All Sunday, the White family tried to arrange their many things in the new space as best they could. Marty rated their decorating skills somewhere between an indoor yard sale and living in a garage. Marge took possession of the crypt-like bedroom she called “the cave,” and scrubbed out the cat piss smell. Someone in the past who was either drunk, unskilled, or both, had tried to plaster the walls with a spatula, resulting in the choppy texture of a carved tufa cave. She did have a large window displaying a deeply shadowed area under the redwoods, but her room was dark and musty all the time. Jimbo tried not to make it too obvious that he would be living in there with her, but none of the kids cared much. He had installed a used water heater, and resurrected the “barefoot burner,” so he was their hero!
Julie moved into her tiny corner suite, marking her hippie turf with a tie-dyed sheet over the unfinished part of the wall. She covered the large windows as best as she could with some old sheets. In the room that Marty and Susie shared, they negotiated a clear border and protocol between the two halves of available space. Marty took the section in the corner of the house closest to the creek. His little sister took the half with two closets. The painted floor was in worse shape than the kitchen and needed a decent covering, but they had no rugs so Marty laid down some cardboard to walk on. Jimbo’s brother, Jack, was going to be sleeping in the diner booth for a while, until he could get a place up near Yosemite. With Otter outside in a tent, that made 7 people who would be competing for the bathroom at approximately the same time in the morning! Marty planned to get up early so he could slip in there first, and strategically placed a clean towel and his clothes in a paper bag next to the door. There was no washing machine or dryer because the cabin was on a septic system, and the nearest laundromat was over the hill in Fairfax. Clean clothes and towels would soon become objects of worship.
The kitchen needed to be cleared of junk and set up for its role as the heart of the home. Their “far out” Seventies dishes and utensils brightened up the rough built-in cabinet, which was really more like a bookshelf. Marge had cleverly packed the food and other kitchen items in labeled banker’s boxes, and she brought an old wire rack home from the pet store on which to organize them. The camping stove was installed on top of a folding card table, and an ancient metal cooler went in the spot where the fridge would be (after the next paycheck). For the kids it was a very sudden and abrupt change: from having all the open space and conveniences of a modern household to roughing it in a small cabin like homesteaders. Under the circumstances, Marty concluded that they adjusted quite well for a bunch of spoiled, formerly well-off brats from the suburbs. If only poor Heidi had been so adaptable!
The next day was Monday, and they’d all have to transition to their new lives, so they wanted to be prepared. Marge would drive Julie to high school early, and continue on to the pet store in San Rafael, about 15 miles away. Jimbo and Jack had a remodel job in Fairfax and would drop off Marty and Susie at Lagunitas School, where she would be joining the 4th grade, and he would be attending his sixth different school in 7 grades. It was a rural-style school, where grades K-8 were combined and the students mingled regardless of age. Marty didn’t think he would fit in well with the country kids who had grown up together. He imagined scruffy bumpkins in overalls and homespun shirts with long, tangled hair. Then he sketched a few of those characters to amuse himself. He was getting much better at drawing original cartoons, for the purpose of entertaining himself. Marty was blessed with the gift of natural wonderment, and total immunity to boredom. In almost any situation, he could have fun with whatever was around, and learn something, too.
Fatigue set in early after a full weekend of nonstop activity and drama, and all of them were ready for bed when it started getting dark. The cold wasn’t such a shock by then, but it didn’t seem to be any warmer, either. Was it always like this? Marty wondered. Krishna found a warm spot to sleep on his chest, and kneaded his pectorals with her claws through the sleeping bag. Her loud purring put him to sleep immediately, and the next thing he knew, it was getting light through the creekside windows. It seemed as though only a few seconds had passed since he closed his eyes, and it was time to get up and join a new tribe of schoolchildren. He hoped their initiation rites would not be too primitive. Marty had seen all the tricks over the years – from pretending to speak another language, to taunts on the P.E. basketball floors. Through all the suspicion, vague territorial disputes, and whispered rumors, he had traveled a long road as a student refugee, and knew all the angles. Or so he thought.
Although the names and faces changed wherever he went, the schools were pretty much the same. Boxy clusters of low buildings painted in drab colors, and arranged with no sense of architectural design whatsoever. Marty was always a model pupil, which provided a false sense of continuity and “belonging.” In truth, he had never felt like he belonged anywhere. He had become more accustomed to moving away from friends than making new ones. He never tried out for sports, or joined any after school clubs. For him, school was more of a temporary assignment, like a field trip. He figured it would all change soon, so why bother getting attached to people or places?
Marty’s real life was lived out of doors; away from the fluorescent lights. In his view, the natural features of the land defined a place; not the buildings. Back in Terra Linda, he used to hike all over the tawny brown hills, and ride his bike for miles on fire roads. He’d stay out late on summer nights until he couldn’t see his tires anymore, and riding felt more like flying blind. He couldn’t wait to exercise his sense of wonder in the deep, moist, green canyon where he now lived, where the forests grew verdant and mysterious upon its steep sides. Alas, there were two whole months before summer vacation!
After breakfast, when it was still early, Jimbo and Jack hustled off to work and dropped Marty and Susie off unceremoniously at Lagunitas School, with no one to guide them. The “new kids” were a little apprehensive about being driven to their new school in Jack’s rusty, beat up old delivery van. Back in the ‘burbs, it would have caused a scandal to arrive in such an undignified manner, and by such poorly groomed chauffeurs, too! They shouldn’t have worried because half of the vehicles in the school parking lot appeared as though they had been recently resurrected from the same junkyard. Behind that menagerie of metal was the uniform green of a golf course, and pretty, undulating hills. A small, gray gymnasium hunkered down next to the parking lot and concealed the rest of the grounds. The squat office was right next to it, exuding all the charm of a guard’s checkpoint at a prison camp. Left to fend for themselves, the new inmates marched uncertainly towards their cell blocks.
It turned out that the secretaries were sympathetic, and let them stay in the office until other students started to arrive. Mrs. Joplin showed them where their classrooms were, gave them an understanding look and a quick wink for encouragement, and then left them to establish their places in the school pecking order. There was a long walkway connecting clustered, barn-like buildings that separated the older chickens from the chicks. Marty could see a playground beyond, and a glimpse of green field. Susie left to join the fledglings, while the pullets gathered for classes to start, staring at Marty curiously and whispering behind their wings. The ones closest to him would be his new classmates, he deduced. Nobody here but us chickens!
“Are you new?” Marty turned his head at the question, where two bandy cocks about his age were instinctively defending their territory. The smiling one had clothes that were in fashion a couple of years ago, but he had a sincere and friendly face.
“He looks second-hand to me.” The sarcastic rooster wore baggy trousers and a Levi’s jacket, with tinted glasses inspired by Elton John.
It was time to stop the cartoon fantasy and join the flock. “I’m Marty,” he said in a practiced, new-kid tone of voice, and stuck out his hand. “Pleased to meet you.” He knew from experience that this put xenophobic kids on the spot right away. Either they accepted you or they didn’t, and then at least he’d know what to expect. They both shook his hand, and just like that they were pals. The almost-fashionable one was Jason, and the baggy one was Harry (call me “Hoggy,” he said).
Inside the classroom, he was shocked to see it wasn’t like a barn at all. There was significant architectural flair, with a hexagonal-shaped room and peaked ceiling. Marty found an empty desk near his new buddies, until the teacher caught his eye and waved him forward. Oh no, here comes the official introduction, he thought as he shifted gears into super slow motion. He subconsciously brushed his hair behind his ears, as he’d stopped cutting it since the divorce. It was long but not girlish, freshly washed and properly blow dried on the sides. “I’m Mr. Inuktut,” the teacher pronounced sharply, and that threw Marty off his track as he wondered if the man was choking on a lollipop. He looked at his new teacher closely for the first time. He was a short, rotund older man with straight gray hair and a squashed face. He wore a Ben Davis shirt and had a pocket protector with a couple of pens sticking out. “You must be Marty.” He had a friendly glint in his soapstone eyes and a firm handshake, but did everything too quickly.
“Hey everyone, this is Marty. He’s one of us now.” Well, that was different, Marty observed silently. Every kid in the room was already looking at him of course, but he didn’t feel like an exhibit at the zoo, the way he usually did when being introduced to a new class. Most of them were smiling directly without guile or mischief, but none of them were wearing the fashionable type of clothes that filled his dresser drawers. Now that he could see the entire class at once, he was surprised that they looked like regular kids, and not “country bumpkins.” Then he blushed at a couple of pretty girls in the front row who appeared to know what he was thinking, and they giggled as he slunk back to his desk in the rear corner. The dreaded introduction wasn’t as bad as he thought it would be, for a change.
Marty didn’t consider himself very good looking, ever since puberty started and he began breaking out in pimples. He believed that others saw only a skinny dork with greasy brown hair down to his collar and oily skin, wearing faded bell bottomed jeans and a wide-collared flannel shirt. In his mind’s eye, he entertained himself with a cartoon of a child movie star, over-dressed in all the latest suburban fashion, on a secret mission to infiltrate a hippie commune.
At recess, several other guys approached him and introduced themselves. Lemmy chattered like a sarcastic monkey, but had the endearing trait (to Marty) of being shorter than him. Peter was strong and athletic, but quiet and shy. William had bright red hair and a round, gregarious face like a cherub from a Disney movie. He laughed a lot, and said all the right things, and he and Marty instantly became good friends. The yard gang showed him around the playground from an inmate’s perspective, such as where the exits were, the hole in the fence, the place behind the gym where they ate their lunch to get away from teachers, and the bridge across the small stream where they smoked joints. At the mention of illegal contraband, Marty slouched with proper indifference, and tried to react as though smoking weed was normal middle school behavior. The conservative institutions he’d attended before were Bible camps by comparison. His former teachers had crew cuts and ties, or long skirts and sweaters. His over-privileged, former classmates from the suburbs came from families who had everything they needed, and considered themselves superior to those who did not. Any kids who were rumored to smoke “reefer” were viewed as the unpleasant by-products of an irredeemable social disease. At the Lagunitas School, the social classes were more tolerant, and the petty divisions less pronounced.
William took Marty aside and explained to him very seriously that the cool guys at school had a code word for joints: pencils. Then he asked pointedly, “Did you bring a pencil today?”
“No,” Marty replied with a secretive air, “Not on my first day. I didn’t know if the cops would be here.” That made William laugh with appreciation. Marty couldn’t resist asking the whole gang, “Did you guys bring any pencils?” As it turned out, they had been fleecing him speculatively under the pretense of wishful thinking. Everyone shrugged and laughed at the ruse, and the bell rang.
At the door to his classroom was a large girl Marty hadn’t noticed before. She must have weighed twice as much as him, and was a foot taller. Her rumpled clothes projected a somewhat amateur attempt to identify with a motorcycle gang, and her unkempt auburn hair was cut short. She leered at him suggestively as he walked past, and his heart recoiled. Oh no, he worried, and studiously avoided eye contact with her the rest of the day. He was acutely aware of the big girl staring at him while Mr. Inuktut was talking about nematodes, and he hoped it wouldn’t develop into the kind of situation into which it was already developing.
“Hey, I think Maxine likes you!” Hoggy leaned over and whispered loudly. Marty lowered himself in his seat as far as he could go without actually lying on the floor.
“Mr. White,” the energetic science teacher announced in his loud voice, “Thank you for your timely impression of an earthworm, but I would appreciate if you sit up straight in your seat.” That got a big laugh, and Marty could feel his face turning red. Maxine’s gaze drilled into his skin possessively like a tattoo needle.
At lunch she was waiting for him with a couple of her friends. “You’re my meat,” she said boldly, as if that was an original thing to say. She wasn’t unfriendly or threatening, but she had a strange disconnected energy, as if she was slightly out of sync with the present moment. She had a tic in her cheek that twitched randomly. Everybody was waiting to see what Marty would do, so he responded cheerfully, “Thanks, but I already have a girlfriend.” Privately, he wasn’t happy about playing that card, because the bluff might scare away other girls, and he was hoping to meet a few of the cute ones. Still, it was a necessary sacrifice, and it effectively blocked her advances for the moment so he could marshal his defenses and get his bearings on the social scene. After all, it was only his first day!
He ate lunch with William and the gang in their “secret spot” with a view of the golf course. It bordered a huge athletic field with thick green grass where other kids were eating in groups. Marty got a look at some of the other teachers wandering around as lunch monitors. Some of them resembled members of Jimbo’s hippie carpenter union. The rest were an assortment of badly dressed older men and stout, pugnacious women. When he asked which ones he should look out for, everyone shuddered and warned, “Don’t mess with Mrs. Sledge.” Hoggy shook his head with big eyes and pointed in the direction of an intimidating battleship of a woman, with her hair tightly tied in a bun, wearing horn-rimmed glasses. The other guys nodded solemnly in grave agreement and swallowed hard on their peanut butter sandwiches. Mrs. Sledge strode purposely across the playground like a matron elephant, and the youngsters fell silent and shied out of her way when she passed.