Apple Jack and the Naiveté of Man
The first time I met Apple Jack it was my first day of high school. It was a warm but overcast day and I was coming back from lunch. I didn’t know where my next class was and I was searching for someone to ask. That’s when I passed by some stone steps leading down to a cellar door around the back of the Arts Building. At the bottom of the steps was a pale black man about 23 years old leaning against the door. He was wearing black socks with no shoes, some tight jeans and a gray shirt that read “8th Annual Walk for AIDS 1992” under an unzipped red leather jacket. His hair was long, curly and shaped into a pseudo-mullet. He had a cigarette hanging from his lips which were ornamented with a big mustache and he looked like he hadn’t slept in a couple of days. He was just standing hunched over in a staircase like he was hiding from someone. He jumped a little when he saw me.
“Hey, man, why you gotta scare a brotha like that?”
“Oh…I’m sorry,” I offered.
“Nah that’s cool, dog. Whatchu up to?”
“Ah I’m just lookin’ for my class. It starts in like fifteen minutes.”
“Ah shit man. What class is it?”
“Oh it’s,” I fumbled around in my back pack looking for my planner and finally found it, dropping some papers on the ground that I scooped up as I read the information to him. “Art I with Ms. McCannon in room 179 of…this building I think.”
“Art? That’s my department, bra. Here come walk with me, I’ll show you the class.”
I was excited to find one of the school’s young art teachers who was familiar with the area, as I didn’t want to be late, and this guy was clearly hip and encouraged my attitude towards the teachers at the school.
“Hey thanks,” I said.
He pranced up the stairs and carefully looked both ways once at the top to see if anyone was around. Then he hopped out and silently motioned for me to follow him.
“My name’s Sam, by the way,” I informed him a little nervously.
“Aw hey Sam the man,” he said, making me giggle and putting me at ease. He smiled a little. “’Round here they call me Apple Jack.”
“Hi Mr. Apple Jack.”
We shook hands briefly. His hands were very dry and his handshake was quick and very loose.
We walked across the parking lot and crossed the street away from campus.
“So the class isn’t in the Arts Building?” I asked, a little concerned.
“Naw man, this is a special class. You gotta go to, like, a studio a little off campus.”
This was exciting news to me, as I figured it was going to be a lame art class like the ones I had in grade school. Now I was finding out that it was a special class on a studio off campus? And this coming from someone working in the Art Department! It was too good to be true!
“So what’s Ms. McCannon like?” I asked, trying to get some inside information from one of the guys in charge.
“Aw she’s a’ight, man. She real artistic, ya know?”
We went under a big oak tree shedding leaves and went into a brown metal door leading into a plain white brick building with no windows on an out-of-the-way street. Inside was a small hallway, which we walked down and shortly turned off of into a large dusty room on the left.
“Is this it? Are we early or something?” I queried.
“Hey you got your art supplies?”
I knew there was something I’d done wrong. I was supposed to buy my art supplies ahead of time! The whole day I’d been worrying that I’d missed something, and that must’ve been it! I was gonna be unprepared for my first day!
“…No…I don’t.”
“Shit, man! You’re gonna be in trouble! Ms. McConnel is a big cunt about that kinda shit!”
I looked at my shoes, clearly embarrassed.
“Aw don’t worry. Let me hook you up.”
He reached into one of the table’s drawers and took out some vials with little white rocks in them. He started shoving them off on me and motioned for me to put them in my bag.
“Hey thanks! This is really nice of you, Mr. Apple Jack! Should I like pay you for this or something?”
“Nah, don’t mention it, whitey.”
“What are these?”
“Ah these are little jars you keep paint in. These are preservation rocks. They keep the jars nice and chalky before you use the paint. Makes the texture real good, knamean.”
I felt so privileged to go to a high-end school that provided you with preservation rocks for your painting jars. It felt so grown up.
Just then, there was some rustling of big footsteps outside the building. Apple Jack jumped a little.
“Yeah a’ight I gotta go teach a class now, little man. You just hang tight and yo teacher be here soon, straight?”
“Yeah, straight,” I said.
He gave me some bizarre handshake and then ran out of the room. I heard his voice yelling something muffled once he got outside, then the sound of fast running. Some teacher’s prank or something, I thought.
So I sat at a table and looked at my watch. It was fast approaching class time and no one was showing up. I was starting to get very anxious. Then it dawned on me. Apple Jack hadn’t taken me to class at all.
A special studio for an Art I class? That was impossible! Why was I so stupid? I should’ve made sure Apple Jack understood that I was in Art I. Ms. McCannon probably had her Studio Drawing & Painting class at this time last year, but got her schedule flip-flopped and Apple Jack didn’t know. Apple Jack had accidentally taken me to the wrong class!
I dashed out of the building, pumping my little legs as hard as they could be pumped. I was late for my first day of Art class! I couldn’t believe it! Stupid Apple Jack showing me to the wrong class! No! What are you saying, man! It wasn’t Apple Jack’s fault! It’s yours for not making sure he knew it was an Art I class! Don’t blame Apple Jack!
Some police cars were patrolling the neighborhood. A criminal must be on the loose. All the more reason for me to speed up!
I finally locate my class and my teacher points to the last remaining seat in the room, by a short-haired bespectacled girl with a Green Day t-shirt. I sit down only to find that no one has their supplies out. I suppose we’re not supposed to have them out yet. Then I realize that no one has supplies, and she has to hand them out.
Did Apple Jack get really mixed up? He was pretty young. Perhaps he was a new teacher.
No, no none of this was adding up at all.
I never asked my art teacher about Apple Jack and I never saw him again around the building.
Sometimes I think he wasn’t a real teacher at all.
I came up with this idea this morning and started writing it instead of finishing my necessary homework like I should've been. Almost made me late for class. It's a bittersweet nostalgia piece about the innocense of ages past. And that's about it.
“Hey, man, why you gotta scare a brotha like that?”
“Oh…I’m sorry,” I offered.
“Nah that’s cool, dog. Whatchu up to?”
“Ah I’m just lookin’ for my class. It starts in like fifteen minutes.”
“Ah shit man. What class is it?”
“Oh it’s,” I fumbled around in my back pack looking for my planner and finally found it, dropping some papers on the ground that I scooped up as I read the information to him. “Art I with Ms. McCannon in room 179 of…this building I think.”
“Art? That’s my department, bra. Here come walk with me, I’ll show you the class.”
I was excited to find one of the school’s young art teachers who was familiar with the area, as I didn’t want to be late, and this guy was clearly hip and encouraged my attitude towards the teachers at the school.
“Hey thanks,” I said.
He pranced up the stairs and carefully looked both ways once at the top to see if anyone was around. Then he hopped out and silently motioned for me to follow him.
“My name’s Sam, by the way,” I informed him a little nervously.
“Aw hey Sam the man,” he said, making me giggle and putting me at ease. He smiled a little. “’Round here they call me Apple Jack.”
“Hi Mr. Apple Jack.”
We shook hands briefly. His hands were very dry and his handshake was quick and very loose.
We walked across the parking lot and crossed the street away from campus.
“So the class isn’t in the Arts Building?” I asked, a little concerned.
“Naw man, this is a special class. You gotta go to, like, a studio a little off campus.”
This was exciting news to me, as I figured it was going to be a lame art class like the ones I had in grade school. Now I was finding out that it was a special class on a studio off campus? And this coming from someone working in the Art Department! It was too good to be true!
“So what’s Ms. McCannon like?” I asked, trying to get some inside information from one of the guys in charge.
“Aw she’s a’ight, man. She real artistic, ya know?”
We went under a big oak tree shedding leaves and went into a brown metal door leading into a plain white brick building with no windows on an out-of-the-way street. Inside was a small hallway, which we walked down and shortly turned off of into a large dusty room on the left.
“Is this it? Are we early or something?” I queried.
“Hey you got your art supplies?”
I knew there was something I’d done wrong. I was supposed to buy my art supplies ahead of time! The whole day I’d been worrying that I’d missed something, and that must’ve been it! I was gonna be unprepared for my first day!
“…No…I don’t.”
“Shit, man! You’re gonna be in trouble! Ms. McConnel is a big cunt about that kinda shit!”
I looked at my shoes, clearly embarrassed.
“Aw don’t worry. Let me hook you up.”
He reached into one of the table’s drawers and took out some vials with little white rocks in them. He started shoving them off on me and motioned for me to put them in my bag.
“Hey thanks! This is really nice of you, Mr. Apple Jack! Should I like pay you for this or something?”
“Nah, don’t mention it, whitey.”
“What are these?”
“Ah these are little jars you keep paint in. These are preservation rocks. They keep the jars nice and chalky before you use the paint. Makes the texture real good, knamean.”
I felt so privileged to go to a high-end school that provided you with preservation rocks for your painting jars. It felt so grown up.
Just then, there was some rustling of big footsteps outside the building. Apple Jack jumped a little.
“Yeah a’ight I gotta go teach a class now, little man. You just hang tight and yo teacher be here soon, straight?”
“Yeah, straight,” I said.
He gave me some bizarre handshake and then ran out of the room. I heard his voice yelling something muffled once he got outside, then the sound of fast running. Some teacher’s prank or something, I thought.
So I sat at a table and looked at my watch. It was fast approaching class time and no one was showing up. I was starting to get very anxious. Then it dawned on me. Apple Jack hadn’t taken me to class at all.
A special studio for an Art I class? That was impossible! Why was I so stupid? I should’ve made sure Apple Jack understood that I was in Art I. Ms. McCannon probably had her Studio Drawing & Painting class at this time last year, but got her schedule flip-flopped and Apple Jack didn’t know. Apple Jack had accidentally taken me to the wrong class!
I dashed out of the building, pumping my little legs as hard as they could be pumped. I was late for my first day of Art class! I couldn’t believe it! Stupid Apple Jack showing me to the wrong class! No! What are you saying, man! It wasn’t Apple Jack’s fault! It’s yours for not making sure he knew it was an Art I class! Don’t blame Apple Jack!
Some police cars were patrolling the neighborhood. A criminal must be on the loose. All the more reason for me to speed up!
I finally locate my class and my teacher points to the last remaining seat in the room, by a short-haired bespectacled girl with a Green Day t-shirt. I sit down only to find that no one has their supplies out. I suppose we’re not supposed to have them out yet. Then I realize that no one has supplies, and she has to hand them out.
Did Apple Jack get really mixed up? He was pretty young. Perhaps he was a new teacher.
No, no none of this was adding up at all.
I never asked my art teacher about Apple Jack and I never saw him again around the building.
Sometimes I think he wasn’t a real teacher at all.
I came up with this idea this morning and started writing it instead of finishing my necessary homework like I should've been. Almost made me late for class. It's a bittersweet nostalgia piece about the innocense of ages past. And that's about it.