STICKS AND STONES

STICKS AND STONES

Jeremy was in the seventh grade, and was having a difficult time of keeping his marks high enough to be able to stay on the football team. Football was the one thing he really enjoyed about school. It was kind of nice to have the girls flock around and compliment him on his muscles. He was a jock, not a brain.

Yet he tried hard to keep up his marks, and to pacify that old grouch, Mr. Wheeler. That old guy really took him to task, knowing that he was hurrying to do his homework and not checking his grammar and spelling. It was tough enough to be in seventh grade for the second year without having Mr. Wheeler humiliate him in front of the class. Oh, he stopped short of calling him a dunce and a dummy, but his remarks brought snickers to the other kids. That hurt. It really hurt.

The girls seemed to turn away when he walked by. Instead of the smiles and shy glances he used to get, ever since Mr. Wheeler started his criticism, things were different.

Some of the other boys on the team started calling him "Stupid" and gave him grief about getting his marks up. "You're a good player, we'd hate to lose you because you are too stupid or lazy to care about homework!" More than once he heard that from the boys, and the coach was even tougher on him. "If you don't get your grades up, Jeremy, it's all over for you as far as football goes!" the coach practically shouted.

Resentment began to build. Jeremy was not going to be put down all the time. His father told him not to worry, there was plenty of work he could do around the house to help out instead of wasting his time on football. That only made Jeremy madder.

The more he tried to study, the more he thought about getting even with the old coot. There had to be a way to make him eat his words. Thinking about all the ways he could get his revenge, Jeremy usually fell asleep before his homework was done. The next day at school, he was ridiculed again.

After school, Jeremy waited to talk to Mr. Wheeler. The old coot knew he was still there, waiting to talk to him, but was ignoring him! Fuel to the flame, Jeremy began to get madder by the minute. At last he could take it no longer, and grabbed his books as he stood up to leave. It was then Mr. Wheeler looked up, a smug smile on his face. "Just sit down, boy. I'll be with you in a few minutes. I'm grading these papers, and yours, I see, is incomplete."

Jeremy approached the desk. Without thinking, he picked up the granite paperweight and brought it down hard on Mr. Wheeler's head. It caught him right between the eyes, as he had looked up just at the wrong moment.

A dazed look came into his eyes, and blood rushed from his forehead. Jeremy dropped the paperweight and ran out into the hall. No one was about, and he left the building without being seen. He was shaking. "I didn't mean to really hurt him!" he said to himself. He pulled his jacket tight around him to ward off the cold wind and headed home.

His father was reading the evening paper and exclaimed at the headlines! "Local Teacher Found Dead!" He looked at Jeremy. "Do you know anything about this?" he asked. Jeremy began to sweat. Of course he knew something about it. "Dad", he began, "I couldn't help myself. He kept saying things -"

His father got up and smacked him across the face. "You mean to tell me you're responsible for this?" he shouted. "Dad, he was alive - bleeding, but alive when I left" Jeremy shouted back.

It was then that the doorbell rang. Two uniformed officers stood there on the steps, waiting to be let in. "Oh, my God!" Jeremy's father said. "You just wait here!" He went to the door and opened it, letting the officers inside.

Jeremy told the officers what had happened. They looked at each other. "Okay", they said. They got up to leave. "The blow you struck him hurt all right, but it wasn't fatal. For now, we just want you to come down to the station and sign a statement. Then, be sure to stay in the area. We may have more questions."

He went with them to the station and his father followed in the car. Inside, they told Jeremy to tell his story again. It was typed up and he had to sign it. His father insisted on calling the family attorney. "My son is no murderer, but he was in the wrong. I'm going to see that he is protected!" The officers said that since no charges were filed against him, there was no need for an attorney, but he was welcome to get one.

Jeremy rode home with his father, not saying a word. His father didn't speak either, making for a long ride home. His mother was waiting at the door when they got back, anxious to know what was going on. His father told her, and she looked as though she might faint. "Get up to bed, Jeremy!" his father said. He went up the stairs to his room, head low, and shaking all the more. He could hear his mother and father discussing it downstairs, and he would give anything if he had just held his temper.

They insisted that he attend school the next day, although he would have given anything to not have to face the kids and the other teachers. They were all whispering about Mr. Wheeler, and kept looking at him.

Only the school nurse took any pity on him. She called him into her office, and told him to relax. It would all be over soon, she said. These things have a way of working out. Jeremy found little comfort in her words, because if he didn't kill the old coot, who did?

He took the two aspirin the school nurse handed him, with a glass of water. It seemed like his head was bursting with pain. The coach knocked on the door, and came in. "Now, Jeremy, I want you to know that some of us are still on your side", he said. "I expect to see you at practice today. And don't listen to what people say, remember that 'sticks and stones will break my bones, but words will never hurt me' and just go on with your life."

Easy for him to say, Jeremy thought. Words do hurt me. He nodded at the coach, and went back to his home room. The kids stopped talking when he came in, and the teacher looked a little scared.
He was glad when the bell rang, and he left to go to football practice.

It was no better out there. One of the guys asked him what was wrong with him, hitting Wheeler. "You are pretty lucky that he didn't die from that blow" Sammy Johnson said. Jeremy shrugged and replied "Well, he had it coming, but I know it was wrong. I didn't really mean to hurt him."

Practice lasted about an hour, and Jeremy headed home. His father drove up, and told him to get in the car. They had an appointment with the attorney. "Great!" Jeremy thought, but he was grateful that his father was there for him.

After another hour in the attorney's office, they headed home. The attorney was a good man, and they felt that he would help them if charges were filed. On arriving home, they found supper waiting, and set down to eat. His mother was quiet, and didn't question him. When she got up to get the pie she'd based for dessert, she gave him a pat on the shoulder.

Back at school, the lights were still on as the principle and teachers held a meeting. Mysteries were fine, they agreed, as long as it didn't come so close to home. They had all been questioned by the police, and were feeling a bit jittery themselves. When the meeting was over, they walked out together to the parking lot. It has started to get dark again. Fall was the time of shorter days, it got dark earlier every day.

The school nurse sat alone in her office. She had not attended the meeting, and was not about to. Her pen dropped from her hands onto the desk, landing on top on the note she was writing. Nothing mattered anymore. She picked up the gun and pulled the trigger.

Newspapers the next day carried the headline, and solved the mystery. The fine, upstanding and very married Mr. Wheeler had been having an affair with the school nurse! When an argument ensued, the nurse had pulled the trigger on the gun she held at his head. He would never hit her, or call her names again.

Nancy Trainor had been a nurse at the school for seven years. For six of those seven years, she had loved Matt Wheeler. He kept promising to leave his wife, that they would be married one day soon. He lied. He called her names and when she told him she was going to call his wife, he slapped her across the face. That didn't hurt as much as the names he called her.

That day at school, he had gone to her office, his head bleeding profusely. She cleaned the wound, and he swore at her. In her desk, she kept a small automatic weapon, and it was within easy reach.

She saw him pale when he noticed the gun in her hands. More vile words came from his mouth. It was the end of their lives. Hers would just last a little longer. He knocked the gun from her hand, and hit her again. He walked out, leaving her in tears.

Life returned to halfway normal after that. All agreed it was a shame. Mrs. Wheeler moved away, and the teacher and nurse had been replaced. Jeremy got his grades up, and studied hard each night. He had a new goal now, in his last year of school. He was going to join the Army as soon as he was old enough. A new life was in the making.

Football season, and the first game won! No one called Jeremy names anymore for he'd made the winning run. He was back in their graces! The coach seemed really pleased with him.

It was later in the year when Jeremy walked into the office of the coach. He smiled when he saw the trophy the team had won. His smile faded when he saw the old newspaper lying on the desk. The headlines shouted out "Murder! Suicide!" He wondered why the coach would keep that old newspaper. Then he saw the smiley face that was drawn on the margin of the paper. He wondered whose blood was on whose hands. Perhaps the newspaper should have printed "MURDERER NOT FOUND!"

The coach walked in. He saw Jeremy's ashen face, and laughed. "You've been reading again, I see", he said. "Better head on home, son."

Jeremy left the building and hurried on toward home, not wasting any time. Mr. Wheeler had died of a broken neck, after all. Surely the coach would not been that upset about not having his star player out of the game!

Or could he have been?

The car picked up momentum as it climbed the hill toward the lake. Up ahead, a sharp curve. Below it was the lake, cool and serene. "No more papers, no more books, no more teachers dirty looks" he said to himself, stepping on the gas.