Crazed and Defused - Part I

The following is an excerpt from a story called "Crazed and Defused":

Mitch wore long, baggy pants that barely clung to his butt cheeks. Why he even bothered to wear a belt was beyond me. I guess it was just for style. Or maybe the belt buckle doubled as a bottle opener. Or just maybe it was a utility belt, you know, like Batman’s. Anyway, he wore those pants low, so low that the cuffs scraped the ground when he walked. They scraped and scraped until they’d been worn to a cool fringe.

Mitch spoke with a slow deliberation. He took his time when all around him people rushed and tripped over their own tongues. His speech came out at a steady, unhurried pace. He spoke in complete sentences. That in and of itself was a miracle. Considering that no one he knew spoke in complete sentences. Or much more than a grunt, for that matter. No, Mitch’s friends couldn’t be bothered with complete sentences. They were busy texting LOLs and IMHOs and joining the latest social network so they could let everyone see their inane lives in full, living color. Mitch walked slowly; he spoke slowly; he even ate slowly. Mitch took his time in life. He tasted things. He savored things. He watched and listened.

One fine, cool afternoon in mid-September, as he and all his classmates were becoming re-acclimated to another year of high school, Mitch strolled slowly, quietly, and alertly through the quad. His radar was working perfectly – as usual. He was catching sumptuous bites of conversations, surreptitiously eyeballing the girls in their scant clothing before they covered up for the fall. He was scanning, probing, looking to all the world like a quiet dunce. He was anything but.

Toby Grant and his band of muscle-bound misfits were planning something. He could tell by the way they acted like nothing was going on. They made a forced show of nothing. Greek gods stretching their shirts, looking like the mindless prats they were. As he sat himself down next to a tree and pulled his hat down a half-inch further to shade his eyes, crossed his ankles, and took out a book, he blended in with his surroundings. Everyone knew he was bright. Everyone knew he was focused. Everyone knew he read. Nothing out of the ordinary. Nothing to see here.

He opened his book and tilted his head down, never giving the impression that he was doing anything but reading. Never giving the impression that he was doing anything but focusing on his own little world and shutting out the bigger, more confused and confusing, one. He tilted his head and sat alertly taking in everything around him. Toby was expounding on two of his favorite topics: the football team and the cornucopia of girls he found worthy to be on his list of desirables. In between Toby’s brilliant one liners “Sherry’s got the best ass I’ve ever seen, man” and “Slot one, Y package left is definitely our most potent weapon, man,” Jake Martin was chiming in, asking annoying questions, and disrupting Toby’s serene and Zen-like flow.

“Toby, what are we gonna do about this guy?” Jake asked. He didn’t seem to particularly care. He just asked. Toby smiled indulgently.

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'til next time...