The Lesser Blessed Read Free Page A

fervourswept over the room. A human cry arose from student lips. We bombarded Mademoiselle Sauvé with a roar of “JE SUIS! TU ES! IL EST! ELLE EST! NOUS SOMMES! VOUS ÊTES! ILS SONT! ELLES SONT!”
    I looked out of the corner of my eye and even Darcy McMannus was cheering ... a little.
    We all ran out of the classroom when the buzzer went off and peeked into the next room. Johnny wasn’t there but his signature was: the whole classroom had been rearranged. Mister Harris’s desk had its back to the windows so he could feel the heat of September’s dying light. The class could look forward to watching the November sunsets at four in the afternoon. If anyone had to serve a detention or work late, they could watch the Christmas moon come out at 3:30. The picture of the Queen with her big hooters was placed to the left of the bookshelf; the plastic glory of Mister Harris’s plants was by his desk. Even the clock that timed our sagging hours was there, above the window right behind Mister Harris’s desk. I laughed and the class laughed with me. We had our hero.
    The next day, however, the classroom furniture was moved back to its original position. Mister Harris kept diligently to his curriculum while we looked at the snot-green chalkboard. We didn’t see Johnny for a whole week. He had been suspended.
The Feast of Kings
    Johnny came back on Monday. I watched him all day. After class, I ran up behind him as he walked across the field leading towards the back streets of town where we lived.
    “Boy, that Mister Harris,” I said. “What a Leonard.”
    “Leonard who?”
    “Not a who—a what.”

    “Who—Babyfingers?”
    “Yeah.”
    “The fuck’s a Leonard?” he asked. I could tell he was interested.
    “Oh, you know, a monge, a face-melt, a stick!”
    “What?”
    “An asshole!” I yelled. We both smiled after that. “My name’s Larry Sole.”
    “Johnny Beck.”
    “Man, you sure are daring.”
    “You’re only beautiful once.”
    “How’s it going?”
    “Don’t ask.”
    “Okay. Wanna see where I live? I’m on Little Vietnam—”
    “Little Vietnam?”
    “It’s just around the corner from you. My mom goes to the college. Is your mom a college student? My mom’s a college student.” I remembered Mister Harris saying something about Johnny’s mom but I didn’t want to pry.
    “Yeah, howdjoo guess?”
    “Spruce Manor’s the town residence for college students.”
    “My mom’s going there,” he mumbled. “This town sucks. I mean, if this town were a fart, I wouldn’t even stop to sniff it. I’d just keep on walking.”
    I laughed and covered my mouth.
    “This high school any good?”
    “The chicks here have magnormous breasts.”
    He looked at me. “It’s the pill, man. You gotta love it.”
    I inhaled autumn. It was blazing along our path. The fireweed surrounding us sang with her brightest voice: purple, bloody, fresh. I almost didn’t see the empty Lysol bottles or the brown broken glass we walked by.
    “My number’s in the book,” I said. “If you want to go for a pop, give me a call—holy shit!”
    “What?” Johnny asked, but I was already running to the house.
    “Ravens!” I yelled. “The damn ravens!”
    It was too late. The ravens had opened the garbage bin and scattered our garbage over the lawn and road. It was five minutes of death. There were juice cans, coffee filters, caribou bones, everything, just everything you’d never want to see on your goddamn lawn.
    “What the hell happened?” Johnny asked as he jogged up to me.
    “Those damn ravens got into the garbage again. I was supposed to put another lock on the door. The ravens keep picking the old one.”
    “Ravens can’t do that—”
    “Damn straight,” I said. “I’ve seen ravens steal food from a baby’s hand. They’re real bastards when it comes right down to it.”
    “Wow.”
    “Well, could you help me?” I asked.
    “I think,” he said, “I’m gonna be a Leonard and get the hell home. My