The Tent in the Gymnasium

by Brian S. Wheeler

Chapter 4 - It’s All Just Make-Believe...

  “Keep your hands to yourself, Hudson.”

  After over three decades as the middle school secretary, Mrs. Ramsey evolved invisible eyes in the back of her head. She never turned from the humming copy machine as she reprimanded Hudson the moment his hand stretched towards the lamination machine placed on the counter in front of that bench upon which he waited for his mother’s arrival. Mrs. Ramsey’s additional duties included those of school receptionist and nurse, and her busy days left her little patience for the supervision of students dropped in her office.

  “You heard what Principal Maddox told you, Hudson. You’re to sit silently on that bench and wait for your mother. You’re not to fidget and paw at every machine that catches your eye. Do you understand, Hudson?”

  Hudson nodded and dangled his legs over the bench. He could do nothing but wait as anxiety knotted his stomach. Crying would earn him no sympathy from Mrs. Ramsey, and Hudson doubted any tears remained in his itching eyes. Principal Maddox had confiscated his pocketknife before disappearing behind his office door. Hudson knew Principal Maddox would not speak to him until his mother arrived, leaving Hudson on that bench, clutching at ideas that might bring that knife back into his possession. Hudson failed to think of a single, hopeful scheme.

  “What’s wrong with Hudson? Who’s bullying him now? What has Mrs. Jordan done?”

  Lori Keel bounded into the office in a swirl of scarfs and sweaters. Outside cold and inner agitation flushed her face red, and she didn’t peek towards Hudson as she stomped to the office’s front counter.

  “Where’s Principal Maddox?”

  Mrs. Ramsey still did not turn her attention away from the copy machine. “He will be with you shortly.”

  “What’s this all about today?”

  “It’s not my place to say, Ms. Keel.”

  “I’m not sure you realize it, but it’s not easy to take off from work at a moment’s notice,” Ms. Keel growled at the secretary’s back. “Let me tell you, it’s not easy raising a child, making a living for a boy. Not so easy at all.”

  Hudson held a breath as Principal Maddox appeared in his office doorway. The bravest of Hudson’s classmates called Principal Maddox the warthog. He was a fearful, physical presence for any middle schooler, for the way his forearms seemed too large for any of the principal’s stiff, white shirts, for the way his neck was too wide for any of the principal’s narrow, black ties, for the hairy stubble that shadowed Principal Maddox’s jaw no matter that he shaved each morning. Hudson’s heart quickened as he peeked at the principal. His mouth felt dry. His bottom lip shuddered.

  “Ms. Keel. Hudson. Please step into my office.”

  Hudson shuffled into a green chair set before Principal Maddox’s wide desk. He did his best to ignore the varnished paddle, an artifact of another educational era, mounted on the wall behind Principal Maddox. Though Hudson could not name one classmate to have ever been on the receiving end of it, the paddle intimidated any student called to the principal’s office.

  Ms. Keel unwound a scarf from her neck and deposited it in the middle of Principal Maddox’s desk. “This has to do with that foolish tent again doesn’t it? I really did try to politely share my concerns with Mrs. Jordan, but I can’t say I feel that she much cared to hear what I had to tell her. That tent, and everything that leads up to it, gets Hudson too excited. He can’t handle it. All the music and decorations, all the stories just throw Hudson into a loop. I still don’t understand why you all won’t give him the medicine he needs to help his concentration.”

  Hudson didn’t glance towards his mother as she bombarded the principal with so many words. He didn’t want to watch for one more time as his mother’s face twisted in pity. Instead, he looked upwards from his shoes just long enough to watch Principal Maddox remove his pocketknife from a desk drawer.

  “I’m afraid I haven’t asked you to drive all this way to discuss Hudson’s individual, educational program,” Principal Maddox pushed the pocketknife towards Ms. Keel. “Hudson brought this to school this morning. He hid it in his shoe. Our school must maintain the strictest of policies concerning weapons.”

  Ms. Keel’s shoulders crumpled at the sight of the pocketknife, and Hudson heard her swallow a quick breath.

  “It’s only a knife,” Hudson murmured.

  “Where did you get that knife?” Ms. Keel turned towards Hudson, anger, not pity, written across her face. “Where in the world could you have gotten your hands on such a thing? Please tell me you didn’t steal it. I couldn’t bear to think of you as a thief, Hudson.”

  Hudson feared the room’s silence would suffocate him.

  “Uncle Mark gave it to me.”

  Ms. Keel’s eyes softened a moment before she sobbed. “Oh, Hudson. Do you still not realize what a terrible thing he has done?”

  Principal Maddox tugged at his tie’s knot. “I’ve asked you to come into the office today, Ms. Keel, to discuss the consequences of Hudson’s decision to bring that knife to school.”

  “A weapon, Hudson?” Ms. Keel rubbed her face in her hands. “Why would you do such a thing?”

  “Is someone hurting you?” Principal Maddox readied a notebook and a pen in case he needed to take names.

  Hudson shook his head.

  “Did you want to show it off to one of your classmates?” The principal asked.

  Hudson again shook his head.

  “Then for goodness sake, Hudson, why did you bring that knife to school?” sighed Ms. Keel.

  “I wanted to be prepared,” Hudson started. “I wanted to be ready in case they came.”

  “In case who came?” Principal Maddox leaned forward.

  Hudson felt another fit of crying rising to his eyes. He wanted to jump from that chair and flee into the hallway, away from his mother’s glances of pity and anger, away from Principal Maddox’s squinting appraisal, away from that wooden paddle mounted behind the desk. He wanted to run away from Mrs. Jordan, away from his classmates, away from that strange tent that rose in the center of the gymnasium. But Hudson knew of no where he might hide. He would have to explain as well as he might what moved him to hide that blade in his left sneaker. Uncle Mark, wherever he might have been, may have understood, but Hudson knew that Principal Maddox and his mother would not.

  “I wanted to be ready in case there were monsters.”

  Ms. Keel shook her head at Principal Maddox. “Do you see now? It tried telling all of you that the tent, and all that follows it, is too much for Hudson. But what do I know? I’m only Hudson’s mother. Why would any of you listen to me when I try to explain how Hudson can’t control his imagination? None of us should be surprised that Hudson think he needs to carry a weapon to school to protect himself from monsters.”

  Principal Maddox leaned back in his chair. “Hudson, you do understand that the tent in the gymnasium doesn’t really go anywhere, don’t you? It’s all just make-believe. You do know that, don’t you?”

  “I know,” Hudson resisted the urge to break down and cry. “But I feel the monsters all the same. It’s like they’re lurking behind my back. They whisper in my dreams. I wanted to be brave this time the tent came to school. I wanted to hear the songs and hear the stories. I didn’t want to run away like I did last year. I only wanted to face my fear like Uncle Mark told me I could.”

  Hudson peeked at his mother, and his heart broke to see that she would not look back at him.

  “A five day suspension is the mandatory action the school board obligates the district to take when a weapon is brought to school,” began Principal Maddox, “but I think Hudson might be an exception. I’ll recommend to the board that Hudson serve his five day suspension in school, in a room separated from his peers. He will not fall behind in any of his work, and Hudson will have the chance to decompress after all of this week’s excitement.”

  “Some quiet would do wonders for him,” Ms. Keel nodded.

  Principal Maddox clicked the button of his
pen. “Ms. Keel, I’m of the thought that Hudson could use some professional help. Maybe some consultation beyond what our school has to offer him.”

  “My boy isn’t crazy,” Ms. Keel growled. “He only needs a little medicine to help him concentrate. Mrs. Jordan only needs to listen to me and stop filling his head with so many stories. Going without a father isn’t easy for Hudson. His imagination gets the better of him. But Hudson is not crazy.”

  “I didn’t mean to imply that he was. I only meant to suggest he might benefit from some additional help.”

  Hudson summoned his courage. “Will I get my pocketknife back?”

  “I’ll give it to your mother, Hudson.”

  Ms. Keel’s fingers held the pocketknife as if it was a hot coal. “There’s no reason, Hudson, why you need a pocketknife. Your imagination can’t be trusted with such a thing. It should never have been given to you in the first place.”

  So Hudson cried again that day as his mother gripped him at the wrist and pulled him out of the school and into their car. From the backseat, Hudson wondered what songs his classmates might have been singing. He wondered what stories they were told while they sat in the shadow of that tent. Hudson’s heart felt broken. He would not experience any of that tent’s splendor for another year. For one more year, Hudson would have to wonder if the tent truly went no place special at all, if the monsters he feared lived only in his imagination.

  Hudson lay in his dark room that night and sobbed. He thought of Uncle Mark, of what his uncle had done, and how he had likely let his uncle down by losing that pocketknife. Before sobbing himself to sleep, Hudson prayed his Uncle Mark would forgive him.

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