Moles, God, I hated moles. Not the furry blind animal that burrowed under the ground, leaving the scattered eruptions of dirt across the lawn that exploded into dust when I mowed over them. Those moles were okay, animals were interesting. It was those chemistry moles; gases with weight, that were giving me the grief.
I’d always liked science, at least I thought I did. I had been looking forward to this chemistry class in high school, envisioning myself in a room full of bubbling beakers, test tubes, and little hoses coming out of boiling flasks, mixing colorful liquids, and creating powerful reactions. Nowhere in those visions were there moles.
With a sigh, I glanced back down at my notes. At the top of the page I had already jotted down the date: Feb. 10, 1964, the day after the big Beatle appearance, and under that I had written the word ‘Moles’ then under that, “Number of moles” with a dash behind it, but that was as far as my enthusiasm had gotten me so far that morning.
Mr. Kirk, was up there droning on, and clicking the chalk board with his pointer near the ‘CO2’ symbol which he had just circled. All this talk of moles, could only mean it was going to be a very very long hour, but the monotony was broken by a knock on the door and a 10th grade girl who came in and handed Kirk a note.
“David Marchant, gather up your books and come up here please.”
His words instantly vaporized the fog that had been gathering around my brain, and immediately Mr. Kirk had my undivided attention. I closed my notebook, reached under my chair and grabbed my Chemistry book.
As I stood up, I was suddenly aware that all of the 48 eyes that shared this chemistry class were on me.
“What in the world was going on?” I wondered, as I slipped my Bic pen into the hip pocket of my jeans and tried to be nonchalant, as I walked up to the front of the class where Mr. Kirk handed me the pink piece of paper.
“Looks like you have an appointment with Mr. Buck.” he said in his dry tone of voice.
Now my mind was racing. Mr. Buck was the Vice Principal.
I knew who he was of course: Sculpted dark thick oiled hair, above the heavy black rimmed glasses, as he went strutting through the halls with his suit coat open, held back by the hands in his pockets. Mr. Buck was the one who dealt with the trouble-makers. I had heard hundreds of stories, and rumors about him slamming tough guys up against the lockers and handing out weeks of detention and suspensions.
What did he want with me? Maybe something had happened to my family? He probably was the one who had to break tragic news to students. Suddenly, I was filled with dread and fear.
That must be it. I was a straitlaced, easy going, good natured, obeying all the rules, sort of 16 year old. I had never even ever had the opportunity to say “Good morning” to Mr. Buck. What did he want with me, unless something unexpected and terrible had just happened to my family.
As I closed the chemistry room door behind me, the sound echoed down the long empty hallway. My eyes focused straight, down the long hallway to the far end, where it gradually disappeared down a slope. I had heard this was the longest hall in any school in Indiana. Over a quarter of a mile from one end to the other.
Normally, the hallway was filled with the hub-bub of students which limited your awareness of its length, but now with everyone in class except me, I could see past the long mid-section with the social studies classrooms, down past the area which held the business classes part of the school, then past the industrial shop class section, and finally down to the boy’s and girls gyms.
At the hallway intersection, I flashed my pink note to the Hall Monitor, the student assigned to oversee and secure that section of the building, made the left hand turn out of the long hall and headed toward the Front Office. I entered Mr. Buck’s office and held up my note to the secretary and told her that Mr. Buck wanted to see me. Instead of bursting into tears with sadness about me losing my family, she without emotion, pointed to the bench and told me to have a seat and wait.
Strange, surely, if my family had been wiped out, she would have immediately put her hand on my shoulder and walked me into Mr. Buck’s office. Why was I just sitting here waiting? What was going on?
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