A Troublesome Boy Read Free

right,” I said. “I get the message. You can let me out.” Silence. I hit the door with the side of my fist. “Let me out of here!” Silence. “What the hell are you doing? Let me out of here.” I banged on the door half a dozen times. Silence. I felt for the chair and sat down.
    What in hell?
    Ten minutes passed. Maybe fifteen. Then the door opened.
    â€œI’m Brother Wilbur. Father Stewart asked me to show you to your dorm.” Brother Wilbur was a scrawny little guy, wrinkled face, gray brush cut. He was wearing a robe, but a brown one.
    â€œWhat the fuck was that all about?”
    â€œWatch your tongue, my son.”
    â€œI’m not your son. And I want to know why he locked me in that fucking room.”
    â€œYou’ll have to ask him. And if you use that language once more, you’ll be back in that room and this time it’ll be for half an hour. Pick up your bag and follow me.”
    For an old guy, Wilbur was in pretty good shape. He was taking the stairs two at a time. Three flights of stairs. I was dragging my ass by the time I got to the top, and he was just standing there waiting for me. Wasn’t even breathing hard.
    â€œSeems you could use some time in the gym, Mr. Clemson. And you might want to think about quitting the cigarettes.”
    At the top of the stairs there was a landing. On either side of the landing were two stairs leading to double doors. He led me through the doors on the left. “This is the junior dorm.” There were two rows of metal-frame single beds with gray blankets. He walked down the room and pointed to a bed, second from the end on the left.
    â€œThis is your bed. You’ll make it every morning and it will look exactly like this. No wrinkles. You are issued two sheets, one pillow, one pillowcase, one blanket. Every Friday you’ll change your sheets and pillowcase. One of the Brothers will bring a cart with fresh ones. You’ll put the old sheets and pillowcase down the laundry chute over there.” He pointed to a little rectangular door in the wall. “And those will be the only things you put down the laundry chute.”
    He gave me The Look, as though I was about to empty a wastebasket down there.
    â€œThe washrooms are through that doorway.” He led me to the far end of the room. White-tiled walls, white-tiled floor, gray marble partitions dividing the stalls. Urinals the size of little bathtubs.
    There was a handyman working on one of the sinks. Big guy with a shiny face. It was the first thing you noticed about him. Kind of a choir-boy look, except he was maybe thirty-five or forty. About the same age as my dad. He had black curly hair that he combed straight back. Looked like he hadn’t shaved in a day or so. He was a hefty guy. Not fat, just large. He was wearing a lumberjack shirt, blue jeans and cowboy boots. He smiled a lot.
    Had the faucets off and was fiddling around with a wrench.
    â€œHow’s it going, Mr. Rozell?”
    The guy looked up. “Well, say.” He seemed a little rattled. Wiped his hands on his jeans. “Pretty good. Except I had a little problem.”
    â€œWhat kind of problem was that?”
    â€œI dropped one of the washers down the drain. Had to open up the drain to get it.” He laughed. Nervous laugh. “Should have it done soon. All I got to figure out now is where all the pieces go.”
    Rozell looked normal enough, but sounded a bit dim. How tough was a faucet?
    â€œWell, good luck with that.”
    â€œThanks, Brother.” Rozell went back to fiddling with the wrench.
    Brother Wilbur led me back through the dorm. “Lights out every night at nine o’clock. Wake up at six o’clock.”
    â€œSix?”
    â€œYou’ll have half an hour to dress and get to chapel.”
    â€œI’m not Catholic.”
    â€œAll the more reason to get to chapel.”
    â€œWhere do I put my stuff?”
    â€œThis