by Joe Nobody
Slowly he came out of the shell, responding to her comments and even once cracking a joke. That one small event proved uplifting to the uncertain, young girl. It was the only sign she’d seen that the Jacob from before still resided inside the body perched next to her on the bed.
Sandy announced her presence in the threshold by clearing her throat, happy to see both teenagers respecting the open door policy whenever they were together.
“I hate to break up the party,” she smiled, “but I’ve got to help Jacob get ready. He’s got a doctor’s appointment this afternoon, and we can’t be late.”
“I understand, Mrs. Chase,” Manny replied, leaning over to kiss Jacob’s cheek. “If it’s okay, I’ll come back tomorrow after school. My parents said it would be fine.”
“Of course, Manny. You’re welcome in our home any time, sweetie.”
This is going to take time, Manny thought, rising to leave Jacob’s side. I’ll stay with him. I’ll help him heal. He needs me more than anyone has ever needed me before. I’ll be there.
The week that followed was a whirlwind of never-ending doctors’ visits, labs, and x-rays. The most welcome break in the medical regiment was Manny’s daily appearance to help Jacob keep abreast of his schoolwork.
Jacob seemed to be taking it all in stride, but both Gabe and Sandy slowly began to realize that their son’s demeanor was a façade, a calm surface cloaking the troubled waters below.
The first clue to his psychological disturbance was the change in his appetite. Normally a voracious eater, Jacob picked and poked at his favorite dishes. Slices of pepperoni pizzas were barely touched; bacon, lettuce, and tomato sandwiches often returned without a single bite mark scarring the bread.
At first, the couple wrote it off to the pain medications polluting their son’s stomach and suppressing his desire for food. That excuse quickly faded as Jacob’s need for the narcotics waned.
Already thin, with practically no body fat due to the demands of athletic conditioning, the weight loss began to show badly on his once impressive frame. Sandy noticed the sunken eyes first, Gabe commenting on his son’s protruding ribs. He grew more and more lethargic, the light behind Jacob’s eyes dimming a little more each day.
Finally, the time came for the psychologist’s assessment, the renowned therapist recommended by Adam as a specialist in post-traumatic stress syndrome. Jacob protested vehemently, displeased that the scheduled appointment would delay his daily visit with Manny.
Trying to help her injured boyfriend through the riff, Manny had done her part to counter Jacob’s grumbling. Inviting a select few of his friends, she organized an afternoon session of hanging out. The concept seemed to brighten the depressed, young man. Both Sandy and Gabe cursed themselves for not having thought of it earlier.
On the way back from the introductory session with the shrink, Jacob called Manny to let her know he was heading home and that she and their friends could come over.
In the front, Gabe and Sandy pretended not to be eavesdropping, but couldn’t ignore the outburst that surged from the backseat.
“What do you mean you’re the only one coming by?” Jacob asked, disappointment thick in his tone.
There was a long pause while Manny responded, and then Jacob’s voice sounded deflated. “Oh. I see. Well, that’s okay, I guess. Are you still coming by?”
A few moments later, Sandy noticed her son was crying. “Jacob? What’s the matter sweetie? What’s wrong?”
It took him a minute to answer, the teen obviously struggling to control himself. “The other kids aren’t coming over. Manny didn’t come right out and say it, but her meaning was pretty clear. Their parents don’t want them associating with a criminal like me.”
“What?” Gabe exploded, his fury bleeding through more than he intended. “What the hell are you talking about, son?”
Jacob cowered, his father’s verbal eruption causing him to wilt. “It’s just what she said, Dad,” he responded meekly.
“I’m sure that’s not what she meant,” Sandy replied, her tone soft and filled with the honey of concern. “Are you sure you didn’t misunderstand?”
“I’m not sure I understand anything,” the whispered reply sounded from the backseat. “Nothing makes sense anymore.”
They arrived home, no one daring to say another word during the remainder of the trip. Jacob entered the house and immediately hobbled for his room, ignoring the trays of snacks his mother had set out in anticipation of having a house full of teenagers. Gabe called Chip.
“Yes, that’s exactly what has happened,” Manny’s father confirmed. “A bunch of kids were supposed to meet here, and then I was going to haul them over to your house in the minivan. I talked to several parents, and while most of them made up bullshit excuses, they finally admitted they were worried about their teens hanging out with Jacob. I’m sorry, Gabe, but that’s the truth.”
“That’s bullshit!” Gabe fumed, not believing anyone could possibly think of Jacob as an undesirable influence. “That’s not fair, Chip. How could they?”
“I’m sorry… I truly am. But I have to tell you, there’s been more than one parent ask me why I am not worried about Manny still seeing Jacob. People talk, Gabe. Stories grow; rumors abound. It will settle down and get back to normal once the facts start coming out. This will all blow over.”
“If Jacob makes it that long,” he blurted before realizing what he’d said. “Thanks, Chip. I do appreciate your being up front with me.”
Like a stormy sea crashing against the bulwark, the next blow to roll over the Chase home was delivered via the U.S. mail. Gabe had no doubt regarding the envelope’s contents, hesitating to open the cover that surely conveyed even more bad news.
“Wow, I guess I had not expected this letter to be here so quickly,” Gabe acknowledged, rubbing his temples to alleviate the budding tension headache. “Sandy and I will have to put on our parental thinking caps… somehow prepare him for this blow,” he whispered. He tossed the letter on the kitchen counter alongside the weekly mailers, coupon bundles, and other paper-wasting junk, then headed to the bathroom for something to stop the pounding in his skull.
During his return trip to the kitchen, Gabe’s cell rang, his phone’s display verifying it was his office calling. The owners of the small engineering firm had been the most understanding employers anyone could hope for, trying their best to contact him only if there was a critical need. But Gabe was acutely aware that losing his job was not a luxury his middle-class family could afford right now. Luckily, this call was quick, only distracting him for a minute or so.
He completed the call, returning to open the letter. It had vanished. “Sandy, did you notice a letter from Jacob’s college sitting here?” he asked.
“Yeah, I noticed it was addressed to Jacob, so I took it up to his room.”
She realized the mistake instantly after the blood drained from her husband’s face, wringing both of her hands as he rushed past toward the stairs. “Oh no… I didn’t think…, Oh, good Lord, what have I done,” she whispered.
Gabe took the steps two at time, but he was too late. Jacob was in his usual position, leg and head elevated by mountains of pillows. The letter rested on his stomach, tears streaming down his cheeks.
With urgency, Gabe rushed to his son, pushing the “We regret to inform you,” letter aside and cradling the distraught teenager’s head. “I’m sorry Jacob, I didn’t mean for you to open that alone. We both knew the college was going to cancel your scholarship, son. They really didn’t have much choice.”
“I know,” he wept. “But I thought it would be because I couldn’t play ball,” he managed between sobs. “That letter says I was disqualified for admission because of my arrest. They think I am a criminal, Dad.”
Gabe continued to hold his son, wondering when the world was going to give Jacob Chase a break.
Jacob had already amassed enough credits to graduate from high school, but state law required every student to ea
rn a passing grade in certain prerequisite classes in order to walk the stage and collect his sheepskin. The irony of their son having to pass a course in government and civics wasn’t lost on the Chases.
He’d been doing okay working from home, but there were certain aspects of the mandatory class that required a face-to-face interaction with the instructor.
Mr. Ballymore had been kind and flexible on previous occasions, even coming by the house for an hour to make sure Jacob met the requirements. Today, however, the teacher’s schedule only allowed the meeting to occur during the last period – at the school.
Sandy had been unsure about taking Jacob into the building, his mood unpredictable, his strength waning. After consulting with Manny, she decided to raise the topic and evaluate his reaction before committing to the course of action. Her son had agreed, noting it would be good to get out of his bedroom. “Don’t be such a worrywart, Mom. Ya know, cabin fever can mess with a guy’s head, too,” Jacob teased. “Besides, it will be nice to see my old stomping grounds.” A brief smile engaged the teen’s lips, before his final remark. “Consider it therapy.”
Since the canceled gathering at the house, Sandy knew Jacob had been avoiding social media. It was a tall order for a teenager, and a sure sign of her son’s ever-deepening isolation. Maybe he’s right. Seeing the other kids could help break down the wall of ice he’s building around himself, she thought.
They arrived at the main entrance, Jacob taking it all in without comment. He was more skilled with his crutches now, able to keep up with her normal gait. They entered the building, proceeding to the attendance desk to sign in both student and parent.
Sandy harbored hope that they might run into one of her son’s friends or teammates while they were there, and that the encounter would help Jacob come out of his self-imposed shell. However, their interaction with the receptionist had taken a little longer than planned. The bell rang, signaling the change in classes before mother and son could make their way down the hall.
Hundreds and hundreds of students poured simultaneously from the classrooms, rushing through the crowded space, slamming lockers while ongoing conversations filled the packed hallways. But all of that changed the moment the kids noticed Jacob. Sandy couldn’t believe how rude the teens were, stopping all activity just to stare at her son as he passed. No one said a word, not one single person offering a greeting, smile, or even a nod.
At one point during the gauntlet, Jacob paused, staring longingly at another lanky lad sporting a basketball letterman’s jacket. Sandy recognized the youth as the team’s center, a friendly kid who was always hanging around with her son after practices and games.
“Hey Kip. What’s up?” Jacob said nicely. “Been a while, dude.”
The kid looked down with a frown, gave a curt nod, and then turned and walked away. Sandy couldn’t believe it, but Jacob seemed to take it in stride.
They entered the empty classroom, Mr. Ballymore nowhere to be found. Jacob took a seat, ready to wait for the tardy teacher.
“I’m sorry, Jacob. I had no idea the kids would be so mean to you.”
He managed a slight smile and said, “It’s okay, Mom. I kind of expected it… Manny warned me. I’ve embarrassed the guys on the team, going from hero to zero after getting in trouble with the law. A lot of my friends stood up for me at first, but now that I’m going to be on trial, everybody assumes I’m guilty. I’ll be fine.”
“But that’s not fair, Jacob. You’re innocent until proven guilty, and people should know that.”
“I always thought that, too,” he sadly lamented. “But that’s not the way the system works. Manny is taking a lot of heat over our relationship, too. Everybody is calling her ‘Jailbait’ and ‘Prison bitch.’ I’m surprised she’s stayed with me this long. There’s only so much a person can take.”
Her son’s words took Sandy aback, the depth of his understanding and analysis more advanced than his years would predict. She also found herself constantly astounded by the social complexities of high school. Things had seemed so much simpler back in her day.
Mr. Ballymore arrived just then, the hospitable man moving to shake their hands. Sandy drifted to the back of the room, keen on getting out of the way, and seeking some space to consider Jacob’s state of mind.
We’re in trouble, she decided. And I’m beginning to wonder if there’s a way out. Show me, Lord. I pray to you - guide us through these terrible times.
The vehicle’s left, rear taillight wasn’t working, Big Jim’s eye zeroing in on the malfunction from two cars back. No taillight and no brake light. Oh, gawd, he sighed. Another asshole who won’t spend fifty bucks to maintain his vehicle. Bet the inspection sticker dates back a few years on that piece of shit.
Normally, the sergeant wouldn’t bother with such a minor infraction. But when the traffic pattern placed his squad car directly behind the offender, the driver reacted with a hasty right turn into a residential area. Too quick.
Marwick followed. The response was instinctual.
A block later, Big Jim sensed something was wrong. The driver remained four to five miles under the posted speed limit and made an exaggerated stop at the next interchange.
For a moment, he hesitated. After the incident with the basketball player, he’d received a stern warning from his supervisors, the ass chewing including phrases like, “less aggressive,” and “play by the book.”
His bosses had made it clear he was under intense scrutiny, warning of the need to dot the “I’s” and cross the “T’s,” and most importantly of all, “Keep your fucking nose out of trouble for a while.”
It was maddening for a cop like Jimmy Marwick. Sure, things occasionally crossed the line, but the collateral damage was a small price to pay for aggressive police work that produced results. Accidents happened in every occupation.
Deciding he’d already invested the time, Jim flipped on the lights, blasting the siren for one short burst. He’d give the guy a warning and let him be on his way.
It was the driver’s head that raised Jim’s suspicions to a higher level. Traveling less than 30 mph, the visible portion of the operator’s skull pivoted quickly right to left, as if he were in high volume traffic and was working the mirrors in an attempt to change lanes. The motion just didn’t fit the situation.
The man pulled over soon enough, Marwick calling in the plates as both cars rolled to a stop. The dispatcher confirmed that there were no outstanding wants or warrants.
Exiting his unit, the officer kept his eye on the driver and approached from the recommended angle. Be polite to the citizen, he thought. It’s only a busted taillight. Be the nicest cop this guy has ever met.
He found a middle-aged Hispanic man fumbling with his wallet. When Big Jim tapped on the window, the fellow behind the wheel nearly jumped out of his seat.
Experience taught every cop that many people became nervous when they were pulled over, regardless of the severity of their offense. Outright fear was less common, and more often than not, a sure sign of guilt.
“License and proof of insurance please,” Jim stated with a neutral tone.
The driver provided his license quickly, having already started the process of removing it from his wallet. The insurance card took a bit longer to dig from the cluttered glove box. He’s scared shitless, the officer observed. His hands are trembling like crazy.
If the driver had been Caucasian or of African-American descent, the reaction would have pegged the cop’s internal suspicion meter. With Latinos, it was difficult to tell. Undocumented immigrants often behaved inexplicably when confronted by any official wearing a uniform, probably a reaction based on growing up in a place where the cops were corrupt… or worse.
“Do you know why I pulled you over, sir?”
“No, I don’t. I know I wasn’t speeding,” the shaky voice replied, nearly cracking.
“You have a taillight out, sir. I also noticed the brake light on that side wasn’t working.”
J
im, once he’d explained the reason for the stop, had expected the driver to settle down. Instead, the opposite occurred. The man’s eyes grew wide, small beads of perspiration burgeoning on his forehead. “You… you mean in the back… back there,” the driver stammered, motioning with his head.
“Yes, sir. It could be a loose wire. Why don’t you open the trunk, and let’s take a look,” Marwick stated, watching the driver’s reaction closely.
It became instantly obvious there was something in the trunk the man didn’t want the police sergeant to see. He motioned with his hands three times before speaking, and then his words didn’t make any sense. “My cousin… looks at it. He’s… he’s a fixer… a mechanic.”
Officer Marwick knew 99% of motorists in a similar position would jump at the chance to check for a loose wire as opposed to receiving a citation. “Please step out of the car, sir.”
“No, no. I’m fine right here.”
Louder this time, establishing command, “Please step out of the car, sir.”
The response was just a blank stare, the driver’s mind obviously in paralysis, trying to figure a way out. But Jim did not intend to allow time for that.
An important part of police training addressed what is called the “OODA” loop. An acronym for “observe, orient, decide, and act,” the term was commonly used by both the military and private businesses alike. Created by Colonel John Boyd of the United States Air Force to establish a shared language and definition for fighter pilots, it described the sequence of events common in the human decision-making process.
Law enforcement training focused on instructing officers how to “get inside” of any suspect’s OODA loop. Whether the situation involved an argument, interrogation, simple questioning, or a gunfight, it was commonly accepted that the guy with the shorter, faster loop would come out on top. If the cop could disrupt the other person’s loop, the odds improved even more.
Jim leaned into the window, the appearance of the large cop’s head intruding inside the car causing the driver to recoil. Marwick sniffed once, twice, and then pulled away quickly. “I smell marijuana. Are there illegal narcotics in your car, sir?”