THE DEVIL IN FARMER FRED "Be aware and beware," warned Officer Lewis. Mrs. Case's senior English class was not interested. It was close to the end of the year and they were dreaming of breathing in a new life outside of school. Officer Lewis had been invited in for one last bit of guidance. "This," said the officer, pointing to a posterboard display, "is a marijuana joint." "And this," mocked Steve, pointing to his crotch, "Is the most important joint of all." He and Stu giggled. "Steve!" pierced Mrs. Case, "Do you know how important this lecture is?" "No," grinned Steve, "but if you hum a few bars I'll try!" The students laughed their approval. Mrs. Case busily scrawled on a piece of paper. "Take this," she ordered, "and spend the rest of the class in the office." Steve gave a knowing smirk to Stu as he left his desk. Disgusted to the core, Mrs. Case eyed him on his way out. "How could you ever elect him class President?" she chided the students. "He's so openly insolent." As the lecture bore on, the students felt increasingly trapped. Phil sat with eyes half shut, his gaze a million miles away. Two girls whispered gossip. Others felt duty bound to be trapped and obediently paid attention. It was quiet Mary who woke up the class. Her mother was a closet alcoholic, and this, like any drug lecture, rubbed her raw. "Officer?" Her voice was an incision into the room. "Why don't you talk about alcohol? It hurts people, too." Her deep, calm manner drew more attention than any scream. "Well," squirmed the bearer of enlightenment, "You have to understand that the difference between legal and illegal drugs is that...one is legal and one is not." "So some drugs are good then. Is that what you are saying?" "Oh no!" knew the officer to say, "All drugs are harmful." "Then explain to me why one harmful drug is okay and another is not!" "All in good time," rescued a smiling Mrs. Case. "I'm sure the officer will cover that later." Thomas, the Mayor's son, suddenly made a connection in his mind. "Hey, I know you," he grinned to the officer. "You got wasted at the city Christmas party last year. You threw up all over the floor." The class roared with glee. "That's enough!" scolded Mrs. Case. "I'll have no more interruptions!" "Sorry," mumbled Thomas, "Didn't mean to bring up the truth." Officer Lewis swallowed his agitation and trudged bravely forward. But with the officer's true credibility revealed, only Oral - "Moral Oral" as Steve called him - still paid attention. The lawman played his role to the bitter end, then dutifully asked if there were any questions. Oral's hand shot into the air. "Yes, son." "What should we do if we see someone doing drugs?" The question drew daggers from Stu's eyes. "Good question. It is your responsibility to report this to the proper authorities, be it your teacher, an officer or your parents. You could save a life by doing that." "Thank you, sir. I wish to do all I can to help with the war on drugs." Several people mentally spit on Oral. Lacking further inquiries, Officer Lewis turned the class back to its teacher. "Thank you, Officer Lewis. We appreciate the time you took to spend with us. I know we all got a lot out of it. Class" - she turned to the room - "Let's show our appreciation for the officer." The students were saved by the bell. While the class filed out, Mrs. Case wormed her way to the lawman. "That was definitely a powerful message," she cooed. "Well, we do exaggerate some to get our point across, but they don't know the difference." "You did a wonderful job," admired the woman. "I can only hope I got through to them," sighed the brave soldier of the war. Outside in the hallway, disgust was everywhere. "That sorry hypocrite," scoffed Mary. "You can't trust any adult." "What a joke," agreed Rocky. "Telling me my kids will be deformed and shit because of pot. Hell, my kid came out perfectly normal." "That guy is a birth defect," observed Stu. He spotted Steve returning from the office. "All hail the conquering hero." The two comrades saluted each another. Steve pointed to his jointed elbow. "This," he said with mock importance, "is a marijuana joint." "You don't know when to quit, do you?" said an appreciative Stu. "Neither do they." The grin left Steve's face. "Fuck those assholes. Who do they think they are to tell me what to think?" Unwittingly, Steve had spoken the feelings of the entire group. Phil, with his perpetual sour look, passed by. Steve accosted him. "Hey, Phil!" Phil looked surprised at being addressed. "What did you think of that lecture? Pretty stupid, huh?" "Yeah, great," muttered Phil, barely able to talk. "They teach you everything but how to be happy." The crushed being of Phil continued his trek down the hall, leaving his peers a bit shaken. "He's so deep," remarked Mary. "I bet someday he writes a book." "Sometimes I don't know what to believe in," uttered Steve. "I do," said Mary, more to herself than anyone else. A general desire to disperse infiltrated the group. They departed, some feeling more hollow than others. The pickup screeched to a halt by the mailbox. Nervously, Steve opened it. His heart skipped a beat when he saw the letter. He pulled it inside the truck. "Maybe I should wait till I get to the house, so I can share it with Mom and Dad." He drove back onto the highway and turned off at the dirt road leading to his home. He fumbled at the letter. "Prestigious University" ominously stated the return address. Then a thought hit. "What if I got turned down!" Steve stopped the truck in its tracks. "I can't open it in the house then!" He ripped open the letter. Steve's mother was in the bedroom when he came flying through the door. "Mom! Dad!" he cried out eagerly. "Steve?" Mom spoke in that whiny voice Steve had grown to hate. "Better stay in the living room. Your father's sick." Sick was the code word for drunk. This would be referred to as another "bout" and the entire incident would be glossed over. Admitting imperfection was a crime in Steve's home. But this went too far. Not today of all days. This should be his day. Years of repressed bitterness welled up inside, taking hold of his mind. Summoning all the courage he had, Steve crossed the threshold of the bedroom for the first time. Steve saw the forbidden sight - his father sprawled across the bed in semi-conciousness, his mother vultured over him. She was desperate to contain the ugliness. "Steve!" she said crossly. "I told you to stay out. He's not feeling well at all." Contempt boiled over for the "perfect man". Rage glowed through Steve's eyes. "He's drunk!" The words hung in the air. Two sharp, clear words that punctured all lies. Mother turned back to her husband. "You shouldn't see him like this. It's for your own good." Steve knew who's good it was for - their's. No longer could they keep their claim as god-like beings. The question presented itself: How screwed up are these people who raised him? Would he become as they are? It turned his stomach to think so. The miserable person on the bed squirmed and mumbled in a one-sided conversation. "I need my drink...it's okay...just let people be!...oh, I don't care if they make everything okay." Steve could not contain his fury. "Did you hear that!?" "Shush!" He spoke in a quieter but no less vehement tone. "You know how he's always talking." Steve mimicked his father. "'They oughtta shoot those drug dealin' sons-a-bitches. Can't build enough prisons to suit me.'" "He's delirious. He doesn't know what he's saying," protested Mom. "Sounds like he knows what he's saying to me." Farmer Fred went into another delirium, much to his wife's dismay. "Steve, please let go." The words fell on deaf ears. In his father's jerking, Steve could almost see the repressed love his father wrestled. He did not know how or why, but the sight of it greatly upset him, as if some ghostly presence had descended upon his soul. Fred exorcised more feelings. "I'm so tired...so sick of worrying...always MONEY, MONEY, MONEY...I don't care what they want...I just want to farm!...this whole country is crap!" "I don't believe it!" wailed Steve. "Mr. Flag Waver himself saying that!" Mom offered no further protests, she being content to watch the storm. But tears of confusion rained in Steve. He struggled to choke back his overpowering emotions. Had he been wrong about his father all these years? Weren't the only feelings a person had were the ones he showed? Who was this guy? Father's face contorted in pain. Dear tenderies he never gave breath ached to be released. "Oh, God, I'm sorry..." His body quivered. "I hate it...I hate it!...always have to control...somebody set me free!" He called out to his family. "Carol! Steve!" The man passed out. Steve's tears came out in anger. "That's all he ever does, Mom!" he screamed. "He says one thing and does another! I hate him. He has no right to do this." His mother looked him in the eye with an unexpected strength. "Steve, you've got understand," she said deliberately, "Your father's really a liberal man." "I don't want to hear it! I can't believe anything you say anymore! He was never there for me and you're no better for supporting him!" Steve ran from the hurtful words to his bedroom. He slammed the door and stuffed his face into a pillow to hide his emotions. He did not want to see, hear, or deal with anything. He just couldn't believe it. "Who's raising who," he mumbled bitterly. He had nothing - nothing to hold on to that someone didn't rip away. He flailed in deep waters but no one could help. Only one thing made him feel good. He sat up on his bed and scanned the floor. Yes, there it was! He reached down and picked up his letter. Hands shaking, he re-read the words that had brought him so much joy. "Steve Stevens has been accepted to Prestigious University on full scholarship." He pressed the paper to his chest, protecting it. The initial enthusiasm was lost forever, but he refocused his energies into an unbreakable determination. "This is it," he vowed. "No more farm or parents. No one's ever going to push me around again. I'll have my own house and my own money. And I'll get me a sports car - not some beat up old pickup." The thoughts propped him up. His eyes narrowed. "Nothing's going to stop me. This is my ticket out." He put the precious letter back in its envelope and placed it in his desk drawer. Head still swirling, he stretched out on his bed. Steve pushed down the ugliness of the day and dreamed of the Way Things Would Be. He had to - it was the only way to avoid the pain. SARCASM ALLEY