“Good.”
Amanda looked at him sternly. “You don’t really mean that.”
“I’d rather have been shot trying to stop him from hurting us than to have my mother shot. I was a coward.”
Amanda waited for Ely to calm down. It was clear that he was getting agitated, and that was the last thing that she wanted. They sipped their chocolate in silence, allowing the tension to dissipate.
“I’m sorry,” Ely finally said. “Sometimes I feel so angry and frustrated
“And rightly so,” Amanda replied. “Ely, what happened that morning when your mom was shot?”
Ely shrugged. “I heard a gunshot when I was getting ready to get in the shower. Even though my dad had moved out of the house and was ordered by the court to stay away from us, I knew that it was him. I ran into the kitchen and saw my mother on the floor with blood all around her. After that it was all a blur.”
“What do you mean?” Amanda asked.
“Well, I remember being infuriated and attacking him. I hit him I think,” Ely said, trying to dig up the memories from that morning. “Then he punched me several times…hitting me with the gun, and I think he kicked me in the face as well. I remember an anger building deep inside me…and it overwhelmed me. Anger displaced the pain and I vaguely remember tackling him to the floor, and hitting him over and over again until he stopped moving. But he had hit me pretty good as well. The doctor said I took a fist to the temple, giving me a severe concussion. I remember feeling nauseous, and dizzy, but luckily I made it to the phone before I passed out. The details are all still a blur.”
“Well then, it sounds like you did stand up to him.”
“Yeah, I guess so.”
Amanda felt the need to change the subject. “So what’s your mother like?” she asked.
Ely finally smiled. “She’s incredible. She is the kindest person I know. I don’t think she has a mean bone in her body. And despite all of the abuse, she still looked out for me, in her own way.”
“And I bet you looked out for her.”
“Why do you say that?” Ely asked.
“I don’t know. Like I told you at the theater, I’m a good judge of character. You are strong person, Ely, to have survived all that relatively mentally unscathed.”
Ely lifted his eyebrows and smiled at her. “Relatively mentally unscathed?”
She smiled. “Well, you did beat those kids up like a madman.”
Ely chuckled. “That is true. Something I’m not overly proud of.”
Amanda scooted closer and leaned her head on his shoulder. “Well, despite your mad fits of rage and your penchant for self-loathing, I like you. You’re charming, kind, smart, and witty, rare traits to find in one person.” Even though Ely could not see her face he could sense that she was beaming from ear to ear, smiling at her semantic brilliance.
“So that is what a backhanded compliment sounds like,” he said wryly. “If it makes you feel any better, I like you as well, despite your attempts to downplay your looks because you don’t feel secure enough to believe that people will take you seriously if you look beautiful. That insecurity is rather endearing, and although you try really hard to look geeky, with your thick rimmed glasses, carelessly coifed hair, and thrift store clothes, you fail miserably at masking how pretty you really are.”
Amanda lifted her head from his shoulder and scooted away from him. “Now, Ely, that backhanded compliment was far superior to my own, and might just be the nicest thing a guy has ever said to me.”
They laughed and Amanda moved closer to him, again putting her head on his shoulder. “You are really smart aren’t you.” She said it as a statement, not a question.
“I guess so.”
“Come on. No high school kid talks like you.”
“Look who’s talking. Your verbal swordplay is just as impressive.”
“Case in point.”
Ely chuckled and reveled in the closeness of her body. He was so relaxed with her now, as if they were old friends. Maybe it had helped to tell her about his father, to open up to her, to share with her something that he had not really talked about with anyone else, except for Jeff and Mr. Seljin.
“You know, for someone so smart, you’d think you would know when the time was right to put your arm around your date. Didn’t you read about that in a book?”
Ely grinned and reached his big arm around her, pulling her in closer. She snuggled up against him, and for the first time in a long while, everything seemed right in the world, like things would be okay.
A couple of days later Jeff and Ely were sitting around their kitchen table doing their homework. It was around seven in the evening, relaxation time for Jeff’s parents, Cindy and Lisa. Relaxing usually involved the television and a foot massage. Lisa, a little more heavy set than her partner, had propped herself up in the corner of the couch with her Time magazine and her feet resting on Cindy’s lap. Lisa was a local firefighter and despite the fact that she was a woman, most people who looked at her would not question her ability to pull a body from a burning home. She looked more than capable, with strong arms and powerful muscular legs. Her chestnut brown hair was streaked with blonde highlights, and cut short at her neck line. Cindy was watching television, absent mindedly rubbing Lisa’s feet.
In the kitchen Jeff shoved the math book aside in frustration. “God dammit, I hate this shit!”
Ely looked up from his physics book. “What’s the problem?”
“This dumb ass geometry is impossible!”
From the living room Laura yelled at Jeff. “We can hear you!”
“Sorry!” Jeff yelled back, shrugging and smiling at Ely.
In the living room Lisa lowered her magazine and nudged Cindy with her foot. “You know he gets that mouth from you.”
Cindy laughed and playfully pinched her foot. “He does not…you bitch!”
Ely set his book down on the kitchen table, reached over and grabbed Jeff’s homework and began to look it over.
“Why do we even have to know this crap anyway?” Jeff asked.
“Actually, of all the math disciplines, geometry is probably one of the most useful,” Ely said as he continued to scan Jeff’s work.
“Well I don’t see anything useful about this stuff.”
In the living room Cindy gave Lisa’s foot a final pat. “Thanks, Cin, that felt good.” The seven o’clock news had just come on.
“You’re welcome, honey,” Lisa replied, her attention now diverted by the television screen. “Oh great, looks like another accident on 302.”
Lisa lowered her magazine and looked up to watch the news. Sure enough, a reporter was covering a head-on collision on Highway 302, the main thoroughfare to the Key Peninsula on which they lived. The road was notoriously dangerous, consisting of only two lanes that twisted and turned through dark unlit wooded areas. There were no passing lanes or left turn lanes, increasing the risk of head-on and rear-end collisions. And traffic had increased significantly over the years as more and more people moved out to the peninsula. This increase in traffic also meant larger number of young or intoxicated drivers on the road. With a speed limit of fifty five miles per hour, and the tendency of drivers to go faster, 302 was a recipe for disaster.
“This just in,” the news anchor began. “We’ve just received word of a fatal car accident on Highway 302, about a quarter mile past the Ravensara Coffee Shop. We have Bob Wait on the scene.”
The television scene switched to a reporter standing outside a coffee shop alongside the highway. Bob Wait, the reporter, spoke while a flurry of activity went on behind him. Law enforcement officers, firefighters, and medics moved about in the background, a scene dominated by flashing blue and red lights. “We have reports,” the reporter continued, “that the female driver of a black SUV crossed into the other lane while coming around this dangerous corner behind me, hitting an on-coming vehicle head on and catapulting that car into the gully. Her own car spun several times and was launched into the t
rees on the other side of the road.
“Do we know the status of the drivers?” the news anchor asked.
“We do. Unfortunately the driver that was hit was killed. The condition of the driver that crossed the lane is unknown at this time, but she is alive and being flown to Harborview Medical Center.”
Lisa and Cindy were now listening intently, their eyes glued to the television set. The location of the accident was very familiar to them. They lived only five minutes away from Ravensara, and often stopped there for coffee on their way to work.
“That damn corner is so dangerous,” Cindy said.
“That’s the second accident there this year,” Lisa added as she set her magazine down on the table.
The report of the accident continued on the television. “Do we know the identity of the driver that was killed?” the anchorman asked.
“Yes we do, Dan,” the reporter answered. “Tragically, the driver of the car that was hit was one of Peninsula’s local teachers, a highly respected member the community.”
“Oh my god,” Lisa said softly, hardly able to speak.
In the kitchen Ely continued to look over Jeff’s homework. Jeff sat waiting, a bored expression on his face. Up until now the sound of the television, though audible, was just white noise. Ely was still focused on Jeff’s work, but Jeff was now listening to the reporter and when he heard that a teacher had been killed, he looked up from the table, turning his attention to the news report in the other room.
“The teacher has been identified,” the reporter continued, “as Rick Seljin, the wrestling coach and history teacher at Peninsula High School.”
Jeff snapped his head up, a look of utter disbelief on his face.
Cindy and Lisa had sat up from the couch, their bodies rigid with shock. “Oh my god. Jeff, Ely, please come in here,” Cindy said, her voice rising with alarm.
Jeff jumped up and grabbed Ely’s arm. “No…I didn’t just hear that.”
Startled, Ely dropped the paper and stood up. “Jeff, what’s wrong? You didn’t just hear what?”
They heard Lisa yelling from in the living room. “You guys, get in here! Quick!”
Jeff ran to the living room with Ely right on his heels. “Please tell me that I didn’t just hear that,” Jeff said, his voice cracking with emotion.
Cindy and Lisa stood up and faced the boys. Jeff reached the couch and stood behind it, his eyes focused on the news. Ely, still confused, stood beside him.
“What’s going on?” Ely asked, quickly picking up on the tension in the air. He stared at the television as the anchorman continued, “Bob, do you know how the accident occurred?”
“We don’t yet have all the details, but we do know that Mr. Seljin was driving home from work when a vehicle moving in the opposite direction crossed into his lane, hitting him head on. Witnesses say he had no time to react.”
Ely’s face paled as he stood stunned. “That can’t be,” he whispered.
“We just saw him,” Jeff murmured, as if he were talking to himself. Lisa put a hand on his shoulder and he turned to look at her as tears welled up in his eyes, glistening in the dim light of the nearby lamp. “Mom, that can’t be. He can’t be dead.”
She pulled him in close and hugged him tight. “I’m sorry, sweetie.” Her touch seemed to confirm the reality of the tragedy, and he broke down, succumbing to choking sobs that shook his body. Lisa held him tighter, her own eyes streaming with tears as she too realized the enormity of this loss for her son.
Ely stood frozen, unable to see through his tears. He blinked several times, and felt himself sinking into a well of sorrow. The sounds in the room had evaporated into a meaningless muffled din, smothered by a fog of pain that permeated his being and pierced his heart.
Cindy reached out and touched Ely’s arm, hoping to console him as best she could. Her touch startled him from his trance, and he stepped away from her, as if she were a spectre. “Are you okay, honey,” she asked softly, reaching for him again, hoping to bury his pain in a tight motherly embrace.
“No, I’m not,” he said firmly as he stepped back further, bumping into the wall behind him. He could feel himself begin to lose touch with reality; he wanted no part of this reality. But he couldn’t escape it, and the shock of the news finally embraced him. But it was too much for him to bear and his body began to shake. “He can’t be dead!” Ely shouted. “He just can’t be!”
Jeff had collapsed onto the couch, still wrapped in his mom’s embrace. She glanced up at Ely, her tear streaked face mirroring her concern.
“Ely, it’s okay,” Cindy said softly, “everything’s going to be okay.”
But Ely’s mind was spinning, filled with emotions he was unable to process. Denial, anger, emptiness, and above all an overwhelming loss. He reached up and grabbed his hair, “He can’t be dead!” he moaned. “Heroes don’t die!” he cried, his voice rising in a crescendo of anguish. “They don’t die like this!” Anger had now replaced all other emotions, morphing into a rage he could scarcely control. He turned and began slamming his fists against the wall behind him.
Cindy stepped closer, unsure if it was wise to try and touch him at the moment, thinking maybe she should let his anger run its course. But she wanted to be close to him when it did, and she knew it would. “Ely, it’s okay. Calm down,” she said in a reassuring voice as she stepped a little closer. “Come here, honey.”
But Ely continued pounding on the wall, cracking the drywall and sending white sheetrock powder to the carpet below. “No! No!” Ely sobbed, “He was my friend! He helped me! Why did he have to die?”
Cindy waited patiently as his anger began to subside and the pounding of his fists became weaker, until finally he stopped, collapsed to the floor and buried his head in his hands. His anger had succumbed to numb exhaustion, and a feeling of complete emptiness and despair. “Why him? Why?” His grief stricken voice was now a soft murmur, and his body felt deflated and empty, as if nothing could ever again restore its substance.
Seeing that Ely’s anger had run its course, Cindy went to her knees and wrapped her arms around his body in a protective embrace. “I’m so sorry, honey. We’re all here for you. It’s going to be okay.”
The air in the room was thick with the intense grief they were all feeling. Their muffled crying mingled with the noise of the television as the news continued, moving to the weather, as if the world would go on as before.
Twelve
Death. It can be such a tragic event. Few are prepared for it, especially those who are young. It’s so unfamiliar to most young people that the reality and finality of it seldom enters their minds. But as we get older, we find ourselves thinking of it more…it becomes a reality that begins to appear within our eyesight, contrary to our view of death in our youth, when it seems so far away that we couldn’t even see it with a telescope.
Needless to say, I wasn’t prepared for my first run in with death. It nearly crushed me. The bond that I had developed with Mr. Seljin was so strong, that when I lost him, I almost fell apart. But it was the relationship that we had created together that got me through it. He taught me so many valuable lessons, lessons that provided the strength and confidence I needed to cope with his death. It wasn’t easy, however. My mother was there to help me. My friends were there to help me. I think back on it now and I know that without their help, even with Mr. Seljin’s lessons, I might not have been able to climb out of the hole of depression. But I did, and it made me even stronger.
What I needed was something to grasp onto, something on which to focus my energy, something to keep me from drifting into a sad meaningless existence. I needed a lifeline, and I found it in wrestling. Wrestling was the primary activity through which I had connected with Mr. Seljin. In my own way it became my avenue to honor him, and to help me keep his memory at the surface of my consciousness. In fact, it was the one thing I could do where I could actually hear his voice in my head. He was my hidden trainer, my invisible coach.
&nb
sp; I can still remember the day when I decided to end my mourning. It was the day I realized that if I continued slipping down this waterslide of grief that I would eventually drown in my own self-pity. It was the same day I heard the familiar voice in my head. “Ely, how do you know what you’re capable of if you have never tested yourself?” And that was it. This time I was truly going to test myself. I would do what I should have done when he was alive. I was going to put all of my energy into wrestling…I was going to test myself…I was going to find out what I was made of. I made this promise to Mr. Seljin, but more importantly I made it to myself.
But before I could come to this realization, a friend had to help guide me there.
Ely Carter
——————————
The sun was just getting ready to set behind the tree line as Ely walked out onto the long dock that was nestled at the end of Von Geldern Cove. This was one of his favorite spots to go when he wanted to think, or to just get away by himself, and he was doing a little of both this evening. He took off his shoes, rolled up his pants, and sat at the end of the dock with his feet in the water. It was early spring and the water was still cold. But he didn’t care. It made him feel alive, and that was much better than how he had been feeling lately.
It had been over two months since the accident, but Ely was still depressed, weighed down by a feeling of despondency and apathy that he just couldn’t seem to shake. He had missed a lot of school lately. His grades, despite his high scores on exams, were beginning to slip. Completing homework assignments seemed trivial and he was falling behind. Normally he would never have let that happen, but at this moment in time he just didn’t seem to care. It just didn’t seem important.
He was doing better now, though, than he had after that first week following Mr. Seljin’s death. For a brief time he had completely withdrawn from everyone, and the only interactions he had had with any of his friends, even his mother, had been accompanied by either anger or indifference.
“Hey, bud.”
Jeff’s voice interrupted Ely’s thoughts, but he didn’t turn around. “I don’t want to talk, Jeff.”
The Life of Ely Page 18