The Privacy Of My Own Locker
THE PRIVACY OF MY OWN LOCKER.
by
Clem Mason
(age-11-16)
(wc-2260)
I think like maybe I died and went to heaven. At the start of the school year, Mr. Bingham, our principal, decided to assign lockers alphabetically which means my locker is right next to Brad Barker: senior class president, football captain, basketball star, high school super hunk. I have his picture taped to the back of my locker where I can salivate at his primeval jaw, his flat Neanderthal forehead, his Roman nose and broad shoulders. I think he is sooo sexy. However, I would die of embarrassment if anyone saw I had his picture there. Especially him.
Me? I’m just a sophomore and a shy one at that. I’m like very average looking. Plain, to tell the truth. All my friends, (both of them), say I would look a whole lot better if like maybe I’d wear some makeup or something. God, they embarrass me so. Brad? He doesn’t even know I exist. Many of you girls know how this is; how it feels. It really hurts sometimes, doesn’t it?
So, several weeks ago, I was just standing there, fumbling around in my locker, drooling over his picture when he like walks up. I kind of went into a shock mode or something because I just stood there, watching him work his combination. I’m was mesmerized. I could feel my heart pounding. Then I remembered his picture, totally in plain sight in my locker, so I slam my door shut with a bang. I saw him jump and a frown came to his face. I know I was like about four shades of red. God, I felt…sooo stupid.
He finished working his combination and then just stood there, holding onto the handle; waiting. I know I must have been gaping at him and he had noticed out of the corner of his eye. He turns to look at me and I almost faint dead away. My God, he was looking at me! Me, plain old Anne Baker . I could feel the blood rush to my face.
“You got a problem?” he asked.
I just stood there. Opportunity was practically breaking down my door and I couldn’t think of one thing to say. I can imagine the look on my face. You know, like the deer in the headlights look?
“Are you by any chance trying to see in my locker?” he asked, kind of sarcastic.
For the first time in my meaningless life, Brad Barker is talking to me and all I can do is stand there and shake my stupid head. Nothing came out of my gapping mouth. It’s like when my mouth opens, my brain disengages. I could feel tears coming to my eyes and I frantically wiped them away.
“Then why don’t you mind your own business. Okay?” he said with the same sarcasm.
“This…this is my locker,” I managed to say.
His eyebrows shot up. “How lucky for you,” he goes.
I had to agree. You know, I was so filled with him that I didn’t even notice how suspiciously he was acting. He opened the locker just a crack and got out his books. Then he slams the door shut and walks away.
Believe me, I wasn’t trying to see in, and basically, I couldn’t. Like he had a picture of me hanging in the back of his locker that he didn’t want me to see? Right!
I turned and slowly walked away, regretting what had just happened when I realized I’d forgotten my math book. I went back and just as I touched the dial of my locker, the bell rang. I jumped and screamed. It startled me and I hurriedly worked the combination. But when I pulled up on the handle, nothing happened. So I did the combination again and pulled up, and again nothing happened. Then I went into my typical panic mode. Although my fingers were shaking, I really paid attention this time, but it still didn’t work. I was about to cuss. “I have to get to class you miserable piece of junk,” I yelled at it and gave it a good kick.
“Hey, hey!’ somebody yelled.
I looked up and Mr. Bingham came running down the hall. He comes up and stands there, glaring at me with his hands on his hips, looking at me over his bifocals. He goes: “we don’t treat the lockers like that,young lady. What’s your name?”
“Anne Baker, Sir. I can’t get my locker open and I need my math book.”
“Well, are you sure you have the right combination,” he asked. “That helps, you know. Kicking the locker only gets you detention. Do I make myself clear?”
“Yes Sir.”
“Let me show you.” He grasped the dial and waited. Then he turns his head slowly to look at me. “What are the numbers, Miss Baker?”
“Oh, yes, The numbers.” I felt so stupid. “4-30-16.”
He worked the dial and I then remembered I had a picture of Brad Barker taped to the back of my locker and Mr. Bingham was about to discover it. I would be so overwhelmed with embarrassment. I grabbed his hand. “Stop!” I shouted.
He looked up at my like I was demented. “What?”
“Eh…I…I don’t need my book after all,” I stammered.
He frowned. “Yes you do. Now let go of my hand.”
The final bell rang and I jumped like I had been shot. “That’s the final bell. I’m already late,” I shrieked.
“No problem, Miss Baker,” he said calmly. “I’m the principal and I say you must have your books before you go to class. Besides, I have it open,” he said with confidence. When he pulled on the handle, I covered my eyes with my hands. There was a long pause. He made not a sound. So I peeked between my fingers and found him grasping the handle, lost in deep thought. “What’s the matter?” I whispered.
Eh…nothing,” he said. He pulled up on the handle again. I grimaced but it didn’t open.
He gave me a quick glance. “Are you sure you gave me the correct numbers?” he asked.
“Well…yes. Yer Sir.”
He shrugged. “That’s strange. I’ve never had trouble with these lockers before,” he muttered. He turned and smiled at me. “Not to worry, Miss Baker. I will have your locker open in no time so you can get your books. No problem!”
“That’s not really necessary, Mr. Bingham. I can…”
“Can what?” he hissed. Go to class unprepared? I’m not running this school simply for your amusement, Miss Baker. I am in charge of a fine learning facility here that requires the use of books and books you shall have,” he said loudly, pointing his finger skyward. His face was filled with resolve and I was going to be so embarrassed.
He whipped out his walkie-talkie. “Miss Morrison?” he said calmly. “Would you please give me the locker combination to Anne Baker?”
“Search and seizure or drug bust?” she replied.
He turned crimson. “No!” he growled into the mouthpiece. “Just give me the combination.” He rolled his eyes.
“I don’t do like drugs,” I said.
“You’re the first.” he said without blinking.
It was a very long time and I was slowly dying here. “Please, Mr. Bingham,” I begged.
He raised his hand to silence me. He was determined to get that locker open and I was going to die of humiliation.
“4-30-16, Sir,” Miss Morrison reported.
“Thank you very much, Miss Morrison. I hope I didn’t take you away from anything important,” he said.
“Naw! I was just doing my nails,” she said back.
He jammed the walkie-talkie back in its sheath, fuming a moment. “Doing her nails,” he muttered. He bent over the dial once again and began gently turning the numbers. When he was finished, he grabbed the handle and pulled. It didn’t budge. His face exploded in fury. “Goddammit,” he yelled, giving the locker a swift kick. He grabbed the walkie-talkie again. “Miss Morrison,” he hissed. “Get Ralph up here right away,”
There was a long pause. “Ralph?”
“R-A-L-P-H. That’s the name our janitor answers to. Do you think you can stop doing your nails long enough to accomplish that? Find him and get him up here now. And remind him to bring the pry bar,” he shouted.
There was another long silence. “Up…where, Sir?” came the timid reply.
He straightened his tie like Rodney Dangerfield. “Miss Morrison, are you by any chance wearing your blond wig today?” he asked pleasantly.
“No! Why?”
“Oh. You sure had me fooled.” He rolled his eyes again. “I need Ralph with the pry bar in the conservatory.” He shook his head. “Oh my God, get a clue,” he said to himself. “Tell him to get up here to Anne Bakers’ locker. Look up the number so he’ll know where to go.”
“Right away, Sir.” There was a pause. “Sounds like a drug bust to me,” she said.
Mr. Bingham leaned against the defiant locker with his arms folded in obvious resolve.
“Mr, Bingham?”
“What?”
“I’m…I’m really late for class. Can’t I,,,?”
“No you cannot,” he interrupted.
“But I…”
“No locker has ever failed to be opened, Miss Baker, and I promise you, this one won’t be the first.”
I sighed. “Yes Sir.”
Just then, Ralph rounded the corner and slowly walked towards us, obviously in no apparent hurry, wearing an unconcerned expression on his face. This irritated Mr. Bingham and he snorted his displeasure. “Hurry up, will you. Did you bring the pry bar?”
Ralph whipped it out of his side tool pocket of his bibbies. “One handy dandy little pry bar, right here.”
Mr. Bingham grabbed it but Ralph wouldn’t let go. “Give me the pry bar,” he demanded.
“Why?”
“Because I’m the principal, that’s why.”
“And I’m the maintenance man,” Ralph insisted.
“No you’re not. You’re the janitor. Now give me the bar.”
They scuffled with it, each refusing to let go.
“I do the locker maintenance around here,” Ralph grunted, pulling and tugging.
“Well, this isn’t maintenance. It’s…it’s an emergency,” Mr. Bingham explained, fighting back.
“But it’s my pry bar,” the janitor said.
“Is not. It belongs to the school.”
“Gentlemen.” I yelled. “This really isn’t necessary.”
They both stopped struggling and looked at me. “Who’s she,” Ralph asked.”
“Eh…Anne Baker, and she asked me to open her locker for her. Didn’t you, dear?”
the principal said.
“No. I didn’t actually ask…”
Well, I saw you kicking it and that’s prerequisite enough.”
“Pre…what?” Ralph asked, bewildered.
In that moment, Mr. Bingham jerked the pry bar out of Ralph’s grip and jammed it into the crack of the locker door. A quick flick of the wrist and the locker door popped open, displaying the most disgusting playboy center fold that I have ever had the displeasure of witnessing. The janitor and the principal stood and looked at it much too long. Each wore a smirk on their face.
“She shore got a nice smile, doesn’t she Sir?” Ralph said. He was having difficulty stifling a laugh. Then he sobered and gave me a very strange look. “This is…your locker?”
My face was about four shades of red, I’m sure.
“Hey, wait just one gall dern minute,” Mr. Bingham shouted. He took a neatly wrapped little package from the top shelf and held it out for me to see. It was a reefer. Marijuana. “Is this yours, young lady,” he roared.
It took only a second to realize that the reefer was not mine. And definitely the center fold slut wasn’t mine. I deemed in that instant that the locker they had opened was not mine also. I peeked behind the open door and found my locker undisturbed. So I quickly worked the combination, opened the door just wide enough to get my math book out and went bouncing down the hall as if nothing had happened. We, or rather they, had opened Brad Barkers’ locker. Now I can imagine he’s in like some really deep dodo, no thanks to me.
Sure, I got in trouble for being late, but I wasn’t about to ask Mr. Bingham for an excuse. I was just too happy they didn’t open my locker.
Two weeks later, I happen to be at my locker the first day Brad Barker came back to school. He didn’t look so cocky and smug now.
“Good morning, Brad,” I said softly.
He looked at me a long time, wondering what I meant by that. Then he managed a weak smile. “Hi,,,eh.
“Anne,” I said. Oh wow. Now he like knows my name.
He nodded and went about his business in his locker as if he had nothing to hide; the door standing wide open. I did notice the center fold was gone. I’m sure you can guess where it is. In Ralph’s secret hiding place down there in the boiler room.
No, Brad never did find out that it was I who was responsible for revealing his crime. I know he’s reclusive and moody now. He thinks it was one of his buddies that ratted on him. Me? I’m as nice as I can be. Right now, he needs a friend and I sure would love it to be me. Isn’t life like really great sometimes?
THE END.
If you liked this story and you feel the poor, old author deserves compensation in his retirement for this creation, please feel free to send $1.00 to Clem Mason, c/o Backwater Publishing. 66021-0213.
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