Trouble Follows Dick

Dick was not really his name but it became his name in the fifth grade. Nobody liked him. He was clueless about sports. He was a bit fat or “husky” as his mother would say. And he never seemed to say the right things in conversations.  His response to all of this was to aggravate all those around him. He put hot pepper flakes in the teacher’s soup once. He sent love letters to cute girls signing some shy kid’s name. He loosened a chair leg so it collapsed when a fat kid sat on it. He stole lunch money. He glued a dime to the floor and laughed as kids tried to pick it up. It all helped pass the time. He also didn’t follow all those school rules- even easy ones. 

Dick didn’t remember the exact date when his fate was sealed. The weather was moderately hot even for late May. He was sweating a bit as he sat in the front center seat. He acquired the honor of sitting a few feet from the teacher by virtue of his behavior. He was told by his teacher that he reminded her of a Mexican jumping bean. You know, you hold it in your hand and for no obvious reason it jumps around. Dick took that as a compliment. He thought “Why stay put when there are things to do? Really. Sitting still is just another stupid rule”. 

Staring blankly ahead so as not to be called upon, Dick pondered the day. It was only 8:45 and he had six hours and 15 minutes before he could flee from his prison. He knew this would be impossible without a break. It was 17 minutes before he could hit the bathroom again since he was allowed only one visit every hour after the trash fire he set last month. 

“I wonder if Mrs. Freight Train is human”. Her name was his personal one for her. She looked a little like a big engine if you squint your eyes as she approached. His thoughts, thank God, were private. In his rough drawing he disrobed her and dissected her on a lab table. He carefully took pathology notes, outlining the various mechanical parts she had inside her decomposing body. “It’s a good thing she is a humanoid or she would stink” he mumbled to himself. Panic struck as his neighbor Mark said loudly, “What’s that, I can’t hear you, Dick?”. Mrs. Freight Train stopped writing a problem on the blackboard. Her hand paused mid air over the equal sign right after the “X”. She turned and stared at Dick for what seemed like an eternity. Finally she moved. The class held its breath.

It seemed like it took her a half hour to walk over to him. Dick thought that was interesting how time kinda stands still in a moment of terror. The class was dead quiet- partly out of fear for their own safety. Mrs. Freight Train might go off the rails in their direction. And they were also quiet as they imagined the power that would be soon released.

FT was silent but her laser beam stare began to melt part of Dick’s brain as he mumbled some nonsense words that may have been designed to distract her from the carnage about to unfold. FT was not to be deterred. She ignored the soft babbling noises coming from his lips and slowly lifted Dick’s hand from the forbidden manuscript. He thought about citing the first amendment to the Constitution. That was about all he got out of social studies this past year. But he couldn’t get his mouth to work properly. “No wonder people have lawyers to do their talking” he thought in a moment of revelation.

As he left the classroom, the class began to buzz and laugh as they felt some safety in FT’s single minded focus on Dick. The laughter seemed to reach a crescendo until a crashing noise halted all sounds. FT had pulled the trigger on her dictionary as it slammed hard on her desk sending a shock wave through the class. 

Dick stopped on the stairs. It seemed unfair that he had to walk to his own execution- the principal’s office. Shouldn’t he have at least the dignity of a Policeman having him stretch out against the blackboard and cuff him after frisking him for weapons. At least that would be cool. But no. Here he was on his way to show the principal the autopsy report he had prepared. If he ditched it in the trash, they would find it anyway. Besided, he thought, “Who would they believe- FT or me?”. He thought about something he heard about HIPPY- a law that says you can’t show medical records. “An autopsy should be a medical record” he presumed. 

As he opened the door on the first floor he faced a startled man. It was Merf- at least that’s what everyone called him, mostly affectionately. Merf was a secret ally in this kid-hostile world. He would often listen to complaints of the children with some sympathy and offer them a hard candy. He sighed- “What did you do this time Dick?”. 

WIth some pride Dick took out the crumpled paper from his pocket. He placed it on the wall and smoothed it out with his right hand before handing it to Merf. After whistling softly, Merf said “That’s quite a document you’ve got there”. Dick explained the autopsy report and the function of various mechanical body parts. He explained at one point that the long pointy thing was not a dick, as Merf had guessed- it was a cell tower attached to her body to help her communicate with her home planet. 

Merf smiled- “Maybe you should’t have put- ‘Mrs.‘Freight Train Autopsy’ at the top of the paper. You’d have had what they call plausible deniability”. Dick listened intently as Merf explained that one. “I gotta go- but you keep learning and you’ll do fine”. He smiled and added “I think you know the way to the principal’s office”.

Dick sat in his usual chair for the usual 20 minutes. He knew from experience that the time was “sweat time” designed to wear kids down. After the usual lecture he got a three day suspension. He shrugged and headed to the front door. His father would be furious as usual, having to pick him up again but mostly because  any hope for an Ivy college was fading fast. Dick paused at the top of the stairs . He admired the two gold-colored lion sculptures that guarded the door, the big cannon on the front lawn and the enormous flag flapping gently in the breeze. 

Dick spotted Merf trimming the bushes. DIck waved to him, smiled and shouted out as he descended the front stairs- “Someday I’ll be president!”. Merf, ever the philosopher, laughed and responded-  “I suppose anything is possible- we are all prisoners of our history”.