Swing Low: Chapter 12

Chapter 12:

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Installment #13 of:Sing Low: The Hangman of the WoodsBy B.C. Crow (Download audio podcast here) (Chapter 12Like a dog returns to its vomit, so too did I return to mine. Funny how progressing toward our goals can take us right back to where we started. I knew sacrifice was required to reach my dreams. I suppose that I can thank my father for giving me the experience I would need. Ironically, had I not fallen back to journalism, I might not be able to write this supplication. If you believe in divine destiny, or even the gentle prodding’s of a higher power, then maybe you can accept my supplication to be of credible value as I plea for Daddy Smiling’s case.Finding my school was easy. That first day after the rains, where I emerged from the woods, I found myself to be only five kilometers away from the school. On-campus dormitories were available but not free. The real struggle was finding a job that could support me.While my hometown did have many schools, this new city dwarfed anything I had to compare it with. Not that the city was big, because it was anything but. It’s just that, the school was much more dominant. My hometown was filled with the usual go-to-work, try-to-survive families. Schooling was a part of that, but more of an afterthought for most people. Here, the non-school-attending locals were obsessed with the academic environment. They attended everything from special lectures to sporting events. The schools in my town didn’t even have a sports team. Here, casual talk on the street or in the shops revolved around the schools. One day of job hunting was enough to show me that the college dominated the city’s culture.That night, still alone in my dormitory, while sucking clean a bowl of instant noodles, I reflected on my day. Like me, most people who attended were not from around here. In my first day of job seeking, I’d developed a pessimistic outlook on my prospects. Against the entire new class of students, I was competing for only a handful of jobs.After dropping my bowl in the sink, I got ready for bed. At least I had two things going for me. First, I’d arrived on campus before the majority of the other new students. Second was . . . well I, didn’t want to think about my second advantage. I bent over, resting my head in my palms. No use denying it though. I couldn’t think of any alternatives. I would make use of my second advantage. At least I would try. After all, I couldn't just ignore all my previous schooling. Nobody here was studying journalism. Careful not to smack my tailbone on the hard plywood that supported the bottom of my futon mattress, I eased under a single sheet, exhaled loudly and tried to justify my dirty resolve.Early the next morning, I half-heartedly pulled on a shirt and pants. Apparently, even near the dorms, there were enough chickens to make an early riser out of even the most drowsy. Next, I counted my money. The weight of the coins felt good. I rolled them into my pocket with the rest of my money. It wasn’t much and it would disappear far too quickly. But I had to make the sacrifice. Still early morning, before the humid air got muggy and hot, I left my room and walked onto the campus. Few people were milling about and I was totally lost. Not wanting to waste my whole morning exploring, I walked up to a man with dull black hair, bushy against his round pockmarked face. Wearing the traditional blue coverall uniform of a custodian, he was emptying trash bins from the day before. The smell of garbage mingled with his cheap aftershave. Amazing how every smell is so distinct in the morning. “I need to find the school store,” I said to him.“And I need to find a wife, a better house, and a job that doesn’t smell like rotten bananas,” he replied in a slow and groggy drawl.Whoops, I’d found a grump on my first try. I looked around, not sure how to respond. Then I heard him chuckle.“You new guys are all the same. I’m just giving you a hard time.”I choked a laugh.“Just head down two more buildings over there.” He pointed, then hacked several times before spitting into the open garbage sack that he was about to heft. Wiping his lips on his sleeve, he added, “It’s just on the main floor, right smack in the middle of the students’ center.” Then as if to punctuate, he smacked his lips with a satisfied grin before returning to his duties.I was about ten feet away when he called out, “You’re a bit early. They won’t be open yet.”“Okay,” was all I could think to say as I dipped my head in acknowledgment. In the back of my mind, I could almost see myself through his eyes. If I was to get the job today, I would have to try my best not to look like my usual insecure self, afraid of my own shadow.I was in a new place. Nobody knew me. I could have a fresh start.When I arrived at the school store, the shop was closed, true to the janitor’s word. Not only was it closed, but it wouldn’t open for another three hours. If I waited for the shop to open, my morning would be nearly spent before I applied for a single job. This had better work.To kill the next few hours, I wandered the campus. The buildings were old but well maintained. The institutional tan paint on cinder and concrete walls of the old buildings radiated an established dignity. The new buildings that had replaced the rubble from the wars were sleek with black glass walls and modern interior finishes. I could only assume that this institution had been around before the wars that decimated the region.Granted, the wars hadn’t been a disaster for the whole world. But for some reason, the big players in the global struggle all wanted to stage their attacks on our soil instead of their own. We hadn’t been part of the war until both sides of the conflict found us to be a strategic staging ground. After seeing the destruction that came about because of the engagements, I don’t blame the enemies or the victors for wanting to let someone else live with the aftermath. To us, both sides ended up being our enemies.Maybe I’m a little harsh. Some money did flow back into our countries from both the English allies and the Chinese. Whatever this school had once been, because of the sympathies of those once warring nations, the college was now something that I figured could rival any Western university.I’ve heard that in America, students don’t start college until they are eighteen or nineteen years old. My birthday was in a week, and I would be sixteen years old when my classes actually started. If I'd stayed home, my next two years of journalism school would have counted as college credit.Here I was starting pre-med. Without any medical background, this would be a busy year or two of playing catch up. Then of course, I’d have two more years of heavy medical instruction. At the end of that, I could find a job as a paid intern. Still there’d be courses above that, but the goal was to survive until I could gain that paid internship.I’ve wondered if Americans start college on a higher plane than we do, or if we just learn more quickly than them, thereby excusing us from the two extra years of pre-college education. Or when I graduate, will I have an inferior education? No, we were still on par with them. At least I hoped we were. If not, there was nothing I could do about it except keep moving forward, doing the best my circumstances would allow.Finally, the school store opened and I went in. My precious, carefully budgeted expenditure went toward the crisp, new red-and-blue T-shirt, blazoned across the front with “T.U.M.” Obviously, this was a play on New Tum’s name. Not only was it the name of the district, but it was the abbreviation for the school, Tum University Mandrills. Mandrills don’t live around here, but someone must have thought that the baboon made for an intimidating mascot.Wasting no time, I pulled off my old soft shirt and tugged this stiff new shirt over my head as I ambled off campus. It made my back itch, even after I ripped off the sharp tag.Clothed in my new flag, I was prepared to show off my patriotic fervor for the only topic that seemed to matter to the majority of townsfolk here. I stopped only briefly at the front doors of my final destination. At least I hoped it would be my final destination. If I couldn’t find a job here, I didn’t know what I might do.The old newspaper publisher, like so many others, had long since added electronic distribution to its platform. From the outside, though, the building still looked like a distressed newspaper printer. Granted, they did continue to have print material in circulation. My guess was that their print was still more read than their electronic journal. Anyone who had an electronic mobile device would be using that for their news now. But I didn’t have one, nor did many of the people I knew.The building displayed several layers of red paint, generations of coatings, now nearly all peeled off. At only one story tall, the structure was fairly wide, and very deep. I imagined hearing the whirring gray paper as it raced through rollers of ink and knives. I could imagine the folding and stamping of bands where the daily stories would be bundled and plopped on a pallet for delivery. If journalism was as simple and innocent as this, I might not mind it so much. Decent work, informative articles, nothing wrong with that. Yes, I could have probably continued in this field if not for all the bias and corruption that influenced those finger-staining pages.As I caught my breath and tried to dry my sweaty palms, I brushed my hand against another sales tag from my new shirt. How’d I miss that one? I tried to tug it out but the plastic punch threatened to tear my shirt. So I changed my style. Tucking the shirt, tag and all, into my pants, I inspected myself in the reflective glass of the front door. Not bad. Maybe even an improvement. I might have to tuck in my shirts more often. One more lungful and I pushed my way through the door. The rusty hinges made a terrible shriek, announcing my arrival.After returning to my dorm, I skipped dinner and went directly to my room and plopped myself onto my futon. I smacked my tailbone hard and bit my lip to hold back a curse. After rubbing my pour backside, I stared up at the ceiling. The dirty white plaster seemed to suggest that this room had once been flipped. The ceiling gave the worn impression that it had been walked on for years before being elevated off the floor. As my eyes lost focus on the world around me, my mind drifted to replay my interview at the publishing office. I had been successful. The job was mine. It didn’t pay as well as I'd like, but this was a college town, and I was told that no other job would even come close to the commissions that I could make.I was now the newest liaison for the New District Times. My articles would focus entirely on campus life. I would write for the paper’s print and electronic circulars about everything from ball games to campus politics. Every year this job was given to an ambitious student, and my previous schooling in journalism had set me apart from most other applicants the publisher was used to getting. It didn’t hurt either, that I was the first person this school year to apply.For the next week, I had the dorm all to myself. On Saturday, my sixteenth birthday, I was filled with anticipation. Not because I would get any special treatment or gifts, but I was getting something. Five of them actually. Three of which would significantly influence my life. On this weekend before school started, my five roommates arrived. Two of them came together. They’d obviously been friends for some time. They didn’t give me their real names, they just called themselves Thing One and Thing Two, inspired I suppose after the popular Dr. Seuss book, The Cat in The Hat. They strolled in as if they’d always lived here. I felt somewhat threatened by these two things, and couldn’t tell if they would be nice or rude.Thing One was my complete opposite. Tall, skinny, he had all the good looks. His friend, Thing Two, was a little more on the heavy side, with acne and a thick curly mess of hair that might never be tamed."Hi, I'm Iddo," I said, hoping that I displayed a sense of confidence. It was hard since I was at least two years younger.They both studied me as if I were a lab rat. Truth be told, they almost looked surprised to see me. Thing Two stepped forward, then grabbed my face. "Unbelievable!" He turned to Thing One, "This is going to be so great! All this time—wow. This is going to be different this time, you'll see."Thing One sighed, "We've gone over this. You can't change what you did. Just worry about who you are right now. Remember, what happened last time. You made your choices. Just focus on who you are now, and where you want to be when this is all over."Thing Two let go of my face. He made me so uncomfortable. I wanted to squirm. It felt like both of them knew me, but I wasn’t sure if that was good or bad. Then Thing one approached, "Iddo, it’s nice to meet you. Please forgive Thing Two. You could say he's not exactly himself today."Thing Two's stifled laugh sounded like a snort."Okay," I said, very unsure about what had just happened. Maybe they weren't both rude. Perhaps neither of them were. Maybe my social immaturity was responsible for my unease and I simply didn't know how to respond to the situation properly. I could have just reminded them of somebody else they did know. In any case, they didn’t feel like splitting up. I was okay with that.Of the three rooms in our dorm, they chose to bunk together in one of the rooms. I almost wondered, from the way they'd talked, if they'd done something really bad, and were now hiding under those ridiculous fake names. Who were these two, really?The next two boys to come in were from well-to-do families. Their parents brought them in their own personal cars. I’d never known anybody who owned a car. Well, that’s wrong. Krystal’s dad owned an old Mercedes. But these looked like nice new cars. The white and blue paint glistened so pristinely that I wouldn’t be surprised if the owners polished the things every day. Even the tires shone as if coated with high-gloss clear paint. I understood that these two guys probably had more in common with each other than they might with me. And yes, they did seem nice enough, but I still felt rejected when they chose to bunk together in the second free bedroom. They introduced themselves as Charles and Jhon.The last guy to arrive came with humble belongings. This was to be my roommate. His clothing was faded and patched. His boots had obviously been re-soled, probably more than once. I could tell, because they'd lost their shape. Just like mine, the leather was soft and too rounded. It looked like it was only a month or so away from wearing a hole in any number or spots. Still, his hair was trimmed neatly and with his charming smile and perfect skin, he’d be catching a lot of looks from the girls. That is, if he had a winning personality to go with it. Then again, he might not even need the social skills with a face like that. The only ornament he wore was a small ring with what looked like a green coat of arms. I knew I’d seen its match elsewhere, but I couldn’t remember where.“I’m Duy, from the Ubon Province.”“Sorry, I’ve never heard of it. My name is Iddo. I’m from just the other side of the woods down there.” I pointed in the direction of my home.“Wow, you came through the woods?”I nodded.“That’s not something I’d dare hike. Our town is just about fifty kilometers northwest of here. It nestles right up against those same woods, but you won’t find me taking a stroll too deep into them.”“You like it there?” I asked.“Yeah. It’s not a bad place. A little poor, but we’re generally happy. By the way, are you a Believer?”End of Chapter 12Thanks for reading. Remember to comment on anything you liked or that you think should be fixed.Click here to read Chapter 13Copyright 2017: While I encourage you to share this link with your friends and family, please keep in mind that this is copyrighted material. Under no circumstances do you have the right to re-publish any or part of this content without specific written permission from BC Crow and Blue House Publishing.