American Dreamer

by Shawn Wesley Ballenger

  Brandon tied the handles of the bag, lifted it, and walked out.

  Kathy glanced over at Tommy after Brandon left the room.

  “It’ll be nice to have someone around to help.” She smiled.

  Tommy smiled back, seeing an almost motherly instinct manifesting itself in his wife.

  Brandon returned and went to the cabinet under the sink to get a fresh bag for the bin. “I was thinking. I’ve got a plan to fake my suicide without raising suspicions.”

  “Oh, yeah?” Tommy got up and grabbed another Coke from the fridge.

  “So, I think it’s better if we do this at night. Less likely for us to be seen.” He put the empty bag in the bin. “I’ll drive my car to the edge of the river at that fishing spot you and I like to go. It’s secluded. Kathy can drop you and the boat off at the bridge a mile upstream during the daylight. You can float down and pick me up. We will float to the next bridge where Kathy can pick us up after it gets dark. That way there aren’t suspicious tire tracks or footprints at the scene. It will look like I just jumped straight into the water.”

  “Someone’s been watching Lifetime movies.” Kathy chuckled.

  “Sounds like a good plan.” A carbonated hiss escaped the can as Tommy popped the tab of his Coke and sat it back down. “I think you should write a suicide note.”

  Brandon frowned as he fell back into his chair. “Writing a suicide note wasn’t something I planned on doing.”

  The thought of having to write a letter addressed to his son filled him with dread. Theoretically, he could make it generic, like a ‘goodbye cruel world’ type of letter to no one in particular, but that wasn’t him, and it would look suspicious to everyone who knew him.

  “I think you need one. Put it in the passenger seat of your car.” Tommy said. “You need to do everything you can to make the suicide look real.”

  “I suppose.” Brandon agreed, then had a thought. “When are we going to do this?”

  “I’d say tonight. You sure that Cam won’t be back until tomorrow?”

  “Oh, I’m sure.” Brandon nodded.

  Four days had passed since Brandon faked his own death. They pulled the plan off without a hitch. The most challenging part was writing the painful suicide letter. Several times he broke down and cried and began questioning if he was doing the right thing hiding from his son in what soon would be plain sight. Tommy had seen Cam a couple of times after the news of Brandon’s ‘suicide’ became public. Brandon debated on whether or not he wanted to know how he was doing. A couple of times, he asked Tommy to tell him, only to stop him before he could answer. Ignorance is bliss, so they say.

  To stop himself from dwelling on it, Brandon had been keeping busy around the house. He mowed the lawn, watered the plants, cleaned the pool, painted the fence, and just about any other job he could find to keep his mind busy. One advantage of being fourteen again was the boundless energy, and of course, the lack of soreness in the days following a day of hard labor.

  Several times, Kathy would come outside and make him take a break. She would bring him a plate of her famous chocolate chip cookies, along with a big glass of lemonade. They would sit down together on the patio and talk while Brandon polished off the entire plate since eating was another activity fourteen-year-olds loved. Brandon had told her she didn’t have to wait on him, but her reply was always: “Nonsense. I enjoy having someone around to keep me company while Tommy is at work.” Brandon began to sense a shift in their relationship over those four days and realized that Kathy was obviously mothering him. Oddly enough, he found himself slowly beginning to feel comfortable in his designated role in the relationship.

  His own childhood had been anything but comfortable, and he had never been nurtured in such a way. His parents were cold and detached. His father’s ‘sink or swim’ parenting style did not work well on a sensitive kid like Brandon. His mother’s attempts at trying to fill the role of mother seemed unnatural and forced. While he had every material thing a kid could want, unlike Tommy, he would have given it all up to have Tommy’s parents, who truly loved and cared for their children. Brandon thought more of Tommy’s parents than he did his own.

  Brandon had just walked in from the back yard, where he’d been weeding the flower beds, as Tommy and Kathy were returning from Brandon’s funeral. Tommy laid his keys in the bowl on the entryway table and loosened his tie. Brandon stopped in the doorway between the kitchen and living room, and leaned against the doorjamb, wiping the sweat from his torso with his balled-up shirt.

  “So?” He asked, wanting to know yet not wanting to know.

  Tommy jerked his tie off. “What can I say, Brand? It was awful.”

  “It was one of the saddest funerals I’ve ever attended.” Kathy placed her purse on the table.

  “How’s Cam?” Brandon had debated whether to finally let Tommy answer the question, but this time he had to know.

  “Stoic,” Tommy answered as he popped the top button on his dress shirt. “He sat next to his mom, staring straight ahead, emotionless.”

  “That worries me.” Brandon hung his head.

  “I warned you it was going to be hard for him,” Tommy said.

  “I know. I just hope his friends help him through it ‘cause God knows Marcia won’t.” Brandon glanced away, then back again. “What about Mother and Father?”

  Brandon could only imagine the things his father must have said while helping Cam make funeral arrangements. He was sure the words “coward” and “loser” were mentioned more than once by his father.

  “Your mother was upset. Your father just looked—"

  “Angry.” Kathy interrupted, her face showing contempt.

  “Miserable bastard. I know he thinks I’m a coward.” Brandon scoffed.

  “Don’t worry about him. You never have to deal with him again.” Tommy said, finally noticing the mud on Brandon’s stomach. “What you been doing?”

  “I weeded your flower beds and moved those cacti on the west side of the house to the east side along the fence.” He shrugged. “I think they’ll do better over there. Hope that’s okay?”

  Tommy laughed. “Damn, dude. You’re going to go and win us the neighborhood Yard of the Month sign.”

  “Maybe.” Brandon laughed. “I kinda like doing outdoor work, it relaxes me, you know? I never had time in my old life. Plus, it helps keep my tan up since I don’t have a gym membership with access to a tanning bed anymore.”

  He lifted his arms up and looked down at his tanned skin.

  “Well, dude, tan away.” Tommy laughed. “Keeps me from having to hire all of it done.”

  “That’s the point. Earning my keep.” Brandon smiled.

  “I’m going to change and start lunch,” Kathy interjected, then turned to Brandon. “What do you want, sweetie?”

  “A BLT sounds good,” Brandon answered.

  “A BLT coming up.” Kathy headed towards the bedroom, her heels clicking against the stone tile.

  “Sweetie.” Tommy snorted.

  Brandon pointed towards the hall. “That’s a good woman there. You better be thankful she married your sorry ass.”

  “Thankful every day.” Tommy smiled.

  “Well, I need a shower.” Brandon shuffled towards the hall.

  “After lunch, we need to go through Channing’s papers. We need to figure out how to get you registered for school.” Tommy said.

  “High school. Seems impossible that I’m going to be in high school again.” Brandon chuckled as he thought of how, this time around, he wasn’t going to be such a stick-in-the-mud.

  Having thought about high school many times over the years, he knew he spent too much time focused on his studies instead of having fun. He achieved his goal of class valedictorian, but what did it really get him in the end? A cheap gold-plated medal and a pat on the back from his father. After high school, no one cared. No. This time, he was going to have a little fun.

  Brandon and Tommy sat at the kitchen table, thumbing throug
h the papers that had belonged to Channing and Amy. From the sheer volume covering the table, they concluded that Amy had kept every single medical bill, payment receipt, welfare paperwork, and anything else that looked official that she had ever received.

  “I can’t believe your sister kept all this.” Brandon flipped through another stack of papers.

  “I know, right?” Tommy said. “Then again, Amy probably kept all this stuff because she thought she needed it for all her welfare appointments; otherwise, she would have tossed it.”

  “I guess it’s a good thing.” Brandon pulled out a document that caught his eye. “Hey, I think I found Channing’s birth certificate.”

  He quickly scanned it.

  “Swayze? Channing’s middle name was Swayze?” Brandon looked over at Tommy, his nose crinkling up.

  Tommy laughed. “Amy was obsessed with Patrick Swayze when she was a teenager. Apparently, she was still a fan when Channing was born.”

  “Well, I admit. Road House is a classic.” Brandon laid the paper aside.

  Tommy stopped his thumbing. “Hey. Here’s Channing’s school transcript.”

  He pulled out the stapled documents. Studying it, he shook his head.

  “What?” Brandon asked anxiously.

  “Poor kid. His grades were shit. His GPA was a point-nine.”

  “Let me see it.” Brandon held his hand out.

  Brandon scanned the last page of the document and looked up at Tommy, worry etched on his face. “Damn it!”

  “What is it?”

  “He was failing eighth grade. I can’t be in junior high. How am I going to get to be friends with Cam if I’m in junior high, and he’s in high school? It would be impossible!” Brandon laid the papers down, his mind racing as fast as his mouth.

  “Dude!” Tommy stopped him. “Calm down. We will talk to the principal and tell him Channing’s…I mean, your background, and that you deserve the opportunity to enroll as a freshman.”

  “Dude! Even if he lets me, how in the hell am I going to get to know Cam? I’ll be a freshman. Cam’s a senior. What senior will want to hang out with a lowly freshman?”

  Brandon had realized the age gap between his son and himself might be problematic. He knew the chances of a high school allowing a fourteen-year-old to enroll as senior would be slim to none. Maybe if he were some kind of child genius, but Channing’s transcript showed otherwise.

  “Well, don’t forget, Cam is my godson. You’re already going to have a way into his life since you are my ‘nephew.’” Tommy reminded him. “I’ll just ask him to show you around. You know?”

  “Yeah, but I still don’t think that will be enough. We don’t have anything in common. I’m a geek. He’s a jock.” Brandon laid his head on the table. “I’m so screwed, dude.”

  “You could always join the football team.” Tommy joked.

  Brandon’s head shot up from the table like a bullet.

  “That’s it!” He screamed excitedly. “I’ll join the football team!”

  “I was joking, dude!” Tommy laughed. “You don’t know shit about football.”

  “I’ve watched Cam play before. It doesn’t look that hard.” He shrugged. “I can Google all the rules and whatnot.”

  “It’s harder than you think it is.” Tommy scoffed.

  “It’s running and catching a ball. Besides,” he looked down at his body, “I have the body for it. I’m in great shape. You’ve played before. You can teach me!”

  “I was ten-years-old, and it was flag football at the Boys Club. I hated every minute of it, and you know that.” Tommy shook his head in disbelief.

  “You did it, though.”

  “Yeah, because I didn’t know what I was getting myself into, and Dad wouldn’t let me quit.”

  “Still. You do remember how to play, don’t you?” Brandon continued to pressure him.

  “Of course,” Tommy admitted reluctantly.

  “There you go. You got a football?” Brandon asked excitedly.

  “In the closet in your room,” Tommy answered as he watched Brandon giddily bounce in his seat. “But I doubt if I—"

  “Be right back!” Brandon dashed from the room.

  The next morning, Brandon pulled his slumping backpack up on his shoulder, held his breath, and pushed open the blue double doors of the Franklin High School main building. It was a surreal moment when the mixed scents of cologne, perfume, books, and floor cleaner hit his nostrils, sending his mind reeling back thirty-one years to the last day of his own high school career. A tingling sensation ran up his spine before morphing into chills all over his body. He shuddered.

  “You okay?” Tommy asked as the doors shut behind them.

  “Yeah. Just seems weird.”

  Brandon’s eyes continued their journey into the realm of the teenage world as they walked along the hallway. His eyes landed on the interlocked fingers of a boy and girl who were obviously entrenched in an epic romance for the ages. The boy leaned over and kissed the girl before they parted. They better be glad a teacher didn’t see that. PDA will land you in detention, Brandon thought to himself. About that time, a teacher smiled and waved the girl into her classroom. Well, guess that rule has been relaxed, Brandon shrugged.

  Brandon glanced up at a flyer on the wall decorated in rainbow colors, which announced: LGBTQ Club Meeting, Wednesday, September 25, Library Annex.

  “Hey, Tom. Check that out.” He pointed at the wall. “Can you imagine if they had an LGBTQ Club when we were in high school?”

  “No way in Hell would that have ever happened,” Tommy said, thinking that anyone brave enough to sign up would have been committing high school social suicide, or even worse, would have received a beating from a bunch of homophobic rednecks. “Are you going to join?”

  Brandon tugged on the strap of his backpack, lifted his head, and smiled proudly. “Yeah, I am.”

  “Good for you, buddy.” Tommy smiled and patted Brandon on the back.

  Brandon and Tommy made their way down the hall towards the door which had a sign with an arrow hanging over it, which proclaimed that it was the principal’s office. Brandon let Tommy lead the way since technically he was his guardian. An African-American lady with her hair pulled back into a bun, wearing thick-rimmed glass and a black flower-print dress, sat behind a desk, talking confidently on the phone. From her demeanor, Brandon imagined that she could take care of any problem that came her way.

  “Yes. Dr. Anderson will be able to make the meeting scheduled this Thursday at three.” She repeatedly clicked the end of the fountain pen in her hand as she listened. “No. The meeting cannot be moved. His schedule is booked solid that day.”

  Brandon looked up at Tommy and raised his eyebrows.

  “Woah.” Tommy mouthed.

  The lady continued. “In that case, if you insist on moving the meeting, he will not be able to attend. Thank you.”

  She hung up, scribbled a quick note, and looked up at Tommy and Brandon, her demeanor doing a complete one-eighty.

  “Hello.” She greeted them warmly. “How can I help you?”

  Tommy spoke up. “Yes. My name is Thomas Burkhart, Jr. I’m here to talk to Dr. Anderson about enrolling my nephew, Channing.”

  “Channing.” She smiled. “I’ve always liked that name.”

  “Thank you, ma’am.” Brandon smiled.

  “If you wouldn’t mind taking a seat over there.” She pointed towards two chairs along the wall. “Dr. Anderson will be with you shortly.”

  “Thank you,” Tommy said as they both took their seats.

  As soon as Tommy sat down, he started rubbing his shoulder.

  “What’s wrong?” Brandon asked.

  “Sore.” He grimaced. “I can’t believe you made practice football for four damn hours.” Tommy continued rubbing as Brandon grinned wickedly.

  “I feel fine.” Brandon, who now had spiky hair and was wearing black jeans, an AC/DC t-shirt, and white Nike high tops, grinned.

  “Fuck you
,” Tommy mumbled with a smile.

  About that time, a teenage girl walked by and glanced at Brandon. “Eighties Spirit Day is next week, FYI.” She smiled and kept walking.

  Brandon looked down at his clothes and then at Tommy. “You said retro was in!”

  Tommy shrugged. “According to the E! network, it is.” He paused, remembering the lazy Sunday afternoon in his recliner, flipping channels, when he had happened upon Kim Kardashian’s butt, which gave him a reason to watch a channel he normally would not. “Maybe the trend just hasn’t gotten to Phoenix yet. I bet that’s it.”

  “You dumbass.” Brandon elbowed him in the ribs. “I’m an idiot to take fashion advice from someone who wears Dad Jeans.”

  “Well, I think you look cool.” Tommy started rubbing his ribs.

  “You would.” Brandon scoffed as the principal’s door opened, catching his attention.

  A thin man with large brown eyes, a pencil-thin nose, wire-rimmed glasses, and a head full of brown curls appeared and ushered them inside without speaking. The principal shut the door behind them as Brandon’s eyes wandered around the office. No sports shit anywhere, that’s a good sign, Brandon thought to himself. He glanced at the plain yellow brick walls decorated with framed diplomas, education certifications, and awards. Bet he reads a lot, the random thought popped in Brandon’s head. Graduate of Southern Christian University. Interesting, observed Brandon. One particular frame caught his eye. “This award is presented to Dr. Alvin Anderson for his work and contributions to the Center for Abused Children.” The corners of Brandon’s mouth rose.

  “Dr. Alvin Anderson.” The skeletal man smiled pleasantly, extending his hand.

  “Tom Burkhart.” Tommy returned the smile and gripped his hand firmly. He then pointed to Brandon. “This is my nephew, Channing.”

  “Nice to meet you, sir.” Brandon extended his hand.

  “Likewise.” The principal gripped his hand rather lightly.

  “Please, sit down.” The principal pointed to the antique leather chairs sitting in front of the ornate walnut desk.