Boo!

Well Boo Radley, because tonight it's All Hallows/All The Time!

After scaring the Holy Grey Poupon out of half the Eastern seaboard with his Halloween broadcast of a conspicuously Tom-Cruiseless "War of the Worlds", Orson Well famously ended the night by telling his audience:

"This is Orson Welles, ladies and gentlemen, out of character to assure you that The War of The Worlds has no further significance than as the holiday offering it was intended to be. The Mercury Theatre's own radio version of dressing up in a sheet and jumping out of a bush and saying Boo! Starting now, we couldn't soap all your windows and steal all your garden gates by tomorrow night. . . so we did the best next thing. We annihilated the world before your very ears..."

And since I can't get each and every one of you snockered and sneak into the coatroom with the all libidenous liberal ladies for a quick round of "Storm the Bastille", I promised instead a bit of flash-fiction suitable for All Hallow's Eve.

So here goes, and very Happy Halloween to you, one and all :-)

Formative Education

by

driftglass

After a week on the job, McPhearson began to lose patience with Bobby Schramm.

The little, blonde boy sat right up front. Each day he was dressed in threadbare jeans with three white lines showing on the cuffs where they'd been let out, and a plain white tee-shirt that smelled sharply of bleach. He was a thin boy, with the faint, tan color of someone who was bathed irregularly, but had clear, vigilant eyes and no overt signs of abuse or neglect. And Bobby paid attention. Very, very close attention.

Sometimes McPhearson found his unwavering stare unnerving.

Bobby played quietly during Creativity Time, snapping Legos together into bridges and towers, but always kept McPhearson in view. On Tuesday, McPhearson had asked him to go get the box of safety scissors out of the wooden chest, and he had done so, but had kept glancing back at McPhearson as he walked to the back of the room, and had eyed him steadily as he carried the box to McPhearson's desk.

Bobby's file showed good scores and Mrs. Navid, his first grade teacher, noted that he got along well with other children. McPhearson had seen a notation on a death in the boy's family last year -- the father had died of cancer -- but Bobby appeared to be coping well. No digging at his skin or overly violent drawings; none of the usual signs. Mrs. Navid's comment sheet had mentioned her concerns for the boy, but McPhearson regarded the old woman as something of a fuss pot. She had no degree in Education Science and swore by phonics.

Hell, she still brought out yellowed copies of McGuffy's Readers from the dusty cardboard boxes she kept in her cloak room.

Finally, on a Monday, McPhearson ignored other anxious, waving hands. Pointing to the big, multi-colored map of the United States hung from hooks over the blackboard, he asked, "Bobby, can you show me where our state is?"

Bobby shook his head. No. McPhearson persisted. Still no. McPhearson moved on to another student.

When the bell rang for recess, McPhearson asked Bobby to stay behind.

"Is there something the matter Bobby?"

"No."

"Did you understand the lesson?"

"Yes."

"Then what's the matter?"

"I dunno."

McPhearson squatted down so that they could speak eye to eye. He lowered his voice, making the moment intimate.

Fatherly.

"I know you pay attention son."

Bobby shrugged.

"I see how alert you are. How you watch me all the time."

Bobby said nothing.

"You pay such good attention, Bobby. Such very good attention," McPhearson murmured. "So what's going on?"

Bobby looked left and right. He squinted intently into McPhearson's eyes and pointed at McPhearson's head.

"I'm tryin' to grow a cancer in you," he whispered, and then, tapping his own head with his finger, he added, "With mah mind."

McPhearson stood up suddenly.

"With mah mind," Bobby repeated.

McPhearson stared into space, saying nothing. Seeing that the conversation was over, Bobby turned to go outside to play with other children. Swinging his arms, hands in little fists, Bobby marched past the globe and the flag and out into the world.

* * *