The Hand That Tugs the
Heartstrings
& Other Stories
Creative Writing
Period 1
Spring 2010
Mr. Zervanos
Molly Neill
The Hand That Tugs the Heartstrings
World Heavyweight Champion Jory Daley cringed when the ice was pressed to
his forehead. As he hissed in pain, he was met with: "Stop moving or it'll only hurt
more."
Jory adjusted himself in the passenger's seat, keeping the ice firmly planted on the
swelling bruise. "Aw, God, when I signed up for this life I didn't think I'd get tapped for
real," he joked with a light southern drawl. Fellow champ Jayna Lynch settled back in the
driver's seat of her car with her back against the door to face her best friend.
"Sweet, we wear spandex for a living. What'd you expect?" Lowering her legs
under the dashboard she finished: "And by the way, you weren't punched. You fell down
the steps to the locker room and hit your head.”
Jory groaned as he let his head fall back against the seat's head rest.
"Does Lex know?" he asked half conscious.
"Hmph, don't think so," Jayna answered honestly. Did Lex know anything about
his baby brother these days? The older man hadn’t been very responsive in the past few
months. Didn't return calls, didn't talk much in general. He just stayed away from people.
Always with an intimidating look on his face that made him seem like an
unapproachable, ill-tempered animal when he was forced to stand amongst the masses. "I
think he just got here," she told Jory vaguely.
"Probably cutting his promo by now," Jory assumed.
"What's the time?" he asked.
Jayna fished her phone from the purse sitting between the two seats. "Eight thirty
four," she read. "Yeah, he's going out soon," Jory assumed.
"You gonna welcome him back?"
Jory stared at the stone wall of the arena parking garage through the windshield.
"I don't know," Jory admitted. "I mean, I want to. He's the closest ally I have besides you.
But, man, my head is friggin' killing me," he trailed off. Jayna was nearly positive now
that Jory had a concussion and shouldn't be getting in the ring tonight. But it was not like
something as minor as a concussion had ever stopped Jory before.
"We haven't been having the best of luck, have we?" Jory joked, moving the ice
across the expanse of skin. No, luck certainly was not on the side of Jory OR Jayna these
days. Just a few weeks ago the ropes of the ring had given out while Jory was jumping
off of them. And not long after that, Jayna had her own tumble down a staircase in a
Tennessee hotel. If they had any luck left, it was luck that neither of them had been badly
hurt yet.
"You probably should go, though," Jayna concluded. "Mr. Goebel wants you and
Lex to start that storyline, you know."
"Oh, what? The storyline where we hate each others guts? Yeah, not thrilled,"
Jory stated.
"Just, please don't wrestle tonight, Jor," Jayna pleaded. "Go out and talk if you
need to, but, just, try to have some inhibitions when you-"
Jory cut her off with a fit of laughter. If there was a perfect word to describe Jory
Daley, his wrestling style, and his life in general, it would be inhibition-less. "Woo!
You're funny!" Jory cried. Jayna stifled a giggle in response.
"Does seem kinda unbelievable," Jayna agreed, referring to the new angle Mr.
Ron Goebel, chairman and head of Ultimate Championship Wrestling, had set up for the
two brothers/long-time partners. Goebel was certain this feud would shoot the three-man
intergender dream team of Jory, Lex, and Jayna from their spots at the top right into the
stratosphere. This time not as one team, but as three singles competitors who only had to
look out for themselves and could only rely on themselves.
"I mean, the Daley Brothers, nine-time World and UCW Tag Team Champions,
hating each other after a life of partnership?" Jayna continued to speculate.
"Well, if it weren't for you turning us into the Lynch Mob we wouldn't have had 5
of those reigns. Probably wouldn't still be headlining. You know how much Goebel loves
Lex," Jory said sarcastically. Their boss liked the team and was quite fond of how well
Jory and Jayna got over with the crowd, but he'd never been as keen on Lex.
"Breaking up the Lynch Mob now kind of sounds like getting divorced when
you’re eighty," Jory mentioned.
Jayna giggled. "You and your pimp gonna break up?" she joked, nudging at Jory.
"Yo, back up." He nudged back, lightly hitting her chest.
Jayna doubled over in her seat, clutching her breast with one hand and the
steering wheel with the other. Apparently the hit wasn't light enough. "Woah, Jayne!"
Jory shot up, but was instantly brought back down by the pain in his own head. He placed
a hand on her shoulder, helping her back into sitting position.
"I, I'm all right," she told him, still scrunching up her face from the sudden strike.
"I'm sorry. I totally forgot about your chest problem. Did you ever get a doctor to
look at that?" Jory asked.
Jayna's body crumpled against the seat, curling into fetal position. Jory could
swear he heard a sniffle before she answered: "Yeah, yeah I did."
"Well?" He hunted for a better answer. "Are you okay?"
She raised her head, eyes stretched to try and look out of the windshield. Tears
streamed down her paling face like deep rivers, her eyes red and straining. "Jor, I, um."
She stopped to sniff and wipe her nose. He remained silent, prepared for whatever was
coming. "... It's a tumor." But nothing could've prepared him for that.
Her best friend went numb, wide-eyed and limp with his head trying to rest on his
hand despite the ice pack in the way. "Did they catch it in time?" he whispered. His
grandfather, a man he considered his 3rd parent, had died of cancer not long ago. And
now it was taking one of his best friends? No, his Pop-Pop had been old. It was his time.
But Jayna? She just became UCW Worldwide Champion. Years of dedication, pain, and
fighting to cross the gender barrier to become the first female world champ, and this is
how she was repaid? It wasn't fair. Nothing about this was fair.
Jayna viciously rubbed the backs of her hands against her cheeks, scrubbing the
natural salt water away. "Not sure," she answered honestly. "It could go either way. But...
I may not have much time left."
They both stewed in the atmosphere, unable to speak. "Look, don't let it get you
down," Jayna said, squeezing Jory's hand as he squeezed back. "Go out, talk to Lex, and
don’t do anything stupid. I'll be backstage when you guys are done. Oh, and, please don’t
mention this to him. I wanna be the one to tell him."
Jory shook his head, lowering the pack of ice to see that it was stained with a
familiar, violent scarlet. He let go of the Worldwide Champion, the dying champion, and
turned to step out of the car into the emptiness of the underground lot in Buffalo, NY,
with his own title in hand.
"What?" Jayna asked as he sat there with one leg already out. He turned back to
look at her.
"Don't do anything stupid, ‘Wild Child’," he said, calling her by her nickname.
Slinging the coveted World Heavyweight title over his shoulder and slamming the
door behind him, Jory started for the center of the arena where his brother would be in the
ring. He made sure to never look back at the silver Corvette behind him.
Alexander and Jordan Daley were brothers, two years apart in age. The only
children of an aging couple from a small Virginia town. Bound together for all eternity
with blood and by love. Both with one uncommon goal.
Ever since they could move with fluidity the Daley brothers shared a dream. To
become world champions. Not for fame, not for money, not for women. But because as
children they had fallen in love. Of all things, with the sport of wrestling. The weird little
Daley kids, no bigger than average and plenty odd to other children for only reasons
children could give, wanted to be champs for Ultimate Championship Wrestling. One of
the most successful American wrestling promotions to ever be broadcast on national
television. Their grandfather had introduced them to the sport, even buying his only
grandchildren a trampoline so they could have their own matches.
For years they faced nothing but rejection. Driving miles, "wasting time", and
appearing insane for pushing themselves through matches only the insane would agree to,
only to come crawling back with chronic pain and a couple of bucks. Occasionally they
won, even winning minor championships for some tiny, unknown promotions for short
periods of time. But even when their parents weren't behind them, Pop-Pop always was,
refereeing their scrimmages, sending them money when it was low, taking them in when
they hit rock bottom. And as Pop-Pop had told them: with wreck comes reward. In this
case, reward came in the form of four year contracts with UCW. Neither had even
bothered reading them, too interested in finding the dotted lines beneath the small print.
Within the next six months, they'd won their first tag team gold with the company. The
first person to congratulate them was none other than their Pop-Pop, William Daley, who
cheered the loudest from the front row and hugged his boys the hardest despite his
waning health. Just a few weeks later, he was gone.
Enter Cameron St. John, a tiny Italian girl from Rhode Island who introduced
herself as “the Wild Child”, Jayna Lynch. The first time the Daleys saw her, she was
scaling a cage wall to jump on and take down her promotion's then lightweight champion,
though compared to her, he didn't seem very lightweight. To some surprise, she actually
won. The three of them clicked instantly, Jayna a little stunned to be meeting the Daley
Brothers and the brothers a little stunned to be meeting a sweet woman who preferred
fighting men, and was actually good at it. Within a few weeks of watching her, Lex
conspired to get her a contract. Jayna was a beautiful and incredibly talented girl who
shared his passions and goals just as obsessively as he did. He wouldn't let her get away.
And thankfully, Ron Goebel wouldn't either. In 2001, Jayna Lynch debuted as the
newest member of the Daley Bros. team, turning them into a show stopping, notorious 3man team known simply as the Lynch Mob. In the years following they won both of
UCW's tag team belts a combined five times. But Jayna's proudest win and Lex's finest
moment had certainly been the one they never thought she'd actually reach.
Lex Daley remembered Jayna's UCW Worldwide Championship title win at
Mischief Night ‘09 so well he could play it like a movie in his head. And after weeks of
hype, the match was twenty minutes of adrenaline and Match-of-the-Year Award
material. As hard as she tried, Jayna couldn't stop sobbing and mouthing the words "oh
my god" as the referee handed her the belt. The pay-per-view’s theme, "You Always
Believed" by In This Moment, blasted over the arena speakers, unable to drown out the
ecstatic crowd and Jayna’s uncontrollable cheers that kept the spectators going. This was
Jayna’s dream, her impossible dream to be a world champion, and it was finally coming
true.
Lex and Jory were the first of many to run out from backstage, hugging her with
all their might despite any pain she may have felt from the match. While the rest of the
roster rushed the ring, the Lynch Mob stood huddled in the center with Jayna clutching
the UCW Championship belt.
"I love you guys so much," she choked through joyful tears. The brothers laughed
and returned her gratitude. "You guys are gonna make great singles champions," Jayna
said, knowing this may be the last time they'd be in the ring as a team. "I know it."
"And you're gonna be the best UCW Champ in history," Lex told her sincerely.
Jayna grinned at him, and he felt the same warmth within his soul that he'd felt when they
first met. It was as if he'd won the championship himself vicariously through this future
hall of famer.
At that short moment in time that felt like an eternity, Lex knew Jayna was "the
one". But now that she was the first female UCW Champion, how would he tell her? He
wouldn't, he figured. He'd keep it to himself as long as he had to, though it became
increasingly hard as he saw his younger brother grow closer to Jayna. Jory and Jayna
were like a power couple that never actually dated. They won tag matches with ease,
pulled off great segments and promos that could be hilarious or frightening. They were
the best of friends. And Lex could never be completely calm knowing that. He loved Jory
dearly, and he'd be there for his baby bro no matter what. Take the championship? Fine.
But take Jayna, and there would be consequences. Consequences that Lex was dying to
make Jory suffer after last month at Clash of the Titans.
Earlier that night, “the Machine”, Lex Daley walked into an arena for the first
time in three months without a limp. He had busted his left knee when botching a simple
move while going for the World Heavyweight Championship. He'd been so incredibly
close to the one thing he wanted since childhood. And it escaped through his fingers for
the third time this year just because he couldn't land a freaking leg drop. Lex had pushed
injuries aside in his past, but this time his knee was seriously damaged. He'd torn a nice
piece of cartilage, and surgery was unavoidable. But what scared Lex wasn't the
arthroscopy he'd have to sit through. It was knowing that an eight week absence from
wrestling to recover and gain back strength was plenty of time for someone else to take
his rightful place as champion. And as expected, someone did. His own damn brother.
Jory had stepped up in place of Lex, saying it was to avenge his brother's injurer
(then-WHC Logan "Storm" Page), but Lex knew Jory was just as desperate to win, if not
maybe more so than Lex. And he did. While Lex lay on the couch in his Manassas Park
home with a bum knee, Jory overcame an icon to become the most powerful man in The
UCW. And although Lex was glad to see his brother just make it out alive, a feeling like
anger kept scraping at the pit of his stomach. A feeling that he should be the one holding
the big gold belt above his head, standing on a ring post in front of a screaming Staples
Center crowd... with Jayna coming out to hold up his arm in victory.
The instant Jayna ran out, hurdling the ropes to pounce-hug Jory, Lex's heart
rolled out of his chest, off the couch, and shattered on the floor. The UCW and World
Heavyweight Champs, his brother and the love of his life, were standing in the center of
the ring, looking happier than they'd ever been with Lex. And here was Lex, broken,
failed, and not even able to walk straight let alone hold a championship. And above all
things, he was overcome with an unnerving envy, envy towards Jory for the belt he knew
he deserved, envy towards Jory for the woman he had the privilege of calling his "best
friend". Dammit, Jory didn't understand. He didn't understand anything, the good-fornothing backstabber!
The night of his comeback, Lex wanted nothing more than to enter the ring and
shock everyone, because when he came back he knew Mr. Goebel wanted him to take a
heel turn, make a complete 180 turn from the Lynch Mob and turn his character into a
total, evil bastard. And even if it required feuding with Jayna, which it probably would,
Lex knew exactly who he'd take out first. The sweet and innocent baby brother that had
taken everything from him.
Jory walked hurriedly through the unwelcoming halls of the HSBC Arena, hoping
that he wasn't too late to politely interrupt his older brother's returning monologue. As he
bypassed backstage employees with the title as big as his head slung over his shoulder,
his head still pounding from the inside, he heard the unmistakable voice of Lex coming
through the monitors and speakers backstage. And... booing? Why would the audience be
booing Lex? He literally just came back after leaving as one of the most fan friendly guys
on the roster. What the hell had Jory missed?
As the Heavyweight Champ approached a monitor depicting his big brother in the
middle of the ring, still in street clothes with a brace on his knee, Jory noticed one of the
producers nearby. "The hell is going on?" he asked the man. The employee looked up,
rolling his eyes and raising eyebrows as if he wished Jory hadn't asked. "I'm sorry, man.
Watch your back." Was all the producer said before walking toward the backstage sound
booth with clipboard in hand.
Jory's brow knitted, now extremely concerned, and he turned to get a close up on
Lex with a look of great distaste on his face. When the boos and hisses died down, Lex
raised the microphone back to his mouth to continue.
"You can say whatever you want. I take full responsibility for my actions, and I
don't regret any of them." He paused to let the audience give their unchanging opinion, as
he was supposed to. "And whether it's at Retribution, or in the Faceoff ring-- Jory is
going straight to where I just came from. The hospital!" More screaming ensued around
him. "For once in my life and my career, I know what I'm doing, and where I'm going."
Though he said it, he definitely didn't sound certain. “I’ve sacrificed everything, given
everything I can offer to all of you. And now it’s time to get what belongs to me!”
Another pause to give the audience of children and mouth-breathers time to understand.
“I deserve this. I have earned all of this! And I’m telling you honestly, from the bottom of
the broken piece of glass in my chest that once was a heart, the Lex Daley of the past is
gone. The only person I care about now is me!
"Jory, I hope you’re watching, because now that you've taken everything I ever
loved away from me..." He choked out the next part, putting a special emphasis on “best
friend”: "I don't consider you a partner, a friend, or my brother! You and your best friend,
Jayna Lynch, are nothing more than a couple of losers who got lucky!"
Jory didn't hear the last part because after the word "brother", he was grabbing a
mike and racing out through the curtain. His entrance theme came on a bit late as staff
rushed to keep the scene going, but at this rate nothing was going as planned. Literally
anything could happen.
At first Jory did nothing as he stood there, waiting for the words to form in his
head, belt on shoulder and gaping wound on his forehead. Some folks in the crowd
cheered to see their hero, the UCW World Heavyweight Champion, while others simply
gawked at the bruise he'd acquired. Jory soon felt the nagging hunch that he had missed
something, something Lex had said that may be important to know right about now.
"You proud of yourself?" Jory finally asked when his entrance music and the
crowd died down. Lex looked down at his brother from the ring, trying not to smirk upon
seeing his handiwork. He knew that shove down the stairs would hurt Jory, but never did
he think the cement would leave such a beautiful mark. The purple and blue mixed with
old brown and fresh red. It may even scar, reminding them both of Lex's dominance over
Jory as long as they lived. Of all of his accomplishments in UCW, in Lex's mind, this was
certainly the finest. As Lex admired the mark he had left on his baby brother's pale,
pristine face, Jory very rudely interrupted.
"I asked you a question, Lex! Are you proud of yourself?!" he yelled, scratching
his throat in the process.
Lex clenched his jaw before replying with: "You have to ask?"
Despite being surrounded by noise, a heavy silence fell between the two Daleys.
Years of partnership, all those times one of them fell only to have the other one pick him
up and force him to keep going, the love they shared as brothers, as a family. With simple
words Lex was washing it all down the drain. And Jory could do nothing but fuel the fire
that Lex had become.
Resisting the urges both to cry and to beat his big brother, Jory wiped his face,
cringing when his fingers hit the bruise, and woefully continued as he approached the
ring where Lex stood above him. "You know what, Lex? You're right," he paused to let
the drama sink into the ears of the onlookers. "I'm not your brother. We aren't a family.
Not here in this battle. Not in this life. Not anymore," he trailed off, grabbing the bottom
rope.
Jory swung himself up, stepping through the ropes as he did routinely, and
dropped the title behind him, knowing an official would put it somewhere safe for him.
Their eyes didn’t meet until Jory, with his head hung low enough to let his long hair mask
his face, stood a mere few feet away from Lex. As Jory swung his head back up and
replaced the microphone in front of his face, Lex could see now the shine in Jory’s eyes.
Not their usual twinkle, but a build up of tears. Lex bit his lip, anxiously awaiting Jory’s
next words and trying not to celebrate his success too soon.
"I should've realized when the EMTs carried you out that night,” Jory said,
bringing up Lex’s accident. “You didn't go to hospital because of your damn knee- you
went because you're sick!"
"You're no better!” Lex interrupted.
“Oh yeah?” Jory responded, beginning to wonder if his own flesh and blood was
behind the stair incident. “I admit I’ve done a lot of awful things in the past. But you,”
Jory chuckled in a sarcastic tone. “You are making me pale in comparison.”
Meanwhile, backstage, Mr. Goebel stared intently at the sixteen monitors focused
on different sections of the arena and ready to catch anything that could be used when the
show was broadcast for television. He stood tall behind the producers and production
managers, arms crossed over a large frame that remained strong and intimidating despite
the spell of old age. Keeping his focus tight on a straight shot of his two employees in the
ring, Goebel asked to anyone willing to answer: "is any of this scripted?"
The producer who had been talking to Jory earlier turned his chair to look up at
the most powerful millionaire in sports entertainment. Despite working for Goebel for
years, the producer could still be shaken by his boss' cold demeanour.
"I believe Lex's speech was, but, uh, Jory kind of just ran out."
"So they're improving all of this?" Goebel asked,
"Looks like it, sir."
The producer turned around in silence when Goebel asked no further questions.
But not long after turning, he heard Goebel's distinct chuckle of satisfaction.
"Perfect," Goebel decided. "I knew these boys would pull through for me."
In the arena, the crowd was a mixture of murmurs and questions. Jory could hear
them ask each other if this was scripted, while others sat silently as they watched their
favorite tag team, the brothers they idolized, verbally rip each other apart. This was the
quietest crowd the Daleys ever witnessed, as fans and employees. “Jory, for everything
you've done, I see you as nothing less than a sick, twisted, and disturbed freak!" he said,
resisting making his language a little more colorful. After all, calling his brother a son of
a bitch would be kind of ridiculous.
“I’m the freak?” Jory asked sarcastically. “I may be ‘the Freak of Nature’ but at
least I’m not a psychopath!” To this, the audience celebrated. It was their job, after all.
Cheer for the good guy, boo for the bad guy. Simple enough, right? But it became
quickly irritating, especially to Lex, who wanted nothing more than to end the
conversation and knock little Jory senseless.
“You’ve had a damn good life so far, Lex” Jory said, getting in Lex’s face. “And I
hope the scar on your knee serves as a good reminder of what we were and what we
never will be again!”
Lex took a deep breath as Jory backed up. “Actually,” he started, “I’ll think of
something a little different. See, my scar symbolizes when I had everything, and got
everything taken! This,” he started, patting his knee where the surgery scar lay. “This is a
symbol of injustice, dishonesty, and punishment to the deserving. While the one you’re
getting,” he taunted as he grabbed Jory’s head and pressed his thumb down the length of
Jory’s bruise. Jory cringed, smacking his older brother’s arm away to cradle his own head
in pain. “Is forever gonna be a reminder of my superiority over you. I’ll be champ. You’ll
just be the little bitch who thought he could.”
Jory raised his head and smiled. "... I learned from the best. " And before Lex
could think of a comeback, Jory had thrown the mike out of the ring and pummelled Lex
to the canvas. After letting him throw a couple of fake punches to excite the crowd, Lex
threw his significantly smaller brother off of him, making sure the toss was hard enough
to make Jory stay down, and returned to his feet. Microphone in hand, Lex stood over
him and began stating the reason for why he’d come back to UCW in the first place.
“I’m not fighting you here, Jordan. Not for no reason,” Lex stated, using Jory’s
real name. “I’m challenging you for my World Heavyweight Championship, this Sunday,
at Retribution,” Lex offered, making sure to promote the event the way his boss would’ve
liked. “Appropriate, right?” Lex asked the crowd, referring to the pay-per-view’s name,
to which the crowd began chanting “YOU SUCK”, a favorite chant of most wrestling
audiences.
Lex got down on one knee to hover over his brother. "And it’s not just any match. It’ll be
an “I Quit” match!” Lex revealed.
To win an “I Quit” match, a competitor would have to get his opponent to be the
first to say the words “I quit”. And to do that, the two fighters could unleash any and all
forms of hell they pleased. Lex had thought long and hard about what the Daley v. Daley
match for Retribution would be. It couldn’t be more perfect.
“At Retribution,” Lex continued, “I will get what I justly deserve. And you’ll be
justly punished.” He looked up at the crowd, who by now had stopped chanting. “And
these people,” he started before looking back down at Jory. “These people won’t know
you as a world champion. You'll forever be known, as the brother who quit when it
mattered the most!"
Lex dropped the mike and rose to his feet. Just as he was preparing to climb
through the ropes and leave, he began to hear the familiar first notes of Jet Black Stare’s
“Ready to Roll”, Jayna’s entrance theme. Shit, exactly what he didn’t want. He’d
prepared something for Jayna just in case she showed up, but he was really hoping he
wouldn’t have to get her involved. Oh well, too late now.
Lex watched as Jayna Lynch placed her fists on her hips, standing poised at the
top of the ramp. “5, 4, 3, 2,” Lex counted in his head as the pyrotechnics that specifically
accompanied Jayna’s entrance began going off. Suddenly, the rain of sparks around her
began spraying in all different directions. Jayna, taken off guard, reacted by covering her
face with her arms. But once she realized what was going on she made a mad dash down
the ramp, falling and beginning to roll away from the demented firework show going off
behind her. Upon reaching the ramp’s end, the spark throwers exploded with loud bangs
before going black.
But it was fake. Lex had rearranged the pyro in her entrance before the show to
appear like it was an accidental malfunction. It wouldn’t actually hurt her; he made sure
of it. Jory was the only one Lex was interested in hurting. Jayna didn’t realize that she
needed to stay far away, or else Lex would do something he’d regret more than scarring
his own brother.
Jayna rose to sit, staring with wide, shocked eyes at the stage as she began
hurriedly using her hands to get further away. Her head snapped to face Lex and she said,
though it looked like she only mouthed the words to Lex, “Did you do this?!”
Lex only looked down at her. But once she turned and grabbed her upper arm to
cover a reddening burn that only the sparks could’ve caused, his expression immediately
became one of resentment. He’d hurt her? No, that wasn’t what this was about. She
wasn't supposed to be a part of this. This changed everything.
When Lex looked back up, Jayna was in front of him and being held back by Jory
who Jayna had helped back to his feet. “I was coming out here to stop you two but it
looks like that’s not the problem,” she spat. “What kind of older brother are you?”
Lex only shook his head, dropping it as he clenched his eyes shut, now he being
the teary-eyed one. Oh how this woman did not realize that not only did she turn the
tables, but she literally broke them in half (no wrestling pun intended). Lex smirked and
shook his head, then grumbled loud enough for the mike to pick it up. “Am I my
brother’s keeper?”
Jayna and Jory exchanged a shocked glance, they being two of the many who
recognized the quote and couldn’t believe what they were hearing. Jayna had always
referred to wrestling feuds between brothers as “Cain and Abel feuds,” but this was
taking it a little too far.
“I really wanted nothing to do with this,” Jayna told him. “This is between you
and your brother. I have my own problems to worry about,” she said, referring to her
responsibilities as UCW Champion. “But if you’re after the both of us, then I have no
choice,” she said. “This match of yours just became a triple threat!”
Lex’s head snapped up. “Oh yeah, I went there!” Jayna said, making the crowd go
wild since she said her “catchphrase”.
No, absolutely not. He refused to fight Jayna at this stage in the game. But when
Jayna wanted in on a match, there was no talking her out of it. He would simply have to
let Jory take care of her, and once he got rid of her, Lex could have Jory all to himself.
Maybe this could still work out.
Jory stared at her, mouth agape. Lex wondered, what did he care if Jayna was in
the match? Well, obviously he cared about something to react like that. Was there
something about Jayna that Lex didn’t know? Something Jory should’ve told him? It was
just like the little bitch to do something like that. He wanted her all to himself, and
Princess Jory was getting his way. Again. Lex clenched his fists, grinding his teeth
together to keep from saying anything.
“You told me you loved me,” Jayna told Lex to his face, closing in on him. Where
the hell did this come from? Yeah, Lex had told Jayna he loved her but always in a
friendly way, never how he really felt. Had Jory told her? Had that bastard brother, no,
not brother, simply a bastard, given away his dark secrets? “Well if you really love me,”
Jayna continued, “you would never hit me.” She paused. “But if you are gonna hit me,"
she forced out, "you better make it damn good. Because when I get back up… I’ll kill
you,” she said, smiling.
Lex wrapped his hand around the microphone where Jayna’s cold fingers lay.
Swallowing hard, he whispered: “I’m sorry.” And as lightly as he could, he threw his
hands to her chest and pushed her into Jory's arms.
As he ran from the ring and the arena altogether, he could hear Jayna screaming in
pain. He hadn’t hit her that hard, had he? But Lex didn’t realize that he put all of the
weight of his arm through his hand and onto Jayna’s left breast. Exactly where Jory had
tapped her earlier.
Jory held Jayna in the ring as she breathed slowly, calming herself and relieving the alltoo-real pain. Once he saw Lex leave through the throngs of upset fans, Jory wrapped his
arms tighter around her and put his head on her shoulder.
"I-- I need to repent,” Jory said just loud enough for Jayna to hear. “For
everything... All the sin I've committed. Everything against Lex. Against you-"
"Jory,” Jayna stopped him slightly annoyed, “no one has sinned against anyone.
This is just a storyline; none of it's real." At least, it’s supposed to be just a story.
Wiping the last of the tears from his eyes, Alexander Daley, former older brother
of Jory Daley and former partner of Jayna Lynch, walked at a fast pace through the arena
underground and into the cold loneliness of the back parking lot to get to his car. He
didn’t care to hear how perfect the promo was or how awful it was. None of their
opinions mattered. All that mattered was getting the hell out of this place and away from
everything that was causing him to act this way. Everything was spinning out of control;
everything was so overwhelming that he just wanted to leave. Waste away on the hotel
bed the same way he had wasted carelessly on the couch at home the past months. Just
get away. However, that was easier said than done.
As Lex approached his car he noticed former World Heavyweight Champion, the
man Jory beat last month, Logan Page sitting on the roof of his car. As Lex got closer, the
man whom the fans knew as Storm chuckled and began clapping.
“What’d you want, Logan?” Lex growled at him. Logan continued his one-man
standing ovation as he got off of the car and walked up to meet Lex.
"I asked what the hell you want, Page," Lex repeated. Logan came to an abrupt
stop in front of him, raising his hands and bowing to be at eye level with Lex. Lex didn't
have to look up at most people, but Logan was NOT most people.
"Relax, Lex," he said softly, "I come in peace.” The ridiculously tall blonde man
rose back to stand straight. "I just wanted to congratulate you in person," Logan
complimented. But even though it was a compliment, something about it just felt slimy.
Fans knew Logan was a shifty character who almost always had some shady plan up his
sleeve, but Lex was certain in the years that he'd known Logan, both as Storm and as
Logan Page, the shiftiness of his character had become who he was as a person. And a
part of Lex was frightened of it.
Lex sighed and uttered the word "unnecessary" as he pulled away from Logan to
put his bag in the trunk. "Oh, I beg to differ," Logan argued following him. "You know, I
was the one who sent John--"
"Her name is Jayna," Lex corrected angrily. There was nothing he hated more
than when people called Jayna "John". Her name was St. John for a reason. Because she
deserved to be placed high above the rest. Yes, she dressed and acted a little masculine,
but many of the guys could also be a little feminine. Hypocrites. All of them, hypocrites.
"Whatever," Logan brushed off. "Anyway, you know I sent... Jayna, on her little
trip down the staircase, but I wasn't sure who took my idea. Imagine my surprise when I
discover that the loving and protective big brother, Lex Daley, was behind the ropes
breaking, the 2nd stair incident, and the pyrotechnics!"
Lex slammed the trunk door, trying to catch Logan's conveniently placed fingers
in the process. He narrowly missed. Lex's eyes snapped to stare into the eyes of the devil
himself, coming to lose a staring contest he had no intention of winning. "You don't know
anything." Was all Lex could come back with before escaping to the driver's side of the
car.
"Oh, come on, now, Alex!" Logan cried out. Lex turned to have Logan leaning
down right next to his ear. "I know what you did, Cain," Logan whispered with a breath
that could chill a snake's blood.
Lex shook off a shiver and backed away from the uncomfortable closeness.
"Cain? What... What the hell are you talking about?" He knew exactly what Logan was
talking about. How the hell did this sly and seductive douche bag manage to wrap his
head around Lex's intricate planning and perfect execution? How’d he figure out it had
been Lex? God, why the hell even ask? Logan always managed to weasel his way into
places he didn’t belong.
As he reached for the car door handle, Logan firmly planted himself against the
car, covering Lex's only form of escape. "Like hell you don't know!" Logan scolded.
"First you try to kill your brother and then you ask if you're his keeper?" He paused,
placing his hands on his hips and through his smirking lips concluded: "I think you've
finally come over to the dark side."
"I haven't come over to anywhere, Logan," Lex articulated. "I'm just having a bad
week."
"Oh ho, is that what this is?" Logan teased. "Then I'd like to know what a shittastic week is in your book!"
"You know this is none of your business," Lex cut him off. He was tiring of
Logan's mind games quickly and really wanted to lose the viper in a man's body before
he said something Logan could sink his fangs into. Logan began closing in on Lex again,
using Lex's discomfort as just another mechanism in his game.
"Your princess of a brother took my title," Logan growled. "And now you're
trying to get your hands on it. I still have a rematch clause, you know. But it looks like,
thanks to you, I won't be using it anytime soon. Nothing is rightfully yours, Lexi. Nothing
in this company, this business, nothing in life." He paused, backing away to lounge on the
car's side. "That is, with the exception of your will."
Lex's eyes made contact with Logan, now interested in where he was going. And
although he didn't want Logan to know of his interest, the smirk on Logan's face just
about gave away that he knew Lex’s real feelings. Looking into Logan’s eyes, Lex felt as
though he was actually becoming cold-blooded, just like the snake beside him.
"For years, you've been putting yourself as second to Jory. Always letting him get
the shots and be the star. Always doing his bidding. And now you’re jealous because you
wasted yourself and all of your potential on that selfish son of a-"
"Don't talk about him like that!" Lex said, pounding his fist into the car roof and
burying his forehead next to it.
"See! There's still a part of you kowtowing to him!" Logan paused, letting his
words sink deep. "If you just let the envy take complete control, you'll stop running to his
little bitch ass side, and you'll be the superior Daley... You obviously have it in you. After
all, you almost killed your brother! A couple times."
Lex sighed heavily. "I don't want to kill anyone," he spilled out. "All's I... I just
want... I... damn."
"Come with me." Logan ordered.
"No," was Lex's immediate response.
"Just a little ride?"
"No."
"Lex, as two people trying to take down Jory Daley, I think it would be smart of
you to associate with me now. Besides,” he said, running an index finger down the side
of Lex’s face, “I like naughty, dominant Lexi more than overprotective, big brother Lex."
"I don't trust you."
"What's going on?" came a distinct feminine voice from a few feet away. Lex
looked up to see Jayna walking towards them with her white coat pulled tight, like the
angel who saved him just in time from selling his soul.
"None of your business, Johnny," Logan shot back with his neck twisted nearly
all the way around to face her.
"My name is Cameron St. John, you ignorant ass. And unless you want to wind
up under this car," she said nodding towards Lex's Corvette, "I suggest you make your
way out of here." Before he could answer, Jayna put up a finger, cutting him off.
"Alone," she added, pointing in the opposite direction.
Logan scoffed. Picking himself off the car, he walked briskly past Jayna, close
enough so she could hear him mumble "good lu-uck" in a menacing sing-song way
before he was gone.
Jayna watched the viper slither away before turning to Lex. "What was that
about?" she asked.
Lex chuckled cruelly. Inside his brain was reeling. "Shouldn't I be asking you
that? What was that scream you unleashed on the unsuspecting millions in the ring? You
made it sound like I stabbed you. And why’d you ask if I love you? What was that
about?!"
Jayna turned her head. Lex didn't know that that one little shove in the wrong
place felt like he had sunken a blade through her breast. She ran her tongue over her
teeth. "Asking if you loved me was just to get the crowd riled up. You don't understand--"
"No, apparently I don't!" Lex shot back. "But Jory seemed to understand! How
come he knows so much about you and here I am standing in the dark?!"
"Lex, you haven't been here! I haven't gotten the chance--"
"Well, I'm here right now! I've been right beside you all a--"
"I HAVE CANCER!"
The shriek echoed in the upstate New York night. This angel in white... cancer?
Lex's hands rose to his head, trying to keep all of the brain matter intact. Was what he
was hearing, really true? "You hit the tumor. It hurts like a son of bitch," she sobbed. Lex
closed his eyes before dropping his hands and raising his head to face her. If she was in
that much pain then there was one question he had to ask.
"Then why'd you put yourself in the ‘I Quit’ match?" he struggled to say through
a dry throat.
She paused. "This... This is a really, really hard time for me. I don't know what
I'm doing with my career, I don't know where my future's going. Or if I even have a
future at this point--"
"Don't say that," Lex grumbled.
Jayna inhaled and exhaled deeply, feeling the lump in her chest rise with it. "I just
don't want my two best friends to be at each other’s throats right now," she admitted.
"And, um, Jory wanted me to tell you. After Retribution, if he loses the title, he wants to
take a break. Says you need your time on your own. And, personally, I think Jory has his
own life to sort out."
Lex sniffled, unable to comprehend what he was hearing. He was one of her best
friends? Well, it sounded plausible, but it was a spot he had to share with his bitch
brother. And Jory wanted to leave UCW? Was he really that stupid? What would he do
without wrestling? Where would he go? Why did Lex even give a damn?
When he didn't say anything, Jayna continued. "Just, let me have one good match
at Retribution. Cause I'm honestly not sure how many I'll have later."
Lex rubbed his eyes, glancing from Jayna's infected breast to her dying eyes.
Swallowing, he said honestly: "I promise.”
"Mr. Goebel, please, if you really want this to go well, you'll take Jayna out of
this match!"
It was Sunday, the night of UCW's Retribution. The night Lex would take his top
spot in UCW. The night Jory would have revenge against his evil brother. The night that
may be Jayna's last pay-per-view with the company. And after witnessing Jayna practice
before, there was no way he wanted her in a match as vicious as the one Lex had been
planning.
Jayna had a match with Logan “Storm” Page two days before the even. It was
obvious the bastard was aiming for her chest, sinking to the lowest of lows just to win.
Right before pinning him, Jayna executed her signature drop kick, a kick with enough
force to knock down a standing line of soldiers. It looked good until she landed. On her
chest. Hard. She swore it didn’t hurt as much as before, but after a match like that, there
was no way she was in good enough condition to be in the match as vicious as the one
Lex and Jory would be putting on.
Ron Goebel, the businessman Lex had respected and feared since childhood,
stopped in his journey to his office to face his main eventer. "Lex, this is the main event.
We're talking a possible unifying of the UCW Worldwide Championship and World
Heavyweight Championship if Jayna wins. Now," he chuckled, "as you were saying, I
don't expect her to, but the fans are so behind her that the critics think I may have the gall
to actually combine the titles." He laughed in a superior manner that he had perfected
over many years of domination.
Lex faced the ground, kicking at the cement of the Madison Square Garden floor.
"Lex, you and I both know her condition," Mr. Goebel stated. "I am so lucky to have such
dedicated people working for me, and so proud to call this my company. And if these are
her wishes, I'd like her to have a good match before possibly releasing her. Now, I know,
I know, this messes with your plans. But she and I would really appreciate it and I have
faith you won’t let either of us down. Now, as for you and your brother--"
"What about me and him?" Lex asked, getting used to not referring to Jory as his
brother.
Mr. Goebel regained his train of thought and said: "I want a good match. But I
want a good, clean match. I've been working in this business for a very long time, Alex,
you know that. And I can tell when two people are acting or really at odds with one
another. And you and Jory are far past the stage of being at odds with one another to the
point where I fear you’ll rip the man’s throat out!"
Lex groaned, supposing he could only tell the truth to his boss. "I just... I just
want to be as successful as Jory. I mean, I've worked just as hard as he has. I've put in my
work. I've paid my dues! I... I want to be recognized, too."
"Lex, if you make good, won't you be successful?" Mr. Goebel asked
hypothetically. "If you don't put this jealousy behind you two," he began to explain, "It's
gonna nag at you for years to come, until eventually it has taken control and destroyed
you."
Considering his words, Lex nodded in response. In a way, Goebel seemed like the
anti-Logan. Both of them made sense in their own ways. "DON'T let me see that
happen." Mr. Goebel finished, leaving Lex alone in the hall. Never in his life did Lex feel
more confused, and more alone.
This was it. The moment. A match that could determine a million and one things.
Lex stood in the ring, his entrance song, "Stitches," blaring over the booing crowd
as Lex was curled in a corner of the ring. While most in the audience would figure he was
just concentrating on the match, taking everything around him into consideration like the
tables around the ring, the ladder in the center. But in reality, he was praying. Praying for
his and Jayna's safety, praying that his plans against Jory would pull through. Maybe
even praying that he and Jory could put all of this behind them now.
But not at this rate. Jory was just as angry at Lex now. And as his former baby
brother, the "princess" he'd worked so hard for, entered to screeching guitars, Lex knew
full well that Jory would be pulling out all of the stops. Lex and Jory both had hell to pay.
Both had sins against one another to repent for. And Jayna would be stuck in the middle,
going just as strong as the boys like always.
Lex stood, coming face to face with Jory in the center of the ring, locked in a stare
down to end all stare downs. There was no stopping what was to come.
The UCW fans knew now, knew all of the horrid things that Lex had done and
knew that Jayna had cancer. There was no getting around the big fat elephants in the
room. At this point, it didn't even matter how well the three of them did. Either way this
would be a match to remember.
Jory turned so both Daleys faced the ramp as Jayna began making her entrance.
Immediately fans got to their feet. Most of them holding signs like, "We love you, Wild
Child", "Wherever you go Jayna, I hope there's TLC" (referring not just to “tender loving
care” but also tables, ladders, and chairs, a favorite match-type of Jayna's), and the three
wrestlers' favorite: "Jesus can't handle a one-woman army".
Jayna strolled down the ramp, taking in the sight of all of the people who loved
her and the people she loved in return. She smiled and laughed before raising her arms in
a shrug and mouthing the words "what the fuck, guys?” Silly girl, always humble and
stunned by how much people really genuinely loved her. Even as she did her little routine
and entered the ring, she couldn't believe the support.
The three former friends met in the ring as Jayna's music faded and exchanged
looks with one another. However the match went, this had to end. Then the bell rang.
And faster than Lex knew it, he had been flattened out by two punches from two people
to the chest.
The match must've gone on near twenty minutes, the brothers exchanging harsh
blows with one another and Jayna sticking mostly to Jory's side, more careful than she
usually was in the ring, until Jory had thrown himself onto Lex in a suicide dive that
could've taken out a man twice Lex's size. Before he knew it, Lex was being dragged
back into the ring and put on a table Jayna had put next to the ladder earlier in the match
in an attempt to put Jory through it. Obviously, that hadn't worked out.
Once Jory had firmly attached Lex to the table, Lex noticed Jayna getting up off
the ring apron out of the side of his eye. Faster than he could process it, Jayna took Jory
down with her violent, signature drop kick. "NO!" Lex cried, but it was too late. Jayna
had landed again.
But... there was no scream. No audible sound at all. "Oh, dear God," Lex thought,
"please don't tell me she's unconscious."
And as if the angels began singing, the crowd began a cheer of utter glee. Next to
Lex's head, Jayna's hand fell hard on the table, pulling herself back up. Her other hand lay
over her chest, trying to put the pain behind her. But in her one moment of glory, Jory
took the advantage given and pushed Jayna on the table with Lex. She lay there nearly
motionless, facing down but eyes still open and breathing. Lex looked from her to the
ceiling of Madison Square Garden, beginning to struggle against the restraints Jory had
put around him and the table as Jory slowly made his way up the ladder playing to the
crowd all the way.
As Jory climbed, Lex beckoned the referee over. The ref's job in the match was to
carry a microphone and ask the wrestlers if they wanted to quit at any time in the match.
But Lex didn't intend to quit. He intended to save himself. Save Jayna. And get back the
brother he once knew and loved.
"Jory!" Lex cried into the mike up to Jory, who was nearly at the top of the 12
footer by now. "Jory, please! Don't do this!" The crowd booed. From eleven years of
experience, Lex knew now there was one thing a wrestling audience always wanted.
Action. And what could be better than jumping off a twelve foot ladder through a table
onto your brother and best friend? The audience refused to not let this happen. But if Lex
wanted to keep his career and any chances of winning, he'd have to make this stop.
"I'm sorry, Jory! I'm sorry, about everything! Jory! I love you!" The crowd didn't
stop. "Jory, listen to me! I. Love. You. Jory, we're brothers! We're brothers-- we're
supposed to stay together!"
Jory threw his arms out and screamed at the crowd, receiving cheers back to
encourage him. He'd reached the top of the ladder and was now sitting at the top. It still
dug into Lex, that jealousy of the baby of the family. But... the love he had always had
for his brother felt like it was coming back. Stronger now than ever before.
"Jory, listen to me! Lex loves you," he said, beginning to sound like a broken
record. "We can still BE the Daley brothers! We can be the Lynch Mob all over again!"
he offered.
Jory still didn't answer as he got to his feet, balancing at the very top of the ladder
like he'd practiced for years before. "Jory--" Lex started, now getting desperate that Jory
may actually hurt him and Jayna. "What would Pop-Pop say about this?! He's watching
from heaven right now-- what would he think? Is this what he would want?!"
He could see Jory's fists clench. To open up this old, scarred wound now may
have looked good for Lex's evil persona, but it was only fuelling Jory's need to get
revenge against his big brother for the hell he'd been put through.
Lex turned his head to face Jayna. She still lay face down on the table, the weak
left half of her body partially covering his. Lex shivered, swearing he could feel the
cancerous tumour through the skin and fat of her breast.
"And Jayna," Lex started. "Jayna, I'm sorry for everything I put you through. You
were never, never suppose to be a part of this." He felt tears coming, knowing now wasn't
the best time to spill his heart and guts on the ring canvas, but he was finally realizing
that now he may get no other time. "I didn't know you were sick," Lex sobbed into the
microphone. "I don't want to lose you, Jayna. I can't..."
He caught his breath, crying his eyes out like a little bitch in front of the millions
of fans he'd built a reputation with for years. "I'm so sorry... JAYNA, I LOVE YOU-!"
Jayna's head snapped up and she screamed: "Go to hell, Daley! I QUIT!"
And just like that, she'd rolled off the table, throwing the match away. Lex and
Jory watched from separate positions as Jayna rolled to the other side of the ring away
from the action, the ref helping her. And while the ref was turned away, Jory yelled “I am
NOT my brother’s keeper!” And jumped.
The leg drop, the same one that had broken Lex's knee, sent both Daleys straight
through the saw wood onto the canvas, which was now covered in sawdust and
woodchips. Both brothers lay there, Lex now free of his restraints and Jory clutching his
leg. No, he hadn't. There was no way Jory made the same mistake Lex did.
After moaning in pain, Jory turned to his brother across from him and as if he
read Lex's mind, he told him: "I learned from the best."
The ref turned and got down on the brothers' level. Before he could ask the fatal
question, Jory groaned out: "I quit! I quit."
That was it, Lex thought. He won. He was the new World Heavyweight
Champion! Then why wasn't he happy? He quickly learned why as he watched the
ringside EMTs carry out his broken little brother, the former Champion, on a stretcher,
making sure to handle his leg as gently as possible.
Ignoring the pain, Lex crawled over slowly to Jayna, who sat hunched over with
her legs splayed in front of her on the opposite side of the ring. Once he'd reached her,
Jayna said to him quietly enough so the mikes under the ring didn't catch it: "He faked it."
"Wh- what?" Lex asked, turning his head to Jory's broken form being carried out.
As fans patted Jory from the stands and congratulated him on a fight well fought, Jory
smiled and raised his hand in a wave. And in the smallest gesture, he winked, mouthing
the words "I'll be back soon." His leg wasn't broken. No bones shattered or muscle torn.
Just a broken heart that needed to forgive and be forgiven. Same as Lex.
Lex, on his knees, looked down at the tired little girl in front of him and finally
did what he'd wanted to do for years. He wrapped his arms protectively around her and
leaned over to kiss her scalp. He felt her strong arms wrap around his waist and her head
drop against his naked torso.
And while they sat there, the fans began cheering. Mixed chants of “Lynch” and
“Daley” rang throughout the arena as they felt the lights beginning to die. But Lex heard
none of it. Only the soft breathing and rhythmic, sped-up beating of Jayna's heart.
"Nobody's gonna break you down," Jayna uttered to him in a child's voice. "I'll
hold you up," she promised through tears.
"And I'll always be here," Lex promised. "Right beside you."
Ryan Berg
Period 6
Original Paper
Justice
“Four years, two months, and sixteen days ago today, Mark Richton was fired
from the Miami police force after he struck his captain while intoxicated on the job.
Mark’s drinking problem started four years, eight months, and five days ago when his son
was killed in a car accident. On that day, officer Richton and a third of the police force
were involved in a high speed pursuit with a drug cartel member by the name of José
Sanchez. The pursuit with Sanchez ended when he blew a red light on a busy Miami
street and slammed into another car that was crossing the intersection. As the units
converged on the car driven by Sanchez, gun fire erupted from the back of his car. After a
ten minute fire fight, one suspect from the car was killed, another was wounded, and
Sanchez was taken into custody. Four officers quickly went over to the other car that was
hit by Sanchez and his men in their escape attempt. Sadly, the driver was killed on
impact. When Richton got to the scene minutes later, he recognized the car that was hit. It
was his son’s car. Sanchez was the only one to make it to trial as the other two died in the
fight. Sanchez was not charged with the murder of Richton’s son, Dillon. That’s all you
really need to know about Mark Richton. Okay, rookie?”
“Yes, Jeff, I got it. Now where is our glorious boss anyway?” Nick Porton asked
sarcastically.
“In his office, I don’t think the guy ever leaves,” Jeff replied.
“Well, maybe he should get up already. Let’s go to get some bounties and rake in
the money!” Nick exclaimed.
“Calm yourself, rookie. The courthouse has to open before we can get our jobs for
the week,” Jeff answered with a little irritation in his voice.
“Stop calling me ‘rookie’, Jeff. I might be your younger brother, but I’ve been a
bounty hunter just as long as you,” Nick yelled back.
“The both of you should shut the hell up or I’ll do it for you! Jesus! It’s like
taking care of two babies in here –not two bounty hunters. Grow a pair, boys!” Mark
Richton growled as he stumbled out of his office. “I have to meet with Lt. Harris in an
hour and with the two of you bitching every five seconds, the crushing headache I have
right now will only get worse. Now go find something to do and make use of yourselves
or I will kick both of your asses!”
“Sorry, boss. We will go fill up the trucks and do some paperwork quietly then,”
Jeff said, glaring at Nick who had a small grin on his face.
“You go do that. Oh, and Nick? Wipe that dumbass grin off your face or the only
job you’ll be getting is to clean my toilet,” Mark yelled back as he opened the door and
left the building.
The cooler coastal air that was sweeping through the street was a nice change
from the much warmer weather Miami had been getting before. Mark walked down the
block and turned down the corner. He was headed to a diner where he and his old partner,
Nathan Harris, had been meeting for years. A small bell on top of the door rang as Mark
entered the diner. He walked right over to a corner booth where the two sat every time
they met.
“Hey, Harris. How’s it going?” Mark said casually.
“Same old. The captain is busting my balls ‘cuz I’m not writing enough tickets to
meet my mystery quota! Is it really my fault if drivers have finally become smart and
slowed down when they pass my car?” Harris said as he cut into his eggs and toast.
“No, it’s not. We know the captain is an asshole. But he’s going to retire or die
soon, so why fuss over it?” Mark answered with a smile on his face.
“Listen, Mark. I got some news that you might not like to hear, but I need to tell
you before you hear it from someone else. José Sanchez got out of jail last Tuesday and
put into witness protection. It seems he rolled on a couple of cartel members by order of
the Romerez family. The problem is that when our guys got to the safe house where those
cartel members were supposed to be hiding out, they were already dead. We just found
out that the Romerez family also located Sanchez and took him back from the witness
protection agents. Two are dead. One is in critical condition. The other agent is missing.
We think he was taken hostage. I’m sorry but I just found all this out myself.”
“He’s out?” That murdering son of a bitch is out roaming around again?!” Mark
yelled at Harris. “Where was he last seen and where was he headed? Don’t dare try to tell
me you can’t tell me or you don’t know. Tell me!”
The entire diner was now looking at the two of them. Harris said nothing and just
stared at his old partner with sympathetic eyes. He reached into his pocket and pulled out
a piece of paper.
“This is all I have on the situation. It says where he was last seen and where he’s
presumed to be headed. There is also a number and a name of an informant that may be
able to help you once you get to your destination. Just please calm down and please be
careful,” Nathan said softly, almost in a whisper.
“Fine,” Mark said as he got up and raced out the door.
Mark ran back to the office, not stopping for anything. He burst through the door
and scrambled to his room. A few minutes later Mark emerged from his office with a
duffle bag and his gun case.
“Umm, are you going some place, boss?” Jeff said.
“Yes, now give me the keys to the damn truck. You filled her up, right?” Mark
answered.
“Yeah, of course. But where are you going? Do we have a job or something?” Jeff
questioned.
“I do. Now stay here and do your job. I’ll call the office later and I’ll be back in a
few days.”
Jeff handed the keys to the truck over to Mark as he raced out the door.
Fifteen hours later Mark Richton was at the border ready to go into Mexico.
According to the information given by Nathan Harris, Sanchez had crossed the border
undetected just hours before and was being hidden in a safe house.
“Do you have anything to declare, sir? Any firearms or large sums of cash?” a
border patrol officer asked.
“No, sir, I do not. Just going for a little vacation. Work has just been a bitch
lately,” Mark Richton said, joking with the officer as he continued to try to conceal his
9mm Beretta that he had taken from the office.
“Well, then, Mr. Richton, have a good vacation and try not to get into any trouble
while in Mexico,” the officer joked back.
“Will do, sir.”
Mark sped off, trying to make up lost time. He wanted to make it into Los Tardes
before night. There was no way to be sure how long Sanchez would stay there. By
6:30pm he made it into the small town. He drove up to the only motel in the area and paid
for a room for one night. That’s all he needed. One night to take down Sanchez. Mark
met with the informant later that evening to discuss the situation and where Sanchez was.
“That’s where they are hiding him, señor. They will most probably move him in
the morning again. He has many guards with guns,” the informant said.
“Thank you very much, senor, for all your help. Here-- for your troubles,”
Richton said handing the informant a wad of cash. “Now, I suggest you leave before it
gets ugly.”
“Gracías, señor,” the informant answered as he walked away.
Hours passed as Mark Richton sat watching the apartment, waiting for his chance.
Suddenly the lights went out in all of the rooms. Mark looked up at the sky.
“This is for you, Dillon,” Mark said to himself as he got up and walked toward the
apartment building.
For five years Mark Richton had thought that the last time he would see the man
that killed his son was in a court room and thus his pain would stop. However, now with
Sanchez out, the pain that he had held down and washed out with gallons of scotch had
come back to him. He knew that he could never bring back Dillon, but Mark was going to
make sure that this was the last time he ever saw Jose Sanchez alive again.
As he walked across the street toward the apartment building, only the look of
anger and determination was plastered on his face. Before he knew it, Mark was at the
door of Sanchez’s apartment.
“Everything comes back to you in the end. Now it’s time that Jose Sanchez of the
Miami drug cartel learns this lesson the hard way,” Mark Richton thought to himself as
he quietly picked the lock to the Mexican apartment. Mark rattled the lock trying to get
the mechanism to unlatch as quietly as possible so he didn’t wake anyone who was
inside.
“Just a little more. Come on, come on. Yes!” The lock finally gave way with a
small click. Mark slowly turned the door handle and opened the door. It creaked into the
darkness of the room. Mark gritted his teeth, worrying that even the smallest amount of
noise would alert his target and the guards that he knew Sanchez had with him. As the
light from the hall poured into the room, Mark watched for any movement. Lucky for
him everyone seemed to be still asleep. Richton moved through the room, swiftly pulling
out his silenced 9mm Beretta that had been smuggled through customs just hours ago. He
leaned against the wall, checking out where the guards were sitting and any obstacles in
the way. A bead of sweat rolled down his cheek. He could feel his heart beating a mile a
minute.
“One, two, three.” He counted off the people in the room that appeared only as
dark blobs in the darkness. “That’s not too bad. Okay Mark, breathe. This needs to be
done. He killed Dillon. That bastard is in here and it’s your job, no, you’re right, to take
your revenge. So it’s time to take out these thugs and take back what you lost.” The anger
that Mark had held back for years began to bubble to the surface as his hand grasped that
gun tightly.
He moved from behind the wall and pulled the trigger. Three shots, three bodies
dead on the floor, the only noise came from the empty shells hitting the ground. Mark
checked the barrel of the gun to make sure all the spent casings made it out and a new
round was sitting ready for the next kill. He then began to move through the room again.
“Three down, one murderer to go. Now, where is the bastard hiding?” Mark
Richton whispered to himself as he crept over the fallen guard. He moved like a ghost as
he swept to the next room.
“Clear. Clear. Clear. Where is he?” Mark said as he checked the next four doors.
He slowly walked down the hall, waiting for someone to come out of a room and alert
Sanchez to his presence in the apartment.
“Last room,” Mark whispered as he drew in a large breath. Mark’s hand grasped
the door handle and he turned the knob.
As the light filtered into the room, the face of José Sanchez appeared on the
pillows of the bed. Richton’s heart almost stopped as he came face to face with the man
who killed his son that fateful day. Richton walked over to the bed and loomed over
Sanchez, his pistol firmly gripped in his hand.
“Wake up, you son of a bitch!” Mark yelled, no longer concerned with waking
anyone else up. “It’s time for you to pay for what you did to Dillon!” The anger in Mark
Richton would make any man fear for his life and José Sanchez was no different.
“Wait who the hell are you? What the hell are you talking about? I didn’t do
anything, man. It’s all a misunderstanding, señor. Guards!” Sanchez yelled out when he
awoke to Mark’s gun in his face, the hammer pulled back ready to fire.
“Shut up!” Mark shouted back as he struck Sanchez with the butt of his gun.
“Here. Tie up your hands and feet with this and shut up, you miserable little prick!” Mark
reached into his jacket pocket and threw a roll of duck tape on the floor. Sanchez looked
up at Mark. A stream of blood was dripping down Jose’s face where Mark had hit him.
Jose’s eyes grew wide when he realized who Mark was and that Mark wasn’t kidding
around.
“Okay, okay, whatever you say, man, just chill,” Sanchez answered.
After Richton made sure Sanchez was secured he taped Sanchez’s mouth shut
with a piece of the tape and walked out of the room headed for the bathroom. Sanchez
looked around, franticly searching for some way to escape. Just then, Mark turned on the
water to the bathtub, watching the brown tinted water pour into the stained tub. Sanchez
continued with his scan of the room but Mark was very thorough and anything that could
have helped Sanchez get away was already removed from the area. Mark finally came out
of the bathroom and walked right out of the room, headed for the kitchen. Minutes passed
as Mark searched the kitchen for the right tool to use for the revenge he could taste in his
mouth.
“Here we go. This will work just fine,” Mark Richton said to himself as he took
the toaster from the table. Mark made his way back to the bedroom but stopped. He
paused for a second. He felt something in the pit of his stomach. But what was it, he
thought?
“Am I excited to do this?” Mark said out loud.
Mark Richton walked back into the room, a small grin on his face. He walked
over to Sanchez and pulled off the tape with a quick rip.
“Ouch, man! Hey wait, what are you doing, man?”
“This,” Mark said as he struck Sanchez with the gun once more, knocking him
out.
Sanchez woke up a few minutes later partially submerged in the bathtub.
“What the hell is this? What are you doing?” Sanchez yelled as he squirmed
around, trying to get loose once more.
“This is payback for my son’s life that you took from him,” Richton said calmly
as he put the toaster on a shelf above the tub. He then put the final touches on the string
he tied around the toaster and the bathroom door handle.
“Well, José Sanchez, this would be the end. This is the payback that you deserve
to get. This is for the innocent man you killed in cold blood during your run for power.”
Mark turned around and walked out of the room, closing the door behind him.
Forrest Chandler
Short Story
Period 6
12/09/09
Oakland
Oakland, Pennsylvania had absolutely nothing to offer me and I
decided sometime during my senior year in high school that it was
time for a change in my life. “Take good care of Tom while I’m gone”
was the last thing I said to my mom. She had tears in her eyes,
knowing my exact intentions. I remember walking out the door looking
back to my front porch remembering all the excitement I’d had on that
porch as a youth. Learning to put on roller skates for the first time,
teaching Tommy how to pack a snowball, even tripping and falling
breaking my foot on the steps. These are all memories I’d never have
such easy access to when I move away. I knew I would miss my mom
and dad but that didn’t bother me. They’d always be just a phone call
away.
What I didn’t include when I told them that I was taking a trip to
Las Vegas with a few friends of mine that was that I had no intention
of returning anytime soon. It was time for a significant change in my
life.
- - - - - - - - - - -
We left 8:00 A.M. in order to catch our flight all bursting with
excitement and curiosity about what the trip was going to bring us.
Together we saved a total of $10,000 for this trip and couldn’t wait to
hit the road. As we pulled out of my driveway I had an uneasy feeling
of hesitance, but that was soon overcome when I looked at pictures of
the hotel we were going to be staying at for the first week. When we
got onto the highway we started to review our plans.
“You have your fakes with you, right Tyler?” Brian asked. I had
my buddy in college make me a school I.D. last year that said I was
twenty-one on it with my picture next to it. I gave him $50 to make
three more so we could all go to the casinos.
“Yeah I got it.” I responded. We were going to stay at the Luxor
hotel for a week, have the time of our lives, and then come home. At
least that was their plan. What did I have to come back to? Absolutely
nothing that was worth staying for. There was so much offered in the
rest of the country: new places to eat, new people to meet, new
everything. Why should I have let the boundaries of my hometown
block me in?
“There it is. Take this right.” Dan said. We could see the airport
in the distance and I felt my stomach churning with delight. The same
feeling of anticipation that seems to come less and less frequently the
older I get. I was so close to being free.
“Everyone’s got their I.D. and shit right?” Brian asked.
“Yeah. Pass this car on the right; we gotta hurry up.” Matt
responded. We parked in the first spot we saw in Lane F and grabbed
our bags; everyone was eager to get inside.
The last time I was in an airport I was twelve. Our family was
taking a trip to Disney World for the second time in my life. I
remember our faces and attitudes more than anything. We were all so
content, happily walking into line and chatting until it was our turn at
the security gate. My brother and I had played cards on the plane next
to each other, waving to mom and dad across from us every twenty
minutes or so. We had all been thinking about the trip ahead and were
actually excited to be with one another. I remember smiles on
everyone’s faces.
“Dan you’re an idiot,” Brian said, interrupting my thoughts,
“That’s like the one thing you needed to remember.”
Apparently Dan had forgotten his wallet. He had no I.D., no
ticket, and no dignity left after we all gave him hell about it. There was
no chance of making our flight if we had to go all the way back home
first.
“What the hell were you doing before we left Dan? I even asked
earlier if you had it.” Brian continued to humiliate Dan until we realized
we actually needed to figure out what to do.
“I guess he could just catch a flight tomorrow.” Matt added.
“Alright I’m cool with that. Brian I’ll just take your car home and
book a flight for tomorrow.” Dan said.
“Hell no.” Brian responded.
“Then what the hell do you want to do?”
“Fine take it but be careful.” Brian gave Dan his keys and we
made our plans of where to meet. We said goodbye to Dan and rushed
through baggage check and security and boarded the plane with only
minutes to spare. We sat down in our seats and were anxious to get
going. Once our plane took off we all became much more relaxed. We
all put on our headphones, and had a silent trip there; It was nothing
like my airplane experience as a kid.
- - - - - - - - - - -
When we arrived everything was chaos. Everything seemed so
foreign. We had only stepped into the Las Vegas airport lobby and
already we were surrounded by slot machines on every side of us. This
reassured my already bad feeling of how much money I was going to
spend on this trip.
I felt out of place; it was nothing like our small town back in
Oakland. For the first time I asked myself if I was actually ready for
this trip.
We proceeded to the baggage claim area and got our bags. As
soon as we walked outside it was a rush of life; we had never seen a
more vibrant, active city in our life. We called a cab outside of the
airport and it came in a hurry. We watched as the tab for the trip
added up. That was our hard earned money being burned into fumes
from the exhaust of the car. Once we arrived at our hotel room
everything suddenly became extremely optimistic. The room was
magnificent. It had a bar, three couches, a piano, a statue and tons of
eye-pleasers we didn’t expect; that was just in the living room. The
cost for the room was $1000 for the week so we weren’t entirely
surprised. We all felt Dan’s pain missing out on such a jaw-dropping
moment.
We called Dan before our first night of going out. He seemed
bummed out, but with good reason. We were having a blast.
The first night out at the casinos was the most fun I’d ever had.
Kate Gaffney
The Bay Window
Claire drives down the highway and gets in the left turning lane. She waits for the
traffic and makes the left into the parking lot of the red brick building. The red brick
building means only one thing to her, forty-five minutes and twenty dollars worth of
talking. She sits in the Civic and wonders how she got there. Obviously the car was
involved, but she doesn’t remember passing the gas station or the mall on the way. As
Claire walks toward the heavy glass door, the car door locks behind her. Did she do that?
She takes the stairs to the third floor, passes the bay window overlooking the highway.
The window amuses her and gives her comfort. There isn’t a single picture on the dull
peach walls of the third floor hallway. The only thing mildly interesting is the dark blue
carpet with multi-colored specs. Claire makes her way down the hall to the second to last
door. Taking a breath, she turns the knob and walks in.
The waiting room is gloomy. The blue-grey walls make Claire feel even more
lost. The frames of the pastel paintings are broken and dusty and the chairs creak every
time someone shifts his or her body. It’s all too familiar for Claire. The wooden door with
the number one opens, and Heather steps out.
“Claire I’m ready for you,” she says.
Claire picks up her coat and keys, and follows Heather into office one. She sits on
the ugly floral couch and waits while Heather gets situated. The room is different, than
the last time she was there. Claire looks and focuses on the crystal glass balls freshly
placed on top of Heather’ desk.
“Did you move those crystal ornaments?”
Heather giggles softly, but surprisingly, fills the whole room with her laughter.
“Yes, Claire. That’s very observant of you.” She pauses. “So what do you want to
talk about today?”
Claire keeps her head down, fiddling her fingers with a string on her coat. She
only hears the last few words of that sentence; “want to talk about?” runs through her
head.
“Well,” Claire starts, “I still feel the same. Today wasn’t such a great day, in fact
it was worse.”
“What was worse?”
“The ‘alone in the crowd’ feeling. I have no motivation to get better anymore.
I’ve decided that I’m okay. I’m never going to get better.”
“Well, what about piano? You love to play, right?”
“I used to love it, but not so much anymore. It used to make me feel better but it
hasn’t for a few weeks. I haven’t played since then.” Claire keeps her eyes low, focusing
on the piece of string. She looks at Heather. Her flowing dark brown hair is beautiful and
straight. She looks good today. Heather is wearing black-knee high cowgirl boots, with
black jeans tucked into them, and a long sleeved black v-neck. Her hazel-green eyes are
caring with a light shade of brown smoothly brushed on her eyelids. She’s about forty.
“Well, if you had to rate your day from a 1 to 10, 10 being the best and 1 being
the worst, what would your day be?” Heather says with a smile.
“Two,” Claire says quickly.
*
Claire opens the burgundy garage door, and walks into the laundry room, where
her mom is folding clothes. Beau barks at the open door and her mom barges her with
questions about the school day and seeing Heather. Claire barely hears her mom, and not
because of the shrill bark of Beau.
“Uh, it was fine,” she says in a monotone. “I’m going upstairs to change.”
“Oh, okay,” her Mom says disappointedly. “Dinner will be in twenty minutes.”
Claire walks up the garlanded stairs. She loves Christmas, but hasn’t been able to
get in the mood. She opens the door and sees her keyboard by the double windows, and
the dirty and clean clothes that cover her carpet. Neither the clutter, nor the messes,
bothers her. In fact, they make her feel just a little better.
Claire pushes her feet through the clothes lying on the floor, walking to her
unmade bed, opens her laptop, and types weightwatchers.com in Internet Explorer. She
always feels as if she is trapped in her own body because of her weight. The weight holds
her back from doing things she loves, like soccer and ice hockey and feeling confident.
Claire finishes up on the laptop and walks toward the mirror. She looks at the reflective
glass but doesn’t see her face, thighs, or arms. All she can see is her stomach. She hates
it. Earlier at school that day, Taylor Gilmer had made a comment about her stomach. I’ve
lost twelve pounds since being on Weight Watchers, but it clearly wasn’t enough for
Taylor.
*
“So this girl Taylor made a negative comment about your weight. What was the
first thing you thought?” Heather says politely.
“Well, I was angry. I really try not to say anything bad about other people, and to
hear people talk about me hurts. Also, I’ve always been nice to Taylor, so she had no
reason to say anything negative. It was hurtful, but then I thought, you know, I’ve lost
twelve pounds,” Claire says triumphantly.
“Wow, that’s right you have lost twelve pounds, and to even think that to yourself
shows that you are improving.” Heather writes notes in her spiral notebook. She does this
every session with every client, Claire assumes, but the way she is moving her pen is
different than before. Heather has a little pep in her hand as it glides across the page
almost with a feeling of achievement. She hasn’t cracked the case yet, Claire thinks.
“Well, I’m definitely proud about what I have lost, but I want to lose more. I want
to weigh 145. I am still only 158.”
“So if my math is correct, you used to weigh 171.” Heather writes more notes.
“Yeah, it’s been a struggle. I just want to know how much weight I need to lose to
be accepted, because it’s really tearing me up inside.” Claire lets out the parade of tears
swelling underneath her eyes. She passes the bay window on the way out and can’t help
but to crack a small smile.
*
Claire sees John waiting in his car. She looks behind her to see if any lights go on
in her house. She wouldn’t normally sneak out; it’s just that her parents really hate John.
She and John drive towards Widener University, where his apartment is.
“I’m really glad you decided to come out tonight, but, Claire, when are you going
to tell your parents?” John waits for an answer to form on Claire’s lips, but it doesn’t
come. “You know I’m really serious about us. I love you, and I want to be able to hang
out with you at one in the afternoon, not one in the morning.”
“I know, John; I’m just not ready yet. I don’t have the guts to tell them, or the
heart.” Claire looks at her feet while she talks. She doesn’t want to face or hear what John
has to say next. “I love you too,” she says softly, but she knows it’s a lie. She may lust for
John, but it’s not exactly love.
*
Claire walks up the stairs and passes the bay window. She feels happy today, but
also exhausted. Seeing John always makes her feel a lot better. The waiting room doesn’t
seem so gloomy today. Heather walks out and Claire takes a seat in her office.
“Hey, how are you today?” Claire asks with a smile.
“Very good.” Heather is almost taken aback by the way Claire is acting today.
She seems happy, and confident. “You seem better today, so what happened last week?”
“John and I hung out. He picked me up.” Claire looks at her feet. She hears
Heather writing in her notebook. “He makes me feel better… and, well, he makes me feel
like someone.”
“Do you ever think that you just like the idea of John, but you don’t like him?”
Claire thinks for a minute, but finally chokes out, “Yeah, almost every day. I
know I use him to make myself feel better, but I just can’t help it. He just loves me too
much, and I can’t break his heart.” Claire looks up now. Tears stream down her face as
she realizes what she just said. John was just an illusion to make her feel like someone
else, someone without her issues.
*
Claire drives home later, feeling sad but also happy. It is a confusing feeling for
her. She is sad because she has be leading John on for some time. But at the same time
she is happy for understanding that she can’t lead John on anymore. This is strange she
thinks. On the way home, Claire notices the mall and that the snow has left a thick layer
on the grass and woods.
The next day at school things are just about the same, except Claire does feel just
a little better. Her feet are still dragging, but the corners or her mouth partially face
upward. It’s just a start, Claire thinks to herself. One good day can lead to another, right?
She walks the halls the rest of the day feeling a little less lonely. Her depression is still
there, but it’s not as scary, not as intense. Some days are good for Claire while others are
not so good. It’s hard to get out of bed. It’s hard to breathe. It’s hard to keep living a
miserable life and to not have the motivation or energy to get better. She may break on
the inside but still be smiling on the outside. It’s a way of life for her, something that she
will deal with for the rest of her life.
*
“Well, is there anything else you would like to share before we go our separate
ways?” Heather says smiling.
“Yes, thank you. Although I may not be a hundred percent happy all the time, I
still have learned a whole lot. These last 5 years have helped in ways I would never have
imagined. Not everything is easier, but at least I now have the coping skills to help me
get through the tough times.” Claire pauses, “Being lost in the crowd isn’t exactly my
biggest fear anymore, nor is my weight, or the fact that I can’t place men in front of my
problems. I don’t really know what my biggest fear is, probably heights.” She laughs
loudly. “But I do know that I will be okay. I will fight through my stresses, and come out
on top.”
Claire passes the bay window for the last time. The cars all speed down the
highway, with places to go. Five years ago, Claire had no place to go. And even though
she is just going home today, she feels as if she can finally be one of those cars that she
has seen through the bay windows all these years.
Walter Kelly
“Why do we have to do this? Why is my life the way it is? All she does is sit on her ass and get
wasted. She used to work so hard to provide for us and now, and now she’s given up on her responsibilities.
I do what I do so that she won’t have to bear the burden alone. To use her own the son the way she does,
it’s disgusting. I hate her so much but I can’t abandon her. Mimi depends on me and I can’t leave her with
Mom. What am I doing here?”
I stood frozen with a blank expression on his face. Thick cold droplets of sweat slowly trickled
down my face and all audio seemed to just vanish. My temples throbbed, and my mouth was dryer than the
hottest desert. I turned to Jamal and saw that Jamal felt the same way that I did. I was scared, no terrified; it
was a bad idea from the beginning, and now there was no turning back.
Leo held the gun to the cashier’s head and yelled to her to clean out the register. She was Asian,
possibly Korean and about nineteen years old. I could tell by the fear in her eyes that she was as scared as
we were. She looked down and fumbled around the buttons of the register, frantically trying to find the one
that opened the cash drawer.
The drawer slid out and Leo told the girl to raise her hands high in the air. “Get the money!” Leo
turned and gestured for Jamal and me to hop the counter. “Hurry up. Let’s go!”
We reached for the register and grabbed as much money as we could and tossed it into a brown
leather bag. After we emptied the register, we began to take cigarettes, condoms, wrapping papers, lighters
and anything else we could get our hands on.
“나의 손녀를 남겨두고 나의 상점에서 나가십시오!”
We stopped what we were doing and looked up to see an Asian man of old age coming towards us
with a shotgun in his hands.
We all dashed from the register and bled out of the store into the dark streets of Harlem. We ran
for about eight blocks and slowed to a stop, hearts pumping so fast we felt like throwing up.
“What the fuck!? I thought you said he wasn’t gonna be there?” Jamal said angrily, giving Leo the
dirtiest look.
“Watcha mouth, bitch! He musta came back early.”
“They saw our faces, Leo. What the hell are we goona do now?”
“I messed up! I shoulda wasted them when I…”
“WASTED!? Is that a joke? You said the gun was just a prop. I ain’t spendin’ no twenty-five to
life for cappin’ some old head. Naw, man, fuck you. I’m out.”
Jamal took off down the street, and in a flash he was gone. Leo looked at me and said, “Well?
What do you think? You been quiet all night. Say somethin’.” I was still for a moment, then responded,
“Let’s roll before the police get here. I’m wit Jamal. I’m not tryna do no time.” Leo told me to
hold onto the bag and took off in the same direction as Jamal. I was too tired to run, so I walked. I didn’t
want to look suspicious and took my time getting to the train station.
I boarded the train and sat in the closest seat I could find. I pressed my forehead against the glass
and gazed aimlessly out the window towards NYC, the city that never sleeps. I kept wondering to myself if
the old Asian man and his granddaughter would rat us out. Corner stores like that get robbed all the time.
What usually happens is that the group of niggas that robbed the store never get caught because they only
hit the place that one time and never return. Occasionally, someone gets shot or even dies, but most dudes
try to get out before it escalates to that. I considered myself lucky; a while back, ma boy E got it bad. He
got a .50 cal slug in the back just below his right shoulder. He an’ a bunch of the thugs tried to rob the
seven-eleven a couple blocks down from our neighborhood and got popped by the owner. He was this
husky lookin’ Arab or whatever with a beard so long it that it was practically growing into his chest hair.
He had the turban and everything, but E was like, “Man, he a chump! He was probably there when the
towers went. Fuck ‘em. He ain’t go do nothin’!”
Yeah, he was actin’ all high and mighty ‘til the guy and his boys came out the storage room
packin’ Eagles and AK-47’s. He was mad lucky to only have gotten shot once in the back. The bullet left a
hole the size of a cue ball in his back, but luckily his cousin knows how to stitch people up. I haven’t seen
E in a while now. Wonder if he ever gonna leave his house?
“He could’ve waited for me,” I thought to myself. After all, we are friends. Jamal and I go way
back; he’s always been someone I could depend on and has never betrayed me. Anytime I’m on the grind,
he’s got my back no matter what. But, seeing him take off like that really surprised me. This robbery meant
just as much to him as it did for me. Neither one of us really wanted to be there, but we don’t have much of
a choice these days. I never met my dad and his is on the row; I can’t help but feel bad for him. I can’t even
begin to imagine what it’s like to see your drug-abusive mother beat to death by a father who has been
broken by society. He didn’t mean to kill her, but in the end the “man” wins. Jamal’s broke as anyone one
else and was evicted shortly after the incident. Since then, he’s been hustlin’ nonstop just so he can live to
see tomorrow. He tried gang bangin’ but that didn’t work out too nicely; he’s too human to take someone’s
life for no purpose. Then, he tried slingin’. Things were working out for a while, but the corner he hustled
on became a hotspot and shit started to go way south. Half of his people got caught and the others are either
still in the game or in hiding. I was the one that convinced him to back out before he got in too deep. Since
then, he’s basically been doin’ freelance shit, any kind of work he can get: robberies, car thefts,
transporting drugs, sellin’ drugs, sellin’ fake Dodgers tickets and the list goes on. I’ve always tried my best
to help him any way I could; I couldn’t stand to see him suffer day after day. And, with his criminal record
he can never get a real job. Before my mom lost her job, I hadn’t really done anything to help her out. I
wasn’t bringin’ any money in and I was constantly gettin’ into trouble at school. Thinkin’ back now, I wish
I had done more. But, the jokes on me now I suppose.
I got to my place around 4 A.M. and crashed; Moms was passed out on the living room sofa. She
probably had too much to drink again and lil’ Mimi was fast asleep. I collapsed onto my bed and slept for
several hours. I awoke to the buzz of my phone vibrating in my pants pocket. I looked up at the clock and it
read 3:10 in the afternoon. I answered the phone reluctantly and it was Jamal. “YO! Where you been? I
been tryna’ holla at you for a minute. I thought somethin’ bad happened, what happened to you guys after I
took off?”
“Man, is that why you called? Nigga, I’m tired as hell. I ain’t get in ‘til, like, four or somethin’.
Naw, nothin’ happened. I caught the train back to Brooklyn and that was that.”
“Well, word on the street is that Leo got busted. He never made it home.”
“What!?” I sat up in my bed; I began to panic. “Aw, shit, what if that old dude ratted us out?” I
thought. I could barely hear Jamal over my thoughts; he kept sayin’ my name over and over, “Chris, yo,
Chris! You still there?”
“Yeah, man, yeah, so what’s gonna’ happen?”
“I don’t know. Apparently, it was the girl that fingered out Leo, but she said that she didn’t see
what the other two guys looked like because she was too scared of Leo to notice.”
I felt relieved for a moment, but quickly remembered, “What about the old guy? He saw us.”
Jamal laughed and said, “You can relax about him. His eyesight is less than great. He didn’t even
recognize Leo in the lineup, so I’m pretty sure we’re still under the radar. You got the stuff?” He was
referring to what we had stolen.
“Yeah, it’s under my bed.”
“A’ight, cool. I’ll be swingin’ by in a little bit.
“A’ight, deuce.” I hung up and went back to sleep. I never thought things would work out the way
they did. We robbed the store, got the money, got out, Leo got busted, but I didn’t care about that ‘cause
he’s not a snitch, and I don’t have to worry about the police breakin’ down my door; all was good. I heard a
knock on the door. “Damn, that was quick. Didn’t think he’d be over that fast.” I shuffled down the steps.
Moms was gone and so was Mimi. “Shoppin’ again,” I said to myself. “Don’t they ever get tired?” He
knocked on the door again, this time louder and more impatiently. “Hold on, I’m comin’. You better not
have dented my door, nigga,” I said laughing. I opened the door and my laughter stopped.
My entire face was blank. Staring back at me were two police officers with guns pointed at me.
Behind them I could see a cop car with Jamal slouchin’ in the back seat. “Son of a bitch! I can’t believe
him of all people would snitch on me.” He looked up at me, then looked away. I could tell that he was
ashamed for givin’ me up, and I could feel nothing but anger and regret. The officers cuffed me and shoved
me towards the car. People nearby were watching and I could feel their eyes on me. They put me in the car
and I could hear one of the officers talking to someone through his radio saying that they got the kid. The
second officer got behind the wheel of the car, and we slowly drove off into the distance.
Other than the two officers talking to each other, the ride was quiet. I didn’t look or speak to Jamal
at all the entire time. I was pissed and he knew it; he probably wanted to apologize to me so badly, but he
knew that if he did, I would simply throw it back in his face. All time seemed to slow down, as we sat in
the back of that police car. More, importantly, how did they know? They must have gotten Jamal as he was
leavin’ his crib, but how did they know he was involved? Maybe they busted him prior to him callin’ me
and everything he said about the girl and the old guy not bein’ able to I.D. us was a lie? I started to lose
myself. I was so shaken that I almost pissed my pants. My mind was racing so fast that I hadn’t realized
that the car had stopped. The two officers hurried out of the car and began walking cautiously towards a
small store. The entire outside of the store was brick, which was either cracked or broken; all of the
windows were broken. I looked around through the windows of the car and couldn’t spot a single person
for miles. “Gunshots? Definitely,” I thought to myself. Then, I heard yelling and moaning come from the
store and the police stopped advancing. Gunshots rang out through the store and the two officers began
sprinting towards it.
“Fuck! I ain’t goin’ to jail.” I turned to the door and began to bang on the window as hard as I
could with my hands still cuffed. The glass slowly started to crack as I continued to hammer it, and
eventually it broke. My hands were cut, sore and bloody, but all I could think about was getting as far away
as possible. I got out the car and turned to Jamal and said, “You comin’ or what?”
“Where we got to go? We can’t go home. Where we gonna go?”
“Anywhere! Anywhere is better than prison.”
“Nah, I can’t leave. I’m not leavin’. If you wanna, go ahead, Chris. That’s fine, but I’m done. I’m
tired of runnin’.” I looked at him like he was crazy.
“Whatever, have fun in the pen.” I was about to take off when I heard another gunshot and the
sound of glass shattering.
Jamal sat there in the back of the car, lifeless with a hole in the back of his head. Blood and pieces
of brain tattooed the windows, and Jamal’s corpse slowly slid down into the empty seat that I once
occupied. My heart ached and I could feel it crying. Jamal was my closest friend. I had known him all my
life. When we first met, back when we were four, we hated each other. But, one day out in the courtyard of
our school three kids that were older than me jumped me for my lunch money. Out of nowhere, Jamal came
up from behind and smashed one of the kids in the back of the head with a rock. That gave me enough time
to get up and take off runnin’, with Jamal following close behind. His excuse for helping me was that the
kid he hit picked on him a lot and he wanted to get him back. It was true; the kid beat up Jamal all the time,
but I thought it was more than coincidence that he chose to get back at him right when I was gettin’ my ass
beat. We were friends from then on and got in all sorts of trouble together. There was no one in the world
that I trusted more than him, and like that, he was gone. Tears slowly began to trickle down my cheeks.
Unconsciously, I had been holding my breath theentire time my mind had been racing after witnessing the
death of my best friend. I exhaled and found myself struggling for the next breath. It wasn’t until now that I
realized I was badly hurt. I dropped to the ground and stared up at the sky. The stray had gone through
Jamal and hit me in the neck. I gasped for air as blood gushed out of the hole in my neck. My body started
to shiver from the cold that mysteriously swept over me. My vision grew hazy and white. “Maybe I’m tired
too. I don’t want to run anymore…just sleep.”
Sirens rang off in the distance. I could no longer feel the pain in my neck and grew sleepier with
every second. It was like being on the top of Mt. Everest. Everywhere I looked I saw nothing but white,
chills ran up and down my body, and the air seemed so thin as I fought for each breath. I tried to move and
my entire body twitched. The more I tried to move, the more I twitched, until my body began to spaz out.
In that desperate attempt to get up, I exhausted the last of my energy. Expecting the worse, I just lay there
waiting, waiting for death to overwhelm me. The sirens grew louder, almost here, and yet they were too
late. I closed my eyes, and as I drew in my final breath…
…(Chris)…(Chris)…“Chris!” I shot up in my seat. “Damn, I thought you’d never wake up.
C’mon, this is our stop.”
“Jamal?” I looked at him and he looked back at me confused.
“Yo! You niggas need to stop wastin’ my time.” I looked over and saw Leo waiting for us to get
off the train. We got off and began walking. Jamal and Leo were talking as I slowly trailed behind them.
“What the hell just happened? Why am I still here? I could’ve sworn I was dead,”
“Chris, hurry ya ass up. We ain’t got all day,” called Leo.
“Where we goin’?”
“Nigga, are you dumb? We’ve been plannin’ this all week. Hurry up. I don’t wanna be in there
when the old man shows up.”
“What the hell is goin’ on?” I thought. “This is so fucked up. We just did this last night. We gotta
back out of this.” I caught up to Jamal and Leo and yanked on the back of their hoods.
“What the hell is wrong with you? Why are you buggin’ out all of a sudden?” Jamal said,
annoyed.
“I’m havin’ second thoughts about this. I don’t think we should go through with this.” I said.
“What, you scared, nigga?” Leo looked back at me with a wide grin on his face.
“No, man. I just got a bad feelin’ bout this. That’s all. Maybe we should jus—“
“We’re doin’ this tonight. We decided a week ago that we were doin’ this. Besides, we’re already
here, and I’m not gettin’ back on that train empty handed.”
Jamal jumped in and said, “Relax, man. It’s all good. We already go this thing figured out. While
the old man’s out, we go in, overpower the girl, get the money, and bounce. That’s all; we’ve already been
over this.”
“And, if that fool do come back I got the heat, so we straight.” As he said that, Leo lifted up his
sweatshirt, revealing the M9 handgun that was strapped to his belt.
“What is that? You never mentioned using a gun. Were you gonna use that for real?” Jamal said
with a look of disbelief.”
“Hell yeah, better safe than sorry. I knew you guys would bitch if I had told, so I didn’t.”
“Damn right, I was gonna bitch. The whole point of robbin’ the store while the dude’s gone was
so that we couldn’t be charged with armed robbery in case we got caught. Not only that, but say
somethin’ goes wrong and you shoot somebody. That’s another charge on top of armed robbery;
you’re not the only one at risk here. You can’t be makin’ those kinds of decisions without us. This
is bullshit.”
“Shut up! If it makes you feel any better it’s not a real gun. It’s a replica, a prop. Are you
satisfied?”
“It still looks like a real gun. Say a cop shows up or the dude comes back, they’re not gonna know
it’s fake. They might open fire and fuck all of us. This don’t feel right.”
“Exactly. That’s what I’m sayin’. Let’s just go home.” I intervened.
“Pussies. Fine. The hell with you; I’m getting’ this money.” Leo continued down the street and
disappeared around the corner.
Jamal and I briefly looked at one another, then turned and started walking back to the train station.
At first, there were no words exchanged between us. I guess we were both still kinda fired up by
the argument. We quietly waited for the train to come, which took about a half-hour. As we
waited, I decided that it was up to me to make the first move so I started up a conversation with
Jamal. We began talking about how earn money in a less dangerous manner. Around here, people
die all the time; every time someone dies, nothing happens. It’s expected and no one ever snitches,
so all people can do is hope that they or someone close to them isn’t next. It’s a shame, but that’s
just the way things are.
“You think we’ll be alright?” Jamal said looking out at the city.
“I don’t know. Everything is so unpredictable, and you never know what’s goin’ to happen. But, I
do know that if we continue to do these kinds of things we’ll both end up in a early grade. Even if
we do start doin’ right by ourselves, nothin’s certain. We’ve both known people that were on the
right path to success and their lives were ended early. I guess, in the end, we just have to find our
way. That’s all we can do.”
Jamal didn’t say anything. We sat there quietly as the train roared down the tracks back to
Brooklyn. The next day I turned on the news as I ate a bowl of Lucky Charms. The female news
reporter spoke of a failed robbery attempt that resulted in the death of twenty-year-old Leo Hall.
He dad been shot in the head by the owner of the store, who had returned early from his errands
and found his granddaughter being stuck up at gunpoint. I stared at the screen, emotionless and
cold.
Jackson Kennett
1/7/10
Period 6
The Unforgiving Christmas Morning
“Preston, have you picked which costume you want to wear tonight sweetheart?" I
asked my son from behind his bedroom door. He liked Halloween, but if it was up to him,
it would be Christmas all year round. So it was no surprise when my son walked out as
one of Santa's little helpers. He wore tight green leggings with gold trim and matching tip
toed shoes topped with a bright red hat with five jingles hanging off the side. During a
Halloween party that I put on every year for the neighborhood families and friends,
people loved to hear the sound of jingle bells as Preston walked through the living room.
People loved to come to my Halloween parties because they were promised a little taste
of the holiday season with Preston running around. As the kids dressed up as witches and
vampires, bobbed for apples and carved pumpkins, Preston would be found in the kitchen
singing Christmas carols writing his Christmas list to Santa.
After the adults and I mingled around the fruit punch and candy corn for a couple
hours, we would take the kids out trick or treating, the one thing Preston participated in
during Halloween. I yelled through the living room so that my voice echoed through the
kitchen so that Preston could hear me. “Preston, we’re going trick or treating now! " His
bells jingled through the hallway as he grabbed a big white pillow case from the closet,
then faded as he ran out the front door with the rest of the children. Every year during
Halloween the neighbors would have to call me when Preston arrived at their doorstep to
let me know where he was. He went from house to house faster than Santa Clause does
on Christmas Eve. But this year he walked house to house with the rest of the trick or
treaters. He looked a little sluggish to me. I thought at first it was just because he wanted
it to be Christmas, so I told him Christmas was right around the corner. Preston stuck his
neck out from the sidewalk and looked around the corner and asked me sarcastically,
“Where is it, Mom?"
I chuckled, and replied,” Very funny, Preston, "as I rubbed his bright red hat over his
eyes.
" Hey," he said, laughing under his breath. He was a very funny kid and was always
filled with high spirits, but he insisted he was just tired. Two minutes later the poor kid’s
feet were dragging along the curb, his eyes were fighting their sockets to stay open, and
his half empty pillow case was sinking closer to the pavement. He was exhausted.
"I think it's time to go home, Preston. What do you say?" I asked him as his eyes
already lost the fight against his sockets. I picked him up and his arms flung over my
shoulders like a backpack. He rested his cheek on my shoulder and started to drool down
my coat as we made our way home. I had never seen Preston so tired.
A few days after Halloween Preston had a baseball tournament, The Clackamas
County Babe Ruth Invitational, something Preston looked forward to every year. He
started playing baseball at the age of 2. After eight years of playing the sport, he grew to
love the game, almost as much as he did Christmas. I think the miniature baseball bat my
husband gave Preston for Preston's very first Christmas had something to do with it. He
began swinging from that very day. He grew up around baseball. My son Frank, Preston's
older brother, was someone Preston always had looked up to when it came to baseball.
Frank played for the high school team my husband Richard coached. Their team was the
Oregon State champs two years in a row. Preston became the team mascot at the age of
five. They gave him a nickname and every time Preston and I stepped near a ballfield the
name "Little Slugger” came in repetition.
"Come on, Slugger. We got to get a move on it," my husband yelled up the steps for
Preston. Preston and his teammate George stormed down my stairway with their
uniforms on, ready to go. My husband, Richard, grabbed the cooler, filled with Gatorade
and ice cold Coca Cola. My son Frank grabbed the grocery bag filled with barbeque
flavored sunflower seeds and assorted flavored potato chips and tossed them in the back
of my 2009 Grand caravan. Preston influenced my husband to get me that car for
Christmas last year after he saw me drooling over it one day after school. I shut the back
door, climbed in the passenger side, and looked in the back seat to find Preston out like a
light. Last night we had a hard time getting the boy to bed with all the excitement of the
tournament on his mind. He and George ran from room to room as if the rooms were the
bases from a baseball diamond." Preston are you okay," I said softly.
"Let the boy rest. It will be good for him before playing all day long," my husband
interrupted.
“I guess you're right," I uttered to my husband. But I was getting a bit worried at
that point.
"We’re here, everybody," I announced as my husband pulled up to the first open lot in
the ball park. The smell of clean cut grass and over cooked hot dogs filled the air. I slid
the side door open and Preston ran out. He slapped his hat over his head and tucked his
glove under his arm.
"Hurry up, everybody; I got a game to play!" Preston demanded oh so patiently. We all
started to chuckle as we made our way out of the car. Preston couldn't wait; he ran up to
the park fence and stuck his nose right up against it, grasping the cold steel with his
fingers. The rest of us grabbed our things and found our seats behind Preston's dugout.
We cheered all day long. My voice crackled every time I tried to take a deep breath,
and my daughter Julie's ears were pierced from standing beside me. But Preston was at
bat in the bottom of the ninth inning of the championship game, so we continued to
holler. "Go, slugger. It's all you, baby!" I yelped with every last vocal I had left in my
throat. "Go Prest---" I caught my breath as a crack of a bat interrupted me. I watched the
ball fly far into the crisp autumn sky. By the time the ball had gone over the fence,
Preston had been mobbed at home plate by his teammates. I never saw his reaction. My
family and I stormed Preston as soon as he left the dugout. He had a trophy twice the size
of his own torso wrapped in his hands. We were so excited for him, but behind the big
shiny sheet of metal, I could see a very drowsy looking face. I was trying to get his
attention as we made our way to the car, but everyone had surrounded him as if he was a
celebrity. I was found behind the group of people looking like some kind of reporter or
paparazzi even. I followed Preston's feet as they were all I could get a glimpse of. His
feet began to move slower and slower as the group of people made its way toward the
parking lot. Following a slight thud the group of people came to a stop. I lost track of the
tiny red and black cleats Preston was wearing. I pushed my way through the crowd that
accumulated around the ticket booth at the curb of the parking lot. My heart started to
bound through my chest, my feet felt heavy, and my hands began to shiver. I looked
down at the pavement. My hand suddenly covered my mouth to hold in a sob that echoed
throughout the parking lot. Preston lay there flat along the pavement. His dark brown hair
hung from the curbside, as his pale white face was flush with the concrete.
An ambulance took Preston to the hospital. My family and I stayed over night and
waited to hear back from the doctor. They must have taken more than a dozen tests on
Preston. We sat in Preston's hospital room as the doctor went through them all. I sat next
to the bed with my daughter. I had chills running up and down my spine as the cool
hospital air made its way through every crack of my clothing. My husband took notice of
my frigid body and laid a warm wool blanket over me and my daughter. It was quiet in
the room. My husband and Frank stood back without saying a word, staring at the muted
television set above Preston's bed. I could hear the air tubes beside me pumping into
Preston's nose. "What do you think is the matter with him, Richard?" I began to ask my
husband.
"I have not the slightest---" Richard started to reply, as Dr. Knox walked in behind him
to help him with the answer.
“Would you guys like to join me in my office for a bit. Preston will be needing a lot of
rest," he said, directing the way to his office with his hand and clipboard.
“So what is wrong with Preston, doctor? Is he okay?" Richard asked Dr. Knox as we
sat down in his office. For the next two minutes my body felt like it was in shock as the
doctor's voice rambled until he got to the word cancer. I was strapped into the brown
leather chair I was sitting until that point.
“Cancer? But Preston has been healthy his whole life, how---?" I imposed for a second
but let the doctor finish.
“He has a tumor in his liver. It's of great size and has been growing over the last few
months," the doctor started, but I imposed again.
“Well, is he going to be okay? He is only ten years old doctor," I said realizing he was
getting to that exact point. He scooted closer in his chair and pushed his glasses up
towards his forehead.
“Richard, Rosaline, Preston is in a very serious situation and we need to stay optimistic
at this point. It's going to be a fight for your family, me and Preston especially," Dr. Knox
articulated with great sympathy. Richard and I both agreed with Dr. Knox. After talking
with Dr. Knox, we went back to the room. Frank and Julie were waiting patiently but
were worried. We explained to them Preston's situation. It was hard for them to hear the
news about their younger brother. They couldn’t believe it. None of us could. We were
all appalled and frightened that Preston was going to have to fight for his life over the
next few months.
In the later hours of the night, we were fading in our seats, but were roused when
Frank noticed that Preston had awakened. “Bro, you're awake," Frank called out to him.
Preston had a smile on his face that he always had, small red lips reinforced with two
large dimples above each cheek. It really lifted the spirit in the room. He acted as if
nothing had happened. He made us feel the same way. We talked and laughed all night
long. Preston gave us a replica of his game winning home run that he most certainly
didn't forget about. He used his TV remote and a rolled up piece of paper to demonstrate.
Preston and I were the last to fall asleep. We were reminiscing on just about everything.
Well everything a ten year old would be reminiscing about. We went from talking about
Jimmy Neutron to why his second toe was bigger than his first. I could have cared less
about what we were talking about. Just hearing Preston's voice made me feel as if
everything was back to normal.
That changed when Preston asked me when he was going to be better. He wanted to
know if he was going to be better by Christmastime. I couldn’t imagine a Christmas
without Preston. That would be like 2010 on a myan calendar. Just the thought of it gave
me a sick feeling in the pit of my stomach. “Just try and get some rest, Preston.
Everything will be okay," I told him, trying to remove the thought from my mind. It
didn't fade and sleeping was a struggle. Sleeping came like Christmas: you would wait
for it, it would come, then it would pass faster than you would like it to. It was like that
for the first month or so. Preston seemed to have fewer problems than we did.
For being stuck in a hospital bed for over a month, Preston kept his lively spirit.
He never for a second looked like he was sick. We would play board games his father
brought in for us for hours until he got bored and wanted to play catch with his baseball
up and down the hallway. Occasionally, the nurses stopped by to play some Nintendo Wii
with Preston. They adored him. They said it was Preston's enthusiasm for life that kept
them moving through the hospital each day. Everybody in the hospital raved about the
ten year old boy on the 5th floor. Each morning when I went down to get a cup of coffee
from the lobby, I would hear an array of whispers always involving the name Preston.
Tho Preston always seemed in high spirits, after about the 5th time through the movies
Home Alone 1 and 2, you could begin to tell he was missing the holidays already. His
nurse Rebbecca took notice of it. She came to me one night after Preston had fallen
asleep during his second time through Santa Clause 2 and had an idea to surprise Preston
with some holiday cheer when he woke up in the morning.
Rebbecca and I stayed up all night turning Preston's room into a Christmas
wonderland. From snow globes to lights to even a miniature Santa Claus Rebbecca stole
from the lobby of the hospital that we placed in the corner of Preston's room. I couldn't
wait to see his reaction. Rebbecca couldn't either and decided to wake Preston to the
sound of " Jingle Bell Rock". She turned the knob on the radio a little louder. Preston
began to move, his lips slowly began to sing along, and his eyes opened wider than ever
before. He sat up slowly, while his mouth dropped closer and closer to the floor. The
Christmas lights reflected off the snow globes and lite Preston's face with an array of
colors. " Jingle bell, Jingle bell, Jingle bell," I began to sing with my nose up against his.
" Rock," he shouted back as he finished the verse himself.
" What do you think, Preston?" I asked laughing as Preston began to jump on his bed.
" So I take it you like it," Rebbecca infered.
" This is great! I feel like I am at the north pole," Preston screamed, twirling and
jumping in circles.
" Careful, Preston, I don't want to have to do any stitching up today," Rebbecca said
with a smirk on her face.
" Thanks so much, Rebbecca. This was a great idea," I thanked Rebbecca as Preston
admired the rest of the room.
" Well, the boy deserves it, I can tell you that much, especially with a surgery coming
up in a few weeks," Rebbecca stated.
" Wait, what surgery?" I asked with not a clue in the world of what she was talking
about.
" Preston is scheduled for a surgical oncology to remove some of the tumor in his liver
a couple of days after thanksgiving," Rebbecca informed me." Didn't you know that?" she
asked.
" I must have forgot," I said, not believing that I would forgot the date of my son's
surgery.
The weeks flew by. Thanksgiving came and went. Preston was able to come
home with us the weekend of Thanksgiving. With Preston there it was by far the greatest
Thanksgiving we ever had together as a family, even though Preston had cords up his
nose. Preston had his surgery later that week. We were waiting in Preston's decorative
room to hear from Dr. Knox. We waited all day as Preston slept. He looked exhausted.
The surgery had to have been enervating for him. My husband announced to me that he
had bought tickets for the Bruins game on Christmas eve. He wanted the family to take
Preston as a Christmas present.
" You think he would be able to go in his condition," I questioned Richard.
" I don't know. I guess we will have to see what the doctor sa...," Richard began to
reply as Dr. Knox walked in behind him to help him answer. It was strange how he
seemed to pop up like that, just like before. The bad part about it was that he always
brought bad news. We learned that day that Preston's surgery didn't go as he would have
liked and that he didn't think Preston had long to live. My heart stopped. I became light
headed and all I could think about was the statement the doctor just through at me like a
90 mile per hour fast ball.
" Will he make it to Christmas?" I asked, interrupting some sort of terminology Dr.
Knox was explaining.
" Excuse me?" he replied.
" Will he be there with us on Christmas," I said with a slight pain in my throat.
" I don't understand. I can't promise anything," Dr. Knox said sadly.
" We understand, doctor," my husband slipped out before I could.
" I'm so sorry," Dr. Knox sympathized as he took his glasses off and shut his folder.
Later that night Richard and I were discussing outside Preston's hospital room. Frank and
Julie sat beside Preston while he slept. We were talking about Preston's situation. There
was not the slightest thought in my mind of a Christmas without Preston. We discussed
that very issue when we heard his voice." Mom," Preston called for me. I walked into the
room wiping a glob of tears off my cheek.
" Yes, sweetheart?" I asked.
" I'm not gonna be here for Christmas?" he asked with one single tear on his face. He
had overheard mine and Richard’s conversation. He had looked like as if his 4th grade
math teacher was explaining trigonometry to a class full of ten year olds.
" Of course you are, Preston. You're just not doing as well as before. It will be okay," I
told him as I choked on every breath I took in between words.
" Mommy, I know I'm not doing good, but I just want to make it to Christmas," he said
with his large brown eyes staring me right in the face.
" I know, sweetheart. I know," I cried out to him.
After weeks of therapy and tests, things were looking up for Preston to make it to
Christmas. On Christmas Eve, Preston lay in his bed tossing a baseball up and down,
singing " Rudolph the Red-nosed Reindeer". My family and I walked into the room after
talking to Dr. Knox. Richard had bought tickets to the Bruins game at Fenway Park that
evening. Dr.Knox decided that if anyone deserved such a gift on Christmas, it was
Preston, so he gave us the okay.
" Preston, what are you doing slouching around for? It's Christmas eve, buddy," Frank
reminded him as if he really needed the reminder.
" Preston, here, put this on," Richard told him tossing him a Boston Bruins jersey.
" So you think you're up for the Hockey game tonight, son," I asked him, rubbing my
fingers through his soft brown hair.
" You mean we're going to the Winter Classic game?" he questioned enthusiastically.
" Come on, Preston, let's get you to that game," Richard said as he picked Preston up
and put him in a wheel chair.
" Wait, Dad the cookies," Preston hollered.
" What cookies?" I asked.
" Santa's, there over there. Can you put them by the window, Mom?" he asked me.
" Of course, Preston, how could we forget?" I said as I set the plate of chocolate chip
cookies by the window before we walked out of the room.
We headed off to the game and my family and I were jubilant to see Preston so happy.
Over the next few hours, all I could do was focus in on Preston. His face was filled with
laughter and playfulness the entire night. His large bold smile was supported by the two
large dimples on each cheek. His cheeks were the brightest tint of red as the cold brisk air
hit his face as he looked down upon the ice below. I couldn't take my eyes off him.
Seeing him like that warmed my heart all the way down to its core. I wished that night
never ended. For me, it went by faster than a blink of an eye. I am sure for Preston it
probably felt like an eternity. After the game was over, we headed to the car as the lights
of the city lit up the background. Preston demanded we go out to look at all the
Christmas lights around town. I couldn't refuse, so we drove all around Boston, exploring
the different lights and decor that Preston had admired more than he did the hockey
game. They lit up the eyes of my darling boy.
Preston was exhausted by the time we got back to the hospital. It took a while for him
to budge from his wheel chair, before Richard got him up into his bed. The nurses had
brought in 4 other beds and 6 pillows into the room for my family and I to spend
Christmas eve with Preston. It was different, but none of us would want to wake up
Christmas morning without Preston their with us. The kids got into their pajamas and
each picked a bed beside Preston's, while Richard and I pushed two beds together by the
window. It was late and Frank and Julie fell right to sleep, and Richard was not to far
behind; you could hear his snores starting to build up under his nostrils. I got up to turn
off the light and Preston called me over in the quietest voice," Mom."
" Hey, sweetie, you should really get some rest," I told him as his eyes fought agianst
his eyelids to stay open." Tomorrow is Christmas," I followed.
" Mommy, that was the greatest Christmas I ever had," he said while his eyelids took
over his pupils and a slight tear came from his left eye as he fell fast asleep. I took one
last look at Preston as I kissed his forehead. I laid down by the window and fell asleep
staring up into the sky.
The next morning my eyes opened to the same sky with a coat of white cast over it. I
watched as flutters of white flakes fell from above. It was a white Christmas, something
Preston had always imagined.
" Preston, it's Christmas," I whispered in his ear." Preston," I asked again." Oh my god
Preston?" I asked clenching onto his hand. He never responded.
Preston never got to see the snow that fell that Christmas morning. They said he passed
away earlier that morning.
" He made it," Richard said." He made it to Christmas," he announced. The rest of the
day was a struggle to get through. Frank and Julie didn't even want to open their presents,
and I had my face shoved in a tissue most of the day. There was really only one gift that
was opened that day. It was mine.
" Here you go, Mom. We made this for you when you were here with Preston all this
time," Julie said to me as she handed me a wrapped disc of some sort.
" What's this?" I said, tearing the wrapping paper from the disc.
" It's a documentary of all our memories with Preston," Richard said, sipping his
cocoa. " You can watch it as soon as you get home," he continued after a nice slow
swallow.
I waited until I got home that day to watch it. I walked in the front door and
swung the door open slowly. I shook the white powder from my coat, and headed for the
living room. The pure white glow from the snow shot through the window. It made a long
pathway along the hard wood floor, from her shadow to the TV stand. I moved toward
the stand with the disc embraced in my palms. I slid it deep into the DVD player. A click
of the remote sent images across my eyes. The bright images flashed around the room
and reflected off my small black pupils. I sat there and watched scene by scene as the
film filled an aching pit in my stomach, a pit so large and demoralizing it pierced to my
very core. My family stumbled through the open doorway behind me, all of them covered
in snow with faces as red as candy canes. The kids set their bags of presents down beside
them and joined me along the couch. My husband placed a bundle of mixed sympathy
and Christmas cards on the counter in the kitchen and walked over behind them. His tall
figure cast a shadow, that dimmed the projection of the television. I asked him to sit
down. He kneeled down behind me and placed his hand on my neck. My tears trickled
down from my cheek as he felt the warm moisture of my tears stream across his hand.
The children scooted closer to me. Their father clenched my neck a little tighter, and our
entire family sobbed to the thought of missing the one person who had brought the joy
and bliss to the holiday season.
Over the next ten years I have sat in my living room every Christmas Eve watching the
film of my son's life over and over again. It seems that every year since the Christmas
Preston passed away snow falls from the sky Christmas morning. I believe it is Preston
continuing to share his Christmas spirit with us from above.
T.J. Linnen
Short story
January 7, 2010
Mr., Zervanos
Oregon Trail
Jackson quietly crept to the back of the bank. He was concealed by the darkness
of night. The moon wasn’t out and the faint clouds buffered the light from the stars in the
sky. Jackson and his family of thieves had a foolproof plan for robbing the greedy bank
that had been known for “accidentally” misplacing people’s money. The bank was
located right in front of an old cemetery and Jackson had gotten information from a
reliable source that there was a secret entrance that lead from the bank to an old dusty
tomb. The bankers would use this as an escape route if they ever needed to get out of the
bank without being noticed by the civilians.
Jackson walked over to a statue of an angel and flipped open the top of the angel’s
head. Inside there was a small lever and he pulled it down until it made a clicking sound.
The gigantic stone door to the front of the tomb started to rise up into the top of the
doorway. Jackson slowly walked into the dark tomb and lit his lantern that he had been
carrying around on his belt.
“It’s really creepy in here, Jackson thought as he took a look around the dusty
cobweb infested tomb. Jackson continued down the tunnel that lead to the bottom of the
bank. The bank did have security guards that were hired to protect this passage, but
Jackson’s two brothers were going to make a distraction outside the front of the bank to
pull the security guards away. He walked into the back of the bank like he was walking
into his own house. He began to make his way to the bank’s vault. He gently pressed his
ear to front of the vault’s door and with his right hand he turned the dial until he heard the
click of the clock. He did this three times and on the third time the vault’s door unlocked
and slowly creaked opened.
Jackson began to load the money into empty sacks that he had brought with him.
Once the bags were overflowing with money he took out some string and tied them
closed. He heard footsteps on the floor above him. Grabbing the bags, Jackson made his
way toward the exit.
After getting back to the cemetery he waited by his parents’ grave for his two
brothers. After about ten minutes he began to grow worried and decided to go look for
them around the front of the bank. He made sure to stash the stolen money in a safe place
before he left. Jackson turned the corner of the bank and saw his two brothers being
beaten and interrogated.
“Where’s the money, you scums?” yelled one of the guards.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” answered one brother.
“If you won’t tell me, then maybe you need a little bit of an influence,” one of the
guards said as he took out a knife and brought it to the other brother’s neck. Jackson had
been watching this whole thing take place and he couldn’t watch any longer. He had to
do something and he had to do it quickly. Jackson picked up a stone that was lying next
to his feet and hurled it at the guard with the knife.
“It’s me you want, not them!” Jackson shouted to one of the guards. The guard
dropped his brother and took off after him with three guards right behind him. His
brothers did not miss this chance to escape and elbowed the guards that were holding
them in their stomachs. The remaining guards began to chase the two escaped brothers.
Jackson seeing that his two brothers had gotten away from the men’s grasps, began to run
himself. He ran into the back alleyways, up fire escapes, and over the roof tops of closely
built houses to get away from the guards.
Jackson made it back to the place where he and his brothers lived. It was a shack,
if you could even call it that. The roof had holes in it, the wood was rotted, and they had a
sheet draped over the entrance for a front door. Jackson slowly began to grow tired of
waiting for his brother and accidentally drifted off into sleep. Crowds of people walking
by his shack awakened him in the early hours of the morning.
“Hey, what’s going on?” Jackson said to a man passing by his shack.
“There is going to be a hanging in the town center. The guards last night caught a
couple of robbers involved in a bank robbery,” responded the man.
Jackson rushed past the crowds and made his way to the town center. He saw
both of his brothers getting rope tied around their necks. A man next to his brothers and
the executioner began to talk about the crimes that were committed and at the end of his
speech he gave the signal to the executioner to kill the two kids. “Nooooooo!” Jackson
cried out, but it was too late; the executioner had already hung them.
“There’s the third one!” the man who was giving the speech said. With that, the
guards started to run in Jackson’s direction. He fled all the way to the cemetery and
headed to where he stashed the money from last night. He grabbed the bags of money and
said a prayer to his brothers and his parents at his parents’ grave. He would have to leave
town and maybe the state. He was a wanted criminal now and his face would be on
wanted posters everywhere.
Jackson knew someone who used to be a good friend of his dad. The guy was
also a carpenter and was now starting to build wagons because of the growing travel to
Oregon. Jackson got to the carpenter’s house in the late hours of the night and knocked
on the door. An unshaven husky man appeared at the front of the door.
“Jackson? It’s been awhile,” Jeb said.
“I got myself into some trouble and I need a wagon. I can pay you good money,”
Jackson said, showing him one of the bags of money.
“Ahhhh, yes, I heard about the whole bank robbery thing,” Jeb said.
“So you’ll help me then?” Jackson asked.
“Of course anything for you, follow me.” Jackson followed him into his
workshop. Jeb had been known by the town as a very skilled carpenter; because of this he
lived a very luxurious life. His workshop was filled with half -finished wagons and a few
finished ones. He led Jackson over too a very big and stable wagon.
“Here take this one. It is my finest wagon.” Jeb said.
“Thank you so much,” replied Jackson as he handed the money over to him.
“Don’t rush off too fast. You’re going to need some powerful horses to get you all
the way to Oregon.”
“Well, do you know of any place where I can get them?” Jackson asked.
“There is a ranch about three miles north of here. The owner and I do business a
lot there. Tell him I sent you.” Jeb offered.
“Thank you very much.”
“Don’t be a stranger. Come back and visit sometime.” Jeb said as he waved
goodbye to Jackson.
A couple of hours later Jackson had pushed the wagon to the ranch and started to
knock on the door. When the man opened the door, Jackson told him that Jeb sent him
and that he was in need of six strong horses. After paying for the horses, he hitched them
up to his wagon and headed for the entrance of the Oregon Trail. It was twelve o’clock
when he arrived at the entrance and he had learned that a caravan would be setting out for
Oregon first thing in the morning. Jackson bought a bunch of supplies from traders who
set up shop for the travelers of the Oregon Trail. Jackson climbed into his bed, which
was just a mat and some pillows laid out inside the wagon and decided to get some shut
eye because he would need it for the long journey ahead of him.
He awoke to the neighing of horses and the noise of people as more and more
wagons showed up for the journey. “There has to be close to a thousand wagons here,”
Jackson thought to himself.
It was finally time to start the voyage and not a second too soon because the
guards from the bank began to check people’s wagons looking for him. Jackson sat
himself up on top of his wagon and got his horses moving with the rest of the wagons.
The weather was warm and a small breeze in the air kept the sun’s heat from
getting to hot. It was easy traveling that whole week and Jackson mostly kept to himself
because he didn’t know anyone around him and was naturally very shy. The wagons had
been next to the same wagons since they had started, and Jackson had just noticed this
beautiful girl in a wagon on his right. She was about 5’ 5”, had dark brown hair past her
shoulders, had deep blue eyes, and looked to be very fit.
“Watch yourself with that one.” a man said from the wagon on his left. He was an
old man, looked to be about 60, had a long grey beard, no hair on his head, and carried a
walking stick in one of his hands.
“Ummm, who are you?” asked Jackson.
“Ohh, sorry for not introducing myself. The name is Hermit and you are?”
“I’m Jackson. What did you mean by watch yourself?”
“That girl that you’ve been giving googly eyes to is the daughter of the general of
Pennsylvania’s 25th infantry division and if I were you I would stay clear of her,” Hermit
warned.
“Thanks for the tip, Hermit.”
For a good part of the night Jackson thought about what the man had said about
the girl and contemplated whether or not he should listen to the old man.
In the morning Jackson awoke to very dark clouds blocking out most of the sun’s
light. We are definitely in for a big a storm today, he thought. Right as he thought that, a
big wet drop hit him in the top of his head. Five minutes later the whole sky had begun to
let out what felt like gallons and gallons of water on the caravan. The trail began to get
muddy and wagons began to get stuck in it. Because the caravan was in a valley, no one
could see how high the river above them was getting.
Out of nowhere the river broke over the top of the small mountain range and
began to make its way down to the caravan. People whose wagons had gotten stuck in the
mud were helpless against the approaching wall of muddy water. Jackson could see the
exit from the valley a little way ahead of him. Jackson got his horses to pick up the pace
in order to get out of the valley before the water hit him. Something caught his attention,
though. The wagon on his right had gotten stuck in a deep muddy puddle and couldn’t get
free. It was the beautiful girl that he had noticed the other day and she was screaming for
help.
Jackson couldn’t just let her just drown in the river. He had to rescue her. He
swung his wagon around and raced toward the helpless girl. Pulling around to the side of
the wagon he told the girl to jump. Her legs shot her off of her wagon and into the air.
“She’s not going to make it,” he thought.
Jackson stretched his body out and caught the falling girl by her hand. The water
was gaining on the wagon and Jackson told his horses to “giddy up”. He pulled the girl
up onto the wagon and looked back at the water. “We’re not gonna make it!” screamed
Jackson. He whipped his horses to make them go faster as they climbed out of the valley.
The wagon broke over the hill and made it out of the water’s wet grasp. Jackson turned
around to look at the flooding and destruction that lay at the bottom of the valley. The sun
began to come out again and the remaining caravan stopped to regroup.
“Hey, thanks for saving me back there,” said the girl to Jackson.
“No problem, anybody would have done the same thing,” said Jackson, trying not
to sound conceited.
“No they wouldn’t. It was a really brave thing to do. What’s your name
anyways?” the girl asked.
“Uhhhh Giovanni Jackson, I mean, Jackson Giovanni,” replied Jackson,
embarrassed by how he had mispronounced his own name.
“Not as smooth as I thought you were. My name’s Isabella, but most people call
me Belle. I’m going to go and see if any of my stuff survived the flood.”
“Giovanni Jackson, real smooth. Now she probably thinks you’re uneducated,”
Jackson thought to himself.
Jackson went to go see if any of his horses had gotten hurt. Jackson saw Belle
make her way towards him. She had put her hair up and he couldn’t help but stare at her
while she walked over.
“Whatcha lookin at?” asked Hermit
“Ummm nothing,” said Jackson, quickly looking away from Belle.
“So I guess you didn’t take my advice,” Hermit stated.
“I didn’t purposely try to get involved,” Jackson said.
“Yeah, I saw the whole thing, but looks like you’re stuck with her now.” With
that, Hermit left Jackson as Belle came over.
“I was only able to recover a few things. My wagon is long gone, and I don’t
know what happened to my horses. You think I can ride with you the rest of the way?”
Belle said.
“Yeah, sure!” Jackson said not trying to sound too excited.
“Are you sure it’s not a problem?”
“No, it’ll be fine.”
That night Jackson lay wide awake staring up at the sky. All the destruction
earlier that day reminded him of everyone that he had ever lost that was close to him. He
began to think of his family. His parents were pretty successful, but were murdered one
cold night by robbers who had broken into their house. He and his two brothers had to
fight on the street everyday after that. They became very close, always protecting each
other’s back. A tear started to slide down his face as the image of his two brothers’
dangling dead bodies appeared in his mind. It is all my fault that they’re dead right now,
he thought. Why did he even bother to escape from the police and go all the way to
Oregon? His life had been a struggle, always losing everything and never gaining
anything. What was he really running from? These were some of the things that kept
Jackson up throughout the night.
“Hey, are you all right? You look upset” Belle said behind him.
“Yeah, I’m fine,” Jackson replied, not turning around to face Belle.
“C’mon, it’s better if you talk to someone about it,” Belle urged.
“You really wouldn’t want to hear it. Just drop it!” With that, Belle walked away
and went back to the wagon.
A few weeks went by and Jackson and Belle made small talk. Jackson was always
avoiding her question about why he was here and any questions involving his family.
Jackson thought that if he didn’t get close with anyone else then he wouldn’t have to
worry about losing them.
“You can’t keep yourself closed off from everyone,” Hermit said.
“Why not?” Jackson responded.
“Because you will push people away and end up alone.”
After Hermit had left, Jackson began to think about what he said. He had already
started to become friends with Hermit and Belle. He also had feelings for Belle that he
hadn’t had in awhile. He decided that he would take Hermit’s advice. After all, the guy is
pretty old and seems to be wise, Jackson thought.
The next night when everyone had stopped to rest for the night, he went to find
Belle to talk to her. He found Belle on the shore of a small lake and sat down to talk to
her. He told her all about what had happened in his life and how he had decided to go to
Oregon to escape his old life. They continued to talk until they grew tired. They both fell
asleep next to each other, with Belle’s head on Jackson’s chest. As the weeks passed,
Jackson and Belle became closer and closer; soon it seemed like nothing could separate
them.
The caravan made it to the plains in the western United States. The West was
known for having many different Indian tribes. That night while everyone else had gone
to bed, a tribe of Indians who had been stalking the caravan, slowly approached the
wagons. When the Indians arrived at the caravan, they begun to ambush them. Jackson
instantly awoke to the chaos that was all around him. Wagons were being set on fire,
people being dragged off, and supplies being stolen.
Jackson saw Hermit’s wagon surrounded by four Indians. He grabbed his gun and
raced over to help Hermit fight them off. Jackson came up behind one and hit him in the
back of the head with his rifle. He then took a shot at another one and hit him right in the
chest. By this time, Hermit was able to get his gun and take care of the two other ones.
After making sure Hermit was all right, Jackson went to go check on his wagon.
Jackson saw Belle being dragged out by two Indians, who were starting to tie her
around a horse. Jackson ran as fast as he could to get to her, but an Indian on horseback
came up behind him and with one swing of his club knocked Jackson unconscious to the
ground. Jackson awoke the next day to Hermit pressing a cold washcloth to his forehead.
“Finally awake, I see,” Hermit said.
“Where’s Belle?” Jackson frantically asked.
“Whoa now, hold on a second.”
“I have to go after her. This can’t be happening again. I won’t lose another
person.”
“We will go after her, but you’re gonna need to rest for a bit first,” Hermit said,
trying to reassure Jackson.
“I can’t let you come, Hermit. No offense, but I think you’re a little too old.”
Jackson replied.
“I’m going and I won’t take no for an answer. Besides, how do you think you’re
going to find her?” Hermit asked.
“I don’t know, haven’t thought about that yet.”
“Well, lucky for you, you’re talking to the number one hunter on the East Coast.
Back in my younger days I was able to track any animal for miles through any weather
condition, whether it was rain, hail, snow, or wind. We’ll head out first thing in the
morning.” Hermit said.
Jackson woke up the next morning and found Hermit already awake waiting for
him. They each put on a backpack with some supplies for the journey. Hermit led and
Jackson followed him. Hermit was able to follow the Indians’ trail like he had been with
them when they made it. After about two days and one night they finally arrived on the
outskirts of the Indian’s camp. Small fires lit up the camp and the grassy plane was
broken up by small white tepees. The Indian tribe had about 25 people in it and Jackson
and Hermit wouldn’t be able to fight their way towards Belle.
“We are never going to be able to get in there unless one of us makes a
distraction,” Hermit said
“If you get caught, they’ll kill you, Hermit,” Jackson said.
“I am an old man and I have no regrets in life. Let me do this for you?” Hermit
asked.
Before Jackson could say anything, Hermit took off towards the camp. Hermit
started a fire on the other side of the camp and started to shoot random shots off with his
gun. This immediately got the attention of the Indian tribe and they took off towards the
fire to stop the intruder. Jackson didn’t waste any time. He sprang up from his hiding
place and ran into the camp. He checked tepee after tepee, but it was no use; he couldn’t
find Belle. Then he heard muffled screams from a tepee ahead of him. When he got to
the tepee and looked in, he saw that it was Belle. He untied her and took off the piece of
cloth that was muffling her mouth.
“You came for me!” Belle said as she wrapped her arms around Jackson
“Of course I did. I wasn’t gonna lose another person. We have to get going.
Hermit isn’t going to be able to distract them for long.”
“Follow me. I know where they keep their horses,” Belle said.
Belle lead Jackson out of the tepee and to the stables. Some of the Indians had
stayed behind to watch the camp and saw Belle and Jackson trying to steal horses.
“Oh no, they found us! Hurry!” Belle shouted to Jackson as he got on his horse.
“We can’t leave Hermit behind. Follow me!” Jackson yelled back. They both took
off through the middle of the camp to get to the other side where Hermit could still be
heard firing off shots. When Jackson finally got to Hermit, he saw that he had been
pierced by an arrow through his chest.
“Go on, save yourself!” Hermit yelled as he saw Jackson riding over to him.
“I’m not leaving you behind. I wouldn’t have been able to save Belle without
your help.” Jackson hopped off his horse and pulled the arrow out of Hermit.
“You’re being foolish,” Hermit said.
Jackson picked Hermit up and threw him on top of his horse and started to ride off
after Belle. The Indians were not happy about being tricked and they wouldn’t just let
them gallop away. A group of five Indians on horseback proceeded to chase them. They
fired arrows at the back of Jackson and Belle. One of the arrows hit Belle’s horse and
sent it to the ground. Jackson instantly turned around and galloped back to pull Belle out
of the way of the ferocious Indians. He grabbed Belle just before she was trampled by the
Indians’ horses. The Indians decided to give up the chase because they had shot all of
their arrows. Jackson and Belle were able to make it back to the caravan. Belle fixed up
Hermit. The arrow missed his heart by a centimeter.
“He’ll be out all night,” Belle said
“At least he is still alive,” Jackson answered.
“I don’t think I properly thanked you back there,” Belle said.
“What do you –” and before Jackson could finish his sentence Belle leaned in and
kissed him.
Jenn Mishler
First Days
First days are always the same no matter where I am. Everyone wants to know where
you’re from, why you moved, and if you like it here more. And it gets annoying. I’ve
moved a total of twenty times in eighteen years, the moving becoming more frequent
since my parents’ divorce. My dad bounced around from job to job, and my mother has a
law degree but hates being a lawyer; she’d rather get a job working at a nail salon or as
secretary. I never understood how two people who couldn’t commit to one job could
commit to each other for as long as they did. My father tells me he stuck around because
of my mother, and my mother tells me she wanted me to grow up in a ‘normal
environment.’
So anyway, the 20th time I moved was to a town in Pennsylvania where everything
smelt like an antique. The high school was like every other, bragging about being number
one and how awesome the academics were. Typical, right? I sat in the guidance office for
a while after my mom signed all the necessary paperwork. She had a nail appointment at
nine and couldn’t stay. The office smelt like paper and mints, and one of the old
busybody secretaries kept glancing at me and looking away. I was waiting for my
counselor, Ms. Jones, to make an appearance. I didn’t mind because I knew the routine of
first days. Walking around with a chatty woman who asks too many questions, walking
into a class, having everyone stare at you, and then having some overeager student show
you around asking the same twenty questions.
So I didn’t mind that I had to sit on an uncomfortable chair, listening to a clock tick
and having kids stare at me as they walked into the office. What I did mind was the
perky brunette who sat right down next to me and talked to me like we were best friends.
“Are you new here?”
“Yup.”
“Where you from?”
“Florida,” I answered and stopped paying her attention.
“Kathleen Kranitz?” Ms. Jones walked into my line of vision; she was a mousy
looking woman and she did not look happy to see me. I jumped out of my seat, grabbing
my coat and purse. I followed Ms. Jones into her tiny closet of a room and proceeded to
get the low down on the school. I learned I had to do a research paper, community
service, and something called 211. At the last school I was in, I didn’t have to do any of
those things. Ms. Jones printed out my schedule, wrote down my locker number and
combination, gave me a form to fill out if I had a car to drive to school and also bus
information, in case I didn’t have a car to drive to school.
I was ushered out of her office, back into the same chair right next to the brunette girl
and was told to wait for one of the student leadership students. I assumed that wandering
around the halls by myself was a no-no.
“I can show her around.” Brunette girl smiled from her chair. Ms. Jones nodded and
gave us the shooing motion with her hands. I once again left my chair and endured fifteen
minutes of blissful silence with brunette girl. She didn’t ask me any questions; she just
showed me where everything on my schedule was, including my locker, and smiled the
whole time.
“What are you going to do about lunch?” Brunette girl asked, stopping in the middle
of the hallway. I scowled and shrugged. Lunch was always the worse thing about school.
Where to sit, whom to sit with, and lunch always resulted in drama, girl drama, boy
drama, friend drama. It didn’t matter where I went in the world; lunch always felt like the
same. Gym class, of course, fell into second place of the worst things about high school.
“I know this is weird, but you can sit with me and my table if you want. My friends
wouldn’t mind.” Brunette girl smiled hopefully and I stared her down. Her smile faltered.
“Sure,” I agreed quietly and winced when her smile turned megawatt.
“My name’s Ava by the way.” Ava stuck her pale hand out and I gingerly placed
mine in hers.
“Kat…It’s nice to meet you, Ava.” I took my hand back and Ava practically skipped
down the hall. She then started telling me all about the school’s reputation, her friends,
how she moved here her eighth grade year. She chattered all about the teachers I had and
if I had any classes with her or her friends. We wandered around the school while she
chatted and I nodded along, smiling or making an odd comment. The bell rang and Ava
grabbed onto my arm, pulling me in the direction of the cafeteria. Kids stared as Ava
dragged me along, we occasionally bumped into a student or two and when we arrived
outside the cafeteria doors, my heart started to pound.
“My friends are going to love you!” Ava pulled me past a bunch of tables to one in
the back corner with half of the ten seats taken. At the round table were three guys and
two girls, tearing into their lunches and goofing off.
“Guys!” Ava declared as we came to a stop and they looked up. My stomach dropped
to my knees as I made eye contact.
“New kid?” one of the guys asked, cocking his head to one side.
“Yup. Her name is Kat. Say hi to Kat, everyone,” Ava ordered and pushed me down
into a seat.
“Hi, Kat,” Ava’s friends spoke in unison and laughed.
“Adam. Sarah. Jamie. Lyle. Kevin.” Ava pointed to each of her friends.
“Hi.” I gave a small wave
“We have two other friends but they don’t have the same lunch as us,” blond Sarah
said.
“Ah, okay.” I reached into my purse for my lunch. My first day of lunch with Ava’s
friends was fun, but I mostly listened that day. I grew bolder as the weeks went on,
adding comments onto their stories and even telling a few of my own about all the
different places I lived.
I had classes with a few of them and grew to like them. I learned that Ava was a
science genius, Lyle could sing like Frank Sinatra, Jamie was an easy person to confide
in, Kevin wanted to be a stand-up comedian and practiced on his friends, and Adam was
a sweet guy. Their two other friends, Lisle and Mike, turned out to be cool too. I started
hanging out with them after school, at their houses and in town where Lisle and Sarah
were waitresses at a bakery. They would slip us chocolate chip muffins on the sly, and we
would leave them big tips. I went to basketball games and dances, study parties at Ava’s
huge house, or hot tub sessions at Jamie’s. I spent all of my free time out and was barely
home. If I were home, I would have seen the signs.
The signs being my mother’s way of letting me know she was unhappy and thinking
of moving again. It’s the same routine over and over. She works less, wants to hang out
more, and talks about how exciting it is to be in a new place. I remember one time
coming home after one of those discussions to find boxes stacked in my room and a
picture of a sandy beach taped to my wall with the heading ‘Our New Place.’
I walked in through door and frowned when I saw my mother’s shoes by the front
door. I hung up my coat and took off my own shoes. I wandered into the living room,
wincing at the volume of the television, and plopped down onto the couch next to my
mom.
“How was school?”
“Eh…the usual.”
“How are your friends?”
I laughed, “They’re good! Lyle and Ava finally went out on a date, and Adam
said the funniest thing to me today. We were in bio-”
“That’s nice sweetheart,” my mom murmured and turned the T.V off. She turned to face
me and I noticed the lack of makeup on her face. No makeup meant she didn’t go to
work, and that was never a good sign.
“Do you remember at this time two years ago, we were living in Clearwater
beach? I miss Florida. Don’t you? I miss my friends,” she sighed and pouted.
“Yeah…But, Mom, you hated it.”
“Everything is so exciting when it’s new. You know? Like when we discovered
that cute little bagel shop and had breakfast there every weekend." My mom smiled.
I shrugged.” But here isn't so bad either. I thought you liked living here. You
always talk about the girls at the salon and you love being able to take the train into the
city."
"It's not the same here, Kat...I don't get the same magical vibe that I had in
Clearwater." I narrowed my eyes at her. My mom said the same thing when we were
living in Florida and in New Jersey before that. Every time she says that, her asking me
to move again follows it.
"Do you think we should move since we're unhappy here?" she asked, looking up at
me with hopeful brown eyes. I felt like I was suckered punch.
"But I'm not unhappy here. You are."
"No, no. I just want the both of us to be happy at the same time"
I scowled. "I am happy here. I finally found friends that I like and you want to take me
away, again?" I couldn't stand being in the same room as her. I left my house despite my
mother's pleas to stay and talk. I didn't know where I was headed that night, but I knew I
wasn't going back into my house until my mother fell asleep.
I walked through the town, brushing past people, and kept my head down. I walked to
the bakery where Lisle and Sarah worked. Neither one of them was working, but I wasn't
there to socialize. I paid for a hot chocolate and sat in a secluded corner. I didn't want to
move again. I was in my senior year of high school and tired of not having a place. I
found my niche here, and the one person who should be happy for me is home on the
couch, pouting about this place not being 'magical.' I don't understand why she couldn't
wait until I started college in a couple of months to want to move. But if I didn't move
with her, what would I do? I'm 18 and capable of doing things on my own but could I
own an apartment? Could I juggle a job, rent, and school? Besides, are these people here
worth staying for?
These were the things I wrestled with as I sat in the bakery, sipping hot chocolate and
staring holes into the table, I was so mad. I know I didn’t need a decision right now, but I
was going to have to make one soon.
Few weeks later…
I came home from school in the midst of a flurry of late February snow. I got a
ride from Adam, the sweet guy at Ava’s table. I walked through the front door, cheeks
flushed from the cold and stopped cold in my tracks. Boxes were stacked haphazardly in
the living room and also in the kitchen. I dropped my bag right by the door, marching
down the hallway, “Mom! Mom!” I yelled.
I quickly walked down the hallway to my room, my heart beating in my chest and I
wrenched open the door. Boxes. Nothing but boxes lined my one bedroom wall. Taped to
a mirror where there was no way of me missing it, was a picture of The Empire State
Building. On the picture, circled in red was a small brown building. That was to let me
know that was where we were going to be living soon.
I staggered to my bed and sat down, my head whirling and my heart felt like at any
moment it was going to pop.
“Not again…” I whispered and my hands shook as I pushed my hair out of my face. I
heard the front door open and my mom cheerfully whistling.
“Kitkat?” She called and I sprang from my bed.
“Why?” I demanded when I walked into the living room. My mom lost her smile as
she took of her coat and shoes. She sat down on the sofa and patted the seat next to her.
“No.” I shook my head and she pouted, “Fine…” I crossed my arms over my chest
and tapped my foot anxiously.
My mom sighed, “I’m not happy here Kat…And I thought a change of scenery would
be nice. You’re always telling me how much you hate being stuck in one place for such a
long time.”
“No.”
My mom wrinkled her brow, “No? Whaddya mean by no? No I’m wrong?”
“You’re wrong. I hate always moving! I have friends here, really good friends. And I’m
happy Mom; you’re the one who is so unhappy with living here. You like to move
around. Not me.”
My mom looked like I slapped her in the face, “But…But Kat…”
“No buts Mom!” I stomped my foot, feeling like I did when I was seven and suffered
from terrible temper tantrums.
“Don’t talk like that to me Kathleen Rose Kranitz! I am your mother!”
“Then start acting like one! What kind of mother are you that you want to move your
child, again, because you’re not happy?” I yelled but didn’t stick around to hear her reply.
I left my house and stomped all the way into town. I angrily wiped tears out of my eyes
and sniffled, walking where I knew my friends would be.
I passed by a yellow piece of paper taped onto a shop window.
Looking for Roommate who is clean, quiet, non-smoker and can help pay half of
rent. Call Susie at 610-565-5550
That stopped me dead in my tracks. I fumbled in my pocket looking for my phone. I
entered the number and felt…giddy. I could already picture myself living in with this
Susie, continuing school and getting a job in town. I pictured myself inviting my friends
over to hang out, letting them crash on a futon when their parents were giving them grief.
I let myself slip into a state of extreme fantasy and I came to a burning crash when
opened the bakery door.
How was I going to tell my mom that I wasn’t moving with her? Could I even do that?
My thoughts jumped back to the day a few weeks ago when I was sitting here, trying to
solve the same problem.
“Here again?” Lisle smiled as she plopped down into a seat across from me.
“Yeah...” I shrugged and offered her a watery smile. Lisle frowned and leant forward,
“Hey what’s wrong?”
I sighed, “My mom wants to move. Again.” I felt my chin wobble and tears slid down
my cheeks. Lisle got up to give me a hug, “You can’t leave! You just moved here!” She
smiled
“I guess.” I tried to smile but it wasn’t happening. Those feelings of confusion, rage
and sadness lingered on awhile. Nothing could pull me out of my funk. I spun my phone
around on the table, my eyes tracking its every movement. I clicked on my contacts and
pulled up Susie’s number. I dialed and waited, and kept waiting. Her chirpy voicemail
blared into my ears as I left a message.
“Hi, uh this Kat Kranitz…I’m calling because I saw your ad today on the window and
I was wondering what exactly you’re looking for in a roommate…So if you could call me
back on this number that would be…that would be really great. So uh thanks and have a
nice night.”
After I hung up, I waited three long painful days for Susie to call me back. And it
was so not worth the wait, lemme tell ya. I actually think my mother was a better
roommate than this girl. Staying with her and working allowed me to stay in one spot, so
I won’t complain so much…but seriously the first day with her was rough because first
days are always the same no matter where I am.
Tres Moore
CW-Period 6
The Road
Keye laid on the observation bed. His eyes opened up staring into the ceiling. He
turned his head slightly looking at the patient monitor. Rubbing his eyes slowly, he
relaxed his head back onto his pillow. He took his right hand, joined it with his left hand,
and his face tightened up with disgust.
His hands were sweaty and it didn’t feel pleasant at all. Keye could agree that he
had been lying there in that room for a long time. His blue eyes, looked stricken with
sadness and discord. He started to hear footsteps down the hallway drawing closer to his
door.
The footsteps stopped and voices started to emerge. Keye heard his grandparents
and what sounded like his doctor. Curtains veiled the window in the front of the room.
That didn’t prevent him from seeing the waving of hands, and the silhouettes of people
moving. He listened in.
“He almost died.” Said the doctor
“Well, we just don’t know why anything like this would ever happen to him.,”
exclaimed Keye’s grandfather.
“When he wakes up, can we talk to him for a little bit?” Said his grandmother.
The doctor gave consent, and with little to no time, Keye had been okay. His
heartbeat had gone to normal speed and he started to come back. As he came back, the
pains in his body came with it. He felt on his lower left abdomen, a screaming pain
wrapped in bandages and gauze.
He took is hand and reached it toward that side. The wound hurt so bad that his
hand jutted back quickly. He slowly started to make sure all of him was there, every
finger, hand, and limb, all in good shape. He heard a knock on the door.
“Hi, Keye, I'm Pastor Harrison Gordian.” he said. “Can you hear me?” he
continued, hoping to get a reply.
“Yes,” Keye said. “I can hear you,” he went on.
“I wanted to get to you today, not just to see if you were all right, but just to talk
to you,” Pastor said.
“Oh, that’s cool,” Keye Coughed. “So what did you want to talk to me about?”
said Keye.
“I wanted to talk to you about church counseling, I know you’re a member of the
church. The congregation and I have been praying that’d you be all right,” he said. “You
have clearly got some pain that you need to talk to someone about, and I wanted to let
you know that I’ll be there for you if you need anything,” he continued.
“Thanks, Pastor Harrison” Said Keye. “I’d appreciate that, a lot”
Keye was a very involved member in the church being that his grandparents
believed in God and believed “that a foundation for a young man, is the Lord God
himself.” They were very good people and Keye had every reason to trust Pastor. Pastor
had turned 75 that week and had seen two generations of Keye’s family pass through.
Keye’s grandparents grew up with Pastor Harrison when his dad was the pastor.
Soon after were Keye’s parents. Keye had one thing in common with his mother and
father. He loved to volunteer in church, and be involved in a huge amount of activities.
For some time, this conversation between these two went on before the end of
Keye’s first day. After all, they needed to pass the time during three months of therapy.
“Do you remember grace?” Asked pastor.
“Yeah, I do pastor,” he replied. “It’s when God gives you things, that you are
undeserving of, and then they become your blessing,” Keye replied.
“That’s it, Keye. I think that through all the pain and suffering that you have been
through, you haven’t known God’s grace through you, or your blessings,” Pastor said.
“You see, God, puts us through battles and hardships to make us be able to see the
blessings in them, to see that not matter how hard something may be, you’re still blessed
for the things you still have,” he continued.
Pastor paused and looked at his watch, it was getting late.
“That’s right Keye, it seems that I am out of time for the day, but thank you for being so
attentive,” He said. “Now at this time I want to let you rest Keye.”
“Okay, I’ll talk to you later?” Keye asked.
“Of course,” pastor replied, and left.
Harrison Gordian was puzzled for quite sometime while getting Keye back into
his life, and repairing all of the damage that had been done to this young man. How could
someone so young, and full of promise commit such a terrible deed? He needed to find
answers. So his best first chance was to go to Laurie, because she was there when it all
happened.
At about 5:00 pm the next day, he rode down Madison Street to find 241, Laurie’s
Address. He spotted a twenty-four, and saw the number one hanging on by just a nail.
Harrison pulled over and started his walk toward the porch. He knocked.
“Hi, its father Gordian from the Lakeview chapel,” he said as the floorboards
underneath his feet creaked. The door opened.
“Hi, pastor Gordian,” said Laurie. “How are you today?” she continued.
“Hey Laurie, I wanted to ask you about Keye,” he said. Laurie welcomed into him
into her home.
“Please, sit down” she said.
Laurie went into detail of how she saw it from Keye’s perspective, which was
pretty amazing.
“Keye was having one of those days. A little bit of stress, anxiety, and
everything going on around him. He was getting ready to become a senior at Southern
California University, majoring in Biology. You would think that someone with this
major, who had excellent grades, and was in the top percentile of his class, he would be
proud.
But Keye, he wasn’t. He just didn’t know to balance stress and didn’t know to be
happy anymore. Who could help him? Who could help someone that didn’t want help or
to make things easier, someone that didn’t ask for help?
Not his friends. They could hardly ever tell there was something wrong with
Keye. He always had a smile on his face and always enjoyed the most out of his friends.
He decided to keep it all in because quite frankly, it wasn’t anybody’s business.”
She stopped. Laurie could feel this thing inside of her that didn’t feel right, that
wished she could’ve done something about it.
“So you just noticed that he wasn’t the same?” said Harrison.
“Yeah, I did, and to tell you the truth it scared me a lot,” Laurie said. “It was
never like Keye to be acting so strange and so, plain out there. He made it seem like his
world was all coming to an end. Ever since his parents died, in that terrible vehicle pile
up on route 3 in Ohio, he’d had been doing very well getting over it all. The words boldly
printed on the SCU Gazette in his freshman year, “OHIO COUPLE GO DOWN UNDER
EN ROUTE.”” she paused.
“So do you think he made a little progress?” asked pastor.
“Yeah I do, but I mean, so much of the little stuff made him mad. I mean to say
that all the columnists, he wished that they didn’t take a story and totally rip it apart so
horribly. It was almost like the people that printed that article had merely no sympathy
for people’s feelings. Did they even once stop to think about, what kind of people would
read this or who would read this? No, they didn’t think about the fact that, maybe their
sons would like to hear this from the police first, before some crummy news article would
blow it up in their faces. Keye and his brother’s, Zeke and Shane, didn’t know what to
do,” she said.
The two had felt a weird feeling sitting there in the room. It’s that feeling you get
when you feel so humanly wrong for knowing someone went through something like this
and wish, just wished that you could’ve done something about it before it started. It was
guilt.
“Thanks Laurie, for talking with me, that makes me feel better to know a little bit
more,” Said pastor. “God be with you,” he said.
“And also with you” she replied.
Laurie walked him to the door and he left. Pastor Harrison left that afternoon
knowing a little bit more, but differently than when he came in. He couldn’t grasp the fact
that Keye would stab himself repeatedly to relief himself of whatever problems arose in
his life. He decided to go back to the hospital and pray with Keye.
He walked in, and the lobby was empty, and walked up to the front desk.
“He’s room 163,” the nurse said. “Oh, and by the way pastor, the doctor said that
Keye can be released tonight, he seems to be doing better than expected,” she continued
“Thank you so much nurse, that’s great news,” he replied
Pastor walked into Keye’s room and saw him in there reading a book, looking so
innocent. He asked himself how could a kid do this to himself? He looks so happy and
content.
“Keye, I wanted to tell you, tonight, is your last night,” he said “isn’t that great
news?”
“Wow, really?” he said, “That’s awesome!” Keye replied.
“But, before you go, I wanted to let you know, that you need remember
everything I told you, you have to see all the good things you have vs. what you don’t
have. You’re a blessed young man; you have grandparents to look after you, and loving
friends. Who couldn’t want anything more?” Pastor said
They prayed for 5 more minutes until the doctor came and told Keye he could be
released back into the arms of his grandparents. Keye remembered every word that Pastor
said to him; he is a blessed young man.
“Hi, Keye, Doctor Kabawinski will be here in just a moment to check on you
before you leave,” said the nurse.
“Okay, Keye, time for me to get out of here, remember, see every blessing, every
chance you get,” Pastor exited
There was a faint knock on the door.
“Keye?” said the doctor. “I found someone you’d probably like to see.”
Keye took a deep breathe, and for the first time in a couple of days, he saw
his grandparents. Keye leaped up to them and hugged them like fresh new teddy bears
from the local toy store.
All of what he had been learning from pastor Harrison was true. He hadn’t
realized how much he actually loved his parents until he had been through some trials
and tribulations. He saw the situation he was in, but also realized; he was still blessed to
have his grandparents around. He had taken a step forward and could now start to slowly
leave the pain of his parent’s dying behind him.
“How are you doing, son?” Said Grandfather.
“I actually feel great, grandpa. I really do,” Said Keye
“So how is everything in here?” asked Doctor Kabawinski.
“It’s great, thanks,” replied grandma
“Well, you seem fine, you’re all good to go Keye,” said the doctor.
The family left, happy that they were back together again.
“Well, grandpa, I actually wanted to go and see Laurie, if that’s cool with you,”
Asked Keye.
“Sure, Keye, that’s fine. I’ll drop you off and we’ll be at home, okay?” said
grandpa.
“Thanks pop-pop,” said Keye.
It was the best thing to do at the time. He had already gotten to his grandparents to
see them again, but wanted to make things right with Laurie. He had a weird feeling in
his belly, almost like he was shaking with baking soda inside of him. But no matter,
Laurie was important to him, they’d been friends for the longest time.
Keye never remembered how much all of his friends felt when he left for that
three-month period. None of them, Robbie, Giorgio, or Joey, had received a call from
anyone about Keye. He thought about how weird it would totally be when he went to see
them also for the first time. But hopefully, as he knew them before as good friends, they
would forgive him and be accepting.
He knocked on Laurie’s front door.
“Hello?” he said. “Hi, it’s Keye. I just wanted to come by and say hi to Laurie.”
“Oh, my God!” said Laurie. The door opened. “Keye!!!” she exclaimed with a
hug.
In that one moment, In that hug, I felt so, so welcomed. It was almost like I never
left her at all. She’d remembered the good friend she had and never forgot about him.
“Come in!” she said. “You have no idea how much I missed you!” “ I mean I
literally, have no idea what to say,” said Laurie
“I just wanted to some by and see you again. Are you doing okay?” said Keye.
“I am actually doing well, Keye. Your grandparents, called me the day you went
into the hospital,” Said Laurie
She asked him to sit down onto the couch and explain to her why he did what he
did. Keye knew where the conversation was going and so he began.
“I just..” He paused. “I don’t know why I did what I did, but I know that the
reasons I had were so valid,” He continued.
“You know about my mom and everything. She was so important to me, like my
dad was, and when they were in the accident a couple months ago, I have just never been
the same really,” he said.
He went on, being very descriptive on the topic.
“So a couple months ago, I took a kitchen knife and stabbed myself 5 times, to
make sure I was done with.” He said.
“So, that night, was Giorgio talking to you before?” said Laurie
“Yeah, he was,” said Keye. “He’s actually the reason that I lived,” he said,
“Keye, I don’t know what to say,” said an emotional Laurie. “I really didn’t
expect you to do something like that at all.”
“Yeah, I know," he said, "and that’s why I’m better now. I talked to the pastor and
he gave me some building blocks to stand on,” said Keye
Laurie started to cry a lot and Keye could see the pain, and sorrow in every
teardrop. Every teardrop that fell hurt him more and more. They both felt the pain, and
the hurt inside each other’s soul. It was if each other’s heart was on fire.
Laurie got closer to Keye.
“Don’t you ever,” She stopped. “Don’t you ever for one moment think that you
should have to get rid of yourself, because you think life isn’t worth living,” she said.
“We all have the right to live, Keye. What happens when we give that right up?” she
continued. “We give up all rights to ourselves, basically. You have to keep in control of
your life.It's a precious thing,” she cried.
At that moment she took his hand.
“We have to see the good things in life, Keye. You parents want you to live, and
God took them away from you to present a challenge to you.” she said.
“Promise me, you'll never do that again,” she said.
“I promise,” he said.
That was it, the time when Keye and Laurie knew what kept Keye on this earth,
his love for her. She knew that she loved him and would do everything in her power to
make sure he was okay. She couldn’t lose him; she just couldn’t. She tried to think a
relevant time that could relate to Keye’s situation, and one came up.
“Keye, I never told you, but I had some problems here and there,” said Laurie. “I
can relate, and even though my parents are around, they are still divorced and I’m the
reason why,” said Laurie
“What do you mean?” asked Keye.
“Well, one night, my dad, he.” she paused, “He came into my room and."
Keye could notice the nervousness she became overwhelmed by as she went on.
He knew that wherever she was going with this, wasn't good.
"He raped me," she said to him.
He couldn’t believe what came out of her mouth, but swore that he’d be there for
her whenever she needed him. They grasped each other. She went on with the
conversation. She explained that every time she looked into her mother's eyes she could
see the devil.
"I can see him there, lurking, around her pupils," she said, "Her eyes speak hell
when she yells at me," she said.
She couldn’t find the words to explain the ugliness inside her mother’s heart. It
was this blank unknown part of her heart that Laurie never knew about. How could her
mother not believe her own daughter? How could she choose her marriage over her
child? These where the questions that Laurie thought about. She could never really get a
grasp on how her mother wouldn't believe her when she said that her father raped her.
Why wouldn't she believe her? Was she trying to keep her marriage thinking that there
definitely was a possibility he raped Laurie?
No one else really knew this except Keye.
Keye knew that he had to go to dinner with his grandparents, but wanted to just
fall asleep with her so the two could be with each other for just a little while. Keye shut
his eyes after she fell asleep. He woke up to a beeping noise.
His grandparents came and were waiting outside in the car. To keep from waking
her, Keye just slipped out the door quietly to go home. He looked at Laurie and looked at
her beautiful face, so peaceful and soft. He blew a goodbye kiss and left. Grandpa was
waiting in the car, and he had to leave.
"So how was it?" asked Grandpa.
"It was good to see her again, Grandpa. I mean, I really enjoyed seeing her again,"
replied Keye.
"That's good. We have dinner ready at home, so I hope you're hungry," she said.
"Yeah, I'm really hungry actually," Keye laughed.
Finally, a sign of relief: he had dinner home waiting for him and his life was
coming back together. It was like magic to him, how everything was going so well. He
felt so good to know that he would come out of such a situation and get better.
Keye looked out the window at the trees and how the rays of sunlight danced
between the leaves and flirted with the shadows. He rolled down the window and felt the
warm air through his face. He smiled and closed his eyes. When the car stopped, he
opened his eyes and opened the car door.
He walked onto his grandfather's Italian pavement and opened the front door.
Their yard was a luscious and abundant green with a little bit of dandelions here and
there. He walked.
"Hey, Keye!" said his grandmother. "How was Laurie's?" she asked.
"It was great, Grandma. She seemed really happy to see me, and I was happy to
see her," Keye said.
"Well, hey, I know you're hungry. Come eat," he said.
Keye walked in the kitchen, and it was like the grandest dinner he had never seen
before. There was grandpa's Quiche that he makes all the time, peas, collard greens,
mashed potatoes, turkey, and chicken and not to forget the buns that were out of this
world. It was like a welcome home dinner, but with a touch of Thanksgiving added to it.
It made him feel at home.
Keye could stare at the prepared table forever and ever in amazement. The cherry
wood finish on the table was beautiful along with the matching chairs. It was so warm
inside and comfortable. He sat down and they prayed.
"Keye, could you pass me the potatoes?" asked grandma. “So how are you, Keye.
Are you feeling better?" she said.
"Yeah," he replied, "I feel fine."
"Keye, we love you, I just need you to know that," Grandma said.
Keye paused and felt the tension at the table. He knew they wanted to ask about
the suicide attempt. But they declined the chance to even think about it. Later that night
Keye couldn't shut his eyes.
He lay there with a sparkle in his eye that he would soon be able to see Laurie
again. Most of the time, she was truly all he thought about. Keye thought and thought,
and soon, he conjured up an idea that he should take Laurie to the beach.
He grew so anxious at the idea of sitting on the rocks, there on the coast, having a
little fun. He ran to Laurie's house and climbed up the vine covered wood fence on the
side of her house to her open window.
"psst!" Keye wispered. "Laurie, It's Keye. Come to the window!" he said.
"Hey, Keye, what's up?" she said.
"You want to go to the dock with me?" asked Keye.
"Sure!" she replied.
"Laurie and Keye climed down the fence on the side of the house and ran to the
shore. They stopped to breathe and calm down. They walked over to the shore boulders
and sat down. Keye pulled out his bottle of Smirnoff.
"Want some?" he asked.
Laurie thought of how much she loved Keye and thought it was fine. The two sat
there that night up until the morning. The two were having a lot of fun and really loved
each other’s company. The sun started to come up and Keye looked at Laurie. He gave
her that romantic look that came into effect when she looked into his crystal blue eyes.
They took a step into the road.
"Hey, Keye, what's that light?" asked a dazed Laurie.
"I'm not sure, but I can hear something too," said Keye.
Keye and Laurie were beside themselves drunk. They couldn't even tell what fate
was coming toward them.
"Laurie, you know I want to be with you forever?" said Keye.
"Of course Keye," she said. "That's how I feel about you."
"Hey, I think that's a truck coming toward us," he said.
"Should we get out of
the way?"
"No," she said with confidence. "I want to be with you forever, and wherever
forever is, doesn't matter to Mme." she said.
The two heard loud beeps, as they knew it was the vehicle on the road heading for
them. The driver didn't know there were two people in the road, and couldn't do much to
dodge the two lovers before he did. Laurie and Keye, held their hands tightly and braced
for freedom.
They died that morning, and no one could figure out what they were doing that
early in the morning to get hit by a car. More over, the forensics of the local police
department, didn't find their bodies with any alcohol, but found smashed bottles on the
beach. One bottle was for the mother, who didn't believe her husband raped her daughter.
Another bottle was for the mother and father that left their son's so early on in life.
The third was for Laurie and Keye, they would be ok with it all, and loved their family
and friends very much. The article read the following morning, Like father, like son, like
mother, like daughter.
21 year old Keye Thompson and Laurie Graves died early this morning in a
horrific, yet strange case. The two walked toward the vehicle and were immediately
killed. The parents of Keye Thompson were also in an accident, a couple months ago.
It read everywhere. To the crying grandparents, that thought they were on the
verge of getting their grandson's new life planned out. To the mother, that never once,
while her daughter was alive, admitted that she was wrong and should’ve kicked her
husband out a long time ago for the wrongs he committed. Finally, to the community who
would know them as nothing more than, everyday people that pass on in a tradegy.
All of the citizens of Johnston, California, would continue their jobs and lives.
They would go on strong, with a bit of relief and thankfulness, that it wasn't them.
Austin Muetterties
Short Story
Mr. Zervanos
Period 6 12/21/09
Resolution
*
David is blinded by the harsh, bright light that suddenly appeared. After getting
over the blindness he moans and looks around. He is lying on a tan couch with an empty
beer can in his hand. He tries to sit up quickly, but in the middle of sitting up he gets an
intense headache. How much did I drink last night, and where am I, he thinks. He looks
around and sees that the floor is strewn with half eaten pieces of pizza and empty beer
cans. What happened? He then looks behind him to see that his friend Josh is picking up
the trash and putting it in a black trash bag. After seeing Josh he gets hit with a flashback
of last night. They were partying hard for some reason, and he can remember Josh getting
frisky with some blond chick.
“Yo, man, help me clean up this mess before my parents get back.”
“Yeah, whatever,” David replies. “What happened last night?”
“Dude, you got so messed up last night, and you almost got it on with that hot
Asian chick that came late to the party last night.”
Then David’s phone starts to ring. He picks it up and as he opens it he sees that it
is his dad calling. He asks him where he is and that he better get home within the next
hour or he is grounded. David says okay and hangs up. He then looks at the date and
realizes that yesterday was New Years Eve and everything starts to make sense. He tells
Josh that he has to leave and that he is sorry he can’t help out more. Josh says it’s fine
and that they are almost finished anyway.
“See you in school tomorrow then?” asks Josh.
“Yah, I’ll see you there.”
*
“Click.” Dave puts the key in and starts up the car. Then he puts it in reverse and
backs out of the driveway. He stops to let another car turn into the street before heading
out onto the main road. He accelerates the car to fifty miles per hour in a thirty-five mile
per hour zone. He doesn’t care about going that fast, because it is six o’clock in the
morning and no one else is on the road. His phone rings once, signaling that he got a text
message. David looks at the name and sees “Cynthia 1 new message” on his phone. “I
wonder what she wants?” he mutters under his breath. As he comes to a stop at a red light
he picks up his phone and opens it. He then looks at the message that says, “We need to
talk!”
“Well duh, you broke up with me last night at the party,” he mutters to himself. So he
picks up his phone and dials her number.
After a few rings she answers, “Hello?”
“You wanted to talk?” he asks.
“Yeah, so the reason that I want to talk is that I realize that last night was a big
mistake and that I should never have broken up with you.”
“No, you were right. It is time we break up. We need to take a break and I want to
see other people too.”
She angrily retorts, “Well, maybe if you didn’t drink so much, we wouldn’t be
having this conversation. That’s why I broke up with you last night. Your stupid drunk
texts and phone calls just made me finally snap and say, you know what, were done.”
“Well, you are a slut, and I know you’ve been doing one night stands with Joe
every time I am out drinking so you know what? I don’t even want to go out with you
any more, so bye and don’t call back.” He then angrily closes his phone and throws it into
the back seat. The light ahead of him turns yellow, so he slows down to a stop next to a
69’ Camaro.
*
The bright police lights are flashing inside Dave’s rearview mirror. The ‘69
Camaro is slightly behind him as they race on. The other driver quickly accelerates to
pass Dave, but in the distance Dave can see another car coming at him in the opposing
lane. It’s too late; the Camaro hits the opposing ‘92 Ford head on and the debris from the
crash hits Dave’s car making him swerve off the road and hit a tree. He is stunned for a
few seconds trying to get his bearings. Beside him are the two paper cups that held coffee
a few days ago, along with the gym bag he just used yesterday for working out. On the
dashboard is a piece of Kentucky Fried Chicken that came from the dinner bucket Dave
had gotten before the party yesterday. He tries to get the seatbelt off, after realizing that
it would be best to get out of the shattered car. It is stuck, though, and won’t budge.
Looking down he can see why; the buckle is bent around the loop making it impossible to
take off the seatbelt. Dave then gets an idea of how to get out. He had a disposable razor
in his gym bag, so he unzips it and shifts through the contents. He pulls out his
toothbrush, some toothpaste and a slip of paper. He takes a quick look at the paper and
“New Year’s Resolutions” on the top of it. The first item is “1. No more racing.” How
ironic, he thinks as he finds the plastic razor and starts to cut the belt. Finally Dave
breaks through the seat belt. Once freed, he takes one last look in the back seat and sees
the bottle of champagne left over from the New Year’s Eve party he was at only last
night
He looks behind and sees the police officer that was chasing them step out of his
car. His face is red with anger. He starts toward Dave, and upon seeing this Dave starts to
run away into the woods. He hears the cop’s voice shout, “STOP!” but he keeps running.
While he takes quick glance backwards, Dave trips and stumbles on a root. The police
officer catches up and says, “You’re mine now, kid.”
*
David is shoved into the squad car after being roughly handcuffed. The officer
slams the back door shut and gets into the driver’s seat. The officer turns on the car while
taking out his radio. He calls up the station and tells them that he has a seventeen-yearold kid, who was caught racing through the back roads with a red ‘67 Carmengia, and
that he caused a car crash with two other people seriously injured. The person on the
other end is quit for a second, but then says, “Bring him in,” and that they will question
him there.
The officer puts his seat belt on and heads back to the road. They pass the
wrecked Carmengia. Its front is squashed all the way up to the driver’s seat, and the
windshield is shattered. As they pass by, Dave looks out the other window and sees the
black Camaro flipped on its back and he can see the paramedics slowly getting the
opposing driver out of the car. They pull him out and David can see the driver is just a
teen like himself and that his head is caked with a bright layer of blood.
*
“Sit down.” David complies with the officer and sits in the single chair.
“Do you know why you’re here?”
“Yes and no,” David replies, “I know why I am here but I’m not sure why I am
being questioned.”
“You were caught racing at speeds of 160mph and then you were also caught with
an alcohol level of .1 percent, which is illegal in the state of Mississippi. The question
now is why were you drinking underage and why did you decide to drive afterwards?”
“You see officer, it all started last night. I was out at a New Year’s Eve party and
there was a small amount of alcohol in the punch, so I thought I would be fine to drive
the next day. So I got up this morning after waking up and decided to drive home.”
“Did you take any drugs there? Cocaine or pills?”
“No, I did not and my results should give you the confirmation that I have never
taken drugs.”
“Okay, that is all the questions for now. You have the right to make one phone
call. I suggest you call one of your parents since you are a minor. Here is the phone.”
David dials the numbers to call his dad, all the while thinking of what he will say. He
decides on just saying that he is at the police station and that he will explain everything
when his father gets there. His dad picks up and David tells him what has happened and
the Dad says he will be in as soon as he can. David hangs up the phone and gives it back
to the police officer, who then gets up and leaves. As the officer is leaving David catches
a few words that he mutters. “What am I going to do with this kid?”
*
Dave’s dad opens the door softly. As he walks into the room he says in his soft
disappointed voice, “Hey, how’s it going kiddo.”
“I am fine, Dad.’ Dave replies with traces of his voice shaking.
“ What were you thinking, son?”
“I… I don’t know”
The dad sighs and says, “I just don’t know what to do. Why did you have to go
and do all of this?”
Before Dave can reply back to his father, the police chief opens the door and sits
down across the table from them. He tells them the news about the crash. No one was
killed, though. The Camaro driver did have some serious injuries, but Dave doesn’t need
to worry about that, since the Camaro driver is to blame for that. The biggest issue is the
fact that Dave was underage and had a high alcohol level and was speeding over fifty
miles per hour over the speed limit.
Dave sighs after hearing this and thinks about what it will be like in a jail cell.
The officer says that there are two options available for them to take. The first one is that
once Dave turns eighteen he will have to serve three months in jail. Or the second option
is doing sixty hours of community service in this next year.
After hearing the two options, Dave feels a wave of relief that there was
something else other than having to spend time alone in jail. Dave agrees to the
community service option and signs some forms stating that he will do three hours a
week of community service until he finishes his required number of hours. Dave also has
his license suspended for six months due to reckless driving along with a DUI. Dave and
his dad leave the station and drive back home.
*
“The sky turns to a different shade of blue. After the rain...” Dave is listening to
the radio as his dad drives him to his fifth time at community service since his little
accident. He actually doesn’t mind doing this kind of work. It has given him the secluded
time alone to think while he picks up trash off the road or helps out at the soup kitchen.
Helping out the homeless or even the community puts a warm feeling in his heart that he
could never get no matter how many drinks he would have taken to try and get that
warmth. His dad pulls up outside the soup kitchen and Dave gets out.
“I will pick you up in about two hours, so just wait for me.”
“Okay, Dad, I will see you then,” Dave says as he shuts the door and walks
toward the door. As he reaches for the handle, the door swings open, only to hit him in
the face. He falls to the ground and hears a girl exclaim, “Oh my gosh, I am so sorry. Are
you all right?”
Dave looks up to a beautiful face and is lost for words for a few seconds.
“Yeah… yeah, I am fine.”
The girl bends down and helps him to get up. After Dave is helped to his feet, he
asks the girl her name and she smiles and says, “My name is Delia.”
*
“Dave...Dave, wake up it’s, like, five o’clock in the afternoon.” Dave opens his
eyes. He is on the couch and thinks he must have fell asleep watching something on TV.
He looks up and there, standing in the doorway, is his brother.
“Shouldn’t you still be at college?” Dave asks.
“I can’t just show up one day and surprise you once and a while? In reality, It’s
spring break man.”
“Oh yeah, right. Sorry I am still trying to wake up.”
“You better wake up fast, cause I am taking you to a party at the Robinson’s
house.”
Dave’s first instinct is to grab his stuff right away and go with him. But before he
can answer, his phone vibrates. He looks at his phone and it says, “1 message from
Delia.” Waves of images flash through his mind. He sees himself waking up on New
Year’s Day. He sees the Camaro, right next to him, crushed and flipped, the cop arresting
him. The flashbacks end with an image of Delia. Delia’s mouth moves and her voice
rings out in his head, “Nice to meet you, Dave.”
After seeing this, Dave smiles and replies, “Nah, I think I will just hang here
tonight.”
Macky Naismith
Creative Writing
Mickey and Carl
Mickey Thomas waited by the phone. It was a warm January afternoon in his
Florida home. He had been waiting for this call for a long time. The same time every
year, in fact. The eighty year old man just sat in his leather recliner. He watched through
his screened in porch window as cars passed by. A group of birds danced from telephone
wire to telephone wire. A man was mowing his lawn, but there was still no call. It was
already four. Mickey decided to flip on his TV. He turned the dial to ESPN. They would
surely have the news he was looking for. He played with the rabbit ears until the picture
held still.
"And now, news from baseball," the reporter said. Mickey listened up. "The
writers have voted in Carl Jefferson and Robby Kaline to the Baseball Hall of Fame."
Mickey's name was not called.
"Jefferson, of course the long time pitcher for the Braves, and Kaline, the
manager with the highest home winning percentage in history."
He didn't really expect it anyway, although he was still rather disappointed. He
had been on the lip of making it in for a long time.
"Official inductions are set to be July 25th."
He had barely missed the cut early and had been overlooked for years. Recently
there had been a push to get him, in but you know. He did care, of course; he just didn't
show it. He kept his emotions to himself.
"Welp," he said to his cat as he threw on his hat and coat, "we'll get 'em next
year."
He ducked out the door and started the three block walk to Mel's Diner.
"Sorry to hear the news," shouted Mr. Polanski from his yard.
"We'll get 'em next year," Mickey replied. He kept walking until he got to the
fence beyond the local ball field. A few kids were swinging and running the bases. He
leaned on the fence and observed the action. He recalled what it was like to play the game
he loved. The aging process had prevented him from enjoying baseball for many years.
He opened the door to Mel's Diner and stepped inside.
"Mickey Thomas! How are you, my friend?" Although Mickey was a regular
customer, Mel had a way of greeting him like they hadn't met in years. "Come, sit
down."
Mickey shook his friend's hand and sat in his regular seat at the counter. Mel
leaned to the man sitting down a few seats.
"That's Mickey Thomas," he said, "the baseball legend.”
"I know who Mickey Thomas is!" the man said.
"So those fool writers missed out on inducting one of the greats once again," Mel
said.
"We'll get 'em next year," Mickey said.
That was the story of Mickey's career. There were many “we'll get 'em next year”
endings. His teams had never won a World Series. He had never even been to the
playoffs. The "experts" believed that this was the reason Mickey was never voted into the
Hall. The great players perform great when it counts most. Mickey never had that chance.
He never got the opportunity to show his stuff on the big stage of the World Series.
"I'll get you the regular," Mel said.
"Thanks Mel," Mickey replied.
"So, what was it like?" asked the other man.
Mickey looked over.
"If you don't mind me asking," the man continued, "what where the majors like?"
Mickey thought about his question. How could he describe what it was like? He
lived and played the game he loved. He traveled with his team and played against the best
players in the world. "It was fun," he finally said. "It was a way of life. Every year
traveling from city to city."
"Didn't you ever miss your family?" the man asked.
"Well, you see, that's the thing. I never got around to starting a family of my
own," Mickey replied. "My teammates were my family."
Mel brought out a plate of cow's liver and potatoes.
"My favorite," Mickey remembered and took the first bite. Mel had a way of
making it like nobody else.
An hour passed and Mickey had finished his dinner.
"Can I offer you some dessert?" Mel asked as Mickey put his hat and jacket back
on.
"Not this time," Mickey told him. "You know how Martha worries when I'm late."
That was an inside joke between Mickey and Mel. Mickey often referred to his imaginary
wife Martha. It gave him a reason to get on his way.
"See you latter then Mickey Thomas," shouted Mel.
Mickey walked home the same way and passed the ball field. It was empty, left open
for the night as the kids went home to their families. Mickey decided to work on his car.
He had a garage around back. He unlocked the garage door and opened it, revealing a
1949 Pontiac convertible. It had been given to him as a gift when he won the MVP
award. He took care of this car and always kept it in running condition. It was a dark
green with chrome bumpers and hub caps. A long pinstripe ran from the front tire to the
back lights. It had long, comfortable leather seats and a working AM radio.
The analog clock and speedometer were also covered in chrome and fitted into the
hardwood dash board. The steering wheel fit your hands just right and the seat was
positioned in a perfect way to use the accelerator and break pedals. It was a great car and
always had been. Mickey often came out to his garage and tinkered with the alignment of
things, checked the oil and made sure the lights and windshield were clean. It was a
hobby for him. The sad thing was that Mickey felt he was getting too old to take care of
his car. It meant a lot to him, and with no family to give it to, he wanted to find a good
owner, one who would take care of it as he had. After a while of playing with his car he
stepped inside and was greeted by his cat. He emptied a can of food for him in a dish and
set it on the floor.
The night was just beginning for Carl Jefferson. The party had started when he
heard the news. Carl was now in the Hall of Fame. All of his friends were at his home in
California. It was a large house, a perfect place to host a party. Guests poured in and Carl
greeted them individually. "Hey, Carl, congratulations," they'd say. "Hey, Carl, how's that
arm? Got any more no hitters in it, buddy?" Carl had pictures from his playing days all
over his large house. He had pictures with Hank Aaron. He had a picture of himself
striking out George Brett in the World Series. He had a large picture of himself during his
perfect game in 1986. He had trophies and memorabilia in glass cases and shelves, all
kinds of souvenirs from games and milestones during his career. On the ends of his
fireplace he had two World Series MVP trophies. He had a wall of baseballs, each for a
strikeout he threw (4,032 exactly). He had a huge TV in his living room for his guests to
watch. For tonight, he hired waiters and a bar tender. The guests were having a good
time, and Carl would have a way to celebrate his achievement. He had achieved the
highest honor in sports, Hall of Fame admittance.
Carl wandered the party and continued to mingle with the guests. He had always
had his way of doing things. He lived his life big and extravagant. In his playing days he
was always considered one of the most flamboyant players in the league. He had a real
superstar personality. All of these traits got him noticed. All of these traits got him in the
Hall of Fame.
Carl's wife, Cleopatra, was bringing in a tray from the kitchen when the phone
rang. It was Carl's old teammate Shawn Rogers. She quickly ran the phone to her
husband who was showing off his car collection in the garage. He had three different
Corvettes. All of them well kept. He had a beautiful white Cadillac from the early sixties.
He had two different Mercedes. One was silver, and the other, a deep tan. Carl had a love
cars. He also loved to show his cars to people. He took pride in how well kept they were,
and often took home trophies from car shows. He had many other cars as well, and his
collection was constantly growing.
"How long have you had this one," one of the guests asked car as he gazed into
the window of a 1955 Lincoln.
"Oh, that one," Carl said as Cleopatra handed him the phone, "that one I just got.
It's the oldest one I have. I guess with age, the really classic ones are growing on me."
"Hello," he talked into the phone. "Hey Shawn."
"What's up Carl? I just wanted to congratulate you, I heard the news."
"Thanks, man. We've got a party goin' on over here."
"Sorry I couldn't make it."
"That's all right, man. I know you have to be in Florida."
"I'll see ya when I get back."
"See ya, Shawn," Carl said as he hung up the phone. "That was an old friend," he
explained to his guests. "Now, back to this gorgeous Lincoln…"
It was early in the afternoon when Mickey got a knock on his door. He answered
it and a tall man stood on his front step.
"You must be the man here about my car," Mickey said.
"Yes, I'm Shawn Rogers," the man introduced himself.
Mickey invited him in and offered him a seat. Mickey sat across from him and
they talked for a while.
"My father used to tell me stories about you," Shawn said. "He used to say that
you could trick batters better than anyone he had ever seen."
Finally, Mickey brought Shawn into his garage. "There she is," he said, pointing
to his car.
“Wow,” Shawn said, “I’ve never seen a car this well kept. My friend is a very big
car collector. I wanted to get it for him. He loves cars, but doesn’t have anything like this
one in his collection.”
“I just want to find a good home for it,” Mickey said.
Mickey ended up selling his 1949 Pontiac to Shawn. Shawn assured him that it
would be in good hands, but Mickey was still sad to see it go. Mickey said goodbye to his
car as they packed it up. Shawn had ordered a special truck to ship it in.
“My friend is really going to love this car,” Shawn said.
“I hope so,” Mickey said. “It has meant a lot to me. I hope he gets as much joy
from it as I have.”
Shawn and the truck drove away. Mickey stood on his front step and watched
them all the way down the road. When they were finally out of site he walked back inside
to pick up his coat, and then went to Mel’s.
It was already a week after the party. Carl got a call on his phone. It was Shawn
telling him to come outside. He opened his door to see his friend in front of his house
sitting in a 1949 Pontiac.
“You like it?” Shawn said. “It’s yours. Congratulations on the Hall of Fame
buddy.”
“Thanks, man. You didn’t have to!”
“I know, but I saw it for sale while I was in Florida and I had to get it for you.”
They pulled it into Carl’s garage and fit it right up front. It was the new gem of
the collection. This car had as much of a baseball life as Carl and Mickey. It had been a
gift twice because of baseball. Carl would enjoy his new car and take as much care of it
as Mickey had.
More time had passed and it was the day of the Hall of Fame induction. Carl had
flown to Cooperstown with his wife and Shawn. The crowd was packed with friends,
baseball fans, and current Hall of Famers. Carl took the stage along with Robby Kaline. It
was the biggest day of these two men’s lives. The commissioner took the podium and
began to say a few words.
“Before we begin,” he said, “I would like to ask for a moment of silence to honor
the loss of a great member of our baseball community. Mickey Thomas died this morning
in his Florida home.”
Although Carl had never met Mickey, he felt that he had known him. During his
speech he thanked God, his family, friends, and coaches. He talked about growing up in
Los Angeles and being blessed to have been signed by the Braves. He thought about how
lucky he really was. He remembered Mickey Thomas and how making it into the Hall of
Fame was not a given. From that day forward Carl used Mickey as inspiration. Mickey
lived his life without the plus of many awards and recognitions. Mickey lived a simple
life and was happy with it.
The next year Carl led the group trying to get Mickey Thomas inducted into the
Hall of Fame. He continued to come up short every year until one January afternoon. Carl
was sitting by his phone. He was much older now, years after that day in Cooperstown.
The phone did ring and Carl picked it up. It was Shawn.
“Hey Shawn, how are you?”
“I’m doing well. They’re going to let Mickey Thomas into the Hall, Carl.”
Carl sat back and smiled.
Mel was cooking at his diner when he heard the news on his TV. He was
overcome with joy. “Finally, old friend,” he whispered to himself.
Just then a young man walked into the diner. Mel had seen him before, playing
ball up at the field. He sat at and Mel handed him a menu.
“Any suggestions?” the young man asked.
“How about some cow’s liver?” offered Mel.
“Sounds good,” said the young man.
Mel smiled and walked back into his kitchen to prepare it.
Alyssa Nigro
Overcoming A Monster
Brat. Spoiled. Princess. That’s what she was always referred to by her older
siblings who were less fortunate than her; they were envious of everything that she got.
Over the years, Rachael never had to ask for anything; it was just given. Between cash
and cars, she never heard the word no. Now it was the complete opposite. Living in her
brother’s basement wasn’t exactly how she had pictured life when she was eighteen.
Never had she pictured herself alone and broke: a loser. Her mother had always been her
best friend, and now she saw her mother abandoning her. Never had she thought that any
mistake she made as a kid would follow her, her whole life. Eventually, she would just
need something to wake her up and force her to open her eyes.

All she had heard from her balcony upstairs lately was “We just don’t have the
money like we used to.”
Then she’d hear bangs and glass shattering. These were the nights that she
predicted would last through her entire life now. Changes were being made and not for
the better; everyone was just changing. Her mother became more worried about things
and had gotten a new, tiring job. Her dad was starting to become an alcoholic, and her
brother had moved out and was failing school. To make things better for her, Rachael
finally got a job, a job where she could make just a little bit of money just for herself.
With everything building up she began to feel overwhelmed. Eventually she would try
things that she had never even thought of trying, and she’d do things that would hurt
other people and herself. She would think it would make her happier, but it would just be
her journey down a horrific, dark path.

Her first month of senior year had flown by. She was so happy she had gotten
through it. Only eight months until graduation. Everything at school had been going
really well, but not her home life. Night after night she’d hear fight after fight. Yeah, it
pissed her off, her dad always yelling at her mom, but she had found ways to tune it out.
She never had really liked her dad. One night in particular had just thrown her over the
edge. She had just come home from a long day at work. After she had gotten out of the
shower, Rachael heard doors slamming and more yelling than ever. Her mom had just
picked her dad up from the bar. As usual, Rachael sat on the balcony, knees curled up to
her chest, listening to everything being said. All he did was criticize her mom; she hated
it. After about fifteen minutes Rachael had gotten up and was making her way back to her
bedroom when she heard her dad mention her name. He was slurring something about her
mom doing a horrible job of raising her. He continuously picked names to call Rachael,
like stupid, irresponsible, and the one word that sparked her anger, tramp. She stormed
down the steps and could feel the tears about to pour out of her eyes. Her mom motioned
her to go back upstairs, but Rachael just started to yell, and now the tears were raining
out of her eyes. She could feel all the tension and just couldn’t end her rage; she was
livid. Rachael began to walk away when her dad started to ignore her. Nothing annoyed
her more than when someone ignored her when she was trying to make a point. She
turned the corner heading up the steps, but as soon as she heard her dad’s voice, she
grabbed a glass vase on the dining room table and smacked her dad over the head.
Quickly, her dad reacted by grabbing her neck and slamming her against the wall.
Everything was getting blurry for Rachael, but she could hear her mother yelling,
“Stop! You’re going to hurt her!”
Finally, light came back to Rachael’s eyes as her father screamed to her, “Pack
your bags.”
He was so close she could smell the rum under his breath. She ran upstairs to her
room and packed a couple of outfits.
Her mom kept apologizing, but Rachael kept replying, “It’s not your fault.”
Slamming the door behind her to make herself feel better, she hopped into her
little red Cobalt and drove to her friend Haley’s house, the tears still streaming down her
face, making it almost impossible to drive.

Pain wasn’t always something that was easy for her to deal with. Yeah, she had
plenty of people to turn to for support, but for some reason she still felt alone. Rachael
had grown up a good girl; good grades, good friends, she was just all around a good
person. Things started to change, though. She had just permanently moved to her friend
Haley’s house and thought things would get better. The people around her were starting
to get worried.
Haley would always knock on the door and ask what was wrong, but Rachael
would lie and reply, “I’m fine. Just watching a sad movie.”
She hid her horrible smoking habit from everyone, even her best friend. She knew
how mad Haley would get if she found out. To make things worse, parties were now a
weekend routine for her, a chance for her to drink as much alcohol as she wanted.
Alcohol had always helped her. It made her dizzy and delusional, which helped her forget
about everything. Her habits were getting even worse. Some nights Rachael would sit in
her bedroom with a bottle of vodka, just sitting there and crying. She needed help, and
she knew it, but she’d just drink some more to forget about it. The worst nights were
when she’d get in her car and drive around afterwards just to see how much she trusted
herself. She always just imagined how her mother would look at her after she caught her
with all these bad habits. She knew she’d disappoint her mother so much that it would
make her continue even more.
“It’s just something that helps me feel better. Don’t you want me to feel better?”
she’d explain to her friends.
They were worried, but if it made her feel better, then that was all they wanted.

One day, Rachael and her mom were on their way home from the back doctor.
Rachael had been having some trouble ever since she was injured at work. She was
pissed off. It was just another thing she was going to have to deal with. What she was
really pissed about was that the doctor wouldn’t even give her any pain medications to
take the pain away. She had gotten her wisdom teeth out the previous December and the
doctor had given her Percocets. They had always made her feel better and she thought it
would make her back feel better too. She was even more stressed because he knew it
would be the perfect time for her mother to guilt her into coming back home.
“Rachael, I want you to come home,” begged her mother.
“No, Mom, I’m teaching him a lesson. He started it all, so he can wait until I’m
ready.”
She didn’t even want to bother with this crap right now. She felt like she was
going crazy thinking about those painkillers. “If I think about it, will you just stop
talking about it?”
Her mother shook her head in agreement and the rest of the car ride was silent.
*
“Make a left at the light,” ordered her friend Haley. They were on their way to
Haley’s friend’s house to pick up some painkillers, after Rachael had returned from the
doctor’s.
“You promise they’re for your back?” asked Haley.
“Yes, I promise. You know how much pain I’ve been in,” Rachael replied.
That night, Rachael took a half of a pain killer. Haley’s friend warned her to start
off with half since she had never taken them before. It really didn’t do anything for her so
she just decided to go to bed. That following Friday she took a whole pill. Once again,
nothing. Twenty minutes later she took one more and that was the last thing she
remembered doing. According to Haley, she made a pretty big fool of herself and then
passed out.
“Do you have anymore left?” Haley asked.
“No, I took the last pill last night,” Rachael replied.
“Okay, I’m trusting you.”
That was a lie. Rachael still had two and a half left.

Rachael had had a pretty decent weekend. Once again she drank a whole lot and
was still recovering. It was Sunday, and she decided to take one more of the pills to make
herself relax a little. Slowly, she started to get dizzy and felt that high feeling once again.
She began to dream, bad dreams. She dreamt about all the pain she had been going
through and saw things that might happen in her future. She thought back to the first day
she truly felt the pain. It had all started the day her mother attempted to kill herself. A
thirteen-year-old girl coming home from a long day of school to find her mother passed
out on the couch with no response. Her mother lived, but Rachael still felt guilty for two
reasons. She had stopped her mother from doing what she wanted, and Rachael felt like
she was part of the reason why her mother even tried. Then she dreamt more about the
pills she took. That’s what her mother had used to try to kill herself. From that horrible
day on until January 12, 2006, she had felt guilt and all that pain. A few nights later,
Rachael slowly crept down into her kitchen, opening the knife drawer. It was that night
that Rachael’s mother found Rachael lying on the floor, her hands covered in blood.

Waking up in a cold sweat, Rachael could hear her obnoxious alarm going off
beside her ear. Another bad dream, she thought to herself. Ever since she had come back
home, she had quite a few bad nights of sleep. Quickly, she grabbed some clothes and her
bag and ran downstairs to go to school. Rachael had a guidance appointment that day,
some meeting about stupid college stuff. Rachael hated to think about college. It was
always something she had wanted but never had the effort and motivation to focus on
applications.
“It’s getting down to the deadline, Rachael. Have you thought of any schools?”
asked Miss Pitts.
“Yeah, I guess so. I’ve just been really busy with school and work and stuff,”
Rachael replied.
“I might want to notify your parents about this because I know it’s something they
want for you.”
“Whatever. Is it cool if I go? I’m going to be late to fourth period.”

That night Rachael came home to a fiery feud. Her dad once again reeked of
vodka and beer. They started freaking out about college. She could tell her mom was just
concerned but her dad was pissed. He threatened to kick her out, telling her he didn’t
want some bum living under his roof. Once again she grabbed her bags and drove off to
Haley’s. By the time she would get there, she would have forgotten all about that night.
Plus, Haley was going to be there, and so were Gina and her boyfriend, Jack. Just
hanging out always made things better, and she could tell anything to Gina and Haley.

Finally, it was going to be a good weekend. Her other friend’s parents were going
away and that would just be somewhere for everyone to party. Rachael’s typical friends
were there, the people that could always cheer her up. Gina’s ex-boyfriend was also
there, somebody that Rachael had liked for a while, but could never tell Gina. Gina was
the type of person who said she didn’t like someone anymore, but you knew she really
did. Once again Rachael was drunk and even took the last of her pills. She was beginning
to remind herself of her own dad. Rachael needed something to get that thought off her
mind, and neither drugs nor alcohol would help. She and Jack, Gina’s ex, had fooled
around before, but never while Gina was there. The rest of the night went pretty well, but
the next morning did not. Besides her huge hangover, she had gotten a million angry text
messages from Gina. Rachael knew she had gotten caught, but that was the least of her
worries at the moment. Haley begged Rachael to apologize and talk to Gina, but Rachael
refused and lost any support she ever had.

She had run out of painkillers and alcohol and money to even buy these things.
Lately she had been skipping school and a whole lot of work. Instead of doing the things
she needed to do, Rachael was out getting a new piercing or dying her hair some crazy
color. Her hair was black with pink streaks, and the week before that it was neon blue.
One night she even decided to go get her eyebrow pierced, something she knew both her
parents would disapprove of, and would disappoint her mother very much, once again.
“I got my eyebrow pierced,” Rachael texted to Haley over a picture message.
“Wow,” Haley replied.
Rachael knew Haley was still angry about the whole weekend incident and all the
trouble she had been getting into, but she didn’t care. It was something she wanted and
something that made her feel better. A week later Rachael got a text from Gina.
It read, “Yo, we really need to sit down and talk this out. We’re really upsetting
Haley, and the way you’re acting isn’t helping.”
“I really don’t feel like talking it out right now, I have much more important
things on my mind,” Rachael replied.
“This is really how it’s going to be? Grow up,” Gina texted back.
“Fine. Meet me at the park ten o’clock. You want to talk? Then fine, I’ll talk.”
Rachael slammed her phone on to the front seat of her car.
Of course, that night she apologized. It was just stupid, girl drama. Life would go
on. She just wanted to get the fighting over with. That was always one of her better
talents, putting on an act. Nobody ever knew how much pain she experienced since that
one night her mom found her in the kitchen. As she quickly sped away, she had another
dream, a dream that showed her as a loser, sleeping on her brother’s couch. Her mother
would never be happy again. It was at this point that Rachael turned her car from going
down south to finally heading up north. Her mother was disappointed in the life that
Rachael was leading, but Rachael knew her mother still loved her. She needed to use
drugs, but her mother needed her more, and her father, well, he was a monster that she
would be able to overcome.
Vanessa Oliva
Memory Lane
The alarm blared in his ear as he woke up, rolled over and turned it off. He looked
at the clock and swore as he realized the he was late and ran to the bathroom. As he was
waiting for his sluggish coffee maker to start working, he went outside to get the morning
paper. He opened it up to see his face on the front page announcing that he, John, had
taken over his father’s business of building cars. He smiled and threw it on the table as he
grabbed his coffee and went out the door.
He sighed in frustration as he was stuck behind a school bus that was picking up
the little snot-nosed kids to take them to school. His phone rang as he finally got on the
highway and he reached over to try to get it, but it slipped and fell to the floor. He
grunted as he leaned down and tried to get it when he heard a beeping from the other cars
and he realized that he had swerved into the other lane and was about to hit the car next
to him. He managed to get back into his own lane before he hit, but then he saw the
flashing lights in his rearview mirror and he knew that it could only mean one thing. He
pulled over as the police car parked right behind him and watched as the cop got out of
the car and walked over.
“Can I see your license and registration please?”
John gave them to the cop and waited anxiously as the cop went to check his
records.
He came back and said, “I’m going to give you a ticket for reckless driving. What
were you doing that you lost control like that? You could have killed someone.”
“I’m sorry officer. I was trying to answer my phone.”
“Really? Then I’m going to have to give you another ticket because talking on a
cell phone while driving is illegal in this state.”
He put is head on the steering wheel as the officer wrote him another ticket and
left.
When he got to work he checked his phone to see who it was that had called him
but when he looked at the number he didn’t recognize it. He called voice mail and
listened to the message, which turned out to be from his ex-girlfriend, Shirley. She said
that she had something important to talk about and told him to call her back. He stared at
the phone for a while trying to figure out why she would call him out of the blue like this
because, from what he remembered, they didn’t end on good terms. He called her anyway
to see what she wanted to talk about, but when he asked, she wouldn’t answer him and
told him to come to her old house tomorrow and hung up. He wrote the time that they had
agreed on and went to yell at people on the phone and boss people around.
The next day John woke up earlier than he would have liked, but he had to if he
was going to make it on time to see Shirley. He got up and went to the bathroom,
dreading the three-hour drive he had ahead of him. He was still yawning and grumbling
to himself when he was only a half and hour away from Shirley’s house and watched as
the trees in the forest flew by him. He started to think about Shirley and how it used to be
between them back when they were in high school. She was the prettiest senior with her
long red hair and pale skin, and she was also the best hurdler that the school had ever
seen. He remembered that he would go to all of the home meets just to see her jump
gracefully over the hurdles. One day he finally got the courage to ask her out, and to his
surprise she said yes. From that day on they were with each other as much as possible,
and he honestly thought that they would always be together. But when school ended and
he told her that he didn’t want to go to college and that it was just a waste of time, she
broke up with him. She told him that if he didn’t go to college he would never be
successful and then she turned around and walked away from him and never looked back.
As he was remembering, his phone rang again and he went to answer it, but it
slipped and he took his eyes off the road for a second. Then glimpsing out of the corner
of his eye, he saw a little boy run on to the road from the playground. He grabbed the
steering wheel with both his hands and stomped on the brakes, but he was too slow and
he felt the body go under the wheels.
The car finally stopped thirty feet away and he ran out of it to see where the little
boy was, but he didn’t see the body. All he saw was a bright streak of red blood leading
to under the car. His heart was racing and he was covered in sweat as he walked back to
his car. He stood next to it and saw a tiny hand sticking out from under the back tire,
crushed and deformed. He heard a little sound come from under the car so he kneeled
down and looked at the bloodied face of the little boy. The little boy looked at him with
big, wide eyes that were full of fear and pain and he said in a soft voice, “I want my
mommy.”
John just started to cry and he said, “I’ll help you find your mommy, okay? Just
hang in there.”
“Okay,” he said and closed his eyes.
At that moment a woman came out of a house that was across the street and, when
she saw the accident she came running over screaming, “Jamie! Jamie!”
She looked under the car and when she saw her son pinned, she got up and
pushed the car back far enough that she was able to pull him out. She crouched down and
cradled him in her arms and she smoothed his hair off his forehead and murmured words
of comfort to him. John stood there and watched the mother frantically trying to wake her
son up to the point where she started to shake him because his eyes wouldn’t open. John
walked up to her, and grasped her shoulder trying to get her to stop shaking the body but
she turned around and glared at him with wet, hate-filled, eyes and he quickly let go of
her in shock. He recognized those eyes and her face. It was Shirley! Of all the people that
were coming to investigate what had happened, she was the last one that he had expected
to be here. John looked back up to the house where Shirley ran from, and recognized the
woman standing there and Shirley’s best friend from high school. He got up and walked
numbly away to call the police.
The ambulance got to the scene first and he followed them to the hospital while
trying to forget the image of bloodied tire tracks leading the cops to him. John went to the
waiting room as the emergency staff burst in, running along with the stretcher and with
Shirley right behind them. A couple of seconds later she came back and sat on the
opposite side of the room, as far away as possible. John studied the back of her head and
was trying to think what he could say to her, but he had a feeling that he should do
nothing for the time being if he wanted to stay alive. The police finally arrived and came
towards him to arrest him, but he asked if he could stay until they found out if the little
boy was going to live. The police officer stared at him for a minute and agreed, so he sat
down next to John. They waited for hours before the doctor came out to the waiting room
with a serious face. Shirley ran to him and asked if Jamie was going to be okay, but the
doctor looked at her and said that Jamie had passed away five minutes ago.
She knelt down and started to scream, “No! It’s not fair! How could he be dead?”
then she turned around and ran towards him screaming, “ You bastard! You killed my
baby! Fuck you! Fuck you to Hell!”
John covered his head as she started to hit him with her fists and yelled back, “I’m
sorry, Shirley! I didn’t see him!”
“What the fuck do you mean, you didn’t see him? You did but you were going too
fast and you killed him! Do you understand that, John? He is gone forever! I will never
be able to see him again except in his coffin!”
The policeman came and grabbed her arms to drag her off him as she continued to
scream profanities at him. John got up and stumbled back, in case the policeman lost his
grip, and stood there with his hands shaking as anguish that he had caused sank in. She
sank down in the nearest chair and started to sob while the doctor went back to the
emergency room not caring because he had seen it all. The policeman came over and
arrested John and led him from the waiting room to the police car while Shirley
continued to cry.
“John Taylor, you have been charged with first-degree murder for being on your
phone and not paying attention to the road. How do you plead?”
“Guilty, your honor.”
“Then you shall do 5 years with possible parole in two years.”
John closed his eyes as the judge slammed his gavel on to the block of wood and
proceeded to read the next case. John was lead out of the courtroom and they took him to
prison.
About a week into his sentence a guard came to announce that he had a visitor and
led him to the visitor room. John sat down in the chair and waited for the visitor to come
in. He was trying to figure out who else would come to visit since both of his parents
were dead, when the door opened. Shirley walked in and sat down across from him. She
stared at him with cold eyes until he started to fidget in his chair, so to break the silence
he said, “When was the funeral?”
She continued to stare at him and made no reply.
He felt like a coward but he couldn’t make himself meet her eyes that were
burning with hatred, so he settled on staring at his feet. They sat like that for a while until
she said, “How do you feel, John, about what you did?”
John looked up, feeling angry that she would dare ask such a question.
“Oh, just dandy! Couldn’t have a care in the world about killing a three-year old
boy.” he snarled sarcastically. He glared at her and she glared back.
Then she sighed and said, “I wanted you to come because I had something
important to tell you and I thought you were ready to handle what I was going to tell
you.”
“Which was…?”
“Jamie is…or was, your son. I found I was pregnant a couple of weeks before we
graduated and I was going to tell you, but then you said that you didn’t want to go to
college. I didn’t want my baby to grow up with a man that didn’t want to learn or make
something of himself, so I didn’t tell you anything. Then a couple of weeks ago I read in
the newspaper that you had a business and were very successful, and I thought that you
had finally matured, but you haven’t. You are the same as before!” As she said this she
got up and looking at John in the eye once more, she walked out of the room.
John sat there stunned at what he had just heard. He hardly noitced the guard
taking him back to his cell and closing the door.
He sat down on his bed and after awhile tears started to stream down his face as
he realized what he had lost. He would never see his son grow up and become a man or
spend time with him. Everything was cruelly ripped away from Shirley just because she
wanted to fix things between them. It was like a cruel joke that the first and last time he
ever got to see his son was seeing him crushed and bloodied under his own car.
SNOW
Josh Patton
He lay there, on the ground. There had been nothing to stop his killer. My brother
had been the one killed for trying to be the hero, for trying to protect me. I knelt down by
his side, I wanted to cry more than anything because without tears I felt like a shell, a
being without emotions. I had not cried when my father died. And lying next to my
brother, I couldn’t find myself to mourn him. The police were on their way, but I knew it
was too late. It had been 6 minutes already, and he had been dead for five. There is no
comfort after a relative dies. Not soon after, not ever. If you’re a lucky person, your dying
relative is someone you never knew. An aunt in a different state maybe, or a grandfather
in a different country. Standing there, with the cold winter winds at my back, I learned a
simple fact, that closure is an ideal. It never happens as easily as time passing by. It is
impossible to avenge a family member’s death. Life isn’t a movie; you can be killed as
easily as anyone, and no amount of blood shed or tears can bring you any closer to the
closure you seek.
The paramedics had arrived, and while kneeling at my brother’s side, I watched
them carry him off in a stretcher. I felt numb and worn, like a jacket that’s been overused
to the point of ripping; I felt hollow. The paramedics had asked me questions, but their
voices could not drown out the sound of the cold, ringing gunshot. I took a ride with the
paramedics; I could not leave my brother, not yet. From inside the ambulance, the
evening seemed to fade away into complete darkness, as if the earth wanted to cover up
the tragic mistake it had made of taking away a loved one. Once at the hospital, I stood
by my brother, waiting for the evidence to come back to me about his deceasing, and the
barrage of words that were contained in the sentence, “I’m sorry for your loss.” That, I
knew, would sicken me.
*
Outside of the hospital I waited for the grey sedan to pull up for me. As the car
approached I lifted my head up and walked over.
“Are you okay, John?” was the first thing I heard coming from the car, before I
could even hear the engine. The window was rolled down and I saw Sarah sitting in the
driver’s seat. Sarah was the kind of person who always knew what you were feeling,
sometimes even before you yourself realized.
“I’m fine,” I said back. It was a robotic answer, like telling your wife that you
love her or saying hello to your best pal. She realized it too. I climbed into the car, feeling
weak. I always did around Sarah. I never saw it before, but I think that’s what I always
felt attracted to in her. The ability to break someone down with just your eyes is an
amazing thing.
The engine hummed its way through the streets of my hometown. Through it
there was a medley of trees, and decaying buildings that had been worn away by years of
acid rain. The streets went by until we reached my place.
“John, do you want me to come in?”
“No, I just need to sleep it off.”
“I think I better come in.”
I was in no mood to disagree with her, so I opened my front door to reveal what
she had always referred to as a row of unorganized novelty items. After letting her in I
tossed the keys and laid down on the couch. She followed and sat down, leaning on me.
There was nothing to say.
Years ago my father had died of a heart attack. We were playing baseball when it
happened. It was tragic really; nobody ever saw it coming, not for one second. That was
years ago, and back then I didn’t cry either. I didn’t know what to think at that young age.
It is the age where you are still discovering life itself, and when it gets taken away from
you, it doesn’t seem to matter. Then at the age of twenty-one, I still don’t know what to
think. I felt sad, angry, paranoid that it may happen again to me. With Sarah lying in my
arms I wanted to hold on like nothing ever before. I felt mad, at myself, at life, at the god
of creation or whatever force commands life. Suddenly, I heard a knock on the door that
snapped me back from thought to the real world. I got up to answer it, only to discover on
the other side the last family member I had left in my small world, my mom. My mom,
ironically, was a nurse, although she had not been on duty when my dad died. Once the
door was open, my mom cried and let herself fall into my arms. I let her down onto the
couch while she was still crying. We sat there, consoling each other for ten minutes
before she uttered a word.
“How are you doing?” she uttered in a crying voice.
“Fine.”
We tried to play it like it was another day, but we each felt it, down inside. She
couldn’t stop crying, so I stayed with her, Sarah still sitting on the couch. I needed to lie
down, to forget about the whole thing. My brother was dead. The thought echoed through
my mind over and over until I got sick of it and broke down.
“I have to lay down. I’ll talk later.”
“Of course, sweetie, take your time.”
“Sarah, I’ll see you tomorrow, okay?”
“Sure.”
*
I woke up the next morning; the world was a blur until everything seemed to slide
into focus. I crawled out of bed and went downstairs. I found a note lying on my kitchen
counter saying, CALL ME, MOM. I took my time, walking slowly and taking the
longest shower of my life. When I headed back down to the kitchen again, I grabbed the
phone and dialed her number.
“Hi, John, are you okay?”
I hated this phrase; it became the central idea of my life.
“I’m okay Mom.”
“Will you be heading to work?”
“No, I called them. They understood.”
“I called my work too. They all gave me their regards.” I heard her voice stutter,
and then speak. “Jo-. John, I know you’re not okay, yo-… You’ve barely said a word
since yesterday, and I kno-…” She started to cry. “And I know you need someone right
now.”
I got frustrated. I didn’t want to hear anyone one else crying, spilling their guts
out to me. ME, who saw it all go down.
“Why should you get to cry, Mom? I was there. I saw it all happen. I watched him
die, Mom.”
She started to cry more; I couldn’t patch the situation now. I regretted what I said,
but I hung up the phone. I laid back down on the couch, still frustrated. How could she
think that I was unaffected? I knew what happened. If the reality of the situation hit
anyone, it certainly hit me. But no, there was no time to talk before he died, no time to
say goodbye, no time to hold him in my arms while he whispered his last words, NO!
I found myself in a park, playing baseball. I was laughing so hard, I couldn’t think
straight. I swung at a ball while in the batter’s box, but I missed and spun around.
Another pitch came, and I swung and hit it into the outfield. I could see at the pitcher’s
mound a tall figure, with black hair and a bright smile. He remarked, “Good Hit!” and I
smiled at him with pride. Then the lights went out, and everything went dark. I called to
the man at the pitcher’s mound, but he didn’t respond. Then I heard a voice. It was the
sweetest voice I could think of. It whirled from a whisper to a yell in a split second.
“John?”
I sat up on the couch, my head was killing me. I looked around, only to see Sarah
staring into me. I must have been out all day; I saw darkness outside.
“ John, your mom told me what happened.”
I had completely forgotten about it. I started to speak, but she interrupted me.
“She said it was okay. She knew you were just upset.”
At this point, what difference did it make in my life, whether I upset them or not;
most of them were gone.
“Sarah….” I couldn’t contain myself. I fell down inside.
“I know, John. Let’s just sit for a while.”
We sat all night.
*
Sarah was the one person I could count on. I never knew what it was that she saw
in me, but she had me convinced that I was more than I ever considered myself to be. I
never had to hide anything from her; she always knew how to talk to me and how to calm
me down. She was my height, with sandy blond hair and brown eyes. My brother always
had a thing for brunettes, but I told him that it never really mattered to me. I met her
eleven years after my father died, and we’d been together ever since. I always told her
how I felt, and never hesitated to tell her I loved her. She would say the same and that
was just about as much talking as we ever did. Our relationship was a very simple, yet
very strong one.
The days seemed to pass fast and solemnly. Sarah would stop over once in a while
to comfort me. It had been three days since I last spoke to my mom. There was no hatred
in me, no hatred for her. I knew I should call her to apologize and just to talk, but I felt
the urge to keep staying away; I felt like there should be no one for me. The phone began
to ring one day while I was at home resting. I walked over to answer it. I wondered for a
split second who it could be. Little wonder.
“Hi, John”
“Hi, Mom”
“I just wanted to tell you.”
“I’m sorry, Mom”
“No, no. Don’t be sorry. It’s okay.”
“I called you to tell you that your brother’s funeral is on Saturday. The procession
begins at three.”
“Thanks, I’ll be there, Mom”
“I know you will.
I got sick of all the comforting tones; I needed conflict in my life to feel that I had
a will to live. Then, as if to punctuate our conversation, Sarah walked through the door at
that moment. The world felt small, too small for comfort.
“Hey, John,” Sarah said in a strikingly light tone.
“What do you want?
“I just wanted to see how you were.”
I threw the phone against the wall. It smashed and fell in what seemed like forever. The
world got disjointed and fragmented before my eyes. It happened so fast I didn’t realize I
was screaming.
“He’s DEAD. Don’t you get it? There’s nothing to tell me. I know everything!”
I was relentless. “I don’t need you or anybody to bother me! I don’t need anybody! This
is my mess! It is my crime! People like you are worthless. You only think you‘re helping,
but all you’re doing is forcing me to relive the moment!”
The world shattered and fell before my eyes. I was so wrapped up in my thoughts
that I never heard the sob coming from Sarah. I had never heard Sarah cry before. I had
never heard myself cry either. I needed to get away from my life; I needed to run. I spun
around and grabbed my keys. I ran outside and started my car. I drove at first because I
needed to calm down, but hate has a way of creeping into you if you’re not looking for it.
I grew angry. Angry at my brother for leaving me, but angrier with myself for driving my
family away. The streets blurred together. The streetlamps shone an extraterrestrial light
on the road, making them melt away. I couldn’t tell how fast I was going. I couldn’t tell
how slow I was going. I couldn’t tell what hit me.
*
I heard voices… small, distant voices that had no relation to me. They kept
talking, some fast and some of them loud. I couldn’t tell what they were saying. They
were conspiring with each other. Then the voices faded away… I had a dream. In it
everyone was dead. I walked through a fear stricken graveyard searching for them. I
could see the center of the graveyard that revealed five gravestones in a row. I walked
over, until I could make out what was carved onto them. I saw the names. Beginning with
mine. I cried at the sight of them, and then it became dark, too dark. Too dark to see; too
dark to even think. Lifting my eyes open to see the light, I noticed an unfamiliar
surrounding. A television, a medical cabinet, and all the sickening colors of pale green
and fluorescent white. There was no one here. A pain from my chest rang through my
head before I could register thoughts. I dragged out of the bed, and taking the next step, I
saw the first familiar thing, my jacket. I grabbed my jacket and swung it around my back.
Once the jacket sank onto my arms and weighed on my back, I collapsed. Bandages were
wrapped around my chest, and dried blood stained the medical cloth. What happened to
me? Why am I here? These questions scanned through my mind. My thoughts kept silent
and cloudy as I tried to gain my bearings. I stood up straight and began to walk. I
expected someone to be waiting at the door for me. I was wrong.
I left the hospital, with surprisingly little resistance. I couldn’t stand the thought
of contemplating what had happened. I wanted to run, from the hospital, from myself.
The hospital wasn’t the beginning of my problems; it was past the point of no return. I
had already made the choices, and they were solidified in fate. It was snowing now,
lightly. I ran through the slick streets, winding and curving and stumbling until I reached
my apartment. I reached the threshold of my door, and from what I can remember, I
collapsed.
*
My eyes opened once more into the light of the early afternoon. My door was
open. I must have blacked out once I got through the door. There I was, lying in a puddle
of sweat and blood. I got up slowly. Once I was up I walked over to the kitchen counter
where I noticed a clock. From the blizzard of thoughts that had been going through my
mind, one stood out clearly, my brother’s funeral. The funeral was being held at the
Arlington cemetery. I knew where it was. There was no rush. I knew what I had to do.
The funeral was at three and it was only 1:15. I decided to walk; I couldn’t bring myself
to call anyone, I was too embarrassed, too ashamed of what I did. I walked out the door.
There was a melting layer of snow on the ground, covering the bottom of my shoes as I
walked. The streets were beautiful in the snow. I had never realized it before. The first
time I had ever walked down the streets and they were beautiful. A smile crept across my
face. I continued on, zipping up my jacket to cover the bandages beneath. The sun shone
brightly now, and it cast the sort of wickedly pretty glow that reminds you that the snow
always gives way to the sun. I felt light, like I could sleep on the snow. I kept walking,
seemingly all day, but by 2:40 I came across the cemetery. I walked through the
cemetery. I felt strange. I felt calm. A ghost town full of graves that were left to
themselves for no one to see, yet I saw the names of people who were important to
someone, if only one person. I waited at the grave. An empty grave. Somehow I felt that
a grave without a casket is meaningful, showing you that there is something to hope for. I
agreed with the empty grave. And I stood next to it.
I saw the funeral procession coming into sight; it was small, but filled with those
who loved him. The procession walked slowly. I waited there, next to my empty grave,
for them to come. They reached me with a pastor with them. I knew my mother was
there; I knew she was shocked to see me there. The pastor spoke softly, as pastors always
do, with a tiny crowd surrounding him. I saw as they lowered my brother’s casket. I
thought about the cold facts of life.
My brother was killed for trying to help me. We were walking home, through an
alleyway, when a mugger approached us. He pulled out a gun and demanded our money.
While I reached for my wallet, the mugger pointed the gun at me. When he did, my
brother reached for the gun and tried to take it. They struggled while I watched in shock.
It happened too fast for me. I heard two shots, one had gone into the mugger, the other,
my brother. The mugger stumbled out of the alleyway and ran. I stayed with my brother,
but I knew he was already dead. I remember seeing his cold face, lying with his eyes
open, but it was all right. The procession ended, it was time to go back for drinks at
mom’s place. I couldn’t go, I needed to rest. The crowd walked away, after my brother
was buried. I stood there for a moment. I smiled. Then I began to walk towards the
entrance of the cemetery. I reached the entrance. Sarah was waiting for me.
“Hey” She said, “ I thought you could use a ride.
I couldn’t talk. I just looked down.
“C’mon, I’ll take you home.”
I got into the car, and went home.
I had a dream of my brother. In it, I was playing with my brother as a young boy.
My dad called us, “Tom, Mark, it’s time to come in.” Mark… His name was Mark; did I
ever tell you that?
THE MONSTER I HAVE BECOME
BY JAKE ROBERTS
Jim and John were at one point in their lives "brothers". They used to play
baseball together and they used to get along wonderfully with each other. They
were tighter than a knot until it seemed as if things just slowly started to head
downhill. Earlier on in Jim’s and John’s childhood, their father committed suicide
and left them with absolutely nothing besides empty hearts. Their mother was
forced to try to be the best possible mother/father figure that she could possibly
be.
The passing of Jim’s and John’s father was definitely a hard hurdle to make it
over, but their father’s passing wasn't nearly as heartbreaking as the passing of
their mother. Their mother was caught in a terrible gunpoint robbery on
Thanksgiving night while she was picking up milk at the corner store right around
their house. Their mother didn't leave the boys with much besides just enough
money in a trust fund to make a deposit on an apartment for the two of them.
Since the boys were low on money and with the local economy hitting the
skids, John was forced to find money somewhere else to pay for the rent. John
was the older of the two brothers, and since Jimmy was only 18, John was
responsible for the income for the two boys. John was not finding the types of
jobs that he was looking for in the paper, nor was anywhere hiring because the
economy was so bad that people were getting laid off as opposed to being hired.
With the boys’ funds running low, John found an alternative way of making
money besides working for a company or a burger joint. John found his place in
the drug market. Prescription pills, weed, and narcotics were John’s top products.
He made friends with all the local drug dealers and was able to make loads of
money so that he could easily pay for their apartment and even put Jim through
school.
Jimmy had wanted to be a cop throughout his entire life. Ever since he was
younger he had always dreamed of cruising around in that shiny black and white
Crown Victoria, searching for criminals. Jimmy had no idea what John was doing
in order to get all this money for school and the apartment. John had just told
Jimmy every day before he left the house that he was working with a private
contractor over on the other side of town. Jimmy had thought nothing of what his
brother was telling him because he had a gut feeling that he could trust what his
brother said.
John had always known that his brother becoming a cop was not going to be
the best thing considering that John was a very low profile drug dealer, and if
John were to get caught, then there in itself would be the end of John’s life. John
has nothing to fall back on in his life if he were to get arrested on drug charges.
So John needed to keep his business rolling in order to keep his buyers happy,
his suppliers paid, and his wallet full.
Jimmy was going to the police academy to become a narcotics officer because
ever since Jimmy’s and John’s childhood, Jimmy had grown to highly dislike
drugs, because their father was extremely addicted to heroin and one night
decided to take his own life. Jimmy wanted to help clean up the streets of
Chicago and make this city what it used to be. Chicago was known for its flashy
lights and amazing plays, but now it has the title of the drug capital. Jimmy’s goal
in life is to make sure that no two boys end up the same way that himself and
John have. Everybody deserves a family.
Jimmy finally graduated from the police academy and was hired by the
Chicago City Police as their lead narcotics officer. Jimmy graduated from the
academy with the highest scores out of the entire class. Jimmy was so happy
when the Chicago Police chief handed him his clean, pressed navy blue uniform
with his badge and hat, and gave him his first orders of business.
"Officer Burnette!" said the chief.
"Yes sir".
I have the perfect assignment which I feel that you are the perfect man for.
There is a massive drug dealer that has been corrupting the city for the past
couple of years now. We don't have a name on the suspect yet, but we do know
where he makes all his business. I want you to go to the corner of 6th ave and
Front Street and see if you can catch him in the act. We don't want you to make
any moves yet though until we get enough information.
Jimmy woke up this morning and put on his cleanly pressed uniform and his
shiny black shoes and went downstairs to get ready for work. Downstairs was
John in his usual black dickies pants and timberland boots.
"I'll see you later, Jim," said Johnny
"Where are you off to, Johnny?"
"My friend John found me a little job over in town. It’s a small landscaping job,
but it’s money in my pocket."
Jimmy was a little skeptical about where his brother had been going for all
these days because he always said he was going to work, but every day he
came home with clean pants, clean boots, and clean hands. Jimmy was starting
to think more and more now that his brother had been up to no good this entire
time they had been living together. It had been three years now and Jimmy didn’t
know anything about where John was getting all this money for new clothes and
rental payments.
Jimmy finished up drinking his cup of orange juice and headed out the door for
work. He hopped into his black and white Crown Victoria and headed for the
corner of 6th ave and Front Street. When he arrived at his post he started to look
around for any suspicious activity. Jimmy's phone started to ring. It was the chief.
"Jimmy."
"Yeah chief."
"Keep an eye out for a man in dickies pants and a white t-shirt."
Jimmy started to think he knew whom he was waiting for at this cold lonely
corner in the middle of town. Although he knew in the bottom of his heart that his
brother could not possibly be selling drugs, all the clues and information seemed
to lead right towards his brother being the suspect he was looking for.
Around the corner Jimmy saw a white male walking around the corner with a
pair of dickies pants and timberland boots. The man turned, and sure enough, it
was John. John pulled what looked to be a small bag of cocaine out of his pocket
and handed it to another guy in an overcoat.
"Shit!" Jimmy said. “I am a complete god damn idiot to not have realized this
earlier. I should have known that he was dealing this entire time. There is no
other possible way that he was making all this money from little side jobs."
Later on that night Jimmy came home to John sitting on the couch watching
TV.
"Guess what, Jim?" Said John. "I made a hundred dollars today just to cut this
old lady's lawn and trim the hedges."
"I'm sure you did, John."
"What are you trying to say, Jim?"
"Nothing, I'm just saying that I'm sure you did."
"What? Do you think that I am stealing money?"
"No, Jim, I just have a feeling that you are getting this money some other way
than mowing lawns and trimming hedges."
"Well, I am not lying to you, Jim. I have been working my ass off for this
money and you don't even have any appreciation for me."
John stormed out the door of the house and was off to who knew where. Jim
was stuck in a very complicated situation because he now had to make a
decision whether or not to take his brother down for drug dealing or to completely
throw away the case of his career and possibly lose his job forever. John headed
out to work the next day and as he walked through the front door of the precinct,
the chief stopped him in his tracks.
"Burnette!" said the chief.
"Yeah." said Jimmy.
"We need to make a move on this guy before he is on to us and leaves town.
We have sources working on finding out what this guys name is. We are going to
stick you with a cop who will be playing a decoy. The decoy is going to make a
deal with the suspect and then you will go in for the arrest. If the suspect pulls a
gun or is going to harm the decoy in any sort of way, then you have full orders to
fire on contact."
"Yes, sir, I understand."
Jimmy headed over to where John usually sat and dropped off officer Brown
around the corner to act as the decoy. Jimmy sat around the corner and waited
for officer Brown to make the deal before he went in and arrested his drugdealing brother. This was not what Jim had intended to come between him and
his brother, but going to jail would be the best thing for his brother because it
would get him away from drugs and hopefully on a better track.
Officer Brown walked over to John in his black jacket and began talking to him,
and from far away down the street Jimmy could see things didn't seem to be
going well. Out of nowhere Jim saw John reaching for something in his pocket.
John pulled a handgun out of his pocket and put it up to officer Brown's head. Jim
kicked the door of the cruiser open and pointed his gun down the alley straight
towards his brother.
"Drop the god damn gun, John!" said Jim.
"What the fuck, Jim! I knew you were out for me."
"I didn't want to have to do this to you, John," said Jim. I have to do this
though. You left me no choice. You have made this decision in your life and now
you are going to have to deal with the consequences.”
John cocked his gun back and turned to aim at Jim, and on sheer impulse Jim
pulls the trigger on his brother. Jim killed is own brother, the only family that is left
to him is now dead and it was all is fault. Jim walks into the door of his house that
night to a dark empty house, with a dark empty heart.
"What have I done?" said Jim. I killed my brother. My only brother and only family
is dead. I can’t believe that we have both betrayed each-other this far, I can’t
believe that my own brother would pull a gun on me. I can’t believe the types of
monsters we have became.
Luke Shenold
Period 6
Hard Knock Life
Andre is a very sweet boy. He’s in the third grade. He goes to church every
Sunday with his mom and never disobeys her. He has lived in the same house in The
Bronx his whole life. His dad left him when he was a baby. Andre doesn’t even know
what his dad looked liked and his mom never talks about him, so Andre never talks about
him. Andre goes to school at Northern Prep. Northern Prep is a very expensive private
school. His mom has to work three jobs just to pay for everything. Andre tells his mom
that he doesn’t have to go there. He says, “he can go to P.S. 118, it’s not a big deal.” But
his mom insists that he goes to private school because she says, “All the criminals and
thugs go to P.S. 118.” Andre understands where she is coming from. He knows a lot of
kids that go P.S. 118 and they don’t exactly have the best reputation.
Andre’s mom doesn’t let him leave the stoop on the front of their apartment.
Andre would never dare cross his mother; he’s too scared of what she would do if she
found out. Andre is very mature for his age. He never had a babysitter because his mom
could never afford one, so Andre just stayed home by himself. It has been like this for as
long as Andre could remember and nothing ever went wrong. Andre has learned to take
care of himself because of this.
*
One day Andre was sitting on his stoop, listening to Kurtis Blow on his walkman,
when he sees a neighborhood kid Rico walking down the street towards him. Andre’s
mom has told him stories about Rico. Andre knows Rico is a drug dealer and he’s only
twelve years old. He sees him dealing on the corner by his house and he also sees all the
money Rico gets. Rico always has the newest shoes and the most bling on.
Rico walks up to Andre and says, “Are you ever gonna come off the stoop you
always sitting on or are you always going to be a momma’s boy all yo life.”
Andre looks down at the ground and then back up at Rico and says, “I don’t
know. If my mom caught me off the stoop, she would get really mad.”
Rico starts to mock Andre. Rico starts to walk away and as he does he says, “Well
when you’re ready to be a big boy, get off that stoop and come talk to me. You can
always find me on that corner.” Rico points to the street corner right down the road.
Andre knew where to find but he says, “Aight, maybe.” Andre goes inside and turns on
the TV and begins to think about what Rico said. After about only fifteen minutes, Andre
gets up and goes out his front door and steps off the stoop. He’s still scared that his mom
will catch him but he doesn’t care. He made up his mind; he wants to be like Rico. He
wants the money, the bling, the clothes, and especially the girls.
Rico sees Andre and says, “Oh look who came out to play. You ready pimpin?”
Andre says, “Yeah. What do I gotta do?”
Rico says, “Aight perfect timing. You see the guy walking towards us, with the
red hat on? Give him this vial. While you give him the vial, you get the money at the
same time.”
Rico shows him how to exchange the crack and money at the same time and make
it look like a simple handshake. Rico says, “So are you ready playa?”
Andre nods his head and starts to walk towards the man. Andre does what Rico
said to do and pulls off the handshake without a problem. Andre walks back towards
Rico. He looks in his hand and sees the twenty-dollar bill. He’s never held a twentydollar bill before. Money was always tight at his house so there was never an extra
twenty lying around. Rico saw the smile on Andre’s face and says, “You can keep that
Dre.”
Andre thought that there were two things that felt weird, when Rico said that. One
was that nobody ever called him Dre and the other was that nobody ever gave him
anything before, well besides his mom, but especially money. Andre starred at the money
and a big smile came over his face. He turned to Rico and says, “Aight homie. I’ll see
you around.” Andre and Rico shake hands and Andre runs back home.
*
Andre is in the 11th grade now. He barely goes to school anymore. He is more
concentrated on making money then school work. Every morning he pretends like he’s
going to school, gives his mom a kiss good bye and walks out the door. He walks down
his street and usually meets up with Rico to begin their day of dealing. The only time
Andre goes to school is if he and Rico are out of crack.
Andre is sitting in his room counting his money. He counts three thousand four
hundred and forty dollars. He has to give Rico two thousand-dollars of that money. He
and Rico have become business partners of sorts.
He reaches under his bed and grabs a plate with 7 grams of crack on it. He begins
to cut it all up and but it into vials. He stuffs all his money into his pocket and cleans the
plate off and slides it back under his bed. He puts all the vials on his pocket and he’s
about to get out of his bed when he hears his mom come throw the front door. He thinks
to himself, “What good timing.” He opens his door and gives his mom a kiss.
He says, “Alright mom, I’m going to Craig’s house to hang out.”
She says, “Alright, be home by 10. Be safe.”
Andre walks out his apartment and down the flight of steps to the street. He walks
down the street, pretending like he’s going to Craig’s house. He turns the corner and he
sees Rico. Rico also has about seven grams on him. Andre gives Rico the two thousand
he owes him and they just stand on the corner, waiting.
They stand on that same corner for the whole day, making sales. It was a good
day for selling. It was the first Monday of the month and everybody gets his or her
unemployment or disability checks in the mail. Andre’s normal costumers buy from him
that day and they buy a lot. People can spend four hundred at a time but Andres okay
with that. The more money they spend, the more money he makes. By 2 o’clock him and
Rico have made over two thousand dollars. They call it a day and they go back to Rico’s
house. They count their money and crack then divide it up between the two of them.
Andre is pretty happy with the way things are going. He’s making mad money
and he’s rep is going up in the neighborhood. When he walks down the street girls come
up to him and talk to him. He’s not the short, dorky, chubby kid anymore. He finally has
so respect. He likes it.
*
Andre is 19 years old now and has his own apartment with Rico Business has
never been better. Everything in Rico and Andre’s apartment was paid for with drug
money. Andre and Rico are the biggest drug dealers in all of New York City. They have
moved on from just selling crack to weed, pills, coke and crack. They bring in all the
drugs to the city and distribute them to their smaller dealers that work under them. With
out Rico and Andre the drug game would come to a halt in New York.
Andre gets a call from a number her didn’t recognize. He looks at his phone and
says, “Yo Rico. You got this number?”
Rico types the number into his phone and shakes his head no. Andre decides to
answer anyway. He says, “Hello?”
A man speaks with a raspy voice and says, “Yo is dis Dre?”
Andre says, ”Who wants to know?”
The man says, “I got yo number from Tyrell over on Sunset Street.”
Andre thinks for a second. He thinks if he knows any Tyrell on Sunset Street. He
thinks he knows whom the man is describing. So Andre says, “Oh aight. Yeah this is Dre.
What up.”
The man says, “You got any trees? Can I get a nick bag?”
Andre says, “Yeah I got you. Meet me on the corner of 17th and Walnut Street.”
The man says, “Aight good lookin homie. Peace.” And the man hangs up.
Andre asks Rico, “Yo do you mind doin this deal right quick? I’m hella tired.”
Rico looks at Andre and says, “You do it mayne. I’m not getting up.”
Andre gets up and begins to weigh the pot out. He puts it in a little red bag and
stuffs it in his pocket. He gabs his gun and stuffs it in the back waistband of his jeans and
walks out the door.
He gets to the street and starts to walk toward 17th street. He passes the normal
guys hanging out on their stoops. He stops and talks to them for a minute, really asking
them if they want any drugs. Nobody does so Andre keeps walking towards the corner.
He gets to the corner and doesn’t see anybody that would be one of costumers. He
patiently waits for about three minutes and then takes out his phone and calls Tyrell. The
phone rings and Tyrell answers.
“Yo mayne, where you at?” Andre says.
“Be there in less then a minute. I got a red due-rag on. You’ll see me.” Tyrell
responds.
Andre says, “Aight, hurry the hell up. It’s cold as a bitch out here.” Then he hangs
up.
Andre starts to look around and finally sees a guy with a red due-rag on, walking
toward him. Andre thought to himself, yeah this guy is definitely a pothead. They
exchanged the money and pot in one smooth handshake. Andre turns around to walk back
to his apartment when he hears a gunshot go off, then he heard a whizzing sound going
past his head. He turns around and sees Tyrell trying to un-jam his gun. Andre takes out
his gun and aims it at Tyrell. Tyrell throws his broken gun and starts to run away from
Andre. Andre cocks his gun and unloads his clip toward Tyrell. Andre sees him go down
and Andre starts to run back to his apartment. On his way back his throws his gun into a
dumpster. He gets to his door and stops, takes and deep breath. He can hear police and
ambulance sirens going off in the distance. He steps though is door and tells Rico what
just happened.
*
Andre has been lying low now for about a month. He hasn’t been out on the
corner with Rico since the shooting. Rico understands what kind of position Andre is in
and Rico doesn’t mind that Andre isn’t selling. Rico would do the same thing. Rico was
bringing home money but it wasn’t enough to support them both. Andre needed to get
back to dealing and he knew it. It’s been almost a month and a half since the shooting and
Andre is finally going out with Rico to deal. It takes about three months to make all the
money back that they lost because of Andre not dealing. It wasn’t hard for Andre and
Rico to make back the money because all of their buyers had went to long with out a
study dealer, that they were so happy to hear Andre was back, they bought off of him
every time.
*
Andre started to branch away from Rico a little bit. He realized that he could
make more money with out him. Andre bought a new Cadillac Deville, new jewelry, and
the thing he’s most proud of; a new gun. It’s a Glock .45, a very powerful gun.
One morning Andre was selling on the corner of 15th and Chestnut Street. He had
only made three deals so far, so he had a lot of crack on him. He was just standing on the
corner looking around, waiting for a buyer. He saw a 1998 Chevy Impala driving towards
him. He thought to himself, Dayum that’s a nice car. I’m about to go buy one. The cars
about to pass him, when it suddenly stops right on the corner and three men jump out.
Andre tries to get his gun out of his waistband but before he could, he gets punched in the
face. He’s a little stunned and but before he could recover from the first punched in the
stomach. He falls to the ground and the men begin to stomp and kick him. Andre is going
in and out of consciousness. He fells somebody’s hands going through his pockets and
takes his money and crack. Then he hears a loud boom and feels a very sharp burning
pain in his stomach. He holds the bullet wound. He could feel the warm blood on his
hands. Then he passes out.
Caution Controversial
by Keith Shields
It's 2AM and I feel like shit. I’ve been awake for two days, sitting behind
my desk, preparing for the club’s biggest season of the year. I stick ice cubes in
my mouth so the cold sting produced on the sides of my mouth keeps me awake.
I lay my head in my palms and think about all the things I could be doing instead
of working here.
At first I thought owning a gentleman's club would be great, cold drinks,
funny conversations, fast cash, and above all, hot women. All the things I dreamt
about as a teenager would come true with this business. For the first year,
though, the job barely met my expectations. There were definitely funny
conversations, the drinks were usually cold, but the women were definitely not
what I expected. I tried hiring the most attractive, healthy looking women, but all
the women that work in this business are just as washed up as I am. They walk
around as if their souls have been stripped from their bodies.
Most of the women I hire are dirt poor, all bruised and mistreated by the
sick men they have slept with. They say the job is temporary, but then never find
the opportunity to truly leave. The fast tips, free drinks, and no-limits attitude are
enough to trap a woman into a long, hard, demeaning life of a stripper. I’m
waiting for the day that I pull each stripper from each and every club and show
her that she can be respected, can be a real woman, a good mother, a true
girlfriend, but I won't. If it weren’t for them, I would be out of a job.
I go home at three every morning and sleep until twelve. I pour myself a bowl
of cereal and read the paper. It's the first day of December, which marks the
busiest season of the year. The cold New York air forces people from the
outdoors into the bars and clubs. My club usually holds a steady twenty
customers with seven strippers on duty on any given night, but after firing two,
and with three others out due to sicknesses I only have four on duty. I need new
employees but the more popular club has first dibs. The chances of me hiring at
the peak of the season are low.
The only strippers still available are ones that no man wants to watch
strip, and even they are scarce. I hate talking about women like they're livestock,
but it's a business. I've even heard of clubs using cross dressers to compensate
for a temporary lack of female strippers. It's a terrible idea but if customers see
that I only have four women in my club, they won't even stick a foot in the door. I
once read an article that more than 40% of all strippers in China are actually
male! I don't believe it, the thought of it made me gag. I wonder if there are any
strippers working in my club that aren’t actually women. I rarely ever take a good
look at them; all I do is take a quick glance, check their paper work, their
experience, and hire them. I should start requiring a sack whack test. I will line
the women up and lightly kick them in the groin, just to play it safe.
While I am on my way to work, I grow desperate. I call a fat Italian friend,
Anthony, who owns a gentlemen's club of his own to see if he has any extra
women I can hire. My relationship with Anthony started when we were in
kindergarten. I found him picking up dirty cigarette butts and sticking them in his
mouth, pretending to smoke. I picked up the habit. It wasn’t long before the smell
and taste of the dirty disease-infested butts actually grew on me. Me and
Anthony shared the same addictive personality, Shoving as many butts into our
pockets as we could. We didn’t stop until our teacher, Mrs. Herzog, caught us. A
classmate ratted us out. Anthony and I ran to the bathroom and figured out
places we could hide the evidence.
“ Jake, shove the butts up your butt.”
“No way! Why would I do that?”
“I saw it on T.V once Jake. Just do it!”
I didn’t understand what he wanted me to do but I pretended like I
understood. I put the butts down my pants, but I wasn’t going as far as sticking
them up my butt. As soon as I was finished filling my underwear with dirty
cigarettes I buckled my belt.
Ms. Herzog, suspicious, knocked on the bathroom door.
“Jake? Anthony? Open this door right now.”
We both knew we weren’t going to get away with it. The front of my
pants were stuffed to the seams. Anthony thought of the only excuse we had.
“Sorry, Ms. Herzog, our aim was off today and we need to clean the
toilet seat.”
It didn’t work. Ms. Herzog spotted the bulge that no prepubescent child
should ever have, and worst of all, Anthony said he had nothing to do with it.
Now, 20 Years older, we still find ourselves in sticky situations. Right
now, I’m about to lose my business.
"Hey, Anthony, I’m in a bit of trouble."
"Yo, man, what's the problem?"
"I'm running low on women and I can't find any to hire. You have any that
would be willing to work for me."
"Ah, I'd love to help but I need every woman I can get."
"Come on, Anthony, I only have four working! I know you’re always over hiring.
What about that big girl?"
"What big girl, you mean Ms. Fantasy?"
"Yea, she's a nightmare. The last time I was in your club, your customers were
throwing bar food at her. She's hurting your business."
"Jake, you're a business man. If you were selling 250 dollars worth of chicken
tenders a night just so customers could feed the girl, wouldn't you keep her?"
"All I'm saying is I could use her when you could easily use a more respectable
woman."
"Jake, you piece of shit, were you even listening? She brings more profit to my
club than any of my ‘respectable’ women and what woman in this business is
respectable?"
"Remember the time I let you shove cigarettes up my ass so you won't get in
trouble? And you can't even lend me a god damn slut."
"Talk to me like that again I'll kick you upside the head. I hid them in your ass
to protect us both. "
"You better hope I don't get back up because I'll cut your nuts off and throw
chicken at you while you’re dancing on a god damn pole."
"You would love to see that wouldn't you, you stupid shit."
I hang up the phone. I don't know why I called him. He pisses me off.
When I reach my club, my employees are waiting outside for me to open the
doors. I notice Eddie, the guy that prepares the bar food, waiting innocently with
his baby blue backpack. The idea of cross-dressing pops back into my head. I
figure since Eddie is gay, he will have no problem pretending to be one of the
girls for a night. I jump out of my car and shout while running towards the door.
"Eddie! I need to talk to you for a minute."
"I know. I’m sorry I was late yesterday, it won’t happen again, I promise.”
“No, no, no, Eddie, I have a job for you. Meet me in my office.”
Eddie has been one of my best employees since I started the business.
I can’t remember a time he has done anything wrong and I can’t remember a
time he wouldn’t do anything I ask.
“Eddie, I need you to do me a favor.”
“Okay, what would you like me to do”?
“Well, you know the club is going to drop the entrance fee tomorrow
because it marks the start of the busiest time of the year?”
“Right.”
“Well, I don’t want this to be awkward, but no one can deny the fact that
you’re extremely gay?”
“I guess,”
“Well, tomorrow night I’m giving you the opportunity of a lifetime. I’m low on
women and I need you to play a little dress up.”
“No way. No way! I won’t do this. I will not be a girl. Isn’t that against the
law?”
“What do you mean? You wear baby blue backpacks, you wear eye liner,
and you even shave your damn legs.”
“Just because I’m gay doesn’t mean I want to be a woman.”
“You must want to be a woman. What made you turn gay anyway? Have
taken a look at Jessica Alba lately?”
“Just because I’m gay, you think I want to be a woman? You’re ridiculous,
and I was born gay, I never turned gay. I will never dress like a woman to get
touched by straight perverts like you. That’s disgusting.”
“I’m disgusting?
“And an ass.”
“You’re suspended.”
“What the hell does that mean”?
“It means, if you use language like that, you will leave my club and not
return until further notice.”
Eddie walks out the door and gives me the finger. I’m used to that.
It’s only three hours before the club opens and I have no idea what I’m
going to do. I walk into the bathroom and wipe the sweat off my forehead. Not
satisfied, I fill my hands with cool water and splash it on my face. I watch the
water run down my cheeks and drip off my chin. An idea flashes into my mind, a
scary idea, but an idea nonetheless. I can’t say I look anything like a women, but
in comparison to most men, I have softer features. My nose isn’t too pointy, my
eyebrows are thinner, and besides the bags under my eyes, I barely have any
wrinkles. I dry my face and run out of my club. Victoria’s Secret closes in an hour!
I look in the mirror. My eyebrows are bleeding from all the plucking. I
paste on more and more makeup to cover up my five-o’clock shadow. I have big
blue veins running down my arm. I’m a sad excuse for a woman, but if the lights
are dimmed just right, it won’t be so bad. I turn to Christie who’s getting ready
besides me and ask for her opinion.
“how do I look?”
“pathetic.”
“Really? My boobs aren’t that much small then yours. It’s a wonder how
you even got hired with boobs the size of bug bights.”
“Fuck you Jake. You’re pathetic.”
She walks out of the bathroom and gives me the finger. I stuff my shirt
with toilet paper and pull on my compression shorts. I can’t take my shirt off, so
I’ll stay towards the back of the stage. I step out of the bathroom and head
towards the stage.
I climb up and take the pole furthest to the back. I lean on it doing small dances
here and there. I smile as new costumers walk in and immediately turn my head
so customers don’t see the obvious flaws that no woman should ever have. I
dance in the shadows hiding from the light that could potentially reveal my secret.
My odd behavior, though, seems to attract the men. I move differently, I dance so
seductively and before I know it, I have a crowd of college students cheering me
on. They are either extremely drunk, or the lighting is just right. It has to be both,
but regardless, I feel special. I look over at Christie to share the moment with her,
but she just mouths, fuck you. I start abusing my power as a woman and get my
customers to buy me drinks from my own bar. The more I drink the more money I
make. Before it is even 1 AM, I am wasted on stage. All the college kids are
cheering me on and I am making more money than ever before. I have turned
the worst night of my life into the best night of my life. I try swinging on the pole to
celebrate, but I fall to the ground. The alcohol eases the pan and I climb to my
knees. I see Eddie walk towards the stage with an evil look on his face. He
gathers up the college students and starts up a chant.
“Take it off, take it off, take it off.”
I can’t sneak my way out of this one.
Andrew Snow
Creative Writing
Zervanos
Dream
The day I was brought into this Earth, all I wanted to do was become successful.
My name is Derek Rodgers, and I was born in Philadelphia, Pennsylvania, on December
1st in 1984, during the peak of the 1980’s crack epidemic. My father left my mother
when I was just five years old, and I didn't have any siblings; all I had was my mother. I
didn't really know my father very well; he was never around. The only times I would ever
see him is when he was drunk. He had a bad drinking problem his whole life. When he
was drunk he would act strange; maybe this was the way he always was because I've
never really seen him sober. Sometimes, at night, before I went to bed I would pray that
someday I could spend some quality time with my father, but God had too many other
things to worry about because that never happened. The day he left my mother I thought
was just a normal day. He got up at 12 o'clock in the afternoon with a tremendous
hangover, left, and hasn't returned since. I'm not really sure where he is now, but I hope
he's in a better place. I have a wonderful mother whom I love very much. She has gone
through more hardships than any other woman; she lost her husband and had four
miscarriages. I was the only one of her children that survived, so I mean everything in the
world to her. My main goal in my life was to make her happy, and I worked hard every
day so I could make her proud.
Everyday I woke up and asked myself, what could I do to be a productive member of
society. I never missed a day of school, and I always did my homework. I just always
wanted to be the best I could be. During my sixth grade year, at recess, my friends were
all playing basketball. I usually just went on the swings because I'd never played
basketball, and I knew nothing about the sport. Out in the distance I heard my friends
scream, "Hey, Derek, we need another player. Do you want to play with us?"
I froze for a second because I didn't want to go over there and make a fool of
myself, so I said, "No thanks, guys, I'm all right." I didn’t usually say no to playing with
my friends, but I didn’t feel the need to embarrass myself.
My one friend Andrew screamed back to me, "Why do you have to be such a
bitch?"
I was usually a calm person who never got angry, but this made me so angry, so I
yelled back to Andrew, "all right, I'll just play.” When we were picking the teams,
unfortunately, I had been the last pick because no one thought I was good at all, and I
knew I was not that good either, so it didn’t bother me at all. During the game we had
been losing much of the time, and no one even passed me the ball. I was angry I played
because it didn't even seem like there was a point for me to be out there. Out of nowhere,
when I ran down the court, someone threw me the ball, and I heaved one up from 24 feet
and scored two points. I was surprised. I now had some touch during the game; every
time I got the ball I shot it, and made it. I made about every point for our team, and we
ended up beating the other team.
Everyone was asking me, "Where did you learn to shoot like that?"
I didn’t know what to say, so I just went along with everyone else saying, "I'm
just nice with it.” The bell went off, everyone went inside. During my next class I was
thinking about the game and realized maybe if I started playing basketball more I could
become a great player. Now everyday after school I would go outside to the recess yard
and play a pickup game with all my friends.
After playing every day, I started to become a very good player. I didn't think I would
get that much better, but I did. M dream was to play for a team in a league so I could
bring my game to a whole other level. When I got home that day I asked my mom if I
could join a league, and she immediately said no because she didn't want my grades to
fall. She was very overprotective and didn't want anything to happen to me. I got very
angry with her. I was yelling at her saying, "This is ridiculous what could even happen to
me?"
She said, "You’re all I have, Derek. If anything happens to you, I won't know
what to do with myself anymore". After she said that, I kind of understood where she was
coming from, so I just accepted the fact that she wouldn't let me play. I was mad I didn't
have my dad here because he would've probably let me play. I didn't want to give up my
dream of playing basketball for a team, so I kept playing every day, and I would stay
overtime to practice on my dribbling, shooting, and passing. The basketball season for the
boys club was starting very soon, and I was ready to showcase my skills to everyone
around the Philadelphia area. I prayed every night before I went to sleep that my mother
would let me play. I was just waiting for the day she was going to come up to me and
finally say, Derek, you can play for the boy’s clubs basketball league.
I was really glad our report cards came out this week because I was doing very well. I
hope after my mom gets to see my report card she will change her mind about me playing
basketball in a league. When I got home, I ran home to check the mail and saw my report
card in the mailbox. I teared it open faster than a bag of chips. After I looked my grades,
all I could do was smile. I was so happy I got straight A's; my mother was going to be so
proud of me. When I went inside I called, "Mom, Mom!"
She came over to me and said, "What, sugar?" I showed her my report card. She
was so exited when she saw my report card she said, "I'm so proud of you, Derek. Keep
up the hard work".
Soon after she walked away, I went up to her and said, "Mom, since I'm doing so
well right now in school, can you give me one chance to play? If I mess it up, I'll quit and
never play again.
She gave my question a little bit of thought and finally said, "Yes, I'll let you play,
but if you mess up, you'll be pulled off the team faster than Jesse Owens running at the
1936 Olympic games.
I was so happy she gave me the opportunity to play, I said to myself, "I better
make the best of my chance because these kinds opportunities don't come often for me.
The next day my mother and I went up to the boys club to go sign up to play in their
league.
After we signed up the man told me, "Show up for our tryouts in 2 weeks, and be
ready. I already knew I was ready because I practice almost everyday, but this statement
just encouraged me to work harder so I could show everyone what I'm all about.
Instead of playing a game with all my friends, I decided to go to the other court and
practice with myself. I worked on my foul shooting because that was one of my main
areas of concern, and my passing. I was really starting to become a good player. I could
feel it, and all I wanted to do was work harder and get better. The only times I've really
had to opportunity to play as a team in basketball was with my friends. I wanted to feel
what it was like to play with a real team in front of a crowd. I decided I really wanted to
play point guard because I wasn't very tall, but I could really dribble, shoot, and penetrate
to the hoop. I really needed to work on my passing because if you want to be an elite
point guard, you have to be an exceptional passer, but I wasn't great at passing. I also
really needed to work on my free throw shooting because free throw shooting is critical
during games. If your team is full of great free throw shooters, your team has a higher
winning percentage when you have the lead during the end of games. If I really wanted to
be a great player, I would need to improve greatly in these categories. The tryouts were
starting tomorrow, and I was ready to showcase my skills to all the coaches. I was really
hoping to be the first pick in the draft, but it didn't really matter to me. I just wanted to
play some basketball and have fun.
When the day of the tryouts came I was very nervous, but confident I would perform
very well. During the tryout, I got too full of myself: I turned the ball over a few times,
and missed a couple of shots I should have made. I shouldn't try to do too much when I
play; I just need to take everything slow, and let it come to me because I have the skills. I
just need to get the mental part of the game down. Since I didn't have such a great tryout,
I ended up going in the 4th round, to Mr. Mingle’s team. I was very upset I went so late
in the draft; I felt disrespected, but I didn't want to just talk about it and complain. I just
had to show everyone why I should have went earlier. I'm actually kind of glad I went so
late in the draft because this motivated me to work harder and become better. Soon after
the draft the coach called my house and told me, "The first practice starts tomorrow. Be
ready to work”. I was very excited the first practice was so close. The next day I went to
school, and right after, I ran home so I could get ready for practice so I would be the first
person there. I always like to make a good first impression, so being 30 minutes early for
practice so I could shoot around before we started would mean a lot to my coach. During
practice I was very exited because this was my first time ever playing with kids on an
actual team in a league, so I was anxious. During practice we did shooting drills, passing
drills, and running drills. During the practice I was very tired; I needed to work on my
conditioning. After practice we shot free throws as a team, and we weren’t allowed to
leave practice until everyone on the team made two free throws in a row. Our team was
there an extra hour because this one kid took a while to make his free throw shots. Our
coach made us run suicides at the end of practice also because we took so long to make
the free throws. After my first practice I was dead tired, but happy I got to experience
what it was like to be on a team. I knew this whole season was going to be challenging,
but I was ready for every challenge ahead of me this season.
I’m glad through my childhood I worked so hard on my school work because if I
didn’t work hard on my school work I wouldn’t have had the opportunity to play
basketball on a team. Ever since I played basketball out of the recess yard that day I’ve
loved the game since, and I’m currently playing high school basketball for Roman
Catholic hoping to continue my career at the college level. I’m still working hard
everyday so I can make my mother proud.
Becca Titter
Starting Over
Chad slowly carried his weak body down the dark, foggy alley. It was two a.m.,
with the moon at its peak. He carried his thick pockets, wads of bills prepared for his big
fix that was needed. He met his drug dealer down in the deep, gloomy cellar, exchanging
the money he had stolen from his neighbor for heroin. Chad took out his supplies and
shot up right then and there, inserting the old needle into the one vein he could find in his
arm, receiving the feeling he killed for each day and night. He took a long walk back to
his apartment on Spruce Street, feeling invincible in his high state of mind, though not
quite ready for the long night that lay ahead, the long night that was filled with injecting
himself with heroin, in his attempt to overdose. Chad arrived at his apartment, taking a
few minutes to unlock the bolts on his door one by one. He threw his heavy body on the
couch. Thoughts about his son and ex-wife flew through his toxified head. This long
night wasn’t planned. The reason was due to a phone call, a call Chad received from his
ex-wife, Maria, about their six-year old son Jacob.
“Jacob has one year to live,” she cried. “After he complained of pains, the doctors
discovered he has cancerous tumors on his liver. They will put Jacob on a waiting list for
a donor; he needs part of someone else’s liver, but sometimes it’s hard to find a match
and there are never guarantees.” Maria could barely breathe. She was simply informing
Chad his son was going to die. “I was tested and wasn’t a match.” Chad was speechless.
Chad kept himself at a steady high that night, his emotions running crazy. No
one’s supposed to be told his son has one year to live at age six. No one should ever be
told that. It was four a.m., and Chad hadn’t moved since he came home from the alley
with his drugs for the night. Needles were scattered on the hardwood floors and blood
drips smeared on the couch. Chad had never done so much heroin in such a little amount
of time. He decided he should just die. What’s there to live for? Chad couldn’t even
control the thoughts in his mind. He picked up the phone, and dialed 911 as he shot up
the last of what he had. He made this phone call strictly for Jacob, for if they wanted to
save Chad they would. His hands shook as he frantically looked for a vein to insert the
needle into. He found one that was untouched on his thigh. He inserted the needle and
slowly pushed down the syringe. The heroin began to take over. The emt’s found Chad
unconscious. He was still alive, but not for long. His heart stopped in the ambulance, but
they were able to revive him. They got him to the hospital and kept Chad alive over
night.
*
Chad wasn’t always a drug addict. His life used to revolve around normal things,
like family, friends, and his management position at AC Construction. In love with his
high school sweet heart, Maria, he got married at age twenty. Maria became pregnant and
they had a beautiful baby boy, Jacob. Chad always wanted to have a family and be
successful, for he didn’t have a good childhood himself, with no father and an alcoholic
mother. As years passed, Chad’s life didn’t go the way he had planned. He lost his job
and fought with his wife Maria on a daily basis. It became hard for Chad to have a
relationship with his own son when Chad reached a depression mode. Chad sat home
each day as Maria went to work and Jacob went to school, envisioning what he wanted
his life to be and what it had turned into. Maria didn’t make enough money to support
them both. Chad lost his car and his life. Maria eventually kicked Chad out, for she
thought he was a bad influence on Jacob. She wanted nothing to do with Chad anymore.
Chad lived on the streets for at least three weeks. He would find dumpsters,
abandoned houses, or cars to sleep in at night. Chad had lost contact with his wife and
child, and had no other family to go to for help. Living on the streets, Chad met a man
named Big Mo. He would take Chad in a few nights here and there. Chad needed money,
bad. Big Mo just so happened to be a drug dealer. Chad started working for him here and
there, selling heroin to his main customers each day. Chad got ten percent of the profit
and worked his way up to fifty percent. Chad could eventually rent out a cheap apartment
on Spruce Street in Philadelphia. Once Chad started bringing in extra cash, he started
doing exactly what he sold, heroin. Chad went from dealing it to being Big Mo’s number
one customer. . Chad’s mindset was on a totally different level than it used to be. Living
on the streets changed him, and he didn’t even know himself anymore. The drugs had
taken over Chad. The things in life he used to care about became careless to him. Chad
was infested in drugs and himself. Every day was bag after bag, needle after needle. It
was the only thing that took away Chad’s emotional pain. It was the only thing he had in
life. That feeling, it made him feel different, invincible. And after that first needle he
inserted in his arm, he had yet to stop.
After a year of no contact with his family, Chad finally got in touch with Maria.
She knew all about his life and his addiction to heroin. She had contacted Big Mo, Chad’s
dealer, over the past year keeping tabs on Chad. It was hard for her to feel bad for Chad.
Both Chad and Maria knew it was nearly impossible to ever get their once perfect life
back. Chad called her weekly to check up on Jacob, for he missed his son terribly and
wanted him back in his life more than anything. Every once in a while Maria would let
Chad see their son, but she said he had to be coming off a high, not on one. Sometimes
Chad’s conscience got to him as he would sit and play games with his son and think
about how soon he could shoot up the next dose of warm heroin.
*
Chad woke up on a hard bed to see Maria and Jacob sitting beside him. He felt the
wires every which way hooked up to his body. Drips of sweat running down his face, his
body feeling helpless. Why was he still alive? He was supposed to die and have all the
pain taken away. Jacob showed his Dad a slight smile, and Chad returned the gesture.
“Jacob, honey, can you leave the room for a second? I need to talk to Daddy,”
Maria spoke quietly.
Jacob walked into the hall and Maria looked down over Chad’s frail body. She
raised her hand and slapped Chad directly in the face. For some reason he wasn’t
shocked. He almost had no feeling, no emotion. Maria bent down, her face just inches
from Chad. Her dark blue eyes were piercing as she waited for Chad to respond. He
couldn’t find any words to say.
Maria’s lips began to move. “You can save Jacob, Chad. You’re a match.”
With Jacob on the needed donor list they automatically tested Chad for being a
match, in the ambulance. If Chad had died, they might not have been able to even save
his liver in time to remove pieces to donate to Jacob. Chad couldn’t believe the words
that were coming out of her mouth; he realized he lived for a reason. Something felt
weird inside Chad. Tears ran down his face, yet his heart was warm. He felt a good
feeling inside him, a sober feeling; one he had never felt before. His six-year old son
would live a normal life, and it would be due to Chad being his donor. Chad would do
anything for his son. He needed a week of monitoring and recovering in the hospital, and
then the surgery could be performed for Jacob.
The recovery process from the overdose was more painful than attempting to
overdose for Chad. Detoxing was the worst experience, feeling sick and dependent each
day, aching for the drugs that used to take over. The doctors finally decided after nine
days that Chad was healthy enough to receive the operation cutting out a piece of his
liver. Jacob was ready in the operating room, the surgeon preparing to remove the
cancerous tumors and replace pieces of the liver with his dad’s. It would be a long
process, but Jacob would heal quickly for being so young. The surgeons wheeled Jacob’s
and Chad’s unconscious bodies into the same room. As Jacob’s liver was being cut apart,
leaving only what was healthy, Chad’s was being cut at the same angles to be embedded
into Jacob’s to give him a full healthy liver. The clock ticked away. The doctors had to
wait and see if Jacob’s body would keep or reject his dad’s liver, given the toxins that
were once infesting Chad’s body.
Chad woke up from surgery, feeling dazed and confused. A part of him felt he
was still trapped inside a dream, inside a nightmare in which he couldn’t wake up. His
eyes remained closed. Hours passed that he had no sense of. His body ached as he ran his
fingers along the thirty stitches across his abdomen. There was a knock on the door. It
was the surgeon.
“Jacob’s body didn’t reject your liver and should have no problems recovering,”
the surgeon told Chad. “Looks like both of you’ll be around to watch your son grow. I’m
sure he will now lead a healthy life.”
One week slowly crept by and Jacob was released from the hospital. Jacob went
to visit his dad in Room 304. He looked Chad directly in the eyes and said, “Thank you,
Daddy. You saved my life”. Chad smiled back, speechless.
It was hard for him to grasp that he actually saved his baby’s life in the midst of
attempting to commit suicide by overdosing on heroin. Chad wasn’t too sure how to feel,
thinking back on the past year of his life. It was totally engaged in drugs and feeling
powerful in the continuous high state that he was in. As much as he would think of Jacob
each day, as much as he would yearn to just see his son, at the same time he would think
of getting high and yearn for heroin to be injected into his bloodstream. Was he really
that selfish? Attempting to take away his own life to kill the pain of losing a son, to kill
the pain of being a heroin addict. Lying in the hospital bed, Chad’s head throbbed with
these thoughts. A social worker knocked at his door.
“How are you feeling today, Chad?” he asked.
“I think I’m doing okay. Plenty of thoughts spinning around in my head,” Chad
said with a slight smile across his face.
“Well, I was informed you can get out of this place pretty soon. I do have some
options for you, and it’s your decision, okay?” He looked very serious. “You can walk
out of here and go straight home, go back to your everyday life. Or I can offer you
different programs such as suicidal, family therapy for you and your son, or rehab.”
“Can I have all the information you have on the rehab center?” Chad asked
cautiously. “I think it’s time for me to start my life over. I want to live and have a reason
to live now: for myself and for my son, Jacob.”