Ray reached across the aisle and punched my arm. I lowered my head to his. “Are you trying to start trouble?” he whispered.
“Trying to stop trouble. I’m a peaceful kind of guy. Trust me.”
“Yeah? Well remind me before you get all peaceful on my ass. I don’t need too much of that kind of peaceful!”
“I’m a lover, not a fighter!” I protested.
“You’re full of shit, is what you are.”
Classes were back to normal for me. Algebra was a total waste. I went up to Mrs. Bakkley after class and asked, “Mrs. Bakkley, when would I be able to speak to you about the class?”
“What’s on your mind, Carl?”
“I want to know how I go about testing out of the class.”
She looked at me curiously. “I’m not sure I understand.”
“Is there some kind of test you can give me that I can take, that if I pass it, I get credit for Algebra 1?”
Her eyes popped wide at that. “You want to drop Algebra?”
“No, I want to do both years now, this year. Can I do it?”
She stared at me. Some of the kids from the next class were drifting in, but we ignored them. “What did you have in mind?”
I shrugged. “I’m not sure, but I was wondering, I finish this class by Christmas, and then catch up and finish Algebra 2 by next summer. Do they use a different book? Could I do it?”
“No, it’s the same book. We only do about half this year, and finish it off next year. Why do you want to do this? What do you plan on doing next year?”
“Geometry.”
“We don’t even teach that here!”
“No, but I bet I can take it over at Towson High somehow.”
She shook her head in disbelief. “You need to get to class. Let me ask around about this. I don’t even know if you would be allowed to do this.”
I grinned. “Do us both a favor. Don’t mention my name. I don’t think Mr. Butterfield is in the mood to be generous when my name comes up.”
She laughed at this. “I think you’re right. Now get out of here and let me talk to some people.”
I didn’t say anything to my folks that night. My parents would be upset because it messed up their intricately crafted plans for my future, even though it was advancing them. Mom, especially, liked being in control. Dad was somewhat easier going, but not by much. I had always avoided them in any serious discussion of classes and grades, because it was always a painful subject, painful in the sense that the oak pledge paddle invariably would be involved. I dreaded nights when the PTA had their meetings and my parents went to school to see the teachers. Since I was never ‘living up to my potential’, a beating was held as soon as they got home. It would be better to ask forgiveness than permission. If the school allowed me to do it, I would bring them into it then. If the school balked, I would have to get my parents to somehow force them, and this had a possibility to backfire on me. No, it was better to wait for Mrs. Bakkley to talk to me next week.
As for my siblings, Suzie was in the second grade and could care less. Hamilton would care because he was a snoopy asshole and couldn’t mind his own business. He would spend the weekend telling me why I couldn’t be allowed to do it, and then telling the entire neighborhood what I was trying to do. It would be infinitely better if my plans were presented as a done deal.
I continued my running over the weekend. Saturday was pretty straightforward, getting up with the alarm clock, running a lap with Daisy, and then running a bigger lap without her. I still had the crick in my side, but it seemed to come later in the run, and didn’t seem as bad. I also shaved a minute off the run. Mom gave me a funny look when I came in, but I just repeated the old line about ‘he who fights and runs away, lives to fight another day.’ Later that afternoon I rooted around in the garage looking for something I could use as weights. The only things I could find were a couple of bricks I could do some arm curls with. I also tried doing pushups, but the calisthenics seemed to be too much. I was going to have to work up to that.
Sunday morning sucked. We were Lutheran, on both sides of the family, and while we didn’t have to go to church every week like the Catholics did, I did have to go to Sunday School. Worst of all was the fact that by the time I got to college I had lost my faith. I had already seen and learned too much about the wickedness of man to believe what a church, any church, had to say about anything. My folks, however, were members in good standing of St. Paul’s Evangelical Lutheran, and I was going to Sunday School and then confirmation class and communion or else Dad was going to tie me to a stake and Mom was going to light a match.
To be fair about it, St. Paul’s was a pretty nice place. We had a fairly new pastor, Pastor Joe Needham, who had an excellent way with young people. He was married and had adopted a couple of nice little ones and lived in Timonium. There was an active teen program and Pastor Joe was an avid camper and canoer, often leading church group camping and canoeing trips. He and I got along just fine. I often would stop by his house to gab even after moving away, for many years, just to see an old friend and shoot the shit. We often talked about my problems with my family, but we always showed each other pictures of our kids.
Now, however, going to Sunday School was like an hour in a communist reeducation camp. Years later I would joke to Marilyn that I used to be a real Bible thumper when I was a kid, but then I figured out the Devil made chocolate chip cookies, and I was a lost cause. She was a hard core Catholic, and this irked her to all get out. It was a Communion Sunday as well. Unlike the Catholics, we only did Communion once a month. On those days it was like a double dose — Sunday School followed by an hour plus of church. As we left, Pastor Joe asked if I wanted to become an altar boy, but I replied, “Only if I get put in charge of the wine.” Pastor Joe and my father both laughed at this, but Mom gave me a huffy complaint and smacked the back of my head. I guess the agreement not to hit me anymore was null and void while standing in the House of God.
Monday at school, Mrs. Bakkley asked me to stay after class. She briefly said that we needed to talk, and asked if I could meet her in the classroom at lunchtime. She even gave me a hall pass. It sounded positive to me. If the answer was no, she would have just said that.
I swung by the cafeteria at lunchtime, but simply bought a couple of apples and stuck one in my pocket. I ate the other on the way back to Mrs. Bakkley’s class. She was sitting at her desk grading some tests when I knocked on the open door and came in. She put down the test she was working on and looked up at me. “Grab a seat and bring it over here.” She pointed at the side of the desk.
“Yes, ma’am.” I pulled one out of the front row and sat down facing her.
She eyed me curiously for a second. “Let me make sure I understand you correctly. You want to go through both Algebra 1 and Algebra 2 this year, and then somehow take a high school level course next year. Is that correct?” I just nodded, and she continued, “Why? What brought this on? I have to tell you, your grades so far are average at best. What makes you think you can even do this?”