Double Time
Chapter 96
“Dear Time, You’re so beautiful when You stand still.”
—Jon Ng, Dear Time: Circle of Life
26 APRIL 2020
In four weeks, it will be over. I looked at my calendar and for the first time, I could see ‘Final Exams’ on the bottom line. I’d like to say that means the worst of the year is over but… Prom.
Since only juniors and seniors can buy tickets, it was silly for me to think about asking someone to the prom, but apparently, it’s already been decided. I’m taking Rachel and Livy. I tried to protest with ‘What about Joan?’ but they already had that covered. Our only senior was taking Rebeca to the prom. Fortunately, all I have to do is provide flowers, dinner, pictures, my tux, and transportation. The girls bought the tickets.
Not that I’m going to complain.
What’s more worrisome is that Friday I had a note delivered to my homeroom, Ms. Levy’s Honors English class. I’m to appear before my guidance counselor to ‘discuss your fall class schedule.’ Fortunately, I get along okay with Mr. Gieseke. I know what it’s all about, though. I didn’t sign up for calculus. This time, I’m getting all my ducks in a row before I go talk to him. I’m just not going that route again. The old man was consumed by technical construction, mechanics. And that means math. I’ve determined that I am not going to go that route this time around and with my stellar scores in Trig/Pre-calc, there is bound to be some push-back. I can hear the argument already. ‘Would you like fries with that?’ Well, hell. If that’s what it takes to have fulfilling life instead of just a profitable one, I’ll recite the line to the best of my ability.
I think it’s funny that they’ve scheduled the meeting so that I’ll miss my math class Thursday. That’s really forward thinking.
I was pretty uptight about school. I only had one AP class and the AP Exams were next week. Ms. Renault was drilling us in class every day. There were no new chapters to read. Every night we had a practice exam to do at home. Each morning, she reviewed it question by question. I had adapted to most of the pieces that were different from what I remembered. But we hadn’t even touched on the current events part of the curriculum. That’s where I was really confused. I could see trends in American history now that affected where we were politically and socially but I didn’t have any confirmation of them. I sifted through the news each night and wished for the days when we had a morning newspaper delivered. I think I’d believe a hand-written pamphlet handed to me by a homeless man on the corner more than I’d believe what I read on the Internet.
And that gave me an idea, too. Maybe it was time for a return to the printed word. Well, I fancy I’m a writer. Of course, I’d like to see a return to print. But anyone could say anything on the Internet. Stupid denials of facts were seen as valuable opinions and, like assholes, everyone had one.
The team went up to Carroll for a boys’ varsity and JV track meet Wednesday afternoon. I ran well. Our 4x800 relay team didn’t fare well but even Randy, the shot putter, ran a personal best. I won the 3200 JV race with a solid time of 11:41. If I could hold another mile at that by cross country season, I could be in the numbers when I raced.
“Hello, Jacob. Come in,” Gieseke said when I showed up for my Thursday morning appointment. “We have a couple of problems with your fall schedule we need to work out.”
“I was pretty careful selecting my courses. What’s the problem?”
“To start with, you didn’t include Calculus on your schedule.”
“I think I’ve finished all my math requirements. I have eight credits,” I said.
“Well, yes, but that doesn’t mean you should just quit. We can get you in to Calculus sixth period by dropping this Expository Writing class.”
“Why would I do that, sir? I plan to become a writer. Expository Writing is an important component.”
“You could take it senior year. You already have the required English Literature and Composition course on your schedule this year.”
“I don’t see a reason to wait. I’ve done all the math I want to and I included Business Accounting on my schedule so I have a Quantitative Reasoning course, per the requirements.”
“Well, we’re kind of letting that one slip past since you haven’t had an Intro to Business course,” Gieseke said.
“I took Introduction to Entrepreneurship and Mr. Bryce said that covered the essentials of the Intro to Business course,” I replied. I was staying calm. I wasn’t going to become a whiny teenager like I’d come off as when I wanted out of Algebra I. Gieseke sighed.
“Jacob, your results from the National Service Readiness Exam came back with a strong recommendation that you continue in math,” he said. The fuck, you say? What business does the NSRE have making course recommendations?
“The NSRE can require that I take a class I don’t want and don’t need?” I asked.
“Well, no. Not exactly. We’re encouraged to guide you in the direction they advise.”
“I’m really not interested in taking Calculus and since there is no reason for me to switch…”
“We’ll need to talk to your parents,” he said. “This is very important.”
“Will this help?” I was ready. I talked it over with Dad Monday and he agreed. I handed Mr. Gieseke the letter signed by both my parents.
“Due to Jacob’s other interests and commitments, he will not continue with Math in his junior year. We have gone over his proposed class schedule and agree with it,” Gieseke read. “You really came prepared, huh? I don’t want to make this difficult. We want you in Calculus. I see that you have fifth period orchestra scheduled. We have a fifth period Calculus class and you have to audition for orchestra anyway.” I handed him another letter.
“Jacob Hopkins has successfully auditioned for a position in the 2020-2021 Mad Anthony Student Orchestra. He will be a valuable addition to our award-winning orchestra. He has permission to enroll in the class for the coming school year. Leonard LeBlanc, Conductor.” Gieseke sighed.
“I understand this is the form Mr. LeBlanc uses for all orchestra students,” I said.
“I have one more card to play, Jacob,” he said. “We can deny you entry into the Constitutional Government class. This will free up a period in your schedule and that is normally a senior year requirement.”
“When it’s too late,” I said. I leaned in across his desk. “By the time students find out what their government is doing to them, it is too late for them to make plans, to apply for special services, and to take advantage of programs specifically offered under the National Service. If you deny me the class, I’ll take a study hall and do the work for it anyway.”
“Don’t become a rebel, Jacob.”
“Mr. Gieseke, when the Declaration of Independence was signed and people went to war to free our country, Andrew Jackson was 9 years old. He served in the local militia at 13 and was captured by the British at 14. Major Thomas Young was 12. He joined the militia at 16. The Marquis de Lafayette was 18. He was commissioned as an officer at 13 and was Major General under Washington at 19. James Monroe was 18 when he joined the Continental Army and was commissioned as a lieutenant. Charles Pinckney was 18. The next year he was a delegate to the Continental Congress. They were revolutionaries. Henry Lee and Aaron Burr were 20. Nathan Hale and Alexander Hamilton were 21. We should be raising… Specifically, Mad Anthony High School should be educating rebels.”
“I’ll let the school board know our new mission statement,” he said sarcastically.
“If there are no other questions about my schedule, I should get back to Trig/Pre-calc so I don’t fail the course,” I said. He waved a hand at me and I left.
I was still shaking when I met my girlfriends for lunch but couldn’t really say anything other than to tell them all that I’d have second lunch next year instead of third.
Friday afternoon, at Pike, I ran a personal best 11:33 in the 3,200 and won the JV race.
The AP test was brutal. But I’d been studying hard, as witnessed by Gieseke in our brief encounter. I wasn’t sure I scored high enough to get AP credit, but if not, too bad. One of the things V1 brought to the table, a leftover from his bad attitude as an octogenarian, was a lack of fucks to give. For the first time in my life, I felt like I’d made a step toward achieving a life goal that was what I wanted. It wasn’t based on what career path would yield the greatest return on my investment and provide for a comfortable retirement fifty years from now. I wanted a life filled with words and music.
And my girlfriends.
The next weekend was Desi’s. I saw all four performances of The Drowsy Chaperone and found it funnier each night. I just stayed at school Thursday night after our track meet against Huntington and went to opening night. All of us attended. Desi played the title role but that isn’t really the leading role. I think by the end of the run, the kid who played the ‘old man in a chair’ narrating the show was adlibbing more lines than he had memorized. It still worked.
Saturday night, I was Desi’s date to the cast party and spent the night with her at her house. It was great to be connected with her again. Really great.
“I don’t mind so much that we don’t get together every week,” she said. “That’s an advantage of having all our girlfriends. Someone always has a willing tongue and a wet pussy. And besides, I’ll get an extra portion of you this summer while we’re traveling together.”
“Is that really going to work?” I asked.
“You might not be able to do the whole summer but just about all our girlfriends are going to spend at least a weekend with us on the road. I haven’t seen Riko and Riley so excited about a season in years.”
“Well, you know we’ll all do our best.”
“Do your best a little harder, Jacob. I’m almost there.”
I think Mom got some kind of thrill out of dressing up her kids. When she found out about the prom theme and that I was taking Rachel and Livy, she took both Peyton and me shopping. I was first and we headed for Louie’s and my favorite tux man. He listened, told me to buy a black fedora, and to come back tomorrow. Then we went shopping for Pey.
The theme for the prom, believe it or not, was ‘Back to the Fifties’. It was a popular throwback theme this year and the prom committee was going all out. For the first time since I got to this reality, I felt like I knew something. I could still see in my mind’s eye Rachel sitting in class with her poodle skirt hiking up above her knees while she crossed and uncrossed her ankles with her saddle shoes and bobby socks. Rachel was a fantasy then. She was a reality now.
Mom wanted a poodle skirt and sweater for Pey. Not the easiest thing to find in 2020. We eventually found a vintage clothing store and it was like going to a costume shop for Pey and Mom. I think they tried on everything they could pull off the racks. For me it was kind of like a walk down Memory Lane. I recognized men’s fashions and had even worn some them. I’d never worn bellbottoms. Stupid style. But I confess that the rust-colored leisure suit brought back a flood of memories from the ’70s.
It was the hat, though, that stopped me short. I picked up the black felt fedora. I didn’t even hesitate to grab it off the Styrofoam head it was displayed on and slam it on my own head. It fit perfectly. V1 wore this hat for years, starting at my college graduation in ’60. Crazy Uncle Dave had taken me shopping to get something suitable for a college graduate. By that time, we all suspected that Dave was involved with the Mafia or something similar. He was on his fifth wife at the time, I think. Going shopping with him didn’t mean hitting JC Penney. He took me to Chicago.
“Jacob, a good suit and a good hat are all you need in life. A man can do anything if he looks good,” Dave said. We started at a tailor shop where a Jewish guy fussed over me, measured everything but the length of my dick, and told us to come back at three. We had lunch at the Palmer House, complete with a martini and my first cigar. I choked a little on it at first, but by the time I’d finished the cigar and drink I was buzzed and Uncle Dave was my best friend in the world.
We took a cab to Wicker Park and went into a shop that just sold hats. Men’s and Women’s. I’d never seen so many hats in my life. Dave talked to a guy in the shop and he sized me up. He asked Dave a couple more questions and went down the rows of hats in the shop until he found what he was looking for. All that time he never spoke to me. When he came back, he set this hat on my head. Dave nodded.
“It’s a little tight,” I said.
“We’ll fix that.” He took me and the hat to the back of the room where a guy had a contraption that looked like the hat with gaps and wedges. He looked at my head and measured it then measured the block. He took the hat and set it on some kind of steamer. When the felt was suitably prepared, he placed the hat on the contraption and set about shaping it and spraying it with some kind of waterproof fixative. When he had the hat at the right size and shape, he started drying it. Dave and I had another cigar and martini at a bar nearby while we waited. I was getting to like them.
When we went back to the shop, I had a new hat. It slid onto my head like it was made to fit there. It was. Uncle Dave peeled off a bunch of bills from the wad in his pocket and paid them. We headed back to the tailor and I picked up my new suit. Finally, Dave picked up his car from where he’d parked and drove me back to Indiana.
Six months later, I was married in that suit and hat.
Feeling it on my head was almost dizzying. I took it off and checked the price. It was almost as much as what the hat had cost in 1960. There were worn letters in the band and I squinted to make them out. “Joseph Hennessey.”
The tux I picked up for the prom was wide in the shoulders and narrow in the waist. The pants were pleated in front and roomy in the seat. It wasn’t a zoot suit, but somewhere in the next generation after that. I looked like Fred Fuckin’ Astaire.
Rachel and Livy had been working with Riko since Valentine’s Day to create the perfect matched gowns for the evening. The backless dresses were tightly fitted in the bodice to display the tops of their delicious bosoms. The waist, with a deep V-shape in front, fell in a full skirt that wasn’t so bulky it would prevent dancing. Rachel’s dress was emerald green. Livy’s was cobalt blue. That was the only difference between them
We had the traditional dinner and photos with our families and then the limo picked us up and took us to the Grand Wayne Convention Center where the prom was held in the Anthony Wayne Ballroom. The committee had outdone themselves with decorations again, including having a red ’57 Chevy Bel Air convertible where we got pictures taken in about ten different poses, inside and outside the car. I had a feeling this was one picture set we’d buy.
I was completely caught up in my dates, so hardly mentioned Beca and Joan. They’d gone with more of a high school-type look for their dresses and didn’t try to pretend one was the man and one was the woman. They both were very feminine in party dresses that were just below the knee. Both had straps but still showed cleavage. Or in Beca’s case, space where cleavage would be if she had bigger breasts. She still looked yummy. Tables were set for ten in the ballroom around a huge dance floor.
We found our assigned seats and took up five. I wondered how that would play out with most people being in couples. About half an hour after we got there, the other party arrived for our table. Five people we recognized greeted us and sat for the dinner.
“This is it!” Rosie the cheerleader said as she sat next to Joan. “Our last big fling before graduation!” With Rosie were the other cheerleaders we’d frequently met, Adrienne and Leslie. We were introduced to a tall geeky guy named Bernie and a fourth girl named Celia. She wasn’t quite in the same class of looks as the cheerleaders but she was incredibly sweet and smiled all the time.
“It looks like you’ve created your own pod,” Beca said. “Congratulations.”
“Thank you,” Adrienne said. “It kind of fell together after we’d given up. We met Bernie and Celia.”
“They took us in,” Celia said. “There aren’t many people who can understand a brother and sister who… like each other.”
“I understand,” I said softly. Celia smiled at me.
“We’re doing some more experimenting this summer before three of us leave for Service and poor Adrienne and Celia get left behind. We’ve rented a place for the summer and plan to live together to make sure we are all in sync,” Leslie said. “Are you guys living together?”
“We’ve tried to do a lot of things together,” Rachel said, “but with ten of us ranging in age from fifteen to forty, it’s hard to find a place where we could all live.”
“That’s something we need to be thinking about in the next year,” Livy said. “Em will be home from Service in a year and you and I will be leaving. Joan will have a year to go. It would be great if we all knew where our ‘home’ was before we get more split up.”
“Ten of you? How cool!” Rosie said. “And you managed to make the generation jump! I think that’s one of the hardest parts of putting together a sustained family. We’ve done some serious flirting with a couple of older girls but the spark just hasn’t lit.”
“Like with creating the pod, it has to come together naturally,” I said. “I think older women are reluctant to get involved with people they think of as kids they’ll have to take care of. Older men, of course, only think about teen pussy.”
“You’ve got that right,” Bernie said. “It’s taken me a little getting used to the idea that my mates in the pod will probably have other lovers while we’re away from each other. I will, too. But the idea of having another man living with us all the time just give me chills. I don’t think I’m homophobic. It’s more territorial.”
“We can spend all night discussing politics and relationships,” Rosie said. “I want to dance.”
That sounded like a good idea and we all headed for the dance floor. It was a good time and by the end of it, we’d agreed to try to look after Celia and Adrienne next fall while the other three started their Service.
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