by C. G. Cooper
“I can take that,” he said.
“It’s the least I can do. You make me want to come to school.”
It was one of those off the cuff things you say. I didn’t think about it because it was true.
Kenji’s mouth spread in the most genuine smile I’d seen.
“Then my job here is complete,” he said with a bow.
I rolled my eyes and couldn’t help laughing. “Come on, oh, high Dungeon Master.”
I fixed him in a headlock and dragged him over to the trashcan. Kids were staring at the spectacle, and I didn’t care. Let them laugh. I’d avoided being roasted by an evil wizard.
Chapter Thirty-One
“Can I have a friend over?”
Mom stopped the vegetable chopping and looked at me. “You have a friend?”
Here we go.
“Yes, without a doubt, I have a friend.”
I obviously understood what she was thinking. No parent wants their kid visiting a prison. I’d never had a friend over.
“What’s his name?”
“Kenji.”
“That’s an interesting name. Is he a nice boy?”
“Mom!”
“Sorry. Of course, you can have your friend over. Would you like me to call his mother?”
“She doesn’t speak English.”
I didn’t know if that was the truth, but the lie had slipped out like a sneeze.
“Then, his father?”
“All we need is a note for the bus.”
Mom slid the onion she had chopped into a pan. The pieces hit with a stinging hiss.
“Fine with me.”
“Thanks!”
I had Kenji’s phone number written on the back of my hand. I slipped to my parents’ bedroom for privacy and dialed his house.
“Jimmy?”
“Yeah, it’s me.”
“What did your mom say?”
“She said you could come over.”
“Awesome. Want me to bring figurines?”
He’d told me about the little metal D&D figurines he painted and sometimes used for games.
“Sure.” I tried not to sound overly excited. Keep it cool. In truth, I was buzzing with adrenaline. My first friend over and figurines? I could barely keep from vibrating out of my socks.
“Great, he said. “I’ll see you at school tomorrow?”
“Wait. Kenji?”
“Yeah?”
“What happens with the wizard?”
“You wanna play it out now?”
“Can we?” I said weakly. I felt weird. The way he answered, I almost felt ashamed. But his role as Dungeon Master had elevated him to adult status in my eyes.
“By all means. Sure.” He took a moment, then I heard papers rustling. “Okay, you slip off the last tree. The wizard’s yelling something you can’t hear. Wait. It’s a spell. The air around you tingles.”
“Run! I want to run!” I said as loud as I dared.
“You try to run, but your legs are stuck in place. The wizard has frozen you on the spot, and he’s coming your way. He’s laughing again. High and loud like a hyena.”
“Jeez, Kenji. What the hell am I gonna do now?”
“Just as your heart feels like it’s going to explode out of your chest, an arrow zips past your head. Then another. The wizard screams, and suddenly, your legs can move again. The spell is disrupted.”
“What? Who—"
“Someone calls your name. You look that way and see a shock of blonde hair waving in the wind; the figure is wearing leather armor that fits her bodacious form perfectly.”
“Bodaci—? What does—wait . . . it’s a girl?”
“Not just a girl. A female ranger. She wants you to come with her.”
With no other choice, I assented. “Fine. I’ll go with her.”
Great. The last thing I’d expected was to be saved by a girl.
“To be continued,” Kenji said. I thought I heard mirth in his voice.
“Alright, see you tomorrow, Kenji,” I said, emasculated by bodaciousness.
Chapter Thirty-Two
Kenji wasn’t at school the next day or the day after that. I called his house but no one answered. When Kenji did finally show up in class, his face was more drawn than it usually was, and his skin had this unnatural color like someone had squeezed all the juice out of it.
“Hey, Jimmy,” Kenji said.
I could see that every syllable hurt him. “Are you okay?”
“I’m okay. Stomach bug.” I think I backed away a half step before he added, “It’s not contagious.”
I relaxed at that. “Did you think up anything new?”
I didn’t tell him I’d been dreaming about adventures. Wizards. Trolls. The odd dark elf creeping into my bedroom.
Kenji’s old smile appeared. “I thought you’d never ask.”
It took Kenji the rest of the week to look halfway decent again. Whenever I asked him if he needed help, he always shrugged it off. Our classmates treated him like more of a pariah than before. To them, he wasn’t just a weirdo, he was some sort of diseased weirdo. That was fine with us. Everyone left us alone.
Well, almost everyone.
Did you ever meet a kid who was a bully magnet? Kenji was one of them. He’d take a good taunting equally from boys and girls. But while I balled my fists and imagined smashing their noses in, Kenji smiled and went back to whatever he was doing.
When I asked him about the bullying later, he’d murmur something about “Simpletons.”
I didn’t know what that word meant. I had to look it up. Once I knew the meaning of the word, I had to agree. Simpletons. In addition to that, they were also mean—out for a rise at the cost of someone else’s sanity. I guess Kenji didn’t want to admit that. I had no choice. I was no stranger to those types.
I remember it was a perfect fall day. The scorch of summer was finally letting off. Kenji and I were on the monkey bars. I could glide across like a gymnast. Kenji labored with each grip but took it in stride. Nobody would ever accuse Kenji of being a future Olympian unless the Olympics one day decided to introduce D&D campaigns as an event.
This particular day I think we were practicing crossing a river of lava. Kenji said the monkey bars were a rope bridge that we could only take from underneath. I was across in my usual simian time. Kenji struggled as I urged him on.
“Come on,” I said. “The archers are right behind you.”
Kenji’s face strained. He was halfway across. He was going to make it.
Then a shadow passed across his body. A sixth-grade mouth-breather named Yancy pulled Kenji’s pants down to his knees.
I was off the far step in a flash, running toward the interloper. The older kid was doubled over in laughter, pointing up at his victim. He’d not only gotten Kenji’s corduroys, but he’d also managed to slip the underwear down as well.
“Hey, look at that!” said Yancy. “There’s a Jap butt hanging in the air!”
Half of the class had noticed now. Yet for some reason, Kenji still hadn’t dropped down. I was torn between watching the spectacle and wanting to throttle Yancy. He was maybe an inch taller than me. It was the gang of followers he had around him that made me stop.
“Kenji, get down,” I said when the shock wore off, and my anger lowered down to med-high heat.
Kenji wouldn’t get down. His pants were down around his ankles, and the teacher had noticed. Slowly and steadily. I don't think she knew what she was looking at.
“Kenji,” I said. He looked down at me, terrified. Every kid in a mile’s radius seemed to be laughing. “Drop down. It’s okay.”
He gave me a tiny nod and dropped down to the ground, writhing there, fumbling with his pants. It was like his hands didn’t work. I pulled them up for him, underwear and all.
“Hey, look! Jap has a boyfriend!” Yancy called. “Why don’t you kiss your boyfriend for helping you out, Jap boy. Mushi-mushi, kiss his tushy!”
My fist was flying before I knew what wa
s happening. It careened straight for Yancy’s head. I saw every detail of his face. The wide eyes. The parted lips. The nose waiting to be smashed.
The impact never came. Kenji pushed me away, and I stumbled to the ground.
That made everyone laugh even harder.
The teacher was there now.
“What in heavens is going on here? Yancy?”
“That kid’s pants fell off while he was on the monkey bars. We were trying to help, but he wouldn’t get down.”
The teacher looked down at Kenji.
“Is that true?”
No hesitation from Kenji.
“Yes, Ma’am. I didn’t have my belt on tight enough.”
“What about you, Mr. Allen? Is there a reason you’re on the ground?” She was either blind or stupid, and I didn’t see a dog anywhere.
I couldn’t say a word. I could only stare at my friend.
“I knocked him over by accident,” Kenji said.
The teacher reached down to give me a hand up.
“I’m fine,” I said, her touch was like a snail on my arm.
The school bell rang. “You boys and girls get inside. Go on now.”
She left. Yancy and his gang didn’t.
I was still on the ground when he approached. Yancy made like he was going to kick me in the side. I flinched to protect myself.
No kick came, but more laughs did.
“I’m so gonna kick your butt,” Yancy said. Then to his peons, “Come on.”
And then they were gone. Kenji knelt beside me.
“Are you okay?”
I looked back at him with incredulous eyes. “Me? What about you?”
“What about me?”
I scanned his face for any recognition of what’d just happened. Embarrassment. Mortification. Even regret. Nothing.
I got to my feet and brushed off my pants.
“I’m sorry, Jimmy.”
Now I whirled on him. “You’re sorry? Why don’t you apologize to yourself? Half the school saw you naked!”
“It doesn’t matter,” he said.
I had no idea what he meant; his face was turning the color of cabernet.
“Yeah, you’re right,” I said. “It doesn’t.”
“Hey, do you want to come over this weekend? I drew up a new dungeon I thought you might like,” Kenji said.
“No,” I said, refusing to look at him as we headed back into the building. “We have plans.”
I was too young to analyze it. But now, with hindsight eating away at my guts, I can tell you that right then and there I’d decided I could no longer be Kenji’s friend.
My banishment of Kenji lasted a full weekend. What got me in touch with him again had nothing to do with remorse. What ten-year-old feels genuine remorse?
No. What got me to call my friend before school was none other than Brady Bruce.
Chapter Thirty-Three
It was the Saturday after the pantsing episode at school. There was a new song on the radio. The DJ said it was “Pour Some Sugar on Me” by a group called Def Leppard. For some reason, the song had me entranced. I didn’t know what they were singing about. To this day, I don’t really listen to lyrics. It was more of the vibe of the song. This song made me feel alive. Something about the melodic insistence that the lead singer get sugar poured on him. Places I was used to, if you got sugar poured on you, it was only a matter of time before you were a hot mess and a walking ant trap.
Whatever it meant; I didn’t care. This was my song.
I scanned radio stations the entire morning. Luckily the song was hitting the charts with a bang, and I listened to it a good ten times before Mom kicked me outside.
That was fine. I had the tune pressed in my brain. I hummed along as I made my way to the greenhouse. A ride on my four-wheeler would be a perfect accompaniment to my song-soaring mood.
“Who needs friends, anyway?” I asked the world.
Larry was back home, glued to cartoons. I was flying solo.
I rounded the last corner humming along, and there it was, my four-wheeler sitting on tires as flat as smooshed marshmallows.
Carlisle stepped out of the greenhouse. He didn’t see me at first. He was too focused on the tools in his hands—a tire repair kit.
Then I noticed his swollen left eye.
He bent down to his task of fixing the first tire and I hung back. Something pulled me forward. I don’t think it was altruism. I think it was curiosity.
“Hey Carlisle,” I said, putting a dash of pep in my voice.
“Morning, Jimmy.” He avoided my gaze.
Words stuck in my mouth. All the courage from a moment ago flew from my chest.
“I’m not sure you want to see this,” he said, grabbing a cinder block and starting to make his jury-rigged jack system.
“What happened to my tires?”
“Don’t worry,” he said jovially, “I’ll fix them.”
“But what happened?”
“Ah, probably someone being cute.”
Now the words came before I could clamp my teeth shut. “Was it Brady Bruce?”
Carlisle looked up at me. “Now why would you say that?”
Hmm, let’s see. Because Bruce haunted my dreams? Because Bruce was the only person I could imagine doing such a thing? Or because I wanted it to be him?
“I don’t know,” I said honestly. “What happened to your eye?” I had to do something about my case of the blurts.
Carlisle put on a half-smile. “Ah, nothing for you to worry about.”
I shifted from one foot to another while Carlisle got to work. It didn’t take him long to get the first tire patched. He was on to the second before I had the guts to speak again.
“I thought we were friends.”
He froze. Then he sat back on his knees and did this awkward scan left and right as if keeping an eye out for a guard. Then he turned to me.
“We are friends,” he said, almost too quietly for me to hear.
“Then why can’t you tell me what really happened to your face?”
“Let it go, Jimmy. Alright? Let me fix Marauder for you.”
Next, I did something entirely out of my nature. I walked up to him and rested a hand on his shoulder. The touch sent a jolt through my body like I’d stuck a fork in a wall socket. I didn’t let go, but I’m pretty sure my eyes went wide. I say that because Carlisle’s eyes had gone wide too like he’d felt the lightning.
“Tell me what happened,” I said.
Carlisle’s eyes went back to their normal size. He smiled warmly. “Jimmy Allen, when you get something in your head, it sticks in there like a nettle, doesn’t it? Sometimes it’s best if you let it go. I’m fine. I promise.”
I let go of his shoulder and took a few steps away, surveying the damage to my mighty vehicle.
“Can I at least help you with the tires?”
He handed me a tool and we got to it, Carlisle explaining every step along the way. I helped him cut bits of old rubber, and he showed me how to use a metal rod that looked like the end of a sewing needle to thread the black patch.
“And that’s how it’s done,” he said when he’d finished the second tire.
“Can I try one on my own?”
“Big man,” he said with a chuckle. He handed me the first tool, and I got to it. He didn’t jump in unless I asked.
I was in the middle of trying to thread the patch when he asked, “Jimmy, what do you see when you look at me?”
“What do you mean?” I asked back, too focused on the tire work to understand that a significant question lay at my feet.
“When you look at me, do you see a bad man? Someone who might hurt you?”
It took a few seconds for the shivers to hit my spine. My palms started to sweat. “Hurt me?”
Carlisle raised his hands to show that he’d meant nothing of the sort. “You know I wouldn’t do that. It’s just . . . ah, ignore me. I guess I’m feeling sorry for myself. Happens sometimes.”
&n
bsp; My nerve endings resettled. For the first time, I really looked at the man. The wide shoulders. The shaved face. The hands that could palm a basketball with enough grace left over to coax a tomato plant into growing straight.
“I see a prisoner,” I said. Again, without thinking.
Carlisle nodded. “Me too. That’s what I see every single day.”
He paused, and I let him find the words. I was too dumbstruck to speak anyway.
“You spend enough time behind walls,” he said, “and you start to believe the lie that you’re less of a man. But I’m still a man. A good man.” He squinted his eyes and nodded to no one when he said it. “I’ve worked hard to atone for my sins. I take care of people. I do my job. I never cause trouble.”
He was staring at the ground, and I could about hear the wheels turning in his head.
“Carlisle, what’s wrong?”
“I’m scared, Jimmy, that’s all.” He shook his head as if denying it.
“Scared of what?”
He shaped the air with his massive hands. “Hard to explain. You see, I thought the old me was long gone. Now I realize . . . let’s say I’m scared he might come back again.”
Think of something smart to say, Jimmy.
“Mom says we should live in the moment, you know, enjoy what we have.”
Jimmy Allen, TED talker.
Carlisle chuckled. “Your mom’s a smart lady, you know that? You’d be smart to listen to what she says.”
“That’s what she tells me.”
We both laughed at that.
“You know, I never thought prison would make me a better man. Nope. I thought I’d be locked up here for good. I deserved it.”
“What did you do?” Damn, blurts struck again.
If there was one thing Dad always drilled into our heads, it was we never were to ask an inmate what he’d done to be sent to prison. It wasn’t our business. He said, “It was between the man, his Maker, and the law.”
I don’t think Carlisle knew Dad’s rule. “It was drugs, mostly. Heroin. Smack, we call it. Though I did some more stuff that led me to get caught in the first place. Once they get you on a drug charge, they’ve got you for everything else.” Now he looked at me and seemed to regard me as a fellow adult. “I was a dumb kid. I thought I could do anything without any of the consequences. Do you understand that, Jimmy?”