Victory Tour (Part 263)

I read and made more notes on Act II, Scene 2 all through first period as my laptop and phone sucked up electricity. There were some things I was going to have to look up. Like "a good kissing carrion."

I know what carrion is (think roadkill) and I have absolutely no desire to kiss any. Kissing pretty girls is much more to my liking.

At the bell ending first period, I checked my phone. It was up to 80 percent, enough that I could get some work done.

I also checked the messages from Mom. The time stamps indicated both came in after my phone ran out of juice. Glad I decided to check the weather first.

"Gary, this is your mother," she said in the first message. "Just checking to make sure you're up. Call me."

"Gary, this is your mom again," she said in the second message. "You'd better not be late for school. Call me to let me know you made it."

Yeah, better not. My excuse was the battery died and I had no opportunity to charge it up during class. Maybe I'd text her at lunch. And there was always the possibility Kacie would let her know we'd crossed paths.

With that out of the way, it was time to do some work. Using the phone as a hotspot, I looked up the meaning of "a good kissing carrion."

It does not refer to something pleasant (no shit, dude) but is a disturbing metaphor for a dead body. Hamlet uses the phrase to express how the sunlight can breed maggots in a dead dog, implying that even something as pure as sunlight can interact with decay and create something vile, suggesting the same about Ophelia's potential for corruption.

Then the site gave almost a word-by-word explanation of its meaning.

Carrion: A dead animal's flesh that is decaying. (Pretty much had that one already figured out, dude).

Kissing: Not in a romantic sense, but rather the act of the sun's heat or a god's creation "kissing" or affecting the decaying flesh. (I'd still rather kiss pretty girls).

Good: In this context meaning suitable or appealing to a certain process. In this case, for maggots to breed in. (I think "optimal conditions" would've been a better way to word it, but language had evolved a bit since Bill put quill to parchment.)

Then came the explanation of what it all really meant.

Hamlet is speaking to Polonius, asking if he has a daughter.

He tells Polonius, "Let her not walk i'th' sun. Conception is a blessing, but not as your daughter may conceive."

This suggests that Ophelia, like the dead dog, is susceptible to "breeding" corruption or negative influences if she "walks in the sun" (a metaphor for exposure to worldly temptations).

In essence, Hamlet uses the "good kissing carrion" to highlight the theme of disease and corruption, suggesting that if even sunlight can create something disgusting from decay, then the world, like Ophelia, is prone to corruption.

So, basically, "keep her locked up or she'll get knocked up," was the way I understood it. Maybe they should've developed birth control a few centuries earlier instead of expecting horny youngsters to behave themselves. I knew a few girls who'd been only too eager to "walk i'th' sun."

After that, I decided to do a prologue for "Wings over Westminster." That'd help cut down on how much I needed to write for the Billy Bob-Katya story.

I envisioned a valley high in the Scandinavian Mountains populated by a clan or tribe of Nordic types who were starting to outgrow their environment. Those long winter nights led to a population boom that was starting to strain available resources. (Well, what else ya gonna do on those long winter nights?)

One group migrated northeast into what eventually became Sweden. They got into farming and fishing, engaging in trade with folks known as Varangians who headed east and established trading posts at places like Kiev and Novgorod.

After a few centuries, some of the farmers started feeling the pinch of overpopulation again and decided to take their chances in this new land they'd heard about on the other side of the big ocean. Somebody said it was called "America."

It was from this group that Rance Bergstrom descended.

Another group headed southwest into what became Norway. A few continued across the sea to Denmark. A few of them hooked up with a dude named Rollo and "went aviking" down south, setting up shop along the Seine River. Turned out French chicks liked to get freaky just like the Nordic babes.

A few decades later, Billy the Bastard came along and decided he wanted to upgrade his station in life. So, Billy loaded up a bunch of his buddies and took a boatride across the Channel, picked a fight with some locals and won.

One of the guys who went along for the ride was named Roger de Montfort. Billy gave him some land and made him a baron after taking over the joint. Fast-forward almost 900 years and Lady Cecily Blythe de Montfort was running around warning invading American soldiers to keep their hands to themselves.

So, yeah. Rance and Cecily were cousins. Separated by 30 or so generations. That oughta take care of any consanguinity issues. "Sweet Home Alabama" wouldn't be recorded for another 30 years, anyway.

I also threw in a bit about how adding barons changed the nobility setup in Britain. The Danes had created "jarls" when they moved into Yorkshire way back there. Billy the Bastard, now going by the moniker William the Conqueror (because a new king should have a posh new name, doncha know), worked things out to where earls and barons could coexist in the same universe. Earls were equivalent to a European count and governed large areas of land. Barons were the king's direct tenants holding land in exchange for military service and counsel, a title that initially united all landholders.

Somewhere along the line, dukes, marquesses and viscounts got added to the mix.

Researching and writing all that gave me something more than 800 words and took me almost to the end of third period. I took the hint as my teammates started moving toward the locker room and started shutting down and packing up. It was almost time to go get flexible.

I lugged the backpack to my locker and changed into workout clothes. I would be perfectly content to leave the bag there during lunch. Or at least feel better leaving it in the locker than the team room.

The five of us in Independent Study were the first to arrive in the weightroom for flexibility exercises. That may have been why Jordan Johnson got with me for the session. Coach Bennet didn't seem to have any problem with the pairing. He was too busy shouting at the other "pissaints" to get their lazy butts in gear, anyway. We were burnin' daylight.

At first, I thought Jordan's moans were because I was pushing too hard in an effort to make his left kneecap reach his right armpit. In reality, he was just moaning about English IV. He still wasn't getting some of the nuances in Bill's wordplay.

"Bring your copy to lunch and I'll go over things with you," I said. "I found some good stuff that explains Act II."

"You mind if I get in on that?" Calvin Hobbs asked from the next mat.

"Can't hurt," I said as I changed places with Jordan. "Heck, whoever wants to join in is welcome. Maybe guys who have it in the afternoon will have an idea of what to expect."

"Count me in, then," Chuck called out from across the way. "You can pay me back for the help in Economics, but it wouldn't hurt if ya got extra at lunch."

"I'll see what I can do," I groaned as Jordan paid me back for the torture I'd inflicted.

We progressed through our exercises until Coach Bennett shouted at us to get our sorry butts to the team room for film study. We had to get another look at the Wildcats. It took me a bit to get where I could stand. It felt like my kneecaps were stuck in my armpits.

In film study, there wasn't anything I hadn't noticed before. The Wildcats played things pretty straight. The big question in my mind was whether we'd set up the pass with the run or set up the run with the pass. Near as I could tell, Reggie could pretty much do whatever he wanted Friday night. Running play action would almost be unfair against these guys.

We were reminded to study our game plans in preparation for tomorrow's test. Coaches would finalize the script and we'd work on those plays in practice today. Well, the starting offense would. I'd be busy pretending to be a Wing-T quarterback one last time. But I was still expected to know them all and what my responsibility was for each one.

Coach Tucker released us to go get ready for lunch a few minutes before the bell. I raced through a shower, just soaping up and rinsing off. I think I got just as sweaty doing flexibility as I did lifting on Mondays and Tuesdays. Jed said that just meant I was doing it right.

Much against my will, I decided to take the backpack with me after getting dressed. I needed to turn in assignments for Economics and Chemistry, which I really should have done this morning, in addition to making sure I had my copy of "Hamlet."

As if I needed any reminders a cabal of females was intent on controlling my life, Morgan was waiting on me when I stepped out of the locker room.

"Kacie wanted to know if you called your mother," the little elf said, hooking my arm and steering me toward the main building.

"Not yet," I said. "Been a little busy, ya know. School, studying, working on an assignment, that sorta thing."

"You might want to before you get in more trouble," she sniffed.

"Didn't wanna get in trouble with Mrs. Stirling for using my phone during classtime," I said. "She was in the same room. My mother should be at the club. Call it risk assessment."

We entered through the southeast entrance and got in line. Cheese enchiladas again for the hot plate. The burger line seemed the safer choice. Chuck could steal my tater tots again.

Hit the checkout stand, gather at the regular table. I didn't even have time to set my tray down and shrug out of the backpack before guys started asking questions about Act II.

"OK," I said, getting things organized before taking my seat. "The deal with Ophelia is he's intentionally acting like a jerk toward her. Dude must be crazy to treat such a nice girl that way."

"I know how she feels," Morgan grumbled beside me.

"Hush, you," I growled before taking a bite of my burger.

"I got the stuff from Scene 1," Jordan said. "Scene 2's what I'm havin' trouble with.

"Lemme look," I said, pulling my copy of the play out of the backpack and flipping to the correct page. "OK, Claudius has Rosencrantz and Guildenstern spy on Hamlet (for some reason, I imagined Benny Tanaka and Wil Hutchins in those roles). The Norwegian envoys say Fortinbras has no intention of starting trouble with the Danes, just passing through. Polonius has concerns about the way Hamlet treated Ophelia. This next part ..."

Another bite and a flip of a page to get to the part with Hamlet and Polonius.

"Uh-oh," Morgan said, causing me to look up.

Rhonda Devers, wearing a scowl, was heading our way. I just stared her down, trying to keep it under control until she tried whatever it was she was going to try as I took another bite.

To my surprise, Rhonda pulled up with a blush and changed directions. Unfortunately, Hennings was already on his way, apparently intent on intervening in yet another confrontation that hadn't happened.

"Well, God-a-mercy," I drawled as he approached.

"You've been warned about starting trouble in here, Robinson," the teacher snarled.

"Excellent well," I said. "You are a fishmonger."

"Don't get smart with me," he growled.

"Then I would you were so honest a man," I sneered.

"I've had about enough of your lip, boy," he started.

"Ay, sir," I said as if agreeing with him. "To be honest, as this world goes, is to be one man picked out of ten thousand."

"Office, now!" Hennings shouted.

"For if the sun breed maggots in a dead dog, being a good kissing carrion," I said. "Have you a daughter?"

"What's my daughter go to do with it?" he asked, sounding totally confused.

"Let her not walk i’ th’ sun," I said. "Conception is a blessing, but, as your daughter may conceive, friend, look to ’t."

"STAY AWAY FROM MY DAUGHTER!" he roared, sounding oddly like Ralph Franks had that night in the parking lot. "She's only 12!"

"Words, words, words," I said, making the talking hand gesture with each word, which only served to set the teacher off even more.

"I HAVE HAD IT WITH YOU AND YOUR ATTITUDE!" he screamed, lunging across the table at me. "I'LL MAKE SURE YOU GET EXPELLED THIS TIME, YOU PERVERT!"

"Slanders, sir," I cried, standing to avoid him and taking my copy of the play with me, "for the satirical rogue says here (waving the little book around) that old men have gray beards, that their faces are wrinkled, their eyes purging thick amber and plum-tree gum, and that they have a plentiful lack of wit, together with most weak hams; all which, sir, though I most powerfully and potently believe, yet I hold it not honesty to have it thus set down; for yourself, sir, shall grow old as I am, if, like a crab, you could go backward."

"Though this be madness, yet there is method in't," Jed snorted, reading Polonius' next line.

"Well done, Mr. Richards," Dr. Robinson said from behind me. "Though I shudder to think what Lord Olivier would have to say of Mr. Robinson's interpretation. Hamlet's the Melancholy Dane, not the Melancholy Redneck."

"It'd sound that much worse if I tried to fake an English accent," I said.

"That's enough, Robinson," Dunwoody growled as he arrived on the scene. "Mr. Hennings, a word please."

My teammates just stared in amazement as the principal led the apoplectic teacher out of the lunchroom. Hey, it wasn't like I'd started anything. I was just reading Shakespeare.

"You do seem to have a good grasp of the material," Karen said, "but you might want to tone it down and do what you're told when it comes from faculty. I may not be able to run interference for you on this one."

These tedious old fools, I thought as I reclaimed my seat.

My burger still had a couple of bites remaining, but it looked like someone had sawed a chunk off the side I hadn't taken a bite from. There were no tater tots left. A glance at Chuck showed a big, ol' shit-eatin' grin as he popped the last tot into his mouth.

"That white boy crazy," Marshawn cracked, breaking the tension as I took another bite.

"Who? Hamlet?" I smirked. "Seemed to work pretty well for ’im."

"Hamlet dies, dude," Jed snorted.

"Hey! Spoilers!" I barked. "I haven't read that far yet. Ya done went and ruined the whole play for me."

I took the last bite and finished off my drink before loading up. I could only hope I'd consumed enough to get through practice.

"If you'll excuse me," I said, grabbing my backpack and preparing to leave, "I need to go turn in a couple of assignments."

"Don't forget to call your mother," Morgan reminded me as I gave her a hug.

A text would have to do. I stepped out to the little picnic area, which was empty on a chilly day, whipped out my phone and composed a quick message. Phone died, didn't get it charged up because school, ya know. But I had awoken in time to make it before the first bell. She'd just have to understand I'd been busy for four periods.

I mean, I could either do what she expected of me and take care all my school stuff, or I could be available to her 24/7/365. But I couldn't necessarily do both. In fact, I wouldn't even try. Graduating early took precedence right now.

With that taken care of, I continued to the East Wing. I stuck my head into Mr. Debussy's room, which was empty, and went down the hall to Mr. Cochran's room. He, at least, was in residence.

"What can I do for you, young man?" my Economics teacher asked.

"Just need to turn in an assignment," I said, setting the backpack on his desk and digging out the appropriate notebook.

"That was supposed to have been turned in first period," he said, reaching for my homework.

"Yeah, well, circumstances," I said. "I was running a little late and didn't have time to get here before the bell. But I got the assignment done before the end of school yesterday. It's not like I was working on it this morning."

"I'll still have to dock you," he said, flipping through the pages. "Why didn't you ask Mrs. Stirling to let you out for a few minutes?"

"I did that yesterday for an Algebra II assignment and a teacher tried to bust me for being out of class, even though I had a hall pass," I said. "Didn't want to risk that happening again."

"I see your point," he murmured. "You'd better get to wherever you're supposed to be. It's almost time for the bell. You can pick this up in the morning."

"Yes, sir," I grunted as I hefted the bag on a shoulder.

Back across the hall to Chemistry, where Mr. Debussy still wasn't present. May as well check in with Mr. Henderson, then. If he had my stuff graded, I could use it to start studying for Friday's test.

I got lucky there. My Algebra II teacher was writing an equation on the board in preparation for the class I wouldn't attend. I went through almost the same routine with Henderson I had with Cochran, only picking up instead of dropping off.

"It looks like you have a grasp on things," he said, handing me my notebook. "Most of your mistakes were on things that'll be covered in today's lecture."

"Guess I'd better get with Cody in study hall this evening," I grinned, putting the notebook in the backpack.

"What was the deal in the lunchroom?" Mr. Henderson asked. "Hennings wasn't very happy with you for some reason."

And he's even less happy with me now, I thought.

"No idea," I grunted, trying to maintain a straight face. "I was just going over Act II of 'Hamlet' with some football players and he started going off."

"Well, stay out of trouble," the teacher advised as the bell ending lunch rang. "I've already picked you in our pool."

"Yes, sir," I said, not even wanting to know what prop bet in the teachers lounge could involve me this week.

Back across the hall again to Chemistry where Debussy was still nowhere to be seen. Fuck it, I thought, digging the assignment out of my bag and dropping it on his desk. I didn't have time to wait on him. I could only hope he wouldn't lose my homework just because I turned it in a day early.

I hurried to the southeast entrance, forcing my way through another knot of freshmen, and headed for the team room. I don't know what it is about this year's freshman class, but you'd think they'd learn to not block traffic one of these days. I don't remember that being an issue when I was a freshman. At least not for me, anyway.

Entering the team room, I returned to my spot and started pulling electronic devices and power cords out of my bag. With everything plugged in, I hit the power button on the laptop. Time to get some work done on Billy Bob and Katya.

As I waited for the computer to boot up, the door to the hallway opened and Coach Tucker and Mr. Dunwoody stepped in.

"Robinson, my office," Coach commanded.

What now?