Dickinski Grows and Grows
I have serious problems and it’s too easy to be me. I’m the worst off and the best. I’m hard luck and the top of the heap.
That split is super hard to reconcile.
Born lucky, Prince Hamlet was the son of a murdered dude.
***
Gus was right. The school was buzzing the next morning, Wednesday morning. They’d mentioned the Dickinski video on KLYV, the radio station in Dubuque, and on WSWW, the local news station, so moms knew about it. It flew through Facebook and Twitter.
Karpinski continued to stay out of school. Cody glared at me. Bony Emily, wearing her “Bully Me” shirt, ran up and hugged me around the neck. “My cousin in Kentucky saw the video. He was like ‘Hot damn, that’s Emily!’”
“Weird,” I said.
Pig Boy shouted across the commons, “I’m a movie star!”
Abby said, “Jess won’t even look at me.” Her face was totally pale.
The volume kept going up.
In the middle of Linder’s class, the school secretary came to the door and knocked. Linder was in the middle of a discussion about how Hamlet kills the crap out of Polonius (sort of his girlfriend’s dad) and how that wasn’t exactly a well-thought-out act. Linder wasn’t remotely pleased to see Mrs. McGinn standing there.
“What?” he asked.
“Felton Reinstein has a phone call in the office,” she said.
“Can he return the call later?” Linder asked. “What you’re seeing here…” Linder waved his hand in front of all of us, “is an educational classroom.”
Then Mrs. McGinn whispered (across the whole room), “It’s from a Madison TV station. They need an interview ASAP.”
Several people shouted, “Jesus!” and “Whoa!”
Mr. Linder said, “Good lord. Go on, Felton.”
I said, “No thanks.”
Gus tapped me on the shoulder. “Go. Mention my name. Come on.”
I got up slowly and followed Mrs. McGinn out the door. We walked through the empty halls. Mrs. McGinn said, “I went to school with Dave Karpinski. You got him just right, Felton. He was just like that back in ’86 too.”
A week earlier, Mrs. McGinn, wearing a Wisconsin Badger sweater, gave me the evil eye. I’m serious.
***
The reporter wasn’t on the phone. She’d been set up on Skype. McGinn sat me down at her computer. “Hi, this is Megan Hansen.”
“Hi?” I said, staring at her blond head. I recognized her from TV.
“Do you mind if I record?” she asked.
“Video?” I asked.
“TV news,” she said.
“No?” I said.
“Great. Fantastic.” She smiled.
Then Megan Hansen congratulated me on accepting the scholarship to Stanford. I said, “Thanks.” She asked about the video.
“You remind me of Bill Murray in it,” she said. “Was he your inspiration?”
Bill Murray? Talk to my dad. He’s dead but still owns a Caddyshack poster. I took a breath. You think, Felton. No thoughtless chatter. Don’t make this worse. “No. My friends were,” I said.
“Tell me about it.”
I told her it was Abby’s brainchild. “My friend, Abby, is funny.” I told her Gus directed, filmed, and edited the thing, and it was really his genius. “He’s been studying films forever. He’s great.” I didn’t tell her I’d never watched it and didn’t intend to or that Karpinski wasn’t in school.
“How do you feel? First, you’re a star athlete. Now you star in a viral video with a million views.”
“A million?” I asked. I shook my head.
“And counting,” she said.
“Holy balls.” Keep it together.
“Ha, ha,” she laughed. “There are dozens of copycat videos out there too.”
“I’ve heard,” I said.
“Have you watched them?”
“I’m pretty busy.”
“Preparing for track, I bet.”
“Yeah. Lots of running. I run like a sheepdog. Around and around the yard,” I said. “I can’t stop.” Keep it together, idiot!
Megan Hansen laughed. “Nobody knew you were such a funny guy.”
“True that,” I said. “I better get back to class. My English teacher’s pretty rough on us.”
“Wait. Do you have time for one more question, Felton?” She sucked in her cheeks and squinted like this was really important.
“Sure. A quickie,” I replied.
She laughed. I don’t know why she laughed. Then she asked, “Does ‘The Polish Fist’ represent your reaction to the way Wisconsin has treated you since you made your Stanford announcement?”
“What do you mean?”
“Does Dickinski…you know his stupidity and bravado…does he represent Wisconsin?”
My first thought was to say, “Hell, yeah! Wisconsin is a doofus, turd-swallowing pervert with a fat gut and a love of any female with boobs.” But instead, I took a deep breath and gathered my non-Hamlet thoughts. “No,” I said. “I understand why people were so angry. It was really stupid to grab the Wisconsin hat. I love this state. It will always be home to me. I’m so sorry.”
“Perfect, Felton. I have that on video,” she said. “I’ll use it.”
Back in Linder’s class, I was greeted as a hero (not by Linder himself). Then the bell rang.
***
The story ran at the end of the 5 p.m., 6 p.m., and 10 p.m. broadcasts. I watched it once with Abby. Even though my interview part was edited way down, the piece still mentioned her and Gus. I also got home in time to see it an hour later with Jerri, who said, “When did you make this video? Can I watch it?”
“No,” I told her.
I didn’t watch the segment at 10 p.m. I felt sick about Karpinski. I felt sick about Cody. And the story was really focused on that final thing I said, my big statement of love for Wisconsin, my apology. I looked really honest and sad when I said it. And then I had to turn my phone off because out of no place, I began getting texts of love from random people, texts forgiving me for what I’d done two weeks earlier, texts wishing me luck in my move to California.
It made me sick. I didn’t deserve to be treated well.
I ran for an hour in the dark on the main road outside our house.