Read Spud - Learning to Fly Online
Authors: John van de Ruit
Spud - Learning to Fly (13 page)
Boggo is now spreading a rumour that Simon has requested a move to another house. Nobody knows what’s going on with him. Fatty reckons he’s had a full-on emotional breakdown after his dad gave him bat for the golf day. Still we all agree that it’s a huge reaction just because his father let him down at the last moment.
Boggo and Fatty made over five hundred bucks in their bogus charity raffle. Boggo didn’t even let me keep his putter and said the whole thing was rigged, and that they had decided Dad would win before the day even started. Boggo and Fatty said they would use the money for a huge Crazy Eight party at the end of the year where nobody is allowed to leave until they’ve vomited and lost their virginity. Rambo then asked Boggo why, if the money was for the Crazy Eight end of year party, had he bought a new mountain bike on Saturday. Boggo said that was his own money and that the charity/party fund was stashed away in a hidden location. I won’t be holding my breath for the party.
Grim news. All third years apparently have to meet with both Viking and Eve this term. Worse news is that it’s compulsory. Viking is just terrifying – it’s like having a massive salivating hairdryer blasting in your face for half an hour. And as for Eve, the supposed counsellor, how am I supposed to look her in the eye when I know she likes it when young men stick their fingers in her bum? Wednesday it’s Eve. Viking lies in wait on Thursday afternoon.
Not for the first time it must be said that Boggo’s rumours are true. Simon admitted to Rambo that he had requested a move out of the house. He says he’s sick and tired of the constant chaos in the dormitory and wants to get away from Pike. Simon’s only desire is to be left alone to play his cricket and pass his exams. He even said he would leave the school if his parents would let him.
Rambo reckons that Simon made up the cricket academy story and definitely had some sort of nervous breakdown over the weekend. Boggo shook his head sadly and said, ‘Let’s be honest, he wasn’t exactly the most exciting character to start with. Now he’s got no personality at all.’
18:30 An edgy looking Garlic accosted me after supper and asked if we would still be called the Crazy Eight if Simon left.
‘Yes,’ I replied, hopefully avoiding another long-winded debate on irony and absurdism. Garlic breathed a huge sigh of relief and turned to walk away. He then swivelled back and said. ‘Oh, sorry, Spud, I nearly forgot. Has Rambo told you his plan to get Pike?’
‘No,’ I replied, surprised by the sudden question.
‘Not even at your African meeting thingy?’ pushed Garlic.
‘He didn’t tell me anything,’ I replied, and stared him down.
‘You absolutely sure?’ he asked again.
‘Positive,’ I said.
Garlic nodded for some seconds while his eyes darted around uncertainly. He then said, ‘Cool, Spud, I’ll check you at dinner – Fatty says it’s mutton curry by the way.’ And he sauntered across the quad with his hands clasped behind his back and headed straight towards Boggo who had been slouched unnoticed on the house bench. Boggo furiously waved Garlic away and hissed something at him.
Garlic then shouted back, ‘I’m not being obvious!’ and disappeared through the house door shaking his head.
April Fool’s Day
As per usual some maniac sounded the rising siren at 4am. The Crazy Eight sniggered in their beds at the pattering feet of gullible first and second years as they stumbled down the stairs towards the showers.
Then another idiot set off the fire alarm during Maths. We weren’t even allowed to leave our classrooms so it didn’t achieve any purpose other than to make Mrs Bishop even more grumpy than usual. Glad to know that the chaplain’s wife would rather see us burn than lose ten minutes of calculus.
The third April Fools joke was my counselling session with Eve.
Eve was at her irritating best during our half hour session. She continually asked me personal questions about my family and private life. She even asked me if I was still a virgin. I nodded innocently and hoped Rambo might be right about Eve having a fetish for fresh meat. Eve tried every trick in the book to get me to spill the beans. At one stage she even leaned forward seductively and revealed a vast amount of her cleavage! But I remained steadfast, and left the counsellor’s office feeling heroic, highly aroused and slightly exhausted.
Received yet another rambling letter from the Mermaid, going on about her new philosophy of life and bragging about how cool things are with her. She said Gavin (the umpire) had introduced her to Jesus and suggested that I should join them at their church if I wanted to be saved. (Saved from what?) She invited me to pop around in the holidays because she’s desperate for me to meet her new man. (?) Surely the woman should know that no self-respecting cricket player ever befriends an umpire! I tore the letter into tiny pieces and sprinkled it into the house bin.
I guess I’ll mark that box down as Paradise Lost.
17:00 Viking glared at me from behind his desk. His open necked shirt revealed large amounts of sprouting black hair that seemed desperate to escape his chest. The initial evaluation of my grades ran fairly smoothly and Viking didn’t shout much other than to offer congratulations and warn me about becoming complacent. He then leant back in his black leather swivel chair and said, ‘Milton, the time has come to think about your future. What’s the plan once you’ve left this catshitbox?’
I told Viking that I was planning to study English and Drama. He leaned forward as if I had just revealed the identity of the shooter on the grassy knoll. ‘Teacher? Academic? Librarian?’ he questioned, with each profession doubling in volume.
‘No, sir,’ I replied. ‘I want to be an actor.’
Viking exploded. Within seconds he was holding me by the shirt and barking a river of spittle into my face from six inches.
‘Christ, Milton! Are you insane?’ he bellowed. He then came even closer and whispered in a maniacal voice, ‘You’re going to have to want it, Milton. By God, it’s a dog eat dog world out there. It’s a life of poverty, are you prepared for that?’ I told Viking that I was ready to take the gamble. He thumped me on the back and said that he saluted my courage and audacity. He then glared out of the window as if remembering something nasty from his past before turning back to me and saying, ‘Take your chances, Milton, and don’t give up hope.’
Viking finally asked me what have been my three greatest disappointments of my school career thus far. After some thought I chose Gecko’s death, getting suspended, and last year’s house play. Viking nodded sagely and agreed that the house play was indeed a tragedy.
As I was on my way out he asked, ‘Mr Pike keeping his distance now, is he?’
I paused, not sure what to say.
‘Yes, sir,’ I said.
‘Good. Good,’ said Viking and waved me out of his office.
23:00 I can’t contain the excitement in my body. It isn’t just the thought of holidays. Tonight I told somebody in authority for the first time that I wanted to be an actor and he hadn’t laughed at me, and he hadn’t said no. Sure he may have called me insane, but that’s expected. I’m a Milton, and I’m going to be a professional actor. And tomorrow I’m going home. Goodnight!
As usual the school was filled with laughter and the sound of metal trunks scraping against cobblestones. Nirvana’s Smells like Teen Spirit blared out of the prefects’ room and cricket bags, suitcases and folded bed linen were piling up in every corner.
Garlic was so excited about his first proper holiday back in Malawi that he couldn’t help himself inviting two-thirds of the dining hall for a week at his cottage on the lake. Fatty stamped out all talk of the lesser of Africa’s great lakes by stealing Garlic’s entire breakfast, including his glass of milk. Garlic didn’t seem to care and continued chewing Vern’s ear off about a windsurfer that he said he was receiving for his birthday. Boggo leant in towards Garlic and asked him when exactly his birthday was. Garlic’s eyes lit up like flying saucers and he announced, ‘29th April!’ Boggo quickly paged through his diary with a protruding bottom lip. He eventually found the page he was looking for and made a note. He then chuckled to himself and said, ‘I see your birthday falls a mere two days into the second term?’
‘I know,’ cried Garlic, ‘but my folks said I could have my windsurfer earlier, so it makes no difference in the end.’
Boggo did his best to stifle his delight, but he needn’t have worried because Garlic was already shouting on about his windsurfer again. The poor idiot had no idea that he had just signed his own death warrant – drowning by bogwash.
For the first time ever, Rambo genuinely wished me a good holiday. He shook my hand and said, ‘Oh, by the way, the school play is going to be A Midsummer Night’s Dream. Thought you might like to know.’ With that he turned on his heel and sauntered off towards where his bags lay packed and waiting. Mysterious as always.
It was the perfect autumn morning with deep blue cloudless skies, as I strode towards the bus feeling powerful and in control of my own destiny. I took long confident strides and felt the dry grass yield and crunch under my school shoes. That’s more like it.
EASTER HOLIDAYS
13:00 Mom made an embarrassing scene at the bus stop over how much I had grown in the last month. She kept shouting, ‘Look at you!’ as if I had some control over these things. I quickly bundled her into the station wagon, which thankfully started immediately. Fatty shouted, ‘He hasn’t grown as much as me, Mrs Milton!’ He then laughed raucously and squeezed himself into his mom’s car. Fatty’s mom drove off without waving and I was left with the image of her scowling miserably into the windscreen while her son chortled with laughter beside her – a picture of sheer happiness.
Dad was waiting for us at the gate when we arrived home. Mom hooted loudly and then raced up the driveway with the old Renault roaring like a Ferrari. Dad closed the gates behind us and galloped after us. He pulled open my door with a cheer but then crashed his head on the station wagon roof in his frantic attempt to help me with my bags. Dad gasped and staggered backwards clutching his head. He then opened his eyes, gritted his teeth and shouted, ‘You bitch!’ He hoofed the left front tyre with his right foot and then instantly calmed down. He removed his right hand from his forehead and shook my hand with it. An angry red welt was fast developing across his brow and his eyes seemed to be a little crossed. As always when injuring himself, Dad pretended that nothing had happened and staggered into the house with all my bags and suitcases, whistling loudly.
My room felt strangely cool and smelled a little odd. Otherwise everything was exactly where I left it two and a half months ago. A feeling of safety swept over me as I lay on my bed and gazed up at the familiar cracks and lines that make my ceiling unique. Bizarre, how this little room with Wombat’s old curtains should be the only thing that I truly feel is mine.
My bedroom door flew open and Dad charged in looking manic and sporting a huge welt on his forehead.
‘Your mother tells me you’ve grown,’ he said, as his eyes darted up and down my legs.
‘Leave the poor boy alone!’ barked Mom as she squeezed past Dad. ‘He’s not even out of his uniform yet and you’re already bombing him out.’ Mom handed Dad two aspirin and the rest of his beer. Dad downed the lot and then continued to stare at me like I’d done something wrong. After a loud burp he seized my Collected Works of William Shakespeare and said, ‘Right! That’s it – we’ll sort this out the old fashioned way.’ He then pulled me off my bed and pushed me up against the wall. Shakespeare’s life’s work landed on my head and Dad furiously pulled a pencil out of his shirt pocket. He scratched an ugly line on the wall, stepped back, and announced that he was at least half a foot taller and that we were all wasting his time. Mom winked at me and said, ‘We’ll sort this out the old fashioned way.’ She forced Dad up against the wall and thumped the book so hard on Dad’s head that he yelped. She then scratched a neat line about an inch below mine.
Dad wasn’t impressed at all and accused Mom of cheating. When this didn’t work he then rattled off a number of excuses, including: my school shoes being thicker than his North Star takkies, my hair being longer than his (which isn’t difficult considering Dad’s practically bald). He also claimed that he had woken up with a ‘kink’ in his back and that a good stretch would see him gaining at least an inch and a half on the spine. Mom called Dad a short-arse and hooted with laughter. My father blushed terribly and said he didn’t have time to fiddle around with family during office hours and strode off for a little lie down.
Spent the afternoon on the grass with Blacky. I kept trying to begin A Midsummer Night’s Dream but understanding Shakespeare is impossible when you have a deranged animal with its heart set on biting your head and barking at your feet.
Dad fired up the skottel braai and fried enough breakfast to feed an entire platoon. While scoffing down a huge pile of bacon, Mom casually said that the Mermaid had called and that I should stop ignoring her. Dad didn’t look up from his breakfast and pretended that he hadn’t heard anything. I nodded but didn’t say anything either. There was a long pause and then Mom said, ‘They go to a wonderful church for young people, you know.’
‘Who is they?’ I asked.
Mom looked a little alarmed and stuttered, ‘Debbie and her new … friend. His name’s Gavin – very responsible chap.’
Dad grunted with a mouth full of toast and said, ‘Helluva responsible bugger.’ Nothing further was said, which was no doubt a great relief to us all.
While tanning at the pool with my Walkman I thought about the Mermaid and why Mom seems so keen for me to see her when she clearly has a new and ‘responsible’ boyfriend. I sense there is some dark womanly plot afoot. Despite never thinking much of Gecko’s dodgy relationship advice, he did get something right. The surest way to receive attention from a girl is by completely ignoring her.