Barbara Fleurnois - 1. Chapter 1

Barbara Fleurnois

 

 

by bugeye

 

 

What does the ugliest girl in the world think about? Barbara thought about a boy. Not just any boy, but a special one, that sat on the back row in her classroom. Both of them sat on the back row, she by the windows… him by the hall wall. They were the same. Everyone hated her. Everyone hated him. They were different. She was unable to say it. But, it echoed in her head. She was the ugliest thing god ever created. And the boy was… he was the most beautiful thing she had ever seen. His name was Davy, Davy Foster. He was supposed to be stupid, kind of like her. He was repeating the seventh grade. But Barbara had noticed the boy always turned in his homework, always had a good answer when questioned by Mrs. Pepper, their teacher, and often got a “very well done” from her when papers were handed back out after tests. Kind of like her. It was one of the things she wondered about while she stole glances at him. She knew where he lived. The school bus picked him up on the last stop every morning before arriving at school. It was a pretty house. Sort of a really long, pale gray, Cape Cod with five dormers. The house had a long driveway that was separated from two pastures by a white, four rail fence. There were no horses, but often a big birddog sat next to Davy as the bus made its stop. Sometimes, usually if it was raining, he wouldn’t be waiting, he had older sisters who were in high school, who would drop him off on their own way to school. She had seen them too, driving an older model, steel gray Cadillac… you know the one with the big tail fins. Obviously, a hand me down from their parents. The older girl was so pretty and the younger looked put out by something, everything. Barbara would pretend she got to meet them, that Davy and she would ride in the back of the car together as they gave her a ride home from school sometimes. Somehow making up these little stories about Davy made things better, bearable. Everyone seemed to talk about her where she could hear every word. Mean, cruel, horrible words. And, they were true weren’t they? What could she answer. She heard them talk about Davy too, but never where he could hear them. “Queer”, they would say, “sissy“. “Don’t go into the bathroom when he is in there.” But they seemed cautious about it like they were afraid of him hearing them. They said he knew how to fight. Recently, there was a class assembly about the word “queer”. At the start the principle asked “Is there anyone in this room who doesn’t understand what the word “queer” means? Please raise you hand now.” No one in the room moved. Barbara didn’t raise her hand, she had no idea what the word meant other than it was a bad word that was mean. The principle went on to lecture on the reasons the word was not going to be tolerated, never explaining why, just what would happen to those who were caught using the word. Barbara risked another quick glance, she didn’t understand it. She looked at Thomas Courtney who the other girls talked about all the time. She felt nothing. It was like the boy didn’t exist. It reminded her of all the blank stares from people who walked thru her and stepped on her. She opened the slip of paper she had found that morning inside her desk storage, daring to read it again. Could this be true?

 

Davy took a look at Barbara. He had found the note in his desk. It had to be another attempt to… what ? Bait him. Hurt him again, have fun at his expense. But what about Barbara? Was she being used in this? Barbara had it worst than he did. He tried his best not to notice other people now without the appearance of seeming withdrawn. He was sick and tried of being treated like a sick?… troubled?… disappointment. And, worst. The last couple of years had been hard. But he had noticed Barbara. Maybe, the first person he had paid attention to since Billy Bayou in the fifth grade. But, that didn’t work out like so many things. He noticed how she withdrew everyday. Noticed her daydream away the callous words into imagined butterflies. The first time he became aware of her was when and where she got off the school bus on the first day of this school year. Barbara lived on an old section of Peachtree Dunwoody Road. The very end of the road was actually a gravel road. But right before that section was an old estate. It was a famous local landmark. It even had a name. Fleur de Lys. For such a large estate, it was strange how the house was sited prominently near the road in the center of a sweeping curve of road that gave, at times, clear views of three sides of the house. Each side handsomely designed and accented with extensive gardens. The edge of the property began with a stone wall that continued all the way along the road until it reached the big curve where it changed into a combination of stone and wrought iron fencing. Directly in front of the house was a gate. Not a large driveway gate but a small gate about the size of a large door. Behind this gate was an opened circular courtyard with steps at the far side leading up to a paved terrace in front of the main entrance. Four limestone columns supported an arched gable that was dominated by a carved decoration, a fleur de lys. Why would the school bus stop here? That answer was simple. The bus was stone quiet as a girl with a book satchel stood up and stumbled her way forward. Wearing a pink pinafore over a white blouse and ruffled white socks in brown loafers she self consciously pushed her thick glasses repeatedly up the bridge of her pug nose. She left the bus after a “bye” to the driver and walked across a stone path to the fence gate. The bus driver waited. From her coat she was carrying the girl pulled a large brass key and opened the gate. As the iron gate closed the bus pulled away.

 

It was almost time for the school bell to ring marking the end of the day. If there was anything Davy had learned over the last two years it was to face his problems head on. It didn’t make the world better or turn back time or change anything, but it made going forward possible. He decided then that he would face whatever this was. But, again he looked over at Barbara and wondered.

 

Two years ago. So much had changed. Perhaps the biggest change was the move from the old Homepark neighborhood out to Sandy Springs. During his time in the sixth grade Davy’s parents announced the family was going to have to move. There was no choice in the matter other than where they would move to. The University of Georgia Tech wanted the entire city block where they lived and were either buying everyone out or talking legal action against them… imminent domain and condemnation. Mostly, Davy remembered the hysterics of his older sisters, they couldn’t leave their friends, their school, their boyfriends. Davy didn’t care, he had no friends anymore and he barely cared about school anymore. The sixth grade was just were he waited for what he did not now, he was just floating around in a world of confusion. For what seemed like months his parents dragged them all to one house after another, one neighborhood after another. Never seeming to see what they wanted.

 

Then one Sunday afternoon at his grandparents, his grandmother wanted them to go see a house that had just come on the market in Sandy Springs. But Sandy Springs was so far out from downtown. The girls would have to change schools. The reasons for not moving out to Sandy Springs were flying left and right. But, Gran said, “What’s the harm in looking.“ They all piled into Gran’s big station wagon and headed out Mount Vernon Road. What was once a thirty acre property with one house had been subdivided into three, ten acre lots. New houses sat on the two new lots. The older house sat in the middle lot and had been completely remodeled. The original place had been a country home for people with horses. The traditional board fencing and horse barn had been repaired. The house had a foundation of granite stone but the house itself was bricked and had been painted a pale light gray. A terrace level, a ground floor and an upstairs. It was bigger than average and grand in the way older houses were. “We love it,” Davy’s mother said. “We can’t afford this,” his father said. “Yes, you can,” his grandmother said. And so it came to past that in the summer of 1960 the Foster’s took up residence in Sandy Springs only two miles from the old farm of their family.

 

The change set Davy up for the worst experience of his life. Much worst then losing all his earlier friends because he suddenly was “different”. The seventh grade at a new school. “You will find that this school has a high standard and making all A’s here may prove difficult for you.” His future teacher, Mrs. Locatel informed him. She was a very tall woman with dark hair and a widow’s peak of white in the middle of it. Davy had caught a thought that almost had him laughing, except instead he felt his stomach fall. This woman looked for all the world like the evil stepmother in Cinderella or the evil queen in Snow White or the witch in Sleeping Beauty. It should have been ridiculous but somehow it wasn’t, it was down right menacing. Davy never got the chance to figure this all out because it was all too obvious the very first day. This teacher hated him on sight. For a whole school year everyday was a nightmare. Everything fell apart for Davy then. He was drowning while everyone claimed to be helping. His parents, his grandparents, the school counselor, the principal and the one who claimed to be helping the most, Mrs. Locatel.

 

At the worst point or the point where Davy was skipping school or just leaving the school grounds a particular incident happened. That changed things enough, just enough for Davy to make his way in this. It was a bathroom fight or accident or a combination of both. His classmates had caught on to the way Mrs. Locatel treated him. They had figured they had a free target. Only life has its own rules it seems at times. Right about the time Davy was going to get a couple of black eyes and a bloody nose, he slipped. Down he went on top of the one holding him, his legs flying wildly up in the air. When Davy got up, one boy was out against a wall and the other was on the floor holding his privates. “Don’t ever mess with me again.” Why he said this Davy didn’t know, but he had spun around to see a kid staring at the scene. Nothing happened after the incident, but things quieted down. Even Mrs. Locatel began to ignore him.

 

“Davy is underachieving because of his emotional and physical immaturity.” was the reason at the end of the year for holding him back to repeat the seventh grade. How does a boy go from making all A’s and never having any academic difficulties to making all D’s, even though he does all his work. How does a boy get a D in penmanship? How does a boy feel when I teacher grabs his hand and squeezes it into a painful grip and yells, “You will hold your pencil this way or else I will…” What’s the point in ridicule? What’s the point in remembering all this again. What. It’s over now. Mrs. Pepper had talked to Davy for a long time at the beginning of the school year. Somehow, she seemed to understand. Somehow she saw what had happened. It was better again, everything was going to be fine now. Or at least he could handle this, now.

 

Or was it? The bell rang. A mob of kids, stomped their way to the door followed out by Mrs. Pepper who was on hall duty. Davy hung back. He saw Barbara was holding back. Best to face this. Davy stood up and walked the few steps to Barbara’s desk, where she looked up at him shyly. From his pocket he pulled the note and held it out to Barbara who smiled and hesitantly took the note. Davy had never seen Barbara smile before and as he watched her read the note he saw that smile disappear. “It wasn’t me. I didn’t write this,” was her disappointed answer. “I guess this isn’t yours then either,” Barbara asked as she handed her own bit of folded paper to Davy. “No, it wasn’t me either.”

 

Maybe it was time to get to the bus, Davy could see Barbara was struggling with holding in tears. But, remembering his promise to himself not to run away from hard things anymore… “Come on Barbara we are going to be late for the bus.” Davy held out his hand.

 

David Foster found out twenty years ago. He received a packet from a fancy law firm telling him all the details. In the packet was a sealed letter from Barbara. “I’m sorry David, at the time I thought someone else was the father. Please don’t think badly about me. I have been happily married for years. There were only two other men in my life, that one time with you and well another boy that I was in love with. I thought it had to be him. But as time went by it was obvious who the father was, as you can see in this picture of him at 18. He knows who you are, but please let it be his decision about what the future holds.” Twenty years is a long time to think of something. David knew who the other boy had to have been, after all he had loved him too.

 

Today he was going to meet someone, at long last, a stranger, a son.

 

 

 

I passed lonely

Thru the night

Never knowing

Footsteps gave birth

To an echo in the light

I never turned around

So surprise I found

In a sun rising close behind

A son

I have never known

 

 

 

 

 

March 2, 2012

Barbara Fleurnois is a follow up of the story A Valentine in November in the Winter Anthology.