by Robin Ray
Chapter 4
The next day James sat out on the front porch reading his 17th century book, known also as The Bloody Theater. When it started raining, he went inside. Because Anthony was sitting on the couch in the living room watching TV, James decided to continue reading his gift from Leslie at the top of the stairs where the lighting was adequate and the silence was profound. Minutes later Anthony ascended the staircase.
“What are you reading?” he asked his brother, stopping halfway up. “Just a book,” James answered. “The one I told you about yesterday.”
“Let me see it,” Anthony requested.
“No,” James refused. “You won’t like it.”
“How do you know what I’ll like and not like?”
He ran up the rest of the way and reached out for the book but James pulled it away.
“No!” he shouted.
“You think you’re special because of some stupid medals?” Anthony barked.
James got up and turned to walk towards his room. Anthony lunged at the book but James deftly protected it. The two boys struggled briefly for it, spinning around and tussling with each other like Greco-Roman wrestlers at a gladiator battle. In the awkward melee, Anthony lost his footing. He reached for the banister at the top of the stairs but narrowly missed it. Accidentally, he slipped on the carpet and tumbled backwards down the unforgiving flight. Coming to a sudden stop at the bottom, he screamed staring at his left leg. Externally rotated, it appeared to be broken. Iris came running from the back when she heard the agonizing yells. James, clutching his book at the top landing, was frozen with fright.
“What happened?” Iris asked.
“He pushed me!” Anthony yelled through the sobs.
“I did not!” James asserted.
“How could you?” Iris asked, peering up at James. “Look what you’ve done!”
“It was an accident!” he responded.
“He never liked me,” Anthony thrust in. “He hates us all.”
“I wish I was never here!” James yelled then turned and ran into his room.
After Anthony was brought to the hospital, Iris and Bernard sat together and decided James’s fate. His unpredictable behavior, combined with reports that he talked to himself and despised the family, made him a threat to the household. It was then determined he should go. Working in conjunction with the Children’s Home Society of Washington, they found a new site for him. He was placed in a boys’ home called Bright Village of Bitter Lake nearly 10 miles north of downtown Seattle. Though fairly far away, they felt it was for the best.
Nestled in a quiet suburban community, Bright was home to approximately 15 troubled boys aged 12 to 18. Its manager had an open-door policy and the boys were allowed to air their grievances at any time. All the bedrooms were semi-private. Chores were delegated by the supervisors and they were to be completed on time. Fighting was forbidden. Those who took medication were expected to do so as prescribed by their doctor. The punishment for not complying with the rules usually meant pass privileges were denied for the week. With a pass, the boys were allowed to visit family or friends or go out with the other boys on field trips to the movies, exhibitions or music shows. Everyone was expected to attend classes at the nearby Ingraham High School. Transportation was provided by the counselors or their designees. Because James had one month left of middle school, it was mandated by the state that he attend anywhere that was close. He was registered and enrolled at Broadview-Thomson Elementary School for the time being. Just a few blocks away from the Village, he walked to it every day, stopping at times to admire the flowery shrubs and wooded plants, or as he would say, dendrologia, along the way.
Although he didn’t show it outwardly, James cried the first few days he was there. The doctor on call at Bright prescribed medication for him for depression and, based on his history, schizophrenia. Every morning, like half of the boys there, he took his medication with breakfast. The vigilant staff made sure the boys took their meds as they were sometimes known to stash, refuse or sell them. His roommate, a Polish young man also 13 years old named Bozymir which everyone called Boz, was one of the lucky ones who didn’t take pills. Boz kept mostly to himself. James learned that Boz was at Bright Village because his family got into some legal troubles and were either deported or placed in an immigration lockup pending further investigation.
Boz only had a fair grasp of English, and as a result, preferred to spend most of his time alone. He was an avid artist. He filled his sketchbooks with various colored pencil drawings of landscapes and people he knew from his hometown of Pruszkow, an industrial town in central Poland not too far from Warsaw. James admired Boz’s artwork. He showed him the sketches in his Martyrs Mirror book. Boz liked them but did complain they were too graphic. In any case, just for fun, the young artist copied a few of the sketches from the book, even adding color to them.
James came up with an idea of writing a comic hoping Boz would illustrate it. The fragile young artist said he would think about it and, if he had the time, would commit to the idea. Over time, the two young men did come to grow fond of each other. James learned how to draw and Boz improved his English. That summer, they went to the parks, visited an exhibition at the Pacific Science Center in Seattle Center, and also spent time at the planetarium there. James didn’t miss the piano at all. In fact, not only did he not seek one out to play, he failed to mention to anyone that he played at all. Bright Village didn’t have a piano so he couldn’t indulge his whims even if he’d wanted to. For the time being, he was simply happy to be in Boz’s company, treasuring his presence like a brother he never had.
Just before they both entered 9th grade at Ingraham, Boz and James illustrated a short story James had written. It concerned a soldier prince who, tired of fighting in useless wars, abandoned his life in the City of Clouds and flew down to earth for a better life. When he saw how troublesome life on earth was, he returned to his own city and used his new-found strength to help put an end to all wars. As Boz and James had no inkling about the publishing world, they simply showed their work to their fellow housemates. All agreed that it was an outstanding example of creativity, but like most ideas, was stowed away on a shelf and barely remembered.
Freshman year, filled with its quirks and budding nemeses, did have a handful of snags. A few students made fun of Boz’s accent which James defended if he was within earshot. Thinking that perhaps the two boys were also intimate, the bullies also unnecessarily teased James. His short-tempered swings landed him in the principal’s office twice, but threatened with a school transfer, he tried his best to avoid those who would ridicule him.
Boz started feeling the strain of being singled out. He remained friends with James – he had no choice as they were still roommates – but he spent more time in the local library or speaking on the phone to his cousins. When the spring arrived, James learned that Boz would be leaving. His Polish cousin, who lived in Lynden, Washington just five miles south of the Canadian border, had a room prepared for the youngster in his house. Of course, James was sad to see his friend depart and tried his best to hold the tears back; however, for the first time, he cried outright when they said goodbye. He’d grown to get used to his little Polish friend. Boz promised to write and even send him new artwork, but as time passed, James learned that wasn’t true. By the time he received a new roommate two months later, nary a note from Boz was received.
James’s new roommate when he was in 10th grade was the kind of person he tried to avoid. Nearly six inches taller and fifty pounds heavier than James, 15-year old Romeo was a product of the streets. His language, when the counselors weren’t around, was peppered with expletives of all shapes, stripes and colors. He had his opinions about everything – women, drugs, gays, the law, school, the Bright Village staff – and wasn’t afraid to share them. James dared not show his new roommate his prized medals because of the risk of him stealing and selling them on the street.
R
omeo, when he wasn’t in school, spent a lot of time in the lounge watching TV. Recently arriving from juvenile lockup, he wasn’t looking to return any time soon. He swore to his housemates that his days of robbing people and burglarizing homes were over. James, though, wasn’t so sure. He noticed Romeo liked to take packets of sugar or unopened hot cocoa mix off other people’s trays which he would save to drink later. Sporting irregular teeth and a build like a red-nosed pit bull, most of the underclassmen avoided him. At times, he’d suddenly jump in someone’s face, unnerving them with fear. This was one of his few pleasures. He was also known for urinating in the toilets with the seats down. The staff scolded him about it but he continued to do it just the same. Sometimes, at night when James was trying to sleep, Romeo would stay up in his bunk with a stashed porn magazine and a flashlight, rubbing away till his eyeballs rolled backwards in his skull. Since the lounge’s TV was turned off every night at 10 PM, except on Friday and Saturday when shut off time was midnight, poor James had to endure his roommate’s miserable, audible torture often.
One day Leslie came to Bright Village to visit her old pal. James, happy to see her, greeted her warmly. They went for a walk around Bitter Lake then eventually ended up at a Burger King on Aurora Avenue. Leslie stated that she and her new boyfriend had become very close and were planning to get married and move south to San Diego where he owned a home.
“That’s nice,” James admitted. “Will you still play music?”
“I think so,” she answered, “but when I start having kids I’ll have to put that all behind me.”
“Too bad you couldn’t do them both.”
“Yeah, I know, but children really take a lot of your time.”
“I’ll never have kids.”
“You don’t know that, James. You’re just a kid.”
He took a swig of his soda and looked out the window at the passing traffic.
“I can feel it, though,” he explained.
“I wish you kept up with the piano. You’re such a good player.”
“It’s not that I lost interest,” he groaned, “it’s just that they don’t have one where I live and I’ve been busy at school playing catch up.”
“Yeah, I guess I can see what you mean. At least you can return to it later.”
“I’ve been drawing a lot recently.”
“You have? Like what?”
“I drew a book from a story I wrote. Well, me and an old friend drew it.”
“That’s good.”
Leslie drank the rest of her soda and glanced at her watch.
“James,” she stated touching his hand, “we had a lot of good times together. I just wanted you to know I treasure those and I’m going to miss you terribly.”
“I’m gonna miss you, too,” he lamented. “You taught me a lot.”
“We learned a lot from each other,” she explained. “I actually grew from the experience. I hope you return to your music soon. You have a lot of promise and I’d hate to see such talent go to waste. It’s not fair.”
“When are you going to San Diego?” he asked her.
Leslie displayed a nervous smile. “Tomorrow.”
“Already?”
“Yeah,” she replied. “I found you just in time.”
Leslie stood up; James followed suit. They walked back to Bright Village where she hugged him goodbye. James didn’t cry but he somehow felt that was the last time he’d be laying eyes on his old teacher. Walking back to his room and entered the door. The air had such a foul odor that he nearly gagged. Romeo, lying supine on his top bunk mattress, was awake and simply looking at the ceiling. James backed out of the room and walked out to the small kitchen area where he made himself a cup of hot tea.
Sitting in a soft chair in the lounge, he joined a few of his housemates who were watching the 5 o’clock news. With some of their legs draped over the sides of their chairs, they looked as comfortable as can be. A few minutes later, Romeo came out to the lounge and plopped down on a chair next to James.
“I have to talk to you,” Romeo told him as if approaching an underling.
James’s defenses immediately went up. “What do you want?”
“I’m not doing so good in school,” the young man revealed. “I need somebody to tutor me.”
James shook his head. “Ask one of the staff members. That’s what they’re here for.”
“No, it ain’t,” Romeo insisted, a hint of regret in his voice.
A housemate, listening in on the conversation nearby, couldn’t help adding in his own two cents. “He’s embarrassed to let them know he’s failing!” he shouted.
“Shut yer mouth,” Romeo warned him, his fists drawn, “or I’ll split your lips!”
The housemate remained quiet and maintained his focus on the TV. Romeo turned to James again. “C’mon, roomie,” he pleaded. “I’ll make it worth your while.”
“How?” James wondered aloud.
Romeo dragged his chair closer to James so his voice wouldn’t be overheard. “You know those thick books you borrow from the library, but you have to return them because they’re due? I can get them for you permanently.”
“Really?”
James considered the idea. His fascination with all things encyclopedic had led him to discover new worlds in the plant and animal kingdom. His casual journey into various scientific and astronomical works also heightened his interest in the unknown surrounding him, but the books were often hard to procure as they would be off the shelves when he wanted to read them.
“We should talk about this later,” James suggested.
“Okay,” Romeo nodded.
The next day after school, James was sitting in his room working on his homework. Papers were strewn haphazardly on his desk as he poured himself into his task. Romeo walked in and dropped a brand new hardcover visual encyclopedia of space on the desk. Startled, James jumped back a bit then picked up the book.
“I’m good for my word,” Romeo stated as James’s surprised eyes soaked the book in.
“Where did you get this?” he asked.
“Barnes & Noble in the Northgate Mall.”
“You stole it?”
“Shh! Not so loud,” Romeo warned.
“How’d you get there and back so fast?”
“I had a ride there then took a bus back.”
“You have money?”
“No, but that never stopped me.”
James shook his head in awe. The book was, indeed, intoxicating to behold. Even the smell of the pages enticed him.
“Can you help me with my homework now?” Romeo asked.
“Well, I…what do you need?”
Romeo opened his locker and brought out a yellow sheet of paper.
“I have to write a paper on apartheid in South Africa for my history class. That sort of thing is up your alley, ain’t it?”
“Apartheid?”
“World events. You seem to be up on that.”
“They frown on plagiarism,” James warned him. “You have to be careful.”
“I don’t even know what that is,” Romeo insisted. “Man, all my life I never did the right thing.”
He pulled up a chair and sat near James’s desk.
“My mother didn’t teach me nothin’,” he affirmed. “She used to go around from site to site looking for a handout. Anywhere they could slap a buck in her hand, she was there. My pops was never around either. I don’t even know who the motherfucker is. You think I gave a shit about books when I was just trying to survive? Fuck that! I had money to make, you know what I’m saying? I didn’t have time for school an’ shit. I got busted all the time and now I’m as dumb as a box of rocks. You know what’s bad, James? I ain’t gonna amount to shit, that’s the honest truth.”
James stared at his roommate. His verbal treatise sure painted him in a different light. As a consequence, he felt his heart soften to his request. “Yeah, okay,” he finally assented. “I’ll write your paper for yo
u.”
“Thanks, man. It’s the only thing I’m ever gonna ask you for.”
Poorer words couldn’t have been chosen. Weeks later, James found himself writing a paper on Shakespeare for Romeo’s English class. In fact, that entire school year, he probably wrote four or five more papers for Romeo. His payment was usually the same – an encyclopedia here, a collection of experiments there. The native from the streets was passing his classes and James’s library collection was growing. The staff at Bright Village never asked about the books. They just assumed they were on loan from Ingraham. James arranged them neatly in a row around the centerpiece, Martyrs Mirror, and stared at them with delight. Books – his to keep and treasure as long as he wished. Romeo, as it turned out, wasn’t as bad as he first seemed. His temper, however, still needed adjustment.
One day, just after dinner was over, Romeo started taking his customary packets of hot cocoa off the trays. One of the upperclassmen, Javier, got tired of Romeo’s pilfering ways and confronted him about it. He boldly reached into the thief’s pockets but was instantly repelled with a push. Javier swung at him but missed. Romeo leaned back and punched Javier so hard that he flew across the room. Seconds later, they were tearing up the kitchen, knocking trays and tables over as they struggled. The commotion drew a crowd of spectators. Eventually, the staff arrived and separated the two fighters. Both teens were bleeding, but Javier got the worst of the duel. His lips were cut, the sclera of his left eye was bloodshot, and he had several bruises on his face and arms. Claiming that Romeo was the perpetrator, Javier pressed charges of assault against him which the staff backed up. Romeo was immediately whisked away by the police to King County Juvenile Detention in Seattle for violating the terms of his probation.
James sat in his room that night staring at his books. He wanted to cry or scream or just explode with uncontrolled emotion but somehow just couldn’t muster the strength. He knew that he was sick and tired of making and losing friends. It was a pattern he just couldn’t get used to. He took out the book he wrote and illustrated with Boz and stared at the pictures. The cloud world, so unfathomed and far away, seemed just beyond his grasp, yet he held on to its promise as if it were real. Tears welled in his eyes as he turned page after page. He could see Boz painstakingly enter his penciled lines across his sketch pad, coloring each bit of scenery with care. He imagined the clouds filling his mind, enveloping his body and magically whisking him away to a world beyond the reach of normal man. It was a world, he hoped, he could see some day. It may have been imagined, but he thought if he believed hard enough, some parts of it could still ring true.
During the spring, several officers from the Washington wing of the Civil Air Patrol visited the school. Seeking new members, they set up a small booth in a hallway and spoke to interested students about their cadet programs. James immediately showed interest and met with them. He visited their meeting place at a local armory where they taught him the fundamentals of fund raising. Using sheets of clear acrylic, he utilized their lathes to craft tic-tac-toe, checkers and chess boards which he later sold to other students or strangers on the street.
One of the caveats of being involved with CAP, he soon learned, was accompanying pilots on flights in small aircrafts like the two-seater Cessna 150. With the permission of the Bright Village manager, he went on flights out of the Kenmore Air Harbor Airport located at the northern tip of Lake Washington. Flying high above King and Snohomish counties, he felt the same thrill as when he first flew during his piano competition days. The majestic eminence of the Olympic Mountains and varied colors of the northern Cascades etched themselves in his memory. Back on land, he read all he could about small aircraft in the local library. The flight bug had bit him hard and it wasn’t something he could easily forget.
By the time the summer arrived, the boys’ home was half empty. Some of the youths had completed their probationary period and were allowed to return home. One young man ran away and it was rumored he traveled as far as Tennessee where his relatives lived. Other boys were picked up by their families and consequently moved out of state. James stayed without a roommate most of those months. To occupy his time, he read his encyclopedias, drew a few pictures in a sketchbook, wrote a sequel to his cloud story, and went on a few outings with the other boys from the home. They took in a few matinees, including Star Wars: Return of the Jedi, Superman III with an unfunny Richard Pryor, and everyone’s favorite, War Games with Matthew Broderick and Ally Sheedy.
Even though school was in recess, those who had doctor’s appointments still had to make them. James met with his doctor, Emily Panetta, only once as she rarely visited the site. Optimistic that he was on a successful track, she declined to change his meds. Initially, she was worried the anti-depressant would make him gain weight as it was known to do, but since he did take long walks out to the mall and other places, it didn’t become a concern.
He entered the 11th grade a young but confident member of society. Now officially an upperclassman in both school and Bright Village, he assumed new responsibilities. He acted as a guide for the newbies, especially the younger ones, showing them the ins and outs of the youth center and reviewing the rules they had to follow.
One of the newbies, 15-year-old Dan Thurston, was his new roommate. Dan was cut from a different cloth than most boys. Patently shy and awkward, he seemed doomed to always say the wrong thing that often got him in trouble with his housemates. During a news program on TV one night, when one or two boys gasped at a graphic scene, Dan decided to change the channel. He was promptly scolded by everyone, leading him to isolate in his room. Another day, one of the boys just happened to mention how hot the coffee in the urn was. Dan, without hesitation, took the liberty of pouring the rest of the coffee out in the sink before anyone could stop him. Again, he was yelled at and he isolated himself in his room.
James tried to tell him about his behavior, but he didn’t listen. In fact, since he wore ear protectors, like those large headphones covering the ears of an airplane mechanic on a tarmac, he wasn’t sure Dan could hear him. The unusual young man wore his ear protectors everywhere except to the shower. He even wore them to bed but during the night they’d often get twisted in the bedding. He stated he wore them because his ears were highly sensitive to sound. The sound of a soda can popping open irritated him. Laughter twisted his nerves. The rumbling of cars and buses in the street discombobulated him so badly that he hated walking anywhere he didn’t have to. He also had a funny way of talking. Using his arms for emphasis, he’d often flail them to make a point. Talking about his homework, for instance, would involve so many gyrations as to make it seem he was batting off an invisible swarm of bees.
For someone who didn’t like loud sounds, Dan sure spoke loudly, and that’s probably because of the noise-filtering headgear he wore constantly. Most of the boys at the center thought he was annoying in his deviation from the norm. James, however, did find him to be funny and amusing. Despite his quirks, young Dan was likewise interested in the things James enjoyed, such as astronomy, nature and animal science. Fascinated by James’s encyclopedias, Dan spent many hours perusing them, often gently rocking back and forth in his chair while absorbing bits of wisdom like a moist sail billowing in the scented autumn breeze. Because he handled the books with care, James allowed his new friend to read them as often as he wished. On a few occasions, he did ask Dan to accompany him to the Pacific Science Center and other places, but because the apprehensive youngster had such a fear of new locales, he declined to go. Instead, James simply brought back the exhibits’ brochures and memorabilia, hoping they would pique his friend's interest. He could only hope.
Dan, like James, had few friends in school. They did have a few acquaintances but no one they could actually call to go to the movies or play a game with. Because Dan was one year younger than James, they shared no classes. Even if they were the same age, they’d probably still be in separate rooms as Dan mostly took remedial classes. They did meet up occasiona
lly during lunch or recess, but as James preferred to sit alone outside during lunch, often missed his roommate.
The school had a few cliques, none of which James belonged to. In fact, he went out of his way to avoid them as much as possible. The jocks tended to keep to themselves, the nerdy types shuttered themselves off from the rest of the crowd, ethnic students congregated among their own kind, the tough brawlers scared everyone away, and the rich kids avoided everyone else. Steps had been taken by the staff to ensure a fair and equal education for all, but little could be done about the cliques as they congealed whether in school or not.
One afternoon, while sitting in the back of the school near the bleachers eating his lunch, a group of brawlers approached James. Leather-clad with blue jeans and black boots, they looked like extras from the movie Warriors. Eyeing them cautiously, James continued enjoying his sandwich as if no one was there.
“What are you eating?” one brawler asked.
“Just a sandwich,” James answered.
“Give it to me,” the burly, greasy haired brawler demanded.
James stared at the rough-hewn student. Was he even a student?
“Did you hear me?” the brawler asked.
“I’m outta here,” James stated as he got up to walk away.
The brawler leaped towards him and snatched the sandwich from his hands.
“Hey!” James yelled.
The brawler bit into the sandwich then spit out his mouthful.
“Gross,” he remarked before throwing the sandwich away.
“You bastard!” James shouted.
The brawler kicked James in the stomach causing him to bend over in pain.
“Call me a bastard again!” the brawler said.
James straightened up weakly. The brawler lunged at him but it was just a fake out. James flinched then turned and hobbled away. He later told his guidance counselor about it. She said she’d investigate but it’d be difficult since James didn’t have a name for him. He thought about bringing some kind of weapon to school afterward but nixed the idea. He was many things but violent wasn’t one of them. The incident, he concluded, was just one of those that you just sucked up and then carried on as if it never happened.
There’s a saying which goes, “Sometimes karma doesn’t always come around fast enough that’s why it’s essential to plot revenge.” Although it sounds like a motto that could be attributed to Confucius, it could just as easily apply to James’s situation. Luckily, the more popular saying “what comes around goes around” also applied as the brawler, getting into a fight with a stranger from his apartment building, sustained a wound which laid him up in the hospital for weeks. When he recovered, and because of his constant troubles at Ingraham, his family transferred him to a boarding school in Idaho away from his negative influences in Seattle. With their leader now absent, the rest of the brawlers kept a low profile, even going so far as to resist taunting or teasing other students.
All the students who were capable had to take physical education classes. Those with more than a passing interest in sports were encouraged to try out for the various athletic programs available at Ingraham. Students had their choice of cross country, tennis, baseball, golf, volleyball, wrestling, soccer, track, swimming or football to choose from. Dan, despite his disability, participated in after school sports such as swimming and football. With swimming, he was allowed to wear ear plugs, effectively turning down the volume of the world beyond his fingertips. James, inspired by his roommate, thought he’d give swimming a try, but because it was a winter sport and it was spring already, he missed the tryouts. He then decided to give track and field a look see.
First, he tried the 100-meter dash. Finding himself perpetually last, he also attempted the 200 meter, 400 meter and 800 meter dashes. Not only did he usually come in last he found it difficult to complete the longer ones secondary to losing his stamina and his breath. Unwilling to give up, he also attempted the shot put, javelin, discus and hammer throws. When these proved unfruitful, he tried his luck with the long jump and pole vault. His track and field career abruptly came to an end when, awkward with the pole, he nearly impaled himself on his first try. Now realizing he just wasn’t built for sports, he refocused his energies on the interests close to his heart – books and more books.
Dan, on the other hand, was becoming quite the celebrity as a member of the football team. A punter and placekicker, he proved to be valuable to special teams when he scored a game-winning goal at an important meet. His presence led to greater awareness and respect for the disabled and even served as fodder for an interview in a local newspaper. Back at Bright Village he also became more popular with his housemates. Proud of his achievement, a few boys offered him their milk or other snacks at times. Dan relished all the attention but never let it get to his head. He remained as humble as the day he first appeared.
During a tutoring session, James asked Dan where he came from.
“I used to live in a group home for kids with autism and Down’s syndrome,” he answered. “I got older and better so I guess I didn’t fit there anymore.”
“Is that why they transferred you here?” James asked.
“Well, they say I started fires in wastebaskets.”
“Is that true?”
“It wasn’t me. It was somebody else, but I guess they had to blame somebody.”
“Tag, you’re it,” James nodded.
Dan pointed to his own chest.
“Tag, I’m it,” he agreed.
“How do you know about football?” James pondered.
“Why?” Dan answered, taken aback by the query. “Just because I’m disabled it means I can’t play sports?”
“No, it’s not that. It’s…well…”
“It’s because I’m disabled!”
“You don’t have to shout, man. I’m on your side. Let’s face it. The picture they paint of you guys is, you know, you’re, like, needy.”
“Given the chance we can accomplish a lot. I was worse when I was younger. I used to shake and rock back and forth so bad it was like an earthquake. I still have trouble with empathizing and trying to read people’s minds.”
“I can’t read minds.”
“What I mean is I have a hard time figuring out what people mean. Since I got it wrong all the time I just avoided people. Easier that way.”
“You kinda sound like me,” James admitted. “I think I spend too much time by myself but I can’t help it. It just seems natural.”
Dan rubbed his face with both hands and gazed downwards.
“I still have a lot of trouble with it. It won’t go away.”
“How do they help you with it?”
“Counseling. They try to get me into peer groups to socialize more. I don’t know. I have a lot of pent up anger. That’s where football comes in. It lets me blow some of this steam off.”
“You sound like you know what you’re doing,” James remarked. “Good for you.
Hopefully, it’s safe.”
“I’m a kicker,” Dan emphasized. “We’re not allowed to tackle or be tackled.”
“In that case,” James saluted him, “I wish you luck.”
Dan’s heroics on the football field, as well as his personal story in the local paper, didn’t go unnoticed by Mr. & Mrs. Chapelle from The Highlands, a well-to-do neighborhood within biking distance of Bright Village. As alumni from Ingraham, they were thoroughly familiar with their athletic program, following closely the achievements of those on the baseball and football teams. They met with Dan and his caseworker a few times and all agreed he’d prosper at their home. As they were already raising one child with autism, they had an affinity for the developmental condition. James was sad to see his new friend leave but at least he’d still be seeing him at school. He was surprised to see Dan eschew his bulbous ear protectors in favor of foam plugs which, he explained, made him less of a target for ridicule than the tarmac-sized alternative.