Young Lonigan - James T. Farrell [63]
They walked away, their heads stuck up, laughing at him. He stood there, trying to figure out why girls were so un-understandable, and why they changed and were flighty like the weather. He walked on in a trance, thinking about this and about things in general. He told himself again and again that the world was lousy and he was going to give it one Goddamn run for its lousy money, all right. It was rotten, all right. Just when things were jake, they blew up like they had a stick of dynamite under them. Well, Goddamn everybody, let them lump it. He walked, thinking, dream-planning heroic revenge, telling himself how he would become something daring and famous like an aviator, a lone wolf bandit, an Asiatic pirate, a German submarine commander.
He walked. The day was fine. The wind was cool. It would have been so nice to walk with Lucy. He went over to the park, and found their tree and sat up there, imagining that Lucy was by his side swinging her legs and kissing him. He forgot where he was, and everything else. He only thought of Lucy. Then he thought he was some place else, and this time, some place else was sad, and he didn’t want to be in it, and there was no place else for him to go. The wind again waved through his hair, but now it was only the wind.
He cursed.
He finally grew lonely and needed to find someone, anyone, to be with. He climbed down and walked snappily, so people seeing him would think he had some place to go and that he wasn’t just drooping around like a damn mope. He found himself over near the playground. He went in. Johnny O’Brien, Danny O’Neill and a number of other younger kids were playing indoors, and Miss Tyson, the pretty director, was umpiring. Miss Tyson was a pretty chicken, all right, and a good sport, and whenever she played with the guys, and had to run bases, she slid, and then they could all see her legs. Studs stood and watched them for a minute, and he was just going to ask them to let him in the game, when Old Man Hall, in his tan uniform and looking like he was on his last legs, came up. He looked at Studs, sour and crabby, as if it was Studs’ fault that he was an old man ready to go west.
“Come on, now. Get out of here, and don’t be plaguin’ them that are smaller’n you are. This is no hangout for fellows like you. You ought to be ashamed of yourself, hanging around here, a big fellow like you that ought to be working and earning a living. Come on, get out!” he said in a creaky voice, starting to shove Studs.
“Don’t go shoving me!” Studs said.
“I told you to get out, and if you don’t, I’ll call the police,” Hall said.
“Well, just watch who you’re shovin’.”
The indoor game stopped, and everybody collected around Studs and Old Man Hall. It made Studs feel like an even bigger clown.
Miss Tyson tried to intercede and explain to Hall that Studs was all right, but the old codger made a long speech, telling everybody that he ran the playground, and as long as he did toughs would stay out even if he had to have the police to put them out.
Miss Tyson smiled sweetly at Studs, and apologized. But she couldn’t do anything. To save his pride, he said he didn’t want to come in anyway, and they could all go to the devil before he’d play on their indoor team in the playground tournament, like he’d said he would when he’d been asked to. He left, Hall hobbling along beside him, and almost every kid in the playground witnessing his humiliation. At the gate Hall said:
“Now if you come back, I’ll have you run in. Good riddance to bad rubbish!”
An old guy, who was so feeble he couldn’t probably hold a spoon of soup without spilling it all over himself, doing a thing like that to Studs! It made him Goddamn sore. He told himself: I’m riled sure, now.
He sat outside