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The Caretaker was headfirst in the flower bed, his butt sticking right up into the air as he struggled with something amongst the flowers. Several groups of students were giggling, the crueler amongst the gaggle mocked him fearlessly. There were plenty of things to mock and they came up with new things too, outlandish stories accompanied by cruel remarks.
couldn't stand it. The new Caretaker was just an old man doing his job, everyone should just leave him alone. That being said (or more accurately thought) he wasn't going anywhere near the group of girls whispering up the rumours. So he waited.
The girls left (as most girls did) a few minutes after the bell went, after which Hamish went to approach the new Caretaker. His voice caught as he stood to the side of the old man who still had his head amongst the flowers.
Hamish tried to swallow the block in his throat, but nothing happened. He stood still and fearful for a few moments before his mind gave out and he turned on his heels.
"-What is it?" The old man asked and Hamish froze. The new Caretaker's voice was gruff, scottish and impatient, he did not sound pleased.
Hamish brought his hands in front of him and started wringing, his heartbeat quickened in his ears as he turned his gaze away and tried to force something, anything past his lips. He opened his mouth multiple times, not even a whine got through. Don't be mad, I didn't even do anything.
The new Caretaker grunted, then pulled himself out of the flowerbed and dusted off his clothes.
"I'm not mad." The Caretaker said, his voice still a low growl of a thing. "At least not at you -- it's the soil quality that's offending, but I suppose your not interested in that, no one ever is." The Caretaker complained with a drawl.
Hamish forced his shoulders to lift in a hesitant shrug.
"Yeah I didn't think so. You a student?" The Caretaker asked, Hamish nodded and The Caretaker grunted. "I'm not; older than I look." He said rather seriously. "And this old man needs a hand, you're not doing anything are you?" He asked.
Besides class? Hamish shook his head and the Caretaker nodded as though settling something.
"Good." The Caretaker turned back to the flower bed, then started digging his hands about the dirt.
Hamish waited quietly as his heart quieted, finally he noticed the strange pink seeds uprooted nestled around where the Caretaker had been digging. The old man gestured to the little things and made a foul face. "They're invasive." The old man hissed. "Grow like weeds, I'm trying to get them all out before they mature, but I won't get them all in time if I do it alone." He said calmly.
Hamish blinked and the Caretaker had produced a small glass jar, he held it out to Hamish expectantly. "Pick up any you can find; they're localised but there's quite a few."
So it was Hamish found himself recruited to the cause of picking off seeds instead of going to history class. It was mind-numbing work but he didn't dislike it. The Caretaker talked a lot, but he didn't expect any answers. The old man was easily distracted and jumped between the scientific evolution of the plant's present in the flowerbed to fantastic stories of sentient plants and time travelling forests.
Then Hamish couldn't find any more, so the Caretaker pulled out a strange metal rod that whirred and glowed a vibrant green. Then he smiled, his intense (and scary) eyebrows relaxed slightly and any remaining tightness Hamish had just melted away.
"All gone." The Caretaker finished as he pulled himself out of the dirt. "You have a thirteen minutes and thirty two seconds before lunch starts, you'd probably best get to your class." The Caretaker picked up the jar from the ground and stuffed it (impossibly) into his pocket; it didn't even bulge.
Hamish didn't leave, his mind having settled since the end of recess, finally the words he'd been meaning to say since the very beginning didn't feel so impossible.
"Avoid the girls, they start rumours." Hamish murmured his warning, his voice nothing to the wind. The caretaker couldn't have heard him, but he didn't want to try again, that would just be pathetic.
"Good thing I'm immune to rumours," The Caretaker whispered back. "I'm too cool for rumours."
Hamish winced, The Caretaker didn't understand. If those girls called him a freak or a pervert, the best was getting things thrown your way, the worst was being fired -- and they could do it if they wanted to, they could make this nice old man an outcast with just a disgusted look. Hamish knew this all far too well, he wasn't normal, everyone knew it, but he could have been so much happier if they'd just let him be.
"You're scared of them." The Caretaker observed, Hamish looked away. "80s; Not a good time to be different is it?" He hummed. "Guess it never is, not for people like us." There was a great sadness to The Caretaker's voice as he said that, and an even greater loneliness. Hamish tried not to care -- he really did, but he was always terrible at that.
He didn't much like hugs, but his mum said they made people feel better. He opened his arms awkwardly and The Caretaker gave him an odd look, then something realised in the old man's face and he scrambled backwards with more vigour than any other movement he'd made that afternoon.
"No, no, absolutely not, none of that." He tensed terribly and Hamish heard something shift in his voice, he adopted a ruder tone, so Hamish backed off. "Yes well, job done." He clasped together his hands and gave a far too forced smile. "Goodbye small earth child, things to do, places to be." And then he was off, like he had never been there at all. Almost too quick to get away.
Hamish stared after him for a minute or two; he never ended up going to history class, but time still seemed to roll on. The new Caretaker never came back -- the old one did though, and somehow Hamish felt more alone then before.