Expelled

By, Aaron Schmidt

 A young man with sandy brown hair and thick eyebrows stood at the end of a path that

intersected between two neatly trimmed fields of grass. They were adjacent to a large building in

the center of town, each field populated by fleeting passersby that had business there. The park,

however, was a vast scenery that people preferred to look at from a distance, but not to be a part

of. The pigeons scattered about the mans feet didnt seem to share the same concern as they

pecked unconcernedly for scraps amongst the small pebbles.

The man did not look sophisticated enough to be a part of the civilized town of Barnsley;

a blip of gaucherie among the uppercut of society. The artistic movement had brought a bizarre

range of people to the sophisticated city throughout the years, all attempting to enact their own

personal renaissance, each unsuccessful by isolation and obscurity. Between the old men

gathered in cloistered rooms smoking stale tobacco, a mess of unkempt hair and discourse, they

worked together to co-organize their thoughts into vivid literature, poetry(comma) and art. It

was a movement brought by the opening of a new university, funded by the aristocratic son of a

pioneer in the steel industry.

Phillip Royer was one of these newcomers, but didnt, however, fit the mold. He was

fifteen when he came to the city from a farm just west of Barnsley, in the poor village of

Sheepstead. There, his father and his two sisters lived currently. It was a squalor of an

inheritance from his grandfather, Abel, but they made decent enough money from the farmers

market on the weekends to sustain their little life on the ranch. He would sneak jars of his

mothers pureed fruit and eat them on the way to school. And on the weekends he would sell

them for half the price to the tramps on the side streets, waiting to steal from unattended bread

stands and the like. The little pocket money it provided allowed him to order books from the
small neighborhood newspaper. Paddys Book Emporium was his go to for short fiction stories.

He was up to three in total when he applied to the school mentioned in the newspaper.

Youre fifteen? Only fifteen? asked the boy occupying the chair of his dormitory

room. He looked no older than twenty himself, sitting in the red chair with a juvenile smile cast

over his face. The soft yellow light from the lamp threw his sharp features into gradual contrast.

Why is that so unbelievable? Phillip asked and they laughed lazily. Between the two

of them, they had shared nearly a dozen lagers at the pub, and were in a mutual state of torpor.

Theres not any university students here at fifteen. What are you, some sort of

prodigy?

Apparently. However, not by Mozarts standard, said Philip. The youth across from

him rolled his light blue eyes at Phillips mock-pretension.

Come on, whos room is this? he laughed, gesturing to the cramped facilities around

him. There wasnt much, just a bookshelf by the lamp and chair, and in the corner, a small bed.

Phillip didnt know what to say. He genuinely didnt believe him.

I swear its mine! I faked my name on the application. They think Im my older

brother, the boy looked at him with a mixture of awe and disbelief. He struggled with his words

for a moment.

No way. Thats bold, Ill give you that, and he took a swig from his beer. He looked

Phillip in his eyes for a moment, as though he were trying to read him. So(comma) whats your

real name?

Huh?

Your real name? Its not Henry then, is it? he asked. Phillip shook his head.

No, no. That was my older brother. Im Phillip, he held his hand out jokingly.
 Thom, said the boy (comma) and they shook hands.

The car pulled up to the side of the road and Phillip gathered his bearings. He only had a

couple of bags to bring home from the university but it still felt heavy to him. He was leaving

with quite a few more books than he came with, and his exhaustion from dealing with his

expulsion was wearing on him. The taxi driver helped to load his things into the back.

Thanks, he muttered. They journeyed through the countryside. The last few of his

paychecks were being used for the ride to the farm. He knew exactly what to expect from his

father upon his arrival. Hed walk up to the frequent scene he was so familiar with; his father

foddering the cows. Hed look at him disappointedly, but with an irritating smugness that Philip

could not stand. The invective insults that he would underhandedly fling at him over his stay had

him very unenthusiastic to depart. He took off for college without the permission or approval of

his father. Hed want someone to help around the ranch, as he saw any assistance from his two

younger daughters as folly in comparison to that of his first-born son. He felt as though he had

taken a huge step back. How did he manage to tell the deans son of his real identity? How

could he have been so careless?