Mr. Fish & Other Fantasy Tales. David Ph.D Dicaire
won’t keep you much longer. But I was proud to serve my country and someday you might get the chance to do the same. Savor every minute of it. Thank you.”
Someone wheeled McCaffey away. The students and everyone else applauded; Eric clapped a little harder.
Finally he shut up. You thought he was running for President or something.
“And now we will hear from George McRea.”
The decorated veteran shuffled forward in his walker and it seemed to take forever for him to make it to the microphone. He only had one arm.
Oh, God, not another dribbling old geezer.
McCrea made it to the microphone and smiled. His old man’s smile warmed a few hearts. “I’ll keep this simple and short. I served in the War and saw my friends die. I hope that none of you ever have to do the same. Thank you.”
He shuffled away to thunderous applause.
“And now we will lay a wreath.”
Eric leaned forward like he was going to fall over but straightened out. In the process his poppy fell off his coat; he didn’t notice.
“We are going to ask a couple of students from the high school to assist us.”
Before he knew what was going on, a finger was pointed at him and Eric was forced to step forward. He stepped on the poppy and moved up with Donna Pullford, a nice looking girl who had cried during the veteran’s stories.
Oh God, why do I have to this with Eric?
Eric smirked as he walked up to put the wreath on the stand. He was holding everything back not to laugh out loud.
Who gives a shit about a wreath? What a bunch of crap. Instead they should save their money and give the old geezers some Ben Gay.
The thought generated a large laugh bubble that was impossible for him to hold in. At the most crucial moment he burst out laughing and fell over on the stand nearly crushing it. Donna stood there frozen not sure what to do or say. Mr. Cluster was stunned beyond words.
Everyone stared at Eric who laughed so hard that he nearly peed his pants. His eyes were red and he wiped tears from them. He looked up and just one glimpse at the teacher’s face made him realize that this was not a good thing. He straightened up and pulled up the stand.
Although he wasn’t a large boy, the force of him falling on the stand had bent it way out of shape. This brought another round of laughter that nearly toppled him over again. He managed to hang onto Donna who was not impressed with his immature behavior.
The hostess of the ceremony moved forward and began to try and straighten out the stand. She pulled on it hard trying to bend the wire but it seemed impossible. It took a minute, but Donna bent down and helped her out. Eric stood there with his hands in his pockets looking at the two women and smirked like an idiot.
When the hostess fell over and landed on her backside with her legs spread open and pointing sharply in two different directions, Eric burst out laughing again. He laughed so hard that he fell down to his knees.
2
It was a long bus ride to the school. He sat next to Mr. Cluster who didn’t say a word to him. When the bus arrived at school, Mr. Cluster stood up and turned around.
“Go and have your lunch.”
The big doors were opened and Mr. Cluster grabbed Eric by the collar and marched him off the bus like he was a prisoner of war. But before they could disembark, the bus driver snatched Eric’s arm.
“My grandfather died in the war.” He snarled at Eric who didn’t seem to have any reaction.
Eric sat in Ms. Notthingham’s office for an hour while his stomach grumbled hard.
“How could you do such a thing? Do you think we take you to these ceremonies so you can besmirch the name of this school? Do you realize the sacrifices that those people made for you? Well do you have anything to say?”
“No ma’am.”
No, but what I really want to say is that you’re looking pretty hot today. How about you and that Donna slut and me do a threesome? What do you say Ms. Hot Stuff?
“Then what the hell is so damn funny?”
Mr. Cluster looked away in fear that he would lunge at the boy and slap him hard.
“Nothing.”
“Then wipe that damn smirk off your face. You are suspended and when you come back you have detention for the next two months.”
Mr. Cluster brought out the squashed poppy. Ms. Nottingham looked at it and she almost went berserk again. She picked it up and nearly washed Eric’s face with it.
“My grandfather sacrificed his life so little snots like you can play video games and criticize everything with your kindergarten remarks. You’re going to go home and write a five thousand-page essay on the importance of the poppy. I want it on my desk by Monday morning.”
He opened his mouth to protest but knew better.
“Get out of my office.”
“Your father should be here to pick you up in a few minutes. I’ll wait with you.” Mr. Cluster didn’t look at Eric. They walked out of the office together.
3
It was a long ride home and his father didn’t say a word. Suddenly, they turned down a different road.
“This isn’t the way home.”
His father remained silent until they pulled up to the cemetery. “Since you didn’t act properly during the first ceremony then you’ll behave right the second time around.”
They walked out of the car and Eric followed his father who knew exactly where he was going. They arrived at a neat, well-kept tombstone.
“Read the name.”
Eric appeared puzzled. “Alfred Sanderson. What gives?”
“He was my great uncle. He was in World War II and came back damaged goods. He lived in the hospital for a few months before he took his life to get away from the enemy.”
“I had no idea.”
“Now you do. Come on, let’s go.”
They started to walk and nearly ran over the old woman. She was dressed in an army uniform and smiled at both of them.
“Isn’t that nice a father teaching his son an important life lesson?”
“Good day.”
“But you don’t have a poppy young man.” The old woman reached in her pocket and pulled out a poppy. She pinned it to Eric’s jacket before he knew what was happening. “There you go.”
Eric’s father shoved him.
“Thank you.”
“Thank you, ma’am.”
Eric and his dad left.
4
It was late at night and the light on Eric’s desk was on. He sat in front of the computer staring at the screen.
“How the fuck am I supposed to write five thousand words about a poppy?”
He looked at the three words on the screen: The poppy is…..
There was a soft knock on the door.
“It’s open.”
His father walked in. “Lights out in a few minutes. How’s the essay coming?”
“I’m having a hard time getting started.”
“Just put your heart into it.”
“Sure.”
That’s