Titanic Summer

by Russell J. Sanders

  Another policeman said, “Son, listen to your mother. I’ll call an ambulance.” He leaned his mouth to the mic on his shoulder as he pushed the button. “Need a bus. City hall plaza, northwest corner.”

  The other policemen were making sure the crowd dispersed in an orderly manner. Except for D and me and our blows, nothing much had happened, other than a little shoving and a lot of shouting. All the police wanted was for people to go home peacefully. The HPD didn’t need a major blowup of this thing. And I’m sure the mayor wanted to play it down as much as possible. I looked toward the steps, and she’d been whisked away. Probably the first moment I started that fight.

  I managed to get up, felt dizzy, and all of a sudden, my legs wouldn’t hold me anymore. I collapsed on the lawn. I guess I was hurt worse than I thought.

  “Just keep applying pressure, ma’am. Help’s on the way,” the cop told Mom.

  As we waited and she ministered to me, I saw a face hovering over me. Alex.

  “Are you okay, Jake?”

  “I’m fine. Ambulance is coming.”

  “Do you know this young lady, Jacob? Is she a schoolmate?”

  “No, Mom. This is Alex. Finn’s cousin. She’s new in town.”

  Mom looked at Alex as Alex said, “Nice to meet you, Mrs. Hardy.”

  “Nice to meet you too, dear. Fine way for you to get acquainted with our city.” Her voice held enormous irony. “A hooligan attacking my son right in front of the police.”

  “Mom. It was D’Andre—from the team.” I saw a look of recognition in her eyes. Then I turned my attention to Alex. “Why are you here, Alex?”

  “I was wandering downtown. Grandma said I should see the sights. I noticed the crowd gathering, so I asked some people what it was all about. When I heard what they said, I knew I had to stick around. So I grabbed a sign.”

  The girl has balls, I thought.

  “After all, I am transgender.”

  What? Huh?

  “Didn’t Finny tell you?”

  Before I could process, the EMTs showed up.

  In minutes, it seemed, they were loading me into their rig. And I soon found myself in the St. Joseph’s Hospital Emergency Room. They wheeled me in on the stretcher, and I was transferred to a bed in a cubicle. Mom went to fill out paperwork. A nurse looked me over and left. My mind was spinning. Alex had lain another layer on me. Earlier, lying on the grass, I’d wondered if she’d forgive me. I was thinking about her seeing me be an asshole in front of a raging crowd. Now, I had a much bigger reason for her forgiveness. I’d been an asshole about her very being.

  I let myself be carried along by the crowd. I told myself before I ever went there I was doing this for Mom, that I had no dog in this fight. But Finn’s kiss and the test failure set me off course. I veered into antiland. And seeing D and the fear of exposure and the incessant roar of the crowd turned me. I’d seen it before on a smaller scale. You couldn’t attend a school pep rally without getting caught up in the frenzy, the “we’re gonna win this game no matter what” battle-cry-induced trance. If I had a life-threatening head injury, I deserved it. I’d brought it on myself.

  After a while, someone came and took me for x-rays. Then he pushed me back into the cubicle.

  Mom was waiting, ready to fawn over me. I’ve never had an injury, from a little boo-boo to the time I broke my arm, when my mother hasn’t acted like I was in mortal danger. Annoying. But I kinda liked it.

  “Can I get off this thing now?” I asked the orderly, pointing to the gurney.

  “Wait for the doctor, son.”

  “But I feel fine. I’m okay.” I felt better, and I wanted to get out of there.

  “Jacob, just do what the man says,” Mom ordered.

  “It’s just a little cut. I’ll be okay.” And if it wasn’t, I could die for my sins.

  “Jacob, we’ll let the doctor decide that.”

  The orderly left.

  “I’m going to press charges and put him away for a long, long time. I don’t care if he is on your team.”

  “Mom, D’s just a kid, like me.” I left out the way he was most like me. Maybe D wasn’t ready to be outed yet. “Besides, it was a simple assault. Don’t you watch any of the lawyer shows? Even if they went after him, he’d probably just get a fine and a suspended sentence.” I hoped that would shut her up.

  “He’s vicious, just vicious, Jacob.”

  “We just got overheated, that’s all.” And Mom, I threw the first punch—didn’t you see that? I left that unsaid, fearing she’d pass a volley of questions I didn’t want to answer.

  “Well, I’ll sue his parents, then. Hit them in the pocketbook. I’m sure Jackson Carter will help us.”

  “Let it go. Come on.” So, with HERO not even resolved yet, Mom was making me her next cause. It was like she couldn’t live, couldn’t breathe, without something to fight for.

  I was wracked with shame. I let D get to me. The doctor was taking forever, and I had nothing else to do but run through it all again. My reaction to D had nothing, absolutely, positively nothing, to do with equal rights or HERO. I wanted to destroy D’Andre before he destroyed me. He knew. He could tell.

  For D’s sake, not mine, I could not let her take this thing any further. I looked at her, steeled myself to talk her out of her rage, when she said, “Finn’s cousin is lovely. Alex, is it? I would never call a daughter Alex. Must be short for Alexandra.”

  Thank God Mom is a ditz. I hoped this change of subject signaled I’d gotten through to her.

  I almost said, “Are you completely clueless?” but I held my tongue. Hadn’t she heard what Alex said? I know Mom, though. She’d been so busy tending to my cut, she was just half listening.

  Just then, a gorgeous woman in a white coat came through the curtains of the cubicle.

  “I’m Dr. Serena Graham. And you are…” She looked down at the chart. “Mr. Hardy?”

  “Yes, Doctor. I’m Sue Hardy, and this is my son, Jacob.”

  “Mom, I’m injured but not brain dead. Let me answer for myself, please. Yes, Doctor. I’m Jake.” I guess the pain was kicking in a bit because Mom was only being Mom. And I was being me—somewhat of an ass.

  “Pleased to meet you, Jake. Nasty shiner you got there,” the doctor said.

  “It’s nothing.” She was laying on some serious bedside manner, but all I wanted was to get out of there.

  “It’s definitely not nothing, but your x-rays don’t show any problems. You may have a headache. If you do, take some Tylenol. And you’re going to have a doozy of a black eye… probably purple, black, blue, and all the in-between shades. Just keep a cold pack on it.” She reached up and pulled off the gauze the paramedic had applied to the cut over my eye. “Now, let me take a look at this.” She leaned in and examined it from every angle, it seemed. “Looks like you’re going to get some stitches. What fun. I haven’t done any embroidery today. You want simple stitches, or do you want one of my roses? Or I could ask one of my colleagues to come in. He does wonderful peonies.”

  Her attempt at humor was not impressive. “Just stitch it up so I can get out of here.”

  “Jacob,” Mom said, “the doctor is trying to be nice.”

  “Whatever,” I said.

  The doctor looked at my mother. “He’s been through a lot. Let’s cut him some slack.”

  She put six stitches in me, then signed my release papers.

  I stood and almost toppled over. Mom and the doctor grabbed me.

  “Can I get a wheelchair in here?” the doctor shouted, and the same orderly I’d dealt with before wheeled in an empty chair, helped me into it, and wheeled me out to the car.

  In the car on the way home, I reviewed my life. My new best friend hated me. My old best friend hated me. My used-to-be friend D’Andre hated me enough to punch my lights out. My dad hated me—or most certainly would when I didn’t show up at that wedding. And Finn’s beautiful cousin used to be a guy, and I had insulted her very being.

  Could my
life get any worse? And more importantly, could I fix any of this?

  Chapter 24

  I SLEPT half the next morning away. Two Extra Strength Tylenol and I was dead to the world. I don’t know if the Tylenol knocked me out or if I was just whipped by all that had happened.

  The night before, after Mom tucked me in—yes, she had to tuck in her injured baby, like I deserved her being nice to me after the way I acted—I snuck out of bed to send an email to D’Andre. I tried to keep it short.

  D, I wrote, I’m so, so sorry. For everything that went down tonight. What you said was right on the money, and I was a shit for being there, for being so in your face, and for hitting you. Forgive me? I wouldn’t blame you if you didn’t. And then I signed it with the most courageous thought that had ever come out of me. I hope we can be friends again, gay friends who can help each other through this maze. Jake

  I almost took the coward’s way out and started an email to Finn, but I got so sleepy that I couldn’t finish it, and besides, I had one last clear thought of the night—maybe the only one I’d had for a while—and deleted what I’d written. Making amends with him would be in person. That was the least he deserved.

  The Tylenol may have insured I slept through the night, but I think my rest came from my new understanding. I had crossed a bridge the evening before, and it was a bridge crossing I would never reverse.

  I awoke with a plan. Make those amends with Finn, if he’d let me. Call Mal and fill her in and apologize for my stubborn streak. Tell Alex how sorry I was that I’d been fighting on the wrong side.

  Strange that I didn’t think of contacting Dad. God knows, Mom had probably already called him. I had a tiny ache in my gut that he hadn’t called me. But Mal was right. I was stubborn. The plan to let go of all my other transgressions did not include letting him off the hook.

  I got out of bed, pulled on shorts and a tee, then headed for the bathroom.

  I was startled by the image in the mirror. I looked pretty beat up. The doctor was right. I definitely had a shiner. And it was the ugliest purply black that you could ever imagine.

  After I peed, I went straight for the kitchen, regret playing out in my brain. Was I really that hateful last night? I was such an a-hole. I shouldn’t have thrown that punch. I just hoped that D would forgive me. And that thought had nothing to do with being outed at school. If that happened, so be it. Not living in fear might be a great new feeling. No, I wanted D to forgive me so we could be friends. I know how lonely I was in my closet. Maybe it was the same for him. Maybe it took every bit of courage he had to go to that rally last night. I don’t know. I only was certain that if he and I could be friends, there’d be two of us at our school, united, and life could get better. And if we had to stay in the closet to stay in school, then it would be just a little less lonely in that closet.

  I was startled by Mom’s “God’s good morning to you, sleepyhead. How are we today?” Then she frowned. “Oooh I can see.” She came to me and gently touched my eye. “Not so good, huh?”

  I pulled away, mostly from embarrassment but partly because her touch hurt. “What are you doing home?”

  “I phoned Reverend Stillmore and told him I couldn’t possibly come in today. I needed to take care of my Jakie.”

  Oh great. With Mom hovering over me, I would never be able to make my calls.

  “You shouldn’t have. I’m fine.” I pushed past her to the fridge. I retrieved the OJ carton and poured myself a glass.

  “It’s a mother’s privilege to nurse her only son.” She returned to folding laundry at the dining room table. “Mallory rang this morning. Said she saw you on the news.”

  I winced. So forget about it becoming a big thing. Mallory can make anything a big thing. “The news?”

  “Yes, sir, you have been all over the TV. Every station covered you last night.”

  I groaned. Everyone I know knew what a complete jerk I was, including Mal and Finn. Of course Alex would have already filled him in on everything, I was sure.

  Worse. D and I may be outed. After all, we were at that rally. Then again, he was the one supporting gay rights. So maybe only he will be in trouble. But I can’t let him take all the heat. Oh well, we’ll find another school where we can play basketball. I’d spent so much time fearing losing my team, and now I’d realized that being open and out and happy was a lot more important. I was proud of myself for that realization.

  “Anyway, Mallory said to tell you she’s concerned and for you to call her as soon as you get up.” Concerned? How should I have read that? Was she worried, or was she pissed? Suddenly I was glad she was hovering. I’d lost my determination, and I didn’t want to deal with Mallory. I needed some time.

  I took my juice to the couch, where I plopped down—not a wise move because my body ached from being knocked down. “I’ll call her later.” If Mal saw me throw the first punch, then I didn’t want to have anything to do with talking to her. Then again, maybe the reporters didn’t know who started it all. What a mess.

  As I set my glass on the coffee table, I noticed a package lying there. As I was about to pick it up, Mom said, “Oh, that padded envelope there? It came in yesterday’s mail. Your dad sent it.”

  So, without looking, I already knew I wanted nothing to do with it.

  “I talked to him earlier. He’s very concerned about you.” She tossed that off like she hadn’t filled him in on everything, like she’d just told him I’d tripped and fallen, needed stitches. But I know her. And I know him. One thing this summer taught me—they tell each other everything. “You need to call him.”

  “I don’t want to talk to him.” Miraculously she let that lie. She knew very well how I’d been treating him—again because I was certain he’d related it all—and I was surprised she was letting me skate on this.

  “That’s for you to decide,” she said. “But open the package. I’m curious.”

  I thought it best to just open the thing and get it over with. Despite the discoveries I’d made about life and happiness, I was still clinging to he lied to me. It might have been the pain or it might have been what Mal had said. Maybe I did have deep-seated, long-held resentment toward Dad. I’d found myself last night, and maybe I could find my way back to him. But at that moment, clinging to that last problem in my life felt a little good. Strange thing to say, but I just couldn’t let go of my resentment toward Dad and his Paulie.

  I ripped open the padded envelope. A DVD and a note were stuffed inside. First I pulled out the note and read it.

  Jake-O, I bought this a long, long time ago when you were a baby. I found it in a catalog. I knew you wouldn’t see it for years, but I wanted it for you so after I got it, I tucked it away. I remember that at the time, I was intending to watch it, but things got away from me. I vowed I’d see it soon, but then the move to Philly loomed, and I started packing. This thing got completely lost and wound up in storage. From time to time, I’d think about it, but then I’d get called away for a work thing, and it would once again get relegated to someday-soon-land. But—in the move to Halifax, it turned up. I watched it and immediately knew you needed to see it. Please watch it. Not for me. For yourself. Love, Dad.

  I pulled the DVD from the envelope.

  “What’d you get?” Give it a rest, Mom.

  I looked at the thing. The front read The Stonewall Interviews: Words That Impact Our Lives. Underneath was A Visit with a Titanic Survivor.

  “A DVD? What’s it about?” Her questioning seemed planned, like Dad had alerted her to build my interest in this thing.

  “I don’t know,” I said, disdain dripping. “I’m still reading.”

  I turned the case over. Splashed across the back of the DVD case was this, “Hear, in his own words, the story of Charley Robinson, an actual crew member of the legendary Titanic, who survived the sinking on April 15, 1912.”

  Charley Robinson? Was this what I thought it was? And if Dad had only watched this recently, this was why he’d answered so strangely
when I asked if he knew who Charley Robinson was. What was it he said? Vaguely?

  There was a sepia-toned picture of the sinking ship—no doubt cadged from some long-ago movie of the disaster. In about twenty-four-point font, icy blue letters across the iceberg proclaimed “Titanic Survivor Speaks!”

  Under that, the copy read, “Charley Robinson was only sixteen years old when he signed on to the ship that was advertised as unsinkable… the most luxurious passenger vessel ever built up to that time. Young Charley left his Portsmouth, England, home at the urging of his friend Jacob Hardy. They hoped to make a new life, a life of freedom, in New York. But one of them never made it. Hear as Charley Robinson tells his tale of the magnificent ship, his excitement at the possibilities that the new land presented to him and his Jake, the horrific last moments on the vessel, and his unbearable loss.” Then, at the bottom, it said, “Originally part of The Stonewall Series, filmed in 1969… 120 minutes.”

  I was in shock. Here were the answers to my questions. So much had happened since I’d found out about Jacob and Charley, I’d almost forgotten they existed. I filed the Jake and Charley part of the trip deep into my mind’s recesses. But Dad hadn’t forgotten.

  “So,” Mom said, again probing me like an alien being exploring the human psyche, “what’s the movie about?”

  “It’s not a movie. It’s a documentary, I guess you’d call it. Remember Jacob Hardy, the Titanic victim?”

  “How could I forget? What about him?”

  I held up the disc. “This is his story.”

  “And I gather from the fact that you removed the disc from the case that you plan to watch it right now.” There was an odd look of triumph on her face. Like some cosmic conspiracy was going on. Or something less esoteric. My father enlisted her aid in a nefarious plan to ensnare me. I didn’t want their scheme to work. But I did want to know more about Jacob Hardy, and I was supposed to be recuperating. So why not watch the thing?