by H L Stephens
"You mean I get to help you work on it?" I asked.
"Of course, darlin'," Uncle Julian said. "The car belongs to you, if you want it; if you like it. We'll work on it together until the car is done."
I ran up to Uncle Julian and flung my arms around him.
"Thank you Uncle Julian," I said. "It is the best present ever."
Uncle Julian hugged me back. I could feel the tension in his muscles relax.
"I'm glad you like it Jane," he said. "Now, you have to think of a name for your car. Every great muscle car has a name. It's part of what makes the car yours."
I looked back at my gift. Something within the bones of the car whispered to me. I stroked the old metal frame as I gave my answer.
"Her name is Charlene."
"Then Charlene it is," he said. "We'll make her a beauty."
I had no doubt we would.
I couldn't wait to introduce Iggie to Charlene the following day after school. Of all the people I knew, which weren't many, I thought he would appreciate my new car the most. I was operating under the impression that all guys melted over the site of a car, regardless of its condition, and felt an instant affinity for anything with a chassis no matter how dilapidated the condition. I was apparently wrong. Perhaps they have to reach a certain age before this characteristic kicks in. Whatever the case, I was underwhelmed by Iggie's response.
"You got a junker for your birthday?" he asked. That was after he stood there for a good ten minutes staring at Charlene with his mouth hanging open.
"She is not a junker," I retorted, "She is a 1970 Chevelle 454 SS I'll have you know, and her name is Charlene."
"You have a junker named Charlene from 1970, and you are all excited about it?" Iggie asked. Again he stood there staring; mouth hanging open like a musty tomb.
I punched him in the arm with as much force as I could muster.
"Ooooww!" he cried. "Whatcha do that for?"
"For being a dolt," I said. "You just wait Iggie Jenkins. Uncle Julian and I are going to fix Charlene up, and you will be sorry you ever called her a junker."
"You'll have to do a lot of fixin' before I stop calling your car a junker," Iggie said, but this time, he said it with a suppressed smile. Even if he didn't go weak in the knees at the sight of her, he understood what the car meant to me. The rest of the day was spent in daydreams and lemonade with my new best friend and filled with the promises that tomorrow would bring. I was lulled into believing that everything would remain just as it was – beautiful and peaceful.
School Days
Iggie was a year older than I was and at least a head and shoulders taller than any of the other children around our age. He had brown wavy hair and eyes the color of a stormy sea with just a touch of brown and green to calm the blue. He was a gentle soul by nature. Funny and what the locals called 'laid back', which I soon discovered meant it took a lot to get him riled up.
His gentleness did not preclude him from being bullied or from getting into fights. Because of his size and the unfortunate gifting of his name, he was forced to defend himself almost on a daily basis. It was either fight or be beaten by boys that were hard pressed to make a reputation for themselves in school by conquering the giant name Igthorpe Jenkins. Iggie's mother might as well have pinned a 'kick me' sign on his back and dressed him in a bow tie with pastel plaid pants to finish off his total victimization in school.
Iggie had a good number of friends in Ironco. Unfortunately, we went to school in a place that had children bused in from all over the region. At one time, Ironco had laid claim to its own school system, but the county decided the town didn't have enough children to justify the expense. The county closed the school and sold the property, shipping every last child out to a tumbleweed of a town named Parsonville where the kids were bigger and meaner; at least when compared to the ones from Ironco.
My friendship with Iggie made me an equal target for a time, as did the fact that I started school in the middle of the year. I was doubly marked as a target being the 'new girl'. The other children discovered in the most unpleasant way, however, that I had a deadly aim with a school book or any other object that was readily at hand if they chose to bully me or tease me for any reason. It did not take them long to learn it was in their best interest to leave me alone altogether and steer clear of Iggie while we were together.
The older children were a bit slower in coming to that healthy conclusion, as one high school student discovered after school one day when he made the mistake of taunting us on the bus ride home.
"Look.....it's Igthorpe the dip dork and his little red-haired pet," he said.
The high schooler bounced his basket ball against a metal pole that was by my head.
"Stop it," I said to him. I turned around and gave him the fiercest look I could manage. I could feel a fire burning inside me, like a raging torrent that would consume anything in its wake. "Stop it or you will regret it. I promise you."
"Whatcha gonna do firefly?" he said with a laugh. He kept bouncing that basketball of his against the pole. "You gonna run home and cry to your momma? Oh that's right. You ain't got a momma anymore."
The guy bumped fists with his bull-faced friends as they laughed at a pain inflicted they could not possibly understand. In small towns, with little to do for entertainment, gossip was often a favorite pastime. The story of my arrival and the necessity behind it was no secret, even to the residents of Parsonville.
Tears coursed down my face as I said, "Keep it up, and you will find out just what I will do."
I turned back around in my seat. My heart was racing, and my face was flushed. I could feel the heat of my rage as his pitiless words rang through my ears. My blood was magma in my veins, and I felt certain it would erupt at any moment. All it needed was a breaking point.
The basketball hit the pole one more time, and then it crashed into my face. Before I was aware of my actions, I flew over the seat behind me and landed on top of the high schooler with my math book in hand. Blood poured from my nose as I landed blow after blow upon the older boy's head and shoulders. He screamed under my mathematical assault. He screamed just like a girl - high pitched and howling.
"Get her off of me," he yowled to his friends.
His laughing buddies - who weren't laughing anymore - tried to pull me off, but every time they reached for me, they were hit by the math book too. None of them had the nerve to come near me beyond the first attempt. I bent that math book in half before I was done with the basketball bouncing boy.
"Don't you ever speak about my mother again you son of a half-wit," I screamed. "You have no right to speak of her....EVER. You leave me and Iggie alone. You hear me? You leave us alone."
When I felt the bus grind to a halt, I stopped swinging. I got off the boy and walked back around to my seat next to Iggie. His eyes were wide as saucers and his cheeks were a pale white where the blood had drained from them in shock.
The bus driver trotted back to where the now bleeding boy sat and asked if we had a problem.
"No sir," I said. "Everything is just fine now. That boy behind me was just saying he didn't think math served a purpose. I was just showing him it did. I think everything is fine now, but you can ask him yourself." I turned around and glared at the high school boy I had just bested with my book. He suppressed a sob but confirmed he had nothing to say.
The bus driver scowled at both of us.
"There better not be any more such discussions while you are on my bus, you hear?" he boomed, waggling his finger in my face as a warning.
"Oh yes sir," I said in my sweetest voice. "Besides, I think I have said everything that needs saying."
I told my aunt and uncle about what happened as soon as I got home that day, with audio/visual demonstrations from Iggie for good measure. He was enthusiastic about the whole event and said he had never seen anything like it.
"Not in all my live long days," he said. "It was like ultimate fighters except with a math book and no referee."<
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I cried and shuddered in my uncle's arms when I told him what the boy had said about my mom. My uncle held me until the tears and shudders subsided and told me all was well.
"You did good Jane standing up for yourself and Iggie," Uncle Julian said. "I'm right proud of you. One thing bullies can't handle is being stood up to. Don't you ever back down from people like that, or you will be running your whole life. You choose your battles wisely girl, and when you decide you are gonna fight, you make sure you win."
At the time, I wasn't entirely certain what Uncle Julian meant by running my whole life and picking my battles. Later on, as my understanding matured, simple words began to resonate in the decisions I would make.
Later that evening, Uncle Julian received a call from the school councilor over the bus incident. She thought I was a troubled child who needed intercession.
My uncle's response was, "Jane's fine. The failure is in your curriculum. If you would emphasize the importance of math more effectively, these kinds of encounters wouldn't happen."
He had a hard time saying it with a straight face.
"I am being serious Mister MacLeod," she said. Uncle Julian had put the call on speaker, and I could hear every word. "I think we need to talk about what is best for Jane. This is a symptom of a deeper, underlying issue that needs to be addressed. We can't just ignore what happened."
At this point, Uncle Julian got mad.
"No we can't ignore it," he replied. "Are you doing anything about the high school boy who hit her in the face with the basketball?"
"The bus driver reported what happened," she said. "It was an unfortunate accident."
"Not from where I'm sitting, it ain't," he said. "That boy was a bully, and he started harassing two small children on a bus. My girl told him to stop. The boy then proceeded to hit her in the face with his ball, which by the way has given her two ugly shiners, and it damn near broke her nose. All she did was defend herself. Now, if you want to turn this into something, we can take that route, but just know this. It is going to involve me calling the sheriff. Be forewarned me and the sheriff did go to high school together, and he like bullies any more than I do. He sure as heck doesn't like pansy counselors who make excuses for them, either. Have I made my point clear to you ma'am?"
"Yes you have," she said.
"Good," he said. "Then we are done talking."
Uncle Julian may have been done with his part of the conversation, but the councilor wasn't finished with hers. The next day I was called into her office for a disturbing tête-à-têtes.
Bad Seeds
Miss Derwood was a tall, undernourished woman with flouncy dyed flaxen hair. She imagined herself a great beauty but lacked the requisite ingredients either inside or out to meet such a lofty standard. She was as straight as a pencil, as charming as a rock, and as graceful as a toad that had fallen upon its back. Such were my impressions of Miss Derwood as she flitted about her office in front of Principal McMillan. He was in her office ahead of me, and it was obvious from her behavior that she liked him....a lot.
His expressions of repulsion made it obvious the feelings were not reciprocated. When he saw me sitting there waiting, a look of relief flashed across his features. Principal McMillan sprinted from the room, giving me a nod as he made his withdrawal. I wondered if he felt even the slightest bit of guilt abandoning me to Miss Derwood's disappointment at having him leave so unexpectedly, but he was too far removed to feel anything beyond his relief at being free from her clutches. I would be a poor substitute indeed for this lovesick woman who had just missed out on the object of her affections.
"You have a student waiting to see you," he said as he made a hasty retreat to the door. "We must never keep the student body waiting Miss Derwood. They are our highest priority."
"But I wasn't finished telling you my idea..." her voice trailed off as Principal McMillan disappeared from view. When her eyes rested upon me, her expression changed from longing to something that made my stomach turn.
Miss Derwood's disappointment was palpable when she realized the object of her obscene affection was escaping because of me. She did manage a disingenuous smile as she said, "Yes, we mustn't keep the students waiting. Come in Jane."
Her tone was flat; almost annoyed. I marveled that she could be so perturbed at me. After all, she was the one who summoned me to her office. Miss Derwood waved me over to a chair in front of her desk. It was low and squeaky, made from cheap, imitation leather that she conditioned every day. I could see the bottle of cleaner sitting on the window sill with the well-worn cloth draped over the top.
"What can I do for you Jane?" Miss Derwood asked, again with the flat tone.
"You called me here ma'am," I said.
My voice sounded small in her office. In fact, I felt small sitting in the stumpy chair in front of the glaring, sexually stymied woman. I didn't like that feeling. The chair was designed to make the person sitting in it feel small, while Miss Derwood glowered over her massive desk at whoever was unfortunate enough to find themselves in her crosshairs.
Maybe it was my two darkening black eyes that brought her back around or maybe she just needed a victim to pour out her frustrations upon. Whatever the case, Miss Derwood got to the point of my summons.
"Violence in a person's life, Jane, is like a seed," Miss Derwood began, as she stood up to pace. Every now and then, she would stop and look in my direction with an odd, little smile on her face. "It is usually planted in a dark heart where the ground is fertile and ready to receive it. Once that seed germinates, it sets deep roots, and the violent nature just pours right out. It starts small with little incidents like yours on the bus. But it never ends there. Oh no. It keeps growing, like Jack's beanstalk. You know that story, don't you Jane?"
I nodded that I did.
"I thought you might," Miss Derwood said, again with her smile. "I have looked at your school records, Jane. You came from New York. It says that you were a gifted student; above your peers even. Bright. Inquisitive. You seem to have exhibited the kinds of traits one would expect from an exceptional child. What I find interesting are the notes from some of your teachers about your unruliness. You were disruptive in class and disrespectful to your elders by asking questions out of turn. You corrected your teachers in front of your classmates and other things like that. I could go on, but what I see here Jane is confirmation of a seed planted. The evidence is clear. In fact, it is overwhelming in my mind, Jane."
Miss Derwood swung around to face me.
"I know what happened to your family," she continued, "and I grieve for you, Jane. I really do. But I worry. Now that you have shown a violent tendency towards others, I fear you are a danger to the children here in our school. You attacked a boy, Jane, virtually unprovoked. You broke his nose with your school book. Now, your uncle doesn't seem to think anything is wrong with what happened, but I do. It is my responsibility to make sure all students are safe. You can understand my position, can't you, Jane?"
I nodded my head.
"Good," Miss Derwood said as she continued to pace the floor. "This whole situation kept me up all night. I couldn't sleep a wink because of it. I just couldn't understand why a little girl of your age would commit such a brutal act. I have been trying to resolve that in my mind, and I can come to only one conclusion, Jane. Part of you liked what you saw and heard when your family was killed."
Miss Derwood once again spun around and stared at me with the most depraved smile upon her face. Her words struck harder than any baton could have.
I don't remember picking up the paperweight or hurling it at Miss Derwood. I don't remember screaming at her as it shattered against the wall mere inches from her head. All I remember doing is running. I ran and ran and ran until my legs and lungs could support me no longer. I collapsed where I was and did not get up again. I cried as I lay upon the ground until the tears wouldn't come anymore. My limbs wouldn't support me so I lay in the dirt, not knowing or caring where I was.
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sp; The sun began to make its final turn about the sky by the time I found the strength to move once more. I reached into my pocket and pulled out the cell phone Uncle Julian had gotten for me. It was still set on record. A small voice had whispered in my ear to turn it on before I walked into her office. I hadn't trusted her reason for calling me; not after the phone call to my house. But now I was lost, and didn't know how to get home.
Miss Derwood had called me a monster; violent and full of darkness. I was smart enough to know what she had accused me of. Because of what I had done to the boy on the school bus, I was as evil as the men who murdered my parents. I wondered if she was right. What if Uncle Julian and Aunt Irene felt the same way? What if they hated me because of the bus incident and were just afraid to say something?
Fresh tears sprung a new to my eyes. I stared at the cell phone. I wanted to call home, but I was afraid.
Maybe it is better to just keep running.
Then I thought about what Uncle Julian said to me after the fight; how he was proud of me for standing up for myself.
He wouldn't have said it if he thought I was a monster.
I held to his words as I dialed the phone.
"Hello?"
It was Aunt Irene on the other line, and she was frantic.
"It's me," was all I could manage before my voice broke.
"Oh thank God, Jane. Where are you sweetie? We have been worried sick."
I looked around. No signs or markers were within view. I was miles away from anything recognizable. I had found the road to nowhere.
"I don't know, Aunt Irene. I'm lost. I ran away from school, but I was so upset, I didn't pay attention to which direction I took. I just ran."
Fear settled in just as the darkness began to creep its way onto the landscape. I was familiar enough with the fauna to know I did not want to be out there in pitch black.
"I don't know how to get home, Aunt Irene."
I could hear Aunt Irene whispering a prayer on the other line.