Farewell, Fair Child

By J.J. Amirikhas

The book is about a young man's coming of age while going through four years of high school. It is autobiographical, but not an autobiography. It also has allusions to the story of Cyrano de Bergerac, and some references to Catcher in the Rye. It is in three parts, with a prologue and an epilogue. Part one covers freshman year, part two sophomore and junior years, and part three senior year. As mentioned, it involves the social and sexual awakening of a young man, and it covers the years of childhood to adolescence. There is also a brief section about the young man's native country of Iran.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Jun 12, 2020
• ISBN: 9781984580825

Book preview

PROLOGUE

I walk down the halls of my alma mater, reminiscing. It is the same old school, all right; and yet, it isn’t. The building is the same, the archways, the roof structure. But the atmosphere is different. It is unfamiliar, strange. Not even a flicker of my old strong love for the school stirs within me. Faces pass me by, faces that I do not recognize, that do not recognize me. To them, I am an outsider, intruding upon their stomping grounds. No one stops to talk to me, to ask me how I am doing. Of course, most of them do not know me, while the others do not remember me. I am not part of the school. I will not be anymore.

When I first entered the school, I had many expectations. For one thing, I expected to be recognized; recognized as a person, not just a conglomeration of features that one might have seen before but cannot remember exactly where. For another, I anticipated an exhilaration, an elation or excitement of some sort to surge within me upon my setting foot in the narrow halls of Paris High; but no such noble feeling touches my breast. All I feel is an emptiness, a hollow vacancy that has my stomach aching and my throat dry.

I stop by the honor roll in the lobby and glance at the names there. I recognize some of them: Conrad Hollander. Jim Lazarus. Debbie Womack. They are seniors now. In another year they too will graduate and become nameless faces like me. I peer into a couple of the rooms, poke a head into the auditorium, then go down-stairs into the cafeteria. They are all empty, the kids and teachers in class, the custodians busy elsewhere. Empty.

I stand by a post and recall with aching nostalgia the many happy moments I spent flirting with Salonne, pulling up her skirt playfully, wanting to know what size underpants she wore. It was a game with us, begun when I bought her a pair of gag panties for Valentine’s Day; which she wouldn’t wear because she claimed they were not her size. Now I do not even know where she is. She may even be out of the country. I have not seen her since graduation night some eight months back.

Then there was Mary Ann. Mary Ann. I remember the prom and wonder if she is still angry about that. We were so close and now we are so far apart, both geographically and emotionally.

And Janice. Deidre. I will probably never see any of them again. They are gone. We spent four wonderful, fun-laden years together and now they are gone. I sigh wistfully.

I go back upstairs and enter the Boys’ Room. Two clowns are in there smoking. They start when I step inside, but relax quickly when they see I am not a teacher, or an administrator.

Hi, Jason, the taller of the two says to me.

I look at him. Lenny Clarke. He is the only member of last year’s senior class who did not graduate last year. My eyes flicker anxiously to his companion, half expecting him to be Chute Sands, Lenny’s vicious sidekick of last year, but it is not as I knew it could not be. Chute was as lazy and lackadaisical about schoolwork as Lenny, but he was sharp, unlike Lenny, and he managed to accumulate enough credits to graduate.

Hello, I respond to Lenny.

How’s things?

So-so. I shrug.

Like college life?

It’s not bad.

I am half tempted to say, You must really like high school life, but I refrain.

Lenny nods listlessly and, dropping his cigarette butt on the floor, he toes it vigorously. He motions to his companion and the two of them leave. He sure was interested in how I was doing. Yeah. But hell, what could I expect from Lenny? We were never exactly buddies. I should be thankful he even said hello to me; and did not try to pick a fight.

I look around, recall the time Mary Ann coaxed me into following her into the Girls’ Room. She had to show me something, she said. She showed me something, all right. I laugh out loud as I remember the incident, laugh as I had laughed then; shake my head. It was not so long ago, but it seems years.

The usual profane epithets are scrawled on the walls above the urinals. Some are funny. Dracula sucks, one declares. Smile, You’re on Candid Camera, says another. To Pee or not to Pee, states a third. I chuckle and then rear back my head and laugh uproariously for no reason whatever. I just feel like it.

Smile, You’re on Candid Camera. That was one of the signs we put against the back window of the bus going to see Camelot on stage in New York. Scenes of Janice parting her knees, of Deidre lifting her skirt float before my mind’s eye. We sure had a gala time in back of that bus.

I leave the Boys’ Room hurriedly, hating the school now. It is no good anymore. It has lost its appeal for me. It depresses me, reminds me of too many happy moments, moments gone which I will not own again.

There is a basketball game after school. I decide to stay and watch it. Whatever derogatory remark I might make about the rest of the school, I cannot justifiably degrade Paris High’s basketball team. It is still a great team, despite the loss through graduation of its All-State center, Chris Neville, who averaged 30 points per game. The boys reeled off eight straight victories before finally bowing to their arch-rival from across town, Fairland High, on the winners’ court, and now sport a 13-1 record. When the game is over, they have easily boosted their record to 14-1.

As I watch the game, sitting by myself high in the grand-stands, I wonder if Salonne sees much of Chris anymore. They did not go to the same college, but that does not preclude the possibility of their seeing each other. There are the weekends and they are not that far apart. I feel a fleeting pang of jealousy at the thought of his being able to see her while I cannot. I was never certain how much Salonne cared for Chris, and how much for me.

After the game, I call on Miss Fleming, my first English teacher, to acquire my sophomore year term paper from her. Only she is not Miss Fleming any longer. She got married during the summer and now bears the name of Mrs. Lawson. For me, however, she will always be Miss Fleming.

Though it is rather late, she is still around. But she is on her way out, and she has five words for me: In the bottom drawer, Jason, pointing to a file cabinet in the corner. I smile grimly and, taking my paper, I get out of there. I hop in my car and drive around; aimlessly.

The empty feeling persists inside of me, stronger now, really twisting my stomach. I had set my hopes high, expecting to be greeted as the returning hero on my visit back to Paris. When that did not come off, I had a long way to fall. As a result, I have found out an important thing. It was not the school I loved those four years, it was my class: my many friends, male and female; my teachers. The school was only a symbol, a place where we could congregate, be together. Without us, the school is nothing. It is an old grey façade made of brick and cement like any other.

I tool by Mary Ann’s house, hoping she might be out on her porch, by her door, or somewhere. She is not, as I knew she would not be, and I drive on. It has begun to rain. The sky is grey, thick blankets of clouds full of harsh noise and wetness scudding across it. It suits my mood well. I switch on the windshield wipers and steer on through the haze and the slop, unconcernedly.

It is really coming down now. Thunder groans portentously in the distance and lightning streaks now and again, blazing brightly. For a day that started out so promisingly, it sure is turning out to be a drag. I curse, loudly and with passion. It makes me feel a little bit better.

Mary Ann was not a big girl. Neither was Salonne. They were both around 5’2 or 5’3 and had slim, shapely figures; great legs. Mary Ann was a bit slimmer, perhaps. She had blonde hair, long and silky, and brown eyes, and freckles speckled the ridges of her nose and under her eyes. Salonne’s hair was copper red, and she had dark blue eyes that appeared to be iridescent, changing color with each new outfit she wore. Her lips, sensuously full and red, fringed over white, even teeth, which were like small tusks of ivory; and she had a small nose, sitting like a large button on top of her upper lip. She was the best looking girl I have known.

I was closer to Mary Ann, but Salonne always attracted me more, and would always do so, I guess. I sigh deeply in the car. It was my vacillation between the two girls, my uncertainty about which one to go with, that in the end cost me both of them.

I catch sight of myself in the rear vision mirror and wipe the sad smile off my face. I switch off the recollection screen and endeavor to concentrate on the road, but I cannot. I remember back, back over the years, back to my first days of school.

I remember Janice again; Deidre. Russ, Rick, Mike. Mr. Oldham, Mr. Lawson. Miss Fleming. Mr. Terretier. I remember them all. They all played a memorable part in that segment of my life. I wish I could start the four years all over again, from my first day of school to my last. I really wish that…..

PART ONE

Freshman

SECTION ONE

High School—First Day

1

On that special Thursday morning four years ago, I woke up with a groggy feeling and a bitter taste in my mouth. It was still dark outside. Either it was still night or damn cloudy. I hoped it were the former; I could have used another three-four hours of happy snooze.

Unfortunately, however, dawn had broken. Beyond repair. I checked the luminous face of my alarm clock on my night table and discovered, to my horror, that it was past seven. The alarm had not gone off. Damn! It was time to get up, get dressed, eat breakfast…..

My eyes opened wider. The sleep suddenly, quickly evaporated from my lids.

School began today. High school. Summer was over.

I groaned. My stomach tumbled. I have always been ambivalent about school. I like the social aspect of it: the meeting of people, new and old; the carousing, the fun and frolic. But I don’t like the study part: the tests, the papers to write, the homework. I have a special hatred for homework, bordering on the pathological.

After a few more whines and grunts, I willed myself out of bed and pulled off my baby blue pajama tops. Shahar came in while I was slipping on my undies and told me to hurry it up, it was getting late. Shahar is my older sister.

I sighed. A few sun rays splashed through the window now and got into my eyes. I cursed and drew the shades. The clouds were clearing. It looked like it might turn out to be a golden day. I did thirty sit-ups and twenty-five push-ups to get the kinks out of my body, then crossed into the bathroom to wash up.

The bitter taste persisted around my gums. I would have to stop those midnight snacks. I gazed at myself in the mirror over the sink. A disheveled, big-nosed, fuzzy-faced slob stared back at me. Gosh, but I was ugly in the mornings. Yech. Unfortunately, my looks did not improve that much during the day. I was fast losing my angelic, boyish cuteness. I smiled broadly at my reflection, with all the teeth. That made it even worse. I almost gave myself a fright.

The table was set and my corn flakes ready by the time I made it to breakfast. Corn flakes was all I ever ate for breakfast; corn flakes with banana. And