The Autobiography of a "Troubled Soul"

By

S. Jeffery Sands

Edited and Approved By

E. S. Young

Chapter Four: The Future-ture-ture-ture…

And now it's time to say goodbye . . . :( I said there would only be four chapters to this but I kinda hoped I'd be wrong. This story was so much fun to write! Not that Home and Smoke weren't/aren't, of course. This one was extremely easy, however. Inspiration just came to me fort it – mostly cuz I based all of the characters (even teenage-Sands) on people in my everyday life. :D; I don't even wanna think about what might happen if said people ever found out about this, but if they do I hope they know that I am very grateful for them and the inspiration they provide. :)

VVV

"I hate gym class," Sands announced before taking a long drag off his cigarette.

"I hate co-ed gym class," his friend Alicia returned. "When we don't have co-ed gym, it's okay," she reasoned. "The guys are such competitive dicks. That's probably why you don't like it.."

He nodded distantly, two fine jets of smoke streaming out of his nose.

"Girls don't care if. If you make a mistake or lose the game, we laugh about it, whereas guys treat it like a life or death situation."

"Yeah," their comrade Gary snorted sarcastically. "Like they're gonna die if they lose a fucking game of dodge ball."

His friends murmured their agreement and then the group lapsed into silence once more. They had stowed away behind the bleachers for seventh period, flat out refusing to run the track with the rest of the class. Last week, after the gym teacher had refused to let Alicia sit out for running despite the asthma attack she was barely recovering from at the time, they had gotten together and collaborated. No way. No more gym class for them. Not after that.

So when the next class rolled around, they had each followed through the beginning of the period as if they weren't planning to skip out on it. They had changed into their tacky maroon and gray gym uniforms and stepped out onto the track like the rest of the kids. They had begun to run when the teacher's whistle had sounded, making sure to run with a crowd so no one noticed when they slipped away. Rounding the first corner of the track, they had branched out from the group of jocks they had been tagging along with, dashed through the open gate that ran around the track, separating the athletes from the fans who attended their sports, and disappeared behind the bleachers.

Alicia had unearthed a pack of smokes, saying that she didn't care if they set off her asthma, that if she died, she wanted to die at the hands of something she enjoyed, not running. Sands and Gary had not protested and had gratefully accepted a cig.

Now they leaned casually against the back of the bleachers, careful not to sit down so the rough shale that covered the ground beneath their feet wouldn't dig into their skin. Inhaling deeply, cigarette still pursed between her lips, Alicia began.

"So, I heard you had a go at Perry again."

The way she said it, she sounded like she was congratulating him. Sands shrugged nonchalantly.

"He deserved it. I was only doing what everyone else wanted to do."

"Uh huh," she agreed, though her tone held amused disbelief. "So did he send you to the principal's office?"

"Ah, hell, Alicia," Gary cut in, "that's probably what he was aiming for." A puff of smoke escaped his mouth as he ran a hand through his spiky, bleached, blonde hair.

Billy Idol-esque or what? Sands wondered silently. Or maybe he's just a devoted fan of Miss K.

"So what'd they do to you?" Alicia wanted to know, tossing her tomato-red tresses over her shoulder and smiling at him, her blue eyes sparkling.

Again Sands shrugged.

"You know Freeman. She couldn't say no to me."

"Oh my God, did you bang her?" Alicia cried, incredulous and trying not to laugh while Gary nearly gagged on his cigarette.

"Christ, no, where'd you think that?"

"Come on, hon, I know what a horn-dog you are."

"Doesn't mean I'll bump uglies with my principal." Sands took another drag off of his cigarette but kept the smoke in his lungs as he spoke. "Anyway, I didn't even do anything and she didn't come on to me." He blew the smoke out through his mouth, closing his eyes as the acrid scent filled the air. "I just knew what she wanted, and she wasn't gonna get it. I've got enough shit going on without a student-teacher affaire to deal with."

"Oh, hon," Alicia sighed wistfully. "You could've benefited greatly if you'd just slept with her. You probably would get valedictorian next year."

"Doubt that, Alicia," Gary put in. "In case you didn't notice, this is a Catholic school in a town that's generally Catholic."

"D'you really think I'm gonna get it when I'm a 'heathen Jew?'" Sands asked her, raising an eyebrow skeptically.

Alicia dropped her eyes to the dull gray of the shale that cut into the rubber soles of her gym sneakers. Sands had a brilliant mind, yet his religion – which he didn't even believe in all that much – continued to hold him back. She knew that he didn't care whether he was named valedictorian for their class or not; it was the sheer injustice of it all that pissed him off.

Alicia sighed, gazing off into the distance, and raised her cigarette to her lips.

"You still should've nailed her," she told Sands. "It would've at least made the rest of your day."

VVV

Part IV

In the future the United States will consist of mostly Mexicans and Caucasians, much as it does now, only the population number will have increased to a whopping 770,500,00. While a woman has yet to run for office, we will have had our first African American candidate when O. J. Simpson's son decides to join the presidential race. Unfortunately, he is no match for his opponent, George Bush II. Once elected and not judged by decisions his father made in the past, President Bush will serve an interesting term doing exactly what his advisors tell him to do: go to Iraq and find those illusive weapons of mass destruction that both his father knew were there the entire time.

The argument over religion in the classroom will have been diluted over the years. However, a rebellious, anger-driven youth will raise the battle once again, insisting that songs with phrases like "The Lord bless you and keep you" should not be allowed in school concerts and should be banned from the school entirely. This person will gain followers, atheists and agnostics alike, all disgusted young rebels, each demanding that religion be ripped from the educational system. This will not be started because the teenager was offended, however. No, the battle for religion in the classroom will have been brought up once again because the student particularly didn't care for the songs May the Good Lord Bless and Keep You, You Raise Me Up, and Joyful, Joyful.

Reading will be dead. By the way things are going, people will have grown so lazy that books will be gone. Practically everything will have been made into a movie in 30 years. If not that, then the books will at least been put on a CD so a person can listen to it instead of wasting energy trying to figure out big words in tiny print.

State testing will be just as alive as it was in 2004, causing intercity schools to rebuild their dilapidated buildings with cardboard and cheap, homemade plaster. Due to a low score on the math portion of the exam, yours truly will have been rejected from every college he ever applied to, even though you do not need to take a single math course if you are planning to a journalist for National Inquire. I will be living out of my car and taking whatever job I can find. Eventually, I will turn to the dark side and take up a position at a McDonalds. Finally, so disgusted with frying the disgusting, greasy, not-quite-food, I will throw off my apron and leave the building. Now on the run from Ronald McDonald and his band of misfit mascots, I will flee the country, winding up in the only place I know I will be accepted: France.

Yes, that's right, France. We make fun of the country in America, but after looking into its culture and government and background, I feel that I'd get along rather well in France. Americans may call the French wimps, but then again, so am I. Kids, seriously, fighting is not the answer. Guns and money are. It's just that simple.

It sounds cliché to say that after finishing school I will move to France, but in all honesty I would like to. Over there, a person can talk about art and literature – and people will actually talk back to you. Of course, I could do that in America, but in France there are more people who will share those interests, whereas over here I have to look far and wide for someone who's even heard of any of the books I like.

As far as my love life is concerned, I cannot see myself getting married, but who knows. Things change, people change, and by the time I hit college (assuming I'm accepted, that is), I may very well be a complete social butterfly. I highly doubt this. While I may be friendlier (yeah, right) I do not think I could ever be a total busybody. Then I'd be like my neighbors and that is just not good.

While there is a slim chance I'll find my 'dream girl' and a mildly strong possibility I'll live out the rest of my days in France, I will not have children. I'm not good with kids having not grown up around any that I particularly liked. I tend to take after my uncle Bernard and scare kids occasionally. I can't even picture myself having children, so what would make me think that I would actually go through with it? According to her siblings, my mother always said that she never wanted kids, yet here Lynné and I are, but I tend to keep my word whereas hers had the tendency to waver from time to time. I guess what I'm trying to say is . . . France, yes; marriage, I doubt it but you never know; kids . . . no, just . . . no.

Thinking things over, I have several careers in mind. Journalism doesn't sound like it would fit me, I'm sure, but think about how much fun it would be to make up a bunch of crap for a newspaper. That definitely has its perks. However, if journalism doesn't work out, I'm thinking of working for the government. Not the military, air force, army, navy, mind you. I feel disgusted just thinking about myself with a buzzcut. Ick. For me, I'm thinking of joining something that lets me travel a lot. The FBI is appealing, but they usually stay on US soil. The CIA, on the other hand, goes all over the world. Plus there's the secret information to consider. If I joined the CIA, maybe I'd finally know if they really did kill Marilyn Monroe and JFK.

I'm sure you're thinking that this sounds odd, me joining the CIA. I severely mistrust the government and create a new theory about them on a daily basis. The last career I should consider is one with the CIA. But remember how that saying goes: "Keep your friends close, and your enemies closer." See where I'm going with this, now?

My childhood was strange, my ideas are offbeat, and when I am at school I act much older than I really am. I know that I may come off as an unsure individual, but, really, I know what I'm doing. I tend to get on track and then jump back off again. Sometimes fashion appeals to me, and sometimes it doesn't. I may like a popular TV show, but most of the time I don't. There is no 'favorite type' for me as far as music is concerned because my tastes are so varied. I could be listening to Mozart's Dies Iraeone moment and then tuning out to one of the Rolling Stone's greatest hits the next.

Unbelievably, there are times when I do like to look presentable, but, as I'm sure the reader knows, I'm not against outlandish, tacky garb. After all, I did dress up like a rock 'n roll legend for picture day. Call me a work in progress, if you will, because I don't know any other way to define my life. I do, however, have a secure idea of where I am headed to, although in another two weeks I could be telling a completely different story. It's quite possible I'll be telling another story just to confuse you. That's simply how I am. I learn from experience and I stick to what I've learned. We're all entitled to our own opinions, aren't we? Mine consist of a widespread variety of things and, while things can be a little rocky at times, I know I'll get my feet back on the ground and be walking my beat eventually. Sooner than most, I'm sure. They say that every person has their own path in life. There just happen to be several forks in mine.

VVV

Back in the deserted English room, with her eyebrows knitted in concentration, Miss Kovinski read through the last page of Jeffery Sands' autobiography. She pursed her lips as she scanned over the last few paragraphs.

'The CIA, on the other hand, goes all over the world. Plus there's the secret information to consider. If I joined the CIA, maybe I'd finally know if they really did kill Marilyn Monroe and JFK.'

Miss K paused, considering. The CIA wasn't responsible for the murder of either of those important figures. The only people who thought that were dangerously paranoid, loose cannons. Still . . . there was Marilyn Monroe's autopsy report to consider. And any information about JFK's assassination wasn't supposed to be released until one hundred years after his death . . .

Oh, she was being ridiculous. And stupid. After all, she was letting a paper Shelmo wrote get to her. Was she actually beginning to think like the boy? She could only pray that she wasn't.

'I know that I may come off as an unsure individual, but, really, I know what I'm doing.'

Snorting so loudly it echoed throughout her empty classroom, Miss Kovinski scrutinized the paper critically. Sheldon Sands knew what he was doing? Her doubts were high. He had already been feeding her nonsense throughout the rest of his autobiography, how did she knew he wasn't lying now?

'Call me a work in progress, if you will . . .'

Call him out of his mind, Miss K thought as she eyed the paper skeptically.

'I do, however, have a secure idea of where I am headed to, although in another two weeks I could be telling a completely different story. It's quite possible I'll be telling another story just to confuse you. That's simply how I am.'

Well, at least the kid got one thing right. He was being honest this time, Miss K had to give him that, but the rest of the autobiography was pure garbage. Shelmo had, after all, stated in the beginning of Chapter Two that if he couldn't think of anything, he'd just lie. His entire autobiography could be one big sham for all she knew.

Miss K snorted again, thumbing through the stack of crumpled papers distractedly. A word caught her eye and she shrugged. She didn't doubt his claims of having OCD. And he liked musicals . . . That was just creepy. And suspicious. She arched an eyebrow when she read that he liked My Fair Lady. She didn't know a single man who did and that made her wonder about Sheldon Sands. Then again, it could have been worse. He could have said that he liked Cats.

Dog caused him to break his nose . . . Uncle telling him that Santa was evil . . . pedophile clownsMiss K shook her head in disapproval. Rubberneckers . . . no family values . . . frozen tear drops . . . what's this kid got against people with nice teeth?

And this concept with the cinnamon . . . That unsettled her more than anything. Cinnamon wasn't – Miss K skimmed through Chapter Two again – 'the aphrodisiac of the complacent happy family.' And Shelmo's sister had thought of this? His twelve-year-old sister? What a liar. Cinnamon wasn't a brainwashing technique devised by the government. It was a spice people put in candles and cereals and air fresheners. This kid was crazy if he thought it ws really a government conspiracy.

Flipping to the last page, Miss Kovinski held her red grading pen between her fingers and slashed a few words in the space left underneath the last words of the autobiography. Far fetched story . . . rather cynical . . . sharp, sarcastic . . . demeaning towards his peers . . . but all in all, it had kept her entertained. And Shelmo had done the assignment . . . So, Miss K decided, she would give him an A for completing his work and, ah, "creativity."

Placing Sands's autobiography face-down, Miss Kovinski reached across her desk for another student's report. She stopped short, her fingers just an inch away from the paper. Beside the stack of autobiographies, resting on top of a pale blue napkin, lay a round, perfectly innocent cinnamon roll, its spiral center staring up at her like one large hypnotic eye.

Miss K stared at the pastry. She had snagged it that morning in the cafeteria before the lunch ladies had closed up shop and begun their work on lunch for the students. She had planned on eating it in class but had never gotten the chance to. Not it sat on her desk, seeping spicy fumes that should have faded hours ago.

Her beady eyes darted back to Sands's paper. For a moment she was still, caught between the outlandish report and the otherworldly cinnamon roll.

Miss K stole one last glance at the autobiography.

Then, in one swift movement, she snatched up the cinnamon roll and threw it in the trashcan.

La Fin

VVV

Heheheh . . . Makes ya wonder, doesn't it?

Author's Thanks and Review Responses

Dawnie-7: I'm with you, I mean, I'm not big on hitting kids at all but when things get out of control sometimes that's the only way to go. I'm thinking of the little demons who live next door to me. Babysat for them once and never wanted to go back. They wouldn't stop yelling! And they had no reason to yell either! XO (shudders at the memory) Bloody brats . . . What's bad is the way their parents think they can just put them in time out. Doesn't work at all. 9.9 But I've ranted enough. At first reality TV wasn't that bad, granted I didn't watch it all that much, I wasn't completely disgusted by it. But when you get shows like the one . . . Film Fakers I think it is? I feel so bad for the people on it because they're really trying to be actors and they think its their big chance and then the shows producers come out and reveal to them that its all a sham, making them look like idiots on national television and thereby securing that they get no acting jobs in the future. And then there's American Idol. Need I say more, really? Bleached teeth freak me out! Seriously, I'll be in school and one of my teachers will flash me a smile and the next thing I know, I can't see for the next few minutes. 9.6;; I doubt that's very good for your teeth too, bleaching them. Straightening them out is all right I guess (death—to—braces) but bleaching them? No, just . . . no.

morph: I didn't even think to mention Latin! :O And that's true, too. We shouldn't call it a dead language when how many languages mostly consist of words that are derived from the original Latin root? Really wish they'd teach it at my school but, alas, that is not possible when most of our funding goes towards new football uniforms (every God-danged year -.9;;). Hope this chapter answered your question about Sands working for the government. And I'm glad I could make your day, too :D

ringbearers-gaurdian: lol, I'm not really worried now that everybody knows I'm not going to go out and shoot any cooks or anything. Actually, I probably should have researched some more for my other OUaTiM stories but usually I'm too lazy to do that. :D; And I've noticed that in several OUaTiM stories, including my own, Sands enjoys the company of redheads. Hmm . . . psychic waves, perhaps?

vanillafluffy: It's good to hear that a bit of older-Sands is showing in this story. It's what I was going for :) And I've been wanting to use the "Big Red" bit for so long . . . 9.6 It was originally suppose to go in SgiYE, but it couldn't really fit in amongst the turmoil. And once again, Sands and redheads! Strange how so any Sands fics have him involved with a redheaded woman. Eh. I'll just slink away and not question things for once :)

fanfiction fanatic: Thanks, and I've seen Nightmare on Elm Street, but thank you for recommending it. It did give me a good idea of what Johnny looked like as a teenager even though I think he was like twenty or so when he was in that.

zigzag: lol, I would have so loved creating a student-teacher affaire between Sands and his principal, but alas, there was only one chapter following number three, so I couldn't really get into a lot without taking away from the autobio :( And I thought you'd meant you'd only found one Sands-childhood fic before mine :D; Once again, I misinterpret things. And Sands is definitely great! I don't blame you for wanting to squeeze him :) o.o Although I don't think he'd particularly enjoy that . . .

The Gilatas Monster: :D I am the master of in-jokes and you know it. Come on, I couldn't very well leave that out – your poor hair! And Sands, he just . . . doesn't like tall people, I dunno why. It'd freak him out, maybe, having a girlfriend who was taller than he was. And you're right. Alicia doesn't' sound bad attached to your last name at all. u.u

Lots of love and thanks to everyone who reviewed and showed their support! Peace out, everybody! And happy Chanukah to all, and to all a good night!

-ESY

o