Aphorism, part one

PART ONE

The wind howled cold and blistering through the playground. Christopher Maxwell House was sitting on a bench and was all alone. It was far too early to be at school, as it would be another 30 minutes before the first yellow bus even arrived, bringing along with it the usual horde of rambunctious pre-adolescents. His mother had moved him to this new school only a few months earlier, and he already knew he didn't like North Laurel. But what did it matter? Even though his mother never explained to him why they had moved from the city to the” sticks” in the first place, he was sure she had a good reason. He did his best to keep his chin up for his mother, and would never concede to anyone that he loathed the situation he was in.

And what a situation he was in. He scanned his memory trying desperately to remember the last time he was happy. This particular day was already off to a dreadful start. Maxwell had to be at school at this no good hour because his mother was going to work early, and since he lived so far out in the “hollers” (which happens to be a colloquial term for the middle of bloody-nowhere) the bus would not come out to his house to pick him up. Therefore, it was early to school.

Maxwell was having some of the best sleep of his life before the sound of his alarm clock roused him. His alarm clock was ancient, an antiquity handed down to him from his grandmother before she passed away, so old that it wasn’t digital and it didn't even have a radio. The clock did, however make an extremely obnoxious sound, and it always filled Maxwell with rage when its daily screech disturbed his slumber. In fact, perhaps it was the alarm clock that was the root of this funk he now experienced.  The thought made him shiver.

Or was it the cold?

It was uncharacteristically cold this morning, as the month was already May, and Maxwell wasn't prepared for the icy wooden floor as he ambled his way like a drunken man to the bathroom. He started the shower and proceeded to brush his teeth. As he looked in the mirror he did not care for what he saw. A few newcomers today. He spit out the toothpaste, rinsed his mouth and brush, and popped the three rather gruesome pimples on his forehead. It wasn't as if he was ugly, but the never ending acne party on his face made it so he didn't want to be seen in public regardless. "It will go away," his mother would tell him, but he didn't want to hear it. He wanted the stupid things to go away now. "What doesn't kill you makes you stronger," she would say. “Well, maybe you could just kill me now and spare me the misery.” This, he thought as he looked at the growing collection of red spots on his face, is social suicide anyhow.

When he got in the shower, he received another pleasant surprise; the water heater wasn’t working.  Once the stream of frigid water crashed into his chest his breath seized causing him to lose his balance and bust his head into the side of the tub. Christ, he thought, can't just one thing go right?

"What are you doing in there? Stop horsing around, or we are gonna be late!" he heard his mother say from the kitchen. "Devil woman," he thought. "Don't you know what God just did to me?!"

And so it went. 

Back on the playground, he kicked a few stones and made his way to the swing set. Maybe, he thought, life was going to get better today.

After a few minutes, a shiny Mercedes-Benz pulled up to the playground. A small person got out of the passenger side and raced towards the swings. It was Jimmy Glick. Jimmy was Maxwell's very best friend. He was also Maxwell's only friend.   That Maxwell only had one friend might have troubled him were it not for the fact that the vast majority of the student body at North Laurel Junior High complete and total jerks.  Most of his peers didn’t appeal to Maxwell, so he didn’t even try to get to know them.

As for Jimmy, he didn't understand why they got along so well. After all, Jimmy's family was notorious for being very wealthy. His mother was a lawyer, and his father was a computer guy who made a fortune during the dot-com explosion in the nineties. Jimmy was always very well dressed and was actually quite funny, so he seemed to have all of the pre-requisites for popularity.  Maxwell was neither well dressed nor did he come from money.  Of course, Jimmy was the smallest kid in the class, which more than likely worked against him, and he had a tendency to say really inappropriate things at the worst possible times.  He was also the only Jewish boy in the entire community, not to mention the only black kid at an all-white school.

With all of these characteristics, perhaps it wasn't so hard to see why Jimmy was another outsider.

"What's shakin' chode-monkey?" Jimmy asked as he threw off his backpack and took the swing next to Maxwell. "You are here early."

"I know, don't remind me.”

Maxwell shoved his books into his locker, along with his coat, and walked down the hallway. His fellow students were littered about in the usual configurations. A couple of skater kids. A couple of preps. A couple of jocks and other general miscreants.

Maxwell didn’t fit into any of the cliques.  Everyone else seemed to have an identity.  Maxwell ran his fingers through his shaggy brown hair.  He was in need of a trim.  He would likely get one when his mother got paid again.

As he drifted unnoticed through the halls, a hint of sadness swelled up in his chest, and he didn't know why.

Maybe it was because of the thing?  

Or maybe it was because his mother had to struggle for every penny she earned?

Or perhaps it because he was wearing torn-up Etnies that he had received two years ago?  It couldn’t have been because he was in a sea of faces that he didn't recognize, in a town of people he couldn’t possibly hope to understand?

For the last couple months or so Maxwell was beginning to feel as if his life were nothing more than a cruel joke. He clutched his books close to his body. Room 217. The infamous Ms. Butternut. She had been teaching in the same room for the last 47 years. She also smoked 2 packs of unfiltered cigarettes a day. She barely knew what year it was, let alone that she was responsible for the education of countless young minds every day.

Jimmy was his usual self this morning. He was blathering on about nothing in particular. What exactly Maxwell was not sure. His diminutive stature was no indication of just how big of a talker Jimmy was.  The drivel was so constant that at times his voice disappeared into the white noise of the student body. 

White noise?! What do you mean, exactly, by white noise, he could imagine Jimmy saying to this.

“So what do you think about that, huh?  Pretty awesome, right?”   Jimmy was looking for some kind of approval.

Maxwell wasn’t completely paying attention, but nodded his head.  “Totally Jimmy.”  His mind drifted back out to sea.

The two strolled into class.  Just as Maxwell was about to sit down he was side swiped by a substantial existential question, which for Maxwell seemed to be an everyday occurance.

For this is how it went.  Is there a God? If so, and He is good, then why is there suffering in the world? Why are things generally so weird, and most importantly, why is there something, this universe, all of everything, instead of nothing at all...

That is when the twitch started. His eyelid, completely and involuntarily started its own circus side show.

It was subtle, but very present. His left eyelid started blinking.  Then his right joined in.  And it kept going.  And then it kept going some more.  In fact, it would be quite some while before Maxwell would be able to view the world the way he was accustomed to seeing it all thanks to his spastic eyelids.  He groaned, and tried to shield his face as he took his seat.  It was going to be a long day.  Of this, he was most definitely certain.