An Origin Story, of sorts (Part 2)
Filed under : Childhood Stories, Serial Stories
Written on March 16, 2015
(If you didn’t read Part 1, you’re gonna be lost)
After the weird shove-match-punch experience, it was still relatively light out and I figured Alan and The Dicks wouldn’t be going to the clubhouse so quickly. I grabbed my bike and rode over there, just to see if maybe there was anything in there I could use to fuck them over.
When I walked up to the apartment, I could already tell it was a disaster. The front door had giant cracks on it – like someone had taken a bat to it. The window was shattered. Inside, there were cigarette butts all over the carpet, burns in the carpet. Magazines, snacks, beer, and more cigarette butts lined the couch and coffee table. Food bowls, silverware, plastic and glass cups, just everywhere. This was a fucking disaster. They more than “made a mess”, they fucking trashed the place. I was sad that our clubhouse had been so disrespected, but happy that there’d be no way for them to clean it all up by the time I could get the apartment management to investigate.
I went into the apartment office to report my findings. Now, I was no saint, so I know they already didn’t like or trust me in this place but I figured narc’ing out some unruly kids about a real violation would kinda clear my record. “I was over in Phase 4 1they referred to blocks of apartments as Phases, riding my bike around and I heard loud banging and kids laughing coming from upstairs. I decided to check it out later, and they totally trashed someone’s apartment! I saw one of the kids — we used to be friends, here’s his apartment number”. They, of course, didn’t believe me and just said “okay, we’ll check it out”.
About 2 days later, I’m in class when the principal calls out over the intercom “Mitchell Marzoni to the principal’s office”. As classmates will do – they all went “oooooooooh……”. If you got called to the principal’s office, by the principal, some shit was going down. I was worried that maybe it had something to do with my mom. It didn’t occur to me that I would be in trouble for anything. Keep in mind, school had been in session for maybe 2 weeks at this point.
As I’m nearing the front door of the principal’s office, just about to walk in, someone grabbed both of my arms and wrestled me to the ground. I yelled out “idiot! the principal’s RIGHT THERE!”, only to turn and see a cop handcuffing me from behind. I was tackled, cuffed, and arrested in the middle of the hallway. I was yelling out “let me go!” and “what are you doing?” and.. probably a few curse-laden expressions just for good measure. I thought “maybe the other kids will think I’m a badass for this”. Spoiler alert : the other kids did not think I was a badass for this. Almost no one saw it, cause they were in class.
I’m walked into the principal’s office, and the officer read me my rights and said I was being arrested for breaking and entering. “What? When did I break and enter anything?!”. He looked right into my eyes and said “that apartment?”. My stomach sank. I’d been hoisted on my own petard 2always wanted to use that expression properly.
He told me that I busted the door. Littered the place with cigarettes. Left porn mags strewn about the place. Trashed the couch. Smashed up the window. I said “what? I didn’t do ANY of that! I was REPORTING what I saw!”.
They’d blamed the whole thing on me. I don’t know what kind of hack law enforcement they had working on the force at that time, but apparently they went to Alan’s apartment first and talked to his mom (since Alan was out with The Dicks). This gave Alan a chance to call The Dicks and say “let’s blame it all on Mitcz!”, since they came forward with their “confessions” the following day. I even pointed out to the officer that this was clearly a smear job – that they had enough time to devise a mastermind behind it all, and therefore picked me. All he said was “well.. you look a little small to break a door that size”. Bittersweet release on that one.
My mom was called in, and I spent most of the day sitting in the principal’s office. For whatever reason, I was pretty much off the hook. The principal agreed to “keep an eye on me” and the cops let me go (though I think my mom paid a fine – I really don’t remember).
The next day, the principal called me back into the office – less conspicuously this time, he just had someone deliver a note to me in class – and sat me down to talk sports. “Sports” he said “are what keep young troublemakers like you in line. It keeps you busy, and focused. Your mom told me you played a lot of sports when you were younger. I’d like to see you get involved in sports again”. He told me I was to report to the Cross Country coach after school “or there’ll be trouble”. So, I did.
I fucking hated Cross Country. I wasn’t built for running. The others on the team seemed to really enjoy it. My only goal was to enjoy the scenery of the cool places we’d run, and jog ahead just enough to beat a few of the fat kids on both teams.
A few months later, Cross Country season ended. Principal whats-his-face called me back in and said “now, let’s get you into wrestling”. Cross Country sucked, but wrestling was fucking hell. I was too small for that. I didn’t wanna grapple on the floor with a bunch of weird sweaty dudes. Sometimes I’d just lie there and say “well, I’m pinned” and walk back to the bench to be done with it. I was on the team just long enough to be a part of the group photo.
(to be continued…)