A Taste of Wool Part 15

"Don't you bring those muddy shoes in this house, Cindy Harmon!" Nancy Harmon shouted at her 11 year-old daughter. It was a soggy day in Helenville, New Jersey. The rain had just cleared up, and Cindy and her friend Jamie had been romping around in the mud in the backyard. Nancy fastened her apron tighter around her waist turned to face her daughter, who was standing in the door way of the kitchen waiting for her to come inside from the mud.

"Aw mom!" Cindy whined. Nancy Harmon turned her back to her daughter and resumed her task of rinsing off string beans for dinner. Cindy saw her chance. She motioned to Jamie to follow her into the kitchen and upstairs to Cindy's room. A little mud never hurt anyone, right? Cindy was half way across the kitchen floor when Nancy Harmon whirled around, flinging several string beans into the air.

"Aha! Caught you! Girls, take off your shoes and socks and leave them on the porch. Cindy, I want you to mop those foot prints up this instant! Jamie, you can help me with those, she said motioning to the string beans. Cindy sucked her teeth and went to get me out of the closet.

The End.

***

This concludes A Taste of Wool. If you'd like to read the story from the start click here. 

Please post your reactions to the story below as comments.

A Taste of Wool Part 14

"Ah, a brilliant question! Yes I am real, and I'm not; depending on how you look at it. You see, on the one hand, none of you exist in reality. The only entity that exists is myself. I am really sitting on a linoleum kitchen floor somewhere in southern New Jersey, slave to a housewife and mother of three. It was on this very floor that I began daydreaming and came up with all of you. But that got out of hand when I decided to break the news to Harry that he wasn't real. You see, I got tired of imagining day after day in this silly little school and I wanted to move on to another fantasy. Unfortunately the characters from daydreams don't let go as easily as all that. Harry argued with me day after day about how he wanted to go on existing. But I told him I was tired. I wanted to move on with my life. On the other hand, maybe I'm full of shit. Maybe you all are having a massive hallucination and are not seeing a cleaning device speak to you at all. In that case, what could be the harm in telling me to go screw myself and go on existing regardless of what I think?

There was silence.

***

This is part 14 of my short story, A Taste of Wool. You can read Part 13 here.  This is a bonus part. Usually I post parts on Wednesdays as a part of Wool Wednesdays, however Benjy pointed out that it's Yom Kippur tomorrow, so therefore Tuesday!

A Taste of Wool Part 12

"Harry, I know something is going on! I have this sick feeling in my stomach, and I want you to tell me what it is!" Urie demanded sporting his radish face.

Harry sighed. I decided that I had better handle the situation.

"Urie, if I may address you so informally," I began "I think it would be best if you went back inside your classroom and continued crying." Urie cocked his head to the right and his mouth dropped open. He looked into the dishwater colored strands of my hair.

"What the...fuck?" he bent down to touch a strand of my hair.

"Mmm, that feels nice." I said. "You can continue petting me if you wish." Urie jumped back and shuddered as if a roach had just crawled onto his hand. He stood there for a moment and said nothing.

"No, no, this can't be real. Harry, you've got some sort of tape recording device behind there or something. This is not real!" He stood very still shaking his head.

"Ironically, my friend, you are partially right about that. 'This' isn't real."

"Harry, what are you doing?! What is this?!" Urie exclaimed.

"Let me confirm your doubts, Urie." I sighed "I know that every time Mz. Sweeny speaks a word, you hear a cacophonous sound that is unbearable. I know that you secretly hate her and all that she stands for. I know that your mother gives you the same thing for your birthday every year, a maroon sweater vest and a lemon meringue pie. And finally, I know that until today, Harry and your..."

"Stop!" Urie exclaimed "There's no need to go on! I've never told anybody about my mother's pies. They're horribly disgusting." I took that to mean that he no longer doubted my vocal capabilities.

"Very well then." I responded.

"So what is it that you have to tell us, Mr. Mop?" Uried asked, and with that he began to laugh hysterically. Harry and Terrence joined in, and soon there was a festival of laughter.

I waited until the wave of laughter subsided and then I began to speak.

***

This is part 12 of my short story A Taste of Wool, a part of Wool Wednesdays. Each Wednesday I will be revealing a new portion of the story. To read part 11, click here.

A Taste of Wool Part 10

Terrence was always early for school, and today was no exception. His mother dropped him off 10 minutes early every day so that she wouldn't be late for her job. Olivia, Terrence's mother, had just obtained the position of legal secretary at a law firm in town.

Little did Terrence know that his early arrival would result in him coming face to face with his fourth grade teacher, bawling his eyes out at a wooden desk that was ridiculously too small for his adult body.

Terrence tried with all his might to make no sound while he tip toed to the coat closet to hang up his jacket. Unfortunately, he banged his tow on the door, and that was that. Urie was startled by the loud thump; he suddenly lifted his head up from sobbing and stared at Terrence, who was stunned by his teacher's tear stained face. Now it was Terrence's turn to look like a radish, it was certainly a fine day for radish impersonations.

"Well, hello Terrence. I didn't see you there." Urie said as he hastily wiped the tears from his face. "And how are you this morning?" He asked trying his hardest to put a lighthearted tone into his voice.

"I'm fine, um...I..." Terrence began, and then he realized that he had nothing to say. Well, that wasn't exactly the case. He could have said I've never seen a man cry before, which was true. The fact was, Terrence hadn't been around many adult men in his short life. Terrence's mother was a single mom. The only males Terrence had regular contact with were the mailman, and his long haired cat, Garfunkel. The mailman didn't get too emotional about the mail one way or the other, and Garfunkel hardly ever blinked, so it seemed highly unlikely that tears would flow from his furry face.

"I um...forgot something outside. I'll be right back." Terrence said slowly, and with that he crept out of the classroom door and exited as if he were trying not to wake a sleeping child.

As he closed the door behind him, he stepped out into the hallway and came face to face with Harry. Harry's wide eyes stared at Terrence with fear. There was something about this boy that made Harry a little uneasy, and it was an exceedingly difficult task to make Harry uneasy. It was Terrence's calm that made Harry's stomach twirl. Unlike most children who interacted with Harry, Terrence was not afraid. He peered into Harry's black eyes with curiosity, not fear. All at once Harry knew that Terrence knew that Harry wasn't crazy.

"Thank you!" Harry said to Terrence after he had this realization.

Terrence raised his eyebrows in confusion and said:

"Um...you're welcome?" And then let out a little giggle. Harry let out a chuckle. They both sighed a sigh of relief. And Harry said:

"Come here, I'd like to show you something."

***

This is part 10 of my story, A Taste of Wool. I will be posting a new part each Wednesday, as a part of Wool Wednesdays. To read part 9, click here.

A Taste of Wool Part 9

It was 8:15 am, and Urie was standing in the hallway in front of his classroom. Unconsciously, he reached his index finger into his enormous nose. There was a certain comfort in the nasal cavity for Urie that could not be replicated in any other area on his life. It was as if all his problems melted away as he slipped his wrinkled finger into the abyss of his nostril. His finger was fully emerged in nostril heaven at the very moment that Harry turned a corner with his mop. Harry stood next to Urie and stared at him until Urie turned as red as a radish, removed his finger from his nose and said:

"Haii, har, haiiree." Or something of the sort; this was reaction number three. Harry patted Urie on the back and said softly:

"Cottage cheese."

The two began to whistle "Smoke Gets in Your Eyes." By The Platters. Then something miraculous happened, Harry spoke to Urie.

"How did you know I was going to whistle that song?" Harry asked.

"What?" Urie was startled, not by Harry's question itself, but by the fact that Harry was able to utter a full sentence.

"You knew, didn't you?" Harry asked looking deep into Urie's eyes with stare of a child, or perhaps it was more like the stare of Susie's beady rat eyes.

"Knew what?" Urie asked still in shock.

"That I was going to whistle that song." Harry repeated slowly. Urie furrowed his brow.

"Well Harry," he said clearing his throat, "I honestly hadn't given it much thought. I guess it just kind of happened."

Harry scoffed at Urie.

"Nothing just happens! Okay?! Do you think it's a coincidence that we only have three possible interactions with one another?" Harry was getting riled up. He was losing control, of what he wanted to reveal to Urie.

"Harry, I'm sorry, but I have no idea what you're talking about."

Why was he lying? Thought Harry. Urie knew very well what Harry was referring to. I mean, after all, these interactions were so commonplace between Harry and Urie, they might have been saying to one another "Hey, how ya' doing? How are the wife and kids?"

But Urie was terrified. He didn't like where this conversation was leading. A part of him was beginning to think that Harry was, in fact, crazy.

"Come on Urie! Don't do this! You have an opportunity..." Harry began, but Urie quickly cut him off.

"I think I'd better straighten up before the kids get here." Urie blurted out and with that, he disappeared into his classroom and slammed the door in Harry's face. Urie's heart was running a marathon in his chest. Damn it James Urie! Why can't you keep you finger out of your nose?

He banged his fist against the coat closet, and slumped into his a desk that was way too small for his adult body. And without warning, tears began to flow from his eyes. He was so engrossed in his sadness, that he didn't even hear the door creak open.

***

This is part 9 of my short story, A Taste of Wool. A new part will be posted every Wednesday, as a part of Wool Wednesdays. This is a bonus part for all you pandas reading out there, posted on a Saturday. To read part 8 click here.

A Taste of Wool Part 7

Terrence Warily hung his coat up on the hook with his name written over it. Urie had written all the children's names on pieces of masking tape in blue permanent marker and taped these individual pieces over each of their hooks in the coat closet. Since Terrence was new to Urie's class, his name was written in red permanent marker as opposed to blue. The reason for this was that Urie had misplaced the blue marker, however Terrence felt that it made him stand out more from the rest of the closet hooks, and the other children in the classroom. It was as if Terrence was the star in a major motion picture entitled "Fourth Grade: Adventures in the Coat Closet."

As Terrence approached the closet to hang up his green fleece jacket, he bumped into a boy who held residency at the masking tape zone next to his.

"Damn boy! Watch where you're goin'!" Shouted Rasheed Brown as he pushed passed Terrence to hang up his red winter jacket in it's rightful spot. Rasheed was the loud mouth of Urie's class. Being a Sagittarius with a moon in Leo, he didn't hesitate to tell anyone at any time what was on his mind. It didn't matter if Rasheed was talking to Terrence or Mz. Sweeny, adult or child, he would let them know what he thought at any given moment.

Urie was quite fond of Rasheed. Most teachers at Rutherford Bacon despised Rasheed's forthright manner, which usually resulted in a fight or two and numerous trips to Mz. Sweeny's office. The trips to Mz. Sweeny's office were pointless, because all Rasheed would do was stare at her breasts the entire time.

"Rasheed?" Mz. Sweeny would ask quietly.

"Huh?" Rasheed did not move his eyes from the sagging squash beneath Mz. Sweeny's blouse.

"Do you want to talk about why you felt the need to hit Nicholas?"

"Not really," Rasheed replied "But I guess you want to." Rasheed looked up directly into Mz. Sweeny's eyes. Mz. Sweeny said nothing, so Rasheed returned to staring at her breasts. After a half hour of this, Mz. Sweeny gave up and returned Rasheed to Urie's classroom, or recess, or music, or whatever activity Rasheed happened to be missing out on in order to get a better look at Mz. Sweeny.

***

"S-S-sorry," Terrence muttered "I didn't mean to..."

"That's all right," Rasheed said slapping Terrence on the back "You're the new kid, I'll cut you some slack. But don't let me see your ass in my space again, got it?" Rasheed said with a wink.

"Okay..." Terrence began, but Rasheed had already walked away to sit at his desk.

***

This is part of my short story a Taste of Wool. I will be posting a new portion each wednesday as a part of Wool Wednesday. Today was a bonus for you chickens, since Jenni Chiu requested it, and I love her.

A Taste of Wool Part 6

Was Harry crazy or were Mz. Sweeny and the rest of the school officials the crazy ones? I knew he wasn't crazy, and so will you too soon, but they wouldn't and couldn't (for that matter) listen to me. Harry would bellow at Dr. Drillateral:

"You think I'm crazy! I'm not crazy!" Dr. Drillateral would politely nod and respond

"Do you think that I think you're crazy?" To which Harry would reply

"BLAHHHHHHHHHHHH!" Or something of the sort.

Therapy sessions had progressed to this point, and Dr. Drillateral felt as if there at a stalemate. When their sessions started, Dr. Drillateral couldn't get Harry to talk at all. In fact, if Harry uttered anything at all, even if it wasn't quite a word, Dr. Drillateral considered this therapeutic progress.

Any vocalization at all impressed Dr. Drillateral. If he had confided this in Mz. Sweeny, however, she would have asked "what do you mean by 'vocalization?'" So he refrained from disclosing too much information to her about Harry's therapeutic sessions. He simply told her that Harry was making wonderful progress. That was all she wanted to hear anyhow.

***

Terence Conrad was new to Rutherford Bacon. He had just moved to town and was about to start the fourth grade in a new school. Terrence was used to moving, and his mother had shown him that it was indeed possible to move more than ten times in one's life. Since Terrence had only lived nine years on this planet, it evened out to about one move per year of life.

During the course of his travels, Terrence had had some strange encounters with regard to elementary education. In Terrence's third grade class, his teacher, Ms. Hanover, kept two pet hamsters in the classroom. It seemed to Terrence that there was something a little off beat about Ms. Hanover, but he couldn't quite put his finger on it.

Terrence's suspicions were confirmed one day when he was supposed to be out in the yard playing dodgeball. He was bored, and rather curious as to what it was that Ms. Hanover did while the others were out getting assaulted with a giant red blow up ball.

When Terrence quietly tip-toed up to the doorway of his third grade classroom, he was amazed by what he saw. Ms. Hanover was sitting on the beige carpet enclosed by bookshelves, her legs spread eagle revealing her underwear (for she was wearing a skirt) waiting for the innocent hamster to enter the abyss between her thighs.

Terrence was not at all interested as to what Ms. Hanover did with the rest of the 40 minute recess block, and he decided to leave.

Now he was beginning the fourth grade hamster free. In fact that was the first thing that he bothered to check in Urie's classroom, whether or not Urie kept classroom pets. Fortunately Mr. Urie was allergic to hamsters, and pretty much any other animal with fur. And even if he wasn't, Terrence was pretty sure that Urie looked far different from Ms. Hanover in a skirt.

***

This is part six of my short story, A Taste of Wool. I will be revealing a new part each Wednesday (even though today is clearly not Wednesday and this is late) as a part of Wool Wednesdays. To read Part 5 click here.

A Taste of Wool Part 5

"I'm afraid he's not well." sighed Dr. Drillateral Eisenger PhD. "He's suffering from a delusional disorder in which he believes that he is actually having conversing with this mop of his."

Mz. Sweeny narrowed her eyes and leaned in closer to Dr. Drillateral.

"How do you mean conversing?"

"I mean," said Dr. Drillateral clearing his throat "that Harry believes that the mop can vocalize."

Mz. Sweeny smiled that vacant smile of hers and blinked exactly twice, Dr. Drillateral counted.

"What exactly do you mean vocalize?"

Dr. Drillateral was a patient man, so he understood that the lack of clarity in this situation was due to Mz. Sweeny's stupidity. He proceeded, out of sympathy for her lack of intellect, to entertain her moronic queries. Dr. Drillateral stared directly at Mz. Sweeny's sagging breasts, which were climbing out of the lavender low cut blouse that she was wearing and said:

"I mean that he thinks the mop can talk, just like you and I are talking right now."

"Well good lord! That's not possible!" Said Mz. Sweeny in disbelief.

"Yes, Mz. Sweeny. I know that, and you know that, but he..."

"Doesn't know that?" She asked incredulously.

"Exactly!" Dr. Drillateral beamed. He had an overwhelming urge to sleep with her as a reward for getting the punchline. But he quickly repressed this urge as Mz. Sweeny brushed aside a strand of her hair.

"Well what are we going to do?" Mz. Sweeny moaned.

"Well, " Dr. Drillateral said calmly "He needs help. he might need to be put on some sort of medication.

"No no! I don't care about that!" Mz. Sweeny exploded. "I mean, how is it going to look if the Rutherford Bacon Elementary School janitor is institutionalized?! No one will ever want to send their children here again."

Mz. Sweeny took a deep breath and realized that she had just lashed out at Dr. Drillateral, who was staring wide-eyed at her. The notion of sleeping with Mz. Sweeny has packed up and gone on an unpleasant trip to Antarctica. He was left all by his lonesome staring at this idiotic creature in disgust.

"We can't let him go! He stays here for the good of the community, the welfare of the little ones. Plus, we can't have this awful news spreading around town. Doctor, what do you suggest we do?"

Dr. Drillateral signed for what seemed to him like the 20th time and said:

"I'm going to be honest with you, at the very least he needs counseling."

"What exactly do you mean by counseling?"Asked Mz. Sweeny in all sincerity.

Here we go again, thought Drillateral. His patience was waning.

"Therapy! He needs therapy!" He exploded.

As soon as he blurted out those words, he knew what question was coming next.

***

This is part five of my short story, A Taste of Wool. I will be posting a new part each Wednesday as a part of Wool Wednesdays! To read part 4 click here.

A Taste of Wool Part 4

"Tested? What do you mean, tested?" Urie said with a puzzled expression.

"I mean that they're finally gonna confirm that that guy is a full-fledged lunatic!" Replied Marvin Greenwall between sips of his coffee. Marvin was at third grade teacher who was born with a landfill for a mouth. It was like doing push-ups for Marvin to utter a phrase that didn't include vulgar language.

"I can hardly believe they've put up with him this long. Jimmy Rosenfeld peed in his pants after he saw Harry yelling at a bucket of Mr. Clean! It took me hours to calm the little fucker down!"

"Well, Harry is a little off-beat, but he's not..."

Marvin raised his coffee cup in Urie's face.

"Off-beat! Christ, Urie, he's crazy. He's scaring the kids, not to mention he's giving the school a bad name. Parents don't wanna send their kids here, 'cause of the loony janitor who makes kids piss on the floor. Shit, I wouldn't wanna send my kid to a place like that, would you?"

No, Urie thought, he guessed he wouldn't. But still, Harry didn't seem to be unstable, just a little eccentric. Sure, he had a few strange habits like talking to his mop or himself, but was he doing anyone any harm by tangoing to the beat of a different salsa?

"Look, I just can't say with a clear conscience that Harry is crazy. Marvin, this is Harry we're talking about. Harry who used to play poker with you in the teacher's lounge during lunch."

This was true, there was a time when Harry used to engage in frequent poker rounds with Marvin, and whomever else was gullible enough to convince them into playing. Marvin was an expert poker player, and even though they only played for sugar packets, Marvin could rot his entire mouth with the amount of packets he collected during the game.

Marvin recalled the first day he asked Harry asked to join him in his daily poker game. Marvin was "whipping Mr. Klein's ass" at the time, as he would put it, and was getting bored with Klein's game.

Klein was a middle aged 1st grade teacher with an enormous bald spot next to his left ear that made his head look off-center. Every time Marvin saw him in the hallway, he wanted to say "Do you know that you have an enormous bald spot that makes your head look off-center?" But he knew the answer was obvious.

Anyhow, Klein was taking a severe beating in poker, and Marvin happened to noticed out of the corner of his eye Harry strolling down the hall with his bucket and loyal soapy sheep dog.

"Hey Harry!" Marvin yelled out the door of the teacher's lounge "You wanna play a round?"

Harry boorishly turned to face Marvin, the way that a panther might turn to face it's prey. He stared at Marvin for what seemed to Marvin like forever. Finally Harry decided that this was a reasonable offer.

Harry didn't care much for cards. Harry didn't care much for anything, but he was apathetic at best about cards. However, Harry, found Marvin to be quite entertaining, and decided that this was enough of a reason to stick around.

"Okay, okay, so loony tunes played a few rounds of cards with me, big freakin' deal. That doesn't make up for the fact that he's short a few marbles." Marvin stopped and realized that he'd just made an awful pun.

***

This is part four of my short story, "A Taste of Wool." I will be posting a new part each Wednesday, as a part of Wool Wednesdays. Click here to read part 3.

Some questions for you:

1. Who will test Harry to see if he's mentally unstable?

2. Who's the narrator?

3. Is Harry crazy? Why/why not?

A Taste of Wool Part 3

They all thought Harry was crazy, except for Terrence and myself of course. And so what, you might think. So what if the entire staff of Rutherford Bacon Elementary school believed that Harry the janitor, the weird guy with the mop, was crazy. He was just a custodial worker. Did it really matter all that much if he went around talking to his mop or himself, depending on who was observing him.

But the problem wasn't the observation of the teachers or even the students. Rather, it was the gossiping of prospective parents eager to send their children to a top notch elementary school. Once these parents got a glimpse of Harry the janitor bantering with his soapy friend on a stick, most parents were quickly deterred from looking into this fine elementary institution any further.

Rumor spread fast around town, and soon Rutherford Bacon's tour population dwindled significantly. This concerned Mz. Sweeny, the PTA president and the unofficial public relations queen of R.B. The few parents that continued to tour the school were forewarned of the eccentric janitor that came with the school like the prize at the bottom of a Cracker Jack box. Parents did not shy away from asking questions about Harry and his potential absence of sanity. Naturally, this was all related to the safety and well-being of their offspring.

Well folks, the feces hit the propeller one day on a routine tour of R.B. A father and his buck toothed daughter, a prospective Rutherford Bacon student, were touring the school when the daughter caught sight of Harry talking quite excitedly to his sud-filled friend. The tour proceeded onward down the hall, but the girl decided to stop and examine what was going on.

Being a bit of a know-it-all, the girl thought the she was going to clue Harry into something he had failed to realize.

"Hey mister?" She said insistently tugging on Harry's sleeve.

Harry abruptly turned to face buck tooth as if an electric shock had risen up through his body.

" You know you're talking to yourself?"

Harry's eyes open so wide that it looked as if they might fall out of their sockets. His lips parted and he released a sound that could only be replicated if a lion were mated with a crow. Buck tooth was terrified. Her little mouth opened a peep in comparison to Harry's gaping hole of a mouth, and she went running crying and screaming to her father. Dad decided to take the matter directly to Mz. Sweeny.

"Mrs. Sweeny..."

"Please," Mz. Sweeny said as she held out her hand. "I prefer to be called Mzzz. Sweeny, like the soft buzzing..."

"Mz. Sweeny, What the hell kind of school is this?! How can you live with yourself when you know that you're paying an insane man to scare the bejesus out of innocent children?! You do realize that this man is completely out of his mind?!

"Well Mr. Barns," Mz. Sweeny said with a saccharine smile, "I'm terribly sorry that our janitor scared your little girl. I can assure you that this is not a regular occurence in the Rutherford Bacon community!"

"Well I'll tell you, that man ought to be put away! He's not right in the head, I tell you! He's not right!"

And with that, buck tooth's father slammed the door behind him leaving Mz. Sweeny with those words ringing in her ears, "he's not right!"

During this exchange, Harry was waiting outside of Mz. Sweeny's office whistling Zippity Do Dah and stroking the mop's wooden handle as if he were petting a loyal sheepdog. Occasionally he would put his finger to his lips in a gentle quieting motion, as if he were calming the mop from talking excitedly. Mz. Sweeny opened her office door, took one look at Harry, and thought: he's not right.

**This is part three of my short story, A Taste of Wool, as a part of Wool Wednesdays. I will be revealing a new part each week! Read part two here.

Some questions for you:

1. What will happen next?

2. Who is Terrence?

3. Who's the narrator?

A Taste of Wool Part 2

Those who had not overcome their habits of thumb sucking and nose picking who were not approaching middle age at any rapid rate chose to call Harry "that weird guy with the mop." There were a number of reasons who Harry had received this title. The first reason being that it was nearly impossible for the kindergartners to pronounce the name "Harry." Most of them had a terrible problem pronouncing their "r's." Thus, when they tried to say "Harry," it came out sounding more like "Hawee."
But the main reason for the "the weird guy with the mop" emerged one day when Harry had first begun his custodial job at Rutherford B. Bacon. It is not such a strange phenomenon that a janitor should be seen carrying around a mop. After all, a janitor's job is to clean, and a mop is an integral part of this process. The peculiar thing about Harry, was that he was often seen talking to the mop.
Harry would take a break from cleaning, lean the mop up against one of the walls in the hallway, and begin talking to it. Many of the children would catch Harry in the midst of his conversations with the mop. Often, they would run off snickering to themselves at the sight they had just seen.

***

This is part two of my story, A Taste of Wool. I will be revealing part three next Wednesday as a part of Wool Wednesdays.

To read Part 1, click here.

Some questions for you:
1. Who's narrating the story?
2. What will happen next?

A Taste of Wool Part 1

I wrote this short story in 1999, the spring semester of my freshman year at Ithaca College. I'll be revealing a new part every week on Wednesday. The first installment starts today, even though it's clearly not Wednesday.

A Taste of Wool

By Sarah Fader

Harry Ellis was a janitor. Of course everyone who worked around him at the Rutherford B. Bacon Elementary School knew him solely as Harry or "that weird guy with the mop." Those who addressed him as Harry were usually beyond the stages of thumb sucking and nose picking, though this was not always the case. There was Mr. Urie, a fourth grade teacher, who was very familiar with the areas of nasal passage. Sometimes Harry would catch Urie (whom all the fourth graders referred to as "Urine") in the act of familiarizing himself with his nostrils. Urie would abruptly remove his finger from the area in question and clear his throat.
"Well hello there Harry, you old rascal! How's the day treatin' ya?" Urie would remark.
Urie was a scruffy middle-aged man with glasses that always seemed to fall to the edge of his enormous nose. It seemed to the nine an ten year-old population of Rutherford B. Bacon that Urine wore the same red knit sweater vest every day.
Harry liked Urie very much. He didn't mind Urie's nasal fixation, and apparently Urie didn't mind Harry, or as others called him, "that weird guy with the mop."
It became sort of a routine Harry would walk up to Urie, catching him in the act. Harry would stare at Urie until Urie noticed that he was being stared at. Finally, Urie would spark up a conversation with one of his many ingenious conversation starters.
"How's that floor looking, Harry? Can you see your pretty face in it?" This remark Harry identified as remark "p" for "pretty face." It was often followed by a forced chuckle, but not always. On the occasions when the chuckle was included, Harry referred to it as "p-chuckle," which eventually became "pachuckle."
Sometimes, Urie would be so flustered in his activity that he couldn't even manage to form a complete sentence or decipherable word for that matter. Urie would nod and say "Haaarriee." This was between numerous throat clearings that were the product of intense embarrassment. Harry called this remark "cottage cheese." He didn't know why exactly, but he thought it conveyed the essence of what Urie was so desperately trying to communicate.
The third remark couldn't really be considered a remark at all. What would happen was Harry would approach Urie in the midst of his nasal orgasm, Harry would stare at Urie for what seemed to both of them like an eternity. Finally, Harry would assume that Urie was not going to speak at all, and would start to leave. But Urie would realize that the staring had ceased and would begin whistling a a tune that both Harry and Urie were particularly fond of. Then the two would join each other in a duet.
It was always a surprise as to which of the three possible reactions Urie would choose. After Urie would react, Harry would find a way to say the name of the reaction that Urie had chosen. For example, during Urie's chuckle after he said the pretty face remark, Harry would pretend to laugh along with him, but he was really repeating "pachuckle, pachuckle, pachuckle," over and over again. Urie never seemed to notice.
What Urie did notice was that every time he was particularly flustered and could not utter a decipherable phrase, Harry would pat him on the back and say with the wink of an eye, "cottage cheese." Though, Urie had no idea what "cottage cheese" was in reference to, the sound of Harry's voice saying it was always so comforting, so he took it to mean "it's okay."
Urie and Harry had a unique relationship. Very few people understood Urie, and fewer people understood Harry. Let it be known that other than these three possible exchanges, Urie and Harry never spoke at all. It was only through these minute interactions that these two men had any contact at all.

***To be continued