The Strange Light of Little Diablo
By
Richard H. Schweitzer
Copyright 2011 a TinDog Entertainment Stuff production
Smashwords Edition
Some days stay with you forever. Time can cover them in fog, but it does not take much to blow it away — a breeze; a gust; sometimes, just a breath — and you relive them again. Each day and each memory is a story; this one is based on a true incident. To protect the frightened, the names have been changed. Even mine.
Oh, crap. I just fucking cannot go to that place again today!
I was standing at the corner of Hill Lane and Parkway Drive watching the school bus drive by. The faces of the other kids peered out at me, unaware of my internal struggle. Chris Oak. My arch-nemesis, sort of, was sitting near the back of the bus, leering at me. He shook his fist threateningly.
There’s something about Northern California. You can feel where you are on the planet; a near perfect neutral zone with the climate in a permanent stand-off between the middle of the earth, and the top. Sometimes you feel different depending on the way you’re facing; the chill to the north; the warmth to the south. I remember the air had an expectant quality that morning, and a slight chill that belied the approach of summer.
I followed the path of the bus to Galway High, where I attended school, which was just up the street and around the corner. I was on my way to school, but I was not on my way to class.
By the time I got to the corner, the bus had pulled into the campus parking lot and was off-loading the other students. Chris Oak got off and looked back in my direction. I slid behind a light pole, peering around until the ass wipe start walking toward the classrooms. I wasn’t afraid of him, not really, just disgusted; a bug you’d rather avoid than squash.
Fuck you, Chris! I thought. Maybe I said it out loud; I don’t remember. Anyway, that was it. Decision made. No school today. Not on your life.
Across the boulevard there was a small park with a few picnic benches; I sat down and pulled out a book. “Dune.”
I can’t believe I’m still reading this. I love it, but Christ, it’s so long. ‘I must not fear. Fear is the mind-killer. Fear is the little death…’
Now and again, while reading, I looked up until all the stragglers had gone inside and the bell had rung. The homeroom class was only 45 minutes, I could wait that long.
The next time the bell rang I had already abandoned my book, left the park and was waiting near the door of my homeroom. The kids began streaming out, some making snide comments to me about missing homeroom. I ignored them; couldn’t care less.
Finally, Greg came out.
“Damn, Robert, where were you? Mr. Black is about at the end with you. What the fuck?” Greg said.
That’s me, Robert, as far as this story is concerned.
“I know. I just couldn’t do it today.”
“Yeah, no shit.” He paused, thinking. “But what now?”
“I’m not staying, I have to get out. I can get Scott’s car for sure, he’s still in the lock up. I have the keys.” I reached into my backpack and lifted a bottle of beer just to the top, just enough for Greg to see it.
“I have a bunch of these.” I said, smiling. “Let’s get Vicky and Debbie, or maybe Brenda, and take a drive.”
Greg was interested but hesitant. “I don’t know, man. I don’t need any more trouble.”