broke formation, the teacher called them back. “Wait a minute!” The children stood at attention. “Ladies first!”

  A scant six desks were encircled by four chairs each. The orderly array was meticulously aligned with the tile floor. The children raced to be seated like contestants in a bizarre game of musical chairs. Danny attempted to nab the last seat at a front table, but someone arrived one step ahead. Finally–a lucky break! …An opening at an adjacent table.

  “You can’t sit here!” whined a snooty voice. “This table’s reserved for my friends.”

  Danny heeded the advice and bounced from table to table seeking refuge. Being the new kid, he found it hard to make friends. Apparently, his classmates had known each other from last year. By process of elimination, he found himself standing next to an empty seat at the very last table tucked in the far corner of the classroom.

  “Don’t even think about it!” growled a familiar voice. It was that same boy with the

  feathery, black hair.

  “HE can TOO sit here if HE likes!” A voice piped up from across the table.

  “No, maybe I shouldn’t…”

  “Ha! Ain’t that the truth!”

  “Just ignore him,” the advocate smiled beneath waves of sandy hair. “Everyone else

  does.”

  “Are you sure it’s ok?”

  “Sure, take a load off. My name’s Andy. What’s yours?”

  “Mud!” the bully grunted.

  “Ok, class…” The teacher demanded quiet. Still, a low murmur buzzed in her ears. “Only one of us is going to talk,” she scolded. “And, that’s me!” The room fell silent. “I am Mrs. Fishbine, and I will be your teacher for reading and language.”

  “Hello, Mrs. Fishbine…” the students whined.

  “Some say I am tough,” she began in a harsh voice. “Tough, perhaps…yet fair.” The children groaned in disgust. “Now, first thing each morning, you will be calling this room home.”

  Danny head-butted the desk. “I WON’T survive the year…”

  “These will be your assigned seats,” she continued. “State your name as I point to you.” Heads turned from child to child, exchanging nervous glances. “We’ll start in the back,” she directed. “You there, please state your name.”

  “Danny Ormont.”

  “Danny?” the teacher sneered. “That will never do. Try again.”