Chap 2

Mornings were the worst of all.  Sunrise was inevitable, birds start singing, everyone starts moving around; you didn't ask for it and there's not a damn thing you can do about it.  It's not so much this day you are mad about, or that you will have to get up and do things, it's just that nobody ask you.  It's just how it is and that's just how it is and fuck you, either get up and deal with it or be a loser.

Gramma is at the door saying words, she will come back several times and say more words when she realizes i have sunken back down into the wonderful folds of sleep.  Each time the words are louder and harsher, each time my reply is also louder.  

i almost can't help myself, the drug of sleep has me in her sweet comfy palms.  I do consciously try to rise to consciousness, but she speaks so softly and my mind losses focus and settles back into sweet unconsciousness. The gentlest of breezes moves the curtains of my room, sweet thoughtfeelings caress my sleepy mind and i give into them, drifting back down into pure unconscious... Again my gramma at the door, fuck!  "Ok ok, I'm up"

There is nothing quite as bad as mornings.  This must be how newborn babies feel, yanked from there mothers warm, comfy bodies, out into the bright light, loud noise, people looking at them and touching them.  The fucking shower water is never right, too hot or God-forbid, too cold.  Clothes never fit right in the morning, itching and pressing and touching you.  Sometimes it takes a good five minutes yanking around my briefs cause  i just couldn't get them right; too tight, too lose, touching me.

Of course breakfast must be eaten, at least in this house.  My gut is empty and dead, wanting nothing to intrude.  My mouth is dry and my tongue is unimpressed with the oatmeal, despite the raisins. Of course some morning-person has rushed loudly into the kitchen and banged around every pot in there to produce a huge breakfast spread for all to enjoy.  How is it that you have to eat when you don't want to eat?  Fucking breakfast

"Are you excited about being in fifth grade? Gramma chirped.

"Elated." i grunted.

Words like elated always caused her to have that look on her face, not quite sure what it meant, she rolled it over in her mind and tried to decode it's meaning with whatever context clues i had given her.  She had made it until 9th grade in some shitty little country school, until she had to quit to help her dad with the housework after her mother left, at least that was the story.

"Now don't be rude, Mrs. Davis is very nice, I'm sure it will be a fun year."

"Right."

People being nice was sometimes unbearable.  Trying to say just the right thing to cheer you up or whatever, but always hitting the wrong nail with the wrong hammer.  She thought that the Sun would brighten my whole life with the revelation that this was going to be a 'fun year'.  Fuck.  Usually the person trying to be nice had no idea what the problem was and said something so obtuse it made things worse.  OMG, i was just about to stab myself in the eye, but since you broke the news to me that the coming year will be fun I gues i will put down the fork, eagerly eat this fucking tasteless oatmeal and put on a big fat smile and be happy.  No.

"I gotta get my stuff together."

"But you didn't finish your oatmeal..."

Chap 1

It was so hot in the room that Johnny felt like he might smother.  Of course his grandmother had over-dressed him, cardigan sweater, corderoys and all.  Now sitting in this oppressive heat, itching and sweating with all these fucking kids around, he was sure he would die soon.
The start of each school year was almost intolerable for him.  The newness of it, everyone trying to act like it was a new beginning or something, disgusted him.  Same kids, same shitty town, same future awaiting, but let's all act like a new day has dawned, fuck.

Mrs. Grimes would be their teacher, and she also was putting on this nauseating veneer of newness, as if she were certain this was the best group of 5th graders on the planet and she just couldn't wait to build their little minds into great monuments.  She was also overdressed, a fresh rinse on her hair to mute the gray; new makeup to cheer up the pallor of her face, a temporary lightening in attitude  trying to brighten the grayness of her soul.
And of course the principal, Mr Switzer had to stop by and smile and say a few meaningless things.  Mr Switzers smile look so odd, because never in all the times Johnny had went to his office last year had Mr switzer ever ever smiled. He kept smiling and saying little things, acting almost as if he liked these kids, almost.

The steam-heat kept coming in smothering waves, Johnny could feel a trickle of sweat running down each hand, out of his long-sleeves, down each pinky, threatening to actually drip onto the floor.  He moved his hands, deftly wiping them on those fucking cordoroys and looked around the room.  First day, and 13 million more to go, he thought.  There were a few cute girls, nothing to get excited about except the red-head...