That'll Be The Day

by Mark Edward Caudel

That’ll Be The Day

  Mark Edward Caudel

  All rights reserved.

  This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance of characters to actual persons, either living or dead, is purely coincidental. The Author holds exclusive rights to this work. Unauthorized duplication is prohibited.

  Copyright © 2016 Mark Edward Caudel

  That’ll Be The Day

 

  For Ingrid

  Chapter 1—WEDNESDAY

  Chris Perry stood in the hallway looking at the new display on the history board. Days of Remembrance was printed across the top of the board, and there were many pictures. Chris stared at the photograph of a little Polish boy who was holding his arms up. There were other children, some women, and a few men in the picture as well. The picture was subtitled “Roundup of Jews in the Warsaw ghetto (1943).” The guards in the picture, Germans, pointed their weapons at the women and children. Though the guards looked like ordinary young men, Chris hated them.

  He studied the faces of the women and children. There were small children and older kids, young women and old ladies. They were afraid. Chris thought they looked like anyone he might know. They were real people and they were beautiful. Sadness came over him like cold evening shadows replacing the sun’s warmth.

  Chris reached up and touched the picture. How could those men with rifles and machine guns carry out orders to do something like that? Why didn’t they turn on their superiors and assassinate them? He wanted to go back in time and talk to those soldiers. What’s the matter with you guys? How can you do this? What kind of sick childhood did you have? You bastards!

  “What’s up, Chris? You’re gonna be late.”

  Chris flinched as he came back to the present. “What?” He turned and saw that it was Blaise.

  “What are you doing, man? The bell’s about to ring.”

  “I was just checking out these pictures.” Chris started walking with Blaise, glancing back for one more look.

  “Pretty outta hand, huh?” Blaise said. They walked into the classroom just as the bell rang.

  Mr. Crumel looked over the top of his glasses as they entered the classroom. “Take your seats, gentlemen. We have a lot of material to cover this hour.”

  Blaise whispered, “Take cover gentlemen, we have a lot of material to seat.”

  Chris laughed.

  Crumel continued with his lecture on the Great Depression, but Chris was already depressed. He could not stop thinking about the picture. He knew that terrible things had happened. He had seen the movies and read about it, but nothing had ever made him feel so sad and angry. The scene in the picture, however, was real, and there was no denying it. It really happened. Chris closed his eyes. Why didn’t anyone stop it? Then he looked at Blaise who was following the lecture and taking notes. Blaise Bizet was a born leader. He was the Associated Student Body President, and he was very popular. Chris wondered what Blaise would have done if he were there when that picture was taken.

  The bell rang. Chris was totally unaware of what was happening in class and asked Blaise, “What’s the assignment?”

  “Weren’t you listening?”

  “Not really. I guess I was daydreaming.”

  “There is no assignment, buddy. The old man let us off easy today, which is great, ya know, ‘cause Algebra is kicking my ass! I could use a little extra time to study.”

  “Cool,” Chris said. He stopped and leaned against the wall in the hallway. Closing his eyes, he put his hand to his forehead and scrunched his eyebrows together. “We also need to work on your speech.”

  “Are you okay, Chris? You look wiped.”

  “I’m all right; I was just up a little late last night.”

  Blaise put his arm around Chris. “Fear not, my friend. Matters are well in hand. The only two things we have to worry about are my passing Algebra, and your staying awake in class. I can give a speech standing on my head.”

  “Sounds good to me. See you at lunch?”

  “What’s on the menu?”

  “Spaghetti, and something resembling meat balls.”

  “Oh, my god!” Blaise said heading in the opposite direction.

  Chris thought about the picture of the deportations throughout English class. He was glad to get out of there and into his science class. Science was one of his favorite subjects, and he thought it might help get his mind off the picture and the troubling thoughts that came with it. He really enjoyed the experiments and the way Brother James taught the class.

  Everyone liked Brother James. He taught science with a passion. The young men attending his classes appreciated his love for the subject and enjoyed his style. While other teachers would not tolerate whispering or note passing, it never even fazed Brother James. He told the students at the beginning of each term, “If you pay attention you will learn—learn and you will pass! If you don’t pay attention in class, your grade will, no doubt, reflect your effort.”

  “Today,” Brother James said, “we will discuss in further detail scientific method. Can anyone tell me, based on your knowledge of what we have learned so far, how scientific method differs from philosophy?” Several hands went up.

  “Michael?”

  “Scientific method is purely concerned with how things work, while philosophy is concerned with why.”

  “All right then. We know that scientific method is all about how. That is, by way of careful and objective observation of, say, experiments and research data, in view of accepted scientific hypothesis relating to any given subject, we can arrive at a conclusive, scientific fact, thus answering the question of how.”

  Brother James continued, his hands waving about as if tossing out ideas to his students. “Give us an example of how the philosopher and the scientist look at something differently.”

  Michael Boyd did not answer this time, and no one else volunteered a hand.

  “John, perhaps you can think of something.”

  Johnny Monroe was in the tenth grade, a sophomore. He was not all that unique, but he was above average in his studies, and that put him in several eleventh grade classes. He was advanced in math and science and not even the eleventh grade classes were a challenge. Other than being shy, a little uncoordinated, and uninterested in sports or social events, Johnny was a pretty ordinary guy.

  The one thing about him that did make him totally different from everyone else, not that you could tell by looking at him, was that he was the only Protestant at Holy Cross, a Catholic High School.

  “Well,” Johnny said, “it’s like you’ve got these two guys sitting under a tree. It’s an apple tree, and all of a sudden a couple of apples fall from the tree, and each guy gets nailed on the head. One of the guys, the scientist, says, ‘Hey, gravity is at work here: the Earth’s gravitational force has drawn this apple downward and I happened to be in the way.’ The other guy, the philosopher, asks the question, ‘Why? What does it all mean?’ He wants to know if there is some larger purpose. He wants to know why trees grow only to drop their apples and eventually die. He probably accepts his buddy’s scientific explanation of how he got hit on the head by an apple, but still, he wants to know if there is some larger meaning to it.”

  “Very good, John,” Brother James said cheerfully. “As usual you seem to have a grasp of the concepts we are working with.”

  Vince Januzi, sitting behind Johnny, leaned forward and said, “As usual you have a grasp of kissing butt.” Vince was a jock who did not excel in the sciences, or any other subject besides football. He had it in for Johnny Monroe since the first day of class. Vince did not mind not being the smartest guy, even if he was the only senior in the class, but it was too much for
him to be outdone by a tenth grader, and he hated the way the teachers went on about Johnny.

  After class Vince stopped Johnny in the hallway. “You think you’re pretty smart, don’t ya, kid.”

  Johnny just stood there looking at the ground.

  “Well?” Vince was right up on him.

  “No,” Johnny said, still not looking at Vince.

  “You think you’re pretty smart, but I could teach you a thing or two.”

  Chris saw what was happening and jumped in. “Cool your jets, Vince. You’ve gotta have something better to do than pick on someone half your size.”

  “So why can’t you ever mind your own business, Chrissie?”

  “I am minding my own business.” Chris moved between Johnny and the big guy.

  Vince turned and started walking away. “I guess you go for Protestant boys. I might have known.” Chris did not respond. He just grinned and looked at Johnny.

  “Don’t mind him,” Chris said. “He’s been hit in the head too many times is all.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Don’t mention it. Let’s get lunch.”

  “For a while there I thought I was lunch.”

  “Nah. Vince is pretty tough, but he normally doesn’t hunt without the pack. He likes to make a scene, though, know what I mean? He growls and snarls and shows his teeth. Graaaaw!” Chris made a face to go with it causing Johnny to crack up laughing.

  “I’m supposed to meet Blaise for lunch, too. You like spaghetti?”

  “I guess so.”

  “Well, Miss Mackey’s cafeteria spaghetti isn’t anything like Mom’s, but what the hey, huh? I’ll tell you what’s good; fettuccini with clam sauce. Now that’s pasta!” Chris brought his fingers to his lips and kissed them. “So what’s your favorite food, Johnny? You like Italian?”

  “I like Italian. I really like Mexican, though. My mom makes great enchiladas.”

  “Is your mother Mexican? You don’t look Mexican.”

  “No, we’re just white. You know, a little bit of this and a little bit of that; some Irish, some German, some kind of Swedish Norwegian something or other. I think one of my father’s great grandfathers or somebody was an Indian.”

  “That sounds like my father’s side of the family,” Chris said. “But my mother is Italian one hundred percent, and let me tell you, she can cook some food. Hey, there’s Blaise.”

  Blaise was talking to Joey Trevino. They were keeping their voices low. Chris waited for Blaise and Joey to finish talking.

  “Okay, Blazer. You got it,” Joey said, shaking Blaise’s hand. “I’ll let you know what I find out right away.”

  “You’re the man, Joey. I can always count on you. Thanks a lot.”

  “Don’t mention it.” Joey was on his way.

  “Everything cool, Blaise?” Chris asked.

  “So cool I can’t stand it. Look at you, Chris-Dog; you’ve come back to life. What did you do, sleep through English again? Let’s get some food.” Blaise moved toward the food line.

  “Blaise, this is Johnny. We’ve got science together. He’s like this young Einstein.”

  Blaise stopped and turned to Johnny. “Hi Johnny. Glad to know you.” Blaise shook Johnny’s hand firmly saying, “Johnny, you’ve got to have lunch with me and Chris here.”

  “Sure,” Johnny said thinking Blaise was never going to let go of his hand.

  “Excellent,” Blaise said, finally letting go.

  As they approached the line Blaise motioned for Johnny and Chris to go ahead of him. Johnny stood there holding his tray wondering why the student body president was being so nice to him. He did not even know him. He could not help but feel like he was being set up for something.

  Chris said, “Come on,” leading the way to a table at the far end of the cafeteria.

  “Hey you guys,” Blaise said to three boys who were already seated. Blaise sat down at the head of the table. Chris pulled out the chair to the right of Blaise and motioned for Johnny to sit opposite. “This is Johnny.” Blaise motioned to the others and said, “Barry Watson, Marty Hinton, and Jeff Barnes.”

  “Nice to meet you,” Barry said.

  With a mouthful of spaghetti, Jeff just nodded and waved.

  Marty said, “We know each other. How’s it going, Johnny?”

  “All right. Thanks.”

  Blaise said, “Good. Now everybody knows everybody. Chris, you’re eating like a German Shepherd. What’s with you?”

  “I’m hungry.”

  “Just don’t get any on me.”

  Blaise looked at Johnny. “You’re the Protestant kid I’ve heard so much about.”

  “I’m a Presbyterian, actually,” Johnny said.

  Blaise shrugged, spaghetti noodles hanging from his mouth.

  “I never even heard the word “Protestant” before coming here. I had to look it up in the encyclopedia to find out what everybody was talking about. Anyway, I wasn’t in on that reformation thing, okay. I was just raised Presbyterian.”

  “It’s cool, man. I didn’t mean to get you going. I guess we Catholics sometimes forget that other folks got their own thing going on. You just happen to be in a Catholic school is all, but it’s cool with me.” Blaise looked at Chris, “Cool with you?”

  “Cool with me,” Chris said turning to Barry. “Watson?”

  “Cool with me all day long. What about you, Martini Man?”

  Marty looked at Johnny, smiling. “It’s cool. Johnny’s all right. I never told you guys how John-Boy here helped me pass my last geometry test.”

  “Is that right?” Blaise said looking at Johnny, “So what’s the deal? Are you like some kinda whiz bang math guy?”

  “I do all right, I guess.”

  “That’s good to know, Johnny. Maybe you could help me out. Math isn’t one of my strong areas. Know what I mean?”

  “Sure,” Johnny said, shrugging his shoulders.

  “Speaking of needing help, where’s Vargas?” Blaise was looking around the cafeteria.

  “Not my day to watch him,” Barry said.

  “He said he’s got some errands to run,” Chris said with a knowing grin.

  “Running errands? More like running after Julie McPherson,” Jeff said, shaking his head.

  After his last class, Chris headed for the journalism classroom where the Crusader and the school annual were published. The classroom, known simply as “The Paper,” was the only one in the basement among the storage and maintenance rooms. When Chris walked into the room he noticed the red light on over the photo lab door indicating film processing. Blaise was sitting on a desk reading the latest edition of the Crusader.

  “What’s going on?” Chris asked.

  “Not sure. Joey’s got some shots that might fill us in.”

  “Fill us in on what?”

  “Your cousin, Sammy White.”

  “Is he in trouble again? I know his grades have been going to the dogs and he’s not into things around here anymore.”

  “Maybe he needs some help. Sometimes you can help a guy,” Blaise said, folding the newspaper, “and sometimes there’s nothing you can do.”

  Chris could see that Blaise was really upset about something. He could hear it in his voice and see it on his face. “What’s the matter, Blaise?”

  The red light went off and the door opened. Joey Trevino stuck his head out and cautiously peered around the room. “Hey, Chris. How ya doin’ man? Come in here and have a look at these prints, you guys. I got some really good shots if I do say so myself.”

  The black and white prints were still wet and hanging on a line over the developing table. The pictures were very clear. Each print was an unmistakable photo of Sammy White.

  “That’s good shootin’ Joey,” Blaise said. “What do you think, Chris?”

  “I think my cousin’s keeping some bad company. What’s this here, a drug deal?” Chris looked at Joey, “Was he
buying or selling?”

  “I didn’t see any money,” Joey said. “He was definitely taking possession, though.”

  Blaise said, “I want to know about these guys he’s with.”

  Chris studied the images for moment. “Holy shit, you guys. Is Sammy a gang banger?”

  “Could be,” Joey said.

  Blaise sat down on the edge of a table. “Recognize any of ‘em?”

  Chris looked closely at the photographs. “I’m pretty sure this guy here is one of Sammy’s neighbors.”

  “I’m concerned about the way Sammy’s been talking to some of the guys here.”

  “So what are we going to do?” Chris asked.

  Blaise thought for a moment. “Well that’s what I was going to ask you.”

  “Okay, let me talk to him. We’ve always been really close, but lately…well, I still think he’ll talk to me. I’ll let you know.”

  Blaise stood up and put his arms on Chris’s shoulders. “You do that, Chris, and let me know what we can do to help. You tell Sammy that we want him back.” He drew Chris in close and looked into his eyes for a moment. “Alright?”

  Chris nodded. “Thanks.”

  Johnny was on his way to the bus stop when the red Dodge Colt skidded to a halt beside him. The window rolled down and Chris, the passenger, stuck his head out. “Hey, Johnny! You wanna ride, man?”

  “My bus’ll be here in a minute.”

  “I didn’t ask you about the bus schedule. I asked if you want a ride. Hop in.” Chris got out of the car, pulled the seat forward, and jumped in the back.

  Johnny got in, closed the door, and pulled the seat belt around. “Thanks.”

  Blaise nodded and checked the traffic in the mirror.

  Johnny turned to Chris. “You sure you don’t mind sitting back there?”

  “I don’t mind,” Chris said as he put his feet up, lying across the entire back seat. “Besides, I could use a nap right about now.”

  “So, where can I take you, Johnny?” Blaise asked.

  “I was just going home. I live in River Park.”

  “Next stop: River Park,” Blaise said as he turned onto Howe Avenue.

  “What do you think of our school, Johnny?” Chris asked. “Do you like it?”

  “Yeah, it’s great. I really like it.”

  “I think it’s a great school, too. It’s just that this is your first year here and I was wondering’ if you felt okay. Some of the guys can be real assholes, ya know. But, I guess you’re gonna find that anywhere you go.”

  “Actually,” said Johnny, “It’s a lot worse elsewhere.”

  Blaise asked, “Where did you go last year?”

  “Lincoln.”

  “Did you like it there?” Chris asked. “Do you miss it?”

  “No, I didn’t like it, and no, I sure don’t miss it,” Johnny answered.

  Blaise turned into River Park. “What street am I looking for?”

  “This is my street. I live up there just past the elementary school, on the left.”

  “Does Lincoln have trouble with gangs?” Blaise asked.

  “It’s getting pretty bad, I think. I never had any trouble, though. I think I was pretty invisible.”

  “What do you mean by that?”

  “Well, I just went to school there. I was never involved in anything and I don’t talk a lot and stuff, so I just don’t think anyone ever really noticed me.”

  “I see. Which house is yours?”

  Johnny pointed to a yellow house on the left. “That one there.”

  Blaise pulled onto the driveway. “You’re not trying to be invisible at the Cross, are you?”

  “I’m not trying to be. No.”

  “Good. We want you to like it and really have a good time. How ‘bout I pick you up in the morning? We can talk some more.”

  “That’d be great, Blaise. Thanks a lot.”

  “I’ll be here at seven forty-five. Don’t make me blow the horn.”

  “I’ll be ready. Thanks, Blaise. See ya, Chris.”

  Blaise turned toward the back seat. “Get your ass up here. What am I, your friggin’ chauffeur?”

  Inside his house, Johnny went to the refrigerator and took out a Pepsi. Joshua was sitting on the couch watching the television. Johnny joined him and said, “Hey, Buddy.”

  “Hey, Johnny. You’re home early.”

  “I got a ride.” Johnny took a swig of his soda. Why was Blaise being so nice? Where in the world did Chris come from, too? If it weren’t for Vince Januzi, would Chris even have noticed me? “I’m not invisible anymore,” he said.

  “When were you invisible?” Joshua asked.

  Johnny looked at his brother for a moment. “Never mind.”

  After dropping Chris off, Blaise went to see Kathleen. They had been going together for nearly two years, and Blaise always felt better about things if he could talk them over with her. She lived in a very old part of the city in a brick house that was built by her grandfather. Kathleen Knowles went to St. Elizabeth. They had met at a freshmen dance where they hit it off right away. Blaise had eyes for no one else after that, and he would get a chill down his back just thinking about her.

  Chris said Blaise was a different person around Kathleen, and Blaise could not deny it. At school he was like this incredible student executive, handling a dozen problems at once. When he was with Kathleen, all he could do was give her every bit of his attention. There was no doubt about it: he was in love.

  Whenever Blaise went to Kathleen’s house he would park his car at the far end of the block, sometimes all the way around the corner. He liked to come walking down the street, see the house, and sometimes he would see Kathleen looking out her window, waiting for him. He would pause on the sidewalk and look at her in the window. He thought she was the most beautiful creature on Earth.

  Kathleen opened the door to greet Blaise. She threw her arms around him and he kissed her on the lips. She pulled him by his neck into the house and closed the door. “You’re so late, Blaise. We’re about to eat dinner.”

  “Sorry, Babe. I had a lot of things to do after school.”

  “You always have so much going on. You didn’t eat yet, did you?”

  “No.”

  “Good. I’ll set a place for you.” Kathleen left Blaise alone in the living room. He sat down on the couch and picked up the newspaper. When Kathleen returned she sat down next to him. Blaise was reading the letters to the editor when Kathleen said, “Let’s go to the movies Friday night.”

  “Okay. What’s playing?”

  “I don’t care. I just want to be with you in the dark.” She began stroking his hair.

  “Sounds good to me.” Blaise was trying to not look distracted, but he had just read the same sentence for the third time and still did not know what it said. He set the paper back on the coffee table and looked at his girlfriend. “What are your parents doing right now?”

  “Daddy’s out back working in his shed, and Mom is making the gravy. I think. Why?”

  “Good.” Blaise wrapped his arms around her and pulled her over on the couch, kissing her. Kathleen responded by sucking his tongue into her mouth while running her hands over his body. The necking continued for a full two minutes before Blaise said, “I’m never happier than when I’m with you.”

  “You mean horny, don’t you?” Kathleen said as she drew her hand across the front of his trousers.

  Blaise looked down at her hand, and then closed his eyes saying, “I’m happiest, and horniest, when I’m with you, Kathleen.” He opened his eyes and looked at her. They both laughed. Kathleen gave Blaise a shove and he toppled over, laughing, falling off the couch. Kathleen was laughing to the point of tears, and Blaise rolled onto his back, laughing uncontrollably. “Oh, thank God! I needed a good laugh,” he said while trying to catch his breath.

  Chris was studying when his phone rang.

 
; “Chris-Dog! How’s it going?”

  “Blaise, hey. I’m just doing my science homework. This stuff is so cool. What are you doing?”

  “I just got back from seeing my sweet baby.”

  “How is she?”

  “She’s fine. Real fine.”

  “She still love you?”

  “With all her heart. What’s not to love?”

  “I don’t know, the way you smell, maybe?” Chris laughed teasingly.

  “I only smell when I’m teaching you how to fish.”

  “No. I taught you how to fish, Blaise. At least so you’d catch something. If it wasn’t for me you’d still be using a bobber.”

  “Hey, man. Don’t talk about my bobber like that.”

  “I’m just saying you ain’t gonna catch any steelhead using a bobber.”

  “Maybe not, but, it’s still a nice bobber.”

  “Yeah, man, it’s a beauty.” Chris could hear Blaise moving around, doing something. “Hey, Blazer. You still there?”

  “Yeah.”

  “What are you doing? Talk to me.”

  “I can’t find anything in this room.” There were more thrashing noises. “I gotta clean this place up.”

  “Yeah, why don’t you clean your room? I can’t believe your mom lets you be such a pig.”

  “It’s not dirty, just messy. You talk to Sammy yet?”

  “I called but he was out. I asked my aunt to tell him to meet me after school.”

  “You want me to pick you up in the morning?”

  “No thanks. My sister’s gonna drop me off. You got any homework?

  “No. I did it all at school. I’m gonna go to bed and dream of Kathleen.”

  “You’ll end up back in the confessional.”

  “Right behind you.”

  “You just went last Friday.”

  “Yeah, so maybe I need to go again. Maybe you should go more often.”

  Chris sang, “Never been a sinner—I never sinnned—I got a friend in Je-sus…”

  “That’ll be the day.”

  “I know, Blaise. I sin just like you. I’ll let you go to sleep now.”

  “See you in the morning.”

  “I can’t wait.” Chris hung up the phone and leaned back in his chair. He tried to remember if he had any more homework, but closing his eyes, he could think only of the little Polish boy. Then there was another picture in his mind. Another face, though more familiar. Sammy.