The Greatest Fears Come From Beneath

Reggie has school!......?

"YOU'VE GOT TWO MINUTES LEFT TILL SCHOOL STARTS!"

This was the first thing I had heard this morning. It was also the first time my father woke me up this late in the parking lot of Crest Haywood High School. 8:57. My Padre wasn't lying today. Yes it was two minutes. Who knows how many seconds past 8:57 there were whenever I woke up and looked at the dashboard. Actually to hell with you, I don't care enough to explain.

I hopped out of the car and hustled down the parking lot dodging old dark green accords with the tire covers missing, sickly gold Toyota Camrys with peeling tint, and two school buses.

If you're getting the image that I'm wearing a dirty button down shirt which is flying behind me as I run like the majestic leopard past these cars, you're dead wrong .

I was really half jogging while holdong myself up with the rear bumpers of parked cars. I just woke up, okay? If I tried running I would've ended up in the trunk of someone else's car, (Maybe later I'll tell) but anyway, my goal at this point was to get to my Spanish class in now... crap... 40 seconds. By this point I was right next to the cafeteria, which was gratefully right next to the stairs which were right next to the classroom I needed to be in real soon.

With my brain a tad more functional, I pushed into a jog until I got to the stairs, where three wonderful couples were holding hands going down the stairs, and blocking my way up. I had already had a terrible start to the morning, and was not at all in the mood for yet another late attendance for my first period, so I whipped up a sneezing solo right in front of these so very nice and considerate assholes. This made them recoil from my nasty but convincing scene and they let go of each other's hands making a way through.

I jumped through the door (I was wide awake now), and sat down at my desk. Four seconds later, the bell rang.

Success.

Wait.

I didn't get my school stuff out from my car.

****.

Mr. Devonson, my Spanish teacher wasn't there that day, so we had a very frightened and quiet substitute, Mr. Troy. Since that was the only class where we had to turn anything in, I didn't have to worry about turning in my homework to the sub, since everyone knows that substitutes lose stuff all the time.

Mr. Troy was an odd looking old fart. He walked- uhh hobbled around the room taking attendance, staring at the class with his... oh my god... pink glasses. I turned to my only friend in this class, Jesus, who sat next to me, (we became friends because we sat next to each other) and said, "He probably wasn't wearing any glasses when he picked those I guess."

Jesus turned to me, "Que?"

With a drawn out sigh, I stopped the conversation right there. Jesus could read English kind of well, but couldn't speak any to save his life. Our friendship only consisted of reacting to whatever happened in class and not snitching on each other whenever one or both of us cheated on a test.

All the other polished, rich fill-in any-cuss-word-you-want-here-then-add-an-s were actually recording this poor guy doing his job. I leaned back in my seat and pushed my hands against the edge of the desk closest to me.

I love these desks.

The best thing about almost every public school is the fact that the chairs are connected to the desks. If you push against the desk with your hands, and arch your back, you can hear your back crackle. Trust me, it's the best feeling you can get anywhere in school that won't result in kids.

   After "Reggie's spa" moment, I sat up again, and watched Mr. Troy sit down carefully. He pushed up his very manly glasses and said, "Yes, Mr. Devonson is not here today, so all you need to do for tomorrow is finish the packet you received yesterday. It will be due beginning of class tomorrow. "

   Remembering that my one folder with everything I needed for all my classes was in the car, along with a mechanical pencil with no eraser, I sat back and counted the minutes.

   My dad works in the kitchen of a Jack-in-the-Box two miles down the road from the school. It's the only job he can get, because of the dishonorable discharge he had gotten from his time in the military, in addition to a hefty lawsuit put forth by the U.S Government. To this day he still won't tell me what he did, and I've been with him for eleven years. Just us two.

   My mom left me and my dad when I was 6, because of his discharge from the Air Force. She said that her years of waiting for him to come home had been for nothing, all because he had been afraid to take a chance on something. I don't know what exactly that was, but it relieved me that he didn't shoot a cook in the head because his mashed potatoes were cold.

   All we have to live in is my dad's red 2004 Nissan Altima. I'm not a fan of Nissan at all, but when it comes to living somewhere, it's not too bad. My dad and I take turns on who sleeps in the back seat every night. The other gets to lean back the passenger seat and sleep there. I work with my father on weekends but usually do night shifts on weekdays. We live pretty well for homeless people. We can get pretty good clothes from thrift stores whenever our  but not well enough to get a phone or any luxury stuff. For years I've lived this way, and I'm pretty used to it. Besides, there's not much choice to it.

   This is my life.

   Better accept it.