The Weird Insights of a Scobberlotcher

Eleven Sounds Orangey Grey

I can feel cold and damp under my bum. It's the cement edge of a fountain. There's gurgling. I don't have to look behind to know there are coins scattered under the water. Kids will scoop them tonight and tomorrow we start all over again. I'm in the park by my old school. At first my view is blocked. Then the horseman with the staff slowly begins to move out of the way. The crowd parts. Now I can see it in the distance. Ah yes, there I am, the 12 year old boy who has never eaten. Five foot ten. Maybe a hundred pounds. I look more like I'm shuffling out of a concentration camp than leaving an elementary school at recess. But worse than gaunt, I look scared shitless. Only one reason for that. Andrew Douglas. My number one tormentor. Number one cause he was worst, not first. Craven by nature with a skeletal build I was always sweet meat to bullies in elementary school. But Douglas was special. Preternaturally robust, he had atavistic social appetites and the eyes of a prowling shark. The bully's bully.

Now there I am, slowly walking along with one shoulder rubbing the fence just outside the school. Head bowed, my fingers are plucking diffidently at the chain links one by one trying to hold myself back from the inevitable beating. No doubt he's waiting for me at the far end by the entrance to the park. Then stick boy looks up and his jaw drops like he's seen a ghost. Dead ahead, his back against a huge maple, there's Andrew Douglas. Only his arms aren't crossed menacingly. They're dangling, limp, helpless. The look of confidence in his powers of abuse have been replaced by terror. And his feet aren't touching the ground. They're clear by several inches. He's being held, pinned there with one hand by someone who shares much the same genetic makeup. Only older. And much bigger. And going out with my sister.

You should never look too closely at miracles so I didn't investigate but it reeked of my mother's handiwork. In matters like these you don't go right to the top. No principals, no teachers, no parents. No, you go right to the bottom. A word from my mother in my sister's ear. A word from my sister in her boyfriend's ear. A word from her boyfriend in Andrew Douglas' ear. Voila! Nobody ever bothered me again. Sailed like a Clipper ship in a following wind right through high school.

"You make your mother sound like some kind of fixer."

Had a bit of a start there. I still didn't quite have the hang of the unannounced exits.

"Oh, right, well, she was a pretty tough customer. I learned at an early age that you didn't want to be holding her hand when she was channelling the disapproval of God."

"So, tell me, did you ever learn to stand up for yourself?"

Curious question. Never thought about that before.

"That'd be like asking if Bertie Wooster ever learned to solve his own problems. Total waste of energy and just begging for trouble. The world is full of Jeeves just dieing to do it for you. And most of them don't even want money. Damndest thing. Never quite figured out what they do want but it's not money."

It's hard to read an old face but I think there was a trace of disdain there. Or maybe it was just gas 'cause she farted then pointed at the cards. I reached out, ran a finger up and down the deck, then stopped and pulled out a Three of Swords.