That Woman Jezebel

The bus rattled down the road and spewed its outdated cacophony and rancid smells.  The 6:30 grey skies were no different than the 9 o'clock grey skies.  Phillip looked at his reflection in the window to see his face with a 6:31 shadow cast over his eyes and on the left side of his nose and along the side of his face and under his lips.  He thought it had a cool noir "tough guy" look to it, but he had to take everyone else's word for it: he wasn't good looking... ever.  He brought his slightly calloused hand to brush across his face, rough with three-day unshaven whiskers.  If nothing else did it, the 6:33 sky brought Phillip low.

         It was last night when Phillip cautiously made his way around the rotting park benches and blackened charcoal grills and he saw them in the distance.  His sister and that one boy he never really trusted.  No, his eyes did not deceive him.  His stomach dropped.

 

         "So am I supposed to kill the kid?  You know, isn't that expected of the brother?"

         "I don't know," said Maggie, loudly chewing her gum in the right side of her mouth, "Like, i think its kind of like romantic."

         “Yeah, it's pretty cute," added her friend.

         “But she’s 14… and they didn’t really know each other that well…”

         The girls shrugged and drew their phones.

         “Whatever.”

 

         Phillip sat silently in his class, staring at the teacher who was messing with his phone and had his $ 500 dollar pair of shoes propped up on his desk.  Behind Phillip sat a group of guys who were laughing loudly and slamming their desks.

         “I’ll rape ya mutha, I’ll rape ya sista, and then I’ll…”

         “Ha ha ha!” 

         “…Then I’ll rape ya brutha!”

         “Dude, ha ha!”

“That song f***ing rocks!”

“So f***ing funny!”

A girl named Sarah sat with them and passively told them to stop, but still laughed.  She sat with them because they’re loud and have money and have biceps.

Phillip held onto a distant hope that the teacher would react.  He never did in the past but today their words bothered Phillip a little more than usual.

 

“So do I kill him or what?”

“Nah, man, that’s just the way it is,” said Justin.

“Yeah, and besides, he’s, like, the guitarist in a band that’s kinda big.”

“But he sucks.”

“Yeah, whatever.”

A girl shouted from the other side of the room.  She was one of the kids that has a tutor and walks funny and says gibberish because it’s all she can say.

“Oh my god, I wanna f***ing put a pistol in her mouth and shoot.”

“Dude! Ha ha!  I f***ing dare you!”

“I’ll do it, too!”

“Bull-sh**!”

Phillip stood up and walked away.

 

Pacing down the hallway, Phillip walked into the Lecture Hall and stood in the back.  A boy who was probably 16 and 220 pounds walked up to the stage and nervously stood behind the podium.  (He had ended his presentation on culinary techniques but forgot to ask for questions and had just now returned for that purpose).

“Any questions?”  He spoke softly.

“How much money did the project cost?”

“Not very much.  Why?”

“Hell, I figured you’d eat all your sh** before each part of the project! Ha ha, I thought you’d sell your house to pay for this project!”

“Yeah, what happened when you were out of food?”

“I would just run down to the…”

“You can run!?”

“Yes, I…”

“You’re a giant, f***ing lard-a*s!”

“That… that’s not a question…”

Phillip thought he saw a glint of a tear from the stage light in the boy’s eye just before walking out.

 

“So… what should I do to him?”

“You know what you should do?  Get laid, you b****!”

“What…?”

“Some girls have a pretty solid business going in the upper D wing.  It’s like 20 bucks a go.”

“What does that have to do with anything!”

“Chill the f*** out, man.”  Mike stood up and spit his gum out on the table.  “Let’s go, Mari.”

Standing up, Mari said, “As long as they’re safe about it, just let it happen.  Besides, I think it’s kind of romantic.”  The two left.  Phillip stared at the piece of gum on the table covered in hundreds of bubbles from the spit, like many fly eggs.  Phillip turned to a commotion.  In the center of the cafeteria, an Asian kid was pushing around this other Italian kid.  A well-built Mexican kid gave a powerful shove sending the Asian to the ground.  Then, as the Italian kid walked away, this Pakistani ran up and spit on him.  Like the captor on the slave, like the Nazi on the Jew, like the Southerner on that black girl, like the black gang on a trespasser, like the Muslim on an adulteress, like the world on Jesus Christ.  And Phillip was on the Pakistani bringing punch after punch down on his face, breaking his skin, crushing his bones and it all yielding before Phillip.  He stopped.  Looking up he met eyes with a boy.  A boy wearing a pink shirt with a middle finger on it, wearing black skinny jeans, $500 neon green shoes, hair he combed for an hour straight, fat lips and a crooked nose.  The boy.  The boy he never really trusted.