When Farts Had Colors

by Mark Thomas

  Suddenly, everyone outside heard Ms. Cox's voice over the PA system, “Boys and girls, we must be on our—"

  Then something strange happened. Ms. Cox kept saying, “be on our, be on our, be on our” over and over again. It was a recording! Then the voice began speeding up until it was just “Beonour! Beonour! Beonour!” It sounded like a racecar zooming down a track. “Beonour!” And then Ms. Cox's voice came to an abrupt halt.

  So the rumors were true! Ms. Cox did pre-record her announcements. Then maybe the rumors about her being in either Las Vegas playing slot machines or having gone sunbathing on the beaches of Hawaii this week were also true.

  Without Ms. Cox, pre-recorded or not, no one knew what to do. Silence. Everyone was quiet. No one moved a muscle. The running and hitting stopped. The Ultimate Death Matches ceased. And the desperate cries of kindergarteners wanting to go to the potty dried up.

  Slowly, a lone figure emerged from the evacuated and still somewhat stinky bowels of Alfonso Orr Elementary. It was Lance Chance.

  Like Mr. Rubio, Lance, too, had succumbed to Merry Maddox's heat-seeking fart missiles of doom and destruction. When the paramedics arrived to cart Mr. Rubio away, no one had noticed Lance's limp, little body sprawled out on Skid Row.

  Merry Maddox was the first to spot Lance walking out the front door of the school. Immediately, she and the Crazy M&M's stood up from their celebration picnic and started chanting “Fart-u-Lance! Fart-u-Lance! Fart-u-Lance!”

  And just like that, every student on the front grounds of Alfonso Orr Elementary pointed a finger at Lance Chance and started chanting, “Fart-u-Lance! Fart-u-Lance! Fart-u-Lance!”

  In the distance, Ms. Coleman could hear the sirens of the approaching fire truck. It was about to get bad. Real bad. Ms. Coleman began muttering to herself again, “Just two more years until retirement. Just two more years.”

  Lance stood frozen in front of all his schoolmates and teachers, with tears streaming down his face. He was completely humiliated.

  Then Lance did something he had never done before. Something he never dreamed he'd do, not in a million years.

  Lance Chance ran away from school.

  Chapter 7

  NO WHERE TO GO

  Lance had run a few blocks when it dawned on him that he had no place to run to. He certainly couldn't go home. Surely someone from school had already phoned his mom. She would be furious. Lance needed a place to think and wipe away his tears. “Mrs. Bloomberg’s?” he thought. No, he didn't want to bother her. “Maybe Mrs. Bloomberg's tool shed? Yes, that would be perfect.”

  Lance ran another block and then made his way to the back of Mrs. Bloomberg's house. He didn't see anyone in the yard, and he quickly shinnied over the five-foot fence. The tool shed was a few feet away from Mrs. Bloomberg's award-winning Royal Victorias. He ran to the shed, opened the door and went inside.

  Lance sat on the floor of the tool shed and tried to think. He quickly realized that there really wasn’t that much to think about. “I am a total disgrace,” Lance said out loud. "I am a laughingstock. I am a piranha!" Then he remembered that a piranha was a meat eating fish found in the Amazon River. Mr. Rubio had taught him that. Lance meant to say he was a “pariah.” A pariah is a person no one wanted to be around. Mr. Rubio had taught Lance that, too.

  “I mean, I'm a pariah, not a piranha,” Lance said to himself.

  For the first time since this morning when he was bullied by Merry Maddox and the Crazy M&M's, Lance found himself smiling.

  Chapter 8

  WISH-KISS COME TRUE

  Lance sat on the floor of the tool shed a full hour, going over the morning's events. He knew when he returned to school tomorrow, if they even let him back in, everyone would tease him unmercifully. Everything would be blamed on him.

  “If only farts had colors, then everyone would have seen with their very own eyes that it was Merry Maddox, not me, stinking up the room,” Lance thought.

  “I wish farts had colors,” Lance said out loud. “Yeah!”

  Lance suddenly heard talking, right next to the tool shed! It was Mrs. Bloomberg and her nosy neighbor, Ms. Wilamena Wilten.

  Lance carefully cracked open the door of the tool shed and peeked outside. Mrs. Bloomberg and Ms. Wilamena Wilten had their backs to him. They were admiring the Royal Victorias. At least, Mrs. Bloomberg was. The whole neighborhood knew Ms. Wilamena Wilten was jealous of Mrs. Bloomberg's award-winning roses. Why, Ms. Wilamena Wilten couldn't keep a cactus alive.

  “Betsy, thank you so much for lunch today. The black bean soup was scrumptious,” said Ms.Wilamena Wilten

  “Why, you're most welcome. I hope it doesn't give you gas!" laughed Mrs. Bloomberg. "You know what they say about black beans, but I still love them."

  Lance could not believe what happened next.

  Mrs. Bloomberg spotted a trespasser in her precious rose garden. A weed! Mrs. Bloomberg wasn't going to for stand it. As she bent down to yank out the weed, Mrs. Bloomberg broke wind! Pooot!

  “Ooopsy daisy! Excuse me, Wilamena,” Mrs. Bloomberg giggled.

  And with that, a purple gas leaked out of Mrs. Bloomberg's butt. Well, Lance didn't actually see it come out like that. He didn't have X-ray vision. Thank goodness! But Lance could see the purple gas seeping out the back of Mrs. Bloomberg's dress.

  Lance was flabbergasted. Farts now had colors! His wish had come true. But how? Then Lance remembered the ‘wish-kiss’ his mom had planted on top of his head this morning. It worked. It actually worked!

  “Good Googly-Moogly!” Lance thought. Mrs. Bloomberg's fart was right there in living color, and it was purple, too. The color of royalty. He learned what colors meant this morning in Mr. Rubio's class. And Mrs. Bloomberg certainly was proud of her Royal Victorias. Awesome!

  Mrs. Bloomberg stood up. Neither she nor Ms. Wilamena Wilten had noticed the purple fart that was now fading away behind them.

  “Well, let's go inside and get some fresh air! Would you care for some coffee?” asked Mrs. Bloomberg.

  “I'd love some,” Ms. Wilamena Wilten replied. They headed towards the house.

  “Your Royal Victorias certainly look like winners as usual,” said Ms. Wilamena Wilten. Then, believe it or not, Ms. Wilamena Wilten let one rip too. Pooot! She cut the cheese right there in front of the Royal Victorias!

  “Oooops! Betsy, you warned me about those black beans,” Ms. Wilamena Wilten laughed nervously. And once again another colored fart made its way into the world. But this time it was yellow, the color of embarrassment!

  “Holy Moly!” thought Lance. He now had another place to run. He had to run home and tell his mom. He had to tell her everything.

  Lance burst out of the tool shed, cut across the lawn, and started running home.

  Mrs. Bloomberg and Ms. Wilamena Wilten spotted Lance. “Lance Chance, why aren't you in school? Where are you running off to, young man?” Mrs. Bloomberg called out.

  “I'm running home, Betsy—I mean, Mrs. Bloomberg. I've got to clear the air about something!” Lance yelled over his shoulder.

  And with that, Lance was gone.

  Chapter 9

  SEEN AND NOT HEARD

  Lance ran inside his house. He was out of breath.

  “Mom?” Lance called out weakly. “Mom? Where are you? You won't believe this!”

  He looked inside the living room. Nope. He went downstairs to the basement. “Maybe she's washing clothes,” he thought. Lance poked his head into the laundry room. No mom there either.

  Lance went back upstairs. He rechecked the living room, the den, and the kitchen. Not a mom in sight. At least, his breath was coming back. Lance slowly climbed the stairs to the bedrooms.

  He went into his mom's bedroom first. There was a faint smell of perfume in the air. It was the first pleasant thing he had smelled all day. But, still, no mom. He peeked in his baby sister's room. Billie was sound asleep in her crib, so Lance’s mom had to be in the house somewhere.

  There was only one place lef
t to check: his room. Lance slowly opened the door to his bedroom. Sitting there on his bed was Mom. Uh-oh. Every fourth grader knows that finding a mom on your bed is a bad sign.

  “Mom, you're not going to believe this! Mom?

  “Stop, Lance,” his mom interrupted. She was speaking very quietly. Another bad sign. She was furious and doing her best not to explode.

  “No, Lance, what I don't believe is the phone call I got from your school over two hours ago. I have been scared to death wondering where you were; now it's your turn to be scared.”

  Lance gulped. “Mom, I was at Mrs. Bloomberg's, thinking.” Lance knew better than to mention sneaking into the tool shed.

  “'Thinking?' That's what you should have done before you cleared the school out! How could you?”

  "Mom, that wasn't me who farted in class. It was—”

  “Young man, you dropped a nasty fart bomb in the kitchen, of all places, before you left this morning.”

  “But Mom, that was an accident. You know I’m lack-toes-holler-runt, I mean, lactose intolerant. I didn’t mean to,” Lance tried to explain.

  “Lance, I don't know which one I'm feeling the most: upset or embarrassed. People are probably going to talk behind my back, if they haven't started already. 'Oh, there goes Mrs. Chance. Did you know her son is a Fart Terrorist?'”

  Lance's mom continued, “You know I have my book club coming over for lunch tomorrow. I have so much work to do I just can't deal with you now, at least, not how you need to be dealt with.”

  “Here we go,” thought Lance.

  “First, I want you to stay in this room the rest of the day. You are not to leave it until you're ready for school in the morning. You can look at television tonight, so you'll stay out of my hair. Believe me, Mister, you won't be watching it for a long time after today. And as far as your computer is concerned, forget about it.”

  “But Mom—”

  “In this house, from now on, children will be—and don’t you finish this sentence with me—children will be seen and not heard.” Lance's mom gave him a hard look. Lance said nothing.

  “Finally, I will bring dinner up to you tonight and leave it outside your door. I’ll knock to let you know it's there. I’d better only see a hand outside that door.” Lance's mom gave him another hard look.

  “I'm about to close this door, young man. I hope I have made myself crystal clear.” She gave him her hardest look yet, and then closed the door.

  Lance mumbled, “Anything you say, sergeant.”

  “I heard that Lance. Don't make me come back in there!”

  Lance could feel his mom giving him the hardest look of them all, right through the door. Wisely, Lance said nothing this time. He knew better.

  Chapter 10

  BREAKING NEWS

  “Well, I've certainly got a place to think now. Too bad I can't leave it,” Lance thought.

  Once again, Lance found himself going over the day's events. He couldn't believe everything that had happened. Who in their right mind would?

  Lance just sat there thinking. Maybe he was going crazy. Maybe he had already gone crazy. Farts having colors? Who had ever heard of anything so crazy? Perhaps he had imagined the whole farting episode. Plain craziness was what it was. Just crazy.

  Lance decided to get his mind off of this fart nonsense and switched on the television.

  The news was on. Yuck. But before he could change channels, something caught his attention.

  Some newsperson was saying, “Today, Donald Rump, the real estate billionaire, was holding a news conference when, get this, ladies and gentleman, he farted! And that's not the best part. After Rump farted, gold gas filled up the entire room! We are about to show you this amazing footage, so Moms and Dads, if you have small kids at home, you might want to call them into the room to watch

  Lance watched the news footage. Yes, gold fart gas was everywhere! Gold meant money. He had learned that in Mr. Rubio's class. So it was true. Farts now had colors. Lance hadn't gone crazy.

  “Well,” Lance thought, “I always said Mondays stunk, but this Monday takes the cake.”

  And just like that, Lance had an idea.

  Chapter 11

  PEPPERONI, CHEESE, GARLIC AND…

  The very next morning, Lance woke up before his mom. He had set his alarm clock for 5:30 a.m. instead of the usual 6:00. He had work to do.

  Lance quickly put on his school clothes, opened his bedroom door very quietly, and looked down the hall. His mom's door was shut and so was little Billie's. Lance glanced at the floor. There was a dinner plate wrapped in aluminum foil. Lance bent down, picked up the plate and unwrapped it.

  On the plate were his favorite sandwiches of all time: pepperoni cheese with garlic sauce. “Oh, Mom,” Lance thought. And there was a little note, too.

  It said, “You will always be my favorite little Fart Terrorist. Love, Mom.”

  “Mom, forgive me, but I'm gonna have to give these to someone else. After today I will never be bullied into giving away another one of your sandwiches. Ever. I promise,” he whispered to himself.

  Lance headed downstairs to the kitchen. He had a little adjustment to make to the sandwiches.

  Once inside the kitchen, Lance started looking through the cabinets. From the top shelf, Lance grabbed a can of chocolate cake frosting. On the second shelf he found a can of black beans. Lance removed a can opener from the kitchen drawer and opened each can. He couldn't use the blender because that would make way too much noise. Lance had to hurry. His mom would be awake any minute.

  Lance found a bowl, poured the contents of both cans into it, and started mixing. When he finished, Lance licked the spoon. “Not bad,” he thought. He opened up the sandwiches and gave each one a good swipe of his chocolate concoction. Not too little; not too much. Just right.

  “Lance, is that you downstairs?” Lance heard his mom call out.

  Lance had to get out of there quick. He closed the sandwiches and wrapped them back up in the aluminum foil. He grabbed his backpack out of the kitchen closet. He dumped everything into the bag: the two empty cans, the spoon, and the sandwiches. He forgot about the bowl on the table.

  “Well, this better work, or I'm gonna be in a big, stinky mess,” Lance said to himself.

  Lance heard his mom coming down the stairs. Suddenly, they were both standing in the kitchen staring at each other: eyeball to eyeball.

  “Lance Chance, where are you running off to so early?”

  “I'm going to clear the air, Mom. I'm going to clear the air!” And with that, Lance was out the door.

  Chapter 12

  STINKY MERRY

  Mr. Rubio had indeed made a speedy recovery and was at the chalkboard continuing yesterday's lesson. All of Mr. Rubio students were busy copying the lesson into their notebooks. Lance was back on Skid Row when Merry Maddox and the Crazy M&M's strolled into class, late as usual.

  “Good morning. You're late. Please take your seats,” Mr. Rubio said to Merry Maddox and her posse. They said nothing.

  After they were seated, Merry Maddox turned to Lance and said, “Well, if it isn't the wind between my cheeks. How's it going Fart-u-Lance? Wasn't yesterday a real gas?” Merry Maddox giggled at her little joke.

  “My finger might need a little pulling after school,” Merry Maddox informed Lance. She waved her bruised and scab-covered finger in Lance's face.

  “Well, Merry, now that I'm a pariah—”

  “A what? Speak English,” Merry Maddox demanded.

  Lance continued, “Now that nobody wants me around, I thought maybe I could join the Crazy M&M's. Fred and Ted immediately stopped making their daily supply of spitballs.

  Merry Maddox laughed, “You're too goody-two-shoes to join the Crazy M&M's.”

  “No, I'm not,” said Lance

  “Prove it,” Merry Maddox shot back.

  And just like that, Lance reached over and grabbed a straw and a moist spitball off Fred's desk. Fred and Ted immediately stopped their sneer
ing and chomping. Sneering and chomping.

  Lance placed the spitball on the tip of the straw, put the straw between his lips, and blew. The spitball sailed through the air, made a high arc and then landed on the top of one of the Derrick twins' heads.

  Merry Maddox, somewhat impressed, said, “Well, it's a start. Let me think about it.”

  Lance reached over and grabbed another spitball off Fred's desk. Once again, Lance put a spitball on the tip of the straw, but this time Lance dug deep into his nose and pulled out a nasty, yellowish booger. He placed the booger on the top of the spitball, put the straw between his lips and blew. The combination booger/spit ball sailed through the air, made another high arc and landed on the top of the other Derrick twins' head.

  “I'm impressed. You might have potential,” Merry Maddox said matter-of-factly.

  “I also brought you a present,” Lance said. “Two pepperoni and cheese sandwiches with garlic sauce. But this time I added just a bit of chocolate frosting to give them that sweet and sour taste.” Lance held out the sandwiches.

  Merry Maddox was shocked! No one ever gave her presents.

  “Lance, 'ol pal, you shouldn't have,” Merry Maddox purred.

  Instantly, the purr grew into a growl. “Give me those!” Merry Maddox snatched the two sandwiches from Lance and devoured each one right then and there.

  “Yummy,” said Merry Maddox. And with that she let out a soft and stinky burp.

  Lance crossed his fingers. He hoped and prayed that Merry Maddox hadn't farted since yesterday when his ‘wish-kiss’ came true. Otherwise, she might not fall for his plan. Thankfully, Merry Maddox liked to conserve her gas attacks for school. As far as hearing anything on television about farts having colors, well, everyone knew Merry Maddox's parents had taken her television privileges away when she was five.