Initiation

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Initiation Page 15

by Phil M. Williams


  Jim set his fork down with a clang. “What the hell are you doin’ here?”

  “Aren’t you supposed to be with the team?” Grace asked.

  “I quit,” Carter said.

  Jim shook his head, a smirk on his face. “Why?”

  Carter shrugged. “The coach …”

  Jim chuckled. “The quitter’s mantra. It’s always someone else’s fault.” Jim spoke in a mocking girlish voice. “The coach was mean to me. He was always yellin’. It hurt my feelin’s.”

  “Jim,” Grace shook her head. “That’s not necessary.”

  “This is so embarrassing,” Alyssa said. A piece of bacon was stuck between her braces. “Do you know what a nightmare this is going to be for me?”

  Carter glared at his sister. “Shut up, this isn’t about you.”

  Jim stood up, his fists clenched. “You will not talk to your sister that way.”

  “Why do you care if I play football or not?” Carter said to Jim. “I’m too small, remember? I’m just taking your wise advice.”

  Jim shook his head and marched around the counter, closer to Carter. “You’re not puttin’ your cowardice on me. So damn sensitive. I offer some constructive criticism and you just fall apart. If you’re gonna get anywhere in this world, you best develop a thick skin.”

  “Your dad’s right,” Grace said. “You can’t go quitting when things are hard.”

  “I could care less if you play football,” Jim said. “But you’re not gonna sit around here after school and not contribute. From now on, if you want somethin’, you’re gonna have to buy it yourself. No more free rides.”

  Carter’s mouth was a flat line. “When I turn eighteen, you’ll never see me again.”

  Jim pounced on Carter, his meaty hands wrenching Carter’s neck. Carter’s eyes dimmed, his breath stymied.

  “You think you can make threats in my house?” Jim said.

  Jim let go. Carter coughed and sucked in oxygen. He stood straight, glaring at his father, his fists clenched. He stood there for a moment then turned and marched down the basement steps. He grabbed his knit cap, opened the garage door and left. He pulled his cap over his head and started jogging, the cold wind biting his face. He continued running until he was outside of his neighborhood, along the main highway. He slowed to a walk along the concrete sidewalk. Steam spilled from his mouth with each breath. He shoved his hands in his front pocket and leaned into the headwind.

  After a few miles, his feet were frozen, his face numb. He hiked into the parking lot of the public library. Two cars were parked in a lot that could hold a hundred. He took off his hat as he entered the heated building. Immediately to his right was a long desk with an elderly woman sitting behind a fat computer monitor. She glanced up from her bifocals.

  “Can I help you find something?” she asked.

  “No thank you,” Carter said, “I’m just looking.”

  Carter strolled through every bookshelf, glancing at the titles. Past the shelves he browsed through the magazines and newspapers. The front cover of the Alexandria Gazette read The Marauders Plan to Pillage Another State Title. He grabbed a copy of Sports Illustrated and ambled to a cluster of tables and chairs. He read the magazine cover to cover. After, he read another one. He continued like that until the elderly woman told him that they were closing.

  A gust of wind smacked him in the face as soon as he stepped out of the library. He felt faint, his stomach rumbling. He jogged on the sidewalk, the wind swirling, his eyes watering, and his face numb. Cars zipped by, leaving their exhaust hanging in the air. His feet smacked the sidewalk, but he could barely feel them. A few miles later, he turned into his neighborhood. He slowed to a walk and put his hands on his hips, sucking in the bitter air.

  He heard a few polite beeps behind him. He turned to see a red Honda Coupe stop along the sidewalk. The window powered down.

  “Carter,” Sarah said from the passenger’s seat.

  Carter turned and jogged from the sidewalk to the street where the car was parked along the curb.

  “I’ve been looking everywhere for you,” Sarah said.

  Julie leaned over from the driver’s seat with a smile.

  “Hi, Mrs. Cunningham,” Carter said.

  She frowned. “Stop with the Mrs. Cunningham, and get in before you turn into a Popsicle.”

  Sarah opened the door and stepped out of the car. She pushed the seat forward and climbed into the miniscule back seat. “Get in,” she said.

  Carter sat in front and shut the door.

  “Are you okay?” Sarah asked.

  “I’m fine,” Carter said, “I just went to the library.”

  Julie pulled into her driveway. She was dressed in black tights, a short skirt, and tall boots. The car idled, the headlights still on.

  “You’re not coming?” Sarah asked.

  Julie frowned. “You know I’m supposed to meet Lincoln.”

  “Whatever.”

  Carter opened the car door. “Thank you for the ride Mrs. – I mean, Julie.”

  She winked. “You’re welcome, cutie pie.”

  Sarah pushed the front seat forward and stepped out of the car. Sarah and Carter strolled up the steps to the front door. Julie was already gone. Sarah fished for her key, cranked the deadbolt, and pushed inside. She flipped on the lights. Carter pulled his knit cap off, his short brown hair matted to his head. Sarah took off her jacket and hung it in the hall closet.

  She frowned at Carter’s sweatshirt. “Where’s your coat, Panama boy?”

  “I left it at home.”

  “You want something to eat? I was going to make spaghetti for dinner.”

  “I thought you were mad at me,” Carter said.

  She stepped forward and kissed him on the cheek, her warm lips lingering on his cold face. “I’m not.”

  “Do you mind if I sit down? I feel a little faint. I haven’t eaten since breakfast … yesterday.”

  Sarah’s eyes widened. “Why don’t you lay down in the living room? I’ll heat you up some bread to tide you over until dinner.”

  “I’ll just sit here,” he said, sitting at the kitchen table by the bay window. “I wanted to talk to you.”

  “You look pale,” she said walking closer to him. She put the back of her hand to his head. “You don’t feel hot.”

  He smirked. “How could I? I was freezing my ass off.”

  She moved over to the counter, picking up the tea pot. “I’ll put some tea on.”

  Carter rubbed his temples. “Thank you.”

  She flashed him a grin.

  “Why were you looking for me?” he asked.

  “My friend Megan was at school yesterday for the big farewell.” Sarah took a deep breath. “She told me what happened.”

  “That’s what I wanted to talk to you about.”

  “After dinner,” she said. “You look like frozen death.”

  Carter sipped herbal tea and devoured warm bread slathered in butter. Sarah simultaneously tended a pot of pasta and a pot of bolognaise on the stovetop. She glanced over her shoulder at Carter before fishing a piece of spaghetti out of the pot and tossing it against the wall. It stuck in place.

  “I think we’re about ready,” she said.

  They ate in silence. Carter inhaled his heaping plate of pasta. Sarah watched him, her eyebrows raised. He wiped his face with his napkin and washed the last of his spaghetti down with water.

  “This is the best food I’ve ever had,” he said.

  She laughed. “You were starving – literally. I could have fed you crackers and you would have said that.”

  “Thank you.”

  She grinned. “You look better. There’s color in your face.”

  He exhaled, his smile fading. “I quit football.”

  She nodded. “I figured. It was interesting timing, though. The state championship and all.”

  He frowned.

  “I’m not criticizing. I’m just worried about you.”

  “I thought
you’d be happy. I thought you hated football.”

  She reached across the table and squeezed his hand. “It doesn’t matter what I think. This is about you. Why’d you do it? I thought you loved football.”

  “I didn’t plan to quit.” He shook his head. “It all happened so fast.”

  “Start from the beginning.”

  “I guess I was mad at Coach Cowan. I told him about what happened to Ben like a month ago. Then I asked him about it and he lied to me. He said he was gonna talk to the Wheelers but he never did.”

  “Did you tell them?”

  He nodded. “I told Mrs. Wheeler.”

  Her eyes were wide. “What did she say?”

  “She said I should keep quiet about it, that she’s gonna handle it.”

  Sarah smiled for a second. “I’m sorry, I interrupted you.”

  “It’s okay. So, right before the buses were supposed to leave, I was talking to Amber about Ben, and she said he was a little bitch.”

  “She’s a little bitch.”

  “That’s what I said.”

  Sarah laughed. “How’d that go over?”

  He smirked. “She slapped me.”

  Sarah put up her fists like a boxer. “Do you want me to kick her ass?”

  He chuckled. “Then Coach Cowan started yelling at me because I was holding up the buses. I dropped my bag and started to leave and Coach Cowan grabbed me by the arm. I told him to get his fucking hands off me.”

  She sighed. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what to say.”

  “I don’t even understand it myself. It’s not like I’m not used to being yelled at. I don’t know. It was like I hit a breaking point. I just snapped.”

  “What happened after that?”

  “I went home and slept. The next morning, my dad was being an asshole. He grabbed me by the throat.”

  Sarah winced. “Those red marks on your neck.”

  He nodded. “You know, for the first time in my life, I wasn’t afraid. I remember looking at his face and thinking about bashing it in with my fists. I left because I could feel myself getting all amped up.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “I didn’t have anywhere to go, so I walked to the library. You and your mom picked me up when I was walking back.”

  She bit the bottom corner of her lower lip. Her blue eyes searched his face. “You can always come here.”

  “Okay.”

  “What are you going to do now?”

  He looked down at his empty plate, then back to Sarah. “I gotta get out of my house. I can’t be there anymore. I’m gonna get a job and save up so I can leave on my eighteenth birthday. It’s fourteen months from today.”

  “What about football?”

  “It’s over. Cowan said I can’t come back next year.”

  She pursed her lips. “I’m sorry.”

  He glanced at the sink, pushed his chair out and stood. He picked up his plate. “We should clean this up,” he said, taking her plate and placing it on top of his.

  She stood, sucking in her plump lower lip before pressing it back out. He placed the plates in the sink; she brought the glasses. They stood by the sink, facing each other. She looked up at him through her oversized specs.

  He pulled his sleeves up his forearms. “I’ll wash,” he said.

  She was unresponsive.

  He gazed down at her. She nibbled on her lower lip. He removed her glasses and placed them on the counter. Her skin was a perfect porcelain with a hint of strawberry in her cheeks. He brushed her hair from her blue eyes and pressed his lips to hers. She reciprocated with more force, their lips parting, their tongues touching. He slid his arms around her waist and pulled her close, her chest against his. She squeezed her arms around him. After a moment she pulled back with a grin, her lips swollen.

  “I really like you, Carter Lynch.”

  – 15 –

  Porta Potty

  Carter and Sarah walked arm in arm along the sidewalk to the high school. A banner hung at the school entrance: Back-to-Back Varsity Football State Champions! Sarah was bundled in her red pea coat and gray scarf. Her hair was spilling out of her blue wool cap. Carter looked like a disgruntled veteran, with an old army jacket and his black knit cap pulled low over his eyebrows. A few parents and kids hurried into the school. Inside, the high school was an ocean of linoleum. To their left, adults and teens congregated in front of the auditorium.

  The stadium seating in the auditorium was nearly filled. The adults spoke in hushed whispers. The majority of the football team was positioned front and center. They were boisterous and comfortable on their home turf. The Wheelers were also in front, but on the left hand side. Carter and Sarah snagged two empty seats toward the back. There was a single wooden podium with a microphone attached in the center aisle facing the stage. Four police officers stood in front, two on each side. A long table was set up onstage with a microphone in front of each VIP. Carter recognized two of the ten serious figures seated at the table. Coach Cowan looked innocent with his fresh shave, neatly combed hair, and dark suit. Walter Sullivan, the diminutive principal, joked with Cowan. The coach didn’t look amused.

  “What’s up with the police officers?” Carter asked Sarah.

  “A few years ago, some kids were having sex in the janitor’s closet,” Sarah said. “One of the girls got pregnant. The girl’s father blamed the school for lack of supervision. He came after the superintendent at a school board meeting.”

  “That’s crazy.”

  Sarah nodded.

  “Do you know the people on stage?” Carter asked Sarah.

  “There’s Principal Sullivan and of course Coach Cowan, but you know them.”

  Carter nodded.

  “The guy next to Principal Sullivan with the hairy neck and the scrunched up face, that’s the superintendent, the one that was attacked, Dr. Richard Perry. The woman on the far right is Mrs. Little. She’s one of the junior class counselors. I just love her. And the guy with the white hair next to her is Mr. Shepherd. He’s one of the senior class counselors. I don’t know much about him. The five old dudes on the left are all school board members.”

  Coach Cowan stomped to the center of the stage and told the football players to sit down and be quiet. He returned to his seat.

  Dr. Perry tapped on the mic in front of him. “Can I have your attention please? We are about to start.”

  The auditorium quietened. Latecomers stood lining the back wall. Dr. Perry led the audience in the pledge of allegiance. Sarah pulled out her handheld tape recorder and pressed record.

  Dr. Perry cleared his throat. “This emergency school board meeting has been called to address the possible problem of hazing and bullying by members of the varsity football team.” A couple of random boos erupted from the audience.

  Dr. Perry continued, “It was brought to my attention two weeks ago that new football players may have been subjected to an initiation where they were bullied. I’ve dedicated every ounce of my energy to get to the bottom of this serious allegation. Here at North Potomac High School we have a no-tolerance policy for bullying. Coach Cowan interviewed every single active member of the football team, including the seniors. I believe we have ninety-five student athletes on the football team.” He turned to Coach Cowan and smiled.

  “Yep, ninety-five,” Coach Cowan said. “The kids told some funny stories, but nothin’ that was bullyin’ or hazin’. Football’s an intense game and these kids are under mountains of pressure and expectations. It’s important that we allow them to have some fun and even do a little razzin’, provided they don’t stray too far. Havin’ said all that, I’m still deeply concerned about the possibility of this problem. To be frank, if a single young person is hurt on my watch because of bullyin’, it’s one too many. Even though I feel that our state champion football team –”

  A few hoots and hollers emanated from the audience.

  Coach Cowan smiled and restarted. “Even though I feel that our state champion football team is not guilty of hazin�
� or bullyin’, I am open to Dr. Perry’s recommendations to make sure we don’t run into these problems in the future.” Coach Cowan turned from the audience to Dr. Perry.

  “This is total bullshit,” Carter said to Sarah.

  Dr. Perry said, “I’ve elected to have Coach Cowan put the entire team through an hour of sensitivity training each season to make sure these things don’t happen here. To take it a step further and to make sure that we’re not unfairly singling out the football team, all sports will be required to complete the training. As educators, our goal is to provide a safe environment to learn. I will continue to make this a top priority, and we will maintain as always a zero-tolerance policy on bullying.

  “We will now open up this meeting for comments from the public. Anyone that wants to speak, please line up behind the podium. Our regular school board meeting rules apply. If you use bad language, or conduct yourself in a rude or threatening manner, you will be removed from the premises. Furthermore, we have a one-minute time limit on each speaker. Please be respectful and don’t monopolize the microphone.”

  Sarah leaned over to Carter. “That’s funny coming from him.”

  A handful of football players and adult men lined up behind the podium. Mr. and Mrs. Wheeler were toward the back. The audience clapped each time a football player spoke about how they were a family and they protected and looked out for each other. The men spoke of their time as Marauders and how the discipline and teamwork they learned on the football field helped them to be successful businessmen, fathers, and leaders. Mr. Wheeler looked small and frail behind the current and former football players. He pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose as he stepped to the podium with a typewritten letter in hand. He stared at the paper and cleared his throat.

  “My son was Ben Wheeler. Six weeks ago he killed himself in our home. Fifteen weeks ago he was humiliated at a team initiation –”

 

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