So we've come a long way since then. There was a gun involved on that day, lucky for me it was a replica .44 semi auto .177 caliber bb pistol. Had it been real I'd be dead from a chest wound. As it was we were both kicked out of school. Him to return after an exam with a shrink because of the gun, me after my mandatory three day rest. I was asked if I might not be happier going to school somewhere else.....Please. I would rather have my testicles removed with a spoon than go back to school there, so off I went. First stop was a place called re-entry school. There were only four weeks left of the first semester and I needed credits. It was learn at your own pace which helped me to get the time I missed skipping school and getting high in the woods. In that four weeks I believe I read every thing William Shakespeare wrote! It was years before I could ever stomach the theater, but don't miss the Scottish play if anyone has the balls to perform it.
After Re-entry was a highschool for kids that got into lots of fights, and drugs, and alcohol, ect ect. It was run by of all things a Canadian, I think his name was Brian. We were in an old two story elementary school in the very center of town. (the ghetto)
The neat thing about this place was pretty much everything. You had to get past an interview with the Canadian to get in. Once in it was learn at your own pace and you could test through any class without taking it. At seventeen and working a full time job I was right where I wanted to be. It wasn't church. We had dope and whisky some mornings to start our day. We then went in and went to work. Real work. Everyone was on a first name only basis, teachers too. I find it interesting that for a bunch of thugs our chess club was full of the finest I've seen play the game. I was on the lower rungs of that ladder. One of the oddest things about the place was even our nerds could whip your ass. In the time I was there I never got into a fight. I never even saw a fight. I did see and help to defuse a situation or two, but never a fight. The leader of the kids in school was a Mexican (i think) named Bob. Big Kid with long black hair and a body the gals all admired. I remember him as the man that made the soup. On my first day there I got out of my car across the street and heard my name yelled along with a heads up! I looked up to see a football coming right at me from about fifty yards away. I caught it and then walked toward the guy that threw it. I threw it back when I was close enough not to embarrass myself. I then asked how he knew my name. He told me that Brian, the Canadian had told him I'd be coming that morning. He never let anyone enter the building without feeling welcome, every morning. One morning early in my senior year I got to school and there was no Bob. We were met by Brian and asked to go to the student lounge. It was there that we learned that he had been killed in an accident over the weekend. He and friends were out getting high and four wheeling and rolled a Jeep. Bob was in the back without a seat belt. He fell out and was crushed. The whole damn school played football that morning, and cried. Continued