There was silence.
99 lines✦
That's shit. I was laid when I was seven years old.” “That’s nothing. I was laid when I was four.” “Sure, Red. Lay it on good!” “T got this little girl under the house.” “You got a hard?” “Sure.” “You came?” “T think so. Something squirted out.” “Sure. You pissed in her cunt, Red.” “Balls!” “What was her name?” “Betty Ann.” “Fuck,” said the guy who claimed to have gotten laid when he was seven.“Mine was named Betty Ann too.” “That whore,” said Red. 103 One fine Spring day we were sitting in English class and Miss Grediswas sitting on the front desk facing us. She had her skirt pulled especiallyhigh, it was terrifying, beautiful, wondrous and dirty. Such legs, suchthighs, we were very close to the magic. It was unbelievable. Baldy sat inthe seat across the aisle from me. He reached over and began poking meon the leg with his finger: “She's breaking all the records!” he whispered. “Look! Look!” “My God,” I said, “shut up or she’ll pull her skirt down!” Baldy pulled his hand back and I waited. We hadn’t spooked Miss Gredis.Her skirt remained as high as ever. It was truly a day to remember. Therewasn’t a boy in class without a hard-on and Miss Gredis went on talking.I’m sure that none of the boys heard a word she was saying. The girls,though, turned and glanced at each other as if to say, this bitch is goingtoo far. Miss Gredis couldn’t go too far. It was almost as if there weren'teven acunt up there but something much better. Those legs. The sun camethrough the window and poured in on those legs and thighs, the sun playedon that warm silk pulled so tightly. The skirt was so high, pulled back, weall prayed for a glimpse of panty, a glimpse of something, Jesus Christ, itwas like the world ending and beginning and ending again, it waseverything real and unreal, the sun, the thighs, and the silk, so smooth, sowarm, so alluring. The whole room throbbed. Eyesight blurred and returnedand Miss Gredis went on sitting there as if nothing was happening and shekept talking as if everything was normal. That’s what made it so good andso terrible: the fact that she pretended that it wasn’t happening. I lookeddown at my desk top for a moment and saw the grain in the woodheightened as if each pattern was a pool of whirling liquid. Then I quicklylooked back at the legs and thighs, angered with myself that I had lookedaway for a moment, and perhaps missed something. Then the sound began: “Thump, thump, thump, thump...”Richard Waite. He sat in a seat in the back. He had huge ears and thick lips, the lips were swollen and monstrous and he had a very large head.His eyes were almost without color, they didn’t 104 reflect interest or intelligence. He had large feet and his mouth always hungopen. When he spoke the words came out one by one, halting, with longpauses in between. He wasn’t even a sissy. Nobody ever spoke to him.Nobody knew what he was doing there in our school. He gave the impres-sion that something important was missing from his makeup. He woreclean clothing, but his shirt was always out in the back, one or two buttonswere gone on his shirt or on his pants. Richard Waite. He lived somewhereand he came to school every day. “Thump, thump, thump, thump, thump...” Richard Waite was jerking-off, a salute to Miss Gredis’ thighs and legs.He had finally weakened. Perhaps he didn’t understand society’s ways.Now we all heard him. Miss Gredis heard him. The girls heard him. Weall knew what he was doing. He was so fucking dumb he didn’t even havesense enough to keep it quiet. And he was becoming more and more excited.The thumps grew louder. His closed fist was hitting the underside of hisdesk top. “THUMP, THUMP THUMP...” We looked at Miss Gredis. What would she do? She hesitated. She glancedabout the class. She smiled, as composed as ever, and then she continuedspeaking: “T believe that the English language is the most expressive and contagiousform of communication. To begin with, we should be thankful that we havethis unique gift of a great language. And if we abuse it we are only abusingourselves. So let us listen, heed, acknowledge our heritage, and yet exploreand take risks with language...” “THUMP, THUMP, THUMP...” 105 “We must forget England and their use of our common tongue. Eventhough English usage is fine, our own American language contains manydeep wells of unexplored resources. These resources, as yet, remain un-tapped. Given the proper moment and the proper writers, there will oneday be a literary explosion...” “THUMP, THUMP, THUMP...” Yes, Richard Waite was one of the few we never talked to. Actually, wewere afraid of him. He wasn’t somebody you could beat the shit out of,that would never make anybody feel better. You just wanted to get as faraway from him as possible, you didn’t want to look at him, you didn’twant to look at those big lips, that big unfolding mouth like the mouth ofa bruised frog. You shunned him because you couldn’t defeat RichardWaite. We waited and waited while Miss Gredis talked on about English versusAmerican culture. We waited, while Richard Waite went on and on.Richard’s fist banged against the underside of his desk top and the littlegirls glanced at each other and the guys were thinking, why is this assholein this class with us? He’s going to spoil everything. One asshole and MissGredis will pull her skirt down forever. “THUMP, THUMP, THUMP...” And then it stopped. Richard sat there. He was finished. We sneakedglances at him. He looked the same. Was his sperm laying in his lap or wasit in his hand?
✦