After: "Are All These Schools..." (Sulky Peters Chapter 1/8)

Here's the after version of Horseshit, chapter two. I think this is largely together, though part of me thinks I'll play with it more later, particularly some dialog. This was harder to write because I started listening almost exclusively to rap in the past two weeks, so I didn't play much music while revising this. I couldn't--that stuff really conflicts with the natural flow of the story. I did try to finesse the language even more with rap writing in mind.

"Cheeve" apparently is a marijuana term. That was one of those names I pick because it's the first thing that pops into my head when I'm introducing the character. A sound that, to me, is meaningless. But often you look this stuff up and it's a real name or word. So I kept that.

Sulky I like because I imagine her as me at that age if I were a woman. A lot of her hyperactivity is interior, but I don't think a guy could get away with that. They'd be called gay. I want to act like that a lot of the time, though. When I'm really happy, I get that hyper. That's why I wrote her like that. She was basically the first character I imagined when I sat down writing out chapter ideas. She was kind of the one character who existed before I was really writing any story.

I also changed the title because the old one didn't quite fit anymore. Anyway, here's the revision now. Next I'll skip several chapters and do her next one, about the gynecologist, but it needs a lot of work. It's really a fragment I almost threw out, but decided to rewrite.

“Awake in School”

Hey, are you dead yet? Good, I’m bored. Some days I think this school day isn’t long enough, some days my end is niiiigh. Gotta get the history of these pioneer tunnel towns burrowed into our coal mounds. And now it’s 2:40 and the clock’s draggin’, I don’t wanna learn. My gut’s hungry and eyes are droppin’. Need to get home to the prepackaged delicatessen for my retard snacks. I’m still gettin’ used to school again and it sucks so royally. I press my fingertips across the closed lids. Then make Chinese faces. Won’t keep me awake. I can’t sleep. Gotta learn. It’s sunny and fucking hot like the sky’s made of fat dripping down on us. Last week was fall, now it’s summer. This global warming—gee whiz. I think I’m gonna take a nap if I can, but—nah. Argghh. I think I’m gonna—what am I gonna do? Naps always make me feel worse and then I can’t get to sleep anyway. Bleh.

“And then 5y + y = 12 with y being . . .”

Mrs. Chalkly’s voice, crawling like spinster slugs. I’m trying to find some interesting cracks in the wall. I’m so tired I’m gettin’, like, kinda high. The body’s producing weird drugs and stupid juices. Chalkly keeps grinding the chalk. And I have an itch on my thigh that I’d love to murder, but Trevor two seats back keeps staring since my pants are half under my ass ‘cause of this uncomfortable seat. Like admiring my ass is going to get you in it. I don’t put my finger in there, right? Not going to ask for yours, prolly. I bet most dicks are the size of a pinky. Y’know, just ‘cause guys talk too much. A pee-pee can’t be all that.

“Yo, Sulky . . .”

I’m so afraid it’s Trevor, but he’s too far back. There’s a reason I don’t go out with these guys. I’m not gonna be their mother. Not this mother. But they get good weed. Back and to the left, Jed’s there—he thinks he owns a piece of me too. Just ‘cause we partied a few times, you know. He forgets that the parties we were at had like a hundred kids. In his Viewfinder it was just us and he thinks I’m the only girl for him, probably ‘cause he hasn’t had his dick in anyone. They’d bite it off. Eww. Probably wishes I was his sex slave. He’d like to build a mannequin for that and stay home from school. Also, curiously, is never absent from his gang of boys. For real.

“You got a pencil?”

“What? Yeah I got a pencil. I’m in school.”

“Yo, for the test today. She said it was a form, right, where you need a pencil. Don’t be queer.”

“Dude, the test isn’t for another three weeks. Pay fucking attention.”

“Seriously?”

“Yeah.”

“Are you sure? I know you get squirrelly, Sulky. You told me Lincoln raped his slaves, and that one got marked wrong. You definitely sure? I’m talking about the real truth here.”

“Yeah, I’m sure. I’m in the class, asshole. I have the course schedule.”

“I need to know so I don’t fail. I got a ‘D-,’ Sulky. C’mon. Help me not suck at life. My other friends are useless, my parents are alcoholics, and I’m depending on you. I’m talking about the chapter one test.”

“Oh. Chapter one. Is that one today? What is today?”

“Man, fuck, don’t gimme—”

“Course schedule?”

I wish I was at home watching walls making babies out of dust. Had to be born in this town, o’er this luxury plastic property with all us losers making cow-tipping, truck-tipping turns and wondering what direction to face in afterward. Forward, but which forward? Parents having sex not knowing geography. Ahhh, that’s why I’m here. The planned parenthood, not the planned pregnancy. But I like when I can see different colors on the leaves, the peace and quiet; we got a deep river (I like to watch its little falls and Catskills). It’s Pennsylvania’s blackhead, Horseshit. You gotta pop to get out. You gotta dig the wigger pants if you wanna survive. Hessian Ford Trucks and some okay convenience stores with broken slushy machines spillin’ rust. And lots of rednecks with acne on their asses and old jeans growing all white. Fuckin’ cousins. They really need to build a fuckin’ turnstile here so I can get the hell out.

“Yo.” Now I’m ready for violence. Fools are helping me stay awake by pissing me off.

“Yo, what the fuck, man??” I zip around and really hope there’s no bounce in my tank top. Can’t encourage ‘em. I’d wear fleece if I didn’t like the summer. Nah, fleece is lame. I wanna look right, so they don’t fuck with me. I hate dealing with people here.

“What the fuck do you want?” Arggh, Cheeve. Jed’s pal. Desk behind me. Cute asshole. Cute butt, too.

“You look stressed, and I can tell that someone who cares about your health is needed. So I spoke up. It must be hard having tight clothes binding all that beauty. Constricting. I also heard you with Jed. Need a hug?”

He’s practically breathing in my lips. We’re close. Straight teeth fresh after the braces, cut my hair myself last night, dork glasses on ‘cause I forgot contacts, new lip ring. That’s me. Oooh. Do I look bad? Carry it off? I snuck that into school this morning after hiding it during breakfast, in my cereal—then I swallowed it, and hid it in my teeth. Normally I’d hope he’d just notice the purple lipstick, but it’s probably not obvious enough for him. “Go away.”

“Yeah, if we’re going together, I’d love to. Speaking of going places, party lately? I hate going to parties alone and you know how easily I get bored. Let’s go away for a while.”

“To what? The homecoming orgy? Oh wait, our school’s too poor for a football team.”

“Haha, no shit. And don’t rope me in with that. I’m talking about Laura Turner’s thing.”

“Right, yeah. Cute girl, decent jailbait. Total whorebag. Not my style.”

“You should come.”

“I’m saving myself for marriage.”

“Trevor said you’d be too uptight, but I didn’t think so. You’re too good for drinking, me staring down your shirt, and possibly a whole lot more?”

“Fuck Trevor. He picks up all his girlfriends at convenience stores.”

“Well, it’s convenient.”

“Why would I spend my night with a buncha drunk bitches trying to find their reflections in a glass? Especially if they’re trying to screw kids at this school. And I’m not into that shit you just described. You have to hit puberty before you’ll get with me.”

“Hey, I’m just going ‘cause everyone else is going.”

“Solid reasoning.”

“Why would I spend my night at home when everyone else is going because they have nothing better to do? I die when I’m home alone. If I have to spend a night alone, I need at least one person there. My house is big and empty and my parents don’t care about me. I get lonely. But you don’t buy the party, that’s cool. Maybe you’ll change your mind. When you’re happier.”

What an idiot. I am happy. I love looking at him. I hate talking to him. So much blah blah, all I want’s the pants to fall. Haha—nah, I’d rather spend a lot of time getting comfortable. Hmm, comfortable. I should be running away. With this one, I can’t help it. Soooo attracted. Why is everything so annoying like this? But I love everything. I’m not running from anything. Sometimes I just look winded.

It’s funny, too, ‘cause Chalkly does pass out a pop quiz and Jed gives me some pretty intense hate stares. After tappin’ on my shoulder, of course. But I don’t care.

I dream a lot when I take tests. My grades are good, but I don’t always test well. I dunno. I can never stop thinking. Seriously. That’s why I’m stuck with these retards and lechers instead of jumping through advanced hula hoops, even though I could do it. Like, I should be wondering about this math stuff—simple review about FOILing—but I’m just like, love throes . . . ahhh, I can’t believe we can party together. I get afraid with giddiness. Ahhhh . . . Arrrghhh . . . Okay.

And then I get to go home.

“And your final thoughts, sweetness?” Cheeve says in the hall. Somehow he got his jean jacket on already. I always try to make for the girls’ room after class before I hit my locker. No one’s in there and I get some peace. But today I’m right at my locker and he’s not even talking to me. That dumb whore Emily Tokars. She looks like an abscess. Her makeup’s always on, her hair looks real sparkly, but her eyes are always just so dead. Even though she has that typical giggle girl look, there’s always something so washed out about her. They chit chat while she pit pats him. Ugh, she’s nasty. That girl has to wear adult diapers she gets so high. I hear about it from Whitney Becker, who’s in her gym class. No cash for ass when she’s riding those saddlebags—but why’s he talking to her?

“Don’t forget your homework,” he says to me, after she walks off with her ho-friends and he hits up his locker again. “I never remember my math book.”

“Yeah. Better do it now. When’s that party again?”

“Weekend after next.”

“Then I guess we can go. Some people might have to hit up the clinic that night, but I know I’m free.”

He laughs and it makes me want to pierce him, and cuddle him, and make everyone else go away. “I dunno. Lemme see what’s happening. What’s your number, again?”

“(555)555-5555.”

“Cute. I’ll look you up in the book. I’ll call you.”

“Yeah . . . don’t hurt yourself,” I say as he swaggers off. I should probably like girls, but I want to hang out with him. He should be with me more than her. Be with me more than he’s with himself. I don’t think I wanna get too dirty with him, and I know he’s not boyfriend material, but something’s got me. I assume he’s out of the building before I move. I stand there for a moment listening to the janitor come out early—probably trying to get home in time for Jeopardy.

The walk home is sticky and lonely. I didn’t bring my jean jacket to school today because I’m afraid he’ll know I’m copying him. But I still sweat. I think of his fingers—dry lips—hair—bad jokes—lame taste in music. His always crush-worthy skin. But, God, I hate boys. No, I hate dating. I hate the bullshit. I think I’d really love being in love. When I get to steal some. I hope I get invited to the party. If not, I’ll find another way. He’s going to end up with me, in some form.

There’s trash for me to take out when I get home. I leave it. When I get to my room I put on the jacket because I feel like acting on some emotion but don’t have the guts. And I don’t have the time. I’m busy waiting for Cheeve to come over, but only because I know he’s waiting for me at his house. The gross feeling that this is a beautiful life and all our pleasure is from waiting. Tonight I’ll settle for masturbating in bed, and wonder what will happen to us. Because as much as I hate here, I know I have nowhere else to go yet. And I can’t sleep when I am supposed to.