Old Spencer

Before I left Pencey I headed over to Old Spencer's house. Old Spencer's was my History teacher, he and his wife were both around seventy-years-old, or even more then that. I used to think about Old Spencer allot, it's strange, if you thought about him too much you ended up wondering, what the hell he was still living for. I mean, like I said he was in his seventies, he was all stooped over and had terrible posture. But if you thought about him, and not too much, you could figure out that he wasn't doing too bad for himself. He still got a bang out of life, for instance he had this Navajo blanket that he bought in Yellowstone park, he got a real bang out of buying it. It reminded me of my red hunting hat that I bought for a buck in New York. It's something to hide behind, something innocent. I guess in a way I kinda' appreciate that. I can always relate to Old Spencer.

Anyway, I knocked on the door, it was open but I still knocked, just to be polite. He invited me in. He was wearing his pajamas. I hate to see old guys in their pajamas and their dressing gowns. Their bumpy old chests are always showing. And their legs. Old guys legs, at beaches and places, they always look so white and unhairy. I hate the idea of getting old.

I sat down on the bed. It was like cement. He looked terrible, he was all wrapped up in that Navajo blanket I told you about and the whole room smelled of Vicks Nose Drops. It was pretty depressing.

"So you're leaving us ey?" he asked, he knew I was leaving but you know old guys, they always have to ask. Just to make shure that they aren't loosing their memories or somethin'.

So I told him yes and we shot the bull for a while, he was going on about being kicked-out and all, then he asked me if my parents knew.

If the truth be told, I didn't really want them to know. This was the third school that I'd gotten the boot from and each time they had all been posh private institutes that were full of phonies. And they cost like a million bucks a term or somethin'! My parents wouldn't care about me, oh no. It's all about the money!

He talked on. I wasn't really listening. Not to be rude or nothin' it's just I don't really like to listen to Old Spencer's lectures. Finally, I told him that I had to get going.

"I'll drop you a line sir, take care now."

After I shut the door and headed out, he yelled something to me, but I couldn't exactly hear him. I'm pretty shure that is was 'Good luck!' I shure as hell hope not, it sounds terrible, when you think about it.