by Ron Day

Also obvious are the scents of Lifebouy soap and Right Guard deodorant. And perhaps some Old Spice or Hai Karate aftershave.

Padlocks snap and metal locker doors open with a creak. Shorts, shirts, shoes and jock straps, long overdue for some serious laundry work, are wadded into balls and pushed to the back, to be used yet another day.

Above the distant hissing of a dozen or so shower heads, streaming out gallons of hot water, comes the sound of bare feet slapping against a wet tile floor as naked boys head for the showers.

Voices shout to be heard over each other as the boys scuffle for their turns under the water. Someone, impatient, insists that he's next and is jostled to the back of the line for his efforts. One of the class loudmouths reaches in and turns off the hot water as it cascades over a smaller boy. As his victim leaps away with a shrill scream the bully laughs and takes his place.

There's a sense of urgency as bare buttocks scurry to and fro...the next class begins in less than seven minutes.

A loud, obnoxious voice shouts out a crude remark to a friend across the room. A towel snaps with a wicked "POP!" and a boy cries out in pain, then curses, making empty threats as other young voices laugh loudly.

Someone else has mis-placed his shoes, then sheepishly finds he already has them on his feet.

Another boys' underwear has been hidden. Naked, except for a tee-shirt, he desperately searches for them, pleading, begging for someone to give them back. He too gets lots of laughs....but not his shorts. They'll turn up in the library's book return chute later that afternoon.....complete with skid marks.....his name written carefully in his mother's handwriting across the inside of the elastic band.

A few boys, whose names always seem to be Zeke, Lefty, Jesse or Butch, are cool and confident. They stroll casually toward their lockers wearing their towel around their neck, brushing back their long black hair with their hands as they walk. They know they'll never be made fun of or harassed. They're the lucky one. The ones who have matured faster than most of the others. They have hair where there should be hair. And their bodies are growing. Really growing!

A few more, with names that are somehow less manly sounding, are a not as fortunate. They scurry from the showers on tip-toes, their thin arms crossed in front of them. Self-concious, they stand nearly inside their lockers, looking neither left nor right as they quickly try to dress without drawing attention to themselves. It's only after they have their pants and shirts on that they glance furtively around to see if anyone was watching....or laughing.

As the last shower is turned off, more wet towel's are thrown into the dolly. Combs are brought out and then borrowed around a crowded mirror. School books and PeeChee's begin appearing as locker doors slam one last time.

The room is suddenly quiet.

And through it all some lone tenor had been singing "Louie Louie" at the top of his lungs.

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