The Chapel In The School

It was 1989 in the school's Chapel. Let's call it St. Ambroise for the pointless sake of it. Back when chapel's in public institutions didn't cause a silly, freakish uproar among pseudo-rationalists, secularists or pain in the ass complaining atheist taking the state to court over trivial bull shit. You heard me. Fuck 'em.

Not that I'm religious. I just don't like people forcing their views on others is all.

Our insane - though it could never be proven on a piece of paper signed by those who know how to certify such things - Irish catholic priest was at his priceless, vulgar best.

His weekly diatribes were enough to rile a pack of psychotic boys (again, no proof) revving and itching to stir trouble. After swearing his way through a moral fable (I swear. I fucking swear Aesop wrote the Bible and no one is telling us the truth), he proceeded to go and sit in his quarters to listen to Confession.

Confession. As in, forgive me Father for I have sinned. Now, it's a tough subjective game this confessing sins thing. I once asked a religion teacher for a play book so I can keep tabs of what human transgressions Catholicism deemed sinful. Without it, I felt aimless. I mean, is manipulation of stocks or a girl you want to bang a sin per se?


I get easily confused and when I'm messed up internally, I ask empty questions.

No one went into the Chapel. It's 1989 again, remember? We all sat in silence refusing to go. Then, we had the idea, and don't ask why, of doing a human pyramid...in the Chapel.

It was quite a bizarre endeavor. It's not everyday you get a rough and tough kid like Tommy Ferino seizing the artistic reigns for the sake of making trouble. He carefully selected which of us would be placed on the pyramid. Ponzi would soon beckon him in the future.

Just as they were getting to the top, the Priest, probably wondering what was going on, came out. My bad. Sorry. The priest had a name. I forget to formally introduce people sometimes. His name was Father Cox. No joke. He never had a chance.

My friend once told me a story of the time he went into the secretary's office and someone was behind the copying machine fiddling around trying to fix it. As he spoke to the lady, the man blurted as he was getting up, "somebody has been fucking around with the fucking wires."

It was the good Father.

Another story. Actually told by my brother-in-law who graduated, say, 12 years before me. He too had Father Cox. One year he took his class on one of those spiritual getaways in the woods to "find oneself." I forget what you call them but I'm sure some marketing asshole has. I think those things are bull shit. Wood, grass, ponds, pond scum, and frogs have nothing to say to you. They have their own shit to take care of.

While the kids were starving in the cold outside, a couple of them went walking around to find the old man. Turns out Father Spirit Guide was sitting down in a cabin eating steak and eggs by a warm fire.

Do as I say...

The pyramid was not a sound structure. A look of brief disbelief suspended in thin air as we stared at Father Cox waiting to see what this nutcase was going to do. I wasn't in the pyramid but I still remember watching the standoff with delicious contentment. Suddenly, he said just as our morals teacher walked in, "get these assholes out of here" and down came the pyramid crumblin' and tumblin' to sacred ground.

Next thing we know, it was Delta Tau Chi redux. Guys were scattering for safety trying to elude the teacher. Why, I'm not sure. The rebellelion spilled over into the hallways and soon the Principal and other teachers were in the hunt searching us.

Shows you how stupid we were. Instead of just sitting down we decided to scatter like brainless monkeys.

I found myself running with Eric who was eating a bag of carrots and celery.

It was an especially tough spot for me as I was in enough trouble that week. I had been kicked out of a significant amount of classes and it had become apparent to the professionals shaping the country's future perhaps I wasn't going to be all that productive for society. I hate the word "society." It screams "follow this blue print" and therein laid my biggest problem: Conformity.

I feared it. Still do. It has made my life a living hell because the basic premise of our "social" and economic and all other bull shit associations like political parties, is conformity.

Part of conforming is accepting orders from dipshit morons who have no business giving orders in the first place. Not for me, man.

I was afraid of getting expelled. Weird. I knew I wasn't taking school seriously and that my behavior was far from impressive. I never told a teacher to fuck off though. I just didn't find that had any comical value. Plus it just wasn't cool. Maybe I was afraid of trying...and failing.

I told Eric I couldn't get caught. So we returned back to the Chapel by that time existing in peaceful spirituality. In other words, it was empty.

I rattled off a few nervous questions. "What do we do? Where do we hide? Why do we need to hide? How did it end up like this? Maybe I should just quietly go back to class? Why can't I just be a god damn good student? What if..." Eric was quietly and calmly eating listening to me while examining a door. He opened it and said, "how about in here?" "Father Cox's private bathroom?" I asked.

"It's the safest place. Principal Mariano will not look in here." Sounded logical to me.

In we went.

While absurdedly standing in a cold, tight bathroom, all I heard was Eric biting into his vegetables. "Want a carrot?" he asked in the dark. We didn't even bother to turn the light on. "Sure." There we stood eating carrots for a few seconds when our logical plan broke. The principal swung the door open. He saw two students eating carrots in the Priest's bathroom. He was stunned and asked, "Wh-what are you doing in there?"

Now that I think of it, I hope he didn't think...

"Nothing, sir." Eric said. "Get to class this second."

Off we went.

"Not you!" he said to me. No, you go to room 1B right now!"

I was given a severe warning. I think they saw no point in giving anything more. It's called cutting your losses.

As I left the office, I wouldn't have wanted it any other way.

Alive

Haven't forgotten about this blog. Just need time to write out some ideas. A couple are in draft form. Should be coming out at some point before the end of time.

Today's Program is Brought to you by the Number '7'.

What is with the number 7 and 'how-to' and 'secret ways' books? Seven ways to become rich, 7 tips on a successful marriage, 7 how to wipe your ass book, 7 ways to date. 7 ways to handle bitchy dates, 7 ways to order food from a menu, 7 secrets on how to deal with assholes.

Even George Carlin had his hilarious 'seven dirtiest words in the English language' bit. I think the anonymous author of the epic Arthurian poem 'Sir Gawain and the Green Knight' also makes mention of the number 7.

Consider: 7 days of the week, 7 wonders of the world, 7 deadly sins, 7 seas, 7 daughters of Atlas, 7 ages of man, 7 levels of hell, 7 primary colors, 7 notes of musical scale, 7 categories of absolute judgement, 7 objects in span of attention.

Apparently the number 3 also has a special significance. Yeesh.

Sesame Street never touched on this mystery....or coincidence. Damn that Bob and The Count.

Vulgar Joke Of The Day

I'm so poor I use pubic hair for floss.

The Party

I drove past a house today.

This in itself has no special meaning. We've past by hundreds upon hundreds (if not thousands) of houses. They are mere structures. Just a collection of (sometimes decaying) brick and wood. Some have gardens that have not been tended to. Some have disheveled front porches and lawns. Some look unwelcoming and others all too willing to invite us in for a cup of tea.

All, every single one of them and whatever form, possess their own private histories. Have you ever sat in a park or taken a walk and wondered about the life of a person you witness entering their home? Once they insert the key and walk in what is the course of their history?

You have to actually stop and think to wonder about such things.

That was the case today with the house I drove by. Growing up, it belonged to a casual friend of mine. He wasn't a close friend (he was one year older) but we were close enough thanks to a solid bedrock of mutual friends. His friends were my friends and vice-versa which made us blood-brothers of sorts.

Many of us were in the sports fraternity. He played hockey. I played soccer. We each played both sports. I think we may have even been on the same broom ball team.

One year, he decided he was going to throw the a big party. It was by invitation only. The surest way to ensure only the cool and desired were to show up. Build demand. Make entry scarce. That's the secret to a great party. At 16 he understood this.

For days people were anxious. They wanted to be invited. Speculation was at a fever pitch. "I hear so and so is not invited!"

Oh, the horror! Reputations were going to be made or broken on this night.

I wasn't sure about whether I was going to make the cut. I always lived life with one simple motto: "You never know. And I certainly don't know much."

We all knew who the "sure bets" were and who the "outsiders" were. But what of all those in the middle? Those people who teetered between cool and not cool?

I've always held a close affinity for the "alternatives." The quirky if you will. I would find girlfriends in most unlikely places. A few times I am proud to say, I uncovered gems not appreciated by the masses.

One girl I dated was so below the radar screen I had to present her to my friends while she was on the cat walk for a fashion show. I'll never forget my buddy's face when I pointed to her. I hear she became "Miss Philippines" for the local chapter years later. But for one shining night we both looked like stars as we walked out of the school after the show.

I always felt uncomfortable for the forgotten. Not that I did anything about it. Sometimes I did turn a blind eye when a person was unfairly picked on. But other times I would offer a word of encouragement. To let them know I wasn't like the others.

For some reason, even the tough guys saluted me in the morning. I guess I just knew how to tread that murky line.

Lucky me.

The day he methodically handed out the invitations the school was tense - more than the day of final exams.
The school bell rang. I hadn't received mine. We lived nearby each other and shared the same bus ride home. There, he handed the remaining invitations. Verbally. He looked to my gang and said, "Hey, see you guys at the party. Alessandro, I hear you popped two goals the other day on that bad knee."

"I did."

"Sandro is the best soccer player with no future!" one of my buddy's shouted. Everyone laughed.

With that, we enjoyed the rest of the ride home.

I made the cut.

The conversation went on in the bus. "Mirella is seeing Rob," I was told by a friend.

That surprised me. Mirella was one of those smart, elegant girls. Way wiser than her years. She used to fix all my mistakes in Grade Six to skew my grade in my favour. I had a crush on her but never acted on it. She once asked me to dance to "Ripples" by Genesis in junior high. Like a fool, I refused. Too immature to accept a dance.

I found out years later she had a crush on me too. A missed opportunity for love.

What was relief for somes was internal grief (I can only surmise) for others. The kids who didn't get invited looked straight away.

The night of the party we all hung out at my place until it was time to go. I was anxious to see who Mirella was dating. When I saw him I was disappointed in her choice. I didn't know she liked big dumb, guys with a penchant for violence.

But that was nothing to what I witnessed later. One of the so-called nerds who lived just down the street crashed the party. It was a loud night so probably at the insistence of his parents he decided to pass by. Why not? Nobody would dare send someone back home?

People were moving in and out of the house. The part was as much outside as it was inside. There was no flow or any way to keep tabs of who was there. It was a good gamble on his part.

Sadly, he was told to leave. I couldn't believe it. He quietly turned around and went home. What went through his mind? What did he tell his parents? What happened stayed with me for a long time. I was helpless. I had no leverage to persuade the powers that be to have him enjoy the night.

It turns out, the party wasn't all that great. It was just a loud mess.

Mirella left early and so did I.

I looked in my review mirror and continued on home.

Well Worth the Faint

A marvelous blue sky clashed poetically with my off-white linen attire. The sand never felt softer as it comfortably formed itself under the soles of my feet. Walking along the shore, I observed that the water was much calmer than it was the previous day. Cool and assertive, it therapeutically surrounded my ankles. Wind and air were the next elements. This time, it was the contours of my face that benefited. My feet, ankles and face were all being seduced by earth's finest elements. What could make this dream fresco perfect? Caravaggio painting the scene? I settled for the next best thing. A scantily dressed sensual lady showed herself as she jumped into my arms. I was set.

With one eye open I could see a thick blanket of frost had designed itself on the window of my bedroom. "Dreams can be so cruel," I thought aloud as I clamored out of bed.

The second my foot hit the wood floor, my knee reminded me it was indifferent to the sultry dream I had about a sexy girl, sand, water and air. It was damaged and no amount of natural voodoo hocus-pocus was about to fix them.

After many weeks of ignoring the truth, it had become glaringly apparent to me that it was time to go under the knife. Screw the naturopath who told me that it was unnatural to heal the body by cutting it open. All kooky, spooky crazy-talk. She did not have to live with a bad knee. Conventional medicine beckoned!

The day I left for the doctor, as I sat like a bump on a log in the examining room, my mind was occupied by the fact that I was being yanked out of regular school and sent to prep school. I wasn't a very reliable student. Just as I was about to pull out an apple from my pocket, the doctor walked in. He was tall, thin and red-haired.

He asked two questions and said, "That's an ACL tear."

"What's an ACL?" I meekly asked.

"You're anteriour cruciate ligament. You see, the ligaments that run…" I tuned out - maybe prep school was the right thing to do - as he began to rub his knuckles together to explain how the ACL functions.

"Oh."

"Let's check you out."

He took my leg and placed it between his arm and chest and began to push and bend the leg towards me.

"Feel that?"

"Yes."

"That's your ACL giving way,"

My decision to go ahead with the long and difficult process of repairing my knee was an unfortunate one. As the old adage reminds, once knees are opened up they are never the same again, or something like that.

Nonetheless, if I wanted any shot at an active life the knee had to be sliced open, stapled and stitched.

I tried every way to weasel my way out of it. I asked the specialist if it could be rehabilitated through physiotherapy.

That sound you hear is the exaggerated laugh of my doctor.

Once he regained his composure he said curtly, "No. Judging by my examination it's completely torn." That was that. More impressively, he accurately deduced - as it turned out - all this without the benefit of a MRI, which weren't used back then.

I was 18 years old and already washed up. A has-been before it ever began. So much for the big leagues. My talents were not to grace a soccer pitch for a long time - if ever.

A lot of stuff happened from the time the doctor confirmed I had a torn ACL until the surgery wearing those girly gowns - including eight other knee injuries.

I had a choice of a full anesthetic or an epidural.

"What's the difference? I asked.

"Under a full anesthetic you are asleep throughout the surgery. With an epidural we freeze from the waist down. You can witness the whole thing," the doctor explained. I decided to go for the epidural. Ring side seats to my own repair. All I was missing were some peanut M&M's.

"Ok, Alessandro. Here we go. It's the right knee," the doctor tells the nurse.

What? It was the left knee! Is he mad?

"Kidding," he said. I was not amused by his childish wink.

The anesthesiologist was young and talkative. Reading my chart he asked, "Nicolo? Do you have a sister?"

"I have two."

"What are their names?"

"Maria and Giovanna."

"Maria! She went to Laval Catholic High School right?"

"Yes. So did I."

"Wow. I knew her. She was going out with Joe, right?"

"Yeah. She married him. Not to sound like a smart ass but I'm about to lose a knee here and my ass is exposed."

"Ha, ha. You're sister was pretty funny, too. Ok, here's how this is going to work. I need you to curl up and place your head between your knees. Whatever you do, don't move. It can cause spinal damage. Ok?"

"Got it."

I cracked. I looked back. I saw the needle. It was as big as a lobster. I fainted.

"I told you not to look back."

"I know. Sorry."

A nurse came over and held my head down. I was now injected.

"Pretty soon you won't feel a thing."

"How will I know?"

"You won't feel your penis," my doctor interjected.

"Yeah right"

Within minutes he asks, "So, can you contract your penis?"

I tried. Boy did I try. I even burst some capillaries. My eyes turned purple I strained so hard. For some reason my fear entertained the nursing staff. I had no penis and they were laughing at me! What if I never regain feeling!

I began to wonder what life would be like without the use of my penis. Right then and there I secretly began to panic. Alternatively, I always dreamed of making love to a nurse on an operating table. Not today.

"Ok, Alessandro. You can watch the whole thing on the screen up above and to your right. Sit back and relax."

Relax, Alessandro. Story of my life. It's a lot easier said than done for some.

Just then he raised my leg. It didn't look like mine. It was orange and listless as he manipulated it however he saw fit. The iodine made it looked like road kill. I fainted.

"Are you going to be ok?"

"Yeah, no sweat. It's my first major surgery where I am awake. I'll be cool."

"Ok," the doctor said unconvincingly.

Lying back on my elbows I was sure the worse was over. So I fainted twice. Big deal. Until….

I swear there was blood everywhere. It sprouted out profusely. Like that scene in The Shining where Danny sees the twin girls. A flood of blood buckets. The nurse handed the doctor a tiny square shaped cloth to apply on the incision. I fainted.

I could overhear the doctor say, "Give him a sedative."

It was just what the doctor ordered. I never felt so composed in my life. I needed more of those pills for my high-strung genetic make-up. I don't remember much about the surgery but I do remember him pointing to the torn ligament. It looked like a torn Kleenex.

Soon the doctor proclaimed, "That's it. We're done."

I was wheeled into a room. Half awake, I asked for a cheeseburger. I must have dozed off - or fainted - because I sure don't recall eating it.

A couple of weeks later I visited the doctor to check up on my wound. It was the first time the bandage was going to be removed. The knee felt extremely tight and my leg had been reduced to a mere twig-like limb. He began to remove the bandages. I felt woozy. Finally, he reached the knee. One look was all it took. I fainted.

My mother looked at me as she handed me a glass of water. "You're such a wuss."

It took months of rehab, but fixing the knee gave back my athletic life. I was active once again. Psychologically, I'll never be the same as I still vividly remember how I tore it the first time right through until the 9^th time. There is no doubt that if one plans to lead an active life surgery is a necessity when it comes to the ACL.

When I tore my right knee16 years later it took me seconds to make my decision. On the operating table the anesthesiologist suggested an epidural which was the standard. I chuckled and instructed him to, "Knock me out." I wanted to get out there with some dignity. Besides, there was a student doctor present. I wasn't interested in hearing any "Oops."

I may have even dreamed of that sweet girl as I frolicked with her on the beach.

Needless to say, I didn't faint.

Tiberious

The weather outside was hot and humid but idyllic nonetheless. Tiberious stood seriously before the corpse with a dash of delightful but detached indifference. Examining the mutilated body intensely, Tiberious allowed his imagination to run circles in his mind.

The inescapable scent of blood filled the air. A blood river that did not know where it was going streamed along the soft ground. His depraved inner thoughts took him into the nether regions of his subconscious. He marveled at how the victim was meticulously cut by the ingenious hand of its perpetrator. What an inglorious act it would be to put such an artist behind bars!

The sweat expunged itself from his forehead down to the side of his face profusely. He wiped his face slowly and rigorously. He shook his head thinking he could jolt himself back into reality. It did for a second but the sudden thought of the terror in the dead stranger's eyes that remained evident captivated him.

It reminded him of those hazy, lazy days when he used to go fishing alone for mud minnows and stone cats as a kid. It was so peaceful it frightened him to the very core of his dubious existence. He carefully collected his catches. The skeletons of their tiny corpses remained in a jar next to the jam and coriander at home. He recalled the day he saw his first body by the riverbank of his youth, 36 years before. He closed his eyes and smiled lightly.

"Detective. Detective!"

His eyes opened.

"Tibs, are you ready? The Chief wants to see your report about the murder ASAP."

He took a deep breath, looked at the body one last time and nodded. In the background he could overhear the Chief. "Yes sir. Tiberious is our best investigator."

Barely turning his head he told his colleague, "I'll be right over."

"We're still on for fish tonight?"

A gleam came to Tibs' eye.

"Yes. Fish."

He laughs.