Steckland Russ (II.iv)

    (viii) --



    A quick conversation I had Thursday after Reading Period, after finding a baseball glove outside the gym:

    'Hey man, is this your glove?'
    'Yes.'
    'Yeah here you go. Found it beside that locker there.'
    'Thank you. Do you have a baseball glove?'
    'Well, yeah. It's in my locker.'
    'How about we go play now? Catch?'

    I had not expected shy young Hoosyan to be so forthcoming, but of course I said yes. My last period of the day was World History, and as I knew Caruthers had been sick all week I figured it would be another substitute teacher. This increased the skipability of the class onto a level I could not refuse, especially when a game of toss was being proposed.
    So I went to my locker, grabbed my reliable brown-black and snuck out the side exit with Hoosyan. We found a park on elegantly narrow Mutual Street, rented the grass of the schoolyard and stretched it out. The soil was dusty and dry and a bad throw was sure to make the ball filthy, but there was plenty of space.

    'How hard do you throw?' I called to him.
    'Finesse.' answered Hoosyan.

    His first throw nearly sizzled through the seams of my glove. The release of his throw was deceptive and it took a while to time it properly. My velocity is unimpressive, so once my arm was loose enough I tried to look impressive by throwing my slider exclusively. Hoosyan picked up on this and tried to throw one himself, but bounced it ten feet in front of me.

    'Work in progress.' smiled he, shaking his head.

    The next thing he threw me was a knuckleball with such little spin I thought it was a hologram. I countered with my curveball, loopy but with good late break. Hoosyan then threw something like a splitter, though it was practically a changeup with it's lack of drop. I threw my changeup, probably my best pitch, and Hoosyan answered back with his fastball (or "sizzleball" as I now call it). This repeated for maybe twenty minutes until I threw an eephus pitch and we burst out laughing.
    We were sipping ginger ales on a bench behind the backstop when I discovered something was missing from my pocket. I jumped up and made a quick scan of the grass, but could not find any shiny metal. A melting sense of dread overcame me, as I knew this day of toss had come to an end.

    'Sorry man, I just found out I left my keys in my locker.' I told Hooysan. 'I gotta head back to Highview before they lock the doors.'

    Hooysan nodded emotionlessly and picked up his baseball.

    'How do you grip changeup? Show me, before you go.'

    I took the ball, placed my three largest fingers across the horizontal seams and showed it to him. Hoosyan was first quiet and puzzled, but nodded and smiled when I waved him a goodbye.
    The march up Mutual and then Maitland Street was one of advancing urgency. I have no watch or cell phone, so the time was perfectly unknown. Understand, once classes are dismissed at Highview many of the doors in the school are locked quickly and access to my third floor locker becomes impossible. Yet, if the last class was still going my presence in the corridors surely must enjoy an alibi. Mrs. Hawker, totalitarian disciplinarian vice-principal, has a certain nose for smelling out class skippers behind walls and below floors, like her pet bloodhound she resembles. With her and Principal Boller surely webbing the floors to snag flies like me, I knew I had to be clever.
    I entered through the new building and crept into the cafeteria. There were caretakers lingering about, so I slipped into a seldom used staircase on the north side of the building. This led me towards the second floor computer labs: a shiny narrow hallway filled with only red and blue painted lockers and the echoes of keyboard typing marinating within the walls. I went up another staircase, past a Grade Nine practising the clarinet, and came up to the third floor to see Mrs. Seddington coming towards me. I ducked, not fearing reprimand but fearing her notice of me would result in a flighty five minute talk of how much I'm enjoying her course this year. There was also an assignment I still had not handed in, so minimizing my awkwardness by avoiding her seemed best. Fortunately she made a turn for the Girl's Gym, and I was now just a short walk across the bridge to my locker.
    Highview Collegiate, if your incredible successes have clouded your rich memory, Future Steckland, is made up of two buildings. One is the Old, where my locker is, and the other is the New, with the cafeteria, music rooms, shinier floors and our seldom used swimming pool. Both buildings are connected by a tunnel walkway on the third floor, wherin through the windows you can see the modest traffic of Wellesley Street and the trees across the street go with the breeze. There was no time for sights this day, however, and as I rushed through the bridge blindly I ran straight into somebody turning the corner.

    'Sorry!' I said quickly, picking up a fallen textbook for him.
    'Fine. It's fine..' sighed he.

    The tubes connecting my stomach to the rest of my body wrapped themselves in knots once I realized him: Mr. Calsuco, my English teacher. He did not seem sympathetic.

    'Where are you in such a hurry to?' he asked.
    'I, uh, just needed to get to my locker.'
    'Huh. Strange time to have to do that.'
   
    He has this subtle habit of adjusting his square-rim glasses in class when wanting to know something from somebody. Calsuco was doing this here, and although the speckles of grey against his black hairline suggested relative youth, his eyes were well sharpened spears trained to dig out what he wanted of me.

    'Relax, junior.' said he, removing his spectacles. 'Say, you're in one of my classes. You sit in front of that kid who never shuts up?'
    'Anderson?' I suggested.
    'Anderson! Yes! Smart kid, tries too hard to show it. Real pain.'
    'I, kinda assumed every teacher loved him.'
    'Sure. But if I wanted people to regurgitate facts for me, I'd teach a class of dictionaries.' said Calsuco. 'Yes. Think about it, junior.'

    I didn't, but said I would and thanked him anyway. He suggested my best exit out of the school was the stairway leading into the north parking lot and was gone. I opened my locker and saw my keys plainly atop my Math textbook. The confidence I might actually make it out of this one ballooned inside me.

    'Mrs. Hawker, please come to the third floor, Room 313. Mrs. Hawker to Room 313.'

    I imagine when writing an account of one's life and experiences, the desire to embellish the adventure is a strong one. As I am writing these tidbit tales about myself as they happen, I again cannot guarantee flawless accuracy. This occasion however, you must trust me when I say this is what actually happened. The intercom voice was summoned right on cue, and Hawker was on her way to a classroom seven feet away from me.
    Trying to escape down a stairway was too risky. She could be coming up any one of them and I didn't much feel like asking luck for a favour. I had to hide, so I did the unfathomable and slid into the girl's bathroom just as the double doors of the north stairwell opened. The bathroom door had an awkward window that was perfect for peeking. I kept my sight down and saw Mrs. Hawker come into view: stalking along the floor like a predator, sniffing the walls for any scent of todays prey. I watched her walk right past Room 313 without even a glance, and I knew she was up here for me. 
    Hawker slowed her search in front of the bathroom door. I watched her lift her nose to the air, trying to catch my scent in the hallway breeze. Surely at this point I was licked: there was no escape out of this messy lavatory except through the fangs of my vice-principal. I was deciding whether giving myself up was better when the ringing of a bell introduced itself. The last class of the day had just been dismissed: dozens of students would be pouring out of classrooms and trickling to their lockers. Through the window I saw Hawker, obscured now by passing waves of people, so I opened the door slightly and slipped out just as our linebacker Doc Trambo walked by. In the corner of my eye I saw her look in my direction, but I kept calm. I turned down the stairwell leading to the North parking lot, just as Mr. Calsuco had suggested, and into the safety of a getaway bicycle.



        (viii) -- The Glove and The Escape