I should have known better than to let myself go like that. It had to backfire. It did.
I, who have never had a vice of any kind, gave in to their base desires. Quite a free-for-all.
Nailed the three brats good, egged on – I guess – by my own foolishness.
Bummer: They let me run my course one by one; then, when my proud demonstration of muscular manhood’s determination to dominate (for a change) ran its course and I was drained of my precious bodily fluids, they turned on me.
Boy viragos – really bitches in heat – they wanted more.
What was there to do but run? I grabbed my clothes and ran – off into the woods. Through bushes and ferns and over roots – tripping as I pulled up my trousers and stopping long enough to slip on my sneakers – I ran.
Man, I ran and ran. Everything felt like it was grabbing at me. Got a lot of scratches before I saw the oak. I hit my second wind. Sure needed it for that climb. Bark’s rough.
*
I perched up high in it. Treed, like some frightened animal. Made not a sound except to breathe. Heart did ninety or more. I could hear it.
They were coming.
Tried to align my body with the trunk.
Dared not look down. If I saw them, they might see me.
Try, try to imagine how it feels to be hunted by a pack of proclivity-ridden little assholes bent on predating the man whose bat had made those boy-butts so much money.
Piping voices rose.
Fear rose from my ankles up. My knees knocked. Managed not to pee.
“He headed this way.”
“Yeah, but where’d he go?”
“He’s not smart enough to be good at hiding.”
“How smart were you to let him get away?”
“Stop poking fun at Clyde. It just happened.”
“Wait!” Charley hushed his pack brothers.
“What?”
“Something’s rustling.”
I just knew Charley’s eyes were rolling back and forth like Inspector Clouseau. Scared where I was, my nerves were getting the best of me. Why, my arms were shaking the branch I was clutching for dear life. Oh no!
“What was that?” Oscar felt his head.
“An acorn, you dope.”
“A bunch of ’em,” Charley brushed at his hair.
Oscar looked at Clyde, “It’s raining acorns.”
Slowly, I peered from my perch, breath tight as a noose.
Slowly, like so many Tweety Birds looking for Sylvester in one of those cartoons, the trio’s chins turned upward. The cleft in Clyde’s chin cute as ever. The look in his eye wasn’t – you know – cute.
A brief silence.
Those damn acorns kept cascading.
Oscar opened wide to yell at me but got an acorn in his gullet. Coughing something awful, he needed help.
Charley, calling up a lesson from school, popped it out with a couple of adroit Heimlich squeezes.
“My mom’ll kill you for trying to hurt my vocal career!” Oscar croaked.
“Yeah, she will,” sympathized Charley. With a hand covering his mouth against the acorn assault, said up to me, “Mrs. Menendez-Finkelstein can be a holy terror.”
Shakily, I hollered back, “You boys are terrorizing me!” Take that, I thought.
“We are not. We’re a team ’n’ you’re our mascot ’n’ you have the card to prove it.”
“Or doesn’t he remember The Club?” Charley asked Clyde.
Clyde, showing his meanness, said, “I told you he isn’t very smart.”
“Yeah, he just doesn’t understand,” Oscar recovered his composure.
“Doesn’t get the sense. Better go easy on him,” Charley whispered co-conspiratorially.
They huddled.
Decision time.
My three Tweeties gawked up, mouths protected by small hands. Waited until they had my attention.
Their spokesboy, Clyde, sweet again, announced carefully, “We’re going home to wait. You come down on your own and come back on your own and we won’t tell anybody’s mom what you did.”
Responsibility! – they were granting it to me to make my own decision. I guess I should take them up on it. Besides, sweat was beading on my brow, my neck, in my armpits, in my crotch. And I did need to pee.
They vanished. A cool breeze blew. Birds took up their mating calls. I was thinking…and sweating…and needed to pee badly.
What was a guy to do except to cling for dear life as he made his way to the ground. Nearby bushes got their drink. I fastened my pants. Glanced around. Nope, couldn’t get away. Only one path. I had to face the music.
Oh Lordy, music! Oscar had a new solo with high notes he needed to secure. I knew just how – and I’d get paid for it. That was a reason – hmm – or two, actually. If I could slip into his house from the backyard and the others didn’t know I as there, I could rise to that occasion.
I tiptoed over the roots and through the familiar bushes and those big ferns, in hope.