After another half hour of permutations, Pollock got to the point.
“John, I want you to be sort of a motivational trainer, a type of teacher, if you will.”
“Huh?”
“You know, I want you, on an on-going basis, to speak to the student body. Tell them what really matters in life. Tell them how they can all be winners.”
“Me? But…I don’t think I can do that…I’m not really…”
“Sure you can, John. You can do it.”
Yes, life was full of mysteries. It was odd how one strange incident in a junior high school boy’s room could redirect one’s life. But where was this ship heading? John resisted this new assignment at first, but he could not help but think that the hand of providence was upon him. He would take up the challenge—and he resolved to do his job well.
There was one person that he had to see, however, before he would even attempt to speak publicly. He knew the sage counsel he would get could probably get him through his nervous fits. Besides, it was emotional money in the bank; something that he could draw on when he got older.
“You’ve got a great opportunity here, Johnny Boy.” Uncle Tony’s sure, calm voice was a welcomed balm in a sea of worry. “Now, here’s how I see it. You’ve got a lot of obstacles to overcome to win your schoolmates over. But you know something, one good speech, delivered right may hit them in the heart.”
“But, uncle, what should I speak on. Mr. Pollock said to say something like what’s really important in life. It’s just hard to tell what’s really important to a junior high school kid. You know?”
“Yeah, I know. That’s why you have to shoot higher.”
“Shoot higher?”
“Yeah, that’s right. Shoot over their heads and maybe some may grab on for the ride. Right?”
That’s the way John learned about life. Hearing things like this from those who knew more than he did—or did they really know more than he did? He never could fully figure out if he were getting new information, or if the information he was getting was just affirmation of what he already knew. No matter, this was survival, and any help he could get would be appreciated. Anyhow, the world at large, as he saw it, was gullible; people consume words without fully understanding their impact. How many lives have been crushed, not with fists or bullets, but with words. How many hearts have been ripped in pieces, not with knives or swords, but with but with words. The word indeed pierces the heart in so many ways. Somewhere John had heard that “it is not what goes in a man’s mouth that defiles him, it is what comes out of it.” He had heard enough defilement in his short time on the earth to fill a book.
It is simply amazing what can happen in junior high. This lofty rite of passage was turning into a most interesting experience. While, on the one hand, John felt sort of freakish in his new role, on the other it was the most natural thing that could possibly happen; this was a destiny he needed to fulfill.
CHAPTER 4
Wherein we hear “The Speech”
The week leading up to the speech was one that John knew that he would never forget. For some reason, his senses were ablaze; every sound was louder than usual; every word he heard was analyzed by his brain fully for a deeper or hidden meaning; every person he saw was a potential adversary—and every day that passed brought another wave of anxiety.
Pollack had made extremely precise arrangements. When, where and how the speech would be delivered was worked out to the most excruciating detail. John felt a bit like a marionette trying to figure out the best way to get off the strings. He submitted to Pollack because it seemed like the right thing to do. Nevertheless, his rebellious streak was starting to awaken. In some way, John wanted the day of the speech to be his day. He was not going to be someone’s lackey; he was going to be his own man—yes, man.
Reality, however, is a strange thing; it puts us back in our little box, it makes us feel cornered, and then all we seem to have left is fear. Fear can be a great motivator, but it has to be channeled properly. You have to keep fear on a short rope. John was starting to learn this. He certainly feared his circumstances; he feared his dad, he feared his mom’s anguish, he feared the attitude of his brother and sister—and he feared failure. But these things seemed to provide him with the tail wind he needed to get by.
As the big day closed in he busied himself with the finishing touches of his speech. He had sought to be reasonably organized, which was hard for a spontaneous person like himself. Somehow he felt there was an unseen force guiding him; a hand moving him toward a destiny he could not quite understand. He wondered if indeed certain people were selected for special purposes. He had read about the great men of history, how they had seemed to have a greater purpose than to just eat, drink, go to work and come home. They led odd, sometimes very difficult lives, but they changed things; they made a difference—their names would live forever. Maybe.
Fate had now placed John at the precipice of something most people don’t experience: influencing a whole bunch of people at once. Sure, he could give them stock answers, tired catch phrases or worn slogans. But that would never do. They had promised him that speaking to the student body would be something that he would do on a regular basis, but the first speech had to be a winner, something with punch; an indelible body blow that would shock them. He looked over his speech. It was lackluster. It sounded too much like the junior high schooler that he was. He ripped it up and started afresh. It proved to be even more of a struggle; his thoughts were disjointed, sometimes even mean spirited. No matter how hard he tried, it seemed to be an impossible task—the ideas simply would not come.
The day of the speech dawned and John arose from his bed with little if any sleep. He glanced over toward his desk. It was an absolute mess with crumpled papers and broken pencils making for an abstract puzzle. The clock was ticking. He sat down again trying to collect his thoughts, but he found his mind groggy, so much so that he had to take several deep breaths, assuring himself that he was indeed awake and that this was not some kind of horrible dream.
“Budda bum, psssst, hup, pita pits boo…” he sputtered. “Binkabinka…doo….”
Then, as if taken by an invisible hand, he felt empowered. Why worry about something so trivial. Why, he could deliver a speech anytime, anywhere to anyone…right?
The hum of conversation was particularly loud. The school seemed to be aglow in some sort of strange alien haze. This was it. This was the day. Could a large group of undisciplined, beginning-to-be-hormone-charged boys and girls have their lives transformed by the likes of an odd, semi-recluse? A sudden hush. Mr. Pollock clumsily groped for the curtain opening on the main stage in the auditorium. He finally appeared resplendent in his yellow paisley tie, and recently pressed grey suit. For good measure he blew into the microphone and tapped it a few times to make absolutely sure it was working.
“Kids, may I have your attention. Um…this is a very special day for our school. I’m sure you know that’s the case. I’m reminded of the old story about…”
John twitched nervously backstage, his friend David at his side, looking even more nervous. “Johnny, man, this is big. You sure you’ve got your act together? I mean, is that speech polished up?” David looked at his buddy longingly, trying to find some hope that all of this was going to come off without a ruffle.
“What speech?” he quickly shot back without even flicking an eyebrow.
“Wha…What do you mean…?”
“Look, I think I can handle this.”
David’s jaw went slack. “Are you saying you’re gonna wing this? No, John, don’t do it. This is a disaster!” Then, looking up at the ceiling, “Help!”
“…and so I’m sure you see the ironies of my story kids. And now, the main event, as it were. Your fellow student, John D’Angelo, has been asked to talk to you. To share some of his inspirational thoughts, his wisdom—and of course, his courage…”
There was a smattering of laughter, but it quickly died down. The auditorium was awash in
electricity, and its bizarre effects were about to take center stage.
“Will you give a warm round of applause to John D’Angelo. John? Come on out!”
Wild applause mixed with cheering erupted. Once unpopular and the object of scorn, John now bathed in the light of recognition. But like all phenomenons, how long would it last, and would it come to a crushing halt?
John walked slowly out onto the stage.
“Fellow students…I stand before you today as one who is no smarter or better than you. I…I too have struggled with all the things you struggle with. Why, perhaps even more so. Some of you have even…well…even made my life a bit more difficult than normal…”
Laughter.
“And, I just want to say…” He stopped abruptly, looked searchingly around, and then: “Look, it’s a difficult world. I’m not sure I understand it all, and I’m not sure that I can explain why bad things happen—or even why they don’t happen. I know, somehow, that it’s like…well, it’s not random—it all means something. Now, that’s why you have to mean something. Yeah, that’s right.”
John’s eyes became wide, he felt possessed by something he could not describe, but it was wonderful—and whatever it was, he wanted it to continue.
“You think I don’t observe you people? Well, I have. You’re going nowhere fast; you’re dreaming all the time. Now, dreams are good; dreams can be ambition. But I’m talking about not facing reality. You have a destiny, fulfill it. Hey, the day is coming when all of this school stuff will be over, then what? What’re going to do? Yeah, I know….I’m worried about the war. Do you think I want to die or see any of my friends die in a war? No! But from what I’ve seen, there will always be war, and there will always be war because that is what men and women are all about. I’m not pretending to be able to figure out adults. But we are going to be adults some day. Yup, and we will have…well, like real responsibilities. We don’t know what the future holds. Do we?
“No!” his audience shot back in unity. David watched in sheer amazement; John had them mesmerized—they were his, they were clay in his hands. It was astonishing to say the least.
John walked over to a glass of water that was conveniently put on a stool for him by the stage. He took a long hard gulp. Every eye was upon the new prophet, eager to drink in the next utterance that would change their lives.
“But we do know what we are capable of, or at least we should know!”
“Yes!” He had them now in a dialog.
Pollock was actually doing a little jig of delight off stage. “Yes!” he echoed, “Yes! Yes! Yes!”
“And we’re not afraid of life are we!”
From the back of the auditorium the chant began. “No! No! No!”
Even David had joined in on the sidelines. It was a fabulous frenzy of organized confusion—and everybody was loving it.
“So take heart fellow students, the future is ours. Do you hear me? Ours!” With that, John stood straight as a board and slowly exited the stage to ecstatic cheering. Everybody was on their feet, stomping and whooping loudly.
It was a triumph of the highest order. David practically tackled him to the floor in celebration. Pollock ran to the Mike. The words formed on his lips, but he had a hard time getting them out. Finally…
“Something special happened today, kids.” Then, in order to almost convince himself, “Something very, very special!”
CHAPTER 5
Wherein we spend some time with sister
“Mary, it’s time for dinner. Hurry now, hon.”
“Give me ten more minutes, I’m not ready.”
“I need you down here now!”
There were some sounds of movement, then dead silence.
“Mary?”
“Yeah, I hear you.”
Thus the nightly ritual had begun. It was a test of nerves the likes of which would find its way into the annals of history, or at least someone’s diary. But unpacking the reasons for such a debate would prove to be a task of herculean proportions. Deep down in our minds there is place that is shown to none; a display window that is hidden to the public, but that stands as monument to our own alienation. Herein was the dwelling place that needed to be plumbed in order to understand Mary. But it was a curious case of finding where it all had begun
There is nothing so much as agitates the soul as being ignored. There is nothing that so much satisfies some as being the one doing the ignoring. In this, Mary had risen to the ultimate perfection. She had honed her skills on her own family in particular. Not that there wasn’t those on the outside who were singled out for her angst, rather in close quarters she could examine her prey more carefully before applying the piste de resistance. John was usually in her crosshairs; his oddness and his cool temperament made for good target practice. John was not, however, her main mission; it was proving that she could be as aloof as possible and still survive in a world that just may have some compassion in it. Bravado aside, there was a genuine streak of cruelty running around her brain—and it proved to be quite effective in procuring what she needed, or thought she needed.
After several obligatory verbal exchanges, Mary made her way to the dinner table. Mother was an excellent cook, specializing in simple but delicious meals. It did not occur to Mary that perhaps her mother’s cooking actually meant something to the family at large and her mother in particular. For her, dinner time was simply another spot of family time to be tolerated before being liberated to do whatever it was that she was doing. The ambience was further heightened by father’s darling attitude and older brother’s arrogance, which Mary, of course, admired.
“Hon,” mother began in as gentle a way as possible to her husband, “could you say Grace?”
Father, who had already been busy shoveling mashed potatoes on his plate whilst taking a taste of same, reluctantly put down his spoon, rolled his eyes slightly and bowed his head. “Lord, what we are about to receive we give You thanks. Let’s eat.” And the feeding began.
John was a light eater, so he carefully chose what he wanted on his plate. Sister watched in mild amusement.
“John, is the food filled with radiation?” And then the characteristic snicker. John smiled lamely. This was getting old. Father looked over but then quickly turned his guns on mother.
“So, did you cash those checks I left on the dresser?”
“Uh…no. We were late to John’s dentist appointment.”
He looked up toward the heavens in mock worship, “Oh, dear Lord, help my wife to do the simple assignments I give her.”
“Honey, I tried my best. Just didn’t have time. John, you need to eat a bit more than that, son.”
“Yeah, don’t you want to be big and strong like your sister?” James quipped. Father always found James’ comments to be funny, seeing his sarcasm as a sign of machismo. “Yeah, yeah, right….right,” he added between gasps of breath.
Striking a stiff pose, Mary said, “Well, it is so wonderful dining with such an august group. I’m sure the Rhoades scholarship folks were not by here recently.”
“Hey, sis, how’s that boyfriend of yours. What’s his name… Charles.”
“Nope, not seeing him anymore,” she said without looking up. She spooned another pile of peas into her plate.
“Gee, so sorry to hear that. Didn’t meet your standard, huh?”
“Something like that. The relationship was going nowhere, and besides, he just wasn’t ambitious enough.”
“Now, Mary,” mother injected, “you were just dating, not thinking of marriage.”
“I guess so. Anyway, it was time to move on.”
John looked up from his plate. “And how did he react when you told him you didn’t want to see him anymore?”
“And why are you concerned, little man?”
“I don’t know, just wanted to know if you were nice to him about the whole thing. He’s an Ok guy.”
Father reached over and grabbed John in a comical bear hug, “Oh, the compassion! Oh! The tragedy
!”
“No, really.” John was actually getting a bit agitated over the lack of concern for Charles. “If we don’t care about one person’s feelings, why would care about any group of people or….or….or countries? Or what about people who are sick?”
Mother smiled. “John, isn’t that stretching it a bit?”
“No, it’s not,” he insisted. “Like…everything is related to everything else. You can’t harm a person here”—he made an imaginary “X” on the table—“without it hurting somebody here…or at some future date.”
Father held his head, “Save me, my son is a philosopher!”
“No I’m not…I’m just giving you common sense. I mean, you know, the way things should be.”
Mother closed her eyes half way, “Johnny, I understand. I really do.”
Dinner concluded with topics of a more pedestrian nature. Johnny decided to head to the protection of his room but was quickly intercepted by Mary.
“Listen, when I want your opinion about my affairs and what I’m doing I’ll ask you. What I’m doing with my life is not to be your dinner conversation.”
“Sorry, sis. But what you do affects others.”
“I’m interested in how it affects me.”
“Yeah, I know. But you’re hurting yourself. Don’t you want to be liked?”
This staggered Mary for a moment. “Sure. I mean, I am liked.
“By whom? All the other snoots that are hated by everybody else?”
“No, no. I’m liked by people who matter.”
“Matter? What people don’t matter?”
“You don’t get it, dear brother. There is a pecking order in life; you’re either the pecker or the peckee…you have to make a choice.” With that she bid a hasty retreat to the den, eyes straight ahead.
“Budda bum, ding, bop, bop….”
“John! Cut it out,” the voice boomed from the den. “You can be mad, and you can think as hard as you like, but you won’t change me, my friend!”
Unnecessary Noises Page 4