Union

by John Darryl Winston

  “Yes, family,” Fears continued. “By law, as a teacher, I am limited to what I can teach you, and my job depends on providing that limited right. As a coach of an athletic team that right extends to privilege, and I can provide a bit more under the cloak of, ‘what happens in the gym stays in the gym.’”

  He walked up to his desk and picked up some papers and then continued slowly to the back of the room. He read one of the papers. “This research says thirty percent of boys who live in Marshal Park will not graduate from high school.” He pointed to fifteen boys in the class, instructed them to stand, then tore the page he read into pieces and threw it over his head.

  He pulled out another sheet. “It says here fifty percent of boys who are high school dropouts in Marshall Park will be in prison or dead before they reach the age of twenty-one.” He instructed half the boys standing to walk over and stand by the dry erase board then ripped the paper to shreds and threw the pieces in the air. The pieces landed on the floor and some of the students’ desks.

  Fears read the last page he held. “Sixty percent of students in Marshal Park will have engaged in sexual intercourse by the end of their ninth grade year.” He instructed half of the girls in the class to stand and then destroyed and discarded the last piece of paper the same way he had the other two. “Look around the room. Look how many are left sitting, the minority of Marshal Park. This is what … they,” Fears pointed out the window, “say your future reality holds. So you see Mr. Hornbuckle, maybe I’m not just preaching to the choir … or the congregation for that matter.

  “Let me ask you all a personal question. How many of you are sexually active? Stop!” he boomed as he glared at Soul who was standing by the dry erase board. “That’s a rhetorical question, but what I want you to ask yourselves is, if you are, why? And if you are not, why aren’t you? You’ll be surprised at what you come up with on your own and even better if you talk to each other. The bottom line is, it’s way too early for you guys, and decisions like that will color every aspect of your life and have life-altering ramifications. Now that you’re up, mill around and discuss what I just talked about. My only rule is that you respect each other by using appropriate language, and you all know what that is.” He glared at Soul.

  Some of the students moved around talking to other students, and others stayed put. Harvis sat at his desk, writing off and on in a notebook, and Soul came back and sat behind Harvis again. Naz stayed at his desk doodling and wondering if he should speak to D. When he finally got up enough courage, it was too late.

  “All right, take your seats,” boomed Fears. “Any thoughts?”

  “What if someone you know says nasty stuff to you or touches you inappropriately?” asked a girl who sat behind Soul.

  “Excellent question,” said Fears. “I’m glad you asked. What you’re talking about is sexual harassment or bullying of a sexual nature, and just like bullying it needs to be dealt with immediately. Miss Dinwiddie?”

  “May I be excused?”

  “Of course. You’re not being held here against your will.” Fears continued his discussion on sexual harassment while D left the room.

  Fears continued. “If it’s another student, tell a teacher. If it’s an adult, tell another adult. Be direct and clear, and often the perpetrator will pick on what they consider weaker prey.”

  Naz watched the door. The bell rang, and D had not returned—where’d she go? After class, Naz apologized to Fears for being late, and Fears explained the three by three by three rule. Similar to International Academy, three tardies would get you detention, three detentions, a one-day suspension, and three suspensions would get you kicked out of Union for good.

  Naz didn’t have a lot of time to deliberate with Harvis and Soul after class. He had five minutes to get to his next class. They only shared one class, Fears’ class—bummer.

  After school, Naz paid a visit to a place he hadn’t seen since he went to stay with Dr. Gwen: the cemetery. He went almost every day before that, and it was too far to visit from Cedarville Valley. But that wasn’t the only reason. The place had grown cold over time as if there was no point to his reverence. Meri wasn’t there. He was being silly, overly sentimental. Today he would visit Meri’s grave again, maybe one last time. But someone else was there. He could sense her, a calm presence, pain.

  Naz pulled the diary out of his backpack and then looked at the headstone, the year Meri was born, and the year she died—ten years old. He shook his head, but he didn’t feel like crying, not today. And he didn’t feel like reading either.

  Naz sat crossed legged on the grass and put the diary in his lap. He had read it through twice sitting in front of Meri’s grave, but the book revealed its most meaningful truth before she died: Meri was his full sister by blood. And that meant the world to both of them.

  Other than that, the diary told of how his mother had grown to hate Bearn, Naz’s stepdad, after realizing Bearn had fooled her into giving up on her first and only true love, Cory—my dad.

  She wrote about how she was going to leave that maniac, finally. She didn’t know how to make it all right, but she had a plan, a plan that day they were supposed to go to the festival, a plan that would make everything right—but we never made it to the festival. I wonder what she had in mind.

  He pulled the key out that hung around his neck. He vowed never to take it off until he got to the bottom of why Meri had to die. He looked at it. “Remember this?”

  “I do.” D approached from in front of him on the other side of the grave.

  She sat next to him, took the key in her fingers, and kissed him lightly on the cheek.

  He shivered involuntarily from her touch and took in her scent of vanilla—or is it coconut?

  “You OK?” She let go of the key and picked up the diary.

  He hoped she didn’t try to open it. “I’ll live.”

  “Don’t worry; I won’t open it.”

  He smiled as he put the key back inside his shirt.

  “But it is nice.” She examined the cover and then returned it to his lap. “So, this is where we left off.”

  He nodded.

  “Only, you’re in a different mood. You wanna talk about Meri?”

  “No.”

  “No?”

  “She’s not here. She’s here,” Naz pointed to his heart and then his head. “And here.” He looked all around him.

  “Soooo … you wanna walk?”

  “Yesssss.” He stood up and reached for her hand. “How’d you know I was here?”

  “You think I came to see you?” She took his hand.

  He helped her up, and she brushed herself off.

  “I do,” he said.

  “It could’ve been a coincidence?”

  He shook his head. “You strike me as a destiny/fate person.”

  “Yeah, I’m not much on coincidences.”

  “Me either.”

  They left the cemetery. She grabbed his hand again. “Your eyes … what happened?”

  “Basketball.” He smiled, enjoying the warmth of her soft hand.

  “You got hit with a basketball?”

  “No, I got hit with an elbow, playing basketball.”

  “Oh! Boys. You look like a raccoon.”

  Naz laughed.

  “How come you never called me … or even texted?” she asked.

  Squeezing her hand gently, Naz was silent, not knowing what to say. He didn’t have a reason he could call to mind outside of being stubborn. He resisted the urge to ask her the same question and be ridiculed for being childish the way Harvis had done the day before.

  “It was just a lot going on.”

  D nodded. “I can see that. I guess I could’ve called you … but sue me; I’m old-fashioned. You can’t blame a girl for wanting to be swept off her feet … do you?”

  Naz raised both eyebrows. “Do I what?”

  “Sweep girls off their feet?”

  “Maybe.”

  She smiled. “So where are we going
now?”

  “It’ll be dark soon, so I’m walking you home.”

  “Well, what if I don’t want you to walk me home? Will you give up?”

  “Au contraire, mon amie. I will persist.”

  “French … I like it. I don’t know what it means, but I like it. What if I say no to your offer to walk me home?”

  “You don’t have a choice, milady Dinwiddie. I am at your service.” He turned to her, bowed slightly, and kissed her hand.

  “Ooh, chivalry, confidence, and courage, I like it … Igodddd.” She laughed. “And don’t worry, I won’t tell your teammates you did that with the bow/kiss thing.”

  They started walking again.

  He shrugged. “I don’t care,” and then smiled. “And that’s not funny. Now you have me at a disadvantage. How’d you find out my name?”

  “I have my ways. It’s not a secret. I just asked around.”

  He blushed. “Now you have to tell me yours.”

  “I used my gifts; now you have to use yours.”

  What does she mean? Does she know? “What gifts?”

  “I don’t know. Ask around. Ask your coach to show you his attendance list. I’m sure you’ll find it there.”

  “That’s too easy.”

  “Oh well, you’ll never hear it from me, so I guess you’ll never know.”

  “OK, now watch this.”

  He stopped her again by getting in front of her, face to face. She fidgeted but stood her ground.

  “Can I take off your glasses?”

  “What? No.”

  “Come on. You wanna see my gift, right?”

  She shrugged, rolled her eyes, and put a hand on her hip.

  “You trust me, don’t you?”

  “Trust you? I don’t even know you, Naz.”

  “Ah, but you do, and that’s why you trust me. That’s why you followed me here all those times, and that’s why you knew I’d be here today.”

  “What?” She looked back at him in awe. “How do you know I followed … I mean, I didn’t follow you. I-I—”

  “It doesn’t matter. I saw you some of those days,” he lied. “But you do trust me, so let me take off your glasses.”

  “Oh, go ahead.”

  “Thank you.” He reached up and slowly took off her glasses as she stood sassy and feigned exasperation.

  “I’ve never seen anything like them in my life”—and they’re so vulnerable without the glasses, so innocent.

  “Stop it.”

  “What color are they, exactly?”

  “I don’t know, somewhere between light brown and hazel. They change, I think.”

  “Look at me,”

  “What?” She turned away.

  “Look at me, D.”

  “Oh, all right.” She looked at him, huffed, rolled her eyes, and then stood still and silent.

  “What’s your name?”

  She didn’t respond, but he already knew. If fate was real, and it was their destiny to be together, he should’ve guessed her name long before he had discovered his abilities. He was Naz, short for the Nazarite Samson, and she was his perfect match. He wanted to look into her eyes forever.

  “It’s time to take you home … Delilah.” He broke their stare and turned from her.

  “How did you do that?” she gasped, grabbing and pulling him by the arm.

  When he turned to face her again, he had her glasses on with his eyes as wide as they would go. “I told you I had a gift.” He snatched away and took off running.

  She laughed and took off after him. “Give me my glasses!”

  Naz let her catch him and handed her the glasses without a fight. He wasn’t sure how much more physical interaction he could take before he lost it and would hear every thought that entered her mind. And that was not what he wanted.

  “How did you do that?”

  He just smiled and put his hands out.

  “Tell me,” she demanded.

  “It’s magic.”

  “You already knew, you little liar.”

  “You’re right; I checked out Coach’s attendance list today after class when you left.”

  She nodded and then looked at him. “You’re still lying.”

  That was something he couldn’t change. He was a terrible liar.

  “I’m almost home,” she said, grabbing his hand again.

  “Where?”

  “Next block. This is far enough if you want.”

  He shook his head and kept walking. “That was pretty impressive, what you did in class today.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Standing up to Coach like that. Nobody ever challenges Coach.”

  “Why?”

  “You just don’t. Coach is like … Yoda, Gandalf, and Dumbledore all rolled into one.”

  “He seems like a bully to me.”

  “Bully!?”

  “Yeah, just because he’s the teacher doesn’t mean he’s always right.”

  “I don’t think he was saying he was right or you were wrong. I think he was just trying to get you to look at it a different way.”

  “Typical.”

  “Typical? What’s that mean, typical?”

  “I mean, he’s your coach. He can do no wrong in your eyes, and you’re going to stick up for him no matter what. I’m here.” She grabbed his arm, and they stopped walking. “This is my house. It’s almost dark. Who’s gonna walk you home now?”

  They stopped in front of a typical Marshal Park dwelling with bars on the front door and every window.

  “Well, that’s not true. We … I disagree with Coach on a lot of things.”

  “OK,” she said as she started up the walk to her house and disappeared inside.

  “OK?”

  In The Past …

  Camille!” Cory yells from the kitchen to tell his wife what has happened, to tell his wife he is not a failure.

  “What is it?” asks Camille, frantic as she runs into the kitchen.

  Cory stands proud, his eyes red from crying, his chest pounding, unable to contain himself. Not since he was awarded the Nobel Prize, the same day he had proposed to Camille or the day Naz was born has he been so happy. Naz sits in his high chair kicking and screaming. He is also vaguely aware he has accomplished something and is eager to prove himself again.

  Misinterpreting Naz screams, Camille runs to him. “Are you OK, baby? Are you hurt?” She picks him up out of his high chair.

  “He’s OK,” Cory reassures her.

  She realizes now Naz is laughing out of elation and sighs. “Well, what is it, Cory? You almost gave me a heart attack.” She says a silent prayer of thanks, knowing how Cory feels about religion.

  “Well, get ready to have one for real, Cam, ’cause we did it.” He balls his fist, does a Fred Astaire move, complete with spin and slide that lands him right in front of Naz and Camille.

  “What’s this all about?” Camille asks.

  “My life’s work. It’s over. I’ve arrived. Everything I’ve ever worked for has come down to today.”

  Naz continues to bounce in Camille’s arms, excited more by his father’s exuberance than his own accomplishment. Before Camille can speak again, Cory stops her.

  “Wait. I can show you much better than I can tell you.” He takes Naz out of her arms and sits him back in his high chair. He takes Camille in the dining room, out of Naz’s earshot, grabs both of her hands, and looks at her lovingly.

  “Have you done something bad?”

  He kisses the back of one of her hands. “Au contraire, mon amour.”

  “Then what?”

  “I need you to join us in a little experiment.”

  “You know how I feel about your work.”

  “I think this will change your mind forever.”

  “You think?”

  “Indulge me, just this once.”

  “OK, but if I don’t like it or something bad happens, will you promise to let all this change-the-world stuff go so we can live normal lives?”
>
  “Scouts honor.” He puts his right hand up.

  “Uh-huh.”

  “Ok, it’s simple. When you go back in the kitchen, sit across from our son.” He kisses her while he still holds her hands. Laughing, he gives her instructions. “Look him directly in his eyes. Don’t say a word. His LEGO blocks are scattered all over the table—”

  “I’ve been meaning to talk to you about those,” she interrupts him.

  He puts his index finger up to his lips. “We’ll clean them up after. Look in his eyes and tell him, by thought only, to pick up any color block you want. Remember, don’t say a word.”

  “Cory—”

  “Just do it. Trust me this one time.”

  They walk back into the kitchen. Cory pulls out the chair. Camille sits down. She looks up at Cory. He motions for her to look at Naz, and she does. Naz starts to bounce up and down in his chair and laugh. Three green LEGOs immediately fly in the air and spin in place.

  “AAAAAAAAARGH!” Camille screams and jumps up, sending her chair back onto the floor. She covers her mouth and gasps.

  The LEGOs fall to the table, one of them making it to the floor and up against the wall like the dice at a casino. Naz stops bouncing and takes in his mother with wide eyes.

  “Oh, Jesus Lord, help me.” Camille backs away from the table.

  Cory grabs her by the arm, puts his hand on her back and steadies her. “You OK?”

  She shakes her head as if to wake herself up. Her eyes flit between Naz and Cory. “I don’t believe it.” She pushes Cory’s hand away and runs out of the room in tears.

  Naz looks at Cory, confused, and starts bouncing again.

  “Are you OK, Son?”

  Naz doesn’t respond but stares at his father with a strange expression.

  “Are you OK?” Cory asks again.

  There is still no response from Naz, just the same look of bewilderment.

  “Igod! Talk, Son. Are you, OK?”

  “What’s wrong, Mommy?” Naz puts his hands out.

  Cory sighs. “Nothing, Son. I’ll be right back.” He runs after Camille.

  Present Day …

  Naz’s mouth watered and his stomach rumbled as he woke up to the sound of bacon sizzling in a pan, the smell of fried eggs, and Mr. Tesla humming an unrecognizable but unmistakably happy song. The night before, after dropping D off, Naz had come back to MeeChi’s—Home—finished the small amount of shelf-stocking Mr. Tesla had asked him to do, glanced at his homework, and drifted off in bed while gazing at the ceiling, the same as he had the night before. But this time a feeling of euphoria had swept him away. He was in heaven, and now as he shook his head and blinked a few times to clear his eyes and bring Mr. Tesla into focus, he smiled, realizing he was still there—in heaven.