Boys

Boys

  Stories about Bullies, Jobs, and Other Unpleasant Rights of Passage from Boyhood to Manhood

  by

  Scott Semegran

  Copyright © 2015 Scott Semegran

  All Rights Reserved

  This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. The publisher requests that this eBook not be resold or given away to other people by you although the publisher realizes that the world doesn’t work that way; sometimes people are kind and generous and sometimes people are selfish and shitty. If you purchased this eBook, then the publisher thanks you profusely. We worked very hard on it and it took the author a long time to write. If you "found" this eBook and it "magically" appeared on your eReader, then good for you. You are very lucky. Most likely, no one will come looking for you. But if you do enjoy this eBook after reading it, then please consider purchasing your own copy or purchasing other eBooks by this publisher and this fine author. The author is a good man and has a family to support. All of his eBooks are cheaper than a fancy cup of coffee which is awesome. Thank you for taking the time to read this legal stuff. Thank you again. Good luck. Enjoy!

  Mutt Press

  Austin, Texas

  https://www.muttpress.com

  mailto:[email protected]

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  Photo of Scott Semegran by Lori Hoadley

  Cover Illustration by Andrew Leeper & Scott Semegran

  Edited by Brandon R. Wood & Robyn Smith

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  Books by Scott Semegran:

  Boys

  The Spectacular Simon Burchwood

  The Meteoric Rise of Simon Burchwood

  Modicum

  Mr. Grieves

  Find Scott Semegran Online:

  https://www.scottsemegran.com

  Table of Contents

  I. The Great and Powerful, Brave Raideen

  II. Good Night, Jerk Face

  III. The Discarded Feast

  1. Dinner from the G.D.A.M.

  2. The Trolley: The Assignment of Doom

  3. Tears in Beers and Shit like That

  4. The Dusty Dessert Tray and the Saddest Place in the Building

  5. The Delivery or How to Work but Not Actually Work

  6. A Most Miraculous Trip

  7. Party at the Slave Quarters with a Certain Other Employee

  8. Life Can Be Gross

  9. The Discarded Feast

  10. Birthdays at Restaurants and Other Diversions

  11. He Sounds Like a Super Hero

  12. Goodbye, Puss Face

  13. Dinner, a Confession, and a Novel about Something

  14. Spanish for White Bread and Party for Mooches

  15. A Life Changer

  16. The Cicada and Ruminations about Childhood Dreams 

  About the Author

  Books by Scott Semegran

  For Lori

  The Great and Powerful, Brave Raideen

  The little boy sat on the floor in his room surrounded by his toys--Micronauts action figures, Hot Wheels race cars, Star Wars action figures and vehicles, Evel Knievel doll and motor cycle, Shogun Warriors in various sizes, and a pile of Legos intermixed from various sets. His name was William. His mother called him Billy, just like his uncle who died ten years earlier in the Vietnam War was called, but he liked to be called William. More than anything, he liked to play in his room all by himself with all of his toys surrounding him on the floor. In his room, he was safe. He liked that.

  He had a vivid imagination and enjoyed introducing the different toys to each other, intersecting their fictional worlds into one. The few times that other neighborhood children were allowed in his room, they had an issue with that, the fictional worlds colliding.

  They all said to William, "Micronauts don't fight Star Wars people!"

  "And why not?" William said.

  "Because Micronauts aren't in the movie Star Wars, dummy!" they all said.

  The other neighborhood children weren't allowed in his room after that. William spent most of his time after school in his room although he would occasionally venture into the back yard, a large grassy area with a tall oak tree in the back near the fence, a mostly completed treehouse perched up in its canopy. With two rooms to play in--one inside and one outside--his world seemed rather large; there wasn't much need to go anywhere else except for school. School, to him, was an evil place. He hated going to school.

  William stood up one of his Shogun Warriors, the one called Brave Raideen (the tall one painted red and black with a bow and arrow and a crazy, silver mask that made him look like King Tut or something), and he said, "What are you going to do about that jerk Randy at school?" William made his voice as low and gravelly as possible to speak like what he thought Brave Raideen would sound like.

  "I don't know," William said in his normal voice.

  "You should do something to scare him real good," Brave Raideen said.

  "Like what?" William said, curious.

  "You should get the thing in your mommy's nightstand. That'll scare him real good!" said Brave Raideen, then laughing an evil laugh.

  "Yeah!" William said, jumping to his feet. He tossed Brave Raideen to the side, opened his door, and ran down the hallway to his parents' room, his long, lanky arms swinging like those of a spider monkey. His mother heard him running and called out to him.

  "Billy? What are you doing?"

  "Nothing, mom!" he said, entering her bedroom and running around the queen-size bed to where her nightstand sat. He laid down on his stomach in front of the nightstand and reached under the bed. "Randy is going to be sorry he messed with me."

  He wrapped his hand around the metal railing of the bed frame then slid his hand down the length of it until he found what he was looking for: a small key wedged between the mattress and the frame. He propped up on his knees and looked at the nightstand--a cheap Sears piece made of particle board to look like oak with various things of his mother's on top like a bottle of nail polish, a women's magazine, a lamp, an alarm clock, a remote control for the TV, a framed photo of William with his step-dad--then he slid the key into the keyhole above the handle of the nightstand drawer.

  "I hope this still works," he said, whispering to himself, turning the key to the right, and then turning it to the left. The lock popped and he slid the drawer open. "Yes!"

  Inside the drawer were three things: a Bible, a vibrator that looked more like a skinny curling iron than a sex toy, and a 25-caliber American Derringer pistol. That gun was considered a "lady gun" by firearms enthusiasts, but to William, it was James Bond's gun since it looked similar to the 9mm Walther pistol in the Bond movies. He picked up the gun and held it tightly, aiming at an imaginary target on the wall, picturing Randy's stupid face looking scared in his mind.

  His mother called to him from the other side of the house and said, "Billy? Are you in my room?"

  "Yes, mommy!" he said, putting the small pistol in the pocket of his shorts and closing the drawer. "I needed a tissue!" He locked the drawer and placed the key back where he found it then ran to his room.

  "Please respect mommy's privacy and stay out of her room!"

  "Yes, mommy! Sorry, mommy!"

  Back in his room, he returned to his place on the floor and propped up Brave Raideen, restoring his majestic stance in the middle of the toy congregation.

  "Did you get it?" said Brave Raideen, his voice as menacing as William could make it.

  "Yes, I got it," William said. He pulled the gun out of his pocket and showed it to Brave Raideen.

  "I have taught you well, young Shogun Warrior."

  William smiled at Brave Raideen, pleased with himself.

  ***

  William attended Crestridge Elementary School in Converse, Texas. He was in the second grade. Like most of his school
mates, William lived in a nice, suburban neighborhood and he rode his Huffy bike to school almost every morning, unless it rained or was overly foggy. William didn't like fog. He worried the fog would eat him if he rode his bike into it. On the front of his bike, strapped to the handlebars, was a wire basket which he used to carry his lunchbox. The metal lunchbox had a cartoon image of Luke Skywalker and Princess Leia on the side--Luke wielding a lightsaber and Leia brandishing a blaster--while Darth Vader loomed over them from the sky. Inside the lunchbox was a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, a bag of Fritos, a Little Debbie cupcake, a Thermos of juice, and the 25-caliber American Derringer pistol. The gun rattled inside the lunchbox as it bounced up and down on the ride to school.

  "I'm going to scare Randy real good," William said to himself as he briskly peddled his bike.

  Later that day, while William stood in line for lunch, he knew he wanted to move the pistol from his lunchbox to his pocket so he could take it with him outside to recess, which immediately followed lunch. He asked his teacher, Ms. Brookshire, if he could use the bathroom before going into the cafeteria.

  "Yes, you may William. Don't forget to wash your hands afterwards," she said.

  "Yes, Ms. Brookshire," he said, then departed the line for the bathroom.

  Inside, he locked the door to the last toilet stall, opened the lunchbox, and pulled out the small pistol. It's black, gunmetal shined brightly under the fluorescent lights in the bathroom, and he could see the muddled reflection of his face in its side, an unrecognizable, smeared facsimile of his face. He admired the pistol for a few seconds then slipped it into the front pocket of his Levi's Jeans. It fit snuggly in his small pocket. Again, he was pleased with himself then left the bathroom to rejoin his class for lunch. When he got back in line, he accidentally bumped into Darren, a plump kid with frizzy hair, freckles, and a sassy mouth.

  "Hey, watch where you're going, you dufus!" Darren said, irritated, then shoved William with his elbow.

  William didn't apologize. He put his hand in his pocket and held the pistol grip tight, thinking of the look he hoped to see on Randy's face when it was time to confront him on the playground after lunch.

  ***

  Behind the school and beyond a long stretch of blacktop basketball courts, the playground equipment majestically stood in the sun, waiting for the children to come out for recess. The school bell rang loudly and a sea of kids poured out of the back doors of the school, flooding the playground with laughter and screams and chatter, red balls bouncing and flying, and teachers huddling to gossip. Everyone enjoyed the respite from the school routine--kids and teachers alike--except for William. He dreaded recess every day because of that jerk Randy. Instead of playing, William stood at the corner of the playground, peering across the blacktop, keeping an eye on Randy's whereabouts around the swing set or jungle gym. Randy was not in William's class but their classes shared a segment of recess together, a twenty minute period of torture. After scanning the entirety of the playground, William eventually found Randy on the opposite end, wearing his usual fascist uniform--blue striped t-shirt, brown corduroy pants, white tennis shoes, short-cropped hair--and shoving a girl to the ground. William slipped his hand in his pocket and gripped the pistol grip.

  "I'll show you!" he said, stomping across the blacktop, his face red. "I'll show you real good."

  William beelined for Randy, both hands in his pockets, his face searing with anger and resentment and hurt. Any kid in his path quickly moved out of it, looking at poor William with confusion since he was generally considered a sweet boy by all the students and teachers. Randy, too busy laughing at the crying girl on the ground, didn't notice William until he was right next to him, huffing and puffing and panting and sweating. He looked at William's red face and laughed.

  "You eat a hot pepper or something?" he said, stepping over the girl toward William.

  William just stood there, huffing and puffing, his hand gripping the pistol in his pocket tightly, thoughts rushing through his mind like scenes in a movie. The visions in his brain caught his attention and the scene in front of him blurred out of focus. He imagined blasting Randy in the gut with his pistol and felt satisfaction while watching him crumple to the ground, his arms wrapped around his midsection, writhing on the ground in agony. The daydream faded to black with explosions like fireworks in his eyes. The next thing he knew, he was on the ground, his back in some gravel, Randy on top of him thrashing him about, then Ms. Brookshire lifting Randy by his shirt collar, scolding his bad behavior.

  "You are going to spend some time in the office, mister!" she said to Randy, a sour look on his face. "You go right now. I'll see you there in ten minutes."

  She released his collar and he sulked off, kicking a rock innocently sitting on the blacktop. Ms. Brookshire knelt next to William and helped him up. He dusted himself off, his face still red but red with embarrassment, not anger.

  "Are you all right, sweet William?" she said.

  "Yes, Ms. Brookshire," he said. He did his best to hold back the tears but his eyes sprung a leak.

  "Don't you worry. I'll make sure they punish that rascal real good."

  "Thanks, Ms. Brookshire."

  She instructed her class to line up to go back inside. William got in the back of the line, embarrassed and dejected. As his class made its way inside, William watched Randy approach the door closest to the principal's office. William didn't know what was going to happen to Randy but whatever happened, he hoped it involved a paddling and a call to his parents. He slipped his hand in his pocket to make sure the pistol was still there and hadn't popped out during the ruckus. Feeling its cold, metal body gave him a sense of relief while he followed his classmates back inside the school.

  ***

  After school and in the backyard of his home, William dragged Brave Raideen with one hand across the grass toward the tall oak tree with the treehouse up top. In his other hand was a wad of action figures--Han Solo, Spider-Man, Batman, a Micronaut missing his head and one leg--cinched at the wrists by a rubber band. When he reached the base of the tree, he set the wad of action figures on the grass and placed a dangling rope hanging from the tree around the neck of Brave Raideen. Up in the tree, a pulley attached to the treehouse waited for William's queue to work and so he pulled on the rope to lift up Brave Raideen. William wasn't strong enough to carry Brave Raideen with him up the wooden ladder attached to the side of the tree. After Brave Raideen reached the top, hanging stiffly in midair like a condemned criminal with a noose around his neck, William shoved Spider-Man (his favorite) in his pocket while the other action figures held on to the rubber band so he could climb the ladder to the treehouse. Once up and inside, he pulled Brave Raideen into the treehouse with an old wooden cane then released him from the noose. He was setting up his toys when his mother called for him.

  "Billy?" she said, yelling from the back patio, her floral-patterned kitchen apron around her waist, her auburn hair in a tight bun at the back of her head. "Billy? Are you in the treehouse?!"

  "Yes, mommy!" he said, calling back.

  "Come in when it gets dark, please."

  "Yes, mommy!"

  The treehouse was a six-foot by six-foot wooden structure, mostly enclosed, and sparsely furnished inside--a two by eight wood plank was attached to the wall inside to function as a bench, a milk crate was turned upside down and used as a table, a throw rug that smelled like mildew and old dog lay under the milk crate, tying the room together. It wasn't much but to William, it was a boy's heaven. The doorway to the treehouse faced the back patio to his family's house and the window, the single portal on the opposite side of the treehouse, faced the wooded area behind William's house. The window's sill also served as a stage for William's dramatic reenactments of comic book or movie scenes, his action figures the pawns in his make-shift plays. He set Han Solo, Spider-Man, Batman, and the Micronaut on the window sill while Brave Raideen watched from the floor.

  "Almost ready," William said.

 
; Outside in the woods, some colored movement caught his eye. He reached under the milk crate for a pair of military binoculars--a wonderful present from his father last Christmas/Hanukkah--and he examined a tree in the distance with a strange blueish blob near its trunk. He discovered a face peeking at him, a face he was familiar with: Randy's face. Still wearing his blue-striped shirt, he peered around the tree at William's treehouse while William peered through his binoculars at Randy. And to his absolute, utter astonishment, Randy waved at him, a wilted gesture of surrender. William dropped the binoculars and rubbed his eyes. He couldn't believe what he was seeing. It was as if he was witnessing Darth Vader handing Princess Leia a bouquet of beautiful flowers as a peace offering, just plain weird. He picked up his binoculars and looked some more. Randy gestured if he could come over and William reluctantly nodded. He turned and sat on the floor, all his toys around him, and braced himself. 'What have I done?' he thought. 'What does Randy want?'

  A few moments later, he heard the sound of someone scaling the tree. At the threshold of the doorway, the familiar short-cropped hair and blue eyes cautiously appeared, and then slowly the rest of Randy came in the treehouse, sitting on the floor and looking around curiously.

  "Wow! This is so cool," he said. "I've seen this treehouse before but never inside. You're so lucky."

  William smirked then looked up at the ceiling, an open space where the roof was unfinished, some leaves and branches poking through, and he sighed.

  "Yeah, but Steve is too busy to finish. He works all the time. He's my step-dad."

  "At least he does something for you. All my dad does is--" Randy said, then he started to cry. William was shocked at the sudden display of emotion from his bully. Randy turned his head to reveal a bruised spot on his jaw near his ear lobe. It was pretty clear, even to William, that he had been slugged and it looked like it really hurt. Randy sniffled then wiped his nose on his short sleeve. "I just wanted to say I was sorry for shoving you at school today."