When I first entered the teaching profession nearly twenty years ago, I still harbored misconceptions about the thoroughness of a high school’s operations. As I suspected it was with most outsiders, I assumed that every minute of each day was meticulously scheduled for the students’ academic benefit. I soon discovered, however, that high schools invariably had pockets of unproductively woven into the frayed fabric of their routine. Of course, it was uncouth and unprofessional for upstarts to verbalize a complaint against the system, so if a fledgling teacher had aspirations of maintaining employment within any district, he learned to swallow his unsolicited opinions like a potage of molten lava.
A fifth period study hall located in the high school’s auditorium served as the antithesis to its namesake. In my estimation, corralling fifty-five students into an undersized theatre for over forty minutes a day five times a week was a concoction bound to beget boredom. A crucial problem, apart from the incessant chatter echoing off the ceiling, was that not even the ambitious students had enough room to work comfortably on their homework. If anything academic was done at all, it usually occurred across folded knees in between rounds of social interplay. As the teacher in charge, my main duty entailed keeping the restless inhabitants relatively contained. This futile task, as those who had attempted it would’ve vouched, registered as about as much fun as being administered a colonoscopy from a blind proctologist.
As I turned into the corridor leading toward the auditorium, another unsettling vision besieged my eyes. Apparently, Regan Cordell hadn’t neglected to inform Drew Mincer that I wanted to speak to him. Honestly, because of this morning’s other calamities, I had almost forgotten about the circumstance involving Stanley Glacer. However, it didn’t require me more than a few seconds to remember why I avoided Drew like a virulent disease. A single glance at his smug face almost impelled me to slap some common decency into his head with the backside of my hand. Teachers often jested about a reinstitution of corporal punishment. In most instances, we were merely venting, but I’m betting that the lawmakers who abolished this type of discipline never encountered the brash and defiant demeanor of anyone quite like Drew.
I once fooled myself into believing that Drew’s propensity for abusiveness was uncommon. Yet those familiar with such conduct realized that his bullying wasn’t anymore of an anomaly than teenage indolence or acne. In truth, this form of territorial control existed in all segments of society, and perhaps extended into personal relationships as well. A bid for dominance always surfaced when people were forced or compelled to spend time with those they perceived as inferior.
Drew pushed bullying to another tier of detestability because he seemed mindlessly invigorated by his aggression. Over the past few years, a gaggle of dull-witted administrators and consolers labored to dissect Drew’s social deficiencies, but their misguided reports were as fruitless as a withered pear tree. Nothing from their research substantiated Drew’s penchant for pummeling his meek-minded prey. From what I learned, his parents were still contently married, and they lived in a middleclass neighborhood on the outskirts of Ravendale Heights. Without any domestic disharmony or impoverishment to use as a crutch to hobble through life, Drew’s own habits came under scrutiny. But as far as I knew, he had no history with drug addiction, and typically scored higher on tests than most of the other students.
My own theory on Drew’s malicious nature was far less forgiving, although it humbled the pseudo-intellects who felt obligated to affix a label of victimization to explicate his behavior. As unorthodox as my explanation seemed to them, it couldn’t be refuted. I hypothesized that some individuals, with Drew serving as a prime example, were simply loathsome human beings. I had an inclination that Drew was wired from birth to inflict psychological and physical wounds on those who strayed within range of his toxic disposition.
From my perspective, this morning’s events revealed no improvement in Drew’s volatile temperament. He leaned his six-foot stature casually against a brick veneer column outside the auditorium. As always, he scoffed at those who seemed unnerved by his presence. I received a condescending grin once he noticed me pacing toward him. Physically, Drew stood almost as tall as I, but he had much broader shoulders and at least twenty pounds of additional muscle to his frame. I couldn’t describe as him an uncomely boy, but his beady, deep-set eyes were set too closely together, giving his facial features a compressed appearance. I also noticed something about him that I hadn’t observed before this moment. He had a conspicuously pale scar tracing down his neck’s left side, starting near his earlobe, before disappearing into his shirt’s rounded collar.
Fortunately, my past interactions with Drew were limited, and I had only random reports from colleagues, like Mrs. Fassal, to remind me of his contemptuous ways. I still believed most people had an ability to change if they recognized their faults, but this boy was an exception. He typified everything I disliked about young, egotistical men. He must’ve sensed my disgust as I approached him today.
“Hey, Cobbs,” he bellowed. “I heard you were lookin’ for me.” Drew proceeded to pop his knuckles in succession as I strolled up beside him. I resisted an impulse to lash out at him immediately. Drew thrived on such verbal combat, and I had no intention of playing to his strengths. My flimsy plan relied on casting a general impression of composure, but I had little expectation that this façade would’ve withstood his cynicism for more than a few seconds.
“You heard right, Drew,” I answered. “I wanted to talk to you.”
Drew crossed his arms in front of his chest, sealing off any gesture of compliance from my viewpoint. He looked as though my ailment sickened him more than me. “Wow,” he remarked. “You look like total crap, Cobbs. Just don’t get too close, got it?”
“No worries there,” I returned. “Look, for both our sakes, I’ll keep this brief, Drew. Besides, I don’t know how else to say this without sounding accusatory, so I’m just going to come out and ask you.”
“Go for it,” he replied, shrugging his shoulders.
“A rumor has been floating around the school that you’re looking to pick a fight with Stanley Glacer. Does that sound accurate?”
Drew flashed a watertight grin, revealing more insight into his motivations than what his limited vocabulary would’ve foretold. “I don’t know what you’re talkin’ about,” he lied.
“You’ll only make me stay here longer if you deny it.”
Drew reflected momentarily before his mouth split asunder with a tawny-toothed grin. “Oh, you must mean that deformed kid who felt up my girlfriend.”
“He’s not deformed.”
“Sure coulda fooled me,” he cackled.
“I don’t care how you think Stanley looks, Drew. I just need for you to get your facts right.”
The smile vanished from Drew’s lips as he tightened his fists into pearly balls. He was prepared to make my mission as burdensome as possible.
“I already got the story from Regan. If you ask me, the kid’s a creepy pervert.”
Attempting to converse logically with Drew was as productive as squeezing water from a rock. Had I not already committed myself to this duty, I might’ve surrendered to his stupidity and walked away.
“I think you know that Stanley isn’t the kind of kid who goes around grabbing girls inappropriately. As a matter of fact, I already spoke to Stanley and he explained that nothing happened.”
Drew forwarded a cocksure smirk that would’ve caused a pacifist to contemplate assault and battery. I suspected that he was quite adept at impelling ordinarily peaceful men onto the brink of barbarism. But of course I realized my disadvantage if I provoked him into using his fists to support his snide comments. Unfortunately, a physical confrontation between us would’ve resulted in the scrutiny of my actions rather than his own. Since Drew was not quite an imbecile, he knew I had no legal right to put my hands on him.
“Now let me tell you something, Cobbs,” said Drew. He then pivoted his back off the brick column and squared his s
houlders so that they nearly connected with my own. “Most teachers around here have enough smarts to keep out of my face. Up until today, you’ve done a pretty good job staying out of my way. Why change anything now?”
“Firstly, my name is Mister Cobbs to you, and secondly, I didn’t come here to explain my intentions. All I’m asking is for you to back off of Stanley. He’s got enough problems without you adding to the list.”
“Hey, don’t blame me for his ugly mug. I didn’t even hit him yet. But even if I punched him dead straight in the face five or six times, do you think anyone would really notice? Hell, it might even be an improvement.”
Drew dallied for a few seconds to check his reflection in a trophy case’s glass window. Although he smiled confidently at his image, I wondered if he recognized how rotten he truly appeared to everyone around him. As he dragged his fingers through his oily, shoulder-length hair, I felt an insatiable urge to knock him headlong through the plate glass. Of course, I did nothing but wait for his attention to return to me.
“Are we done here now, Cobbs? Oh, I meant to say Mister Cobbs.”
“You think you’re better than most people around here, don’t you, Drew?” I asked, ignoring his superciliousness.
“Isn’t it obvious?” he gloated.
“Maybe it’s not as clear as you think it is. For example, does it bother you to know that Regan Cordell uses you to harass and intimidate the kids she doesn’t like?”
“That’s your opinion.”
“It’s easy enough to verify. The truth of the matter is that she doesn’t have any more respect for you than anyone else around this place.”
Drew puffed out his chest, rippling his flesh-forming T-shirt in a bid to induce me to retreat. He might’ve even felt inclined to hit me, and had it not been for the numerous spectators milling about, he would’ve most likely acted upon this impulse. Despite my disadvantage, I held my position as if prepared to counteract his attack.
“What do you know about anything, Cobbs?” he said. “You’re just a good for nothin’ teacher. My folks say that’s what losers do in life when they can’t do anything else to earn a livin’.”
“I’m glad to hear we have so much parental support,” I quipped. “But I don’t want to digress here, Drew, so let’s just focus on you and Stanley. If you leave the boy alone, we’ll never have to talk to one another again. Sound like a deal?”
Compromising with Drew was like settling differences with a riled rattlesnake. I expected no cooperation on his part. He found it more agreeable to laugh hardily in my face. “You know,” he chuckled, “you’re really pathetic. I don’t deal with your kind. Got it, teach?”
“I figured you were too dumb to make a smart choice,” I said. “But I had to prove myself right.”
“You better watch out who you call dumb, ’cause I’ll report you for talkin’ down to the students. You know how fragile our little egos are, Cobbs. We’re too damn sensitive to take criticism. Haven’t you figured it out yet? We’re running the show around here, and don’t you ever forget it.”
“I’m reminded of it everyday, Drew.”
“Then why don’t you just step off now and take what little dignity you got left along with you?”
“I’ll leave when we come to some agreement on Stanley.”
“Forget about him, Cobbs. He’s done wrong to my girl, and I’m gonna whack him in his pus-filled noggin until he cries for his mommy.”
“Do you actually believe Regan is telling you the truth? She’s a known liar and manipulator. I’ve watched her chew boys up even bigger than you. Besides, you’re not going to prove anything to that girl by pulverizing a kid half your size. She’s just pulling your strings. Do you enjoy being her puppet?”
“You still don’t get it,” Drew grimaced. “It doesn’t matter anymore if Stanley grabbed Regan’s tits or not. People around here expect me to retaliate, and that’s exactly what’s going to happen.”
“When did you learn to be so cruel?”
Drew sniggered at me as if I was merely an obstacle he had overstepped a hundred times before. He then leaned in closer to my face, taunting me with his tobacco-tainted breath and smoldering black eyes. “If I didn’t know any better,” he said, “I’d swear that you want to hit me right now. But we both know that you ain’t got the stones to do it. Am I right, Cobbs?”
“In another place and time, you might find out.”
“Ha ha, you’re a quirky dude, you know that? Quirky, but weak. I can tell you don’t like me, and that makes sense from where you’re standing. You know, I’m willing to bet that I remind you of someone from your past.”
“Nobody worth remembering.”
“But maybe somebody who used to kick your ass,” he mused. “That must be it, ’cause you look like the type of guy who got his head stuffed in dirty toilet bowls as a kid. Am I hitting the mark yet, Mister Cobbs?”
“Not even close.”
“C’mon, you don’t have to hide it from me. I know what a pussy looks like when I see one.” Drew tilted his head and pretended to sniff the air in front of me before saying, “And you wear your fear like cheap cologne.”
“That’s not fear, Drew. It’s just cheap cologne.”
“Yeah,” he said hoarsely. “Keep making your jokes. I guess that’s your way to cover up your weaknesses. But we both know the truth. The only reason you’re here trying to protect that ghoulish kid is because you used to be just like him.”
The longer I remained in Drew’s company, the more I understood the concept of vanquishing a scourge for the betterment of society. Maybe I wasn’t powerful enough to be a victor in any scuffle with this opponent, but at least I’d unleash a couple of solid blows to stunt his conniving smirk. Because of my close proximity to him, we managed to attract the snooping eyes of numerous students. They surrounded us as if we were two cage-fighters about to square off.
“Why don’t you make a move?” Drew coaxed me. “You want to be a hero? You want to be the guy who said he took down Drew Mincer? Go ahead. Take your best shot, old man. I’ll even let you hit me first.”
“It’s a tempting offer,” I muttered. “In fact, few things would give me more satisfaction.”
“It’s too bad that you ain’t got any guts, Cobbs, ’cause after I finish beating your ass, you’d make Stanley look like a runway model in comparison.”
If our standoff continued for much longer, I couldn’t guarantee that I’d maintain my composure. Fortunately, the tension diffused dramatically when Mitch Dalton elbowed his way through the crowd to observe the impasse firsthand. Even Drew had his natural boundaries when it came to bullying, and Mitch’s ursine-sized physique caused the miscreant to curtail his hostilities momentarily. Mitch came up behind me and cupped one beefy hand on my shoulder, nearly tilting me in my stance. As always, he wore his burgundy and gold football jersey as if the number 55 was tattooed to his skin.
“Everything okay over here, Mr. Cobbs?” Mitch’s voice sounded sonorous and formidable, almost as if he was speaking into the mouth of a tunnel. Before Mitch was done enunciating his greeting, Drew drifted away from me and resumed his original stance against a brick wall near the auditorium’s doors.
“How are you doing, Mitch?” I asked, exhaling simultaneously.
“Not too shabby. Hey, I just wanted to let you know that my sister really appreciated all the help you gave her last year with her college essay. She’s got an A average in her writing course right now.”
From my perspective, Mitch’s gratitude was timed well, but somewhat unusual under the tense circumstances. “I’m glad to hear that, Mitch. Tell Pamela I said hello. And if you’re looking for some extra help with your own writing, you know where to find me.”
Mitch nodded his chin receptively, but his eyes gradually focused on Drew. Eventually, when the awkwardness proved too unbearable, Drew strolled into the auditorium with a few of his cronies in tow. I made no attempt to follow him inside, but our conversation didn’t fee
l quite finished.
“Is Drew giving you a hard time?” Mitch questioned.
“I think he has a knack for doing that to everyone,” I responded.
“I can make him leave you alone if you want, Mr. Cobbs. Hell, I never liked that guy anyway.”
Mitch’s offer was almost too compelling for me to reject. Perhaps Mitch could’ve furnished the humiliation that Drew required, but it wasn’t fair or proper for me to involve the only student who had a marginal chance to outdo a bully at his own pastime. This battle, if it indeed evolved to such a degree, belonged in my hands alone.
“I appreciate your concern,” I told Mitch, “but I have to deal with Drew on my own terms. Besides, if there’s any kind of karma in this world, he’ll get what he deserves sooner or later.”
Mitch seemed satisfied by my canned response, but I sounded like a conventional-minded man in my own calculations. From my past experiences, I learned that those who lived despicably encountered no more or less hardships than those who waltzed through life with unblemished records. Although my personal impression of Mitch was far more agreeable in comparison to Drew, I still detected traits in his character that troubled me. Namely, Mitch’s blatant addiction to steroids remained a topic that I had averted in the past, but I suddenly felt courageous in this morning’s pursuits.
“It might not be the best time for me to mention this, Mitch,” I said, “but I can’t pretend that I haven’t noticed changes in you since September. That juice you’re taking to bulk up is only going to cause problems later on in life.”
As expected, Mitch looked disheveled by my comment. He immediately dropped his hand from my shoulder and assumed a more defensive posture. He, however, made no attempt to deny my accusation.
“It ain’t easy getting a football scholarship nowadays,” he said. “For a guy like me, it’s the only way I can get into a good school.”
“Is it worth your health and reputation?”
“I can’t give up my edge, Mr. Cobbs. All the serious athletes are on something.”
“It sounds like you don’t think you can make the cut based on your own abilities.” It didn’t provide me any pleasure to be so blunt with Mitch, but I suspected such a lecture was long overdue. “You can’t pretend to be better than you really are forever. Eventually, your true talents will be exposed.”
“It’s got nothin’ to do with how talented I am. I’ve already proven myself to the scouts. Guys juice up to stay big. It’s a fact. We can’t afford to slack off.”
“So all the guys on the team are shooting this stuff into their veins?” I didn’t expect him to snitch on anyone specifically, but he stared at me as if I had simply turned my head away from the truth for far too long.
“It’ll never change now,” he explained. “The colleges have too much at stake.”
“What about the students’ lives?”
Mitch rolled his shoulders and replied somewhat reluctantly, “We all know the risks, but for most of us football is all we got. If I don’t make the team in college, I forfeit my scholarships. I can’t afford to take that risk.”
“There’s other ways to go to college, Mitch. I’m sure your parents or sister told you that.”
“I ain’t so smart, Mr. Cobbs. And it sucks to be ordinary.”
Mitch forwarded a reserved smile and patted me on the back with a hand that felt like it was gloved in cast iron. “You’re a cool guy, Mr. Cobbs,” he said. “It’s nice to know that you’re lookin’ out for kids like me. But maybe you should just leave some things alone. It’s not always a good idea to get involved.”
Mitch didn’t wait around for me to clog his mind with any counter logic. He lumbered off through the dispersing crowd just as abruptly as he arrived, leaving me standing outside the auditorium alone. Although he was blind to the point, Mitch’s dedication to sports had cost him dearly. I surmised he presently didn’t have the aptitude to read beyond the sixth-grade level, and it upset me to conclude that this shortcoming belonged to his teachers and coaches almost as much as it did to him. Collectively, there was enough blame to be passed around to light up a scoreboard. I couldn’t help but to wonder what happened to most of those second rate athletes after the final whistle blew. For as long as colleges accepted students on their ability to catch a pass or dribble a ball, the sad stories of those like Mitch Dalton would’ve never ceased to exist.
I soon found myself pressed up against the same brick column that Drew utilized a few seconds earlier. It might’ve been a better idea for me to wander unceremoniously inside the auditorium and blend in with the students before the onset of my next episode. But I couldn’t risk being spotted by Drew, not in such an obvious state of disarray. I elected to remain plastered against the support column for a few seconds, hoping that any lingering stares became indifferent to my current plight.
In a futile bid to conceal my distress, I ultimately ducked behind the auditorium’s double doors to wait out the duration of my next spell. Then, after securing my own stealth, I inadvertently noticed Desiree Meadows standing somewhat lackadaisically outside the gymnasium on the hallway’s opposite side. Another female student who I didn’t recognize had one hand nestled on the Desiree’s shoulder. Because both girls appeared visibly dismayed, I assumed the source of Desiree’s apparent grief was no longer a mystery to her friend. Perhaps I might’ve intervened at this point, but my subliminal thoughts still had other pathways of consequence to expose. Once conceding to this inevitability, I settled against the doors and let my visions escort me into yet another unprecedented realm.
Chapter 33
10: 44 A.M.
The Classic Crusade of Corbin Cobbs Page 32
