Spud - Learning to Fly

by John van de Ruit

  18:00 Boggo came charging into the dining hall and said he had just witnessed the actress from Wild Coast getting out of her car and he reckons she’s the hottest chick he’s ever seen in the flesh. He then said he was too in love to eat mediocre food and tore back to the theatre to offer technical help.

  20:30 There was much mocking and jeering as the matrics and Pike set off to watch Wild Coast. Boggo became so desperate that he tried to bribe Meany Dlamini in the main quad and received hard labour for his troubles. Boggo said his quest to be the sound operator was doomed because by the time he got to the theatre there was already a waiting list of twenty sound operators and a fight had broken out over who was manning the follow spot. Boggo says the reason that the third years weren’t allowed to attend the play had nothing to do with nudity and age restrictions. He reckons the real reason is that Wild Coast is completely sold out. The local farming community has booked in their droves and a farmer’s co-op from Fort Nottingham has reserved over a hundred and twenty seats. Boggo said the whole thing was iniquitous. ‘Our folks,’ he whined, ‘pay shitloads for our education. This play should be for our cultural development, not for a bunch of horny sheep farmers from Fort Nottingham.’

  Norman Whiteside, our officious new head of house, had grandly announced that he was forgoing Wild Coast to keep order in the house. Clearly the idiot thought we wouldn’t notice him wrapped in a scarf and darting behind the walls in the cloisters. The lure of the naked actress has claimed its second victim.

  The school fell silent as the crowds disappeared into the theatre. Rambo, who had from the beginning shown no interest in the play whatsoever, sauntered into the prefects’ kitchen and made himself a pot of tea. We sat around on the house bench while Rambo silently drank his tea. Boggo continued his rant about the severe theatrical injustice that had been dealt to us, while we stared out at Pissing Pete and the general gloom of the deserted quad.

  Rambo downed his tea with a satisfied smack of the lips and said, ‘Right, gather yourselves, gentlemen. It’s time for a christening.’

  The Normal Seven were awake because we caught Spike tormenting Runt and the last remaining Darryl. Rambo didn’t stop in the second year dorm but continued into the first year dorm and closed the door behind us once we were all through. The first years were all asleep or at least faking sleep. Fatty wasted no time in marching to the first cubicle on the left and shaking one of the new boys awake. From under his trench coat he produced the house telephone, which he and Boggo had unplugged and stolen.

  Fatty told the new boy that his mom was on the line and handed the first year the receiver. The gullible first year took the receiver in a sleepy daze, placed it on his ear and said, ‘Hi, Mom.’ Fatty nearly fell over, he was laughing so much. The poor first year didn’t know what was going on and looked on the verge of tears.

  Boggo then ordered the new boys out of their beds and told them to line up in front of us. The new boys silently obeyed and soon stood shivering pathetically in their pyjamas. Vern strode forward, thumped his left foot into the ground and saluted ferociously. Boggo groaned and Garlic burst into loud laughter. The new boys all saluted back at Vern who, satisfied, took a gigantic step backwards to where he’d been standing before. Fatty closed his eyes and took a deep breath that whistled tunefully through his nostrils. After a few more seconds he said, ‘Be seated.’ The new boys obeyed immediately.

  Boggo pointed at the smallest boy and said, ‘Hey, you, dickcheese. Stand up.’ The frightened first year scrambled to his feet and stood to attention, looking desperate not to offend. Boggo examined him closely before turning to Fatty and saying, ‘I think this is the one. I’d recognise Meg Ryan’s nose any day.’ Fatty examined the new boy’s nose and agreed it was definitely the same as Meg Ryan’s. Boggo looked the boy up and down and asked, ‘What’s your name?’ The first year replied with an extremely Spudly, ‘Er, sir, my name is Jack.’ Boggo nodded solemnly and replied, ‘Bad news, Jack. Bishop Boggo is about to knock over the king and ace the queen!’ Boggo nodded at Vern who immediately produced a pad of paper and a pen. He then licked his fingers manically and began paging through his notebook searching for a clean page.

  ‘Address?’ demanded Boggo. The poor first year coughed up all his mother’s details, including her name (Virginia), star sign (Pisces) and favourite food (Lobster Thermidoor). Unfortunately for Boggo, Jack had no idea whatsoever what his mother’s bra size was or whether she had any kinky outfits in her closet or not. Boggo ordered Vern to put Jack’s mother down for a 32D size bra and a leopard print obsession. Boggo christened Jack with the nickname ‘Meg Ryan’s Son’ and told him it was a possibility that he may soon have to address Boggo as Dad.

  There was a triumphant shout from the far end of the dormitory where Fatty had just discovered a gold mine of tuck under a new boy’s bed. Immediately the largest of the first years jumped up with a look of panic spreading across his round face. He blurted, ‘Sir, that’s mine, sir, it’s special food, sir, because I have a spastic colon.’ While wolfing down a box of wheat cookies, Fatty quizzed the large boy about his spastic colon and took a great interest in each item of tuck and what its health benefits were. The new boy became desperate and begged, ‘Please don’t eat all my food, sir.’ Fatty looked deeply wounded and replied, ‘What do you take me for – some kind of animal?’ He then poured an entire packet of dried prunes into his mouth and chomped away noisily whilst riffling through the boy’s underpants drawer. ‘Oh, and don’t call me sir,’ he mumbled, with prunes tumbling out the sides of his mouth. ‘Sir is what you call teachers. I’d rather you called me something like … Guru.’

  ‘Oh guru my guru!’ gushed Rambo as he leant nonchalantly against the door. Even the new boys laughed.

  Simon suggested that since the new boy’s name is Graham, he should be called ‘Fat Graham’. But Fatty was having none of it. He said Graham was well short of obese, and would have to pack on at least thirty kilograms if he wanted to be considered properly fat. We finally all agreed on ‘Plump Graham’ for a nickname. Plump Graham blushed scarlet and sat down looking humiliated.

  ‘Who’s the one with the skew willy?’ shouted Garlic immediately. None of the first years raised their hands so Boggo made them all strip from the waist while Garlic and Fatty examined their privates and Vern aimed the torch. The culprit was immediately exposed and the humiliated first year was christened ‘Sidewinder’ and mocked mercilessly for the next ten minutes.

  Boggo christened the fourth boy ‘Gastro’ without giving an explanation. It then took quite some time to work out whether the final boy was either painfully shy or completely mute. Fatty eventually lost patience with the boy’s continuing silence and nicknamed him ‘Rowdy’.

  Once all the first years had been christened, Rambo stepped forward to speak. I noticed the fear and respect glowing in the new boys’ eyes. It seems amazing that without saying a single word Rambo can somehow command focus. It was like some great chief was about to make a dramatic announcement before a historic battle. When he spoke his voice was oddly gentle. ‘Boys, I want you to know,’ he began, ‘that we are on your side. This is just normal initiation. We don’t mean you any harm.’

  ‘Ja, right!’ chortled Boggo and began shadow humping Meg Ryan’s Son’s locker. Rambo looked at the first years with a meaningful stare and said, ‘Boys, I want to know who’s been giving you shit?’

  There was a long silence as the new boys refused to meet his eyes.

  ‘Tell me!’ demanded Rambo, this time in a more forceful voice. Still nobody spoke. Eventually, Plump Graham raised his hand tentatively and said, ‘Sir. Um … we aren’t meant to rat, sir, because we’ve been told that if you rat, sir … then you get kind of … killed, sir.’

  ‘Who told you that?’ asked Rambo.

  ‘Sir, we can’t say, sir.’

  Rambo tried his best to look friendly but ended up looking a little frightening. He said, ‘Telling a prefect or Viking is ratting – but sharing this informatio
n with me is a display of good school spirit.’ His eyes locked onto those of Plump Graham. ‘Tell me,’ he said once again, his voice growing slightly menacing. ‘I want a name.’

  Plump Graham looked around nervously but the others seemed to be nodding and egging him on. Plump Graham turned to Rambo and whispered:

  ‘Spike.’

  A sly smile spread across Rambo’s face as he led us all back to our dormitory.

  The Fragile Five

  Plump Graham

  Sidewinder

  Gastro

  Rowdy

  Meg Ryan’s Son

  Once back in the dorm, Boggo hurriedly changed into his finest civvies and announced that he was ‘bonking out’ to find the Wild Coast actress. Rambo warned him that he could be facing expulsion if caught. Boggo stood up proudly and said, ‘For her, I’d risk death by firing squad.’ He then gave himself yet another blast of deodorant and strode out the dormitory without saying another word.

  23:30 Boggo woke us all up to say that sparks were flying between him and the actress, and that a dramatic shag was looming on the horizon. He said he’d met the gorgeous beauty at the stage door and helped pack her bags and props into the car. According to Boggo, the hot actress then kissed him ‘with a tongue that could strangle a boa constrictor’ and handed him a red rose before driving off into the night.

  I must admit this all seemed a little far-fetched. Boggo is famous for lying about his conquests with women and it’s a known fact that the majority of girls find him utterly gross and perverted.

  Rambo demanded proof of conquest. Boggo sniggered and pulled a rather crushed red rose out of the back of his pants and handed it over to Rambo. Garlic burst into applause and said, ‘I’ve always wanted to shag an actress!’ Boggo told Garlic that he could probably fix him up with one of the actress’s hot friends.

  Then Rambo began his inquisition:

  RAMBO So you’re saying this hot actress walked offstage, picked a rose for you, stuck her tongue down your throat and left?

  BOGGO (After vigorous high five with Fatty) She was gagging for it.

  RAMBO And she kissed you.

  BOGGO Savagely. Kiss and run – brutal stuff.

  RAMBO So tell me, Don Boggo – if this is your rose, why is there a note attached to it that reads:

  Katherine

  Break a leg my darling

  Pieter Scholtz

  Obviously Boggo hadn’t noticed the note because his mouth fell wide open when he read it. He then tried to convince us that the note had become attached to the rose by accident, but nobody was buying it.

  Rambo found Boggo guilty of lying, threw his alarm clock out the window, and accused him of kissing Pieter Scholtz instead.

  Boggo said we were all jealous, stole Vern’s alarm clock, and stormed off to bed in a huff.

  Sunday 9th February

  AA MEETING

  20:00 I knocked on Lennox’s kitchen door and heard a baby begin wailing in a back room. The door flew open and there stood a wild looking Lennox beaming out from behind his bushy beard. He invited me in and I took a seat in his cosy living room. Mrs Lennox poured me some coffee before rushing off to attend to her baby daughter who was trying her best to break the sound barrier.

  After twenty minutes of making conversation with Lennox, I began to get the sinking feeling that I may be the only one in the society this year. I noticed Lennox kept glancing at his watch and trying his best not to look alarmed. He even went outside a couple of times in case new members were having difficulty in finding his house. Each time he returned alone, looking more and more hurt and despondent.

  20:35 We both heaved a great sigh of relief when there was a loud rapping on the kitchen door. Lennox shot out of his seat, pulled open the kitchen door and led the new recruit into the living room.

  It was Rambo.

  Rambo grinned at me like he was up to something. He then helped himself to coffee and settled into the rocking chair near the empty fireplace. Lennox confirmed that since there were only two members at the first meeting, I should be appointed president and Rambo the treasurer of the society. Thankfully, he said he would perform the role of AA secretary himself until more boys joined up.

  Rambo took a loud slurp of his coffee and said, ‘Sir, that’s not a democratic decision. Surely there should be a vote on this?’ Lennox was rather taken aback at Rambo’s confidence and seemed to scald his mouth after gulping his coffee in a moment of panic. I decided against reminding Rambo that he had cancelled democracy forever last week.

  ‘In any case,’ said Rambo, ‘I have far more leadership qualities than Spud, so it would be common sense to make me president and Spud my treasurer.’

  Lennox reasoned that since I had been in the society longer I should be given preference. Rambo scoffed and said, ‘But, sir, if seniority was the only criterion for choosing leaders we would still be barbarians charging around raping and pillaging!’

  Lennox’s face broke into a smile and he said, ‘Some would say, Mr Black, that that’s exactly where we are right now.’

  And thus began a two-hour battle of wits between Lennox and Rambo. I hardly said a word as the pair fought out an epic battle of intellectual ping-pong. Eventually, Lennox looked at his watch with a start and said it was 10:30pm and that we had to end. He then declared that this was the best AA meeting we had ever had and said Rambo was a breath of fresh air to the society. Nothing further was said about who would be the AA president and an elated Lennox led us out with an arm over Rambo’s shoulder.

  Rambo insisted on walking about twenty metres behind me on the way back to the dorm. It was the most uncomfortable three hundred metres of my life.

  Thursday 13th February

  Received a long and miserable letter from the Mermaid saying she’s ‘seeing’ somebody else and that she still loves me but wanted me to know the truth.

  Boggo sauntered past me as I was re-reading it on my bed and said, ‘Never a good sign the day before Valentine’s. Never good.’

  Fatty followed behind, shaking his head and whistling under his breath.

  Spent the rest of the day thinking of Mermaid, her someone else, and death. At least Christine’s party on Saturday offers me a shot at redemption.

  Friday 14th February

  Valentine’s Day. 0 letters

  Vern has got Spike thrashed by Viking for Bad Form in the Bogs and Surrounds. This is the first time any punishment has been dished out for the offence and I couldn’t think of a more deserving recipient. Unfortunately, this also means that Vern has been given real power in the house, which is the equivalent of giving a chainsaw to a deranged toddler!

  Feeling angry with Mermaid. It’s like she says one thing to me in the holidays and then the opposite when I get back to school. Clearly she’s insane, and I’m altogether better off without her in my life.

  Worse than anything, she dumped me in the Valentine’s season again! That’s twice in a row and totally uncalled for.

  Boggo couldn’t eat because he’s so excited about demonstrating his foolproof pick-up routine tomorrow night. I hope it really is foolproof because I’m getting desperate and my semi-arid love life is quickly turning into the Sahara Desert.

  Saturday 15th February

  Mr Ashleigh-Meyer called off our match against Highfield because he said the pitch was unplayable. He pointed at the muddy patch two-thirds of the way down the wicket and called it ‘a death waiting to happen’. The fact that both teams and the opposition coach were keen to play made no difference and the Highfield team returned to their bus where they spent the entire morning and most of the afternoon.

  The Party

  18:30 The Crazy Eight lined up at the school gates and handed over our leave permission slips to the security guard. He stamped them without question and handed them all back to us before opening the big gates. Suddenly Rambo was sprinting down the path towards the station. We followed him over the railway lines, through a fence and out onto the road. We eventually found
him lighting up a cigarette behind a tree near the entrance to the chicken farm.

  ‘What the stuff was all that about?’ gasped Fatty, looking like he was midway through an aneurysm. Rambo took a deep drag on his cigarette and said, ‘Let’s just call it a life fulfilment exercise …’

  After waiting around for ages in the dark, a rusty Isuzu bakkie roared to a stop in front of us. A cheeky looking guy dressed in a khaki shirt lunged out of the window and shouted, ‘You guys the Crazy Eight?’ When I got up close to the cab it became apparent that our designated drivers were already as drunk as skunks.

  ‘How come there are only seven of you?’ enquired the co-driver before draining a tin of Ohlssons lager and tossing it out the window.

  ‘Fatty chowed the eighth dude,’ shouted Rambo as he leapt onto the back of the bakkie. Everyone laughed and soon we were tearing through the night shouting and howling, feeling the chilled air sting our eyes. The hooligans up front swerved from side to side, hooting and laughing hysterically. I held onto Fatty’s leg and looked up towards a sky of satellites galloping through space desperately looking for a good time of their own.

  CHRISTINE’S PARTY

  RATING 7/10

  VENUE Christine’s friend’s parents’ ‘cottage’ (6 bed-rooms, 6 bathrooms, pool, pool room, pool table, etc)

  HIGHLIGHTS

  Good crowd

  Amanda wasn’t there

  Beers were R2 each

  LOWLIGHTS

  Fatty, Garlic and Vern (twice) threw up

  Fatty was caught trying to steal large quantities of food from the kitchen freezer