2. Forced Ruralization
Giovanni stood wan and pale, hands massaging his numb butt, and with a sneer on his face as he laid eyes on The School for the first time.
"Oh. My. God! You gotta be shittin' me… Aw!! Alright, alright! I'm sorry! Sheesh…"
Shari had just slapped the back of Giovanni's head. Hard. She didn't like saying bad words herself, and she absolutely hated to hear her son saying them.
Shari was a strange mixture of a stern disciplinarian, prim, proper matron from the eighteen hundreds, and a touchy-feely, new-agey, hippy-mom from the nineteen seventies. Giovanni was raised in some weird sort of tyrannical Pedocracy, where there was a wide latitude to express oneself and to make one's own decisions, except for whenever mom made up her mind about something. Then, there was no room for arguments. Whining, crying, holding-breath spells, sensible and reasoned arguments, none of it worked, though Giovanni always tried, rather earnestly. There were spankings when he was a small kid, but not many, and not as frequent as any other "difficult" boy like Giovanni would have gotten in any other home; but there was also a lot of caresses, hugs, kisses, tickles, and many hours of playing and romping around whenever mom was around. Shari was a single mom, and spent a lot of time working all sorts of odd jobs and odd schedules, but she always had time to play with Giovanni, no matter what time of the day, no matter how long she had gone sleepless. There was always time for her baby. Perhaps Giovanni understood and appreciated it, because he tried very hard not to antagonize his mom directly. Sure, he had trouble showing that he really cared, but he didn't do it on purpose. He was just teenaging out, as Shari liked to call it.
Now, Shari had to admit, as they both stood side by side facing The School, that Giovanni's reaction to it might have been completely appropriate.
"Wowzers…," was all she managed.
The School had sent some directions for Shari and Giovanni to find their way to Ketchum, Idaho. In the beginning, Shari thought it was some sort of joke that The School listed its address only as "on the outskirts of Ketchum, Idaho." When they arrived at Ketchum, Shari was already wondering if her old Suburban would not simply cough up gears and bolts and fall to pieces afterward. She had just forced it to climb the fifty-nine hundred feet up the mountain, up to Wood River Valley, where Ketchum nestled along Sun Valley. On top of that, the trip that should have lasted twenty-four hours was already half-way into it's fourth day.
But the view was majestic, with the valley cupped by giant mountains, bristling with forests, and cutting a wide azure swath across the sky out of the encroaching clouds all around. The trees seemed to go on forever, while Ketchum itself seemed some sort of dirty lint on that deep green carpet… Where, pray tell, could "on the outskirts" be, precisely?
After asking in several gas stations and stores on the way to Ketchum about "The School", and getting nothing but blank stares, she finally pulled over in disgust at a gas station right outside Ketchum's town proper, and while she had Giovanni fill up the tank, she riffled through all The School's brochures, growing more and more antsy by the second, trying to find some more directions, or a map, or something. Of course, the very last brochure she checked was the one with very detailed and precise directions on how to get up to The School "on the outskirts of Ketchum."
Funny, she thought, I could've sworn this brochure didn't come with the rest of them… Well, whatever. Might as well hurry up, who knows how early the sun goes down in these places…
So she started driving around, brochure in hand. Soon, she started getting distracted by odd things happening with her list of directions. For example, after a couple of turns, this was printed:
"Look for a Piggly-Wiggly. If you are a block away from it, you've gone too far already: You should turn around and go back two streets, to where there is a Taxidermist shop, and turn left. No, your other left." Shari could have sworn that line hadn't been there when she had scanned the directions quickly at first.
But she persevered, and after a couple more turns she found herself driving down on a black-top one-lane road that seemed to twist painfully around the foot of the mountain. Fairly soon, there were no more houses, and deer looked up at the Suburban with their typical stupid astonishment as they grazed along the sides of the road. Shari thought she had gone too far, and slowed down to check on her directions. Of course, it read:
"If you think you have gone too far, you haven't: you still have 1.8 miles to go. Zero out your travel odometer right now, and in 1.8 miles you will come across a rusty gate on the right side of the road. Yes, that's the right side."
She was so numb with the trip that she did whatever the brochure said. And, sure enough, one-point-eight miles later they came across a gate on the side of the road that had a rusty sign on it: "The School." Shari made Giovanni get off and push the gate open and closed for her, and read the next set of instructions:
"It may seem there is no road, but it's there, don't fret: the road is where the trees don't grow. Follow it, and if you don't stop sharpish at the end of the road, you'll find yourself parked inside the entrance hallway. Pay heed!"
She drove carefully for several minutes, following the path made by the lack of trees, and after a sudden turn and drop of a hill, The School loomed immediately before them. Shari had to stand on the brakes, and the Suburban groaned as if it had a tummy ache, while all the fast-food trash littering the inside of the cab rushed into the foot well of the front seats. The School was at the very end of the road, literally. The road ended at the front door, and beyond the building itself they could see the deepest ravine they've ever seen this side of a National Geographic.
Shari and Giovanni got out of the Suburban and stood side by side, looking upon some sort of stone and log ski lodge designed by Frank Lloyd Wright while he smoked a two-gallon bucket of crack and nursed a log-cabin fetish. The stone base of the lodge seemed to be two city-blocks wide from side to side, but only the length of a regular lodge from front to back. And the logs on the top section were piled on top of each other, as if someone had smooshed several log cabins at weird angles. From where they stood, they could see no less than thirteen steeple rooftops, nine stone chimneys, five lightning rods, and every roof had a weather vane with fantastical figures topping them.
"Wowzers!," repeated Shari.
"You have got to be fucking kidding me!," said Giovanni, and this time no one slapped the back of his head.
Giovanni stood wan and pale, hands massaging his numb butt, and with a sneer on his face as he laid eyes on The School for the first time.
"Oh. My. God! You gotta be shittin' me… Aw!! Alright, alright! I'm sorry! Sheesh…"
Shari had just slapped the back of Giovanni's head. Hard. She didn't like saying bad words herself, and she absolutely hated to hear her son saying them.
Shari was a strange mixture of a stern disciplinarian, prim, proper matron from the eighteen hundreds, and a touchy-feely, new-agey, hippy-mom from the nineteen seventies. Giovanni was raised in some weird sort of tyrannical Pedocracy, where there was a wide latitude to express oneself and to make one's own decisions, except for whenever mom made up her mind about something. Then, there was no room for arguments. Whining, crying, holding-breath spells, sensible and reasoned arguments, none of it worked, though Giovanni always tried, rather earnestly. There were spankings when he was a small kid, but not many, and not as frequent as any other "difficult" boy like Giovanni would have gotten in any other home; but there was also a lot of caresses, hugs, kisses, tickles, and many hours of playing and romping around whenever mom was around. Shari was a single mom, and spent a lot of time working all sorts of odd jobs and odd schedules, but she always had time to play with Giovanni, no matter what time of the day, no matter how long she had gone sleepless. There was always time for her baby. Perhaps Giovanni understood and appreciated it, because he tried very hard not to antagonize his mom directly. Sure, he had trouble showing that he really cared, but he didn't do it on purpose. He was just teenaging out, as Shari liked to call it.
Now, Shari had to admit, as they both stood side by side facing The School, that Giovanni's reaction to it might have been completely appropriate.
"Wowzers…," was all she managed.
The School had sent some directions for Shari and Giovanni to find their way to Ketchum, Idaho. In the beginning, Shari thought it was some sort of joke that The School listed its address only as "on the outskirts of Ketchum, Idaho." When they arrived at Ketchum, Shari was already wondering if her old Suburban would not simply cough up gears and bolts and fall to pieces afterward. She had just forced it to climb the fifty-nine hundred feet up the mountain, up to Wood River Valley, where Ketchum nestled along Sun Valley. On top of that, the trip that should have lasted twenty-four hours was already half-way into it's fourth day.
But the view was majestic, with the valley cupped by giant mountains, bristling with forests, and cutting a wide azure swath across the sky out of the encroaching clouds all around. The trees seemed to go on forever, while Ketchum itself seemed some sort of dirty lint on that deep green carpet… Where, pray tell, could "on the outskirts" be, precisely?
After asking in several gas stations and stores on the way to Ketchum about "The School", and getting nothing but blank stares, she finally pulled over in disgust at a gas station right outside Ketchum's town proper, and while she had Giovanni fill up the tank, she riffled through all The School's brochures, growing more and more antsy by the second, trying to find some more directions, or a map, or something. Of course, the very last brochure she checked was the one with very detailed and precise directions on how to get up to The School "on the outskirts of Ketchum."
Funny, she thought, I could've sworn this brochure didn't come with the rest of them… Well, whatever. Might as well hurry up, who knows how early the sun goes down in these places…
So she started driving around, brochure in hand. Soon, she started getting distracted by odd things happening with her list of directions. For example, after a couple of turns, this was printed:
"Look for a Piggly-Wiggly. If you are a block away from it, you've gone too far already: You should turn around and go back two streets, to where there is a Taxidermist shop, and turn left. No, your other left." Shari could have sworn that line hadn't been there when she had scanned the directions quickly at first.
But she persevered, and after a couple more turns she found herself driving down on a black-top one-lane road that seemed to twist painfully around the foot of the mountain. Fairly soon, there were no more houses, and deer looked up at the Suburban with their typical stupid astonishment as they grazed along the sides of the road. Shari thought she had gone too far, and slowed down to check on her directions. Of course, it read:
"If you think you have gone too far, you haven't: you still have 1.8 miles to go. Zero out your travel odometer right now, and in 1.8 miles you will come across a rusty gate on the right side of the road. Yes, that's the right side."
She was so numb with the trip that she did whatever the brochure said. And, sure enough, one-point-eight miles later they came across a gate on the side of the road that had a rusty sign on it: "The School." Shari made Giovanni get off and push the gate open and closed for her, and read the next set of instructions:
"It may seem there is no road, but it's there, don't fret: the road is where the trees don't grow. Follow it, and if you don't stop sharpish at the end of the road, you'll find yourself parked inside the entrance hallway. Pay heed!"
She drove carefully for several minutes, following the path made by the lack of trees, and after a sudden turn and drop of a hill, The School loomed immediately before them. Shari had to stand on the brakes, and the Suburban groaned as if it had a tummy ache, while all the fast-food trash littering the inside of the cab rushed into the foot well of the front seats. The School was at the very end of the road, literally. The road ended at the front door, and beyond the building itself they could see the deepest ravine they've ever seen this side of a National Geographic.
Shari and Giovanni got out of the Suburban and stood side by side, looking upon some sort of stone and log ski lodge designed by Frank Lloyd Wright while he smoked a two-gallon bucket of crack and nursed a log-cabin fetish. The stone base of the lodge seemed to be two city-blocks wide from side to side, but only the length of a regular lodge from front to back. And the logs on the top section were piled on top of each other, as if someone had smooshed several log cabins at weird angles. From where they stood, they could see no less than thirteen steeple rooftops, nine stone chimneys, five lightning rods, and every roof had a weather vane with fantastical figures topping them.
"Wowzers!," repeated Shari.
"You have got to be fucking kidding me!," said Giovanni, and this time no one slapped the back of his head.
To be continued…
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