He shrugged and handed it over, going back to his perusal of the front page while I opened my section to the stock market report. I scanned through the list of publicly traded stocks for a few minutes, happening across several that seemed good prospects but, most importantly, not seeing the one that would be an absolute killer investment. I smiled to myself. So it wasn't on the stock market yet. Good.
"Find what you were looking for?" Dad asked as I sat the section back down in his pile.
"I think so. " I told him. "Have you ever considered investing in the stock market?"
He lowered his paper and looked at me, his eyes taking in my face, finally concluding that I wasn't joking. "Not really. " He answered. "I have my pension plan from the school district. The stock market seems like kind of a gamble. "
"In a way it is. " I agreed. "But if you could pick the right stocks and invest heavily in them, you could really make some money, couldn't you?"
"Ahh," He said. "But that's the trick. You have to pick the right stocks. If you pick the wrong ones, your money is down the toilet. It would take either someone with a lot more market savvy than I have or a genuine psychic to make a killing in the market. "
"A genuine psychic huh?" I smiled. Tracy, who had been silent during this exchange, gave me a sharp look.
"But as far as I know, such creatures are rare. " Dad said.
"I suppose. " I said. "But if someone DID have knowledge about which stocks were going to go sky-high in the future, that someone COULD make quite a bit of money. Couldn't they?"
"Well sure. " Dad answered. "It's a nice fantasy. Suppose you knew that say, oh, AT amp;T was going to go through the roof next year. If you knew that, you could invest every penny you had in it. When it skyrocketed, you could sell it off at enormous profit. But unfortunately, we don't know that information, do we?"
"I guess not. " I said, my mind whirring a mile a minute. "But it IS a nice fantasy. "
"So where were you yesterday dude?" Mike asked me as we walked to school that morning. The snow on the ground was almost completely melted and the sun was high in the sky. It was still a little cold but on the whole it was a beautiful Eastern Washington late winter day.
"Oh I met up with Raisin and Lonnie. " I said absently. "We went over to Raisin's house and smoked some buds. "
"Yeah?" He asked, obviously hurt that he hadn't been there.
"Yeah," I nodded. "Debbie was there too. I got to make out with her a little. "
"With Debbie?" He asked. "The cock-tease?"
"That's her. " I affirmed. "She cock-teased me damn near to death. "
He asked for details and I provided him with the story. I knew that would serve to reinforce the story that Lonnie and Raisin would pass around and therefore protect Debbie's reputation.
When I was finished he said, "It's too bad you didn't get to fuck her. " He put on a sophisticated look. "I fucked her once you know. "
"Oh really?" I asked, as if I believed him.
"Yep. At a party at Nick Costigan's one night. I had some weed and she wanted some. I told her she wasn't getting any until she gave up the puss. "
He then went on to describe his mythical session with her. Of course he'd made her come six or seven times until she'd begged him for more. He'd then fucked her up the ass, making her come an additional three or four times before he finally 'shot my wad' in her ass. After that she'd always wanted a repeat performance but he'd always turned her down. She was nice in a pinch he told me.
"How come you never told me about this BEFORE?" I asked, unable to help myself.
He blanched for a minute. I'd just asked a forbidden question. When you were told a pussy story you weren't supposed to question its validity. They might not listen to YOUR pussy stories if you did that.
"She asked me not to tell anyone. " He answered. "She didn't want anyone knowing she fucked. "
"I see. " I nodded. "So why did you tell me just now?"
"Well," He stammered. "It's been a while and I know you won't tell anyone. "
"Ahhh. " I nodded. "I get it. "
We walked in silence for a few minutes. Finally I asked, "Mike, do you ever think about what you're gonna do AFTER high school?"
"What?"
"After high school?" I repeated. "It's gonna end some day you know. What are you gonna do with your life?"
"You sound like a fuckin' school counselor. " He informed me, almost angrily.
"High school ain't ever gonna end man. It's a fuckin' prison. "
"In a way. " I allowed. "But some day you'll be freed from it. You ever think about what comes next?"
"No. " He said, his tone telling me to drop the subject. "I don't. "
Mr. Achmed was surprised to see me hand in homework to him that morning. He was even more surprised to find it was correct. He expressed his pleasure with my work and made a point of calling on me during class. Most of the time I managed to come up with the right answers to his questions. Instead of making me happy however, it kind of pissed me off.
Now that I was supplying the right answers to his questions he was paying attention to me. But before, when I was flunking all of his tests and getting an F or a D in his class, I was simply ignored. The same was true for my other teachers. Now I'm not a screaming liberal that likes to blame everyone but the person responsible, but there is a certain amount of responsibility instilled in a teacher isn't there? Why hadn't I been helped along before this? Why had I been allowed to simply sit in class and flunk without even a single pulling aside by a teacher? Cynicism was the answer of course.
It was the answer, but it wasn't an excuse. I had been a paramedic and, except for cops, you would be hard pressed to find a more cynical group of people. I had been called out for so much bullshit in the course of my career that I assumed everyone was full of shit until proven otherwise. People called us for hangnails, for colds, for ear infections that their kids had. And they reported these things as finger amputations, difficulty breathing, and head injuries. But never had I acted upon this cynicism. If someone said they were having chest pain, then they were having chest pain and I treated it appropriately even if they were twenty-five year olds only trying to get out of work for the day. If someone said they were short of breath than they were short of breath, even if they were speaking in complete paragraphs. If you acted on your cynicism you would be right probably ninety-nine times out of a hundred. But that one time you were wrong would bite you in the ass hard.
My teachers obviously assumed that trying to reach a disinterested student was a waste of time. Most of the time it probably would have been. But sometimes it wouldn't have been. Shouldn't they have been extending at least a little effort when someone like me simply sat in their classrooms and paid no attention? How many people that might have been turned around had just been allowed to sink into the abyss because the teachers assumed they were lost causes and directed their full attention to those that showed an interest in their subjects?
I was surprised by how strongly I felt about this subject and was quite pissed off by the time I left Algebra and headed for American History. My feelings were reinforced when I explained to the teacher that I didn't have my homework that day but that I would turn it in tomorrow.
"Fine Billy. " She said absently, moving onto the next student, obviously not believing that I was going to turn in anything the next day. Granted I did not make a habit of turning in the homework but had she ever talked to me about this? No. Had she ever called my parents and talked to them about it? No. To her I was a lost cause, unworthy of her attention. She would expend no efforts towards me unless I showed HER that I was interested in her subject. Why wasn't she trying to GET me interested in her subject? Why was she simply letting me sit there every day? What system was encouraging this?