Chapter 7: Getting to Know You

Tuesday, July 10, 4:07 PM

Before I go any further, I should point out some differences between East Middle and West Middle.

West Middle's territory is comprised almost exclusively of housing developments that were built in the late 50's and early 60's. There is a some difference of incomes and family types, but by and large they all fall into a middle-class range. East Middle, on the other hand, has a territory that encompasses the city of Jeannette, two trailer parks and several very new, high end "McMansion" neighborhoods. The families who send their kids to East Middle run the gamut from "very affluent" to somewhere just below the poverty line. This disparity between the two schools was the basis of a similar disparity in the culture of cliques within each school.

At West Middle we weren't so much exclusive cliques, but rather just groups of friends with common interests. The athletes hung out together, the preppies hung out together, the heads hung out together, and the rest of us congregated amongst ourselves. That didn't mean, however, that individuals couldn't socialize across clique lines. In fact, interaction between members of the various cliques was fairly common. We weren't so much 'cliques' as we were kids with similar interests who hung out together. And since class wasn't an issue, our affluent group called themselves 'preppies' but the distinction was simply a matter of clothing style.

At East Middle, the wide range in standard of living fostered a culture where each clique was much more exclusive unto itself. The preppies, particularly, refused to have anything to do with anyone lower than their own station in life. So strong was their disdain for the rest of the school that they actually referred to themselves as the "Elites!" The Heads and the un-crowd were, for the most part, more happy to accommodate them in their isolation. Since the athletic types tended to come from the affluent neighborhoods, the jocks and the elites had some intermingling (which, in my own humble opinion, was a bit hypocritical). The Heads had at some point realized that as long as they backed each other up and held their ground when confronted, the jocks would leave them alone. At that point they had collectively taken an isolationist stance, leaving the un-crowd on their own. The end result was sort of a pecking order, with the elites and jocks at the top, the Heads in the middle, and everyone else at the bottom.

When Tito's opened, and kids from both schools started hanging out, it was only natural for the various cliques from the two schools to gel together. But how the West cliques allowed themselves to be assimilated so quickly into East's mindset would probably supply a psychology major with a great subject for a Master's thesis! It was far beyond my comprehension.

If I had been coming to Tito's all summer like most everyone else had, and seen the results of combining the cliques from the two schools ... well, I probably wouldn't have reacted the way I did.

Hindsight is 20/20, they say.

I stopped in my tracks, spun around on my good foot, and yelled back, "Is that all you got?"

And suddenly everything got really, really quiet.

Miller looked surprised and stopped following us, but only for a moment. Then he smiled, sort of a lopsided grin, and started walking toward us again. The crowd was only about half of what it had been at its peak, but every remaining eye was flicking back and forth between him and me. Miller was walking slowly, "like a cowboy in a moseyin' contest," as Pappy would say. It gave me some time to reflect on the trouble I had apparently gotten myself into. One of the things that managed to flash through my mind was the fact that Miller had been faced down once already that day, and the knowledge that a guy like him wouldn't let it happen again. Not that I had anything but my wits to stand up to him with.

My wits! It was Miller's lack of originality that I had objected to. Maybe I could talk my way out of this?

Miller kept sauntering towards us, still wearing that silly lopsided grin. As he approached I finally got a better look at him, but I was no more impressed than before. He was nearly the stereotypical jock: covered with muscles, the biggest of which seemed to have replaced his neck; hair close cropped up the sides but unkempt on top and a shaggy brown mullet in the back; close-set eyes that Grammy would call "beady," and that ever-present grin. His clothing matched his compatriots' from the sleeveless tee-shirt to the converse all-stars on his feet.

At that point I couldn't help but think of him as a caricature of the jock stereotype — or a cartoon. And that thought almost made me laugh out loud! The only thing that stopped me was the knowledge that laughing at him for any reason at all would probably result in a sound pounding. It did, however, give me another thought— if he WERE a cartoon ... what would Bugs Bunny do?

Unfortunately, all of my thinking only served to take up the time required for Miller to complete his moseying from the picnic table to where I stood. His almost-six-foot frame towered over my five-feet-three and I had to look up to meet his gaze. That silly grin almost got me laughing again.

What would Bugs Bunny do?

The answer came to me in a flash. Bugs would flummox him with backhanded flattery, insulting him while making him see it as a compliment. Could I pull it off? If he twigged, I might end up looking less like Bugs and more like Wile E. Coyote after an encounter with a 16-ton weight!

"So, Grasshopper," Miller leaned forward while he talked so I had to crane my neck to keep eye contact. "You had something you wanted to say?" I could feel every eye within a hundred yards staring at the two of us.

"Um, just, you know," I stammered, " ... just ... Well ... you keep calling me Grasshopper, and I still don't understand why, and it got kind of old." Bugs Bunny's backhanded flattery, it seems, had gone right out the window the moment I opened my mouth.

Miller's cheeks and ears reddened and his grin became a scowl. "I'll call you whatever I want to. And let me tell you what's getting old, Grasshopper," he hissed. He leaned down until our noses were almost touching. "What's getting old is all you pissants forgetting who's in charge around here! Maybe it's time somebody gave you all a reminder?" He accentuated the last bit by cracking his knuckles.

This is the part where I get flattened like Wile E. Coyote, I thought. But then Miller glanced over my shoulder. Then he took a step backward. And his scowl turned back into that idiotic lopsided grin. He looked back at me.

"But since we're all just getting to know each other," he stated, "I think we can take another day or two to adjust." Looking over my shoulder again, he called out, "What's up, Hamilton?"

Turning, I followed his gaze to where Todd was now approaching the group. I also noticed that during the conversation all of my friends had moved several steps away from me.

"Everything okay here, gang?" Todd asked. "Train's leaving in 30 seconds. Better get on board or get left at the station." I noticed that while he was speaking to us, his eyes never left Miller.

"See you guys soon," Miller told the group. "Oh, and Grasshopper?" he whispered as we all turned to follow Todd back to the car. "We will finish this little discussion next time."

We all trooped back to the car in silence with every eye following us. Greeeeaat, I thought to myself. School doesn't start for over month, and I've already made an enemy.

When we had all settled in and Todd started the car, Bryan Adams' Run to you was on the radio. At the beginning of the second verse, Eddie piped up and started singing along:

Youuuu've got a skinny leg and a green cast on
And I've got one joke that I will repeat
and I just ramble on
Your skinny leg is green
But I only have one joke, you see
I've got a one-track mouth
I need to say it loud
I'm makin' fun of you
Yeah, I'm makin' fun of you
I'll use the same old line,
I'll say it fifty times,
I'm makin' fun of you!

We were all laughing hysterically and sang along as the chorus repeated.

The next couple of weeks went by quietly. I spent a lot of time making use of the new "walking cast." I walked up and down the stairs at home, I walked around the block, and I walked circles around Grammy's yard sales on Sunday mornings. I walked as much as possible in order to regain whatever flexibility, stamina and strength I could now that my leg was only in a half cast. And I walked, simply because I could!

I spent as much time as I could helping the Morrisons with little things around the house. I still felt bad for not being able to help Mr. M after Mrs. M's surgery, even though it had only been two weeks. They were both looking drawn and haggard. The normally spry and active Mrs. M was going stir crazy stuck in the wheelchair, and Mr. M was overwhelmed by taking care of her and doing all of the housework.

One thing I didn't do was go to Tito's. Even with my newfound mobility, I still couldn't ride my bike. The gang stopped by two or three times when Todd had the Land Yacht for the day, but I found excuses not to go, and I noticed that when I declined most of the gang didn't complain. My guess was that they didn't mind not having me along to draw attention from Miller or his ilk, and in all honesty I couldn't blame them for that. In the back of my mind I knew that sooner or later Miller would get his next time, and that it wouldn't be pleasant, so avoiding Tito's seemed to be prudent.

Another thing I spent a lot of time doing was talking to my ants. Mom would have sent me to a shrink, and the gang would have laughed me right out of town if they had known ... but for whatever reason, watching those ants marching up and down their nearly symmetrical tunnels and attending their blue-and-white spotted rock ... it's impossible to describe the feeling of utter calm and peacefulness I felt when I was near them.

I talked to them about my run-in with Mike Miller, and my apprehension about what might happen the next time. I also talked to them about my mixed feelings for the upcoming new school experience. I was still thrilled to be starting high school, but seeing the way the social caste system seemed to work left me feeling uneasy.

I talked to the ants a lot about how much I missed my dad. By then he had been overseas for close to nine months, and he wasn't due home until late August. Mom and I had been doing well enough without him but it just wasn't the same without him around.

Mostly I talked to the ants about Charlotte. The photo the Morrisons had given me was hung above the desk, and I often gazed at it during my talks. I told the ants about our summers together, our joint birthday parties, and our adventures around the neighborhood and the traditional icy treats afterward. The more I talked, the more I missed her, and the more I wondered why I hadn't heard from her.

As much as I talked, though, the ants didn't talk back. They only seemed interested in listening. After a while I decided that the voices I had heard must have been my imagination. However, there was no mistaking that the ants were the source of the serenity I felt when I was near them!

Tuesday, July 24, 8:15 AM

My second trip to the orthopedist was similar to the first, but different in some very important ways.

It was still July, and we were still in southwestern Pennsylvania, so the weather was still unbearably hot and sticky. It had rained the night before, making the humidity even worse. However, this time around Pappy knew enough to pick me up early and go straight to the imaging place for the x-rays, eliminating the trudging back and forth in the heat. We arrived at the orthopedist's on time with films in hand and only had a short wait before the doctor nearly burst into the room. He was quite eager to look at my latest x-rays and see if the rapid healing had continued. Truth be told, so was I!