The Secret Journal of Brett Colton

by Kay Lynn Mangum

  Kelly showed me a bunch of stuff in the Bible about praying. I was impressed at how easily he found all the passages, but I guess if I went to church every week of my entire life like he does, I’d be able to find anything in the Bible, too. After Kelly gave me a few pointers on how to pray the way he does, I told him I was tired and ran him out. I actually did feel kind of tired after his lesson on the Art of Praying. I’ll bet he rushed like some freak to buy me one of those Mormon Bibles. I’m going to have to be careful about what I say around him from now on.

  So last night I prayed for the first time in my life. It felt strange to talk out loud, but then I remembered who I was supposed to be talking to, and do you know—I think He heard me . . .

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  I hope everyone has read the assignment for this week, ‘Seize the Day,’ by Saul Bellow,” said Mrs. Dubois. “In sum, this piece revolves around one sad, depressing day in the life of Tommy Wilhelm, a middle-class, middle-aged Everyman who has lost his sense of direction in life and attempts a quest for meaning in a turbulent, cruel world through an afternoon of stock market gambling and introspection. Some would call it a contemporary American treatise on greed, capitalism, and the complexity of relationships . . .” Mrs. Dubois and the rest of the class launched off into a deep, although somewhat boring, discussion concerning the obvious themes and points of the story. Although I usually loved throwing my two cents in, I couldn’t get into the whole thing today.

  “Mr. West. Tell us your thoughts on the piece.” Mrs. Dubois had been slowly wandering up and down the aisles between our desks before stopping near Jason to look thoughtfully at him.

  Jason’s forehead was furrowed. I sat up from my slouched position, truly curious about what he might say. “Well, I guess my biggest question about the story is its title.”

  “Really? Explain.”

  “Well, ‘seize the day,’ or ‘carpe diem,’ means the ‘enjoyment of the present without concern for the future,’ but none of Tommy’s ‘seizing’ gave him any happiness at all, and all he felt was stress about the future. And he definitely wasn’t liking his present.”

  Mrs. Dubois nodded with her arms folded. “Yes, it is a sad, ironic title. The story does give the statement ‘seize the day’ an ironic twist, full of dark, bitter humor, rather than the exciting taking of a chance, as the phrase traditionally means. Poor Tommy’s attempts to seize the day are miserably thwarted. Part of the risk one takes when one decides to seize the day.”

  “So what’s worse? Seizing the day, knowing there’s a chance your attempt could blow up in your face? Or not even trying at all, and always wondering whether or not something amazing would’ve happened if you had tried? Something that might change your life forever—for the better?” For a brief second, I was sure I’d just said those words to myself in my head, but Jason swiveled around in his seat to look in my direction, and everyone else in class felt the urge to turn and stare, too. And then Mrs. Dubois nodded, still keeping her arms folded.

  “Excellent point, Miss Colton. One of life’s intriguing questions we all must answer . . .”

  I didn’t mean to tune out Mrs. Dubois, but Jason was still staring at me. Not a typical stare, either. A stare as if he was debating something. Or making a decision. But then the bell rang, and everyone started filing out the door, making room to allow Angela to bounce into the classroom over to Jason, making sure to keep her back toward me.

  ~

  December 25

  Dear Kitty,

  Christmas Day at the ol’ Colton house. I’ve been feeling better, so I was able to join in ripping open presents in the morning. Mom kept saying that seeing me feeling good was the best present of

  all. I’m not sure what Mom and Dad would think about Kelly “teaching” me how to pray and everything, and reading from the Bible, so I told him if he wanted to talk religion with me again, he couldn’t do it unless we were alone. Promising to keep our religious discussions a secret didn’t stop Kelly from getting me a Mormon Bible for Christmas, though.

  You’re still too little to appreciate Christmas. You slept through most of it, so I know I have to stick around to watch you enjoy it next year. You did get a kick out of watching the lights on the tree blink on and off, so you’re starting to get the idea.

  Since I’ve been dragging your bassinet into my room every night, Mom finally agreed to let me move all of your stuff in here with me. So now we’re going to be roommates!

  You love to have me hold you as much as I love holding you. And you love it when I sing along to the Beatles. They’re your favorite group, and I don’t agree with Alex that it’s only because they’re the only group I’ve let you listen to. You can tell a classic when you hear one!

  January 1st is almost here—which means it’s time to make some New Year’s resolutions. I didn’t meet my goal to be in remission by Christmas, but Dr. Grenville says I’m coming along. In fact, he thinks I can try going back to school! That would be the best! I know, crazy that I’d actually like to go to school, but it beats lying around home puking all the time.

  I’ve got to make it to remission. That’s my number one resolution. It would also be great to play football again. It wouldn’t matter to me anymore to win games or take titles. It’d just be great to really play with Kelly and Alex and the team.

  Besides football, remission, and good grades, I have other goals, too. We’ve been working on one of those goals today, which is to get you rolling over and doing your baby pushups. If we work together, we can get you doing both things by your next doctor’s visit . . .

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Friday after school, it finally happened. After three grueling tries, I had the long-awaited, coveted-for-years, most valuable possession of all teenagers across the United States: my driver’s license. My happiness was nearly short-lived later on that evening, though, thanks to my overly cautious father, whom I’d been badgering since the second I arrived home from the DMV.

  “Please, Dad—the football game’s at Central, and the only other place I’m going is to pick up Mistie and Crystal. We won’t even stop anywhere after the game. I promise!”

  Dad had a worried frown on his face that was downright offensive. “I don’t know—you barely got your license today.”

  Definitely a hard point to argue. “But how else am I supposed to improve my driving skills if you won’t let me drive? The longer I wait, the harder it will be and the worse I’ll do. I need to keep driving while everything I’ve learned is still fresh in my head!”

  Dad’s frown only deepened at my speech. “What does your mother think about this?”

  Passing the buck? Typical. “She said she didn’t mind if I took the cruddy car.” Which was the spare vehicle Mom and Dad had kept around for about a century or so. But of course, Dad had to continue being difficult.

  “I don’t know—I don’t like this—”

  So now I was forced to resort to begging. “Please! Oh please, Dad—I’ll do anything—I’ll pay for the gas, I’ll wash the car—”

  “Yes, but who’ll have to pay for your insurance, and who’ll have to pay if you get in an accident?”

  Where was Jason and his views on faith when I needed him? “Let’s think positively here. After all, I’m not even going to be five miles away!”

  “Most accidents happen within twenty-five miles of a person’s home. And you’ll be driving at night, with lots of other teenagers all over the road—”

  “Dad—” It was hopeless. Utterly.

  But then, miracle of miracles, Dad sighed and rolled his eyes. “Oh, fine. Go ahead.” Before I could go too ballistic, he quickly continued, “But you are taking the cruddy car. And you need to be home at a decent hour. That means no joy riding around after the game—”

  But I was off and running with the car keys before I heard him say anything else.

  ~

  Even though I was ecstatic to drive the cruddy car to the game, my heart pounded and my hands shook all the
way to Central High’s football stadium. I blamed my nerves on Dad and his negative comments. My heart wouldn’t stop pounding even after successfully parking the car and making my entrance into the football stadium with Mistie and Crystal.

  The stadium lights glared down onto the football field while the crowd whistled, cheered, and jeered in restless anticipation. The air was chilly and tangy with the smell of fall mixed with hot chocolate sold at the concession stand. If I actually liked football, this could almost be fun! We climbed over a dozen rows before settling into a section Mistie and Crystal picked out, and after zipping my jacket up to my chin and wishing I’d brought a blanket, Mistie nudged me with her shoulder and pointed towards the locker room doors of the school.

  “Here they come!”

  The school band blasted an ear-deafening pep song and within seconds, the home crowd was on their feet cheering as our team exited the locker room at a light jog, heading for the field. My ears were numb from the freezing cold air and the loud cheering and whistling while I scanned the players, each clutching a helmet under one arm. It would be my last chance to see Jason before the team would yank their helmets on, reducing them all to a clone-like state.

  I bumped Crystal hard in the side. “Who are we playing again?” I screeched.

  Crystal jumped and screeched back, “South High Panthers!”

  I dug my hands deep into my pockets and bounced my legs hard, hoping to warm up, but as soon as I caught my first glance of Jason all decked out in his full football uniform glory, my heart jumped, and I forgot how cold I was and how hard the benches were. I might as well have been sitting in the stadium alone for all the notice I gave anything going on around me from that point on. My eyes followed Jason’s number darting around the field, throwing the football impressive distances. Mistie and Crystal made fun of me if I let a gasp escape whenever he was slammed mercilessly to the ground.

  And then, in the last minute before half-time, the unthinkable happened. Granted, everyone knows it can happen in a game like football, and certainly does happen, but that doesn’t lessen the shock. At all.

  One second, Jason was jumping and running around at the beginning of the last play before half-time, looking for someone to throw the football to—and the next, he was running with the football, trying to weave around the Panthers, towards the goal line. He did amazingly well for a few brief, shining moments—and then, two unnaturally large Panthers slammed him from the right and the left. Jason’s legs twisted sharply at an awkward angle, and he was on the ground, getting piled on by the two giants and a few more Panthers.

  This time, I wasn’t the only one who gasped. Everyone jumped to their feet while the referees’ whistles blew and the rest of the players ran to the pileup of Panthers and Jason. I remained on my feet with my heart in my mouth while the Panthers peeled off until finally Jason, lying on his side and clutching his right knee, appeared. Then our team’s coaches were running over and talking to Jason and trying to help him up, and a minute later, an ambulance I hadn’t even noticed in the school parking lot raced onto the field and EMT people jumped out of it to talk to Jason before carefully loading him onto a stretcher and carrying him off the field.

  I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. Watching the ambulance carry Jason off the field, I realized I was trembling. And it wasn’t because of the cold. All I could think about and almost see was someone else who’d had to be carried off this same football field a long time ago.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  I must’ve woken up a hundred times Friday night from the nightmare of seeing Jason attacked and crumpling on the football field—and the horrifying pileup on top of him. It was impossible to care one iota about the game after seeing Jason carried off the field and watching the ambulance speed off, its lights flashing and sirens wailing.

  After no sleep Friday night and a long weekend of pacing around my house, I was relieved to see Monday roll around, if only for my own peace of mind on the subject of Jason.

  My relief didn’t last long, unfortunately. And forget peace of mind. Shortly after the 8 a.m. bell rang, my heart sank when the familiar sound of Jason’s sneakers screaming down the hall didn’t happen. Long after the bell stopped ringing, I continued to stare worriedly, almost forlornly, at his empty desk in the front row.

  Mrs. Dubois looked up from her desk when the bell rang and then moved her eyes to stare at Jason’s desk, too. “Mr. West must have slept in this morning.”

  “No,” the girl sitting in the seat directly to my right—Stacey—called out. “He’s going in for knee surgery this morning.”

  “Knee surgery?” Mrs. Dubois frowned.

  “Yeah. He blew his knee out at the game Friday night.”

  “How terrible. I didn’t know. Well, I’m sure you all join me in wishing him well today.”

  I poked Stacey in the arm with my pen. “How do you know he’s having surgery?”

  “One of my sister’s friends is going out with one of the guys on the football team.”

  “Do you know which hospital?” I couldn’t believe I was being so brave and nosy, questioning a girl I’d never spoken with in class before.

  “St. Mark’s, I think. Most likely, anyway.”

  After that, I couldn’t concentrate on anything Mrs. Dubois had to say about our assignment for the week. All I could focus on for the rest of Honors English was getting myself to the nearest bus stop as fast as I could move.

  After class, I propelled myself out Central High’s front doors, and now I was in St. Mark’s, standing outside a room on the orthopedic floor with “Jason West” in big black letters on the door. I didn’t know if it was okay to be visiting patients in the middle of the afternoon, but no official hospital personnel tried to stop me. My heart pounded as I knocked on the door.

  “Come in.” Jason’s voice. Semi-groggy-sounding, but definitely Jason’s.

  I gave the door a nice, solid push and walked in, carefully closing it behind me, before hesitantly approaching him.

  “Hey, you.” I tried to smile, but I knew it had to look strained. It was just so strange to see Jason lying in a hospital room. And in a hospital gown, too. Where’s my camera when I need it? I grinned to myself for a moment until I really looked at his right leg, all propped up on a pillow and looking pretty bruised, swollen, and gruesome.

  Jason stared as if he was trying to make his eyes focus. “What are you doing here?”

  Full of tact, as usual. “I had to find out why you weren’t in English today. Oh, and you’re welcome for coming all this way to visit you. During class time, no less.” My grin faded as Jason’s leg twitched spasmodically while his face twisted into an unattractive grimace. “Is this a bad time? Because I could leave, maybe come back later—”

  “No, it’s okay.” Jason breathed in and out a few times before closing his eyes and resting back against his pillows. I quietly edged a few steps closer.

  “So—how’s your knee?”

  Jason opened one eye to grin weakly. “It’ll stop hurting once the pain goes away.”

  I smiled back. “Have you had your surgery yet?”

  “Couldn’t—too much swelling. You should’ve seen how big my knee was.”

  “So—what exactly did happen?” I moved around to the other side of his bed and leaned my book bag against the wall.

  “A major blowout. Ripped my medial collateral ligament, dislocated my knee really good in the process, and broke a part off my knee cap. It’s floating around in my knee now.”

  Now I was the one grimacing. “Good grief—it sounds as bad as it looks! I guess I shouldn’t be surprised after the way you were attacked out on the field.”

  Jason’s eyes opened wide. “You were there? You saw it happen?”

  I grinned. “Yes, I actually was. And did. I felt horrible watching the whole thing.”

  Jason grinned back. “Good.”

  Good? My smile faded fast. “What do you mean, ‘good’?”

  “Because it’s your f
ault I’m lying here with a bum knee.”

  I was dumbfounded. Shocked, even. “My fault? How can any of this be my fault?”

  “Well, I guess it’s partly that Saul Bellow guy’s fault, too.”

  “What in the world are you talking about?” Jason was making no sense. None at all. Drugs, I realized, shaking my head. Jason had to be on some major brain-addling painkillers.

  “‘Carpe diem.’ I think I ‘seized the day’ a little too much.” Jason rubbed awkwardly at his right leg for a second before continuing. “All of your talk about taking risks in class—you got me going out there on the field Friday night.” Jason let out a ragged sigh and pointed towards his elevated, swollen right knee. “But, as you can see, my attempts backfired.” He leaned back wearily against his pillows. “I really hated that story.”

  Before I could respond, a female voice floated into the room. “Is it okay to come in?”

  Before I knew what was happening, the room was filled to overflowing. It was like watching clowns climb out of a tiny car at the circus. I was mentally kicking myself for allowing the idea of skipping class to spark in my head for even a second while I forced a smile and a “hi” back to the crowd of people now smashed into Jason’s tiny hospital room. Jason smiled and returned the hugs and hellos from the horde while I planned my escape. A woman who had to have been Jason’s mom hurried over to one side of his hospital bed to stroke his hair, as one of the men—likely his father—moved to stand by the other side. Everyone else grouped themselves at the foot of the bed near where I stood. I was sure I could find a way to gracefully exit without anyone noticing—