Nicholas and the Nair Egg
by Phil Vas

--Nicholas was deaf to the words of old Mrs. Weinstein at the head of the class. Instead his focus remained fixed on the clock that seemed to hover three feet above her head. It was two fifty-four, and on any other day his heart would have been rejoicing at the freedom that lay just minutes away. Now it pounded like the cars that cruised the avenue outside. He nervously chewed his cuticles as the clock hands raced around the numbered face. Considering the fate that awaited him, his stomach soured like bad shrimp salad. The boy, for the first time in his eleven years, wished he didn’t have to leave the school at all.
--“And may you all have a safe and happy Halloween,” croaked Mrs. Weinstein as she sank wearily into her chair.
--The boy timidly approached the teacher’s desk as the rest of the class rushed out of the room. He stood there quietly as Mrs. Weinstein shuffled papers into a faded blue duffel bag. Without looking up she said sternly, “What is it this time, Nicholas?”
--He muttered lowly, “Donny is waiting for me outside. Him and his friends are going to get me with eggs and shaving cream when I leave. They told me yesterday.”
--Through a mess of hair that (according to the box of dye) was supposed to be the shade of champagne, she growled, “Young man, ever since you joined this class you’ve been trouble. Two straight weeks of nothing but heartaches and trouble. Now I don’t know how they handled you in your old school, and I don’t really care. But your funny business isn’t going to hold up in this classroom - do you hear me? I will send your behind straight to the principal’s office and your mother will have to come and get you. Then we’ll see if your’re still such a smart aleck. Do you want that?”
--Nicholas stared down at the floor.
--In the brief silence that followed, Mrs. Weinstein studied the boy. He was pale with chubby cheeks and dark brown hair that fell in unruly bangs over his forehead. She noted with some distaste that he’d been wearing the same pair of jeans ever since arriving in her class two weeks ago, and that his jacket was much too light for this brisk autumn weather. Probably from a broken home, she thought. Something approaching pity began to well up in her sad old heart, but she quickly squashed it. Clearing her throat, Mrs. Weinstein barked, “Well, would you like to pay a visit to the principal’s office this afternoon?”
--Eyes still fixed to the floor, Nicholas shook his head.
--“Now run along, and if I hear of any more shenanigans from you, it will be the last time! And that’s a promise!”
--Walking slowly down the damp gray stairwell of the public school, Nicholas wondered why Mrs. Weinstein hated him so. Even Donny, who shot spitballs and tossed paper airplanes all day, was treated far better than himself. Unfortunately, Nicholas was too young to recognize the ill-fated coincidence which had branded him in his teacher’s eyes forever.
--The day after he had joined her fifth grade class, Mrs. Weinstein lost her perfectly healthy husband to a severe stroke. Though she would never admit it, the old woman associated the child with her terrible, unexpected tragedy. And although she played the hard role with him, Nicholas’s presence actually filled Mrs. Weinstein with a strange, superstitious dread. The boy was her jinx, her evil eye. He was the black cat that had crossed her path.
--Outside the school were gathered hordes of parents and children, all bundled up against the unusually blustery fall afternoon. Wind ripped through the half-naked trees as different colored leaves rustled noisily along the pavement. The sky was as dull and gray as the roots of Mrs. Weinstein’s crazy hair. Moving dismally through the crowd, Nicholas wished his mother were waiting for him. He wished his parents were still together and that she didn’t have to work two jobs. He wished.
--Loitering in front of the candy store across the street were Donny and his two cronies. Donny was a bulldog of a kid with a sourdough face and dull black eyes. He’d been promising this moment every day for the last two weeks. The cronies were identical twins, both pale and underfed, with dirty blond crewcuts, pointy noses and thin lips. They were Nicholas’s age, but never attended school. He didn’t know their names. Hands thrust in pockets, shoulders hunched against the cold, the three stood intently scanning the crowd. Nicholas dared not move, not even to run a sleeve over his leaky nose.
--But as the minutes passed, the protective cover of the crowd thinned. One of the cronies gave Donny a nudge and pointed Nicholas out from the crowd. Donny’s perversely familiar leer - the one that always seemed to find Nicholas from across the classroom when he least expected it - sent a chill through the boy’s bones. Reaching into their jacket pockets, the three came out with eggs and cans of shaving cream in hand. They began making their way across the street, straight for Nicholas.
--He broke out. Weaving through the crowd, an egg whizzed past his ear. It busted all yellow-gooey on Carol the crossing guard’s denim thigh. She screamed, “Donny, you mother! I’ll get you!”
--Nicholas tore around the corner, but he took it too sharply and skidded on a patch of damp leaves. His ankle tweaked and he rolled to the pavement. With a faint crackle an egg sprayed the sidewalk beside him. Straining under the weight of his knapsack he tried to get to his feet, but the pain in his ankle was too great. Now just yards away, the goblins trotted in for the kill. Leading the pack, an ecstatic Donny cocked his arm, but then accidentally crushed his egg as he went to throw it. Dumbfounded, he stood there staring at his slimy yellow hand.
--The cronies began to snicker. Infuriated, Donny produced a can of Barbasol and coated both their faces with gobs of white cream. A melee erupted, and Nicholas stole the opportunity to limp off unnoticed.
--He walked three, four, five blocks in an effort to place some distance between Donny and himself. Soon he would have to start circling back - but first to explore! It was such a thrill to be alone, unchaperoned, in this strange new territory. For the first time in his life Nicholas felt the great rush of independence. Limping proudly along, he pretended he was a teenager entrusted with some urgent errand. He would finally prove he was no longer a boy.
--Half an hour passed. Somehow backtracking turned out to be more difficult than he had expected. After all, aside from a couple of excursions with his mother, he’d never strayed off the route he took to school each day. That route, along with the school and his home, seemed many miles away from him now. Having turned a few corners and crossed some streets, he found himself dragging aimlessly along strange courts and avenues, each with a name more cryptic than the last.
--The neighborhood began to take on a sinister shade. All adorned with bats and vampires, the homes seemed eager to swallow him up forever. Jack-o-lanterns mocked his helplessness, and the front yards, with their tombstones and spiderwebs, concealed beasts with flashing hungry eyes. Shadows flitted in doorways and driveways, behind every parked car and garbage can.
--The gray sky grew dimmer, the wind sliced through his thin jacket. Nicholas wished he could call his mother. But she wouldn’t be home until six and he didn’t have her work number. He considered stopping a stranger - No. They were all so ugly, mean-looking. But he would have to ask someone for directions - there really was no other choice. Shivering from cold and fear, he recalled all the times his mother had warned him not to speak to strangers. “Mr. Smith will get you!” she’d declared grimly, and although a description was never offered, the name always inspired a chilling portrait of Evil in a dingy green overcoat. The boy was torn, yet what else could he do? Someone had to help him.
--Just then a middle-aged woman and three costumed children walked by. Nicholas was trying to muster the courage to ask for help when the elder warned the young trick-or-treaters, “And if anyone gives you an apple, DON’T EAT IT! Know why? Because there are crazy people out there - WHO PUT RAZOR BLADES IN THEM!”
--The children - a witch, a Power Ranger and a ballerina - sounded one long collective gasp of horror. Unconsciously, Nicholas joined them. But by the time they were eagerly climbing the steps to the next home, the others had all but forgotten the urgent warning. After all, they were safe under the protective wing of an adult. Not so for Nicholas - he was left all alone to ponder that ghastly bit of news. His heart began to thump and his blood raced. His throat constricted and his stomach soured. His lower lip began to quiver.
--Then, remembering what his father had told him about being a man, he controlled himself.
--(Even though the thought of his dad, whom he had not seen or heard from since last Christmas, made him want to cry even more.)
--Choking back the sobs, he heard a sound. It was no more than a faint squeak, really. Crouching, Nicholas peered beneath a nearby row of hedges.
--Huddled there in the damply banked soil was the tiniest kitten he’d ever seen. All muddy black, its fearful green eyes bulged like streetlights from the semidarkness. Nicholas extended his hand and the kitten moved awkwardly toward it. What a speck it was! Not even in the movies had he ever seen a feline so small. More from amazement than pity he scooped the animal up. It was soft and warm, no heavier than an orange in his small hands. Forgetting his own predicament, Nicholas opened his knapsack and slowly lowered in the kitten. It squeaked worriedly, but hadn’t the slightest strength to struggle or climb. Whispering some final words of reassurance into the darkness, the boy zipped closed the bag.
--Then Nicholas heard, “Well, well, well, look what we got here.”
--Standing just feet away were Donny and his two cronies. Their clothes were splattered with egg and shaving cream, their faces puffy red from each other’s smacks and punches. Donny looked by far the worst, with a shiny black eye that was in the process of swelling shut, and a split, bulging lower lip that lent his mug a stupid, pouty expression. It was Donny who’d spoken, the words oozing thick and spitty from his busted mouth. Meeting Nicholas’s shocked stare, the sinister leer slowly returned to Donny’s face. As always, it produced the desired effect - continual chills shook the boy’s body.
--Nicholas thought about running, but then remembered the kitten - he didn’t want to rattle the poor thing, scramble its brains up. Besides, he couldn’t really jet with his ankle the way it was. They’d catch him, and then it would be even worse. Maybe, just maybe, he could take the three of them in a fight? Never, he thought somberly. Not even in the movies.
--The war-torn trio was approaching. They weren’t as light on their feet as they’d been an hour ago, but that didn’t matter much - Nicholas wasn’t going anywhere. He stood there with his jaws clenched, feeling the kitten as it scratched lightly against his back. He didn’t want to think about what they’d do if they got their hands on that kitten.
--“Told you we’d find him,” hissed Donny.
--They encircled him.
--“What should we do with him?” the first crony asked, rubbing his hands together.
--“Let’s blast him with eggs - close range!” suggested the second crony.
--“No, no, let’s give him a serious wedgie, pull his underwears up around his head and make him walk around in traffic.”
--They were addressing Donny, each attempting to sell his idea. The pecking order was still in place.
--Their leader just smiled - a twisted leer that gaped like a razor slash in his swollen mug. Then, slowly, with the utmost of care, Donny removed an egg from his jacket pocket. But this was no ordinary egg. Its smooth white shell bore an ominous mark of distinction - a messy blotch of deep red ink. Upon seeing this the cronies erupted into a fit of wild, anticipatory laughter. They pointed their fingers at Nicholas, stomped their feet, and slapped each other on the back.
--“You’re gonna get it now!” they cried. “Your new name is gonna be Baldy!”
--The boy was well aware of what was in store for him now. For days Donny had been taunting him, planting the seeds of this moment in his terrified mind. Yes, it had been made quite clear, not only to Nicholas, but to the entire class. He was to be this year’s victim of...The Nair Egg!
--Each Halloween Donny took special care to construct a very special egg, an egg that was certain to have a horrible and lasting effect on its unfortunate victim. Its thin shell gently pierced with a syringe, the egg’s contents were then drained and replaced with Nair - that viscous concoction used by women to remove unsightly leg and lip hair. The end result was a projectile dreaded by every boy and girl in the neighborhood. And with good reason.
--Nicholas had already seen first hand what the terrible Nair Egg was capable of. Last year’s casualty, a shy, chubby boy named Alan, had worn a baseball cap to school every day since that fateful afternoon the preceding October. For some reason his scalp had suffered permanent damage. Alan’s once thick, curly blond locks had returned only in scant, stringy patches, lending him the sorrowful appearance of one who has recently undergone chemotherapy.
--Though he was fearful now, Nicholas was surprised to find that it was not for himself. His main concern was for the kitten in his backpack. It had begun to clamber around inside, and he’d even heard a muffled meow while the cronies were laughing.
--“So, the little baby thought he could get away,” sneered Donny, taking a step forward. “Try to get away now, baby! Go ahead - TRY!”
--The cronies tensed and readied to take chase, but Nicholas, knowing it would be futile to run, remained still. He was resigned to his fate.
--“Okay, have it your way, if you think you’re so tough. Grab him!” commanded Donny.
--Each arm was seized.
--The head goon slowly approached, savoring every last thrilling second of the hunt. He raised his arm, blocking out the drab Brooklyn sun. He was going to let Nicholas have it square in the face.
The boy’s body tensed up like a board as he awaited the crash of light that was an egg in the grill. So close was Donny now, Nicholas could smell his rancid breath through the bitter cold air. One of the cronies chuckled and gave his arm a painful twist.
--Then came a sound, a muffled yet distinct squeaking sound.
--“What was that?” went the cronies, staring stupidly down at their feet.
--“It came from his knapsack,” hissed Donny. “Get it.”
--Nicholas’s knapsack was torn violently from his back. He dove at the crony who held it, only to watch the knapsack fly over his head and into the waiting hands of the second crony. Donny carefully placed the Nair Egg back in his pocket and the three goons then surrounded Nicholas and proceeded to tease and taunt him by throwing the pack over his head just as he was close enough to grab it. This went on for fifteen minutes. The frustration, along with the fear that the tiny kitten would get its brains all scrambled up, made it very hard for Nicholas to keep from crying. Yet somewhere in the back of his mind was the voice of his father, telling him over and over to be a man. He choked back the sobs.
--Then with a gesture of brutish finality Donny snatched the knapsack out of the air, unzipped it and peered inside. The malicious leer returned to his face. He reached inside, and when his hand appeared again it was clutching the dazed kitten. Apparently unharmed by all the jolting, it simply meowed and looked around, as if amazed to be viewing the world from these new heights.
--Nicholas lunged at Donny, but again was seized.
--“Leave it alone,” he yelled. “It didn’t do anything to you!”
--“This is yours?”
--Nicholas nodded, thinking the goon, for once in his life, might show some mercy. Just then Donny tossed the knapsack to the ground, reached into his jacket pocket and retrieved the Nair Egg. Nicholas gasped as the cronies giggled wildly and stomped their feet in anticipation.
--“Anyone ever seen a bald cat before?” Donny snickered, preparing to blast it with the egg.
Nicholas could not allow any harm to come to that kitten. He’d gone and rescued it from the dirt and now it was his responsibility. Whatever happens, he thought, I can’t leave that cat - I can’t abandon it.
--Abandon.
--The word reverberated in his mind. Yet it was his own voice Nicholas heard this time, weighty and loud, far louder than the memory voice of his father. It triggered a rage which had been brewing inside him ever since last Christmas. Suddenly that rage detonated. Without thinking, he lunged at Donny. This time the cronies were unable to restrain him.
--All at once the kitten and the Nair Egg flew into the air as Nicholas and the goon tumbled to the pavement. Donny was so surprised that he landed flat on his back - with Nicholas flailing wildly on top of him. By some strange workings of the October wind, the Nair Egg wound up splattering right on Donny’s busted face. “My eyes! It’s burning my eyes!” he squealed, while Nicholas cracked him sharply across the cheek. The cronies, fearing for their own safety, jetted away as quickly as their feet would carry them.
--Before long Nicholas stood. He was out of breath and he realized he’d been crying. A good cry.
--Donny was in rough shape. Bloody and ashamed, he peeled himself from the pavement and slinked away without so much as a glance.
--Nicholas brushed himself off and caught his breath. The kitten was hiding beneath the hedge where he’d originally found it. Again he put out his hand, again it squeaked toward him. After inspecting it for injuries (there were none) he cradled the tired animal in his arms, picked a direction, and began to walk. His limp was gone. A kind spirited, silver haired old woman was pleased to oblige when he asked for directions. Within half an hour the young man and his animal were comfortably in bed.

-- -- -- -- -- --It was the best either of them had felt in quite some time.

return to Letter X