The Dual Lakes Symphony

[thekremlin]

I've always wanted to write a serial novel. Nubblies, you're in luck. This, in front of you, is the first chapter of my first effort at a serial novel. I would ask for constructive criticism only, but I am an adult and if you have something negative to say, I can take it. Its working title is "The Dual Lakes Symphony." Please enjoy.




I. Main Street, Howard

Ben Sloane sat in front of Howard Market, watching with slow eyes the quiet Main Street before him. A car passed, a ’96 Accord, and he watched it, just like he watched every car, person, or movement on the street in front of his market. Ben watched the car roll off, heard the tires grind against pavement as it turned right onto Bright Street. He took a long slow sip from his coffee, which had faded from hot to warm to lukewarm in the hour since the sun had come up. Soon it would be time to get up from the picnic bench in front of his store, soon it would be time to flip the sign in his door from Closed to Open, to smile as the early customers trickled in, but the last few minutes of the morning were still there, hanging slow in the morning.

The Accord came back around the corner from Bright and idled in front of the shop. The sun glared off the car’s windows, hiding the driver, but Ben could feel cautious eyes glancing over him. He distracted his own eyes from the car, instead stirring his coffee with a miniature spoon. Finally, the car’s engine stopped and the driver’s door opened.

The driver stood, his head poking over the car and glancing towards Ben. His eyes were nervous, his cheeks were red, soft, untanned. He wasn’t from Howard, Indiana. Or from anyplace like it. His haircut shouted city, the collar on his shirt was still crisp from starch.

“Excuse me,” came the young man’s careful voice. “Could you…”

“Good morning,” Ben smiled, letting the edges of his eyes squint into wrinkles that spread across his face.

The man paused. “Good morning.” He looked around, as if seeing Main Street for the first time. “Could you, ah, could you point me towards Willard's Road?”

Ben nodded. “You’re not far off. “ He gestured down Main with a lazy finger. “It’s the next right down this way, right where you see the Cap Theatre.”

The man grinned, visibly relaxed. “That’s good to hear. I’ve been driving all night, I’m looking forward to getting out of this car.”

“You’re moving to Howard, then?” The man nodded. “Well, then, I hope I’m the first to welcome you. I’ll let Bobby Feeney know to change the ‘population’ sign on the edge of town.” Ben grinned, happy, as only old men and market owners can be, to have a new face in the small town. “Where you coming from?” He nodded at the bench across his picnic table, and the young man slowly came around the car and carefully sat down, as if his pants had never touched hickory furniture before.

“Been outside of Vegas for the past few years. I went to school there, UNLV.” The letters meant nothing to Ben, but he didn’t let it show. No reason for it. “I’ve been driving all night.”

Ben glanced down at his own mug. “Coffee?” The man shook his head.

“I could use some, but I haven’t got any cash and I haven’t seen an ATM yet.”

Ben chuckled, a sound that was both wet and dry, that was knowing but not condescending. “If you’re moving in, I can start you up a tab. Everyone in town has a tab here, and I can tell right off you’re good for it.” Ben stood up slowly, letting his joints ease out of the seated position, letting his ligaments stretch as he stood. He turned towards his store, and before he opened the door, he turned to the newcomer. “What brings you to town, by the way?”

The man looked at him, and for the first time Ben noticed there was something in the man’s eyes that suggested a depth of character, a driven purpose. “I’ll be working at Dual Lakes High School. I’m the new band teacher.”

[Ugly Bastard]

MOARPLZSIR!!!

[angry pancake]

Deleted at mistoffolees suggestion.

[Mr. Blonde]

No gays in my town.

[Saint DH]

Ch. 2 plz.

[DDTempest]

TL;DR can i get a summary please?

[angry pancake]

Originally Posted by DDTempest

TL;DR can i get a summary please?

It's a story of hope, love, life and dreams all coming together in a town called Howard. I'm guessing a gang rape gets thrown in just to keep it realz.

[THEINCREDIBLEdork]

WHAT HAPPENS NEXT?

[thekremlin]

II. Willard’s Road

From the sidewalk to the roof, there are cracks. The concrete’s cracks betray sprouts of crabgrass, the concrete faded from sunlight, rain, snow, Indiana’s years worth of weather. The house’s vinyl siding, originally canary yellow, now simply looks jaundiced. The windows bear either permanent streaks or irremovable dust fog. But the roof is strong. It has held off the snows and the long rains, has leaked but been repaired, has seen care and industry applied to it. The roof betrays that there was once a man in this house.

Not anymore. Inside, resting her feet on an ottoman and all the rest of her weight in an upholstered chair, Cheryl Mueller is listening for sounds from above. She’s pretending not to, pretending to mind her own business, but the wall’s photographs and the coffee table’s doilies would attest that around two o’clock in the afternoon, on any other day, the television’s volume would be considerably higher. Today, though, widow Mueller is not alone in the house on Willard’s Road.

Upstairs, Dual Lakes High School’s new band teacher is unpacking. It is not as orderly a process as he had imagined it. It’s a small room, and it doesn’t handle the new clutter of all his worldly possessions very well. Nor does it handle him very well. Not that it’s a small room; though not large, he had certainly seen smaller. But it seems to be a room not prepared for movement. The dust on the wooden dresser is thick enough to be tangible, the cobwebs in the corners must have been sewn by unmoving spiders. The window would not open, just refused to. As he moved through the room, unpacking his belongings, it seemed as if the air itself protested at his moving through it. A stale warmth settled around his shoulders. He tried to imagine eating in this room, conversing in this room, and it was impossible. The only thing he could imagine doing in this room was sleeping.

The bed had disappeared under a pile of his clothes: two pairs of jeans, three pairs of slacks, a black belt with a silver buckle (given to him for his own high school graduation,) five pastel-colored collared shirts, two stiff white collared shirts, a polo, blue, a dozen t-shirts, and an incoherent assortment of socks and boxer shorts, some newer, some he’d had for five years, which had accumulated holes, tears, and yellowing. The clothes had been dumped from a trashbag. There was no suitcase in the room, the suitcase had been sold before he’d left Nevada, for gas money. Everything he owned was in a trashbag, or recently poured from one, except for one possession, set in its case at the foot of the single bed.

If he were to take a moment for contemplation, there is no doubt he would push the clothes aside and place the case on the bed. Would open the silver hinges and draw the cover off. Would look, before touching, at the brass French horn, sitting in comfortable velvet. It had dents, but he would see the sunlight from the room’s sole window glint off the horn, the valves, the silver mouthpiece that had been given to him years before. He would pick the instrument up and hold it to his chest, let his fingers settle over the valves, press a few down, feel the easy moving pieces of an instrument well-maintained. He might take the time to empty the spit-valves, to lubricate it with oil and wipe it with the cloth always kept in the case. He might sit on the bed and hold the instrument, blowing into the mouthpiece but without tightening his lips, so that air moved through the instrument but no sound came out. He might soundlessly play “Duke’s Place” or, appropriately, Basie’s “Indiana.” But afterwards he would absolutely put the instrument back on the velvet holder, and close the case, throwing back the silver latches. He would not lift the velvet up and look beneath, so he would not see the clutter of envelopes hidden beneath. The letters from Dina which he would not read anymore, but could not throw away.

[THEINCREDIBLEdork]

Just the title of this chapter sends a titter down my spine.

[angry pancake]

Edit: gone at mistofolees request. And it was awesome. Sheer motherfucking awesome. This was easily one of the best posts on here in the last few years. Definitely the best post on nubblies in the last 18 months or so. You have to go back to some of tempests earlier posts to get in this ball park again. So if you missed a piece of nubblies gold, thank mistofolees.

[DJ FC]

I was skeptical, but I think I prefer AP's version!

Although Kremlins just may need more time to develop.

[angry pancake]

No no. Kremlin is golden. I'm just trying to add to fine work.

[THEINCREDIBLEdork]

Get your own fucking story asshole. If you want to make fan fic put it in another thread. This shit is NOT canon.

[angry pancake]

Originally Posted by Mr. Mistoffelees

Get your own fucking story asshole. If you want to make fan fic put it in another thread. This shit is NOT canon.

Done. Request granted. AP out. It's deleted and there's no backup.

[Orgazmo]

There's always a backup.

[angry pancake]

Repost or no back up exists.

[Orgazmo]

"It's been quite some time since we last had a band teacher, I reckon." Ben replied. Then he added, "We been without one since Jonny Ray got caught after hours with a student a while back. What's your name anyway."

"Kremsberg, Felix Kremsberg." The new band teacher replied.

Ben stared down at his coffee and enjoyed the color that white cream created when it mixed with the deep mahogany color of the coffee. The mocha color always presented a calm pleasing feeling to him. His mother could not stand the mixing of cream into coffee. She always took it black. "There's no good sense to try to turn coffee into cocoa" she always said.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, uh um, . . ." Felix said snapping Ben out of his trance. "Ben Shaw" he said as he extended his hand to the newcomer in town. "Are you married?" said Ben as they shook hands. "Oh no, never been married yet. I hope to someday meet someone who will be a partner in helping me strive to be the best band teacher that I can."

"There's not too many women around here. After the mine shut down most left this area. You'd be better off looking around over in Ousley County." Ben said.

"Who said anything about women?" Replied Felix.

"Well now Felix, we don't have too many homosexuals in Howard. And just a bit of friendly advice, I would keep that to myself if you don't want any trouble. If Reverend Blonde gets word of this he'll."

"I'm not gay" Interrupted Felix.

"Here's your coffee, sir." The tall lanky girl setting down the cup and saucer at the table next to the left side of Felix. "Want a warm up Mr. Shaw?" she said to Ben. "I'm fine."

Felix watched as the girl walked away. She was tall all right and skinny. At least six feet tall. With stringy black hair and an over sized nose. Felix was amazed at how thin she was. She looked unhealthy anorexic, like an Olsen twin. "Say, Ben, who's the girl?" Asked Felix.

"Oh that's Sundown." Ben said. "She attends Devil Lake Highschool. So she won't be one of your students. She's a real sweet girl. Not much to look at, bless her heart, but she's always on time and tries really hard. Too bad she looks like her dad. He's one ugly bastard."

"She looks okay to me." Said Felix. "Hopefully she's grow into the feet and nose. Is she seeing anyone?" He inquired.

Ben now understanding Felix's fondness for underage girls and not women. "So you like your girls a little on the young side do you?" Joked Ben. "Nobody likes grass on the playgrown, Felix. I think you'll fit into Howard just fine." "I tell you what, after you get settled in, you need to go see Reverend Blonde down at the church. Howard is a small town. Most of the social activities revolve around the church and Blonde will help you get to know some of the town folk." "Also there is a lively youth choir, some really pretty young adolescent girls there. Maybe Reverend Blonde could use your assistance with the music."

Felix gulped down his coffee, ecstatic of the news he was hearing. And anxious to meet with Reverend Blonde. He stood up and again extended his hand to Ben. "Ben, it was a real pleasure meeting you, I hope that we can meet again soon."

"I'm sure I'll see you again Mr. Kremsberg. You owe me for a cup of coffee."

Sundown giggled into her palm, unsuccessfully hiding her reaction to Kristen's dilemma. She wasn't alone of course. Billy Don Hodge, or BDH as his friends called him but really couldn't remember why, was giggling too. The two of them stood a little apart from their friend as she tried to find a way of turning down Chas's invitation to a movie without hurting his feelings too much. The three of them of them, along with two dozen other teenagers, were waiting for the bus home, which wound its way through Howard's less prosperous area on its way to and from the regional airport.

Sundown went to Devil Lake High in Ousley County, a reasonably good private school, surrounded on one side by private and semi-detached homes and on the other by townhouse projects populated by the lower middle class and a sprinkling of welfare recipients.

Kristen returned to the little group, rolling her eyes in the air as the others broke out in open giggling. "I heard the new band teacher at Dual Lakes has taken a shine to Sundown."

"How did you know?" Sundown demanded.

"My grandparents were visiting old man Shaw's store earlier this week and I overheard them talking about it."

"Brilliant." Said BDH.

"Not really. Shaw wants me to work more next week." replied Sundown.

"What'd you say to Chas?" BDH asked Kristen.

"I said I my dad doesn't allow me to date boys until I turn sixteen." Kristen replied.

"He'll just ask you again next month," Sundown said. "Boy are persistent that way, unless you coldly and firmly tell them "No" they'll keep pursuing it even if they think there's a glimmer of hope."

"I know. God! You'd think he'd take a hint." BDH blurted.

"I think he's kind of cute," Sundown sighed.

"He's a goof!" BDH snorted.

"He's a little geek!" Kristen scowled. "I can't believe you went out with him," she giggled. This setting off fits of laughter with the others, even Sundown, who had the misfortune to have gone out with Chas last month. Chas was the goofy aspiring DJ who was an exchange student from England. He had a huge co. . . .llection of digital music on his computer. "But I had the good sense to dump him" Replied Sundown.

"What do you mean dump him?" Ask BDH. "You went out once and he never called you again. It's not like he was your boyfriend or anything or you could do any better." He continued.

"I've had numerous boyfriends in the last school year. And I've never been dumped!" Said Sundown as they got on the bus, knowing that BDH was implying that Chas told his friends that he never wanted to go out with her again.

BDH got off the bus with Kristen, then a few stops later she pushed the "next stop" button on the hand railing to signal to the driver her intent to disengage. Sundown was left alone in the mostly empty bus as it made its way further south to the largely empty industrial area around the regional airport. While the bus slowed she saw the big chain link fence around her father's salvage yard, then got off. The street was pretty empty. There was nothing on the other side but waist high grass and a few trees. Her father's business, or "Ugly Bastard's Salvage and RV Park" as it said on the twenty foot high fence, occupied almost the entire street and went back at least a block. It was an enormous area, filled mostly with junked cars and scrap equipment, along with some of her father's card playing buddies who lived in campers on the east part of the lot. There were a couple of others who had manufactured houses of different types, but they all were junk and looked like a slight gust of wind would knock them all over. She could have swore that the Puerto Rican family had chicken fights behind the shed on weekends.

Sundown walked in through the big gate and passed around the tall piles of scrap and a giant sea of mud, then walked down a narrow lane lined with junk parts from cars or what not. Then into the shop that in front of her home. In front, was garage, packed with junked old cars and the pieces of hundreds of others. Through this mess was where she and her family lived. Her father, two brothers and sister, as well as her. It wasn't exactly a palace. In fact, it was an incredibly ugly building that was freezing in winter and roasting in summer. The only redeeming thing about it was that she had her own room. Her little sister, Beatrice, who went by Beebs, had her own room, too. Her brothers shared their bedroom.

Her mom died when Sundown was only nine years old. It was tough on the whole family but her father just seemed to go into a shell. He threw himself into the salvage business and working on cars. She remembered when he was a great athlete, a poker player, and he'd appear on television playing the game and in commercials on T.V. now, he just played cards whenever money was tight and he could beat anybody who wanted a chance to take the champ down. Other times he would host the games and just take a cut of everybody's chips. She was embarrassed to have any of her friends come by anymore. Her father was a gross pig, a blue collar, hard working sexist swine who thought women were for the kitchen and the bedroom.

She passed her older brother Wayne, as he bent over one of the cars in the garage, and went in through the little door marked "Employees Only." That was their front door. Then down the hallway to the family room and threw her bag on the ratty old recliner. There was nobody there, as usual. Her dad, Wayne, and Little Harry were all out working in the yard. Beebs was still at school. She turned and went down another hall to her bedroom, then went into her own room and closed the door.

It wasn't been easy fitting in at Devil Lake High, living where she did. She was still considered a little odd by some people. Playing the tuba in orchestra didn't help. She was planning on using the tuba to get out of Howard by getting a college scholarship and maybe become a band director herself. But her grades started to decline when a substitute new band teacher took over. Band teachers did not last long in these parts of Indiana. Maybe she could get some private tutoring from Mr. Kremsberg after he starts up at Dual Lakes. She thought to herself.

Sun flicked on the television, and clicked the remote control to the music station. Her dad had put together a satellite dish a while ago, and hooked it up to the televisions in the house. They probably weren't paying for the satellite service as Dish and Direct TV were not available out where she lived.

Sundown sighed, and took off her skirt and blouse. Her brothers had taken after her dad, which made it practically impossible for a girl to live around here. There wasn't any other choice, she had to graduate from Devil Lake and go to college. She wasn't sure what she was going to take in college, but she was a virtuoso on the tuba and she would be first chair at any school in the county. Sundown often told her friends she wanted to try hard to get into North Texas or University of Rochester. She didn't intend to work with her hands like her father did and her mother had. She hated her father, and wasn't terribly fond of her brothers, either. She had no intention of working at that old pervert Ben Shaw's store for minimum wage for the rest of her life. She was going to make something of her life.

Sundown continued to strip off her training bra that she really didn't need and her panties and walked over to the mirror on the back of the door. She began brushing her stringy and mange like hair with it. She began examining herself in the mirror as she did. She rubbed a hand under where her right breast would be. She had small boobs all right. But she preferred to think of them as proportional to her thin frame. She had no curve to her waist or hips, and a pair of shoe laces legs. She turned casually. Her ass was gone too, she noted. Maybe she would fill out later she thought as she absent mindedly counted her ribs through mirror. She did the best with what she had. Always carefully plucking her unibrow and regularly getting her mustache waxed.

She picked up some lotion and spilled it onto her palm, then slowly began rubbing it onto her body. She greased up her shoulders and chest, rolling her hand in slow circles over her chest until it glistened. She poured some on her legs and ran her hand up and down the long, skinny limb, then did the same to the other. She placed a towel on the bed and lay back on it and poured some on her stomach, rubbing it down over her belly button and into her lush rainforest pubic hair. Her hand lingered at crotch, catching the lotion before it slid off. She started rubbing it over her belly, then down her hips and thighs. Her oiled hand glided across her soft warm skin, sliding down between her legs to rub easily across her bristle like pubic mound. Sundown's mind went back to the man she met not long ago, Felix Kremsberg. Sundown began to fantasize the new band teacher was the one who was rubbing lotion on her body right now. That it was the gentle hands that only a band teacher could have that could bring her this much pleasure. . .

And, for good measure, the backup of

Repost or no back up exists.

is

Feel free to repost it if you deem it worthy.

[angry pancake]

Awesome power. Though a good part is missing, I'm sure it's an oversight. I bow to your magic powers.

[thekremlin]

III. Wal-Mart

It was the pride of Howard. The prize given to the town lucky enough to be in the center of Warburton County, and to hold the title as undisputed County Seat. Fifteen years ago, the largest employer in Howard had been Cantor’s Wood-N-Things, a factory which had produced wooden panels, mostly for the sides of inexpensive furniture and the exteriors of station wagons and mobile homes. A fire in ’96, fed by the laminate chemicals in the wood panels, had destroyed the factory, half a dozen homes, and reduced the city’s already-meager industry, along with its future prospects, to zero.

This was all part of Howard’s unwritten history, all known by any resident with a few decades’ occupancy, and quickly relayed to any newcomers. The great mystery of Howard, in the back of even the most optimistic locals’ minds, was why the fabled Wal-Mart corporation bought the land, still smoking and smelling of melamine resin, and began construction on a shining white monolith with three-hundred parking space that exuded megawatt after megawatt of advertising light into the otherwise dark Howard sky.

The effect was immediate. Nearly all the traffic that came through Howard was related to the Wal-Mart. Over a tenth of the town’s adults were employed there. A town on the brink of obsolescence after a devastating fire was immediately saved, a corporate dues ex machina. There was some griping. The five-and-dime was gone, Darryl Johnson’s furniture shop, in fact nearly all of the commercial businesses were completely wiped out. Ben Sloane’s Howard Market barely stayed afloat, mostly thanks to a handful of loyal customers, whose number was fading. But overall, the superstore was an answered prayer. A meaningless title based on luck-of-the-draw geography—County Seat—had somehow led to the town’s salvation.

Howard had become a town with two centers, Christ’s Church and the consumer’s. The three-hundred car parking lot served also as the town’s water cooler, where housewives saw each other once a week on their way out, lugging carts full of plastic-wrapped goods. Inside, shoppers milled from all around the county. These were well-informed consumers, who not only had a preference between Coke and Pepsi, but also Miller and Bud, Twinkies and Ding-Dongs, Marlboros and Camels, Digiornos’ and Celeste, Reese’s and Twix, Cheerios and Cornflakes.

The town’s newest resident, whose name was Daniel Matthews, was rolling his cart up to one of the dozen checkout aisles. In his cart: a loaf of bread, white; two two-liter bottles of soda, Coke; a six-pack of hot dogs; a six-pack of hot dog buns; a bag of potato chips, ruffled; a six-pack of bottled beers, Corona; a twenty-four pack of canned beer, Bud; a package of sliced roast beef; a packet of individually-wrapped slices of cheese, American; four apples, prewrapped in airtight plastic; orange juice, extra pulp.

He arrived at the front of the line. The checkout clerk was young, maybe sixteen years old, but his eyes were faded, fatigued, drooped, bloodshot. His skin was pale and his hair hung in strings over his forehead. Daniel started to place items from the cart onto the counter, and the clerk, who was wearing a pin that said “Kevin”, began to swipe them across his barcode scanner.

“Do you go to Dual Lakes?” Daniel asked, optimistically.

Kevin barely seemed to hear him. His eyes didn’t move up, stayed on the barcode scanner, and he made a sound that indicated assent.

“I start teaching there on Monday.” Nothing. “I’m going to be running the band program.”

The Coronas slid across the scanner. “Didn’t know we had a band program.”

Daniel grinned. It wasn’t a conversation, but it was a start. “You have one starting Monday.” No response. “Do you know anyone who plays an instrument?” The American cheese slid across the counter. “Hopefully we can get a good turnout.” Nothing. The window had passed.

“How do you want to pay?” His teeth were tiny and yellow, unnatural, with gums that nearly overtook them. Although he wasn’t close enough, the idea came to him that this clerk’s breath must smell terribly. He didn’t breathe in. He wanted to be out of the store. But where to? The tiny room in Mrs. Mueller’s home? The safety of his car, which he’d already spent his entire weekend in? Back in Nevada?

“Debit.” He passed his card over and punched his pin into the pad which jutted out from the counter. In the end, he’d spent an hour walking around the store and bought next to nothing; two plastic bags, where one probably would have made do. Unlike the housewives, he didn’t stop to talk to anyone outside the superstore. It wasn’t until he was back at his car, with his bags in the back seat, and set behind the wall that he let go of the breath he’d been holding since the checkout counter.

[thekremlin]

IV. Dual Lakes High School, Cafeteria

“You go to the drive-in this weekend?”

“I can’t believe, it hasn’t rained in weeks.”

“What day is the exam, anyway? Wednesday?”

“Give me a quarter, I want to get a pop.”

“How long does it take to drive to Bloomington? I want to check out IU sometime this month.”

“Goddamn. My sandwich is all squished.”

“I think I’m coming down with something.”

“I honestly am shocked that Kyle Farnsworth is still around.”

“That’s what I don’t get, is it about triangles or circles?”

“Colts looking good, even if it is just preseason.”

“He’s gross.”

“I looked for fucking hours. Could not find a single double-A battery.”

“I don’t want to go. I seriously do not want to go.”

“Spent all weekend helping my dad. Feels like my arms are going to fall off.”

“Didn’t see you at church yesterday.”

“I think Lisa’s having a party this weekend.”

“I need a job. You don’t know anyone, do you?”

“Creeps me out. He’s always looking at me.”

“It’s getting worse, not better.”

“All of a sudden, bam! It was incredible.”

“His cousin plays at Notre Dame. He’s enormous. Think he’s a linebacker or something. He’s a total dickhead, though.”

“Can I get a ride home after practice?”

“How old is she? She’s a sophomore?”

“It’s not bad. It’s pretty good.”

“I think I’m going to go to the library after school.”

“I haven’t shaved in two weeks. Nothing to show for it.”

“I gotta go. Gotta do this thing before class.”

“I heard they’re starting a band program. I played trumpet in junior high, haven’t touched it since.”

“OK, I’m taking off. I’ll see you guys after bio.”

“Ugh, lunch is too short.”

[thekremlin]

V. Willard’s Road
Daniel was drunk, and it was a problem.

He had not expected the rap on his door at eight o’clock in the evening. He had assumed widow Mueller would have considered eight to be well past curfew, or at least past the curfew for knocking on doors, but there it was, and with it an invitation to join her for a glass of wine in the dining room. On paper, it was a nice invitation, a kind gesture. In practice, it could become a disaster. He had had his first glass of whiskey almost immediately after getting back to his room after the first day of class.

He arrived in the dining room, careful to walk steady. It was the least practical room he had ever been in. The chairs around the dinner table were cushioned but not comfortable. The walls were canvassed in cupboards bearing unused silverware and plates on stands. There was a painting of an arbitrary sunset on the one free wall.

“I didn’t want to disturb you, but you didn’t have any dinner, either,” Mrs. Mueller was saying.

“I’ve just been exhausted. First day of classes and everything.”

Mrs. Mueller produced a bottle of cheap red wine, something Italian, and uncorked it. “So what did you think?”

Daniel thought about it. Thought about what the expected answer was, what he really wanted to say, where to find the ground in the middle. Considered what he would say if he hadn’t been drinking at all. “The kids in these classes, I can see it already. They’re tricky.” He waited for her to respond, but she was just listening. “You think, OK, they’re kids, they’re modern kids, your big problem is going to be apathy.” He tasted the wine she had poured. It was warm and tasted like alcohol. “It’s not apathy. They’re not bored or tired, they’re alert, they come into the classroom talking to each other and then the class starts, and they’re listening, and they’re watching you, and even more, they’re watching each other to see, I don’t know, to what extent the others are watching you—err, or me, whatever.”

“Sounds like you had their attention. Couldn’t have been the easiest thing, first day, with a new band program.”

“This wasn’t even the band class. Just a general music class. Mostly just me talking. The students that take to it will try out for the band, and that won’t start up for another month.”

“Where are you going to get instruments for all of the children?”
Daniel shrugged. “I don’t really have a budget. It’s going to be up to the students, or their parents, to come up with them. I can make some recommendations, of course, for where they could go.” He looked at his wineglass, and it was empty. Mrs. Mueller’s was full, except for a sip. She looked at his glass.

“Would you like a refill?”

“I think I better get some rest. It’s only Monday, after all.”

Daniel turned around curtly, trying to hide the stumble in his step. He set the empty wineglass on a side table on his way out of the dining room, leaving Mrs. Mueller behind. He was being rude, he knew. Rude was OK, not preferable but an acceptable casualty. Better than drunk, better than shaky.

Back in his room, he reconsidered his answer. He had expected the main challenge to be getting the students interested. It hadn’t been like that at all. He had been outnumbered the second they had entered the classroom. They had watched him and judged him, they were all awake and aware, they were not vegetables they were predators.
Daniel poured the last of the bottle of whiskey into a glass, and poured the glass into his mouth, and fell onto his bed.

[angry pancake]

meh