Chapter 8—WEDNESDAY
“It’s time to get up, Blaise. Honey, you’ve got to get ready for school.”
Johnny opened his eyes. He had not forgotten that he spent the night at Blaise’s house, but waking up there gave him a feeling of not knowing what to do. Blaise’s mother telling them to wake up and Johnny lifted his head to look at her with dry morning eyes.
“I’ll have breakfast ready in about twenty minutes.”
“Okay, Mom.” Blaise did not move. He did not open his eyes.
“Did you sleep well?” She was looking at Johnny.
“Very well. Thank you.” Johnny wondered if she knew he was naked under the covers. He pulled the blankets up over his chest.
“I’ll just set your clothes over here.” She put the neatly folded clothing on the dresser and hung his pressed shirt on one of the drawer handles.
“Thanks.” Johnny was sure she knew he was in the buff.
“Johnny.”
“Yeah, Blaise?”
“Wake me up when you’re out of the shower.”
Chris and Sammy had lunch together. They sat off by themselves in the cafeteria and talked about how their classes were going. Sammy told Chris that he was doing better and that he was trying to get his head back in the game. It was small talk compared to what they were really thinking. In fact, Chris thought Sammy looked different, but he could not put his finger on it. It was not his hair or physical appearance, but maybe just the way Chris was seeing his cousin. He felt a subtle lump of emotion rise in his chest as he pretended to be interested in the conversation they were making for each other. Chris was ashamed of himself for playing this game. He wanted to tell Sammy what he was really thinking; that he loved him and did not want him to do anything that might get him hurt or even killed. It was stupid to think that Sammy would even let him go there. There was a line drawn between those who were in on the plan and those who were not. It had to be that way, though, and Chris hated it.
What he really hated and what made him see Sammy differently was the uncertainty of ever seeing him again. He did not want to lay that trip on Sammy, however, and chitchat was not doing the job, so he changed the subject: “I’ve got a date this Friday night.”
“You’ve got a date? With whom?”
“Tracy Miller.”
Sammy thought about the name. “Don’t know her.”
“She goes to St. Elizabeth.”
Sammy saw the look in Chris’s eyes. “Dude, what’s she like?”
“She’s really hot.” Chris smiled, finally.
“Where’d you meet her?”
“We’re working together on the Harvest Dance.”
“So what are you gonna do Friday?”
“Dinner and a movie. You know, first date stuff.”
“Well, have a good time, man.”
“Thanks. I’ll try. I just hope she does.”
“She will. Just tell her about me if she starts to lose interest in you.”
“If I tell her about you, I’d probably see the two of you together at the Harvest Dance. No thanks.”
“I wouldn’t steal your girl.”
“You wouldn’t have to—she’d dump me.”
“Why do you say that?”
“Look at you, Sammy. You’re like the most handsome guy I know. You’re funny, athletic, talented, smart. When it comes to chicks, man; you’re the competition.”
“Don’t underestimate yourself. Besides, you’re the smart one. You’re what a girl wants.”
“Is that right?”
“Yeah. You might try relaxing, though. You’re too uptight sometimes.”
“You think?”
“Yeah. You need to live in every moment, Chris. When you’re with a girl, don’t ever think about what comes next. Enjoy what you have right then. What comes next is never what you plan anyway.”
“Everybody wants to give me advice lately.”
“Everybody loves you.”
“Well, I’ll take what I can get. Thanks.”
Sammy reached into his coat pocket. “I’ve been writing the past couple of nights. Think you could read this and let me know what you think?”
Chris took the paper. “What’s this—about a thousand words?” Chris leafed through the pages. “Yeah, of course I’ll read it.”
“It’s just something I wrote. It’s about fifteen hundred, actually. I’ve been in a writing kind of mood lately.”
Chris folded the pages and put them in his pocket. He kept his hand there for a moment feeling the paper, this paper that had become part of Sammy and was now being passed on to him—just in case. He took his hand back out and reached across the table to Sammy. “I’ll be waiting for you to call me tonight. You take care now.”
Sammy took Chris’s hand and grasped it firmly. “I will.”
As Blaise and Chris were leaving the building, Chris noticed Mr. Crumel taking down the pictures from the display board. Chris said to Blaise, “Hold up. I want to talk to Mr. C.” He walked over to Mr. Crumel and said, “Hi Mr. C.”
“Hello there, Chris. How are you?”
“Fine, Sir. This was a powerful display. I hate to see it go.”
“Yes. It is certainly very moving.”
Chris sorted through the pictures on the cart where Mr. Crumel had set them. He found the Polish boy and held the print up. Mr. Crumel watched Chris standing there, gazing. He saw the faraway look on his face. “Does that one mean something to you?”
“This one, yes.”
“What about it?” Mr. Crumel spoke softly, not wanting to risk interrupting Chris’s apparent connection with the picture.
Chris sort of smiled with embarrassment. “This one has been haunting me for a week now.”
The history teacher smiled and nodded his head. “Then you must take it. It’s yours now. Find out what it is about this picture that haunts you. Then figure out what to do about it, Chris. Don’t try to forget about it: take it on. Wrestle with it where it hurts.”
Chris looked at Mr. Crumel and said, “Thank you.” He looked at the picture again and walked away.
Blaise was waiting by the front doors. They got in his car and went to Chris’s house where they did homework and watched after-school cartoons. Blaise called Kathleen and talked for quite a while. Chris kicked back on his bed and did nothing. After dinner, they sat in the bedroom and waited without saying very much. Chris thought about his cousin and the Polish boy. There was no relationship between the two thoughts, but they were both real and made him feel helpless.
Chris suddenly remembered Sammy’s essay. He took it out of his school blazer pocket and sat down on the floor to read it.
The Substance of Pain and Sorrow
By Samuel White
We started playing chess when we were in the fifth grade. It all began one day when my father came home with a new chess set and told me it was mine. He set it up and taught me how all the pieces moved. I stayed awake late that night with a flashlight in my room, and I played out several games that were written up in a book called How to Play Chess and Win. As the games played out, I could see that there was more to the game than just moving pieces or even capturing opponents: the idea was to think ahead.
My cousin, Chris, knew how to play already, though he had never played much. We started playing a lot after school, and we actually got pretty good. By the time we were in the eighth grade, we couldn’t find anyone good enough to beat us, so we continued to play each other. We were pretty much dead even. I would have to beat him after suffering a bloody defeat on the checkered battlefield, but only to fall again to his wrath in the next round. Some of my favorite memories are of games that ended in a draw.
Things are different in high school. It is more important to do other things after school. Sure, we play the occasional game when there is nothing going on, and we are still pretty good.
We taught ourselves, and each other, to pl
ay the game well. And the game taught us something, too: life, like chess, is a series of moves. Every move is an advance, an attack, or a retreat. Take, for example, asking a girl out. The advance is taking that first step, talking to her or even just sitting next to her in church. Advances are not made without at least some planning. One has to be sure the move is safe—if she has a boyfriend, it’s a dangerous move.
The attack is likely to have more risks and will certainly bring on some kind of a reaction. That is when you actually ask her out or kiss her for the first time. It is important to think of every possible reaction to a move. The counter attack that you do not see is the one that gets you. Any unforeseen move might call for a retreat. Just when everything seems to be going well with the girl, first date, first kiss—something happens: maybe she’s a two-timer or she wants out of the relationship; she moves too fast, talks about marriage; she turns out to be a freak. Anything.
Life is filled with victories and defeats. When we forget to learn from them, we end up with more losses than wins. A triumph will bring happiness even if the process of achieving it is painful, but a loss is always sad.
There are many kinds of loss. Anything held in value, whether that value is real or imagined, will be missed if it is lost. The degree of regret or sadness is relative to the degree of value. People and relationships, of course, are the most precious. When they are lost the pain goes very deep.
I had a very dear friend whose name was Annie. We had gone out a few times, and I liked her. I liked her a lot. She had to go to the hospital one day because her doctor said tests were needed after she went to see him about headaches and dizziness. At the hospital, they determined that she had a brain tumor. I went to see her every day, but she only got worse. It never occurred to me that she might die, and one day I went to see her and her bed was empty. By then all the nurses knew me, and when one of them saw me standing in the doorway, frozen, she came over, put her arm around me and said, “Annie passed away this morning. I’m so sorry.” I went into the empty room and sat down, and there I cried like I’ve never cried before.
One thing the game of chess never taught me was that we are only one piece in the game. There are rules that apply to the way we are allowed to move. Beyond those moves that we can make, everything is out of our control. In chess, the players control all the pieces. Every move, every kill, every sacrifice is determined by the player. In life, the players are just pieces in a great on-going game where they have little control.
I had made my move with Annie. The future I saw for us was not the future that was to be. Since then, I have been in a perpetual state of retreat. Until now, I have never shared my loss with anyone—I have simply kept the pain and sorrow to myself. It is that pain and that sorrow that has taught me something else about life: sadness is a real and quantifiable substance.
Sadness brought on by personal loss is different than pain resulting from physical injury. When we were children, we cried when we fell down and scraped a knee, but not because it hurt. We cried because we did not understand. What we do not understand frightens us. Long after we have learned why a scraped knee hurts, we still get that lump in the chest, that feeling of despair, when something happens that we do not understand, whether it involves physical pain or not.
The hardest thing to accept is the fact that you have no control over certain things that affect you. We spend a great deal of time making moves that will increase our ability to control our own lives.
To acknowledge a personal loss, one must admit a certain degree of loss of control. The degree of that loss of control depends on 1.) the importance of that which was lost and 2.) the level of responsibility that you understand to be yours. Who would not do everything within his power to keep from losing someone he loves, and to what lengths would he go to preserve his cherished possessions?
We can actually understand a lot, though. If your friend was run over by a bus and killed, your loss would be great, and you would feel a lot of pain. You might have a lot of questions, too; like why did this happen? If your friend had been drinking and then stepped out into traffic without looking, your questions would be different than if he died because you invited him to dinner, asked him to meet you at five o’clock, and a bus came crashing through the wall of the restaurant where he was waiting for you. Understanding how much control you are actually responsible for will contribute toward dealing with the loss.
When I first had to confront my loss, I could not see beyond myself. The pain and suffering was mine, all mine. I could not see that what happened was inevitable, and I did not know that there was nothing I could have done about it. I had forgotten the fact that Annie had a type of cancer that would have killed her whether I knew her or not, and I was unable to see that my friendship was an important part of her last days. She died knowing that she was loved. If I had not known her, I never would have suffered losing her, but her own suffering would have been greater.
It took me a long time to realize this, and my loss was compounded by my desire to remain in self-pity. I decided to shut out everyone who wanted to be close to me. I turned to people, and things, that could gratify me without being important enough to cause pain should I lose them. What I ended up with was an empty, lonely existence.
They say it is better to have loved and lost than to never have loved at all. I guess that’s true. I should have realized it sooner. I could not see it until someone came looking for me. He found me living in the midst of death, and invited me to return to the living. At first I did not want to go. I wanted to stay where it was safe, in that place where nothing anyone does matters. But then I saw the truth about pain and suffering: it is a quantifiable substance that can be cast off by one person and assumed by another, but it never goes away. I had learned to avoid sorrow by allowing my suffering to be transferred to others. I had avoided the risk of loss by eliminating the possibility of personal relationships. My potential suffering became the suffering of those whom I had forsaken.
Pain and suffering never go away, but they can be transformed. When we allow our sorrows to take us to the place where memories are kept, lessons are learned, and the will to live wells up from a deep spring of life; pain and suffering can be transformed into joy and laughter. Memories of past loves give us hope for better days to come. The will to live combined with that which we have learned makes loving again possible, and loving again is living.
Sammy went home, changed his clothes and sat down with some milk and cookies. It was quiet in the house. He usually did not enjoy a quiet, empty house; it made him feel alone. He dealt with it by turning on music or the TV, sometimes both, and calling friends on the phone or just getting in his car and going somewhere. As he finished his glass of milk he noticed how peaceful it was there. It was a new experience for him to sit quietly and enjoy it. As he looked around the front room of the house he grew up in, he realized that he had been very fortunate. The fact that he was just figuring it out saddened him and made him feel a little ashamed.
Sitting in his father’s big EZ chair, Sammy looked at the photographs on the wall. There was one of him and Chris together. The picture was about three years old, and it made him smile as he remembered the day it was taken. They were in the eighth grade then and had posed for the picture in their baseball uniforms. They had just won the league championship—jubilation was on their faces. Afterwards, the team went for pizza. Sammy thought about that; if they had lost, they would have gone for pizza anyway.
There were so many good things to think about, but it was too easy to get busy and not think about them. Chris, Sammy thought, was the smart one: he stayed out of trouble, got good grades, and he even managed to get a date with pretty girl. Sammy had blamed Chris for the way things had turned out, but after he thought about it long enough to be honest with himself he knew it was his own damn fault.
He sat alone in the quiet and contemplated the thing that he ha
d to do before he could get his old life back. He looked at his watch and saw that he was running out of time. When he stood up, he looked out the window and saw Brian getting out of his pickup. It was time.
Sammy was a little behind schedule when he showed up at the Camellia Garden mini mall. The shops were all closed with the exception of a grocery store. They met on the backside of the mall where the parking lot was empty. Camellia Garden was made up of several five-sided units that were joined together by covered walkways. It was only one of many meeting places for the Wednesday night pickups. Seth never did business at the same place twice in a row. He was always a little nervous.
“Sorry I’m late.” Sammy twirled his keys on his finger as he approached Seth and three other Mavericks.
They were gathered around a picnic table under the roof at the end of one of the walkways. Seth looked at his watch. “I was beginning to wonder if you were going to show, Sammy. Where’s your side-kick?”
“Jeff couldn’t make it. Some family thing.” Sammy handed an envelope to a guy named Smitty. “I don’t think we’ll be seeing much of Jeff any more.”
Seth looked puzzled. “And why’s that?”
“They’re moving. To Idaho, I think.” Sammy knew some of the guys would see Jeff at Lincoln, but figured he would let Seth get used to the idea of him not being around.
“Well, good—the guy’s a pain in the ass anyway.” Seth looked up as a car pulled into the lot. It stopped in the middle with the headlights shining on the Mavericks.
“Just stay cool, boys,” Seth said, lighting a cigarette.
Terry and Joey stepped out of the car on either side. They just stood there and watched the Mavericks while Johnny and Brian climbed out of the back. Brian, in a loud voice, continued telling Johnny a joke: “So the old lady in the wheelchair says to the bishop, ‘I don’t know, sir, but I’ll bet if you ask the nurse, she’ll tell you who you are.’”
They were laughing at the joke as they walked toward Sammy. Terry and Joey closed ranks on either side of them. When they stopped, Johnny said, “Hi ya Sammy.”
Sammy looked annoyed. “Johnny.”
“You know these guys, Sammy?” Seth actually looked relieved.
“Classmates.”
“What can we do for you, gentlemen?” Seth sat down at the picnic table. He smiled and looked at ease.
“Well now, let me think,” Johnny said. “For starters, you can stay the hell away from Sammy.” Johnny walked over to Sammy. He put his hand on Sammy’s shoulder and said, “Let’s go, man. You’re through with these guys.”
Seth stood up again. “Wo, woa. Wait a minute. What the hell is this?”
Johnny paused, turned toward Seth, pointing his finger, and said, “This is where we take Sammy back. He’s a Crusader, not a Maverick. I don’t ever want to see you near him again, and I don’t ever want to see your shit floating around Holy Cross. Got it?”
Anger and disbelief grew on Seth’s face. He sized Johnny up—small, no threat. He moved forward, raising his hands. “Why you little…”
Johnny stood his ground. Seth froze as heard the metallic action of three weapons drawn, cocked, and leveled on him. The other Mavericks, right behind him, also froze. Terry took a few steps to the left while keeping them lined up in the sights of the 9mm. “Don’t nobody move.”
Sammy took several steps backward and said, “Oh shit, you guys!”
Seth lowered his arms and said, “This is a gun-free zone.”
“I guess we missed the sign,” Johnny said. “What’s in the bag?”
“My underwear.”
Johnny stepped over to the table and carefully picked up the gym bag. He unzipped it and dumped out its contents. Several zip-lock bags filled with marijuana and some smaller bags containing tablets spilled out onto the tabletop. “Well, well. And I thought this was a drug-free zone.” Johnny tossed the empty bag back on the table. He looked at Sammy who had moved to the edge of a flowerbed. “Are you ready to go now?”
Sammy looked at Johnny and then the others. He shifted his weight from leg to leg and looked at Seth who drilled him with piercing eyes. He looked back at Johnny pleadingly and said, “I can’t, Johnny. I’m a Maverick.”
Johnny tilted his head back impatiently, clenching his fists. He took a deep breath and leveled a stern gaze at Sammy. He closed his eyes, turned his head as if to listen carefully and said, “You’ve got to be joking.”
“No.” Sammy held his chin up. “I’m not joking.”
Johnny relaxed and looked sadly at Sammy. “Are you sure that’s what you want?”
“Yeah.”
Seth smiled.
Johnny’s eyes turned cold. “Then, Sammy, you are the weakest link. Good-bye.” He turned around, walked back to the car and got in and closed the door.
Terry and Joey kept their guns trained on Seth and the others while Brian brought his aim around to Sammy. Before anyone realized what was happening, Brian’s Black Hawk gave off a flash. The noise was deafening and echoed off the walls and rattling windows of the mini mall. The Mavericks saw Sammy just as he landed in the flowerbed, his white shirt a bloody mess. Seth stared at his lifeless face. Blood dripped from his mouth.
“What’d you do that for?” Seth yelled.
Brian leveled his aim on Seth’s head and said, “Pick up your shit and get out of here.”
Smitty frantically threw everything back in the gym bag while the other guys ran to their car. Seth, walking backwards, pointed at Brian and said, “You guys are crazy. You know it? You’re crazy!” He got in on the passenger side. Smitty tossed the bag in and jumped behind the wheel. They sped off out of the parking lot, their tires squealing as they turned onto the road.
Terry opened the door of his car and looked in at Johnny. In the backseat, Johnny spoke into a handheld two-way radio. “Did you get all that?”
A voice crackled over the two-way. “That’s affirmative.”
“Okay. They just left.”
“I see them. Looks like they’re going to turn left on Folsom.”
“Make the call.”
“Oh yeah. They just ran a red light. This is going to be good. I’m dialing now. You guys better get out of there, too.”
Johnny looked at Terry and grinned. “We better get outta here.”
Cory Smith switched off the radio and put it in his coat pocket. He zipped his coat up around his neck and stepped up to the payphone and dialed 9-1-1. “Yes, uh, we just heard a gunshot. Well, I’m at the corner of Folsom and Fifty-seventh Street. No, I don’t know, but a car just came flying by here from the general direction. They ran a red light heading downtown. That’s right, west on Folsom. A blue Chevy Impala. 2-B-R-S, 3-3-2. My name? Justin Case. C-A-S-E. Hey, I gotta go. Thanks for your help.”
Cory hung up. He turned around, listening carefully. He thought he could hear a siren in the distance. He said, “Oh yeah,” with a giddy smile as he got in his car. Driving down Folsom Boulevard, Cory checked every direction for flashing lights. Spotting something down a side street, he made a right at the next corner. Two city units had responded to the call. As Cory drove up the cross street, he could see that everyone in the Mavericks’ car was being arrested.
Brian stood over Sammy and said, “All clear, buddy.”
Sammy sat up and rubbed the back of his head. “This shit tastes awful,” he said, spitting. Brian helped him up, and they both ran to the car where the others were waiting with the engine running. Sammy tossed his car keys to Joey.
“I’ll just follow you guys.” Joey said getting into Sammy’s Camero.
When they were all in the car, Johnny said, “Let’s take the back way, Terry.”
“Nice and easy like,” Terry agreed. “You guys were brilliant. Damn, Sammy. I had to keep reminding myself that it was an act. Too bad we didn’t get it on video.”
In the backseat, Bria
n wadded Sammy’s shirt and placed it in a plastic bag while Johnny used baby wipes to clean his face and chest.
“Did you see the look on Seth’s face?” Terry said. “I’d have paid to see that. And Johnny, you had ‘em going.” Terry reached back and gave Johnny five. “The way you walked off like you were the godfather or something. That was beautiful.”
Terry stuck his finger in his ear and wiggled it. “My ear’s still ringing from that cannon of yours, Brian.”
“It had to be loud,” Brian explained. “The noise covers up any weaknesses in the illusion. You all right, Sammy?”
“I’m fine. For a dead guy.”
Chris finished reading Sammy’s essay and blinked his eyes. A teardrop fell on the last page. He wiped it off with his hand, then covered his eyes with his palms and leaned forward, elbows on knees.
Blaise looked at his watch. “Won’t be long now, Chris.”
Chris nodded. He stood up and left the room. A minute later he came back with two cans of Pepsi. The phone rang. Blaise answered it.
Johnny told Blaise just enough to know that the Mavericks would be dropping Sammy from their roster. “So everybody’s okay? Great. Here’s Chris.”
Chris took the phone and spoke briefly with Johnny, then said, “Let me talk to Sammy. Hey…you doin’ all right? Where are you now? I just read your piece…It’s really good, man.” Chris listened for a moment, and then started laughing. “I can’t wait…Okay…Bye.”
Chris hung up and said, “Well, it’s been one hell of day.”
“That it has,” Blaise said. “And I’m going home.”
“Thanks for coming over.”
“Hey, I’ll do anything for a free Pepsi.” He held his can up. “And besides, what are friends for?”
Chris finally smiled. “Thanks. See you in the morning.”
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