Read Online Savage Tales by Robert Crayola - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Robert Crayola
Ads: Link
it."
"Well, it's great. I think the class should adapt it into a film and put it on YouTube or something."
"Well…"
"It's okay, I know you're shy, Eric, and you don't need to make a decision now. We can film a few other stories from other students as well so you don't stand out, but yours is the one I want to film."
"Well…"
"Just think about it."
"Okay. Mrs. Marz?"
"Yes, Eric?"
"I love you."
I told Eric to go out to recess. After school I offered him a ride home. I knew he lived far away and would have to wait in the school library for his father to pick him up. I told him I would call his father and let him know that I had taken him home. He agreed.
When I had cleaned up the classroom, Eric and I went to the staff parking lot.
"Mrs. Marz?"
"Yes?"
"You have a crap car."
"It's called a Ford Fiesta."
"It doesn't look like a fiesta," said Eric.
"Hop in."
Eric lived in the worst part of town, where teenagers lingered on street corners in baggy jeans, bandanas on their heads.
"It's that one," said Eric.
I let him out. I went home.
The next day after school I was surprised to see Eric's father waiting outside my classroom.
"Mrs. Marz? May I call you Helen?"
"I think you'd better call me Mrs. Marz."
"Well, then I'm gonna ask you not to give my boy rides home. I think it crosses a line I don't want you crossing."
I was going to give a snotty retort but remembered that he had every right to ask me what he did, and that I was technically crossing a line. He was the one who managed that line.
"Of course. I'm sorry. I meant no harm. Was there anything else you wished to discuss?"
"That's all."
"Good day."
"Well, there is one other thing."
"What?"
"Would you mind discussing some things with me about my boy over coffee?"
"Okay, sure. I care about my students."
We went to a local hole.
"I actually don't want to discuss Eric," he said. "He talks about you enough as it is."
"Then why are we here?"
"I just wanted to talk to you. You're very pretty."
I got up to leave.
"Wait," he said.
"What?"
"I'm sorry."
"Goodbye," I said.
He remained sitting and I left. I didn't tell my husband about it. I didn't tell anyone.
The next day in class Eric was gone. I marked him absent, and at lunch I checked with attendance and they said they hadn't received a phone call. I called Eric's house and his father's work. There was no answer at his home, and at work they said he had failed to come in today.
I never saw Eric or his father again.
BELIEVERS
Uncle Freddie
I can't believe I was afraid of sex with animals. Most animals are so small anyway, and since their "voices" don't sound anything like words, you can appropriate the noises into any kind of meaning you desire. That clucking of the rooster could be moans of joy. That squealing pig could be delight that he is alive and not sizzling in some farmer's wife's frying pan, but instead experiencing tantric bliss with your proboscis stuffed inside him. And most animals aren't so tough. They like to think they are, they say to themselves, "Hey, I'm an ANIMAL," and they forget that humans are animals too, highly evolved, survivors despite the fact they don't have the fastest legs or the strongest muscles, they can't fly like an eagle or swim like a dolphin, but you know what, goldarnit? They can think, and no animal can do that so effectively. Animals think things like, "I wonder what I'm gonna eat now, I wonder where I can find a mate, I wonder what that weed tastes like," but they don't think about the orbits of planets or the square root of the pi numerator don fizzly (my attempt at math speak from the POV of a two-dimensional being). No, they just don't cut it. They could use some liveliness in their lives, and I'm glad to provide it.
Chet
I can't believe I was intimidated by Uncle Freddie when he came to stay. He would lock himself in his room for hours on end, only emerging to go to the barn and relieve himself, and I asked him one day, "What you needa do
"Well, it's great. I think the class should adapt it into a film and put it on YouTube or something."
"Well…"
"It's okay, I know you're shy, Eric, and you don't need to make a decision now. We can film a few other stories from other students as well so you don't stand out, but yours is the one I want to film."
"Well…"
"Just think about it."
"Okay. Mrs. Marz?"
"Yes, Eric?"
"I love you."
I told Eric to go out to recess. After school I offered him a ride home. I knew he lived far away and would have to wait in the school library for his father to pick him up. I told him I would call his father and let him know that I had taken him home. He agreed.
When I had cleaned up the classroom, Eric and I went to the staff parking lot.
"Mrs. Marz?"
"Yes?"
"You have a crap car."
"It's called a Ford Fiesta."
"It doesn't look like a fiesta," said Eric.
"Hop in."
Eric lived in the worst part of town, where teenagers lingered on street corners in baggy jeans, bandanas on their heads.
"It's that one," said Eric.
I let him out. I went home.
The next day after school I was surprised to see Eric's father waiting outside my classroom.
"Mrs. Marz? May I call you Helen?"
"I think you'd better call me Mrs. Marz."
"Well, then I'm gonna ask you not to give my boy rides home. I think it crosses a line I don't want you crossing."
I was going to give a snotty retort but remembered that he had every right to ask me what he did, and that I was technically crossing a line. He was the one who managed that line.
"Of course. I'm sorry. I meant no harm. Was there anything else you wished to discuss?"
"That's all."
"Good day."
"Well, there is one other thing."
"What?"
"Would you mind discussing some things with me about my boy over coffee?"
"Okay, sure. I care about my students."
We went to a local hole.
"I actually don't want to discuss Eric," he said. "He talks about you enough as it is."
"Then why are we here?"
"I just wanted to talk to you. You're very pretty."
I got up to leave.
"Wait," he said.
"What?"
"I'm sorry."
"Goodbye," I said.
He remained sitting and I left. I didn't tell my husband about it. I didn't tell anyone.
The next day in class Eric was gone. I marked him absent, and at lunch I checked with attendance and they said they hadn't received a phone call. I called Eric's house and his father's work. There was no answer at his home, and at work they said he had failed to come in today.
I never saw Eric or his father again.
BELIEVERS
Uncle Freddie
I can't believe I was afraid of sex with animals. Most animals are so small anyway, and since their "voices" don't sound anything like words, you can appropriate the noises into any kind of meaning you desire. That clucking of the rooster could be moans of joy. That squealing pig could be delight that he is alive and not sizzling in some farmer's wife's frying pan, but instead experiencing tantric bliss with your proboscis stuffed inside him. And most animals aren't so tough. They like to think they are, they say to themselves, "Hey, I'm an ANIMAL," and they forget that humans are animals too, highly evolved, survivors despite the fact they don't have the fastest legs or the strongest muscles, they can't fly like an eagle or swim like a dolphin, but you know what, goldarnit? They can think, and no animal can do that so effectively. Animals think things like, "I wonder what I'm gonna eat now, I wonder where I can find a mate, I wonder what that weed tastes like," but they don't think about the orbits of planets or the square root of the pi numerator don fizzly (my attempt at math speak from the POV of a two-dimensional being). No, they just don't cut it. They could use some liveliness in their lives, and I'm glad to provide it.
Chet
I can't believe I was intimidated by Uncle Freddie when he came to stay. He would lock himself in his room for hours on end, only emerging to go to the barn and relieve himself, and I asked him one day, "What you needa do
Similar Books
