Lessons in Time - A School Story Page #4

I enjoy nostalgia and walking down memory lane. I have vivid memories of school, grade one to grade 12, complete with fear, angst and joy.

• Fiction

								


Markus, the first to arrive, unloaded his drum kit and rolled his eyes at the state of where they were going to practice. Nicky came next and handed out the embroidered jean jackets–she had gone for lightning bolts and skulls.

While she twirled her sheer black scarf, channeling her inner Stevie Nicks, Billy called their first practice to order, “Alright, guys, gather around. It's time to make history. We're starting a band, so let’s discuss our plan.”

Markus chimed in, always one for sarcasm, and rolled his eyes, “Oh, joy. A band. Because there aren't enough of those floating around in ’76.”

Nicky looked at him sympathetically to make peace, “Chill, Markus! We're not just any band. We're destined for greatness. I can feel it in my platform shoes.”

Markus once again rolled his eyes and smirked, “Greatness, huh? You sound like a fortune cookie, Nicky.”
As the band's leader, Billy quickly defended and brought everyone back to the task: “Let's focus, people. We need a killer name—something that screams 1970s cool."

Markus turned surprisingly positive when he said, “I was already thinking about this. How about ‘Cosmic Marmalade’?”

Billy paused, “That's... surprisingly good. Alright, Cosmic Marmalade it is.”

Caught in the middle of another twirl with her scarf and hair extended in a perfect stream, Nicky enthusiastically added, “And our first hit single will be called ‘Starshine Serenade’ or something mystical like that!”

Markus laughed, “‘Starshine Serenade’? Are we trying to summon aliens here? How about something with a bit more punch? Like ‘Disco Dumpster Fire’?”

Nodding, Billy smiled warmly, “I like that. It's edgy.”

Nicky frowned. “Edgy? Can't we have something with velvet and moonlight? Like if Stevie Nicks and Earth Wind and Fire had a sparkly little love child!”

Markus, being the person he was, shut down her idea. “Save the moonlight for the ballads, Nick. We need a power anthem to make people remember they're rocking to drum beats, not a disco ball!”

Billy, strumming his guitar, felt the need to defend Nicky even though he disagreed with her, “Speaking of beats, Markus, can you, like, not break every drumstick in the first five minutes?”

Up for the challenge of arguing and boasting, “I can't promise anything. The sticks just can't handle my rhythmic genius.”

“Or your ego,” Nicky said with a smirk.

Billy lit up a joint, inhaled the crackling homegrown bud, and on his exhale, filled the garage with the skunky aroma. He passed the half-smoked joint to Nicky. She took it, her fingers brushing his, but instead of lifting it to her lips, she paused. A beat later, she handed it back, her voice soft and casual. “I’ve got a bit of a sore throat,” she said, her eyes meeting his briefly before drifting away.
He coughed a nervous laugh, followed by a hazy stream of musky smoke. Markus smiled and changed the subject suggesting they wear uniforms, “Can't us guys wear suits and ties, you know, clean cut, like the Beatles used to be, and you wear a nice, fitted dress, Nicky, and we call it a day?”

Billy smirked, a twinkle in his eye as he said, “Man, you bedazzle these jeans just right, and they’re gonna be legends. Nicky’s got the magic touch for that.”

Then he raised his fist and concluded, “Alright, ‘Cosmic Marmalade’ it is, with "Disco Dumpster Fire" as our debut single. Let's make 1976 our year, guys!”
Markus muttered in his usual sarcastic tone, “This better be good and worth missing the
Six Million Dollar Man and Saturday Night Live for!”

Nicky, usually thoughtful, piped up, “Trust me, Markus, we're gonna be bigger than Six Million Dollar Man and the Bionic Woman all rolled into one; we’ll be touring and on the Johnny Carson Show for sure!”
Markus rolled his eyes again, keeping up with his tone. “Wow, I can hardly contain my excitement.”
The discussion continued with very few notes played while voices became escalated.

Eventually, the conversation petered out, and Billy said, “I gotta hit the hay, let’s pick this up again next Saturday.”
As the band parted ways, everyone knew they sucked as musicians and were doomed at ever making it big as rock legends.


1977

Markus and Wendy were in the same math class, and ever since Grade One, he had noticed Wendy’s bossiness and air of fun like a champagne cork popping off and the bubbles tickling his nose, causing unavoidable snorts of laughter. Now that they were older, he thought he might have a chance of making it to third base with her. He had heard other boys talk about her, and words like nympho and phrases like getting a piece of tail were used regularly.

Unbeknownst to Markus, none of the rumours were true.
He instructed Wendy to be ready just after the 3:00 p.m. bell and to leave her snobby friends behind. Despite his misplaced vanity, Wendy was excited about the date and curious to see what his massive house looked like on the inside.

After removing her winter boots and before taking her books out, Markus unexpectedly grabbed her hand. While overlooking the possibility of building a meaningful relationship based on trust, he forcibly yanked her closer for a wet, slobbering kiss.

Wendy did not hesitate and lustfully kissed him back.

Just as he leaned in, ready to push his luck, the unmistakable clatter of dishes stopped dead. His mother appeared from around the corner, her eyebrows shooting up as she spotted the little blonde with her arms wrapped around her son. She cleared her throat, the sound slicing through the air like a record scratch. “Well, well,” she chimed, trying not to grin, “and who’s this charming young lady interrupting my dinner plans?”

Taking too long to pull apart, blinded by his desire, Markus snidely laughed and said, “Oh, hi, Mom, this is Wendy from school. We plan to do some math homework together.”

Wendy smiled as if nothing was wrong, politely said hello, and added, “You have a beautiful home, Mrs. Jones; I especially love the high ceilings and velvet drapes. Everything is so glamorous.”

Wendy loved the word glamorous, which seemed fitting to use in the moment.

Markus's mother eyed Wendy up and down, her lips curving into a tight, unimpressed smile. The girl’s syrupy compliments dripped from a high-pitched voice, barely masking the too-low neckline and micro-mini skirt that made her raise an eyebrow. “Charming,” she murmured sarcastically, sizing up the girl she wished her son hadn’t brought home. Markus, oblivious to his mother’s disapproval, led Wendy to the living room sofa. As her eyes widened at the rich mahogany paneling and luxurious furnishings, he couldn’t resist boasting, “Some of these heirlooms are from the Ming Dynasty, and the tapestry wall hangings are direct from India.”

Wendy had no idea what a Ming Dynasty was and wondered why anyone would hang a carpet on the wall. She was still ostensibly impressed but increasingly grew panicked, wondering if she was about to lose her virginity right then, with Markus’s mother overseeing the whole escapade.

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