I am one of the first ones in the dinning hall for breakfast. I get a heap of eggs and British sausage and a slab of ham. Every morning in Britain the breakfast buffet contains baked beans and every morning they remain untouched. The lady who runs the buffet looks and me and tilts her head in a grandmotherly fashion when she tells me that she just brewed another pot of coffee just for you, love. With the exception of several members from Dan's and Daisy's group there is no one around. Today we are scheduled to have our final dignitary tete-a-tete with the Lord Mayor of London then tour Windsor. I think about how aggrieved Eagle Scout Josh is that we still have no clue what are skit is really about.
I lift up Harmony's attire and sniff.
I place Harmony's jacket over the back of the chair next to me.
It is Tuesday. A week ago exactly I had just met these people a continent away.
One week from now all of this will be gone.
The cool old lady at the buffet brings me a carafe of coffee a la LUMS back home. I tell her thank you. When I reach into my pocket to tip her a pound she waves her hand in front of her face and says no love. I see Connor from Mark's group and several girls from the hot Italian girls group. I see counselor Alyson, the future newscaster of America. I see counselor Eric and one of the chaperons. It occurs to me that even though I try to socialize with everyone especially those not on my bus I have maybe met only 10 percent of the Young Columbusians on my trip. It is like we are a high school for a week and we are in an assembly only because of where we are seated it is impossible for some of us to meet each other even though we are in the same auditorium.
The moment I sit down I see Nat walking past holding hands with Miss Arkansas. He is walking very fast as if he is upset with her. Ironically both of them are still wearing the same clothes they had on last night. I think about what Harmony told me on the phone at three in the morning about Nat postulating that I am useless because I attend a Ghetto high school. That the only reason I won the trip was because the Journal Star felt sorry for me.
I slice into my eggs and ham. I can't understand why the British populace always seems to serve bake beans for Breakfast.
Harmony's coat is always by my side. Even near-sighted I am waiting for Harmony to arrive.
Trevor comes down. His hair is unkempt, eyes the color of a thoroughly abraded eraser on the back of a number two pencil. He looks lost. I am desperate for company. A group of formative 7th graders waltz inside talking about who danced with who on the dance/cruise last night. I stand up and get another refill passing Trevor in the process. At the end of the buffet Miss Arkansas and Nat are still going at it, Miss Arkansas saying look, the timing just wasn't right. Miss Arkansas says the words just wait three times in a row.
Nat says fine.
"Trevor?" I say. He looks at me he says huh. He then says oh high Hair.
He calls me Hair.
"Rough night brother?" I inquire, not thinking in the slightest about the rumors Jim Baker promulgated the first night when he stated that the counselors as a whole go out every night and get shitfaced. Trevor nods and says that several of the counselors got together and decided to celebrate four-twenty early. I have no clue what he is talking about. I wonder if 4-20 is some sort of National Holiday,
Even in a room that is crowded I can still hear Miss Arkansas' voice. She keeps on saying sorry. She says something alluding that she's just not ready yet. It looks like she has spent all night crying although admittedly she doesn't look half as bad as Trevor does right now.
"Wanna sit here?" I turn to Trevor. He smells like mouthwash. His eyes are completely red. It looks like he is disoriented. It looks like he has been up all night studying for finals. I want to talk to Trevor about this trip. I want to ask my counselor if he feels just how overall weird it is as well that we have been on the trip for an entire week and yet it seems like everyone on the trip has been friends for several reincarnated lifetimes. Trevor nods several times and looks around the room as if he is counting heads.
"I'd love to Hair but I gotta go back upstairs and shower."
Trevor tells me that Sir Charles is in the shower and that they have to take turns. I tell him that I would certainly hope so. Trevor laughs. He still smells like weak mouthwash mixed with cherry cough syrup every time he opens his mouth.
"I just came down to make sure everything was alright."
Trevor inquires where I got the coffee at. I shove a pre-set saucer-cup in his direction like a puck. I then lift up the carafe and pour.
"Cream and sugar brother?" I inquire, bonding with my counselor.
Trevor swipes his head back. He says no.
"You know what Hair. "You're alright man. I mean, you are really alright."
I smile. Trevor takes another swig, plagiarizing Twin Peaks stating that it is damn good coffee.
"Yer alright man. I mean, I really like you Hair. You're really mature for your age and everything. Your're alright."
Trevor nods and says that he needs to go upstairs and that he will be seeing me now. I continue to assay the room. More Young Columbusians lumber in wiping their eyes. It makes me sad that I just will never get a chance to hang out with everyone on this trip. I don't see Sam. I wonder if he is feeling better after feeling forlorn and morose last night on the Cruise. I see Dylan the cool counselor who casually says hello. Even if our trip were a whole semester or a year it would be hard to meet and forge a relationship with everyone on the tour although it seems like my brother Mark through his gregarious DNA somehow has managed to do just that.
I am dizzying over Harmony. I want to appear gallant when I bump into her. I want it to appear to be fortuitous. I want her to smile at me when I volley her coat back to her.
I look up. It is the polite Baptist boy from Alabama.
He looks at Harmony's coat and says sorry. I didn't realize that someone was seated here.
"No, its fine. It just my friend's coat.".
The polite Baptist boys seems perplexed. I tell him that someone spilled soda on Harmony's coat last night so I offered to clean it for her.
He smiles. I try not to look at him. He seems like he is social and well liked but for some reason he is always all alone. I pick up Harmony's coat and place it over the back of my own chair so that it looks like a red habit from a distance.
I lift up Harmony's attire and sniff. I place Harmony's jacket over the back of the chair next to me.
It is Tuesday. A week ago exactly I had just met these people a continent away.
One week from now all of this will be gone.
The cool old lady at the buffet brings me a carafe of coffee a la LUMS back home. I tell her thank you. When I reach into my pocket to tip her a pound she waves her hand in front of her face and says no love. I see Connor from Mark's group and several girls from the hot Italian girls group. I see counselor Alyson, the future newscaster of America. I see counselor Eric and one of the chaperons. It occurs to me that even though I try to socialize with everyone especially those not on my bus I have maybe met only 10 percent of the Young Columbusians on my trip. It is like we are a high school for a week and we are in an assembly only because of where we are seated it is impossible for some of us to meet each other even though we are in the same auditorium.
The moment I sit down I see Nat walking past holding hands with Miss Arkansas. He is walking very fast as if he is upset with her. Ironically both of them are still wearing the same clothes they had on last night. I think about what Harmony told me on the phone at three in the morning about Nat postulating that I am useless because I attend a Ghetto high school. That the only reason I won the trip was because the Journal Star felt sorry for me.
I slice into my eggs and ham. I can't understand why the British populace always seems to serve bake beans for Breakfast.
Harmony's coat is always by my side. Even near-sighted I am waiting for Harmony to arrive.
Trevor comes down. His hair is unkempt, eyes the color of a thoroughly abraded eraser on the back of a number two pencil. He looks lost. I am desperate for company. A group of formative 7th graders waltz inside talking about who danced with who on the dance/cruise last night. I stand up and get another refill passing Trevor in the process. At the end of the buffet Miss Arkansas and Nat are still going at it, Miss Arkansas saying look, the timing just wasn't right. Miss Arkansas says the words just wait three times in a row.
Nat says fine.
"Trevor?" I say. He looks at me he says huh. He then says oh high Hair.
He calls me Hair.
"Rough night brother?" I inquire, not thinking in the slightest about the rumors Jim Baker promulgated the first night when he stated that the counselors as a whole go out every night and get shitfaced. Trevor nods and says that several of the counselors got together and decided to celebrate four-twenty early. I have no clue what he is talking about. I wonder if 4-20 is some sort of National Holiday,Even in a room that is crowded I can still hear Miss Arkansas' voice. She keeps on saying sorry. She says something alluding that she's just not ready yet. It looks like she has spent all night crying although admittedly she doesn't look half as bad as Trevor does right now.
"Wanna sit here?" I turn to Trevor. He smells like mouthwash. His eyes are completely red. It looks like he is disoriented. It looks like he has been up all night studying for finals. I want to talk to Trevor about this trip. I want to ask my counselor if he feels just how overall weird it is as well that we have been on the trip for an entire week and yet it seems like everyone on the trip has been friends for several reincarnated lifetimes. Trevor nods several times and looks around the room as if he is counting heads.
"I'd love to Hair but I gotta go back upstairs and shower."
Trevor tells me that Sir Charles is in the shower and that they have to take turns. I tell him that I would certainly hope so. Trevor laughs. He still smells like weak mouthwash mixed with cherry cough syrup every time he opens his mouth.
"I just came down to make sure everything was alright."
Trevor inquires where I got the coffee at. I shove a pre-set saucer-cup in his direction like a puck. I then lift up the carafe and pour.
"Cream and sugar brother?" I inquire, bonding with my counselor.
Trevor swipes his head back. He says no.
"You know what Hair. "You're alright man. I mean, you are really alright."
I smile. Trevor takes another swig, plagiarizing Twin Peaks stating that it is damn good coffee.
"Yer alright man. I mean, I really like you Hair. You're really mature for your age and everything. Your're alright."
Trevor nods and says that he needs to go upstairs and that he will be seeing me now. I continue to assay the room. More Young Columbusians lumber in wiping their eyes. It makes me sad that I just will never get a chance to hang out with everyone on this trip. I don't see Sam. I wonder if he is feeling better after feeling forlorn and morose last night on the Cruise. I see Dylan the cool counselor who casually says hello. Even if our trip were a whole semester or a year it would be hard to meet and forge a relationship with everyone on the tour although it seems like my brother Mark through his gregarious DNA somehow has managed to do just that.
I am dizzying over Harmony. I want to appear gallant when I bump into her. I want it to appear to be fortuitous. I want her to smile at me when I volley her coat back to her.
The New York duet who everyone has been in love with
since before we left Newark walk past.
I hear a voice next to me. He is saying excuse me. He is asking me if this seat is taken.I look up. It is the polite Baptist boy from Alabama.
He looks at Harmony's coat and says sorry. I didn't realize that someone was seated here.
"No, its fine. It just my friend's coat.".
The polite Baptist boys seems perplexed. I tell him that someone spilled soda on Harmony's coat last night so I offered to clean it for her.
He smiles. I try not to look at him. He seems like he is social and well liked but for some reason he is always all alone. I pick up Harmony's coat and place it over the back of my own chair so that it looks like a red habit from a distance.
"Please," I say.
I like talking with the polite boy from Alabama. He was seated in the back of the airport shuttle when I first met Mark. I love his southern accent. I love how it dips and sways. We have the same type of glasses only I am embarrassed to saddle the thick frames of my own in public. He sets his tray down on the table. Before I am able to ask him the colloquial How's-it-going the polite boy from Alabama tucks his head and begins to pray.
It looks like he is saying grace before Thanksgiving dinner in a Norman Rockwell painting.
On the far end of the table Heath sits down with his tray. Before I can ask him about Mark a tray containing only fruit snaps down left of my vision.
It is Our Wendy. I wonder if she is a vegetarian like Greta which is why she is only eating fruit.
"Good morning Our Wendy." I say to Wendy.
"Good morning David who doesn't-know-anything." Wendy sticks out her tongue in my direction. She smiles. I can’t get enough of her smile. For the first time this trip I am seated with the intellectual titans of Bus #4. Those who will be crowned valedictorians of their respective high school in upcoming weeks giving speeches in front of parents' and student bodies while adorned in billowing garb. Those who will be leaving home in five months attending prestigious institutions of higher learning around the country. Those who will invariably become Doctors and Lawyers and leaders' in society.
I smile.
From several tables over Nat is rubbing Miss Arkansas' hand telling her that I thought you wanted to make this trip memorable.
Several other wandering innoccus sit down at our table. I recognize Connor who I always mistake as Mark from behind. There is a girl named Ginny and a Girl with demure make-up. Ginny is also from Alabama.
“ ‘Marning,” I say, drinking a cup of coffee assaying the room for any hint of Harmony or someone from her group. Like the polite Baptist boy from Alabama Ginny and the girl with the demure make-up both tuck their chins into their neck and pray before their breakfast. Ginny prayers in such a way it looks like she is whispering something to her food.
"By the way Our Wendy, I loved that dress you wore last night on the Thames. It was ravishing."
Our Wendy smiles. She says thank you David-who-doesn't-look-like-anyone-conspicuous.
"I took lots of pictures. Especially in front of Big Ben and tower bridge and I plan on developing them in London before sending them AIRMAIL to my ex-boyfriend right away."
Our Wendy smiles. She says thank you David-who-doesn't-look-like-anyone-conspicuous.
"I took lots of pictures. Especially in front of Big Ben and tower bridge and I plan on developing them in London before sending them AIRMAIL to my ex-boyfriend right away."
I am seated at the table with the intellectual titans, the kids I thought the entire Young Columbus group would be like. All of the Young Columbusians I am seated with are seniors at their respective high schools. All of them will be meeting Lynn Minton tomorrow. All kids were handpicked by Harmony thought were worthy to meet and interface with other British teens with the hopes and possibility that their mordant social commentary might be published in PARADE magazine in the weeks to come.
The girl with the Demure-make-up is mature for her age. She is in the older group though not in the same group as Greta or Tamera. For a long time I thought she was a counselor.
Looking around I realize that I am the only one at the table who has a paper route.
Every member of the Big Ten has a route.
There is gossip. Apparently Dimas got busted by his counselor with a fifth of Gin but the only thing the counselor did was take it away and give him a verbal warning. The girl with the Demure-make up says that she kept telling people that those guys were going to get into trouble.
The Demure make-up lady swipes her head back and forth cosigning disdain. Ginny states alloud that those two are incorrigible. She uses the word incorrigible. The Polite Baptist boy notes that that's what happens when you dance with the demon liquor.
There is a pause in our conversation. The clattering din of sterling utensils reverberates throughout the room like a porcelain plate opus. The Demure make-up girl swivels in my direction.
"I'm sorry, but I don't believe we've met."
I introduce myself as David. She introduces herself as Heather.
When she says her name she reaches out her hand.
"And where are you from Miss Heather?"
"Choctawhatchee."
"Choctawhatchee?"
"It's in Florida, though not the part of Florida most people think of when they think of Florida. It's in the panhandle. There's no Mickey mouse or retirement communities."
Tamera walks past me with Sheila. I wave. Tamera acts like she doesn't see me. Sheila offers a shy smile and a wave that looks like she is making shadow puppets.
Ginny says that those girls are weird. She uses the word misanthropic.
"They are always in a bad mood. They just sit on the back of the bus and sulk the entire time."
"Tamera's brilliant. I mean, she's going to Harvard. Harvard. That's like huge. She wants to be a doctor someday."
Ginny shrugs. She says that pretty much everyone at this table is going to be a doctor or a lawyer someday. The polite boy from Alabama says that he is already taking college credits at a community college so that he can get ahead. Our Wendy says that she did that, like, her junior year, which seems like a really long time ago.
From several tables over I see Nat standing up. He slams his chair underneath leaving Miss Arkansas hiccuping in a string of tears.
Our Wendy is looking around like she is bored. She appears to be eating honeydew and grapes.
Her prom on the Thames. hair still has some of the schllacked gunk she placed in it last night so that it looks like petrified orange meringue. Heath is not talking much. He looks tired. He is wearing an LA dodgers cap. When he smiles I can see his molars. Three tables over random digits of the Big Ten are seated. Jim, Sub-five-minute-mile Alaskan Bryan, Chris and Spencer's roommate from Montana who never talks. I can hear Jim publicly make a comment correlating the British proclivity to serve beans with breakfast to national flatulence. Rose (who usually sits with Tamera and Sheila) sits down at our table as well. I feel like I blew Rose off last night at the dance. Rose says high, sees Harmony's coat and then looks down into her morning entree.
Her prom on the Thames. hair still has some of the schllacked gunk she placed in it last night so that it looks like petrified orange meringue. Heath is not talking much. He looks tired. He is wearing an LA dodgers cap. When he smiles I can see his molars. Three tables over random digits of the Big Ten are seated. Jim, Sub-five-minute-mile Alaskan Bryan, Chris and Spencer's roommate from Montana who never talks. I can hear Jim publicly make a comment correlating the British proclivity to serve beans with breakfast to national flatulence. Rose (who usually sits with Tamera and Sheila) sits down at our table as well. I feel like I blew Rose off last night at the dance. Rose says high, sees Harmony's coat and then looks down into her morning entree.
I am seated with the older kids. I want them to think I am intelligent. I want to be accepted. I want them to think I am smart. I am trying to instigate conversation. Every at the table seems to know one another. I am the outcast. I am all alone.
I am still just trying to make small talk..
"You guys excited about the skit night?"
The table nods in a concurrent wobble. While they are all from Bus #4 three different groups are represented at the table. It seems to be gospel amongst the YC's that whatever skit each group is performing is extremely classified information available only to members within the imminent group. It is also common knowledge that every individual group thinks his/hers skit is innovative and invariably will be judged the best as to win the prize money.
My group has blown of Josh's idea because Jim Baker claimed it borderlined on some sort of sodomy.
My group still has intrinsically no clue of the skit we shall be performing.
I pour myself another cup of coffee.
"Is everyone excited about the day? I mean, we get to meet the Lord Mayor of London and then we get to go see Windsor. I mean, it should be pretty cool."
Everyone nods. Our Wendy notes that its gonna be hard to top last night. Ginny states that the only thing bad about receiving the Lynn Minton invite to Q & A with the British kids is that they will miss most of tomorrow including St. Pauls.
"Is everyone excited about the day? I mean, we get to meet the Lord Mayor of London and then we get to go see Windsor. I mean, it should be pretty cool."
Everyone nods. Our Wendy notes that its gonna be hard to top last night. Ginny states that the only thing bad about receiving the Lynn Minton invite to Q & A with the British kids is that they will miss most of tomorrow including St. Pauls.
I am still just trying to make small talk..
"You guys excited about the skit night?"
The table nods in a concurrent wobble. While they are all from Bus #4 three different groups are represented at the table. It seems to be gospel amongst the YC's that whatever skit each group is performing is extremely classified information available only to members within the imminent group. It is also common knowledge that every individual group thinks his/hers skit is innovative and invariably will be judged the best as to win the prize money.
My group has blown of Josh's idea because Jim Baker claimed it borderlined on some sort of sodomy.
My group still has intrinsically no clue of the skit we shall be performing.
The polite Baptist Boy is wearing a tie. I ask him if he heard that Liz Madigan issed an edict saying that even though we are meeting the Lord Mayor of London we don't have to wear ties today. Liz even said that we could wear jeans just not shorts.
"I steal like to wear a tie because it seems prudent if we are meeting the Lord Mayor and all."
Steal, when he says the word still it wounds like the word steal.
There is more action around the dinning area. The Italian girls are seated at girls only sorority table with several members of Rita's group only Rita is nowhere to be found. Harmony's counselor walks in and sits at the table where Miss Arkansas is shoveling tears. The only other people who appear to have a carafe of coffee at their table are Tamera and Sheila though it is unclear from this vantage point who is drinking. Wendy Cummings nibbles into her fruitarian dish and says that even though the official itinerary for meeting with the British won't be passed out until tomorrow morning she overheard Liz say that we probably don't have to meet in the lobby until 9, which means we can sleep in for a change, thank God. Ginny references an apparent questionnaire Harmony passed out that needs to be collected and handed back to Harmony by the time they return from Windsor that will assist Lynn in selecting which questions to pose to the sterling YC's that will be featured nationally in PARADE magazine this incumbent summer.
I have Harmony's coat that I buffed all night on my lap.
It occurs to me then that there is no reason why Harmony shouldn't have ask me to participate in the discussion.
That inside Harmony must feel the same way Nat feels about me.
She must feel I am dumb.
Ahlex gets up and walks over to Dylan's table. The only members I see of Mark's group are Heath and Connor and they are seated respectively at 3 and 9 o'clock facing east. Tarnisha who ran with us the first day back in Stratford and who has bad knees is seated with Dylan and a counselor named Kerry. As always there are two to three members of Daisy's group who appear to be having their first-menstrual-induced boy drama spilling the non-buffet histrionic beans to counselor Simone, so to speak. I pour myself another cup of coffee shaking the carafe to verify that I have enough for at least three more cups.
"Did you guys see the news this morning? That standoff that was going on for the last three months in Texas. It was all over the BBC news this morning."
There is a lull at the table. for the first time all the faces seated around the linen-draped zero are faced in my direction. They are looking at me as if to elucidate.
"The Waco siege. It happened yesterday actually probably around the time we were getting ready for our cruise. The Bureau of Alcohol firearms and tobacco sent a tanks into the compound. Koresh is dead. Many of his followers are dead as well."
He says that David Koresh was a freak
I don't feel like debating but for some reason I do.
The polite Baptist boy says good.
He says that David Koresh was a freak
I don't feel like debating but for some reason I do.
"There were alot of really smart people in that compound. They were all just trying to be accepted the way we are trying to be accepted here on this trip. In a way they just wanted to go on a trip only the trip they were endeavoring to go on was somewhat spiritual."
The polite Baptist boy puts down his fork in the center of his plate with a subtle clang.
“So you are saying you are for David Koresh?”
“No, I’m not. I don't invest in his apocryphal ideologies. But I’m for freedom of religion and freedom of worship no matter what your particular religious affinity may be. It doesn’t seem like he was doing anything all that wrong. He didn’t wage war against his government. Many reports say that his followers come there on their own volition really think he is a scion of Christ or whatever."
There is no Harmony. I am debating with the chosen ones Harmony hand picked as the most intellectual savvy as the group as a whole to be represented in PARADE. The table is somewhat silent. Heather makes a sign with her fork as if to say lets change the subject. I am feasting with the intellectual titans of Bus #4. I want them to think I am up to par when it comes to social events. I want them to think that I am somehow worthy.
Jennifer Flood walks in and sits next to Miss Arkansas, putting her arm around her like a shawl.
There is still no sight of Harmony.
There is still no sight of Mark.
The table is quiet. I am getting worked up. I want the intellectual Titans to accept me. Our Wendy bites into a smile of cantaloupe. Heath is chewing. I ask Heath if he has an opinion. He smiles, warbles something about none of this ever having happened had Perot gotten into office.
I pour myself another cup of java. Our Wendy states aloud that boy you drink a lot of coffee, don't you. .
I tell Our Wendy that she has no idea.
I take a swig. I am astounded that no one else at the table is drinking coffee. I am surprised that the Titans I have lauded who will be attended colleges I cannot fathom attending don't have an opinion. I want to tell them what the British media is reporting. How it is a violation of human rights.
There is no Harmony. I am debating with the chosen ones Harmony hand picked as the most intellectual savvy as the group as a whole to be represented in PARADE. The table is somewhat silent. Heather makes a sign with her fork as if to say lets change the subject. I am feasting with the intellectual titans of Bus #4. I want them to think I am up to par when it comes to social events. I want them to think that I am somehow worthy.
Jennifer Flood walks in and sits next to Miss Arkansas, putting her arm around her like a shawl.
There is still no sight of Harmony.
There is still no sight of Mark.
The table is quiet. I am getting worked up. I want the intellectual Titans to accept me. Our Wendy bites into a smile of cantaloupe. Heath is chewing. I ask Heath if he has an opinion. He smiles, warbles something about none of this ever having happened had Perot gotten into office.
I pour myself another cup of java. Our Wendy states aloud that boy you drink a lot of coffee, don't you. .
I tell Our Wendy that she has no idea.
I take a swig. I am astounded that no one else at the table is drinking coffee. I am surprised that the Titans I have lauded who will be attended colleges I cannot fathom attending don't have an opinion. I want to tell them what the British media is reporting. How it is a violation of human rights.
The kid from Alabama sounds like molasses. He asks me what my point is. There is nothing intimidating about him. Somehow cool Our Wendy Cummings who seems ambivalent when it comes to religion is on his side saying that we need to do away with all self-proselytizing burgeoning demagogues.
Nat re-enters the dining room area and heads for Miss Arkansas, scowling the way he scowls when he looks at me.
Nat re-enters the dining room area and heads for Miss Arkansas, scowling the way he scowls when he looks at me.
I am getting into the argument. It feels like I am back in Mr. Reents classroom debating. The Polite Boy from Alabama says that he is a Christian. He says that his faith means everything to him. He says that he only casts his eyes towards the cross. I want to tell him that I feel the same way, the I come from an overtly Christian family, that I always have the bible in my side pocket, that my mom always has Focus on the Family on the radio. That hell, I struggle with the tempting vagaries of the flesh all the time. I have a bible in my pocket to thwart the exclamatory burgeon of my own flesh right at this moment every time I sniff Harmony's coat I spent all night buffing or glance in the direction of Demure makeup Heather.
Still I want the scholars of Bus #4 to accept me. I want them to think that, unlike the Big Ten and the bulk of Bus #1, I really do care about this trip.
"The bible says beware of false prophets"
I ask the polite boy from Alabama if he thinks our government isn't a false prophet. He misses that question and says no, he was talking about Koresh. He says that we are a nation under God.
"The thing is, it was a religious intuition. You said religion is a significant part of your life. How can you justify that our holier-than thou government which purportedly espouses freedom of religion can just waltz into a church like setting and start firing away.
“Yeah, but Koresh was a criminal.”
“So was your Jesus.” I am getting under the polite Baptist boys bible-paper thin skin. I don’t know why I am so irked. In a way I was kind of hoping that I might meander into Mark so that he might hear me debating with the intellectual savants of Bus #4 and deem me precocious for my age
"To those people in Waco who were killed by our government he was their savior and he was doing nothing wrong until the government had to jut their nose in. Admit it you would be pretty pissed if you were in Sunday school trying to learn in earnest about your lord and savior Jesus Christ and a tanked crashed through the side of the building."
I have the attention of everyone seated at the table. I feel the need to state something profound.
I have the attention of everyone seated at the table. I feel the need to state something profound.
"I mean, the government at the time of Christ tried and killed your Lord. "
The polite Baptist Boy says that was different. He says that it was a ruled by a Pagan government and Pontious Pilate which is why they crucified our lord.
“Yeah, but Pilate washed his hands of the situation. He gave the people a choice and they chose Barabbas. As a prefect he could see nothing wrong with Christ's motives. At least with Christ they has some sort of so trial."
There is a hush at the table. Our Wendy is looking at me like I am on a Soap box in Hyde Park. I should really change subject. The only reason I am going out of my way is because I want to be accepted. I want to be liked by the Titans on Bus #4. I am still worked up about the inferno and human rights and how the media. I am irate that the intellectual Titans on Bus #4 see naive to cultural issues of what I feel is global significant and religious rights. What the US government did violated the Constitution. It was wrong. I turn to the Polite Baptist Boy and point.
"I mean Jesus, Mary and Joseph. You are being hypocritical."
When I say the word Jesus the polite Baptist kid swivels in my direction.
"Would you please not take the name of thy God in vain,"
I turn back in his direction. I am livid.
"I didn't say his name in vain. I meant every god damn syllable."
The polite Baptst Boy is almost in tears. I feel like I have made a fool of myself.
I am losing the debate. I am even more infuriated. I want to tell the smart kids that they are the crème-de-la crème of society. I want to tell the Polite Bot from Alabama that he is closed minded. I want to tell the Titans I have venerated from bus #4 that they are just spoiled dumb kids from the rich sections of their respective area-codes who don't give too shits about how the world operates.
Instead I stand up. I push my tar to the side of the table. I pick up Hamrony's jacket that I spent all night cleaning .
I pour another cup of coffee into the porcelain mug to go.
"Excuse me," is all I say tothe intellectual Titans of Bus#4 as I exit the room.
***
I am losing the debate. I am even more infuriated. I want to tell the smart kids that they are the crème-de-la crème of society. I want to tell the Polite Bot from Alabama that he is closed minded. I want to tell the Titans I have venerated from bus #4 that they are just spoiled dumb kids from the rich sections of their respective area-codes who don't give too shits about how the world operates.
Instead I stand up. I push my tar to the side of the table. I pick up Hamrony's jacket that I spent all night cleaning .
I pour another cup of coffee into the porcelain mug to go.
"Excuse me," is all I say tothe intellectual Titans of Bus#4 as I exit the room.
***
In the lobby I see the group coming back from running. I totally forgot that the group was running this morning even though I told Meg Weaver last night that I was in. The group is smaller today. It is just Josh and his girl and Meg Weaver and future Rabbi Counselor Dan. Somehow running is the last thing on my mind although I want to go running. I feel like I am standing the group up since Josh has hinted more than once that he thinks my ambitions for Track and Field are superficial. For the first time the trip I think about Granpa Salm. I think about how he gave me a ten dollar bill at church and while I thought he was giving me largess to enjoy my trip and he giving me ammunition to purchase razors which he referred to the best goddamn shave he ever had.
I try to wave at Meg Weaver only I am not sure that she sees me.
"Hey, wait up!"
I look behind me. It is Heather. She has a smile on her face.
"Hey," I say again, feeling that I have somehow blown it with the intellectual savants of Bus #4.
Heather is silent. She is not saying anything to me. It is like she just wants someone to walk with. By the time we reach the elevators it appears that I will have to say something first if I want the awkward ice to melt.
I slam the remainder of my coffee and set the cup in a ashtray next to the elevator.
"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to make anyone upset. You guys are right, Koresh was a freak, I just really wanted to have an intellectual discussion with the members of the older group. I just really wanted to have a debate."
Heather is still quiet. She tilts her head. She wears her make-up very properly, as if she is auditioning to be an Nanny or nurse at an apostolic Christian nursing home.
"It's weird, I 've seen you several times and I always thought you were a counselor."
Heather smiles.
"I guess I'm just like you. I guess I'm just mature for my age."
"You're right. I'm sorry. I got worked up." Heather is smiling at me. We are waiting for the elevators to open.
"Yeah, your like the kid who knows Harry Connick Jr or was in that one tv show."
I tell her no. I tell her that was just a rumor going around.
"Do you always carry your jacket like it is a newborn?"
I smile.
"No, its really crazy. This girl I was dancing with last night spilled soda on her jacket so I gave her me and told her that I would wash it for her and then I gave her my coat to wear for the time being because it was chilly while we were on the boat."
Heather makes a fist and presses it into her chest, saying who says chivalry is dead. The elevators seem to be taking forever. to my right I see three members of Sam's group walking out of the gift shop with brown bags, more than likely ferrying the British Porn.
"So, Miss Heather from Choctawhatchee Florida. What's your story."
Heather from Choctawhatchee Florida says what story.
"I mean everyone has a story. That's all this trip is is a bunch of stories. A bundle of germinal novels walking around with sneakers."
Heather is still looking at me like she is totally bemused.
I mean, all of us, we all have stories.
Heather tilts her head like a stewardess.
Heather looks at me. She looks like a Christian youth counselor.
"So you are saying we are all novels walking around?"
"Yeah, I mean. We all have stories. We each had a story on how we won this contest that we now find that we are inexorably a part of for life. I mean, I tried to win this contest for three years in a row and I kept striking out. I kept on failing. I mean how did you win this? Miss Chattahochee? How did you end up here?"
Heather smiles. Her makeup is perfect. She says Choctawhatchee. Chattahochee is 45 minutes away.
I say whatever. The elevator seems to be taking an exorbitant long time. I swear it has been stuck on 11 gone down to three and then gone back up again. Heather is smiling She looks like she is praying even with her eyes ajar. She is looking at me and she is smiling. I am waiting for her to respond yet all she is doing is smiling.
"Actually, I do have a story. That's how I won this contest."
I think about mark and Tamera and the other writers' on this trip.
"Did you write an essay about the European community?"
Heather smiles again. She says no.
"I actually wrote an essay. I'm adopted and I love my adoptive birth parents' and am thankful that I was able to be raised by them since I know it was all part of God's plan all along but I just wrote a letter.
"A piece of nonfiction?"
Heather is smiling again. She says kind of.
"It was a letter to my parents that I had never met. I know they are alive somewhere and I know they sacrificed a lot for me to get into a good Christian home but the older I got I wondered more and more about them. I wrote as essay to the parents' I had never known who sacrificed so I could have a life they could not imagine.
I feel like saying that I had to give a speech, in fact I had to give three speeches which I monopolized
and she wrote a letter.
Heather is smiling. She says that it is really nice talking with you.
There is a bling.
As I step in the elevator head coordinator Liz Madigan and Lynn Minton are walking out. They look at me and smile. When they see Choctawhatchee Heather they immediately give her a hug. They are asking her questions. They are inquiring how she enjoyed the dinner dance cruise on the River Thames last night. I look back and see the Polite Baptist Boy, Ginny and Heath walking towards the elevator. Perhaps I should wait and socialize with the Big Dogs of this trip but I want to get up to my room. I don't want to evoke another inane argument with the Polite Boy from Alabama.
The elevator doors are shushing close when a pair of fingers jut in the center, coercing the door to reslide open.
It is Nat and Miss Arkansas.
They are standing at antipodal sides of the elevator. They are not speaking. Miss Arkansas has her arms folded across her chest as if she is cold. Nat is not looking in my direction. I have already illuminated the numerical umbilicus. I think about what Harmony told me last night on the phone. About how I am a Ghetto paperboy. About how Harmony should stay away from me because I attend an academically inferior high school full of, in his patois, gang bangers and thugs.
Miss Arkansas is in Harmony's group. I still have Harmony's red jacket on my arm.
I press floor number three. Nat clears his throat and asks me to push buttons five and seven. He asks without saying please. He asks addressing me as if I am beneath him. As If I am a serf. It is the first time I have spoken with him since Harmony told me that Nat thinks I am a worthless. That I am beneath him.
That I am a loser.
I press buttons four and six.
"Geezus." Nat says, offering me his signature scowl. "Can't you do anything right!!"
Nat from my hometown who never answered my phone calls when I tried to call him before the trip. Nat who inexplicably despises me. Nat who decided before he boarded the plane in Peoria that I was inferior and that he would ignore me the entire trip.
Nat who informed harmony that it was best if she was not scene in my presence.
Nat who wouldn't last a day at my Ghetto high school.
"Geezus," Nat says again. I have a Gideon bible in my pocket. A year ago I would have been exactly like the polite boy from Alabama and requested that he publicly not take the name of the Lord Thy God in Vain.
Miss Arkansas is shuffling tears in a way that makes it sound like she has a sinus infection.
Jesus.
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