Transcontinental

by Brad Cook

  “No, that’s okay, I—”

  “Hey y’all,” Clayvon announced, “this Marcus Jackson. He new.”

  A few kids waved, some muttered a muted “hello,” and others nodded at him. But his eyes were locked with Jemisha’s, who still refused to acknowledge him with more than her gaze. Again, she looked away.

  “You want her, you got some stiff competition,” Clayvon said.

  Leroy grimaced. “Sorry.”

  “I get it.”

  “Hey, you know Mama Sarena?”

  “What about her? She tell you she’ll give you somethin’ good?”

  Leroy noticed how excited Clayvon got at the thought. “Yeah, she did.”

  “Well hell, go get it! And give some to me when you get back. That woman’s lemon meringue pie is damn near the reason I’m still at this dump!”

  * * *

  The creamy citrus taste of that delectable pie danced on Leroy’s tongue all through bible study. The compelling stories of bravery, honor, and faith had fascinated him, inspired him, and validated his decision to come to SpiritWood. The men in the stories lived up to every standard Leroy had come to hold for an adult, and he yearned to be like them. With God’s help, he felt he could.

  In the darkness, Leroy heard one of the boys shift in his creaky bed, and wondered if it was Clayvon. His bed was near the door, clear across the room from Leroy’s. It felt like an adventure, as if they’d all embarked on an endless camping trip. He was too excited to sleep.

  He rolled onto his other side and slid his hands behind his head. A dull soreness marred his movement. He was sure he’d work it off tomorrow, and then some. And, he found, he was looking forward to it. The feeling was foreign, but it was strong and pure and it drowned out his doubts.

  Leroy fell asleep imagining the burble of the small waterfall out front.

  * * *

  He heard the footsteps before he woke up, thinking they were a figment of his dreams. Then, the light flicked on, and his eyes opened. A few of the boys groaned, apparently feeling like Leroy, as if they’d just fallen asleep.

  “Cock-a-doodle-doo, boys,” said Carl as he passed through the dorm, tapping bedposts with a flashlight. “Breakfast in a half hour.”

  An alarm clock on the only table in the room read five-fifty-six. Leroy forced himself to sit up, and saw the other boys doing the same.

  “Marcus Jackson,” Carl called out.

  Leroy stretched his sore arms tenderly.

  “Marcus Jackson,” he said again.

  Leroy perked up. He still wasn’t used to being called by another name. “Sorry. That’s me,” he said, raising his hand like he was in class.

  “Come with me, please.”

  He looked around as he stood up, but nobody else was paying attention; the rest of the boys, or at least those who could wean themselves off their pillows and sheets, were heading out the door.

  “Don’t want to keep the Bishop waiting.”

  With newfound verve, Leroy jumped up to follow him.

  They entered the grand atrium, past the sweeping marble staircases and across the polished granite floor. Leroy couldn’t stop wondering what he’d done wrong, why he was in trouble, but he didn’t want to ask and risk digging deeper.

  Each hallway they walked was more secluded than the last, until they came to an ostentatious wooden door, elaborately carved from top to bottom, with a fancy ‘W.W.’ in the center. Carl knocked three times on the hard door.

  Pastor Mercer appeared in the doorway as it swung open. “Ah, good timing. Now everybody’s here.” The Pastor put a hand on Leroy’s shoulder and guided him inside. “Thank you, Carl. That’ll be all.”

  Pastor Mercer shut the door with a thud so solid, Leroy worried it might never open again. Leroy sat next to three other boys on the floor in front of the Bishop’s desk, where he leaned back in his chair, observing. Pastor Mercer took a seat to the side as the Bishop stood up.

  “Good morning. As you likely know, I am Bishop Wardell Wood, shepherd of SpiritWood, and all who dwell within. You are here because you’re the newest members of our flock. Our family. And, as such, there are some things you need to know. So call this an orientation of sorts, although the true orientating won’t begin until you have the lord Jesus Christ firmly entrenched in your heart and mind,” he beamed. “Nobody’s saying it’ll be easy. The spirit of God is here, and if you can’t tune yourself to that frequency, it’s on you, not Him.”

  “We are, however, here to aid you any way we can,” said Pastor Mercer.

  “That’s right. You see, SpiritWood is as much a philosophy — a vision — as anything. It transcends even religion. We believe in hard work. Nothing comes easy—not God, not knowledge, not money. So, you pray, you learn, you dedicate yourself to a trade. We do not believe in welfare, and we do not believe in handouts,” he emphasized, pounding his desk, his mouth a thin line. “Second, we believe in discipline. If you step out of line, we will not hesitate to straighten you out. A broken line leads nowhere.”

  Leroy noticed the other three kids fidgeting as much as he was.

  “Third,” Pastor Mercer stated, “we believe in self-sustainability. This is the reason we grow our own crops, we raise our own livestock, we have our own grocery store, school, and work programs. This is the reason we exist, and the reason we will continue to exist. In many ways, you are as responsible for the quality of your food as Mama Sarena,” he said with a smile.

  “You will not be paid directly,” continued the Bishop, “but with education, sustenance, lodging. Enlightenment. In a sense, you own SpiritWood as much as anyone else does. That mini-fridge?” he said, pointing. “You own that. This desk? You own that, too. Heck, you even own this beautiful likeness of me,” the Bishop said, gesturing to a gold-framed portrait of himself.

  Leroy let out a relieved laugh. He appreciated those little tension breakers.

  “Most of our rules are common sense—don’t hurt people, be respectful, watch your language. Some are easy—no drugs, for instance. No leaving the grounds without supervision, well… some have found that one harder to abide. No more than once, though, I assure you.

  “Lastly, we come back to God, as all things most certainly do. As I explained to young Marcus on the way here, salvation is not a given. By the way, Marcus,” he noted, holding a trophy, “this is that award I was telling you about. Finest apricots in the state of Missouri. Yes, indeed.”

  He set the trophy down, and paced from behind his desk. “God wants to help each and every one of you. But each and every one of you has your own path to Him. Some will be rockier than others. Your will, courage, strength, perseverance, and faith will all be tested. One way or another, each path ends with God. For he said, ‘I will sprinkle clean water on you, and you will be clean; I will cleanse you from all your impurities and from all your idols. I will give you a new heart and put a new spirit in you; I will remove from you your heart of stone and give you a heart of flesh. And I will put my Spirit in you and move you to follow my decrees and be careful to keep my laws. Then you will live in the land I gave your ancestors; you will be my people, and I will be your God.’”

  The only sound was that of Pastor Mercer’s fingers drumming.

  “If that doesn’t say it, I don’t know what does. Thank you.”

  * * *

  The rest of the meeting had been spent playing awkward get-to-know-you exercises with the three kids, and the Pastor, who apparently loved Philly cheesesteaks. Leroy was almost shocked to realize that the other kids, save for one extrovert, were as lost and nervous as he was. It put him at ease, knowing he wasn’t the only one.

  Since it was summer, there was no school, so after a breakfast of eggs and cantaloupe, it was off to the fields again, which was exactly what Leroy wanted. His performance the day before had been pitiful. He was fifteen years old; he should be able to do physical work for hours. He was sore, but more than ready to get back out there.

  When he did, he found himself working
a different section of land, but beside Clayvon again. Leroy liked him. He was brave, outspoken, confrontational—everything Leroy felt he lacked.

  “Why I had to get the crappy hoe?” Clayvon wondered aloud, jiggling the tool to demonstrate how loosely the metal was attached to the wood. “Course, too much to ask for them to spend some money on anything but theyselves.”

  “Maybe they don’t make enough money,” Leroy suggested.

  “They sure enough do. I been on path. I seen it.” The busted hoe let out a creaky groan as Clayvon jammed it hard into the dirt.

  “What’s path?”

  “They call it goin’ ‘on path.’ You sit in front of stores askin’ people to donate to abused children. Sounds easy, but it’s boring as hell. Sometimes for a day, if it’s just your turn, or somethin’. Other times it’s punishment. Head out and next thing you know it’s three weeks passed.”

  Leroy listened, resting his chin on top of his gardening hoe.

  “What I told you ‘bout keepin’ that hoe movin’?”

  “How can I get some water?” he asked, getting back to work.

  “They bring it ‘round every three hours.”

  “I can’t just go get some?”

  “Nope. Not till lunch, least.”

  For a few minutes there was silence between them.

  “Sucks, I know. I promise one day I’ma bail,” Clayvon said.

  “Like, you’re gonna leave?”

  “Hell yeah I’ma leave. Ain’t nothin’ here for nobody normal.”

  “I dunno why. I kinda like it here.”

  “I did, too.”

  * * *

  By lunchtime, Leroy’d brushed off Clayvon’s comments about SpiritWood. It was clear the boy had a penchant for the dramatics, as Ant had put it. And, as Ant had also said, some people just aren’t meant to live normal lives. Perhaps Clayvon fell into that category.

  He hadn’t thought much about Ant since he’d arrived; he’d been too swept up in his new life. Leroy hoped he was okay. Maybe he could send a postcard, to let Ant know where he was. He could send one to every hospital in Topeka. He’d get the message out somehow.

  A group of kids sat around him, their trays clattering on the table as they enclosed him. To his surprise, three of the four were smiling.

  “What’s up?” said one, a chubby kid with features as round as his waist. “Clayvon said we should introduce ourselves, make friendly. I’m Darius.”

  “Oh. Hey. I’m Marcus.” Leroy was starting to feel more natural referring to himself as such. He didn’t know whether that was good or bad.

  “Cool. This is Sherman.” He pointed to a boy with glasses, who waved.

  Leroy waved back half-heartedly.

  “That’s Whatson.”

  “Watson?” Leroy asked.

  “No, no,” said Whatson in a proper cadence. He was lighter-skinned, and physically refined. “Whatson. As in what son. Don’t ask me to explain my parents’ thought process on that one.”

  “Got it,” Leroy said.

  Darius gestured to the last kid. “And this is—”

  “Rashaun,” the ratty kid said, with a scowl that seemed permanent.

  “Cool,” Leroy replied, nodding. “Good to meet you guys.”

  “So what do you think of SpiritWood so far?” asked Sherman.

  “I really like it, actually.”

  Sherman unleashed a goofy smile. “That’s good. It’s a very safe community. We’re blessed to be under the spiritual guidance of the Bishop.”

  “Amen to that,” said Darius. “Good pie, too.”

  “Too many damn adults, always tellin’ you what to do,” Rashaun said.

  “I’ll take that over a lawless public school any day,” said Whatson.

  “You would,” Rashaun sneered.

  “That’s… exactly what I just said.”

  “What jobs do you guys work?” Leroy asked.

  “Chow,” said Darius.

  “Housekeeping,” said Sherman.

  “Laundry,” said Whatson.

  “Bathroom detail. Not by choice,” said Rashaun.

  Leroy flinched. Forget the belt—bathroom detail was bad enough.

  “What ‘bout you?” said Rashaun.

  “I picked farm.”

  “Li’l small to be workin’ the fields, ain’t you?” Rashaun said.

  Leroy didn’t expect that. He picked at his salad.

  “Don’t be rude,” Sherman said.

  “What, you gon’ tell mom on me?” Rashaun countered.

  “You been seeking yet?” Darius asked.

  “What’s that?”

  Darius shook his head with pity. “You’ll find out.”

  “Don’t scare the poor kid,” Sherman said. “It’s just something all new members go through in order to be baptized in the Holy Ghost.”

  “It ain’t fun.”

  “Where did you grow up, Marcus?” Whatson asked.

  “Barstow.”

  There was silence as they looked to Whatson, who said “California.”

  The cafeteria doors were thrown open, and Pastor Mercer marched in. Easily rising over the voices of the children, he spoke in a commanding tone that Leroy hadn’t thought him capable of. “Excuse me! I need your attention.”

  The room quieted faster than any cafeteria Leroy’d been in.

  “Thank you. We have an unexpected press event taking place, and they’ve asked to take some shots of the cafeteria for B-roll footage.”

  The crowd emitted a few groans.

  The Pastor silenced them with a glower that came on as suddenly and powerfully as a summer thunderstorm. “Shortly, the Bishop will be entering with a news crew. You must all be on your very best behavior. Do you hear me?”

  “Yes,” the kids said in unison.

  “Rashaun?” the Pastor asked, surprising Leroy.

  “Yeah, yeah,” the boy muttered.

  “I’m telling you right now: if I see a single sullen face, if I hear one word I don’t like, if anybody acts up in any way whatsoever—the lord will not be happy. Which means I will not be happy. Which means you will not be happy.”

  As quickly as it’d vanished, the smile returned to his face, and much of the tension in the room dissipated just as the door opened again, and the Bishop, a cameraman, and a reporter trickled through.

  “This is our fully-stocked cafeteria,” the Bishop said, spreading his arms. “Just take a look at those beautiful smiling faces. Warms my heart.”

  * * *

  Although at points Leroy had thought he might’ve been on the verge of fainting, he had to admit, he’d done a solid day’s work. It was tough work, simple as it was, and thoroughly tiring. After a time, he’d noticed himself slipping into almost a trance state, in which his mind was clear yet sharp, empty yet filled. It was satisfying that he could work so efficiently, and he was able to go on for long periods of time in that mechanical way.

  When the dinner bell rang, he hardly noticed, but for everyone leaving. He lined up, dripping with sweat, and marched to the showers. He found he wasn’t worried about it, anymore; rather, he looked forward to washing off, regardless of the conditions. The quick acclimation to his new routine was only more evidence he was in the right place.

  After dinner and bible study, he laid in bed, thinking about his new life, his new job, his new beliefs. He even had friends, more or less. So far, he’d found everything he hoped to at SpiritWood, save for God. But that would come with time, or maybe through seeking, as Darius had called it. He didn’t know what it was, but the idea made him anxious and eager. If that’s what it took to find God, he would accept the challenge. That’s what adults did.

  Leroy slept easily with stomach and heart full.

  * * *

  When the lights flipped on and Carl started his morning wakeup routine, Leroy’s awakened quickly, his mind already alert. Thinking back, he was pretty sure he hadn’t awakened a single time in the night, a rarity for him.

  As Carl mad
e it to his bed and clinked the flashlight against the metal bedpost, Leroy attempted to sit up, but was instantly struck with a deep ache in his abs and core. He tried again, only getting six inches or so off the bed, then plopped back down, hand on his belly.

  “Having some trouble?” Carl asked.

  “No… I, just…” Leroy swung one leg over the side of the bed with plenty of effort, then the other, and used the post to sit up. “I’m really sore.”

  “Let me give you a hand.”

  Leroy winced as Carl helped him to his feet, which hurt as much as the rest of him. “I’m okay, though. Just gimme a minute to stretch it off.” He leaned to one side, putting his weight on one leg and stretching the other, until his leg buckled beneath him, and he bashed his knee on the ground.

  Carl watched him with pity. “Maybe you shouldn’t work farm today.”

  On the ground, favoring his knee, Leroy said “No, I can make it.” He had to. Taking a day off after only a day and a half of work was pathetic. He watched as the other kids filed out the door.

  Again, Carl helped Leroy up. “You know it’s nothing to be ashamed of, getting sore. Literally everyone who works a physical job gets sore at first. And I saw the way you were working out there. That was impressive, although in this heat you might want to tone it down, just a bit. Now you take today and rest up. Get at it again tomorrow.”

  A hint of a smile cracked Leroy’s face. If Carl thought he was doing good work, then he must be. Maybe a day off wasn’t a bad idea.

  “My wife will be in shortly to get you situated,” Carl said. “Just hang here for a minute.” He winked, then trailed the line of kids leaving the room. “Charlie! Cut that out. You too, Rashaun.”

  Leroy sat on his bed. He hadn’t realized Rashaun was in this dorm. Sherman was in the other boys dorm, though. He wondered why they’d separated the brothers, until Atasha’s broad frame breezed into the room.

  “I expected I’d find you like this soon enough, given how little you are to be working farm.” Preempting him, she said “Now don’t take that the wrong way. Lord knows it wasn’t meant to be.” She sat beside him and handed him a glass of water and two pills. “Pain killer, and a muscle relaxer. In ten minutes you’ll feel like a jello-man, but you’ll feel good.”