The Road To Utopia - 1. School dazed

Life was about to get better for me.

In about 6 weeks the football stadium at Bernard Raleigh High, home of the mustangs, would play host as 360 students in robes and mortar boards marched across the field a final time as the school’s senior class of 1980-81.

In Lubek, there was the ever-present smell of cow shit. There were vast oilfields nearby, and nothing but cattle spreads, and tons of manure for miles and miles. A sulfur mine to the south of town added to the aroma. There was nothing like the smell of rotten eggs and cow poop. One consolation: We did have the scenery. Lubek was situated in the Texas Hill Country, and just northwest of town danced the proud green hills, giving the area dramatic vistas. Garner State Park was close by, offering frigid river water for swimming, hills and cliffs for rock climbing and the ever-present dinosaur footprints and poop for its visitors. Tap water was something that you could actually taste.

Oh yeah, me. My name is Travis Allen and this story took place when I was 16. I was a millimeter or two taller than 5’-8”. I had and still have black hair and eyes. I had a nose that was bigger than I thought it needed to be. I was rail thin but, here’s the rub; I had an almost 10 inch dick, with more than a handful of nuts. Oh, and I liked guys, a whole lot. The downside of that; I lived in an itty, bitty, piss-ant cow town hours from any big city, in a state where a good percentage of the population had been strung up and mutilated because of skin color or their nationality. I figured the hate for the gayer sex would far surpass the hate for skin color and citizenship concerns. There was no getting out of the closet; at least while I lived in Lubek.

I should tell you right here that me being 16 might have been a good reason for me to be shunned or picked on. My mom and dad crapped out trying to enlighten and edify my elder brother’s wisdom, but thought I’d be an easier target to screw up.

My parents grew up in this itty, bitty, pissant, country town, and both are educators in the district’s schools. My mom is Ursula Allen, although she goes by her middle name Marie (pronounced Mary), and teaches 3^rd grade at Tecumseh Elementary. My father, Thomas Allen is Superintendent at Goodnight ISD. Mom and dad hooked up in college, back east. I know it was ivy-league, but neither have ever mentioned the name. If they have diplomas I’m sure the framed documents decorate walls in their respective offices.

Since they crapped out with Tim, although he was one of those giving speeches at graduation last year, and he had a 4.0 GPA his first Semester at Rice University in Houston, mom and dad decided I needed to be carefully taught. By second grade it was decided to move me a half year ahead. By the end of 3^rd grade mom and dear old dad finagled me into 5^th grade starting in the fall.

But back to what I was saying before; I know for a fact there are a few guys at Barney Fife High, that like staring at the same bodies and body parts I do, - all but one or two are in the 9^th grade. I might be just a year their senior, the year and a half head start in education coupled with the aging I got hanging with my gang of actual 17 and 18 year olds has matured me. The other two guys are both seniors like myself, and they tend to get beat up a lot for wearing rather obvious clothes. The boy’s uniqueness wasn’t such a bother to me. My goal at Barney Fife High was to avoid getting bullied, beat up or shunned like they had been.

It was the tail end of April and before the 6^th of June slumbered, I would forever escape this animal cracker box of a school. For such a zoo full of us poor losers, the campus was an imposing collection of buildings. The main building a sprawling four stories sheathed in red brick, and quarried limestone stood proudly alongside its diminutive brethren. The loudest classes, band choir and sports, were facilitated in the rambling single level, most modern steel clad building, nested alongside the final educational structure, an Auditorium/Sports center, which accompanied the multi-sport Stadium (track, soccer, v-ball and football.

After graduation I planned to play for the summer. Undoubtedly I would hang with Owen at the camp-house. I truly loved him and his family. A chance to see him naked, or nearly so, was the meatballs on the spaghetti, the relish on the hotdog, the cream gravy on the chicken fried steak.

In the fall I planned to attend Texas A & M, not the Bryan Texas campus. I would attend Texas A & M in Corpus Christi. Mom wanted me at home, or as near to it as I could be. Her baby sister, my Aunt Jo, mom’s clone in Corpus, would be mom’s eyes and ears to watch over her baby. Jo was short for Johanna, and she worked in the administrative department on campus.

Come Friday, May 1, I would be out of class, but forced to attend an event Barney called the class picnic held at some ‘Dude Ranch’ called Crockett’s Corral. The entire senior class, and our advisors and instructors, would have lunch and I think we’d get to ride horses and maybe swim if it was warm enough.

.   .   .

Remember how clocks nearly stopped in your final weeks at high school? The clock hands those final days seemed to have developed claws they dug into the face, seconds passed as drips from a leaky faucet. The sun rose and set normally. That time in between, however, lapsed at an intolerable slow pace.

I spoke with friends and they agreed. Even Kathie Thomas agreed with me. She had never agreed with me before. Kathie was in several of my classes. If she were a guy I would so seriously have wanted to go after her. She had these beautiful almond shaped eyes, with thick, long lashes. Her nose was a tiny, turned up button of a thing, and freckles frosted her nose. She had red hair. (Did I tell you I had this thing for red hair? Yeah, I really have it bad for red heads.)

I was not the most popular guy in school. I was two years younger than everyone else in my class. The honor of “most popular” went to Fuzz Mackey. His real name was David Taylor Mackey, but sometime in junior high the powers that be in school decided his shoulder length hair was inappropriate and ordered him to get a haircut. After several weeks of bickering between his family’s lawyers and those of the school district, Mackey showed up one day bald as an egg, with a smirk that would make those heads on Mt. Rushmore cringe. It took a few weeks, but a dusting of white hair began to reappear atop his pate, and Fuzzy, later shortened to Fuzz Mackey was born and became an instant celebrity on campus.

Like I said, I was not all that popular. Most of my gang; Russ, Junior, Prince, , fuzz and oh yeah, Owen were. We’d sit together at games, or go to the Kmart (the closest thing we had to a mall was the Kmart).

Owen always was the best friend of the bunch. We met in 5^th grade. A few of the other kids tried to pick on me, but he and a boy named Wayne (who was a good friend for a while) interceded on my behalf. They took me on as some FFA project or something. They escorted me to the cafeteria, making sure I sat with them. I was picked on their side for kick ball, a simpler version of Soccer (futbol). Once school dismissed it became their duty to see I got safely home.

After a week, I had become a part of their little club. Although Mom wouldn’t let me spend the night away from home, (I was only 8. Most of the gang was 11) all of us accompanied by either mom or dad, routinely camped out in the back yard at my place, well into sixth grade. The summer I turned 10 we initiated family weekend gatherings at the Owen’s camp-house.

.   .   .

The days before the picnic were spent taking exams. Thursday was a teacher’s In Service day for seniors only. Friday May 1 finally arrived and since the darned picnic was to be an all day event, we had to be there before 9:00 am. My alarm went off at 6:45. When my eyes finally opened that morning, I realized I might have gotten a little too much rest, since my eyes were crusted with sleep matter, and no amount of rubbing was going to loosen my lashes. I stumbled, half blind, to the all guys bathroom and rinsed the goop off my eye.

I got back to my room just as the phone rang. A glance at the alarm clock indicated it was nearly 7:15.

“Hello?” I answered. “Hey Marty, my man! What’s up?”

Martin Sherman lived across the street. He and I only saw each other around our houses, or at the Owen’s camp-house. Marty attended some private school until 10^th grade. When we were much younger, we used to sleep over at each other’s houses.

“Hey, little man.” The SOB liked to tease me about my height problem. “I was wondering if you want to ride with me to this thing.”

“But your F150 is such a hunk of…”

“Travis, watch that mouth of yours.” A shout from up the hall was definitely mom.

“Stuff. It’s a hunk of stuff Marty. We’ll take the bad boy out for the day.” I meant my 1969 Mustang ragtop parked in the extra garage beside the house.

“If you’re nice I might even take the top down.”

“I hate you, T!” Marty laughed. “You better let the top down or I’ll be laying in your lap.

“This day just gets better and better!” I said.

We decided to leave at 8:15. Neither Marty nor I had been to this place before. It was a little chilly outside. Knowing I would take a horse ride or two, I wore a blue and white checked outing shirt, a pair of old, well-worn jeans, and my favorite pair of ropers. I grabbed a light jacket and snagged an Aggie baseball cap (an Aggie is a student at Texas A & M) as I headed out.

Peering out our front window as I reached the entry, I discovered Marty seated carefully on a miniscule, bouncing toy called a Space Hopper. My kid sister must have left it in the yard. He was smiling, and his eyes were crinkled, but the universe reflected in that icy blue of his eyes was my focus. His smile framed the whitest teeth I had ever seen.

“Hey mom.” I called from the front door.

“What?” My mom startled me. She was seated on the sofa, in the family room with the TV on across the room. The TV, a wood cabinet console held the 25- inch screen, showing Today Show’s Jane Pauley and Tom Brokaw discuss the day’s news.

“Marty and I are gonna be heading out now. It’s that picnic, Mom. Marty’s riding with me.”

“You boys drive carefully, and stay out of trouble.” She pointed a finger at me.

“At least Marty’s father will be there to keep him in line.”

“You, however need to be on your best behavior or else!” She smiled.

Mom received a lopsided smile in return. “Yes mom and I’ll see you after while.”

I turned to leave. Marty was gone. I left the house and entered the breezeway. The front door across the street slammed shut. Once I was in the garage, I leaped over and into the driver’s seat. The Mustang started effortlessly. I backed into the Sherman’s driveway. The car stereo was blaring “Anyway You Want It” by Journey. A moment or so later Marty appeared with an Igloo Playmate, a personal ice chest, or more specifically a six-pack carrier. He literally fell into the car seat. After he’d shut the door and buckled up, he yanked a couple of cans from the chest. I smelled the beer as he popped the tab on one. I grabbed a can when it was presented. He opened the second can and yelled,

“Head em up! Move em out!”

I moved the gear lever into drive