The Scholarship Student: Chapter 4 by ckbald

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The Scholarship Student: Chapter Four

If you’re still interested in and reading this story, (thank you!) this is the fourth chapter of a five-chapter story. It will make more sense if you’ve read the first three chapters. It is an homage to, in honor of, an extension and an appreciation of stories written by two of the best, most talented storytellers on this site, Manny and CleanCut.



It was 2:10 on Wednesday afternoon, and since he wasn’t meeting Mikey at Figgleton until 2:30, Marshall was taking a different route, a longer one which gave him more time to reflect on the conversation he’d had Monday afternoon with Mikey in this very truck, as he drove him home after their first chemistry tutoring session. For at least the first ten minutes of that drive home, Mikey had gone on about how sweet Marshall’s Ford F-150 truck was; how silver was a kick-ass color; how awesome the ride was; how if he had the bucks, he’d trade in his Jeep Wrangler, a hand-me-down ride from his older brother, Gary, who was away in college, and get one just like it; and finally, with another sh*t-eating grin and a clap on Marshall’s shoulder, how he’d be cool with having all their tutoring sessions at Figgleton, and getting a ride home after because, "well, d*mn, bro, you have a Ford F-150 and I don’t!" Marshall could find no flaws in the argument, and wholeheartedly agreed.
The truck was Marshall’s pride and joy, and it meant something to him that Mikey thought it was awesome, too. Right then he had felt so…comfortable with him, that Marshall told Mikey about the tragic deaths of his father and beloved older brother, Fred Krusinski. The bro had listened so intently, without interrupting, and when Marshall had finished the story, Mikey had reached over and, for the second time that afternoon, gently gripped him by the neck. Only this time he left his hand resting on the nape of Marshall’s neck for a minute or more. Mikey then let Marshall know the comfortable feeling was mutual, because he told Marshall about how his dad, Steve Maxwell, and his mother, divorced when his dad was laid off, and later came out. This was about twelve or so years ago, at the same time his dad had met Jeff Carson. It had all been so confusing for him, Mikey admitted. When Marshall asked how the two men had met, Mikey said he’d save that story for later. He wanted Jeff to help him tell it. Marshall had let Mikey know that Mr. Carson was his favorite teacher, and he was a role-model for Marshall. Marshall also thought this would have been the perfect time for Mikey to come out, if indeed he were gay, but he didn’t say anything, and neither had Marshall.
"I can understand why he’s your role model, man! When Dad married Jeff, well, Gary and I, our lives changed for the better. And then when he adopted us, sweet!" Mikey gave a fist pump. "Dad and Jeff are superior dads, but, Jeff, yeah, he is the man! He is the mentor! You kinda remind me of him…except for…" Mikey had turned and was gazing out the window of the truck. "Hey, uh, Marsh, did ya know that Jeff’s mentor in high school rocked a flattop? He considered this teacher a real father figure, and for most of his senior year, Jeff dressed like the guy. He even had the guy’s barber at East Side Plaza give him a flattie, the cut he still has tightened up once a week…" Marshall finished the sentence for him, "...at lunch on Thursday."

Just then Marshall saw the twirling red and white barber pole outside the East Side Plaza Barber Shop. As he drove past, he gave a chuckle, wondering if he had taken this long route to Figgleton today because of the rest of their conversation Monday afternoon. After he had mentioned Mr. Carson’s high school mentor and his flattop, Mikey had trained his blue eyes on him and wondered aloud if Mr. Carson really was Marshall’s role model, considering how long his locks were, with that hair in front always flopping down in Marsh's eyes. Marshall had lifted his gaze to the rearview mirror, and smiling, told his "bro" that he was thinking about it…when the time was right. He didn’t admit, though, that he wasn’t sure when the right time was going to be, and Mikey had turned back to face Marshall, saying, "d*mn, Marsh, it’s always time for a tight cut!"
All the guys Marshall admired or looked up to rocked short, tight haircuts. His late brother Fred wore his number one buzz cut because it suited the type of outdoor work he had hoped to do one day. Mr. Carson, he now knew, sported his flattop because his favorite teacher in high school had; and Mikey’s hot af recon got respect, and gave the athletes a sense of community and camaraderie. He knew he was going to say ‘buh bye’ to his chestnut locks; he thought about it all the f*cking time. He appreciated the clean lines, the order, and the maintenance requirements of a tight cut. When the time came for the big chop, and the commitment he would be making, he needed it to be for a solid reason.
By the time they had pulled up at Mikey’s house, their conversation had ranged from how they had become chemistry and history nerds, to their shared love of board games and how they were both super competitive. Before jumping down from the cab of Marshall’s truck, Mikey had turned towards him, and the two fist-bumped, exclaiming "Wednesday, bro!" and "Later, man! Looking forward to it."

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It was just after 4:00 o’clock when, as the two boys climbed into his truck, their Wednesday extra tutoring session over, Marshall looked across the seat of the cab at Mikey.
"You are so f*&%ing transparent," he laughed. "Telling me to meet you in the locker room not the library, just so I could watch Trainer Dougie tighten up all your recons, probably thinkin’ I was just gonna go with the flow and give in to some sort of pressure and buzz it all off this afternoon. Man, I admire your cunning, and appreciate the support…"
Mikey interrupted, "What are ya talking about, Marsh, I wanted you to meet some potential clients, ya know, for some tutorin’. Couple of my bros, well, they could use some of your scientific expertise, and I like to spread the wealth when I can. And it so happens that Wednesday is the day Trainer Dougie performs recon maintenance on the particular goofballs who could use your help."
"I didn't see you gettin’ any recon maintenance there, goofball," Marshall said, punching Mikey lightly on the arm.
"I’m a Monday man. Trainer Dougie split us in half, with Wednesday also being the "newbie’s' ' day for their shearing…so, yeah, maybe I was sorta hopin’ you’d sit your butt down in the chair after Caleb joined the ranks of the recon-ed. A man can hope, huh?"
Marshall smiled as he remembered the thrill he felt watching Trainer Dougie turn the "newbie" into a bro. Caleb was a Figgleton sophomore, and the wrestling teams’ new manager and statistician. Caleb was no athlete, and, according to Mikey, Caleb’s mad math skills and retro nerd attire gave him an unusual level of cool. Today he’d been wearing a sleeveless, rhombus-patterned sweater over a short-sleeved polyester shirt with little crowns all over it. His vintage Hager beltless slacks were burgundy colored and flood level, and he wore suede and leather saddle shoes with thick white socks. Aviator glasses and a pencil tucked behind his ear completed the cool nerd look. Marshall had noticed a little bulge in Caleb’s tight polyester pants as got up from the used barber chair Trainer Dougie had installed in the locker room, and softly brushed his hand over the satin-smooth razor-shaved back and sides and closely mown velvety patch of his new recon.
"I agree with ya man, the recon is an awesome cut. And it’s cool the way the team embraced and encouraged Caleb, you know, since he wants to fit in as the manager."
"Yeah, Caleb knew it was the right time for him, the time to ‘reach higher’, time to ‘respect’ himself, time to work hard at something that gets respect. Our bro was ready!" Mikey turned and looked at Marshall, who had his eyes on the road, and was shoving his flopping chestnut brown hair out of his eyes.
"Why’re ya lookin’ at me like that? I told ya the other day, when the time is right, and the reason is right, I’ll…"
"I know," Mikey interrupted, "You’ll get a haircut! What about the soccer team, can ya get them to get a tight team cut? Something to intimidate the other teams."
"I’m not sure the guys on the soccer team will go…"
Again, Mikey interrupted. "D*&mn, bro, I give up. But whenever yer ready, ya got my support. And the shorter the better is all I’ll say."
Marshall glanced over and smiled at Mikey, but the beefy bro was looking out his window, rubbing the now-slightly-stubbled-back of his head with his fingertips.
They continued on to Mikey’s (and Mr. Carson’s) house in companionable silence.

***********
Marshall gave his mom a hug and a kiss goodnight, and headed up the stairs to bed. He’d spent the last hour sharing some amazing news with her. When the boys had gotten to Mikey’s house, instead of just dropping him off, Marshall had been invited to stay for dinner by Mr. Maxwell, Mikey’s birth father. Steve Maxwell had just jumped down from the cab of his black Ram 1500 Classic, and, instead of going into the house had come over, introduced himself to Marshall, and asked him to stay for dinner. Steve Maxwell was a little taller than his son, and looked to be in his early forties, several years older than Mr. Carson, Marshall figured. He was only slightly less muscular than Mikey and Trainer Dougie, and his tight chinos and close-fitting, short-sleeved dress shirt emphasized his built physique. And though he had what Marshall and his late brother, Fred, used to refer to as a "beer belly", Marshall thought he was pretty good-looking for a guy his age. Unlike his son, what hair remained on his head was not on top. Steve had MPB, and his fringe of gray hair was buzzed, skin tight around the back and sides of his head, and the chrome dome on top smooth and tanned. His short, bristly, precisely-trimmed gray mustache enhanced his overall look of masculine, fatherly authority. Inside, the Maxwell-Carson home was a cool blend of vintage and new furniture, comfortable and homey. Marshall had happily pitched in with the making of dinner, which, since it was Wednesday, turned out to be spaghetti with a homemade sauce that was Mr. Carson’s secret recipe. Dinner had been awesome. Mikey and his two dads immediately made Marshall feel like part of the family, and fatherless and brother-less Marshall had quickly and easily embraced the male camaraderie missing in his life for so long. Mr. Carson and Mr. Maxwell took turns telling the story of how they’d first met at the East Side Plaza Barber Shop when Mikey and his brother were both boys. Mr. Carson shared the story of Mr. Majewski and his pivotal role as mentor, teacher and father-figure in his own life. Mr. Maxwell got pretty emotional as he told his story of losing his well-paying job as a corporate accountant, being offered a job in Barber Al’s brother-in-law’s warehouse business, and finally coming out of the closet, and having his wife understandably ask for a divorce. His skill with numbers, as well as his managerial skills, had proven invaluable, and the one warehouse was now a multi-warehouse operation with facilities in two adjoining states. He told Marshall that his success in a job that he was initially reluctant to pursue, even when he was desperate for work, had given him a much needed boost of self-confidence, and a greater appreciation for the simpler things in life. Mr. Maxwell had risen through the ranks from warehouse floor manager to vice president of the expanded company, keeping as friends the guys he’d been working with and managing from day one. He still got together monthly for poker, beer, and cigars with the same group who’d welcomed him on his first day.
"I thank Jeff’s home cooking and the beer for this," he laughed as he playfully patted the noticeable bulge hanging over this belt. "I tell people it’s too hard to lose it when you’re my age, but, honestly, I don’t even try."
Mr. Carson had then gotten up to start clearing the table, and while doing so, had reached his own hand down and given two forceful pats on his husband’s belly, which was followed by a tight squeeze of Mr. Maxwell’s also-bulging bicep.
"Please keep on not trying; you’re just the way I like you," he said as he went on into the kitchen, followed quickly by Mikey and Marshall.
After the three of them had cleaned up, they joined Mr. Maxwell on the screened in back porch, where he was relaxing on the porch swing and contemplatively smoking a cigar while scrolling through some emails on his phone. He put the phone down and slid over, stretching one arm along the back of the swing so that Mr. Carson could nestle in next to him. Marshall and Mikey each took one of the cushioned rocking chairs and made themselves comfortable. Marshall hoped the evening would never end. He hadn’t been given a specific time to come home when he’d gotten the okay from his mom that he could stay for dinner, but they both knew he wouldn’t stay out late on a school night.
Mr. Maxwell puffed a couple of times on his cigar, then leaned his head back and softly exhaled at the ceiling. He then turned to his husband and said, "So, Mr. Carson, is now a good time for you to tell Marshall the great news?"
"It is indeed. Mikey, go get my yearbooks so Marshall can have a visual," Mr. Carson said.
"Marsh, you’re gonna be so stoked when you hear Dad’s news," Mikey said, giving Marshall a fist bump as got up to fetch the yearbooks.
"Okay!" Marshall exclaimed. "I can’t wait."
For the next half hour, Mr. Carson had told Marshall the story of the late Mr. Majewski, his high school chemistry teacher, and how the man and his untimely death had changed his life. Marshall was totally turned on by Mr. Majewski’s flattop, as well as his plain, conservative clothes, shoes and glasses. The guys all had a good laugh at the pictures of the pre-senior year Jeff Carson, with his dense head of shimmering black hair, curling luxuriously below the collar of his shirt, captured in many candid photos posing with his buddies, or attending a meeting of some club or another, looking sexy and a little girlish at the same time. As they paged through Mr. Carson’s yearbook for his senior year, where there were just as many candid photos as before, except now Jeff Carson sported his manly flattop and Majewski-inspired wardrobe, Mikey and his dads had high-fived each other, reasserting their belief that a tight haircut was the only haircut worth a man’s time. Marshall chimed in, agreeing wholeheartedly with them, but he knew that until he shed his own prissy, fussy locks, he really wouldn’t be one of the guys, despite how much the Maxwell-Carson men were welcoming him into their family. He was also a little surprised that Mikey didn’t take this opportunity to chide him once again for his long hair.
"Marshall, now that you know my story, I want to tell you about the Majewski Scholarship, and why you’re the next recipient of this award that I founded in honor of my chemistry teacher," announced Mr. Carson.
The smile on Marshall’s face was only outshone by the one on Mikey’s face.

*******
Marshall closed the bathroom vanity drawer containing his hairbrush and comb with a decisive slam, then looked at himself in the mirror. It was the right time, and he knew what he wanted to do. What he needed to do. The floppy chestnut forelock that flopped in his face, the thick rich chestnut locks that now hung well below his collar, all of it would be history tomorrow afternoon. He was the new recipient of a Majewski Scholarship, an honor bestowed on him by the man he considered his mentor and role model. The scholarship hadn’t been awarded in several years because, according to Mr. Carson, no student had truly deserved it. And the last time it had been awarded, a senior girl was the recipient. Mr. Carson had beamed when he praised Marshall’s grades, work ethic, and dedication to helping his classmates better understand chemistry. He told Marshall that it had been a no-brainer getting Marshall’s other teachers and his soccer coach to sign on. And, Marshall was the first junior to receive the scholarship. He’d have his entire senior year to think about which colleges with the best chemistry programs he would apply to now that he had a good chunk of change to pave the way. Suddenly Marshall grinned at himself in the mirror when he remembered Mr. Carson’s parting words earlier this evening. As they walked to Marshall’s truck, Marshall had, in a great rush of words, told his teacher that he understood that he was now representing Mr. Carson’s belief and faith in science, education, hard-work, and service, and that he would do his best to not disappoint or tarnish the name of Mr. Majewski, or Mr. Carson, and that he, too, was gay.
Mr. Carson had just smiled at Marshall through the open driver’s side window and said, "Son, get a haircut."

To be continued:

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