My junior year in high school was coming to an end. For a lot of people, that would mean getting to stay home instead of going to school. For me, it meant being able to actually go home, not to say that I wanted to. I went to boarding school. I went to an all boys boarding school that was so far from the nearest town, the only women we ever got to see were the few women teachers and the even fewer women RA's. Yeah, it sucked. We had an RA who was college age and she was pretty but she was an emo who was mean to most of us. We had a couple of teachers who were in their twenties but one of them was really fat. That left most of the boys fantasizing about Ms. Turner.
I mean, don't get me wrong. I had fun at school. No, not sexual fun because I don't like guys. There were some boys like that at school but this story isn't about them. It's about me. I had other, non sexual, very clean and boring fun that could momentarily distract from the fact that all I really wanted to do with my life was put my dick into a pussy. Like Ms. Turner's if she were at all available and didn't act like a bitch.
It was a week before school was actually going to let out. The seniors had already graduated and us juniors were the oldest on campus and I was the oldest student in the school at that point because I'd already turned 18. And before you go assuming I was held back or something, there are lots of reasons why a guy could legitimately graduate at 19. My family moved from state to state for a while and changing schools can be messy. Not every state has the same requirements for classes that need to be taken in order to graduate. So what if I have two year books of me in the third grade. That proves nothing.
As soon as classes were finished on Friday my family was already waiting for me. Yay, I hate those people. I had to hurry up and change out of my school uniform and into a shirt and black tie. There was hardly any time for even speaking with my parents or my sisters before we were on the road and going really fast down the interstate. My mother and younger sister sat in the back and I had to sit in the front seat. It was there little subtle way of telling me to watch the road.
Now I don't know what the entire process is for dealing with a dead body but on Friday night there was a church service. We stayed that night in a hotel with me and my dad in one room and my mom and younger sister in another room. Why pay extra for the extra room? Good question. The next day there was the actual funeral. My very distant and reclusive uncle had died. My parents were sort of well off, at least enough to afford to send me away rather than raise me, but they had nothing on uncle John.
I guess to be clear, he wasn't actually my direct uncle. He was more like my grandfather's uncle. I don't know all the family tree terms to know what exactly that made him to me. I just know that during the very few times I'd met him, I was told to just call him uncle.
So the funeral happened and then there was this big meeting where the last will would be read. Now, if you're imagining a board room in a lawyer's office, you'd be wrong. Instead we were sitting in fold up chairs on part of a basketball court in a gym. Who was in charge of planning that? Am I right?
There were something like fifty people there I guess. I didn't count or anything but there were like six or seven people in each row and there were at least ten rows. But not every chair was filled. Anyway, I sat there feeling jealous of my older sister Terri who was able to pull out her phone and do whatever people do with their phones. I didn't have a smartphone or any phone because my school had a rule against it. I had to make sure not to look over at my sister too much. I didn't want my parents to get the wrong idea. Hell, I even had to avoid looking at my mother or she might start thinking ... Nevermind.
Although, I will say this. It always amazes me that I was the one who got in trouble and got shipped off to boarding school. I hadn't even done anything. It wasn't my idea. I was just there.
Anyway, I was twisting and shifting in my seat to try and find a comfortable way to sit. It was while I was doing so that the lady announcing who was getting what and passing out letters to people called my name. I looked up.
"And lastly, Mr. Argento has requested that you receive something as well but I need to discuss it with you in private."
There was a bit of an uproar over this from some of the other people there. I halfway thought that there might be some mistake but the lady pointed at me and asked me to follow her. As I got up I felt everyone's eyes on me. I knew what they were thinking. No one really knew how much uncle John had. The amount of money and other property given out was already significant but everyone was imagining that there were millions more. I tried not to notice it as my relatives looked on me with suspicion, anger, and maybe even avariciousness.
In a private room I was handed a letter. "Your uncle, Mr. Argento has asked that I read to you this specific sentence. Besides what I will read to you, I have no other information about this and I can't answer any questions. Do you understand?"
"Sure."
"John Ferris, you have inherited the family curse."
"What?"
"I'm sorry. That's all there is."
"What?" was all I could say. The lady left me standing there thinking this was a joke. It seemed the kind of thing uncle John would pull. One last laugh. I could already imagine what the letter said. It was probably something like 'pull my finger. Ha ha.'
When I came out of the room several people were waiting for me to tell them about what I'd gotten, perhaps thinking that I was now a millionaire and if I could please share some of it with them.
"He gave me his old stamp collection." I said. "I told them I didn't want it."
Upon hearing this, the people who were all smiles and acting like they were just so ready to be really nice to me and be my best friend completely lost interest in me. I heard later that my dad's cousin Roger tried to get the lawyer lady to give him the fictitious stamps if I wasn't going to take them.
A big part of Sunday involved driving me back to school. I was back inside the gates, back in my dorm room, and once I was officially signed back into school, I had to get back into uniform.
Anyway, I finished out the last week of junior year without much thought of the funeral or anything. I couldn't wait to be able to watch tv again, wear normal clothes again, or just walk outside. Not that my school didn't have outside. We had plenty of outside with lots of trees and birds and whatnot. What we lacked were stores, restaurants, or other people.
Friday there weren't going to be any classes. We had a little ceremony in the auditorium and then we were free to go home just as soon as someone in our family could come for us. They told me it didn't matter that I was 18, the school had rules and until my family could come and sign me out, I had to obey those rules.
Well, wouldn't you know it, before lunch, just about everyone else was gone. But not me. My parents were too busy. I know I shouldn't complain since they do have their own lives and everything but when you're in a place that you just want to get out of, every second on the clock that you have to wait with your bags packed feels like forever. But at least I had it better than the kid who was going to have to wait until the next day for someone to come get him.
I was getting hungry so I hopped over to the cafeteria. For dinner they were cooking fajitas. Those never got old. It almost made up for the fact that I was still stuck there. The previous summer I'd gone all over town looking for a restaurant where I could get them. Even when I found one, they still weren't as good as the cooks at school made them.
Anyway, after eating I decided to get seconds. Why not? Those would be my last fajitas in a while and I was the only one in the place. When I stood up, I happened to see out the window and I saw Ms. Turner talking with another teacher outside. Yeah, there was at least one other thing at this school I'd like to eat.
I was slowly enjoying my second plate of the worlds best fajitas. In my mind I was replacing Ms. Turner's ugly blue dress that looked like a cross between a sailor outfit and some funky thing a puritan would wear with a sexier and more revealing blue dress. No, scratch that. Red dress. Yeah, that was better.
