THE S CLUB

Neil opened the can of beer and guzzled it righteously. He then burped, slapped his thigh and punctuated the act with one long “aaah”.

I took a sip of the Schlitz that was handed to me. I hated its bitter taste. I spat it out.

“Edmund,” advised Chris with a face nearly as twisted from the taste as mine, ”Of course it tastes terrible, but it is really great when you are dizzy and silly.” He grabbed the can from out of my hand and took a big swig. He paled and then (predictably) sang, “How dry I am.”

“You squirts embarrass me,” extolled Neil. “I am already so used to the taste that, at night, I crave it.”

Madge took her draught with a blind courage. Not to be undone by anyone or anything, she took a minute-long sip. She patted her pear-shaped belly. When she handed the can back to Chris, her eyes were blood shot and glassy.

Neil looked around at Fort Bwana. He gazed at it and us in one slow and sweeping pan. “This is the best fort yet,” he said kicking the ground. “We could really do something great with it. “He snatched up the Schlitz and walked around the L-shaped hut in a thoughtful loping gait. “I got big plans for it like making it a Strip Poker Club.”

“Ah what?” asked Chris.

“A Strip Poker Club,” repeated Neil, ”A club where you play Strip Poker.”

“How do you play?” asked Madge.

“Oh! Jesus,” I muttered.

“Well, it’s like ‘Old Bitch,’” said Neil. ‘Old Bitch’ is what Neil had renamed ‘Old Maid’ one rainy afternoon a few years ago. “Except whoever loses takes off all their clothes.”

“No, it’s not,” I contested, ”they play a game like Gin Rummy and the loser only takes off one article of clothing.”

“Well, not the way I like to play,” Neil snapped.

Madge shrugged. “It sounds kinda stupid,” she said. But like all of us, we were bored enough to try anything once. Madge pulled out her rabbit’s foot and then her deck of cards from her back pocket. She gave the deck to Neil. Neil then took out the three Queens.

Neil began to shuffle. “I have watched enough of ‘Maverick,’” he boasted, ”to know all about cards and poker.”

Neil took two stacks of cards and placed them facing each other. With his thumb he lifted up the edges and the two stacks of cards sputtered at one another. In essence, not one card was shuffled.

“Pretty lame,” hooted Madge, “pretty fucking lame.”

“Ah shut up,” Neil barked. ”I’ll get it right this time.” This time Neil pushed the cards closer together and the stacks merged.

“O.K.” said Chris, “deal.”

With “Old Bitch” as in “Old Maid” most of the game is the process of pairing up the cards you pair up. Each of us had many paired up piles in front of us and finally Madge asked, “Well who has the Old Bitch?”

“I don’t,” I said.

“Neither do I” said Neil.

“Well, you ain’t going to catch her in my hand either,” said Madge as she showed us her hand.

“Looks like Chrissy boy is the one with the “Old Bitch,” balked Neil.

Chris blushed like a geisha behind a fan of cards.

Between sips and giggles, Chris picked from Madge and Madge picked from Neil. Neil picked from me and I had to pick from Chris.

With a smug smile hovering over his cards, I watched Chris’ eyes just before I was going to take from his hand. His eyes concentrated on the far left portion of his hand. In a snap decision, I picked from the far right and I got her.

“Shithead,” I scowled.

Chris jumped up and down like a cheetah.

Fuck, I had the Bitch.

Madge eyed me the way only Madge does like I am some underbelly of a loathsome low life.

Neil picked a seven of clubs from me and paired it up with a seven of hearts, he already had in his hand. He placed the two of them in the pile in front of him.

Now I had only two cards. An ace and the Bitch.

When Neil picked from me again. I knew this was it. With what I thought was great aplomb, I held out my hand for Neil to pick from. His fingers lingered over both cards like a hummingbird. His fingers then shifted to the direction of the Ace. In an involuntary flinch I flicked my thumb and reversed the order of the cards.

“Cheater,” screamed Neil. Now knowing which one was the Ace, he snapped it out of my hand leaving me startled.

“Edmund is the” ‘Old Bitch’“, Edmund is the “Old Bitch!’“ they sing songed.

Neil guffawed and his beer breath stank up the whole area.

“Time to strip, Edmund, come on, Edmund, let’s see your pipsqueak pecker, Come on Edmund, let’s see a little dance. Dah de dah,” sang out Chris to the melody of the “The Stripper.”

I hate peer pressure and this is precisely the reason why I never became a Boy Scout.

“Come on Edmund, don’t be such a spoiled sport,” chided Madge. “Show us.”

I sat there like a humiliated Christ being teased by the Romans.

“Come on,” said Chris, “if you don’t do it. Forget about it. No more Pop cycles. No more ice creams. No more watching color television.” His eyes were dark and serious. He would never talk to me again. Maybe even hate me.

I hate being hated.

“Oh just for a second, you just have to show it, just for a second.”

I wished I hadn’t skipped out on the Photo Club after school today.

“Come on Edmund, you got to Edmund.”

There was no getting out of there, it would be easier if I did it and got it over with and that would be that.

“Come on, come on, they taunted. They laughed and they hollered. And I wanted to be a part of it. To dance on Pan legs, docile like amber flickering flames, to succumb to the earthly airbrushed world of the senses. I closed my eyes and got up on my legs. Maybe I was a little drunk, after all. It would be silly.

I unbuttoned my pants, zipped down my fly and their cackling grew louder. I pulled down my B.V.D.’s.

I don’t think it had ever been out in the daylight before. There was a draft of air on my buttocks. It was shocked, only my doctor, my gym class, my parents and me had ever seen it before. It was chillier than I thought goose pimples formed like bubble wrap all up my leg.

Chris jumped up and down like a gibbon. Madge pointed and Neil looked like had never seen anything more pitiful in his entire life.

Quickly, I pulled up my shorts and realized what I had done. I would have to live with this sin for the rest of my life. My soul and my conscience moved inside my lungs and heart, it breathed down my neck. I wished the Holy Ghost hadn’t been there.

“I wish,” said Neil eyeing Madge, “that you had some tits, little girl then we would have some fun.”

“Fuck off, pig face,” retorted Madge.

“Well I have hair,” said Neil majestically, “I have hair all over my balls.”

“You really are a gross out,” said Madge.

“Wanna see, wanna see,” teased Neil.

“Not really, you fat slob,” said Madge.

“But it is beautiful,” he said.” A true and natural wonder. I’d say the Eighth Wonder of the World. I hold my own with the ninth graders.”

“Big deal,” said Madge.

“Exactly, it is a Big Deal,” he said. ”You don’t want to be completely surprised on your wedding night.”

“No, I don’t,” said Madge taking Neil up on his dare. A dare is a dare.

“Well, then take a gander, you lucky girl,” Neil zipped down the fly as a grin rose on his face. With a curiosity that would dissect a frog, Madge bravely peered deeply into his crotch. Neil touched the blond fuzz. ”Pretty isn’t it?”

“I suppose,” murmured a dumbfounded Madge.

Chris laughed like a hyena.

I looked and then looked away.

“Well then, show me yours.”

She giggled and her face scrunched up like a moron in a Don Martin cartoon.

“Me next, me next,” Chris volunteered.

If I had taken responsibility I would have yanked Madge right out of there. But I didn’t. Simply because there no yanking Madge out of anywhere. And besides I was just as guilty as she. So I walked away.

I walked away because I couldn’t take it any longer. I didn’t want to take off my clothes in order to fit in. I wasn’t as desperate as I thought I was. I wasn’t that desperate to be their friend that much to do that. I walked away, after all, I knew that I would see them all again.

I walked out of the potato field and down the lane to find Farley playing with her doll.

“Hi Farley,” I said.

Farley quickly threw down her doll and kicked it. ”That will teach you for pissing in your diapers,” She was embarrassed that I had caught her playing with her Betsy Wetsy. So this display of doll abuse was a cruel and cool enough gesture to make up for me walking in on her acting like a normal little girl.

“Have you seen the kids?” she moaned.

“No,” I said protecting them from her and vice versa.

“Come on Edmund get off it. They are probably playing at the grass huts in the field.”

I said nothing.

“Well, where else could they be?” she exclaimed. ”I wish there were other people around here. I wish you were a girl so we could play dolls, I wish, aw shit.” She scratched her arm. “Why don’t they like me?”

I learned a lot of things in fifth grade. One thing I learned but never understood was the shifting of public opinion. One week, all the kids would like you. You could be King of the Class. You could be the neatest person ever. Then the next week, for no reason at all, they will hate you. It seemed to sway back and forth like that, all the time. One week, you smell, the next week, you don’t. What I had learned was to keep as small a profile as I could.

“I don’t know Farley, they hate you because you don’t enjoy blowing up frogs and things like that.”

“Well, that’s not enough of a reason.”

“Well, they hate you because, frankly, you are a tattle tail and there is no denying that.”

Her face turned red and she was about to cry.

“I am not,” she brawled.

“You are and you know it. You play with dolls and you see me and pretend you don’t like your dolly. Face it. You’re different. I am different. I live with it.”

I shrugged and again I walked away.

At dinner, I could hardly look at Madge.