Quick And Dirty
Recently I heard the saying, “Everything I need to know I learned in kindergarten.” And it made me think that I must have missed something. I was alone at my kitchen table on a Tuesday morning. I always eat breakfast alone. Not because I want to, just because there has never been anyone who has wanted to dine with someone like me. Sometimes I wonder why I even have more than one chair at the table. It only serves to remind me that there is no one sitting across from me. It was quiet in the kitchen that morning. I sat in the silence and thought about the night before. I had done some things I shouldn’t have, and the police had warned me that if I caused any more trouble, things wouldn’t go well for me. It started when I decided to go out for dinner. I was by myself, and I chose to try the buffet just down the street. Dinner was fine, but when I asked the waiter for a take-home box, that’s when things got out of hand. Apparently the diner didn’t give take-home boxes because it was a buffet and, naturally, they didn’t want people taking home full meals. But I had paid for my meal, and so what if I felt like eating it later. Anyway, I ended up talking to the manager, but he only reiterated what the waiter had told me. So I hit him. Then some of the other men in the restaurant started getting up from their tables and coming towards me, so I grabbed a handful of food from the buffet line and headed out the door. I had enjoyed the leftovers for breakfast that morning. After that I was just sitting at the table and looking at the empty chairs. Some time passed, then I got up from my seat and arranged the chairs more neatly. I admired in silence the perfect symmetry for a few moments. Then I opened the window of my second story apartment and threw two of the wooden chairs out of it. I waited for the crash of the chairs hitting the pavement below, and then I closed the window. There were still two chairs at the table, one for me, and one just in case I ever found someone who wanted to eat with me, but I knew that the only way that would ever happen was if I could find out what I had missed in kindergarten. I would always be alone and unsuccessful unless I could figure out what everyone else had learned in kindergarten that had made their lives so much better than mine. I sat back down at the table and put my head in my hands. I was losing control and I knew it. I remember sitting there and thinking that it had to happen today, otherwise I couldn’t go on. I was tired of working at fast food restaurants or at the laundromat; but, most of all, I was sick of being alone. I looked at my watch and realized that I needed to leave for work, but I didn’t move. Going to work wouldn’t get me out of the cycle I was stuck in. My job was pointless, and I worked with other people who hadn’t paid attention in kindergarten. No, in order to break this cycle, I would need to backtrack. So, I decided to do just that. Instead of going to work, which was currently at Arby’s, I would go back to kindergarten for a day. Maybe I should have thought about this decision a little longer, but my mind was made up and I was out the door before I realized what I was getting into. My parents had given me a car for my sixteenth birthday. I thanked them profusely for it. Then I drove away in the night and never went back home. But that was ten years ago, now I was about to start making them proud. I was lucky that the car was still running; after all, it was older then I was. But without it I would have been taking the bus, and even that would have been hard for me to afford. After about ten minutes of driving, I came to the stoplight where I normally turned right to go to work, but today I went left. There was an elementary school a few miles down the road. I think it was called Greene Elementary, but I can’t be sure because I didn’t check its credentials before deciding to go there. I parked in the back of the parking lot and waited for the busses to get there. I had hoped that there would be some other adults who were going back to kindergarten that day, but when the busses started unloading, I realized that all of the students were very young. I was a little nervous about being the oldest kid in class by roughly 20 years, but I didn’t want to be late. So, I grabbed my briefcase and started toward the group of children. Before I left my apartment, I had emptied my briefcase of its usual contents and replaced them with a pencil and two different colors of pens, along with a box of crayons. At least I would be prepared. It was a chilly day, early in the fall, and many of the kids had hooded jackets on with the hoods tied tightly under their chins. When I got closer to the doors of the school I got in line behind all of the children waiting to go in. I thought about trying to make conversation with the kids around me, but for the most part the lot of them seemed quite immature. Once inside the old brick building the children quickly made their way into their classrooms. I tried to join several of the classes, but a quick look into the rooms showed that all the chairs were taken. I saw many teachers in the rooms, and I envied them. They had paid attention in kindergarten, and now they were teaching children what they had learned. I thought that that might be something I would like to do after I learned what I needed to know. Classes were going to start soon, and I knew I needed to find a class to join quickly. But whenever I tried to go into a room, the teachers gave me strange looks and it made me uncomfortable. So, when the morning bell rang I found myself in the halls of the school, alone. But I had gone there so that I wouldn’t be alone anymore, and I wasn’t going to leave without the answer. That’s when I realized that this whole idea was ridiculous. The kids in those rooms were learning valuable information, and they would never let someone off the street wander into the classroom. I was about to give up and head back to Arby’s when I heard someone whistling behind me. At first I thought I had been discovered and I started to walk the other way, but then I realized that it wasn’t the type of whistle intended to get someone’s attention. I spun around to see that it was just one of the janitors whistling a carefree tune as he swept his way done the hall. I got a good look at him before he disappeared around the corner. The man was wearing a dark blue shirt and matching pants. He was older than I was, but not by that much. There was still one way that I could get myself into one of the kindergarten classes. I looked all around and didn’t see anyone watching, so I decided to follow him. I walked slowly to the end of the hallway and looked around the corner. I looked just in time to see the janitor open a door halfway down the next hall and go inside. I could still hear him whistling, so I knew he must be alone. I saw my one opportunity at this moment, and I jumped into action. I crept noiselessly up to the door the janitor had opened and looked inside. It wasn’t a classroom, only a cleaning closet. The janitor was digging in a large bin for some sort of cleaning utensil that he couldn’t find. I went into the closet and closed the door behind me. Mr. Clean (that’s what I called him) heard the door click closed and he turned around, surprised, and faced me. “Howdy! Can I help you?” he asked. I saw for the first time that he had a mustache, and he was older than I thought. After taking a good look at him, I answered. “Yes, yes...I’m going to have to ask you a favor.” “Well, I can’t guarantee that I’ll be of much help. Mostly I just do the cleaning around here. But what do you need?” The closet was small and there was barely any room for either of us to move. Before I told him what I needed, he added, “Say, open that door will you? It gets so darn hot in here.” I kept staring at him and I didn’t move. “I need your shirt.” “What’s that?” “I just need to trade clothes with you, Mr. Clean.” I slowly inched closer to him as I began to unbutton my collar. The only way to slip into one of those classrooms unnoticed was to be disguised as someone who was normally there. “Whoa, son. We’ve got rules about what goes on in the cleaning closet. Now open up that door and tell me what you’re talking about.” Mr. Clean started moving from side to side, trying to find a way around me. But the closet was cluttered and he couldn’t go anywhere. By now we were both sweating. The janitor was right; it got pretty darn hot in there. I had him against the wall now. “Please, just give me your shirt. And don’t worry, I’ll give you mine. Do you like my shirt?” I think he would have used force at this point, had he been a bigger man. But he wasn’t, and he knew he didn’t have any options.” He started to stammer when he spoke. “Your shirt looks fine. But listen, I’m not giving you any of my clothes. And don’t touch me!” Normally I’m nice to people, and I do what they ask me to. But Mr. Clean didn’t know what it was like not to know the kindergarten secret. I could tell by looking at him that he had known it since he was little, and it had made his life wonderful. So, I took out my letter opener and held it behind my back. Then I grabbed Mr. Clean’s collar and pushed him into the wall. I got close to his face and I could see the sweat condense and start running down his cheek all in an instant. I asked him one more time to trade clothes with me. But, instead of answering, he started to struggle and tried to pull my hand off his collar. In one motion I threw his hands to the side and stabbed him. He started gasping and went limp in my arms. I continued to hold him against the wall as he bled. But soon his body became too heavy to hold up and I let him drop to the floor. In one terrible instant I realized that his clothes were ruined. The shirt that I needed was badly stained with blood. With all my plans destroyed, I turned to leave the cleaning closet. Coming to Greene Elementary School had been a bad idea. But leaving wasn’t going to be easy. The blood wasn’t only on his clothes. It was getting to be everywhere. And, worst of all, it was leaking under the door and out into the hallway. I grabbed a mop from the shelves and tried frantically to keep the blood out of the hallway, but I couldn’t keep up. There was nothing I could do. So, I threw the mop back into the closet and slammed the door. As I was leaving I took one last look at Mr. Clean’s body. I noticed that I should probably think of something else to call him because he really didn’t look like Mr. Clean at all. But that didn’t matter then. I walked quickly down the halls and I intended to leave the building the way I had come in. But I did what you should never do when you’re trying to leave somewhere fast: I glanced behind me. To my horror I saw that I was leaving red footprints everywhere I went. I froze with fear. I had to leave before anyone saw me or the body of Mr. Clean, but I couldn’t move. I felt weighed down by the fact that I now had blood on my hands, real blood dripping off my fingertips. The bell rang. Time for recess. Chattering children spilled into the hallway. I watched their heads as they followed the red footprints. Then their eyes rested on me and they became silent. No, things wouldn’t be good for me. -Two Years Later- All of that happened a long time ago. The police followed through on their warning, and I’ve been in prison ever since. I tried to tell them why I needed Mr. Clean’s clothes, but all that got me was moved to a different part of the prison. I spend most of my time here alone, which gives me plenty of opportunity to think about what I did. Sometimes I dream that there’s blood on my hands, and no matter how much I wash them or rub them I can’t get it off. When I wake up from these dreams, I get out of bed and wash my hands, then I can go back to sleep. The truth is, I don’t mind prison life. But the wardens (their uniforms remind me of Mr. Clean) tell me that I’m scheduled to die soon. And this bothers me only because I wish I had found out the secret of kindergarten during my lifetime. Once I was told that I was going to die for what I had done, I wrote a letter to my nephew, who is five years old. I sent it to my brother’s address. But, since it’s from, me he probably won’t let his son read it. He should, though, because in the letter I caution my nephew to pay attention during kindergarten. That way there will always be people in the chairs at his breakfast table, and he won’t have to go back to kindergarten when he’s older to find out what he missed. I don’t like pain, and I’ve been afraid that it will hurt when I die. So, I asked the prison warden what it will be like. He told me this, “Don’t worry, no one lasts longer then a few seconds. It will be over before you know it.” This made me feel better, because now I know that I won’t have to feel pain for a long time. It will be over fast. Quick and dirty.
Copyright © 2005 Devin B Wieland |