PROFESSOR OF CLASS CLOWNS

SIX YEARS AGO

Franko was an interesting kid. He was born to a 13 year old girl, and she was now 24.
They lived in an apartment complex behind a golf course with some woods separating the course from the complex. His mom was white. He was half black, but he didn’t know his dad. He heard he was old, like his grampa. His grampa was in his late thirties. Franko didn’t know many old people. His mom mainly hung out with people her own age to slightly younger. His grampa had his own problems. He liked beer and pot. He was a good guy though, just had some problems. Jenny, his mom, liked beer, and used to be into meth. Her missing teeth showed her past use, but she was off the hard stuff now. As mentioned, not alcohol though. She had been drinking since she was nine. She didn’t smoke pot; never really got into it. However she chain smoked tobacco.

Franco was fascinated with fire. His last apartment complex was fire bombed by some drug dealers his neighbors had called the police on. It took everything away from him. It was powerful, mysterious, and beautiful. He loved watching his mom smoke. He even stole cigarettes from her sometimes and smoked them out in the woods behind their apartment. Today he was doing just that. And today he would burn down the woods.

Franco didn’t decide to burn down the woods. He didn’t expect the fire to spread so fast. He didn’t even know what he was really thinking. He meant to just burn a pile of sticks. It burned, but it caught a bigger pile of sticks next to it on fire. He couldn’t put all that out with his ‘fireman.’ There was no way he could pee this out. Franco’s heart started to race. He knew he would have to go tell his mom. He was going to get whooped for this. “Shit,” he thought as he raced off to get help in a panic.

When the fire trucks showed up some five minutes later, they didn’t focus on Franko, at least not right away. But eventually the fire marshal showed up and the kid was grilled. He didn’t break though. His entire life he would be good at not breaking under pressure, and it would serve him well as this would not be the last time he fell under investigation. The fire marshal, Bob Hueghs, then gave the kid a lecture before speaking to the mother. They would get off with a warning this time. Bob understood that boys would be boys, especially when their parents were without the knowledge on how to instill proper discipline. In high school Bob was a juvenile delinquent himself. He once stole a ticket book from a cop, ‘test drove’ a Chevy Capri, donned a police explorers uniform, and proceeded to pull over various citizens and write them up. Another time he was arrested in the middle of law enforcement class for having stolen the lights right off a cop car a week prior. He had always wanted to become a cop, but screwed the pooch on that one. He was more than happy to be a fire fighter though. All done and said, he understood misbehavior in children doesn’t mean they are bad people. He did debate as to whether to call CPS. He decided against it, but only because he knew most CPS investigators were drama queens. No, this time he would leave it in the hands of fate. He felt uneasy about it, but by the next call it was no longer a concern.

Franko on the other hand would find a degree of shame in his act that proved most helpful. The neighbors had begun to nickname him Pyro. There was a degree of self mockery in the act. Most of the neighbors had juvenile records themselves, and a few were even on unsupervised probation currently. However there was an understood air between them all that they would have to keep an eye on this one. It was a poor community, and while most occupants were relatively content with their meager possessions, they were intent on not losing them. The apartment manager had a bigger investment and began to look into evicting the family. In six months she would be successful, after repeated complaints of noise, litter and vandalism. However in those six months something happened that would change Franko’s outlook a little. One of the neighbors took Franko under his wing. It was one of the neighbors on supervised probation. He was a smoker, a pot user, a practicing alcoholic and a schizophrenic. However despite the rumors that circulated at first, he was not a pedophile, but a father of a baby boy, who felt heart break in a boy not having a father. His name was Gary, and he called his baby ‘Roo.’ Gary was in a pickle. He could barely hold himself together at times, but he figured, “If not you, then who?”
Gary walked into the position of mentor without much of a plan. He let the child play video games on his console and showed him how a father acted. He spoke soft words of love about his son Roo, whom Franko had come to see as a brother. Gary lent him a few books that meant something to him. They were books he came to read in college that were recommended by people he looked up to. He knew he might have over-estimated Franko, but told him that he could ask him questions on them. It wasn’t until a couple weeks into their relationship that he began to realize the kid was virtually illiterate. He lent him some books on cd, to get the kid interested in literature. The child however was too embarrassed to admit his reading troubles, and Gary refused to push the issue. He pondered how to exactly address the situation, and found a solution in comic books. Franko loved stories of heroes and villians. He was especially fond of Ironman; Tony Stark’s problem with alcohol wasn’t lost on him. He had seen drug addiction all his life, and while he had beer every once in a while, he took notice of the problems it caused his mom. One day his mom came to Gary’s apartment demanding to know where her last beer went to. Franko told her that she drank it. She didn’t. He did, but he held true to form and refused to crack. She and Franko began to fight and scream. Gary quickly realized things were out of his control.

She asked Gary, “Did you see Franko with a beer? I’m missing a beer! I had one left before I took a nap, and now it’s gone!” The way she said ‘gone’ sounded like a growl. It scared Gary, but Franko remained unshaken.

“No you didn’t!” Franko yelled. “You drank all your beer! You just don’t remember! YOU DON’T REMEMBER!!!”

“I’m gonna smack the shit out of you,” she said moderately loud, but in a tone that sent shivers down Gary’s spine. It didn’t scare Franko though. He could take it, and he wasn’t sure she’d do it in front of Mr. Fisher anyway. Gary was just in shock. His wife was not. She had grown up in such chaos. Gary anxiously told the mother that he had been with Franko all day, and he hadn’t drank anything to the best of his knowledge.

“He isn’t acting drunk, but…”

“Gary get over here, everyone else go home! …bye now! Scoot!,” his wife Kelly said in a loud and angry, but collected and firm voice of authority. She cut Gary off and ushered them out the door. Then she pulled Gary into the kitchen. “We are not having any of that shit in our house! They are trash and not be be brought in,” she explained still angry and tense, but with a sense of release. She had never approved of Gary’s attempt to play hero and social worker. He had his own issues.

“OKAY,” Gary replied kind of frightened and relieved his wife had taken control, but with concern for Franko on his mind.

“No! I’m not done here!,” Kelly snapped. “Your always doing this shit! We have our own problems. You’re a fucking alcoholic your damn self. What if that kid stole our beer?”

“I really don’t think he did…,” Gary replied and was cut off.

“It doesn’t matter. It’s over. Tell that little delinquent he isn’t coming into our apartment anymore to steal our shit.” Kelly clicked her head to the side and looked down. “Not in our house, especially with the Roo.”

“Okay, alright already. I fucked up. My heart was in the right place though,” Gary said in earnest. Kelly softened. She knew this was true. He was so innocent on certain things and that was part of the reason she’d fallen in love with him.

“I know that,” Kelly said in an exaggerated tone. “You just have a tendency not to think things through… Go get the baby up and change his diaper. I made some stew,” and with that the conversation was over. The next day Gary explained to Franko that he believed he didn’t steal the beer, but that his wife said he couldn’t have him over anymore. Franko said that he understood, but didn’t. Not really. A few hours later the mom came over and asked Gary to speak to her son. He had been having crying spells. Gary did. He told the kid that when he had a wife he’d understand why he had to back her. He told the kid that it wasn’t his choice. The kid said he understood once again. Then Gary went home and cried. He wasn’t a stoic man, but he rarely cried either. He cried until his 16 month old son toddled up and put his head in his lap of his father. …and partially he cried because Franko couldn’t do the same.

When Franko grew up, their paths would cross again, but not directly. Franko would come to have ‘The Roo,’ or Max, as a student. He was never really sure if it was the same Max Fisher, until Max one day talked about his dad in passing. Frank, as he now called himself, remained silent on the matter but recommended a few books. One book he recommended was about a young man who was a petty criminal and got caught up in accusations of terrorism. It took place in Northern Ireland during the 1990’s. His dad, who the kid always thought was feeble minded, turned out to be wisely arraigning him protection behind the scenes. Frank was glad and disappointed he never became a father. He mentored many kids though, and learned from Gary that sometimes it was time to pass the burden.