chapter three

Chapter Three

            Misty Patchouli was the cafeteria lady, and the woman shed like a yak.  Ms. Patchouli would always wear a hairnet and yet somehow Maxwell always found one or two of her long stringy blonde hairs in his casserole.  She also had surprising strength as Maxwell found out, as she grabbed him by the arm and dragged him down the hall towards the principal’s office.  What Maxwell really didn’t understand though was why she was clutching his arm so tightly and pulling on him the way she was, as he wasn’t providing much resistance. 

Maxwell had never before been to the principal's office for disciplinary reasons, and suffices to say he was terrified.  He sat down in a chair next to the secretary’s office.  What in hell’s bells is going on with me, lately?  Maxwell had never in his life thrown a punch at anyone.  He almost felt like he had not really been in control of himself when the event had transpired in the first place.  Who is driving this ship?  His mind was struggling for answers.  Who is really in control here?

  And so he sat there in the seat, nervously awaiting his fate, all the while his mind raced and his eyelids twitched. So now what?  What's going to happen to me?  What's my mom going to do?  What's she going to even think?  In the midst of the panic that occurred as the entire world seemed to be collapsing in upon itself, Maxwell felt a brief moment of clarity. 

It was only for a moment, but it was a very powerful moment.

 Everything will to be alright in the end, of course it will.  Whatever happens, happens.  Maxwell shifted in his seat just as the door opened and the principal came out.

            "Young man, you may come in."

            Dr. Schmidt, the principal, was a very large man that had a very deep and powerful, almost guttural voice.  Maxwell's moment of clarity and calm vanished as he looked around the office before him.

 Apparently, Dr. Schmidt had been a killing machine.  The walls were littered with pictures of himself in what appeared to be a Marine Corps uniform along with countless ribbons and medals and plaques.  This man was most definitely not someone who should be taken lightly.

            "Do you know why you're in here, young man?" 

            Maxwell, breathing quite heavily, sputtered a few words of garbled nonsense.  Dr. Schmidt, of course, had no idea what Maxwell was trying to say.  Finally, collecting himself enough to communicate, he let out, "The reason I'm in here, Dr. Schmidt, is because I punched a kid square in the nose, sir."

            "You did what?" Dr. Schmidt bellowed.

            Feeling rather small at this point, Maxwell hunched over and shifted in his seat. Dr. Schmidt was all business.

            "Sir, I punched a kid in the face."

            "WHY DID YOU PUNCH A KID IN THE FACE?"

            "Sir, he was picking on me and my friend and was making fun of the foreign exchange student for being Indian.  I'm really sorry, sir.  I shouldn't have punched him."

“Did you break his nose?”

“I’m really not sure, sir.  I did see some blood.”

Dr. Schmidt’s eyelids narrowed as if he were glad to hear this.  Surely Dr. Schmidt would take pleasure in beating the ever loving snot out of a misbehaved child.  Maxwell's destiny hung in the balance.  He was a goner, for sure, and he knew it.  Dr. Schmidt went a long time without saying anything, as if in very deep thought.  The silence that filled the room in that moment was incredibly terrifying.  Maxwell could hear the screams of the children in ISS, or 'In School Suspension', in his mind.  He was sure that ISS was exactly the place he was going to be headed for his misdeed.  The only thing kids do all day long in ISS is task after task, without any breaks, without any talking, and certainly without any recess.

            And then, the beast shifted.  Dr. Schmidt sat down in his chair and folded his hands upon his desk, "You're wrong, Christopher."

            "I know I'm wrong, sir.  Am I going to ISS now?"

            "No Christopher you are WRONG!!!!”

The earth seemed to shake under the weight of this burly man’s tenor.

“What I mean is, it’s wrong for you to think that you shouldn't have stuck up for your friends the way you did.  When someone isn't treating you fairly, you have to rectify the situation.  If someone is picking on you, you have to make a stand.  When someone is picking on your friends, you have to make a stand.  Are you tracking?"

            Maxwell found himself nodding in complete and utter shock.

            "Now granted, there are other less violent approaches to curb bullying, but I don't care so much for those," said Dr. Schmidt, cracking his knuckles as he looked down at Maxwell's record.  "I see here you're new to this school.  Let me give you a little run down of my philosophy.  This school isn't going to have any more disciplinary problems in the very near future, I can guarantee you that.  If someone steps out of line, you have to put them back in line.  The reason this school isn't going to have any more disciplinary problems is, ... well, its because I'm the one who’s going to be in charge, and you can bet your hard earned dollar that I'll be putting people back in line when they step out."

            Maxwell wasn't completely sure where this conversation was going, but he certainly didn't think Dr. Schmidt was making any idle threats.

            "When I was back in Operation Iraqi Freedom, I had a crew of twenty men.  We all relied on each other.  When someone went down, we went and picked him back up.  We were like brothers, and if someone would get out of line, we put them back in, you dig?" 

            Maxwell was beginning to feel a bit more comfortable now that it appeared he might just be out of the woods, and slowly, he began to relax in his chair.

            "A buddy of mine, great soldier, honest God-fearing man, sacrificed himself," Dr. Schmidt held a distant gaze; “... there was a grenade.  Insurgents had completely surrounded us.  We had plenty of backup, but it was a surprise attack and we were caught off guard while napping.  My buddy threw himself on that grenade to cover it up using his helmet to shield the blast.  He didn't die immediately, but he was blown into several pieces.  The corpsman couldn’t find everything to put him back together properly.  That brave soul saved my life that day."

            Maxwell offered up his most sincere condolences, but still didn't understand what this had to do with him punching Phil in the nose.

            "Here's the point of what I'm trying to tell you.  Somewhere along the line, people got themselves out of line.  When you're in the line of fire, you have to toe the line.  Where exactly people stepped out of line, I don't know, but it's my job to put them back in line.  People don't discipline their children any more.  Kids step out of line all of the time.  Its a sad world we live in right now.  I'm just trying to do my part to get everyone back on track.  If I said I wasn’t going to put them back in line, I’d be lying."

   

            They both sat there for a moment in complete silence.  Maxwell had never heard anyone say the word 'line' so much in all his life.  What was a very intense and scary situation was now becoming so completely ridiculous, that it baffled him.  For the second time today, Maxwell found there was a moment of stillness in this confusion. 

And then, for some odd reason he felt the strangest compulsion to ask Dr. Schmidt what his position had been in the military.  Feeling a momentary boldness, knowing full well this man had no mind to bloody a nose as long as it was for a good cause, he went ahead and forced himself to ask the question lingering on the tip of his tongue, "Dr. Schmidt, I was just wondering, what exactly did you do in the military?"

            There was a brief moment of pause.

"Um kid, that's what we like to call classified information.  I could tell you, but then I'd also have to kill you."  He looked at Maxwell with a steely cold stare that said, 'I'll rip your heart out and ram it down your throat!'  Maxwell found this countenance somewhat off-putting.  Perhaps this was a sore subject he shouldn't have touched.

            "Gotcha, hahah, ... little military humor there for ya, son."

            Maxwell, at this point, wanted to get the heck out of the office as soon as possible.

            "You know what, Maxwell?  You're alright kid, but seriously, it isn't very interesting what I did back then.  It was another lifetime ago.”  He sighed ruefully.  “You don't really want to know.  You're free to go back to your classroom now."

            Maxwell let out a nervous laugh.  He backpedalled quickly and almost stumbled on his way out the door.  I'm not in trouble!  I can barely believe it!  He walked down the hallway as fast as his feet would take him.

            Suddenly, Dr. Schmidt opened his door and said, "Hey, Christopher, just one more thing."

            His heart sank, 'What is it now?,' he pondered.

            "I was a Captain, ... of the infantry.  An officer.  I was a line officer."

            Maxwell bristled at this statement, and then quickly scuttled down the hallway.

   

            When he got back to the classroom, he felt everyone's eyes staring at him.  Having people watch him made Maxwell very uncomfortable.  He was a very self aware boy, and as such had much insecurity.  By now, the entire classroom knew that he'd punched Phil Dick in the face, so of course everyone was watching him.  They were probably forming their own opinions of him too, each and every one of them.  When he took his seat, he glanced over to where Premi had been sitting.  She was gone.  Maxwell immediately felt his heart sink, and his stomach felt like it had rocks in it.

            The lecture went on, as well as the ticking and the twitching.  What a crumby day. 

            When it felt as though the day couldn’t get worse, naturally, Ms. Butternut quizzed the class on the reading assignment that Maxwell hadn't prepared for the night before. 

Maxwell said a quick prayer in a fit of desperation, and he thought of the best answers he could muster for the questions being asked.                 

While Maxwell might've gotten out of getting into trouble for breaking Phil’s nose, the day on the whole hadn't gone so well.  People were still jerks, and all anybody seemed to care about was stupid stuff, and of course, above all else themselves.  He really hated his new school.  He actually knew people at his old school.  He was pretty well liked by the students at his old school.  Life had been good.  Now, life sucked.  He sighed, scribbled down some bullshit answers, and his face continued to twitch.

            Once the school day was over, Maxwell and Jimmy spent ten more minutes on the building across from the playground.  As they walked back to swingset, Maxwell’s mother pulled into the lot.  “Ok, now make sure you put these back and please bring yellow on Monday, ok?”   

Later that night when Maxwell was in bed, he found himself having a difficult time falling asleep.  Premi, Premi, Premi, Premi, Premi, he wondered.  What exactly did she mean when she said, ... what was it that she'd said, your eyes are, ... 'expressing'?  What did she mean by that, my eyes are expressing?, my eyes are my eyes, they're not expressing anything, they're just seeing the world around me, and it's a pretty crumby world to be seeing at that, he thought. 

God, Maxwell continued, if there is a God, he paused, I don't know what this life is supposed to be about, but I'm really tired of all of the crap that's been happening around me lately.  I really want it to be something that's a little bit more, a little bit better, then he paused, as if almost expecting a response.  God, he asked again, if you're really out there, why don't you just show yourself to me?  He waited for something to happen, but nothing happened.  Maxwell sighed to himself, and then he slowly drifted softly to sleep.