HOUSE OF PAYNE INTERNATIONAL: Archive
The Archive: Stories
"Desert Shield, Prairie Storm"
by John Payne
Fall 1996
During the tense December days of Desert Shield, on a day when the teacher was gone and our substitute had fled to the lounge, Paul Bates got in a fight. War does crazy things to a high school, I guess.
I think the sub was going to give us the day's assignment and let us "work quietly," but she gave up and walked out after we started a mini golf tournament with some rulers and ball bearings we found in one of the drawers. The rest of the class took advantage of the sub's retreat to the coffee room by playing with all the toys you can find in a Physics and Chemistry classroom, but Paul Bates and I were busy planning our weekend. I was going to spend the night at his place watching both Conan movies back to back. I knew he was only being nice to me so he could hit on my sister, but I didn't mind. He was still a fun guy to hang out with.
As we talked, this redneck kid walked over to Pete Carter, who was at the table next to us writing a note to his girlfriend. I wrestled, so I knew the redneck's name was Jared and he wrestled at 189, same as his brother before him. Jared was no state champ, but he was big old country boy with arms like a gorilla from bucking hay bales all summer, and his older brother always talked him up in front of the coach when he picked him up from practice. He was a pretty intense wrestler but didn't care for science too well, I guess-- he never said much in class, anyways.
"Hey, boy," said the redneck kid, "why don't you A-rabs go back t' the desert with Sodomy Insane where ya belong? America's for Americans, not towelheads like you."
Pete looked him up and down in surprise. "What?" He was brown as a Mexican, but his folks were filthy rich, which got him in with all the other rich, popular, good-looking twits at school. He was on the soccer team and the tennis team and cocky as any rooster. He just laughed in Jared's face. "What are you talking about?"
The kid was wearing a white trash ballcap stained with machine oil and a brand-new t-shirt that showed a sheik on a camel through a target sight with the words "I'd fly 10,000 miles to smoke a camel" written underneath. He didn't smile. "You know what I'm talkin' about. My brother's over there killing your I-racky cousins, and I don't think you belong here."
Pete rolled his eyes and stuck a toothpick in his mouth. "Okay, look. I'm not from ih-ROCK, all right? My mom is from ih-RON, so she's Persian, and the Persians hate the Arabs more than you do. Got it, dink?"
"Don't matter," said the redneck. "Still camel jockeys."
Pete put down his pen. "Iran and Iraq have been fighting each other for the last 15 years, all right? It's not the same country!"
"Oh yeah? Well my brother's over there and he says all you sheet-heads are all the same. Same as them sand niggers shootin'' down Americans over in I-rack."
"Look! Are you just stupid or are you trying to start something?"
Paul stood up quietly and I realized I was already out of my chair. I was gripping that tabletop pretty hard. Like I could hang on to it.
"Look? Look at you, you prettyboy camel jockey! Look at that earring!" He sneered. "You ain't just a faggit, you're an I-racky faggit!"
Pete stood up and threw his books to the ground, and Paul Bates, who had been watching this all with me, quickly jogged over to the other side of the room, calling out, "Hey, hey, hey, kids! Kiss and make up, okay? Let's play nice."
I sat down again and started to relax.
"Whoa, dude! You got me out of breath!" Paul stood, grinning, and panting in mock exhaustion from his run. He had managed to get between Pete and the redneck kid, so that they couldn't get at each other: Paul's a big guy. A lot of it's fat, because he's not big into exercise, but he's still the biggest guy on the football team, and Coach says if he ever got a fire under him, he'd be a terror.
The redneck let go with a stream of profanity, and Pete lunged for him, but couldn't get past Bates. By then most of us had also crowded around, and the redneck kid's friends were trying to calm him down a little, but he was still spouting off. Jared was ornery, and even more so since his brother got called to active duty. I'd seen him neck bridge for almost 2 whole minutes to avoid getting pinned by some kid from Ark City. He turned on Paul, who was a lot easier to reach than Pete at that point.
"So you gotta watch out for the little mama's boy. The I-racky fag-boy who can't take care of hisself. You A-rab lover! You must be a faggit, too, huh?"
"You got it, dude!" said Paul, winking. "He's my little Sweet Pea. Right, Pete?" He looked at Pete and lifted his eyebrows seductively. He leaned in towards Pete with a lovesick expression and sighed in mock ecstasy. "Oh, Petey! Love me, baby! Harder, Carter, harder!"
I was in tears� I have a comic weakness for 340 lb. centers doing falsetto. I looked around and saw that Pete and all the other guys in the class were laughing and playing along with Paul-- he'd solved the whole problem without a fight. I looked at Jared, figuring even he wouldn't be able to help but grin, but the redneck was not smiling. He pushed Paul from behind, and snarled,
"You two queers are making me sick!"
"Queer, huh? Mekka-lekka-hi, mekka hiney hey! You are a homosexual gay!" chanted Paul in his silliest voice, poking the redneck in the chest. All the class burst into hoots of laughter as Bates pranced around spouting silly rhymes. All but Jared.
"You dirty muslim!" the kid spat. "That's why you love this I-racky queerbait so much, is cause yer a muslim just like him."
Paul stopped laughing and dancing. "Don't get your undies in a bundle, dude! I'm not muslim, hey?" He paused. "I'm Baha'i, and that's different."
"No! There's no damn difference! Just another A-rab cult is what it is!"
I could tell this kid was just losing it. Pete wasn't muslim� he was Catholic on Easter and Christmas and nothing much else in between. Paul wasn't muslim either� he was Baha'i, but Jared didn't have a clue what Baha'i was. I really didn't either, but Paul had mumbled something about it once or twice; he wasn't really the religious type. Basically all I remembered was that Baha'i was started up by some guy in Iran a long time ago. They're not supposed to fight, either, which Paul didn't, but I don't know if it was because of church or whatever. One way or another, it seemed like Baha'i was close enough to muslim for Jared. He'd never known a towelhead from a wetback before, but he'd got this idea lately that every muslim in the world was personally dedicated to wiping out his brother's unit. Dumb redneck.
Big old Paul Bates was really working to keep a smile on his broad face. "Baha'i is not a cult, ya friggin' goat roper."
"Forget it, Bates," said Pete. "He's just being a prick."
"Dirty muslim! A-rab lover!" screamed the redneck. "Go back to I-rack where you come from and take your faggit friends with you! You don't even believe in God!"
"Shut up, dude," said Paul with contempt.
"Devil cult! A-rab faggit devil cult!"
Pete waved for Paul to ignore the stupid redneck, but the easygoing happy fat man act was starting to fall apart. He pulled himself to his full height and pushed Jared back into the teacher's desk. "You shut up before I beat that crap out of you," Paul said with disgust.
Jared looked at Bates's huge belly and laughed. "Why don't you try it, you fat homo? Today at the park at 4 o'clock! Maybe you'll just hafta learn what Sodomy and those I-rackys are gonna learn. You can't beat a real American in a fair fight."
The bell rang and Paul walked out with another word. I scrambled to get my books packed into my backpack, and raced into the hall after him, but he was already gone. . .
Want to read the rest of the story? Just let me know and I'll send you the rest. Also, this story was published in the Spring/Summer 1999 issue of The Texas Review , so you might want to check out their site.
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