1. Cemetary Desecration
“Who is the artist?” Mongoloid stood at the front of the bus like some sort of inbred Tennessee prosecutor and lifted the drawing so everyone could see. He pinched the evidence like it was a flattened squirrel carcass he’d peeled off the highway. His voice sounded like that of someone straining on the toilet.
“Who is the artist?” Billy and I gave each other a sly look from either side of the back of the bus, where we ruled with an iron grip. Mongoloid never seemed to get the fact that this was the exact sort of public spectacle we strove for.
All of the other kids were completely silent. Of course, the artist was either me or Billy, but nobody would rat us out—whether it was because of their loathing of Mongoloid or fear of our swift and terrible retribution, I couldn’t be certain.
“Who. Is. The. Artist?” Mongoloid quivered. His moustache twitched. He threw off his sunglasses, revealing wild, cloudy blue eyes. He wadded the paper and threw it on the floor. “I just want you all to know, this ain’t true. I will find out who the responsible parties are,” Mongoloid cast a piercing gaze toward Billy and me, “and they will be dealt with!”
Mongoloid returned to his seat and, still shaking, resumed the route.
The drawing was as completely tasteless as two out-of-control 15-year-old delinquents could imagine. And after spending every weekend for the past two years analyzing Billy’s dad’s endless porn collection, our imaginations had warped exponentially to unexplored levels of depravity. It depicted Mongoloid’s son and daughter in the midst of some sex act while Mongoloid hovered over instructing them with a whip. Billy had worked on it during science class the day before and intentionally left it on the bus where Mongoloid would find it during his nightly cleaning.
It was toward the end of the school year and these random stops along the side of the road to and from school were a daily occurence—at least on the days either Billy or I decided to show up, which were few.
“Warren, we’re going to be ‘dealt with’!” Billy said gleefully, breaking the silence.
There were some quiet giggles from the young girls who sat near us—they seemed to enjoy the field of chaos that we naturally generated, but not enough to sit too close. We always offered them candy to sit with us, but they would vehemently refuse, then blush and giggle. I found the dichotomy between their rational minds and basic nature to be fascinating.
I took Billy’s cue and, fueled by the giggling, I shook up a plastic Coke bottle and opened it, causing it to spew all over the girls. They laughed and screamed uncontrollably, I yelled out maniacally, “YEAHHH!! WHOOO!”
The bus jerked to a stop, sending everyone lurching forward. Mongoloid walked briskly toward the back. As he neared us, I could see the tears in his eyes. His pale face had become deep red. His voice quivered along with every muscle in his body as he tried to maintain control, “Warren, I’m sick of your shit. I’m going to recommend to my superiors that you never ride this bus again.”
Billy and I looked at one another and lost all composure. That sentence said it all, we knew. “Superiors”—Mongoloid allowed himself to be an eternal slave… and he was our slave too. We laughed without control. The girls laughed. The chaos had boiled over and taken on a life of its own. All civility on the bus had rushed out the windows and everyone regressed into raving apes. All Mongoloid could do was hope for a decisive response from his Superiors. He returned to his seat, defeated and once again started the bus and drove us all to our destinations. Tomorrow morning, in the off-chance that Billy or I woke up and dragged ourselves to school, the morning announcements over the intercom system would end with their usual, “Would Warren Mann and Billy Lester please come to the office.” The teacher would roll his eyes, shake his head and motion at the door and Billy and I would smile proudly and have another chat with the principle.
But as it turned out, Mongoloid needn’t have worried. It was the last time Billy or I ever rode that bus… and the last time we ever bothered to show up for high school. After two years of complete academic neglect, skipping more than we attended and generally living as though we were in an anarchic society, we simply didn’t show up for the remainder of the school year and didn’t bother returning for the next two years. It was like breaking out of prison—how could we possibly be expected to want to go back to that lame asylum?
That episode on the bus was to be our swan song. Had we known, we probably would have planned something far more epic for our old nemesis, Mongoloid. In the end, he was spared by an unforseen indiscretion at a cemetery.
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