Outside In

by Cooper, Doug

  I turn right on Thompson Road toward the winery. Am I really an insignificant player in a sick, twisted game, or do I just have bad luck? Either way, I’m tired of it all: tired of running, tired of searching, tired of expecting.

  I pass through the winery parking lot onto Catawba Avenue. The loneliness of the deserted road closes in around me. I veer off the road into the vineyards. The grapes won’t be picked for a month, but the sweet fragrance is still salient. I wander down the alley formed by the vines, shuffling my feet in the rocky soil.

  The void I tried to fill by coming to the island has merely swollen.

  Coming to the island didn’t change anything.

  Grass replaces the dirt that was under my feet, and trees supplant the vines that were on my right and left. I weave through the bushes and trees and stumble upon a path with deep grooves from bike tires. Where am I? Does it really matter? I have nowhere to go and no place I’m supposed to be. Am I lost or completely free? A week ago, I might’ve said free, but now I know I’m lost, just as I’ve always been.

  I emerge from the woods into a familiar area. I’m at the cove.

  I can’t run anymore. If I do, I just carry everything with me.

  Feelings from earlier return as I step into the moonlight on the edge of the cliff. Sickness again swells inside me. I straighten my body in defiance, bringing my feet close, closer than I’ve yet dared to step. “Fuck you! You want me? You can have me. I’m not playing this game anymore. I’m sick of you following me, hunting me like an animal. You can’t beat me because I’m giving up. It’s over.”

  A gust of wind bursts through the trees and pushes me to the brink. For a moment I think about fighting, trying to correct my balance. Then I stare down at the macabre surface and let myself fall.

  Splash.

  Surrounded by water, I exhale to force myself to the bottom. As my feet touch, I swallow a mouthful of water.

  Stay calm. Let your body sink.

  I ingest another mouthful and open my eyes, straining to look through the blanket of water I have pulled over my face.

  Digging my fingers into the stones around me, I resist the urge to fight for the surface. Why shouldn’t it end this way? I’m no different than any of these rocks, each slowly worn down by life until it’s barely distinguishable from the others.

  I swallow another gulp. My body convulses. How long will this go on? I peer at the surface only several feet away but have no desire to reach it.

  My limbs relax. A thin glow of light hovers above the surface. I no longer feel the rocks underneath me. I focus on the light. I’m floating. I’m free.

  Finally, peace.

  The glow burns in smaller flashes through my closed eyes. I squeeze my eyelids tighter, but the radiance engulfs me. A surge of heat rockets through my body.

  The stones I felt kinship with just moments ago now offer nothing. The warmth surrounds me. My body rises. I grope for something to hold on to.

  A flood of fear fires through me. Wait. Not yet.

  Faces of students flash in my mind. Each one, a universe of possibilities. I shake my head to dispel the images. They return. I have tried so hard to forget them, convinced myself I don’t care. But they won’t go away. They won’t leave me alone. Filled with hope, they plead for me to stay.

  I open my eyes. The glow blinds me. My arms drop; my fingers graze the lake floor. I can’t give up. I reach down and latch onto a rock. I squeeze the end and pull myself down. As my right hand firmly wraps around it, my left hand touches the bottom.

  The heat reduces to a warming sensation. The light is visible only above me. The firmer my hold, the more the light fades, again appearing as a thin coating covering the surface. My legs drop. I plant my feet on the bottom and maneuver myself upright. Still disoriented, I focus my attention on the thin layer of moonlight painted on the surface.

  It wasn’t the administration I was fighting in St. Louis; it was responsibility. I couldn’t do enough—I couldn’t save Barry—so I shut down. I quit. I thought that by teaching I was living for other people, putting my life on hold. I was so wrong. Each person I helped revealed another piece of me. I can’t give up.

  I exhale what little air I have and propel myself upward. The force of my thrust pries my eyelids open.

  The best parts of me are reflections of others.

  My hand vanishes through the surface and then my wrist and forearm until finally my face breaks the threshold.

  Air blasts into my lungs. I slip back underneath the surface and swallow another mouthful of water. Struggling back above the waterline, I locate the shore seventy yards away. I roll over on my back and kick.

  Only water in front of me and stars above me, but at least I’m alive. Maybe I had to become who I’m not to understand who I truly am. I’ve been searching so desperately to find my identity, trying to fabricate the person I wanted to be. All I had to do was let go.

  I have been here all along.

  I spin around and allow my feet to sink and finally connect with the bottom. The probing glare from the stars has softened, and some encouragement returns. I made it. I can no longer hide from myself. I’m finished putting on masks and rearranging the world around me. I’m home. My cord has been reattached, and I accept the responsibility.

  I finally belong.

  I trudge the remaining thirty yards to shore.

  On the beach the waves wrap around my ankles and willfully let go. I’m free. Free from more than just the pain and suffering of past events. Perhaps I haven’t been running from anything after all, but rather have been running toward this moment when I finally have a conversation with myself and honestly examine where I’ve been, where I am, and where I want to be, this moment when I take responsibility for my past and present and say: I am me. The time is now. Let’s begin.

  I take two more steps to clear the waves and collapse on the beach.

  “Brad? Brad, are you here?” Astrid’s voice rains down from the cliff.

  I squint to block out the sun.

  She follows the path to the beach. “What are you doing? Are you okay?”

  “Yeah, I’m fine.” I close my eyes and tilt my head back. “Just fine.”

  Haley and Birch trail behind. Astrid extends a hand to help me up. “They came to my place looking for you and said they had already been to the barn and that your car and bike were there, so I got worried. Did you know it’s after ten? You have a long day ahead.”

  I stand. Water squishes from my boots.

  Birch says, “Decide to go for a swim and forget to take your boots off?”

  “Something like that. I went for a walk and ended up here.”

  Haley says, “Let’s go, jackass. We can still catch the eleven o’clock boat.”

  I gaze out across the lake. “I’m not going anywhere.”

  No one responds because they don’t have to. Haley’s incensed “What?” answers for them.

  I say, “I thought a lot about it last night—and this business isn’t for me. I’m not a bartender or a bouncer. I’m a teacher. It doesn’t mean I have to do it forever, but teaching is what I need to be doing right now. That’s where it began, and that’s where it continues.”

  Haley says, “Unbelievable. How selfish can you be? Of course you need those kids after the summer you’ve had. But do they really need you? Is a drug-addicted, alcoholic teacher really the best thing for them?”

  “Come on, Haley,” Birch says. “You’re upset. Don’t say something you’ll regret.”

  “No, if we’re going to be honest, let’s be honest. I’m sorry about Cinch. I really am. But what did you guys expect? You’re partying all summer, jamming that shit up your nose. Did you really expect good things to happen? Sure, you feel bad now, but it’ll pass, and you’ll go right back to doing the same stupid shit. Quit kidding yourself, quit fucking lying to yourself. You want to stay here so you can keep partying and not lose your drug connection.”

  As I listen to her, I think: She’s not
thinking about what’s best for me. She’s thinking about what’s best for her. Maybe she has been all along, ever since the moment when I lay on her lap and she told me to come to this island. It was always about what she wanted. I just fit nicely into her plan.

  “Maybe you should just go,” Astrid says. “This isn’t going to solve anything.”

  “You’re right,” Haley says. “I’m tired of wasting my time on this loser.”

  If I were playing a game, the best move would be indifference. Let her go and live with the bitterness. But after last night, it isn’t a game anymore. It’s my life. Besides, I’m not completely sure she’s wrong. Do I just want to hide, using the kids to purge myself of guilt?

  “Wait.” I block the path to the cliff. “I don’t claim to have been a saint since I came here.”

  Her scowl pierces me. “There’s an understatement.”

  “I don’t expect you to understand or even believe me. I’m doing what I think is best for me. I don’t care whether it’s logical, rational, or appropriate because I know it’s the right move for me.”

  “Are you finished?” Haley says. “Good. Have a nice life.”

  Birch waits for Haley to leave. “Don’t worry about her. She’ll cool down in a few weeks. Are you serious about the teaching? Are you really ready to go back into the classroom?”

  “I’m ready. If not here, then I’ll go to the mainland and substitute. I want to go back; I need to go back. My vacation is over.”

  Once I decided to go after the open teaching position the school district had been unable to fill, I knew I had to trade the red barn for more suitable living accommodations. It’s amazing how many options opened up, and how fast, once word traveled that I was a certified teacher and wanted to stay on the island and work at the school.

  On the first day of school, I reach over and turn off the alarm, hoping not to wake Astrid.

  She rolls on top of me. “Nervous? I think I’m more excited than you are. I’ll be honest, I was hoping to tempt you to go back to OSU with me for the fall quarter, but this is the place for you. I could see it that morning at the cove. Your fear and uncertainty are gone. You belong here—on the island—and you belong in the classroom.”

  I place my hand on her face, gently rubbing her cheek. My eyes focus on her chin and follow the angle to her cheekbone, then across the bridge of her nose and back down to her chin, admiring the symmetrical frame the three points form. I raise my eyes from her chin to her pursed lips, attempting to memorize every curve and indentation. Her nose is neither flat nor pointed but begins in a rounded tip that melts into her cheeks. Her eyes narrow and draw me in as our stares connect. Her pupils catch what little light is in the room and sparkle, further feeding the growing hope inside me that a new life is beginning.

  “You’ve been a great friend to me over the summer.” I slide my hand along her neck and rest it on her shoulder. “I knew from the first time I saw these shoulders I would fall in love with you. Just like everything else in my life, I had to run from it, but I’m tired of fighting, and I’m finished running. Each—”

  She puts her hand over my mouth. “You talk too much. For once will you just shut up and kiss me?” I lean over, but she pulls away. “Besides, you’re still going to be living here, on an island in the middle of Lake Erie. I’ll know where to find you … if I want to.” She pushes me on my back and finishes the kiss.

  As I walk to school, memories of Cinch and Astrid and our summer together take my mind off the anxiety that bounces between my head and stomach. I don’t know if I understand life any better, but I accept it. The choices will never stop. Whether the outcome is good or bad, each one opens the path a little more. We never truly arrive. There is no there. Only here. The most important thing is to keep going.

  I’ve never liked good-byes, but with Astrid it’ll be different. There’s neither sadness nor regret because we know we’ll see each other again. For now it’s time for each of us to begin again in different directions.

  I’ll be teaching. In the mornings, four periods of math ranging from pre-algebra to pre-calculus; in the afternoon, monitoring study halls and tutoring. The salary is paltry, but I would’ve accepted even less. After what I’ve been through, I’m not about to put a price tag on my life. For the first time I know exactly where I want to be; I know where I belong.

  The five ninth-grade students who make up my first period class file in. I write on the blackboard to stay busy. After the principal concludes the morning announcements, I place the chalk in the tray and turn to face them. “Good morning, class. My name is Mr. Shepherd. I’ll be your math teacher this year.”

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  DOUG COOPER has traveled to over twenty countries on five continents, exploring the contradictions between what we believe and how we act in the pursuit of truth, beauty, and love. He now lives in Las Vegas. Connect with him on Facebook or Twitter, or at ByCooper.com.

  READER’S GUIDE

  1. The book’s island setting of Put-In-Bay, Ohio is a major element of the book. How does the island’s connection with American history help to reveal the underlying meaning of the book? How might the island’s qualities (such as isolation, the presence of water, and finite resources) influence the characters?

  2. What does Brad’s statement upon seeing the Oliver Perry monument, “How I wish I could encounter my true enemy,” ultimately mean?

  3. The book’s plot starts when one of Brad’s students, Barry, asphyxiates while in the classroom. Do you think Brad had any responsibility in this death? Why or why not? Do you think Brad perceives himself as having responsibility in Barry’s death? How might his sense of responsibility—or lack of a sense of responsibility—be influencing his actions throughout the book?

  4. When Brad leaves his life as a teacher for life on the island, he becomes a kind of student to various other characters: Cinch, Caldwell, Astrid, etc. What do these characters have to teach him? At the end, Brad becomes a teacher again: what’s the significance of this?

  5. What values do each of the book’s major “teacher” characters—Caldwell, Astrid, Haley, and Cinch—represent? Do any of their lessons contradict one another? Is Cinch really a friend to Brad?

  6. Brad’s experimentation with drug use drives much of the book’s plot. Discuss the ways in which drug culture is presented in the book, from the initial “sharing with friends” encounters to more extreme moments such as Brad’s supply run to Cleveland.

  7. During the summer, Brad has numerous sexual liaisons with different people on the island: Astrid, Dawn, Meadow, Randy. What does each of these liaisons contribute to Brad’s gradual change throughout the book? What leads Brad to enter into these encounters? Additionally, Brad doesn’t tell Astrid about all of these encounters by the end of the book: do you think this is understandable, or a mistake?

  8. How does the theme of drug experimentation relate to the theme of sexual experimentation in the novel? What role does experimentation play in a person’s growth and development? Are there other forms of experimentation in the novel? How does Brad’s experimentation allow him to reach his final epiphany?

  9. A typical coming of age story deals with a character in his or her late teen years or early college years, yet Brad doesn’t truly “come of age” until his late twenties. Why is this? Is a belated coming of age story relevant in modern times? Are individuals maturing more slowly, and if so, why? What factors in Brad’s life and character might have delayed an earlier coming of age?

  10. At the end of the book, do you feel that the transformation in Brad is permanent or temporary? Do you think that there will be any lasting negative effects on Brad as a result of his experiences?

  11. What do you think the title of the book means? In the context of the narrative, what elements of the book might be considered “outside,” and what elements might be “in”? What are some examples of the outside-in versus inside-out theme in the book?

  AUTHOR Q&A

  What expe
riences led you to write Outside In?

  Thoreau said, “The mass of men lead lives of quiet desperation.” During the five years when I was a junior high teacher and spent my summers at Put-in-Bay, I recognized that the desperation was not so quiet any longer. Although the settings were very different, students and adults were more outwardly and inwardly destructive in expressing their unhappiness and looking for anything to escape and numb the pain. It all came together—the contrast, the similarities, the beauty and history of Put-in-Bay, the uniqueness of island life. It just seemed like a story that needs to be told.

  You’ve written in many genres, including screenplays, poetry, and short fiction. What drew you to the novel as a form for this story?

  The beauty, history, and island characteristics of PIB and the self-doubt and uncertainty associated with a journey of self-discovery just seemed ideal for a novel told in first-person present tense. It gave me the best medium to weave past and present, interior and exterior dialogue, and individual and universal experiences into a single narrative. There’s nothing like a good novel to transport you to a different time and place and allow you to see life through someone else’s eyes.

  You’ve previously worked as a teacher. How did those experiences influence your characterization of Brad?

  A teacher makes for a great character because everyone has been a student at some time, so we all have personal experiences to draw from that help us immediately identify with a teacher. Directly experiencing the increased stress put on the school system to do so much more than merely provide academic instruction was also a major influence on Brad’s character, as was experiencing the unfortunately magnified destructive and violent behavior of students—both inwardly and outwardly destructive behavior.