You stand at the window of your office, watching the light play across the river many stories below. The coffee your assistant has quietly brought in is steaming in the late afternoon sunshine streaming through the two story plate glass window. Your eyes lose their focus as you are taken over by a full body memory.
You have been blocked from the bleachers by Mr. Paulson, glowering at you in his PE teacher warm up tracksuit and porno mustache.
“Rivers, did you hear me blow my whistle?” - he roars
You did not. You stand there staring at your cheap JCPenney sneakers, scared silent while your classmates snicker and cackle on the stands.
“Ok Rivers, I want to see you finish that last lap of the court, and I mean all the way around.”
You are dead tired, twenty laps was already a lot, what does it matter that you cut across the court when everyone had finished? But Mr. Paulson blows the whistle at you.
“Move it Rivers!”
Once again in trying to avoid it, you have managed to become the center of attention. You should have just finished the run even though you were almost a full court circuit behind - as usual. You start shuffling and the stands erupt in ironic cheers. Every footfall is a new misery. On top of the actual physical pain, you feel all the accreted indignities the boys have been piling on for two years now, starting back at your first day at the school.
“Hey guys! Look at the new dog! This one’s got a juicier rump than the other doggies…”
“Oooh la la!” - they all chanted
“Yeah, he’s carrying a full caboose back there!”
“Juicy caboose!” - one screamed and the rest picked up the chant
“Juicy caboose, caboose, caboose!”
The rest of the terrified freshmen had scattered as the upperclassmen circled around you. You futilely tried to hold on to your bookbag as they shoved you back and forth across the circle slapping your behind.
“I think this doggie needs to take a piss!”
At that, they grabbed you by the arms and legs and lifted you up.
“To the tree! To the tree! Tree the caboose!” - they chanted as they trotted with you down the slope to the little grove separating the school entrance from the parking lot.
All you could think of was your new school books - which you had already read before the first day of school - dropped and abandoned. You hoped one of the other new boys would have thought to grab your bookbag.
You soon realized what they were doing, they splayed your legs and aimed you crotch first towards a tree trunk at full speed. At the very last moment they stopped, dropped you with a thud and scampered back up the slope cackling and jeering as they went in search of other freshmen to torture.
You laid there, legs splayed around the tree trunk, staring at the canopy. Uncertain what to do next, afraid some stragglers may be still about. You could feel your face burning with shame. As the first bell rang for class, you heard steps coming up the path from the parking lot, and soon someone leaned over you, a dark shape silhouetted against the speckled sunlight.
“Hello doggie.” - The dark shape said with a smirk in their voice, holding out their hand to help you up.
“Thank you” - You said, relieved that he was wearing the red uniform shirt that marked him as a senior.
Hazing was apparently mostly delivered by second years, though both second and third years wore the same yellow shirt so impossible to distinguish on this first day of classes. The seniors were too cool to be involved in childish games - they had car privileges and could go off-campus during lunch and their free periods so they spent most of their free time smoking in the parking lot.
“What’s your name doggie?” - The senior asks as they walk up to the entrance
“James - Jimmy - Rivers” - You stammer, the blush fading from your face.
“Rivers, don’t worry about those idiots, they’ll soon tire of their bullshit games. By next week it will be mostly over.”
“Can I ask you a question?
“Sure doggie.”
“Did you have to go through this your first year?”
He laughed shaking his head
“Nope. My parents moved here from A—-- so I came in as a second year; it confused the shit out of all the idiots. Nobody could figure out what to do. I was never even called a dog!”
“Lucky you…”
“Ah, you’ll be doing the same to the first years come this time next year and you’ll forget about this”
You said nothing as he jogged away to join a group of seniors heading to class but you were certain you wouldn't.
“Rivers, pick it up, we don’t have all day!” Paulson screams at you
Everyone is laughing and they start chanting
“Lose the caboose, lose the caboose!”
You look over expecting Paulson to put an end to the shenanigans but he is grinning and twirling his whistle on its lanyard around his finger. It feels to you a motion akin to a cartoon villain twiddling the end of their mustache.
You finally, painfully, arrive back at the bleachers under Paulson’s mocking stare. He blows the whistle in your face.
“Rivers, just remember that you’ll have to pass PE to graduate” he says as he jerks his thumb at the bleachers.
You climb up and join your classmates who are applauding and jeering. You sit down aware of your burning thighs and the deep embarrassment burning at your core.One of your classmates leans down to whisper in your ear.
“Rivers, you’ll always be a loser”
Your assistant comes in and rouses you from your reverie.
“Mr. Rivers, I am about to leave. You are the last one here. I checked with La Vendome and they are holding your usual table by the window. I assume just you as usual?”
“Yes Anna, Thank you, see you tomorrow”
“Remember that you have a packed schedule tomorrow; again.”
You wave her off and go back to staring out the window, your reservation is not for another hour and a half. Maybe you’ll do some work.