For Poobah, time became irrelevant. He couldn't remember what year it was. Whatever the year printed on the calendar was, it was many years before he was born. The events began to blur together, and nothing seemed to be in chronological order. His memories of seasons seemed jumbled. The only thing which reminded him of the passage of time was his sudden appearance with the others in the next grade, and the uneasy feeling Mr. Thiessen was praying for him once a day. Somehow his desk always seemed to have a holiness aura around it whenever he sat in it. Life in Moron Land went on. Poobah went along for the ride. It was the best he could do.
Not everything in the Moron's Club was planned or required a meeting. Much of it was impulsive. Whenever there are too many guys with too many ideas to be tested, things happened.
A blizzard blew in one day unexpectedly. Blowing snow enveloped the school, making the view through the classroom window grey, empty and gloomy.
Blondie was a new student. His blond curly hair bounced on his head, so the nickname Blondie was a natural. He was boarding in Waldheim to take his grades eleven and twelve. Blondie was not the typical Morons' Club member. He was athletic, playing softball and hockey. He had come from the Carlton area, where there was no high school. He liked the spirit of the Moron's Club, so he left his thirteen cents on the table and joined.
As the students prepared to leave for home in the blizzard, Blondie remarked, "This storm isn't too serious. Carlton has many storms that are much worse than this."
"Where's Carlton," Poobah asked.
"Carlton's weather is the same as here," said Hard-Times. "Carlton is only fifteen miles north."
"It must be in the Farrrrr North," Poobah said.
"This storm is nothing," Blondie repeated.
"Well, prove it," Two-Ton demanded. "I dare you to go out like it was a summer's day, no parka, no boots, no gloves, and if you are not frozen stiff by the time you get to Feyerabend's confectionery, we'll buy you a revel."
"Why should I do it?" asked Blondie.
"Well, it would show you are willing to do stupid things," challenged Fiedelbaum, "things stupid enough to be Moronic. Besides, my Dad, who makes the best ice cream in Saskatchewan, could use the business on a day like this."
"Well, Fiedlebaum and Two-Ton, you're on," smirked Blondie. "Bring my boots, school books, and parka to Feyerabend's. I'll be waiting for you suckers over there." Blondie opened the front door. The wind wrenched it from his hands and threw it back. The boys laughed as Blondie staggered into the wind, his shoes slipping in the snow.
The journey into the cold totaled three blocks, the first one was north, and the final two were west, against the wind. Blondie was glad he had worn his thermal underwear, but it was soon clear the penetrating wind was boss. He tried running to shorten the time, but the leather soles on his shoes made it impossible as he slipped, falling into a drift twice. Blondie turned up his collar to protect his neck, holding it there with his hand as he trudged through the snow.
YOU ARE READING
The Morons' Club
Historical FictionSixteen year-old Jefferson is a loner who plays video games all the time. His mother finally persuades him to vacation with her at Iroquois Lake. During that time, he sneaks out to a musty outhouse to play his video games. A tornado comes and Jeffer...
