Bad Hair Day
"A Samuel Light Junior Story"
John Pirillo
Approximately ten minutes after P.E., after a shower, after
a four mile run, after cramps in his right leg, after Jimbo making his life a
hell by shoving a cigar in his gym clothes hamper and Coach finding it, and
after another four mile run and a hundred push-ups for that, Samuel was finally
able to go home.
It had been a Bad Hair Day for him.
Now he knew why the girls called it that. It meant that
anything that could possibly go wrong had or would. He wasn't a pessimist by
nature. But some days it seemed like the world was going to end. Or at least a
reasonable approximation, if there was such a thing.
Oh and by the way Samuel is a spiritual detective. That's
what his Mom calls him. The big, cuddly blonde who has raised him since he
was...well, born. She always told him he was born for a purpose and as he began
sprouting psychic abilities and some right scary stuff he began to believe it
wasn't just for a purpose, but to scare the Holy Crap out of him.
Samuel didn't swear. Usually. He saved those spare words for
when he cracked his head on the kitchen cabinet door, which was often. He was
sprouting inches a lot these days. And for those times when he burned himself,
which was frequently, because he usually made his own breakfasts, because Mom
was running off to her day job...she had two, night and day...to keep him and
her in the home that his father had built and was now being taxed so heavily
that she could barely keep up with the taxes, let alone the payments for the
supplies that built it. It wasn't much, but when you worked for a K-Mart or Wal-Mart,
you didn't make much. She never got a degree. Never had time for it. She had
him almost right after she'd met his father. Least that's what she told him,
though he suspected sometimes that she was withholding a secret from him.
And yeah, he could read intentions, if not minds at times.
Right. Another one of those things his Mom called psychic
abilities, but his friends called weird and crazy, and voodoo. He laughed to
himself as he stuffed his gym shorts into his backpack, and headed for the gym
exit.
Mister Peterson stood there at the door frowning at him, as
he said good-bye to his Rat Pack; he called the kids of this period. They were
his favorites. Sam knew it. He always told the other teachers, because they
were smart and motivated.
"How's the throat these days?" Mister Peterson
asked him as he prepared to exit.
"Uh..."
"Stay away from those stink sticks, Mister, they'll
punch holes in your lungs." He was warned as he exited.
Sam didn't respond. What could he say? He had been framed!
Nope. Wouldn't work. The Coach was not anything, if not stubborn. He refused to
see the other side of the poker deck, the part which one had been dealt. He
said it was because he grew up in Chicago where everyone had a story, but Sam
suspected it was just his nature, or at least the one he had decided to fix
himself on.
"Hey Sambo!" Jimbo taunted.
Sam spun around and glared at his friend, who was almost as
tall as him, but built like a tank by comparison. "You framed me!"
Jimbo, his reddish hair tinted almost blonde from the hard
light of approaching summer, grinned that annoying grin he always gave when he
was going to start shoveling...the compost heap at him..And said. "You
look good in one. Should mount you on the gymnasium wall for all the girls to
ponder the meaning of why they never give that kid a chance, and then remind
themselves why they don't."
"You through?"
Jimbo shrugged. "Going to Papa Maries for a malt. Wanta
come."
"Okay."
Just like that all their quarrels and Jimbo's terrible jokes
were forgiven. Sam never held onto anything, except some doubts about himself,
which he only brought out when he sat facing his closet where the giant Knight
lived.
As they walked past the admin building and then headed onto
the main sidewalk fronting the two million dollar school that looked more like
a two million dollar prison with all its metal doors and gates shutting off the
rooms and openings, and waved at the Campus Cop, who gave them a sour look,
they headed across the street, avoiding the sidewalk crossing where the
cheerleaders were gathered for the bus.
"You think any of them like you?" Sam asked as
they passed them.
Jimbo shrugged. "Don't really care. All the other girls
at school do."
"You're so lucky."
"Son, it's not luck." Jimbo told him with a grin.
"Some of us are born cockeyed crazy with powers that drive mortal men
mad."
"Me!"
"Yup!" Jimbo agreed. "And some are born
powerful handsome and maddeningly gorgeous to the ladies."
"You!"
"Hey! You're firing on all eighteen cylinders this
afternoon."
"I don't have eighteen."
"Seems like it sometimes.
"That's because you're still working on firing up
two."
Jimbo cracked into laughter, pounding Sam on the back so
hard he almost fell over. "Now...that...was funny!"
As they walked he could see Papa Maries neon sign hanging
over its dark front. It always seemed to be darker there than anywhere else. He
could have looked into it deeper, but he didn't like fooling around with
psychic powers. Mom had told him to use them wisely or they would be taken
away.
How she knew that, he never asked. He trusted her in that,
because the one time he had tried to open up his third eye in an older part of
time, he had seen a ghost straight from Hell. He had run home screaming at the
age of seven, a disillusioned and chastised runt of four feet in height, who
would never doubt his Mom's wisdom again.
As they entered Papa Marie's he smelled something weird.
"Smell that?"
"Yeah." Jimbo replied, his nose wriggling from the
effort of trying to block out the annoying scent.
Sam suddenly perked up. He felt, rather than saw what was
happening. He threw down his back pack and ran past the tables of kids who were
eating and drinking, but lost to what was going on. Jimbo was hot on his heels.
They tore into the kitchen and Papa Marie was slumped over a
kitchen sink, his hands limp at his sides, his grill smoking, starting to catch
on fire. Jimbo ran for a bucket in the back. They sometimes helped clean up for
free food and drinks. Sam put a hand on Papa Marie. He could feel warmth, but
it seemed to be cooling where he touched him.
For no particular reason his hand began to glow a bright
green.
"Holly Batman Droppings!" Sambo yelled as he saw
it.
Papa Marie suddenly jerked upright, coughing and hacking,
and then he wiped at his mouth and his forehead and gave Sam a peculiar look.
Sam said nothing.
No one said a thing, until the smell of burning burgers
caught their attention again.
Jimbo tossed the water on the grill and then they spent the
better part of their afternoon helping Papa Marie to clean up the mess.
He never spoke to Sam or Jimbo about what had happened, nor
did they talk about it to each other at that time, but everyone had changed
that day in some way.
But like the friends they all were, he and Sambo finished
helping. Papa Marie made them super whoppers on dishes heaped with curly fries
and a separate giant mug of vanilla ice cream with coke in it and everyone went
home happy that day. Especially Papa Marie!
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Want to read more?
Amazon is now selling my first story in the ongoing adventures of Samuel Light Junior.
Samuel is a normal, everyday teenager, except he hasn't a clue where his father is, or what he does. His mother has secrets. He goes to a school where there's ghosts. The girl he likes is also liked by his best friend. Yeah. Normal teenager.
Samuel's life gets more complicated when he begins seeing through the eyes of people who
have passed away, and then later actually sees people who have passed away.
Samuel just wants to live a normal life, but for him that's going to be a life that's anything but normal, as he ventures into the world of magic, the occult and the spiritual.
To graduate from Elvis High School he not only has to overcome normal teenage angst, but also overcome mysteries and magic that would daunt the bravest of souls.
