It is a dark time for the schoolhouse alliance.


We were sitting at the picnic table at the back of the field by the fire-pit, eating steak and potatoes and drinking wine. Popsicle was chasing bugs. Slozo was telling Littlestar and I about his plan to go to China in August. The sky was full of fat, fluffy cumulus stacks marching slowly out of the reddening west.

Old Oak walked up and declared that we needed to have a serious chat about the state of the cottage. It was suggested that we break for discussions when we'd finished our fine meal. This enraged Old Oak so he changed his tact and decided to attack Slozo on the grounds that he didn't care about the cottage, descending into peurile insults and paranoid rage before three sentences had been exchanged.

My wife looked over at me. I chewed thoughtfully. "This steak is really excellent," I said.

Old Oak was barely into a monologue detailing his selfless sacrifices interspersed with cruel insults against his son's character when Slozo declared the conversation -- at least on its present terms -- quite concluded. Old Oak's face turned purple.

I cleared the table and Littlestar took Popsicle inside. When I came back out Old Oak and Slozo were standing in one another's faces with chests puffed out like gorillas, spraying spittle and profanity at one another like some primitive but vicious form of germ warfare. "You can't intimidate me this way. I'm not a kid anymore. I won't take it from you!" Slozo shouted.

"Oh, so now you're the big king?" Old Oak demanded, his eyes wild. "Everyone bow down before the great king Slozo, ja?"

I started unloading firewood from the trailer, so Slozo broke the moment to assist me. We both calmly tossed wood into the pile by the fire-pit as Old Oak continued to rage in boiling soliloquy. He grasped around his mind in search of anything he could strike out with, but Slozo wasn't taking the bait.

Old Oak wandered away a few steps, turned back, threw another dart. When he got no response he retreated another few paces, and then hurled another.

Littlestar came down the steps and into the yard, passing by Old Oak briefly. He picked up the hose and began aggressively watering the garden as he started in at Littlestar. She just walked away, and joined us by the fire-pit again.

"Is he still fishing?" I asked.

"Still fishing," she confirmed.

"What a troll," I muttered.

"Stupid fucker," commented Slozo.

Old Oak went to get drunk, and to rage at his wife for our disrespect. Imagine his chagrin at finding out that not only did I lack the patience to endure his blithering abuse, but his own son had the gall to stand up for himself, too! Inconceivable!

Judgement has been passed: Old Oak will no longer do his part to help prepare the cottage for sale. The projects he had promised to complete will be left as is. He will also no longer contribute to the maintainance of the schoolhouse property, withdrawing the use of whatever he can think of to inconvenience us.

"I must do what I believe is right!" he croons like a madman.

Indeed. I sigh. Poor fool.

His life must have been well fucked up to be make him the man-child that spazzes before us today. He is a testament to the fact that experience does not in and of itself qualify wisdom, or lend maturity.

It is clear to me now that he has been put on this Earth in order to test me. I breathe deep. My patience will prevail!