(xiii) --
Once Reading Period ended, Soraunen left class with a pink-haired friend and disappeared down the busy fourth floor hallway. I carefully eyed the dented lockers along the walls, thinking I overheard a mention that her locker was close by but no luck. The boy's bathroom behind me smelled like the cafeteria "Bean and Boiled Egg Thursday" so I thought it time for my next class.
My last period of the day was Gym and by the grace of miracles I had remembered to pack a uniform in the morning. I entered the locker room, grabbed my uniform and tossed my knapsack onto the changing room bench. In case you've forgotten, Future Steckland, our gym clothes at Highview are a white T-Shirt with a red crest and wolf opposite the heart, while the shorts are blue and simply read "HIGHVIEW" in block letters. I had just changed into this getup when Marcos Slickon, in my Gym class apparently, peeked around the corner.
'Hey Steckland! You up drinking all night bro? Your clothes smell worse than those Sherbourne hobos!'
'For the record these are my brother's clothes.' I protested. 'He didn't care much for laundry, or deodorant it seems...'
'Yo, freshen that up. If Kreight gets a whiff of you he'll probably ask for a swig!'
Unfortunately, Mr. Kreight never got the chance to ask me where my moonshine was. Just as I jogged onto the dim but shiny gym floor, Manuel the Hall Monitor tapped me on the shoulder; I was to report to Mrs. Hawker in the office immediately.
'Are you sure she doesn't want to see one of the other Stecklands?' I asked desperately.
'There are no other Stecklands.'
'Uh-oh.'
Describing the sensation one feels heading towards a confrontation with Hawker isn't easy, though I would liken it to sitting in a dentist's chair knowing you're about to get your teeth drilled while the dentist takes their time. I wandered up to the second floor, past the science labs, past some Grade Nine girls who giggled behind me, past the rotunda and the framed photos of graduates of years gone by. To think if my face ever would be in one of those frames, for within fifteen minutes such ideas can change from improbable to impossible.
The office was open and as always there was Phoebe, eyeglasses atop her head while her long dark fingers typed quickly onto her keyboard.
'Stecky. Sit down.' she said curtly. She was not smiling.
I sat on the wooden bench opposite Phoebe's reception desk. I wonder if you've ever gone back to visit Highview, Future Steckland, and whether the office is still painted light teal or if the room is as boxy and tight as it is now. There are sounds of phones occasionally ringing, papers being shuffled and shredded, the water cooler dripping and the nervous toe tapping of the students waiting beside me on our wooden bench. Still wearing my gym clothes, I felt even more awkward and uncomfortable.
There were three other unlucky schoolmates waiting next to me on the bench: Tyler Myagara, a notorious class skipper who I hadn't seen in a classroom since Grade Ten; Karla R. (I forget her last name), almost always to be found outside the side exit or the girl's bathroom during classes; then the calmest of this crew, wearing a beaten brown leather jacket and a Cincinnati Reds baseball cap backwards atop his bronze hair.
'Yo Steck, what'd they leash you down here for?' asked Mal Larson, adjusting his red cap.
'Attendance probably.' I answered. 'You?'
'No clue. Haven't been called down here since like Grade Nine. Whatever.'
Mal tucked his hands inside his jacket and stared up at the ceiling. I was about to ask him something when Ms. Floyd, the other receptionist, stood tall over us with an announcement.
'Malcolm Larson, Mrs. Hawker will see you now. Steckland Russ, Principal Boller will see you.'
The unpleasant moment had arrived. There was relief at not having to face Hawker, but being confronted by the principal hardly felt like victory. The door to Ms. Boller's office was slightly ajar so I pushed it open and took the chair furthest from her frustrated glances.
'Steckland, Steckland. Oh Steckland, what are we going to do with you?'
I didn't answer.
'I don't know. Like, I really don't know. I don't.' said the principal simply.
She was uncharacteristically still, clearly focused upon her task but finding no joy in it.
'You're going to have to tell me why this happened. After that, I'm going to have to make a decision.'
***
I left Principal Boller's office in a kind of numb state. Everything that had gone through my mind in the past weeks was now buried beneath the ground. There was no doom running through my veins, just the blunt force of reality, and everything sounds so much more serious when it actually exists.
Gym class was over so I went straight for my bicycle. I fumbled with the key out of my shorts before I freed the lock from the post beside the sidewalk. Mal Larson came out the side exit as I hopped on my wheels and he snapped his bike free from its parking spot in a single motion. He glanced at me and then quickly to the street.
'Let's go.' said Mal.
'Let's go? What do you mean?'
'Let's go.'
Mal started riding hard towards Jarvis and turned upwards. I hopped aboard my bike and followed him, realizing as we turned left on Bloor I had no idea where we were going.
We navigated the difficult mid-afternoon traffic of Bloor until Bay Street where Mal made a hard right turn. Bay curved into Davenport Road and we continued, bouncing through its stretches of bad road and powering up the winding hill before Spadina. This is a familiar path for me since I ride the Davenport bike lane eastbound everyday for school, but once we passed Christie and Mal showed so signs of slowing down I was into the unknown.
A large part of me was tempted to shout that we had just passed my street (I even saw my house for an instant) but even if I had I doubt he would have heard me. Mal ran a red light at Ossington and I followed through the honking cars just so I wouldn't lose sight of him. There was so much vibrancy in this neighbourhood: adults with their young children spilling out of bakeries and flower shops to bask in a sun that had just peeked out from her cloudy hiding place. A church bell rang just as Mal ran another red light at Oakwood, missing a turning mini-van by maybe half a metre.
We cruised along the Davenport hills until Mal finally came to a stop at Lansdowne Avenue. He looked around for a moment and then set off full speed up the steep north hill of Lansdowne. I hadn't the bicycle or the energy for such a challenge so I jumped off my ride and walked up the sidewalk after him, going just fast enough to keep him in sight.
At the top of the slope the road bent left and Mal disappeared. I swung around the bend and found shim riding slowly into a small parking lot. Beyond that was an enormous green park with incredible open space: there was a running track surrounding a soccer field, basketball courts and brown trees to the left of that, busy gazebos in the distance beside what looked like a public swimming pool, and comfortable benches offering rest and comfort to travellers brave enough to fight the nearby inclines. The sign behind the parking lot fence read:
EARLSCOURT PARK
Mal wandered to some metal bleachers beside the soccer field, dropped his bike onto the grass and lay down upon his back on the highest bleacher seat. I popped the kickstand, set my bicycle next to his and hopped onto a seat within talking distance of my silent pal. Minutes greeted and passed us by yet Mal still said nothing.
My attention wandered towards four kids playing soccer on the field, in particular the youngest and smallest who was wearing a green shirt. Despite his disadvantage in size the little one was clearly the best player: he was quicker, sneakier, and his kicks were much more precise and forceful than those of his brothers. (By the way they ran I am certain of this relation) Yet his older siblings paid him little respect for his superior skill, getting beaten time after time and just laughing it off with another brother. The tallest (and probably oldest) could not have been much older than eleven.
'You ever play soccer?' I asked my silent companion.
'What?' he responded instantly, as though surprised by my presence. 'No. Never.'
'All right.' I said simply.
Mal continued to stare into whatever thing in the sky had consumed him, but I could tell my question had stirred him at least.
'Sports were never really my thing.' said Mal after a moment.
The kid in the green shirt let loose a loud shout of joy: he had scored against his tallest brother.
'I've seen you carry round a baseball glove in your bag.' commented Mal. 'That your thing?'
'My... thing?' I repeated.
'Yeah your thing. Baseball. Unless you're just the type who carries round some random smelly thing to attract chicks or something.'
'No, no. I like baseball.' I clarified, unsure exactly what he was getting at. 'I play it when I can. It's fun.'
'Huh, okay. Never figured you as that jock type. I smoke with a lotta of those dudes on the hockey team and they're a hell of a lot different than you.' said Mal, reaching into his leather jacket for his cigarettes.
'Different sports attract different people, I guess. My brother was really the one who got me into baseball though.'
'Your brother?' inquired Mal as he lit his smoke.
'Yeah. He was always dragging me out to play catch since I was like eight. I always figured he just wanted a guinea pig to test his slider on or something.'
'Slider? Like a mini-ham--' *cough cough* '--hamburger?'
'No it's a pitch. You make the ball move by gripping and throwing it a certain way. Funny thing is after all those years of watching him aim it at my face, I picked up how to throw it and by the time I was thirteen my slider was better than his. Caplan threw his much harder but mine dropped more and I could control it better. Heh, we haven't played catch in over two years now. I bet he'd be impressed now.'
Mal took a long inhale from his cigarette. The green shirt kid scored another goal and his siblings just laughed it off casually.
'I never knew you had a brother.' said Mal. 'He went to Highview?'
'Yeah, he did. He never graduated so you won't find him in a picture near the office. Pretty much all he did at Highview was play baseball. Star pitcher by Grade Ten year, made the city all-star team I'm sure. Mum was so proud. I remember seeing his picture in the Sun one day, crazy feeling man, I can't even describe it. There's your big brother in the goddamn newspaper, doing what he loves to do and succeeding. I was pretty young then but I remember those times well.'
I fiddled with the pockets of my shorts, wondering if I'd said too much. It had been a long time since these memories had come into my mind.
'Nice guy, your brother?' asked Mal.
'Complete asshole.' I replied with a smirk.
'I think I would've liked him.' said Mal, grinning. 'Sounds like my sister.'
'Sister?'
'Sister.' repeated Mal. 'My older sister Carol. She didn't go to Highview though.
Oakwood.'
Mal pointed to the back deck of a brown house beside the park, just behind some trees. 'We used to live in that house there, the three of us. Mom, Carol and me. I remember I used to sit on that porch with my Spiderman and Batman action figures and have them fight to the death. Boom, pow! Ha, the loser would fall off the edge and into the grass of doom below! Fun, man. Once the neighbourhood Labrador got to Spidey before I could get down there, I stopped doing that...'
I laughed, and was happy to see my companion do so as well. Mal tossed his finished cigarette to the grass and sat up, sniffing the air curiously.
'Yo Steck, why you wearing your gym clothes?'
I looked down at myself: it had not occurred to me until now that I'd just gone straight for my bicycle after my visit to the office.
'Forgot to change, I guess. Damnit, my knapsack is probably still in the change room. Hope it's still there tomorrow.' I wondered, slightly worried.
'I'm sure you're fine. When'd you wash this getup though? You smell like you were swimming in rum all night.'
'These were Caplan's, actually. Once they get even a bit sweaty they stink.' I explained. 'A little farewell gift from my brother.'
'I take it he liked the sauce.' said Mal.
'Among other things.'
A chilly autumn breeze blew some of the browner leaves off their branches and slowly towards their final resting place on the ground. I felt goosebumps invade my arms and legs so I rubbed my hands over them for warmth. Mal, well dressed for the season, looked again at how underdressed I was and pulled another cigarette from his pack.
'Smoke?' he offered.
'No thanks.' I said.
'So what'd Boller talk to you about when you were in there?' asked Mal.
'She showed me my name on a list. There were six names at the top crossed out, then maybe eleven below that weren't. It was the expulsion list. I was the fifth name of those eleven.'
Mal let out a large puff of smoke, which swirled in the cool breeze as it faded from his lips and into the orange and brown trees around us. He looked half amused and half vulnerable, like a child who had pulled off a brilliant prank and now waited for the ramifications.
'Yep. I'm that first name.'
(xiii) --- Wellesley to Lansdowne
