On Your Own Jeff Struggles with Solitude at Snow Wood. — on YOUR OWN —
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On Your Own Jeff struggles with solitude at Snow Wood. — ON YOUR OWN — Before the sun had even risen over Snow Wood Boarding School, the general store just outside campus took in its first customer. The attendant behind the counter stirred, grunting as he looked the boy over. He stamped on the crusty welcome mat for a few moments, but not quite long enough to shake the fresh powder of snow that was now glazing the linoleum floor. The attendant frowned. Most of the other kids from the boarding school were creatures of habit. They swung by at the same time every morning or afternoon, bought the same flavor hog lumps, and chattered with the same mild-mannered boys as they came and went. If he turned his brain off, the faces of his customers would blur together. They were all perfectly pleasant, but the way they would gingerly count out the coins he handed back as change or their insistence on smoothing out even the tiniest wrinkle from their sports coats left a bitter taste in his mouth. He’d first spotted the boy in the early hours of a Friday morning, just after the start of the autumn term. He came through the door by himself, looking smaller than ever as he took off his knit cap and approached the counter, asking if he could use the phone in the back. The attendant blinked. "It's jus' roun' the corner there, mate. Cos' you a quid for the firs' five minutes." The boy nodded, uttering something that was probably 'thanks', and shuffled towards the payphone. The attendant watched the boy amble away. He wasn't even sure if the payphone had been used even once since it had been installed a few years ago. He was considering how long it took for phones to fall into disrepair from lack of use when he heard the boy whispering. The attendant hardly had time to eavesdrop before he heard the click of the receiver. The boy was already making his way to the door. "D'you need anythin' else?" the attendant hollered as the boy reached for the handle. The boy didn’t stop before shaking his head and leaving. He dropped in again a week and a half later. That time, he gave a small wave, but used the phone for an equally short stint. Before he left, he came by the counter and scooped a handful of Black Jacks onto the counter (ten pence each). "I've never even seen any o' the other boys use the phone before," he said, depositing the sweets into a paper bag. "Why's tha'?" 2 — ON YOUR OWN — The boy shrugged as he placed a pound in the attendant's outstretched hand. "They probably use the phone in the commons." "Oh. How come you don' use tha' one as well? Seems awfully convenien' to 'ave a phone so close." He shrugged again as he took the bag and left the store. The piecemeal conversations the boy offered would likely have irritated most, but the work was so dull that the attendant started looking forward to his shifts just to see if he could coax a few more answers from the boy. He bought varying amounts of sweets each time he came, but he paid for them in exact coinage each and every time. Over three visits, the attendant learned he was in Year Eight, he'd had glasses since he was six, and he didn't even like Black Jacks. "No' a big fan o' licorice?" the attendant asked as he rang up the order. The boy shook his head. "Hate it. Friend of mine is the only person I know who loves it." "You an' all your other friends take the mickey ou' o' him for tha'?" The boy shrugged and let out a laugh as he paid for the sweets, then left without another word. The attendant was stunned, but as the door closed, a twinge of revulsion began to set in. He had no problem ribbing on the occasional customer, but it was hard to shake the feeling that he'd overstepped into something especially sensitive, considering the boy had defaulted to his indecipherable shrug. Now that the boy was back for a sixth visit, the attendant struggled to shake the slightly awkward feeling that had settled. Nevertheless, the boy gave him the same wave as he came in, used the payphone, and scooped up another handful of licorice. The boy fumbled in his pockets for the change. "Good thing it's Friday, eh?" the attendant inserted cautiously. "I suppose so." His tone was flat. The attendant ventured on. "You an' all the other kids probably spend so much time in the books tha' you hate weekends, huh?" The boy frowned, still digging for the change. "I dunno, I kind of like them..." "I'm only jokin', don’ mind me.” The boy let out a small laugh. "Oh, well..." The attendant passed the bag over the counter. "You ever go back home for the weekends?" The boy took the bag, and for the first time, lingered on a response. 3 — ON YOUR OWN — "Yeah, we're allowed to." He left the store, and the attendant breathed a sigh of relief. He was so awash in having alleviated the tension it took another hour for him to realize the boy didn't actually answer the question. If there was ever a place to be at noon on a cold Friday morning, it would probably be Snow Wood's central dining hall. Huge windows on every side bathed the room in soft, natural light. There weren't any electric heaters, but the groundskeeper was always in the room by half past ten, coaxing the enormous fireplace with a poker and hearty firewood. A roaring flame was usually in place by eleven thirty, dousing the hall in yawn-inducing heat. Mahogany tables and chairs rested atop the varnished timber boards, giving the room a brilliant, natural earthy scent. Best of all, if you sat in the five odd tables closest to the kitchens, you got front row seats to the delicious smells of whatever the kitchen staff were cooking for lunchtime that day. Jeff arrived at the hall at half past twelve, when most of the seats had already been filled. Classes finished right after lunch on Fridays, and the dining hall was filled with excited chattering that made his ears ring. As he moved along the lunch queue (steak and kidney pie, mash, carrots and peas on the side), he scanned the room for Tony's signature trilby. Coming up empty, he scampered for the first seat he could find. A few of the boys at the table he settled on recognized him and nodded in his direction as he sat down, but most of them were deep in conversation. It was only the middle of October, but they were already chattering about events that seemed to him a lifetime away. "Probably Summers for me," Percy from Dorm C announced through a mouthful of potatoes. "My dad thinks he's going to sail all the way to Scaraba on a rented yacht, the fool." Laughter erupted from the boys as Jeff stabbed the pastry crust of his pie. Percy continued. "It's all fine and dandy in my book as long as he doesn't lump me into things. I'm content to just muck around on the beach or the boardwalk, to be honest." 4 — ON YOUR OWN — The boys nodded, as Michael (also Dorm C) sighed, his expression placid. "The beach sounds fantastic, honestly. It's looking like Mum's working all through Christmas, so I'll be in the apartment in Fourside." "'Some apartment'," Jason from Dorm B snorted. "What a load of rubbish. We all know you'll be chumming it up with Mr. Monotoli from your little penthouse, probably flying around with him in his little yellow chopper." The boys tittered as Michael grinned without much embarrassment. "Yeah, yeah, alright," he said. "I was just taking the piss. I couldn't care less about Monotoli though, I used to see him every time I took the elevator during the summer. I'm more excited about seeing Ms. Venus Aimée at the Topolla, to be honest." He dropped the last sentence without much drama, but the name was all it took to send the boys into a frenzy. "What?!" Leonard from Dorm A exclaimed. "You've got to be joking!" "What seats did you get?" Ralph from Dorm B demanded. Having achieved the desired effect, Michael leaned back in his chair, his hands placed languidly behind his head. "Oh you know," he said, his tone faux casual, "Front orchestra." The boys went into another frenzy as they zoned in on Michael, now the shiniest toy on the table. "Any chance you could take me?" "Take a picture for us, won't you? I think I've got a Polaroid you can borrow..." "You'll get her autograph, won't you? On anything! Anything will do!" Jeff finished most of his pie before the fervor had died down. Jason was the first to speak. "My dad hasn't even decided yet, but honestly, anywhere that's not here will do for me. I'm sick of all this bloody snow." Percy nodded. His eyes flickered toward the silent corner of the table, as if he had just noticed the seat was filled. "What about you, Jeff?" "Huh?" Jeff replied. "I kind of like it..." The boys snickered.