Found in Understanding

by Debbie Zello

  I walked into the high school that August having never held a boys’ hand except during the game of Red Rover that Sky had taught us from his childhood; we would hold each other’s hand and dare the other side to crash through our joined hands. But I had never held a boy’s hand romantically or been kissed by one. I left high school four years later in that same condition.

  I received most of my dating education in the girl’s bathroom. It’s amazing what pertinent high school information is revealed there. I knew whose private parts were bigger, better, and cuter (please!) Who knew what to do and who didn’t (me!) Who had done it and who hadn’t (again me!) I felt I was well prepared for any eventuality.

  Lucy and I kept to ourselves, mostly. She joined clubs like chorus, the newspaper and the debate team. I didn’t because I didn’t have the transportation back and forth. If I missed the bus home, the eleven-mile walk might kill me. It was all right because I was content with my 4.2 average.

  The summer between my second and third year, Sky decided I was to learn how to drive. The only vehicle we had was an old Chevy pick-up. It was a standard three on the column. I gave him my best are-you-kidding-me look as I sat behind the wheel the first time.

  Mind you, with his hands simulating my feet he began my instruction. “You press down the clutch with your left foot. Step on the break and turn the key. First, make sure you’re in neutral. Okay good, now do it.”

  I managed to get it started without bloodshed. “Now you keep your left foot on the clutch and shift the lever in and down to first gear. Good! Now press the gas petal down slightly and ease off the clutch v-e-r-y s-l-o-w-l-y.”

  I should stop here and say I’m watching his hands and not the road nor my feet. You got the picture?

  We lurched forward a few inches; just enough to send Sky careening into the windshield, face first. The corresponding bloody nose from the impact soaked through the handkerchief that he pulled from his pants pocket so quickly, he rips it from his pants. The pocket, that is. I’m screaming, “Why didn’t you have your seatbelt on?”

  “I thought I might have to slide over and grab the steering wheel or something,” he said back, never raising his voice.

  “I could have killed you!”

  “No, really. That was a good first try.” he said smiling through the blood-soaked cloth.

  “You’re kidding me, right?”

  “No, you should have seen what your sister did,” he said, with a lift of his eyebrow. That’s how my introduction to driving began. After a few weeks of practice, I thought I might rename Sky to Saint Sky. It seemed more fitting.

  One Saturday I’m driving to the farmers’ market with Sky seat-belted next to me. I’m in first gear with the engine screaming in protest to my lack of gear changes. I’m very happy going twenty miles per hour. The line of cars behind me…less so. “You know it does have two more gears.” my side-seat-driver advises me.

  “I am aware of that, thank you.”

  Again with the hand signals that started this whole mess off in the first place he said, “Just let off the gas and press down on the clutch. Slide the shifter out and up into second gear.”

  “I know what to do, Sky. I chose not to. I’m going fast enough!” I say directly at him.

  From under his breath I hear, “I should have named you Mule. That also suits you.” I have all I can do not to burst into laughter. He’s so droll it really cracks me up sometimes.

  “It’s too late to rename me.” I say shifting into second, grinning.

  Somehow, under Sky’s patient tutelage, I got my driver’s license. I would never ask Sky to borrow his precious truck, but I did drive it every chance I could.

  Half way through my third year, I was approached by one of my teachers to participate in a program tutoring and mentoring grade school children in a neighboring community. When I told him that I didn’t have any transportation he said there were two other candidates that were being asked and maybe I could go with one of them. I accepted the invitation with that stipulation.

  Two weeks later, I was in the car with Emily and Geoff on our way to the school. I suspected right from the start that Emily and Geoff had a thing for each other. I was relegated to the back seat immediately, as she took her spot as close to him as possible. They seemed nice and I certainly didn’t mind. I had no designs on the guard for the basketball team. I didn’t have designs on anyone.

  The kids at the school were remarkable little adults. They had already lived through things that I could only imagine. Crack addicted parents, absent parents, alcoholic parents, their small eyes said it all.

  I was paired with two little girls, Ladashia and Smarika. They were seven and both knew more about a sad, hard, life than I’ll ever know. They dictated their stories to me. I wrote them down in big block letters with a space at the top of each page for them to draw on. I bound the pages together with tape to make books.

  My little girls would read their story back to me and draw their pictures. Then I would leave them and cry most of the way home. If I could have, I would have brought all of them to the ranch.

  After a few weeks of the three of us helping out at the school Geoff said, “You’ve changed my mind about that place where you live.”

  “How so?” I said.

  “For as long as I can remember, everyone has said it was a cult. That all you did there were drugs, drinking and having sex. You’re quiet and reserved and you don’t even smoke. So what do you do there?”

  “It’s not a cult. We each practice our own religion. We have a Jewish woman, several Catholics, Protestants, a Muslim and even an atheist. We grow fruits and vegetables and raise chickens, a pig or two and a few cows.

  “There is no drinking or smoking or drugs allowed. Someone might be having sex but I’ve never seen it. More of that goes on outside our ranch than inside.”

  “Why do you let them talk about you like that?” Emily asked.

  “From the beginning of time the mob mentality has existed. People that think alike tend to stick together. If I screamed that we didn’t do the things said about us, who would listen? Would you?”

  “Not before, but I have changed my opinion,” Emily said softly.

  “And the next time someone says in your presence what vile creatures we all are; will you say different?”

  “I don’t know? I hope so.”

  All the way home that day and for several days later, all I could think about was who would stand up for those children at that school? They had no voice of their own and no adult to speak for them.

  I spent the next year forming a group of students, teachers, community activists, and government officials into the group known as, The Voice of the Children.

  Chapter Five

  I was staking tomatoes in the garden when I heard the distant rumbling. I looked up to see no rain clouds above, yet the noise persisted. I looked in the direction it seemed to be coming from and a cloud of dust which was rising from our road.

  The reverberating grew louder and much more pronounced. So much so, I could feel it running through my body. My feet tingled and my ears hurt. My sister came running out from the house as the motorcycle came into view.

  He pulled to a stop and shut off the motor. Leaning the big, shiny, black bike on its stand he swung his leg over it and stood up. Black leather covered him from foot to neck. Everything fit snugly on his six-foot frame. A silver chain surrounded the ankle of his boots. Another hung from his belt to his knee to his back pocket.

  When he turned to catch my sister as she threw herself at him, I saw the back of his jacket. It had a picture of red and yellow flames and the words Hells Brothers, written over and under.

  Dove was twenty-one and old enough to know better, still she showed none of the restraint she grew up with. Her arms wrapped around him as well as her legs and she kissed him as if she was trying to save his life with mouth-to-mouth-resuscitation. Her display was revolting, at least to me. Yet there was something about him that drew yo
u to him.

  I heard the door shut on Sky’s workroom and I knew the leather man’s interrogation was about to start, so I walked closer. Sky got to them just about the same time as I did. His name was Klutch and he had met my sister at the store. Right, my sister never and I repeat never went to the store.

  My eyes narrowed on my sister as she tried to outfox Sky with her snappy explanations. Somehow, I got dragged into the conversation and the next thing I knew I was going for a ride on the monster-bike. I didn’t exactly have to be put on it kicking and screaming. I was a willing participant.

  Sky wouldn’t let me ride without a helmet so he left us to find the one he owned. Klutch removed his leather jacket for me to wear as he already figured out that Sky was going to ask. I put it on and his aroma filled my nose and head. Soap, sweat and sandalwood, I think. Intoxicating, whatever it was.

  Sky came back with the helmet. As soon as I had it on, Klutch stood the bike up and I got on the back. He said, “Hold on to me and lean when I do. Whatever you do, don’t lean away from the turn. You’ll throw us off balance and we’ll go down.”

  “Okay,” I said thrilled and wary at the same time. I placed my arms around his waist as he pulled my legs snugly to him. I swallowed hard and I think he heard it because he chuckled.

  “Ready?” he asked.

  “Yes,” I choked out. The engine started and we began to move. He turned around and we went down the dirt road that connected the ranch to the paved road. Once we were on pavement, I felt him relax. I learned much later that driving a bike on dirt is much the same as a car on ice.

  Within five minutes, I was hooked. The freedom of the wind pushing you around and yet keeping you in place. We were not going any faster than in a car but it felt so much faster. Then there was the feel of him I was dealing with too. The first time I have my arms around a man and it’s backwards. A theme that plays out in my life with regularity.

  Once he was comfortable with me riding behind him, his left hand came off the handlebar and rested on my knee. It was just for a minute or two but it made me feel beautiful. I’m sure looking back that it was just something he did. However, to me, it was so much more.

  When he brought me back ten minutes or so later, I was crushed. He was probably ten years or more, older than me and I was his girlfriend’s gawky little sister. Except that little ten-minute ride changed my life.

  I was attracted to biker-boys. Doorags, tattoos, leather and grease puts me in heaven.

  I was at the table in the kitchen poring over college applications. I had fliers, pictures of campuses and student descriptions covering the space in front of me. I was balancing my head in my hands, thinking, when Sky walked in and said, “What are you doing?”

  “My advisor gave me all of this to look at. They’re colleges she thinks I should apply to.”

  “What does Firelight think?”

  “She’s confused and overwhelmed with the whole process.”

  “Want some help?” he said sitting next to me. I nodded and pushed the papers over to him. He began to look them over and place them in piles. I started smiling, as he seemed to know about them without even looking through the brochures. I looked at the three piles wondering what the deal was with them.

  “These are too close,” he said pointing to the first pile. “You will easily get in there and you won’t be challenged. Those aren’t for you.”

  “These would be a good choice but I believe you could do better,” he said, placing the second pile on top of the first.” Then he picks up one last brochure and hands it to me. “This is the one. Apply at Yale, you’ll get in with your grades and all you’ve worked for.”

  “Getting in and paying for it are two different things, Sky.”

  “Trust me. They’ll want you. When they want someone they tend to sweeten the pot with scholarships, grants and anything else they can think of.”

  “Plane fare, books, room and board, how can I swing that?”

  “I think we can scrape together over the next year and get the plane fare. The rest will come, ‘O ye of little faith.’”

  I made out the application and took it back to guidance so they could send my transcript with it. It was the only application I did. My advisor wasn’t happy with me ‘putting all of my eggs in one basket.’ I didn’t feel the need to explain.

  I continued to work at the school with the children. They would show me their homework and test papers and I could see vast improvement over the time we were together. I felt so proud of them. Proud too that I had something to do with their improvement.

  Shortly after Christmas, I received a letter from Yale. I was granted early acceptance and given a full scholarship including room and board. With the scholarships I had applied for in my community, I was hoping to get enough to pay for books and incidentals. With a job in a fast food place, I would have spending money.

  April in Southern California, we transition from 75 and sunny, to 85 and sunny. I walked out to the tall grass and sat down. I love to listen to the birds sing and the grass moving in the breeze. I was already beginning to think about the small amount of time I have left here. Am I going to find somewhere to think like this in Connecticut? I need my safe place.

  “What are you doing, Firelight?” I hear Sky say.

  “Just thinking. Do you need me?”

  “No, I just came to talk,” he said, sitting down next to me. “Everything okay with you?”

  “Yeah. I’m just nervous about leaving. I’m worried about being able to get back here,” I said confessing.

  “You know that you can always come back. I’m hoping that you don’t, but you can.”

  “You don’t want me to come back?” I said confused.

  “I want you to find your life, your place in the world. You’re different than the rest of us. You have gifts that we don’t possess. You have fire and light,” he said as if that explained everything.

  “I don’t see it that way. Who are you, Sky, that you belong here?”

  “Oh Firelight, I don’t speak about my life before the ranch, but for you I will, just this once,” he said sighing with the memories. “I was a chemical engineer with a great job and a career I loved. I was married to the most beautiful woman, inside and out, that I ‘d ever met. Together, we had three-year-old and one-year-old sons.”

  “I came home from work one day. I found the house ransacked and my family in the basement. They had been killed by the men that broke in,” he said with tears rolling down his face.

  I shifted over to him to hug him. “I’m so sorry,” I said joining him in crying.

  “After that, the house, career, and money didn’t matter much. I sold it all and found the ranch for sale. I figured I could live here quietly. I could be at peace and no one would want what I have. It never occurred to me that other people would also be searching for peace and find their way here.”

  “I want peace, too. This is my refuge.”

  “That’s why you have to leave. You can’t hide out here. This place is for people that can’t make it out there. You can and you will.”

  I graduated with a 4.65 average, the highest ever achieved in my school’s history. I spent the summer preparing myself for the inevitability of college three-thousand miles from my hideaway.

  I chose to take a bus instead of flying for two reasons. The cost difference and the chance to see more of the country. A week and a half before the start of classes, my parents and Sky drove me to the bus station.

  My parents gave me all of the usual advice and hugged me. I was calm and in control until Sky kissed my forehead and said, “If I had a daughter, I hope she would have been like you.”

  I cried all the way across the country.

  Chapter Six

  The bus driver said we were coming into New Haven. My face was glued to the window as we drove past apartment buildings several stories high. Houses that seemed to me to be built on top of each other. I’m from a farming community where a tall building is three st
ories and it’s a long walk to your neighbor.

  Armed with the map provided by Yale, I walked to my dorm building. The city was alive with families dropping their kids off. Tearful good-byes being said at the curb. One last hug and their new adventures begin, being in college and being in a house without parents. I considered myself lucky. I got it all out on the six-day drive here.

  I walked through the front door of Lawrence. It had a medieval appearance with turret-like columns along the front of the building on College Street.

  The building I was assigned to seemed nice and clean. I was greeted by a young woman. “Hi and welcome to Ezra Stiles,” she said.

  “Hi. Thank you. I’m Neomi Dillon.” I replied.

  “Good to meet you Neomi. I’m Shelly Ross, one of the many TAs you’ll meet over the next four years. This is your room assignment,” she said handing me a paper. “A map of the building and surrounding area. This is your ID. You use this to access things like the laundry room and certain locked doors.”

  “This is a list of services such as health service, counseling, police, resource office, and our chaplain. This is also posted all over campus so don’t worry if you lose it.”

  “This last packet has your meal plan, class list, and other important information. Get settled today. Tomorrow is orientation and a social in the evening. Any questions?” she asks, as my head spins.

  “Not right this minute but I’m sure that will change,” I say.

  “I’ll be here today and tomorrow. The stairs are on your right. You’re on the second floor. Take the hall on the left and it’s the third door on the right. Good luck!” she said, brightly.

  “Thank you,” I say, meekly. Walking up the stairs with my two suitcases and with the pile of papers just given to me proves to be a task. I’m glad when I reach the top and the door is propped open. I walk down the hall, listening to someone singing beautifully. I get to the third door and take out my ID to swipe the lock. The door pops open.