Johnny Wraith Stories

The important thing was having a big pencil top eraser fit over the end of your yellow #2 pencil. If you didn’t have a pencil top eraser, you were unfortunate at best. Left out, not one of the rest. When I was 10, in grade school, pencil top erasers were the real currency. Just like cigarettes in prison, but much more rare. Not all kids had a single pencil top eraser. Their #2’s were nothing more than bite marked yellow sticks with the original erasers ground down to the metal ends. If you’d try to erase with it, it would leave a nasty black mark, or worse, the eraser would be rubbed down so far that the metal end would gouge your paper.

I had spent many sleepless nights worrying over my lack of such a pencil top eraser. How would I look at school when I pulled out my unadorned, yellow #2? What if I made a handwriting mistake, tried to use the tiny bit of eraser I had left, but only made a nasty smudge, or worse yet, gouged my paper? Fortunately, I had a lucky day. I didn’t think it was a lucky day at first. The SCHOOL’S OUT! bell rang at 3:00pm. All the kids scurried out of class, to the busses, or started walking home, but not me. Ms. Craig was making me stay at my desk for 10 minutes, for not paying attention in class, staring out the window, falling asleep, or something like that.

When the ten minutes expired, I shot out of my seat and down the hall with Ms. Craig yelling “NO RUNNING!” I kept running. I’d have to pay for my offense, in time, the next day. I didn’t care. I wanted the hell out of there. I ran down the steps, through the gym, onto the playground, climbed the chain link fence. I spotted a gym bag just laying there. I looked around. No one in sight. I grabbed the bag and sprinted into a nearby copse. Hidden by trees and bushes, I pillaged the bag. Textbooks I threw aside, notebooks… I found a quarter and a nickel, put them in my pocket. A baseball card! George Fucking Brett! Go KC! I was missing that card. I handled Brett with care, carefully slid him into my front shirt pocket. I thought I’d emptied the bag, but just to make certain, I turned it upside down and shook it. Something rattled and fell into the grass. Something colorful. Something more wonderful than any trading card: A NEW, UNUSED, PENCIL TOP ERASER!

I slept well that night. I had a dream I finally collected every baseball trading card for the past three years, placed them in albums, mint condition, behind cellophane, in perfect serial order and labeled. It was a wonderful dream. I went to school with my head high, proud, #2 with special eraser carefully stowed in my backpack. Nothing in the world could shake me. Not even knowing I’d be staying after school for running in the hall.

We started in Home Room, then went to English. “Alright class, get out your notepads and pencils, and write down the spelling words on the blackboard,” instructed the teacher. It was my moment of glory. I reached into my backpack and pulled out my notepad, flipped it open. Then I reached into the pack for my #2. The whole world was in slow motion. I was grinning ear to ear. A chill of suspense was down my spine. The greatest moment of my life. My classmates were frozen, eyes widened, jaws hanging open in silent gasps. My #2 was no ordinary yellow stick with bite marks and metal end. It was adorned with a big, pink, unused, pencil top eraser. I felt like crying.

Someone tapped on my shoulder. “Let me see your pencil.” It was Joey. He sat behind me. He was a bad motherfucker. He was a latchkey kid, always wore concert t-shirts, was good on a skateboard, and could do me in with the flick of a finger. But, I had a prize worth my life. I ignored him and kept scribing the spelling words, but my fingers were growing cold. I could feel the nervous energy building in my stomach. It was a daring and foolish move inspired by greed. That eraser was worth more than my life.

The thick fingers tapped on my shoulder again. “Let me see your pencil,” Joey whispered in his mean, gruff voice. “I won’t tell you again.”

I ignored him. My blood went cold. That cocksucker wasn’t going to get my pencil top eraser, even though I knew things were going to get much worse. I was determined to stay the course, and kept on scribing.

After about 10 harrowing minutes, Joey leaned forward and gave me the news I feared most. He whispered, “I’m kicking your ass, after school.” I just about shit in my pants.

The whole class knew, within minutes, that Joey was going to kick my ass after school. The whispers moved like wildfire through the classroom, and the teacher never raised her head from her latest novel, except once, to say “Now write a sentence with each of your spelling words. You can find the definitions in the back of your Sounds and Patterns book.” I could see it in my classmates’ glances, their giggles with covered mouths. They knew my unlucky fate. I started sweating, my throat was tight. With trembling hands I kept working, trying to ignore the fact that my life would soon end. Still, I was determined to bite the dust with that pencil top eraser clenched tightly in my cold, dead hands.

Never had time moved so slowly. The hour until recess seemed to take a year. The second hand moved like a minute hand on the clock on the classroom wall.

Recess came. Joey stood there with his gang of latchkey kids, they all watched me, they all laughed at me, the fate to which I was doomed. Many of the other kids taunted me. “Joey’s going to beat you up! Joey’s going to beat you up!”

Fortunately, my friend Billy came to my aid. He was a latchkey kid too, but he’d taken a liking to me because we both loved the rock band Kiss, and we both loved to talk about Star Trek. We each desired to one day become Starship Captains, to explore new worlds, kiss green women with big tits, just like Captain Kirk. “Come to the side of the school building,” instructed Billy. I followed him, we disappeared from sight. Billy picked two golf ball sized rocks out of the dirt and handed them to me. “You won’t be able to outrun him. He’s faster than you and he’s got a skateboard. When he comes at you, aim for his face. You’ve two chances. Don’t miss. Run like hell as soon as you hit him. You might have a chance.”

That fateful day took years to end, the second hand began moving as slow as the hour hand, on the clock on the classroom wall. I felt like throwing up. My fingers were ice. My whole body was tense. I was sweating.

Finally the SCHOOL’S OUT! Bell rang. “Not so fast, Johnny. You’re staying for 10 minutes for running yesterday,” insisted Ms. Craig. Joey was the last out of the class, he turned and winked at me as he exited the class. He had a sinister smile on his face. With trembling fingers, I felt for the rocks in my pockets.

It was time for the showdown. Ten minutes later, I got up from my chair, said goodbye to Ms. Craig, and walked out of the classroom slowly. “That’s the way Johnny. Walk!” Ms. Craig praised me. It was a march to execution. I knew I didn’t stand a chance. But the fear left me. When you’ve accepted your death, you become calm, focused. I imagined I was Captain Kirk, stranded on a hostile planet, going to face an impossible enemy with scales, tentacles, one large eye, 100 ft. tall. I would stay and fight, buy enough time so the Enterprise could launch into warp drive and get away. Only then would I go down, bleeding, fighting. A hero.

Boldly, I marched down the stairs, through the gymnasium, and onto the playground. Joey was there, dead center of the playground, 50ft away. I had a rock hidden in each hand, my backpack on my back. The showdown began. He stood there waiting, and I walked forward to do battle. David and Goliath. Captain Kirk and the 100ft, tentacled space monster. At 15ft, Joey raised his fists and came at me. I hurled my first rock. He nonchalantly blocked it with his forearm, then raised his fists and charged. By the gods, he just blocked the rock with his forearm! Never had I imagined such fighting prowess. He was the God of War. I froze and couldn’t hurl my next rock, let it drop from my hand. Just froze in my tracks. Deer in the headlights. Trapped in time. Too afraid to be afraid. I closed my eyes and tightened my teeth. I could only hope it would be painless.

“BOYS!” Shouted Coach Fuller. “NO FIGHTING.”

I heard an “OH SHIT!” A skateboard began rolling. I opened my eyes. Coach Fuller was standing there. He put his hand on my shoulder and chuckled. “Your lucky day. Now get out of here before I change my mind and give you detention.”

The next day in school, Joey showed up with two black eyes and a swollen lip. That often happened at home to latchkey kids, who rode skateboards and wore concert t-shirts to school, at age 10. All the kids asked Joey what happened. He told them that I’d got the best of him. I took the credit. After school that day, I gave him my pencil top eraser. He tried to turn it down, but I insisted. We became good friends.