Through the Cracks

In the afternoon, Mrs. Garrison’s classroom was every teacher’s dream. The children quietly did their assigned reading of Greek myths, made a timeline on the life and career of Rock Hudson, and even made a class list of changes in the body during puberty without so much as a snicker. Everyone in the room was on his or her best behavior. Anything to avoid daily repeats of the underwear inquisition.
Cartman was not there. He had eaten his lunch in Principal Victoria’s office, but not before giving her a full rear view, hoping to make her hand over her jelly doughnut and take him back to the cafeteria. He was successful only in earning a visit to Mr. Mackey, who was trying his best to make sense of Cartman’s behavior.
“I’m trying my best to make sense of your behavior, m’kay. This is the third time you’ve had to see me this week.”
“No, it’s the second time.”
“I had to see you yesterday for attempting to drown Kyle Broflovski, and on Monday for causing Kelly Nelson to vomit in the hallway.”
Cartman crossed his arms and scowled. “That doesn’t count. You can’t prove I did that.”
“My point is, Eric, we are concerned about your behavior, and we need to get to the bottom of it, m’kay.” Mr. Mackey studied Cartman, who still bristled with defiance. The sight of Cartman’s exposed belly and legs made the counselor uncomfortable. When seated, Cartman looked as if he was wearing nothing below the waist. “Eric, where are your pants?”
“How the hell should I know? Garrison wanted to see me naked so bad, I bet she’s gonna keep them.”
“Well, according to Mrs. Garrison, you exposed yourself to the class, m’kay. Exposing yourself, that’s bad. We can’t have you distracting other students.”
“That’s fine! The only person who needs to see my underwear is Butters!” In his frequent visits to the office, Cartman always had a bizarre rationale ready. This was no exception.
Mr. Mackey adjusted his glasses. “Why does Butters need to see it?”
“If you get off my ass and let me show him, you’ll find out.” Cartman had already come tantalizingly close to getting Butters to tell the story for all, but especially Kyle, to hear. I will get that story.
“I’m afraid you can’t do that, m’kay. Your clothing choice is against school policy. You’re going to be on in-school suspension until dismissal.”
In frustration, Cartman’s arms and legs flailed. Unwilling, and perhaps unable, to control himself any longer, he wailed, “If I don’t get Butters to tell that story now, Kahl is going to find some Jew loophole to get out of doing the chocolate cha-cha with his uncle.”
Puzzled, Mr. Mackey employed one of the most useful tricks of the trade he had picked up while working towards his online degree. “I see. Tell me more about that, m’kay.”
By the end of the day, Kyle finished his multiplication problems and looked at the clock to see that there were only fifteen more minutes before the weekend started. Cool. It’s a nice change to just learn stuff without Cartman interrupting all the time. A knock on the door caught everyone’s attention. Immediately, Kyle was beating himself up. Dammit. I jinxed it.
“Come in,” said Mrs. Garrison, opening the door. Mr. Mackey stood at the door with Cartman in tow. She saw the glazed look on Mr. Mackey’s face. “What’s the matter?”
In a low voice, Mr. Mackey informed Mrs. Garrison, “Eric is a deeply troubled boy.”
“What else is new?” She watched Cartman approaching Butters, and the two began having some sort of negotiation.
“Well, he seems to have an obsession with males seeing his buttocks. I think it stems from lack of a male role model in his life, m’kay.” The whole class and both teachers watched blankly as Butters climbed onto his chair, wrapped his arms around Cartman’s neck and his legs around Cartman’s sides.
Again, Mrs. Garrison snapped, “What else is new?” A confused Cartman tried to shake Butters off, but Butters clung tightly and appeared to be enjoying the ride. Other students began to laugh.
Bill pointed at the entangled boys. “That looks so gay.”
“Ha, they’re gay,” answered Fosse.
Mrs. Garrison was not about to lose the peaceful classroom she had cultivated during the day. “Eric and Butters! Take your seats!” Butters let go of Cartman’s neck, and slid down into his chair. Cartman stayed standing, his anger rising to a boil at having been thwarted again.
“I believe Eric here has something to say to all of you, m’kay.” Before Cartman could turn his head to give Mr. Mackey a death glare, the counselor had slipped out the door and closed it behind him.
“Yes,” Mrs. Garrison agreed. “You owe all of us an apology for your repulsive choice of underwear.” When Cartman balked and pouted, Mrs. Garrison brandished a ruler from her desk. “Now, Eric!”
“I'm sorry I broke school policy and flashed my hot ass at other people.” Cartman wasn't so much speaking as sighing. He was fully prepared for the anger still showing all over Mrs. Garrison's face. He steeled himself for a blowout.
“I've had it up to here with people like you!” The top of her bald head went pink.
Ready for everyone to put the events of the day behind them – and most importantly, for Cartman to cover up – Kyle stood. With his head still turned slightly so he wouldn’t risk seeing Cartman, he announced, “You know, I’ve learned something today. If something is supposed to be hidden from everybody, it should stay that way. You don’t go around asking people about their personal religious or political views just to see if they’ll offend you. And you shouldn’t have to ask about underwear either, because if you can’t see them, what difference does it make?”
Mrs. Garrison was having none of it. “Oh, wouldn’t that be all peachy keen jelly beans. But let me tell you something, Kyle. This is only the beginning.”
Kyle sank back into his seat. “What do you mean?” Even Cartman, who was inching his way closer to Butters, wanted to hear what was beginning.
“Thongs do something to your brain. You see a little skin, and then you want more. No, you have to have more.” The students could see that Mrs. Garrison was passionate about what she was saying, which was more than could be said for most of her lessons. Passion wasn’t enough to give the subject clarity. Only Kenny, who had discovered the joy of nights in with a girlie mag and some Vaseline, or even tagging along with his father to the Peppermint Hippo strip club, could digest the information. The others had Cartman to thank for introducing them to thongs, and couldn’t imagine needing to see more skin. “It starts with some guy saying, ‘Oh, it won’t happen to me. She’s wearing a tanga. It’s only a little bit of crack.’ Then he’s not interested unless it’s a bikini. Pretty soon, he won’t pay attention to anything or anyone unless they’re wearing a two-way, or a g-string, or for the love of God… a c-string.” Mrs. Garrison cringed. The kids were more confused than ever, but it sounded monstrous.
Poor Butters had been tapping his knuckles nervously as Cartman backed towards his desk. Cartman turned his head towards Butters and whispered, “Kyle’s totally having a conscience attack. Tell him what you and your uncle did.”
“Aaaaaah!” Butters screamed. He jumped out of his seat and over the top of his desk, trying to avoid coming too close to Cartman. The little boy’s foot got caught, and he fell headfirst onto the linoleum. Landing on the floor knocked the wind out of him, and he was silent for a second before rising to his feet and dashing out the door, screaming all the way.
“This is why there are no good men left. They don’t want to take their time to get to know a proper lady. A man would rather see some attention-whore overcompensate and jiggle her junk at the club. It’s some kind of addiction.”
Cartman was inwardly cursing Butters for running out when there was a perfect forum for him to reveal the deeply personal story, until he heard the word “addiction”, and started to laugh. “They’re crack addicts! Addicted… to crack!” Unable to keep himself upright, he collapsed onto the cool tiles. The students in the front row got a comprehensive view of Cartman’s ass, sticking up in the air. A few of them ran out the door after Butters; the others were traumatized into stillness.
Gasping for air, Cartman rolled over, continuing to laugh. He saw his teacher’s enraged face looming over him, which only caused him to laugh harder. “Mrs. Garrison… Mrs. Garrison… a crack pipe!” He hadn’t reached his ultimate goal, but he wanted to squeeze a little fun out of the afternoon.
The bell rang. The kids usually vaulted out of their seats and made a break for the neighborhood, but today the ones who remained crept out. They responded as if a horrible accident had taken place in the front of the classroom. On the one hand, they were sickened by what had happened, but on the other hand, were morbidly curious to see what would happen to the people involved. Maybe something painful.