Under the Sun | 3. Peepsite

Peepsite sat in the cafe sipping on his hot chocolate while watching Nikki, one of the lesbian co-owners, prepare his sandwich. Something about her reminded him of a teacher he’d had long ago–Ms. Snodgrass. The mixture of hot cocoa, incense and John Lennon singing “Across the Universe” lulled him into a trance that carried him back in time.

Ms. Snodgrass was the bane of many a fifth-grader, for as long as she had been teaching–however long that was. It was impossible to determine her age. Some of her features, like her hair style, were that of an older woman. She had no wrinkles, but her body was shaped like a wax pear left out in the sun too long. Attributes that might pique interest if they belonged to someone remotely attractive seemed as though they were haphazardly stapled onto Ms. Snodgrass to dangle and jiggle like a cow’s udder.

It was difficult for Peepsite to think of Ms. Snodgrass as a woman. And if there was anything Peepsite liked to think of, it was women. Moreso than the other fifth graders, who hadn’t been held back a couple of times. As Peepsite watched–but not listened–to her lecture like a drill sergeant, it struck him how her name so matched her person.

“Snot,” he thought, “Grass. Grass is green. Green snot.”

Peepsite examined the drill sergeant. The way her lower lip protruded made her look as though she were constantly chewing tobacco. Her thin nose slanted down, like a chute aiming for her lip. He imagined her pulling the lip out further and tapping her nose, sending more material oozing down for her to pinch between her lip and gum.

“Peepsite! Pay attention!” She yelled.

Peepsite twitched reflexively. His face contorted into the gnarled mass of nerves that had been responsible for his nickname. All the kids laughed at him.

Danny, sitting next to him, poked him in the ribs, “Why do you do that?”

Peepsite reddened. Even the nerdy misfits were superior to him. The class continued to laugh. Danny, who was in no position to make fun of anyone with a head shaped like Frankenstein’s monster, removed his black-framed glasses to wipe the tears from his eyes. Peepsite grew more frantic and the world around him blurred. He caught fragments of different classmates laughing at him. David, whose ability to outrun most anyone made him the most popular kid in class, was laughing. Susan, whose recently-emerging female attributes were the inspiration for much teasing among the boys, was laughing. Even Ms. Snodgrass was taking time out from chewing her salty cud to laugh.

But Susan hurt the most. He had long had a crush on her. Though, deep down, he knew she could never have any interest in the likes of him, she was at least kind to him. A rage ignited in his stomach and burned his chest. He wanted to hit her. How could she be so cruel? But he knew he couldn’t hit her, so he hit the next best thing. He grabbed Danny by the neck and threw him backward onto his desk, raised his fist and plunged it into that misshapen Frankenstein head as hard as he could. Then again. And again.

The glasses broke. Danny’s nose began to spill blood. His tears of laughter turned to tears of fear and pain.

Peepsite’s surroundings had completely vanished now. All he could see was his prey lying there helpless before him. He continued pounding on that ugly head capped with short black hair until Mr. Newman came and dragged him into his office.

Mr. Newman’s pale, pudgy, acne-scarred face scowled at Peepsite, “You stand there with your arms raised. Out to the sides. You stay like that until I get back!”

Peepsite twitched, causing his body to contort and his hands to flap.

“You just bought yourself another half hour that way, mister.” Mr. Newman glared at him as he left the office, leaving a waft of cologne that reminded Peepsite of some candy cane candles his mother dredged out of the closet every Christmas.

It seemed like an eternity elapsed before Mr. Newman returned. Peepsite’s rather large arms were beginning to tingle and feel numb.

“You can put your arms down,” Mr. Newmann growled.

Peepsite let his arms drop. The blood rushed back into them and he shook his hands until the feeling returned.

“It seems like we go through this every week. Are you ready to tell me why you insist on being such a distraction?”

Peepsite thought hard. He was always getting in trouble and he didn’t know why. Two years ago, in the fourth grade, he had gotten in trouble badly for “making faces” at the photographer when his school photo was taken. It was really just a twitch and the resulting photo gave birth to his nickname, used even by his parents. Last year, his first in Ms. Snodgrass’ class, he was sent to the office for “playing with himself.” He didn’t even know what that meant and, instinctively, knew not to ask. He didn’t like beating Danny to a pulp. But it seemed everyone–classmates, faculty and even family–were constantly yelling at him for no reason he could see. His explosion was the result of thirteen years of pressure cooking in his gut. Perhaps with a dash of hormones thrown in for good measure.

Peepsite shrugged and let his shoulders slump under the weight of defeat.

Mr. Newmann waited as the bell rang and sighed, “Okay. Go to lunch. I’ll be sending a note to your parents and thinking of what we’re going to do with you.”

Peepsite shuffled out of the office, his head lowered. He went back to class, pushing against the tide of students flowing out of the room. He took his brown paper lunch bag from the closet and carried it to the lunch room. Peepsite found a relatively empty table and sat down at the end of it, alone. He opened the bag, and removed the contents: a bologna and peanut butter sandwich cooked in the microwave, a block of mozzarella cheese, an apple, some Little Debbie snack cakes and a diet Coke.

He stared at his lunch bag while he ate. He had been excited to bring it to school. It was a paper bag in which his dad had brought home some whiskey. Peepsite drew a stick figure of a man performing a kung fu kick in front of a large sun and a desert landscape. Above the picture were the words “Kung Fu.”

Peepsite had envied David’s lunch box all year. It was a fancy tin box with scenes from the “Kung Fu” television series. Peepsite had never been interested in the show until he saw David with the lunchbox. After that, Peepsite watched the show religiously every Friday night. It was another reason to look forward to Fridays, as if the two-day reprieve from school weren’t enough.

Peepsite hoped his lunch bag might make people like him. Everyone liked David and he had a “Kung Fu” lunch box. Maybe people would like Peepsite if he had one. Maybe they would be even more impressed with the fact that he made it himself.

Two girls scooted toward Peepsite from the end of the lunch table–one with long, curly blonde hair and the other with long straight brown hair.

The blonde giggled and pointed, “What’s that on your bag?”

Peepsite’s eyes lit up. Girls never talked to him at lunch! It looked like the “Kung Fu” drawing might be working! “It’s Kung Fu. You know, ‘Glasshoppa’.”

The girls looked at each other and laughed. It was the same sort of laugh he had just dealt with in class.

“That is so stupid!” The brunette said.

“You are so weird!” The blonde pointed out.

The two girls scooted back to the other end of the lunch table. Peepsite reddened and turned back to resume his stare at the lunch bag.

The knot of anger started to reform in his gut, stronger than before. Peepsite jumped from his seat. Everyone in the lunchroom watched quietly.

“I know Kung Fu!” Peepsite yelled, mostly unaware of his own actions.

He put his fists up in front of his face, more like a boxer than a martial arts expert, and lifted his right leg. He stood there a moment, seemingly in a trance, until a wave of nerves orchestrated to send a large spasm pulsing through his body. He shook his foot, which was still lifted in the air, contorted his head with drool streaming from his exposed and dangling tongue and then tried to shake the foot upon which he was standing.

Peepsite tumbled over onto the floor, flailing like a turtle turned upside down.

The lunchroom erupted in laughter and the brunette shook her head, “Why do you do that?”

The memory dampened Peepsite’s spirits somewhat. School had always been like that for him and that’s why he got out as soon as he could. Things got better then. A teacher from the high school lived across the street and was always kind to Peepsite. He kept a garden behind his house and when Peepsite was younger, he’d find a large, fresh watermelon sitting on his doorstep every few weeks. Later, after he quit going to school, Mr. Webb tutored him enough that he was able to get his G.E.D.

Peepsite was saddened when Mr. Webb left, though he understood why he had to–a fire had burned down his house, killing his wife and two young daughters. Of course, he knew Mr. Webb could never be the same. He had lost the characteristic sparkle in his eye, probably forever.

“There ya go!” Nikki smiled as she set the sandwich down in front of him.

Peepsite’s face clenched as he snapped back to the real world, “Thanks, Nikki.”

He took another sip of chocolate, the whipped cream having dissolved with his memories.

« 2. Frankie the Butcher    3. Peepsite    4. A Crack in the Alley »