Grown Fast and Hard

GROWN FAST AND HARD

  James Calore

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  Copyright (c) 2012 by James Calore

  All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

  GROWN FAST AND HARD

  by James Calore

  Young J.T. Starett frowned, and continued to look around, not impressed with anything or anyone he saw. Today was supposed to be a special day; he came to work with his mother this morning, skipping his seventh grade class with permission. He was excited and edgy after a sugar cereal breakfast and a fitful night of intermittent sleep. J.T. looked up at his mom, a pleasant looking woman with blonde hair pulled back into a bun, tightly, which she believed removed wrinkles from the corners of her eyes. Her face was animated and she was smiling at the others in the room, using her hands for emphasis. The room was small, too small for the number of people present and the mix of adult scents, body heat and moldy old books was overpowering.

  The teachers assembled in their get-ready room every morning in preperation for the bell signaling the start of first period classes, then they would proceed to their respective rooms. J.T.’s mom took advantage of this gathering of her peers to push him this way and that, facing him towards this tweed jacket or that wool-pleated dress. She talked non-stop about him to whoever would listen, praising her son and outlining his positive characteristics. He did not look up and made no eye contact, more like belt contact or shoe contact. J.T., who was small for his age but strong and athletic, felt belittled to be on display like this, his mother treated him more like a little kid instead of the star seventh grade lacrosse player that all his classmates had come to admire.

  “But Mildred, what a handsome young lad you have,” a nearby woman said, who smelled strongly of lilacs and soap.

  “Yes, he’s a fine one, that,” a man with a drooping mustache bent over to stare into his face. J.T. backed away, repulsed by the man’s tobacco and mint breath. He squirmed in his mother’s grasp, wrinkling his long-sleeve dress-shirt at mid arm where she held him firmly. What’s going on, he thought, this is not fun, momma said she would take me to watch the high school lacrosse team practice, maybe meet some of the players, not any of this other stuff. He wanted to scream, but knew better and held it in. Disappointment crowded his face; he moved his eyes from place to place to avoid acknowledging any of these terrible people. Just take me to the practice fields, he thought.

  “Momma, I’ve changed my mind, I want to go home,” he said, more whiney than demanding.

  “Nonsense Little Jonny,” that’s what she always called him and he hated it, embarrassed, he dropped his chin to his chest.

  “We shall have a splendid day,” she said. “I have plans for us. You’ll see, it’ll be wonderful.” J.T. reluctantly let his mother drag him out the door with all the other teachers, pulling him by the wrist. They headed down the hall that was lined with shiny metal lockers on both sides, reflecting the harsh overhead lighting, and the waxed floor-tiles glared back at them. The teachers moved like a phalanx down the corridor, one or two peeling off as classroom doors were passed.

  Finally they arrived at his mother’s classroom. It was full of high school sophomores, talking, moving, sitting, standing, a dizzying scene. His mother dragged him in behind her, the fair teacher with what looked like an indigenous boy, his features darker and broader than hers.

  “Seats everyone,” his mother said sternly when she entered with J.T. in tow, and the students found their places and noisily settled in. There was a brief quiet. Every set of eyes focused on the pair at front. This unsettled J.T., he wanted desperately to be somewhere else.

  “Class, this is Little Jonny!” and she stepped aside with a half bow and extended her sweeping arm to point at her son. J.T. turned a tawny red. Oh no, he said to himself with alarm, this isn’t happening!

  Everyone, with much more volume than required, shouted, “Hello, Little Jonny! They all began to snicker and titter amongst themselves. How could my mother do this to me! J.T. scanned the room for an back door or partition into which he could escape. Seeing nothing, and feeling trapped, he looked out at the students in front of him, all staring back laughing, saying snide comical things to each other, slapping hands, punching shoulders like they just heard the rudest joke.

  J.T. pivoted and looked up at his mother, she was fixed, looking down at him with a huge admiring smile, showing her perfectly white teeth, and with a twinkle in each of her pale blue eyes, adoring her dusky son, oblivious to the scorn being heaped upon him by her class.

  Without giving it another thought, he sidestepped his mother, and bolted for the door that they had come through, fumbled with the handle for a second, flung it open and ran out into the hall. The classroom erupted with a hearty laughter that could be heard from one end of the school to the other. His mother’s pride turned to horror, her joyous facial features dropped as though weights were suddenly attached, as she watched J.T., humiliated, run out of the classroom. Mildred hiked her long dress up with both hands and started towards the door, stopped to address the class briefly and appointed the closest girl in the front row as monitor, then hurriedly went to look for her rattled little boy.

  J.T. Starett ran down the lighted hallway, pushed his way through the bar-locking entrance doors with a bang and out into the sunlit schoolyard. He looked both ways and decided to head straight across the parking lot, to the adjacent practice fields and into the woods beyond. He didn’t stop until he was a few hundred yards down a wooded, dense and leafy path. He rested his hands on his knees and panted loudly, trying to catch his breath and simultaneously swallow, although his mouth and throat were dry as cotton. Now what? His brain was buzzing, no real ideas came to him, so he walked deeper into the forest. Soon, his breathing returned to normal, and he traveled past several forks, taking the one that appealed to him at the moment.

  What was momma thinking, he repeated over and over to himself? A day he had long looked forward to, one that promised to be such a fun day, had turned out so terribly. The depth of his shock and disappointment was deep. He knew his mother would be worried about him, but he couldn’t go back there, not now, not ever to that horrible school filled with those horrible people.

  J.T. walked on, through the midday and into the late afternoon, as if in a trance, until a clearing appeared through the trees. He went slowly to the edge of the woods and stopped. What he saw was the backyards of several houses lined up in a row, some had patios and picnic tables, barbecue pits and others had dog houses, tool sheds and the kind of things you would expect. J.T. sat down gradually in increments, he suddenly felt very tired. Allowing himself to lay on his side then placed his hands under his head and fell fast asleep right there at the rim of the forest.

  It was several hours later when he awoke, it was dark. As consciousness dawned within him, he became confused, a panic overtook his mind, he jumped upright and turned circles in place. He scurried out of the woods, like he was being closely persued, towards the only house with no lights showing on the inside. He was scared and u
nsure of himself, yet he moved forward. J.T. brushed the leaves and small sticks off his clothes as he advanced. Crouching low he hurried towards the darkened house.

  I wish I were home, he thought, eating tacos for dinner with momma. Tuesdays were taco nights, and he could almost taste the tangy meat and crunchy corn tortillas filled with shredded cheese to overflowing greasy goodness. Hunger raised itself to the forfront of his senses.

  J.T. arrived at the back of the darkened house, cocking an ear inward; he heard no sounds coming from within. J.T. was undecided, he wished he could go home, but had no idea how to get there, passing so many forks in the narrow path to get here, and he certainly didn’t want to be lost in the forest overnight. No sir! Hoping for a phone inside or a place to wait out the night, he sidled up to the back stoop and tried the door, it was locked. He heard a sound behind him, like a soft shoe hitting the ground.