“Have a good day, Bert.”
“OK.”
“I love you, Bert.”
“OK, bye.”
Out the door by 8:00, right on schedule for the seven-minute walk to the bus stop.
Bert started down the narrow Naples streets. He and Hayley had practiced the route three times to ensure Bert could make it to the bus stop without getting lost. During his practice runs, he memorized many of the sights, sounds, and smells along the way. He walked by a bakery and smelled warm crusty bread. He looked at the loaves in the window and imagined a jack-in-the-box wearing a rainbow wig popping out from the center of a loaf. He walked by a salumeria and heard the chop chop chop of the meat cleaver cutting into a marbled rib roast. He saw the different cuts of meat and imagined re-assembling them to create a cow version of Frankenstein’s creature. This imagery was typical for Bert. He would see something, then imagine something that to neurotypicals would be completely bizarre. To him it was completely normal, and he thought it was fun to have such a vivid imagination. At the same time, if he was interested in a topic, he could apply acute focus and describe even the most minute details of the subject. There was a tree on the way to the bus stop that fascinated Bert. From memory, he could tell you all the carvings on the tree, the dent from where a scooter hit the tree years ago, and the branches that were trimmed away so people could walk unobstructed. He didn’t understand why others didn’t have the same attention to detail he did.
“Take a right at the gelateria, then the Academy bus stop is ahead 200 paces on the left,” he thought as he approached the gelateria. He turned right and started counting steps. He could see the bus stop with three boys standing there. He walked up to the bus stop and sat at the bench, not saying a word. Paul, Caleb, and Sal stared as Bert quietly sat. Paul introduced himself then introduced Bert to Caleb and Sal. Sal attempted to pat Bert on the shoulder in his greeting, But Bert backed away to avoid being touched.
“What’s wrong with you?” Sal asked.
“I don’t like being touched.”
“Whatever, dork.” Sal shook his head at being rebuffed by Bert.
The bus could be seen coming up the street, the words Naples Academy in red above the windshield. The bus came to a stop and the door opened. The leather-faced bus driver had a half-smoked unlit cigar in the corner of his mouth. “Get in boys.”
First Day at Academy
2030
T he four boarded the bus. Caleb sat down in a seat near the back of the bus and Paul next to him. Seeing how upset his cousin was, Paul tried some light conversation with Caleb to lift his spirits. Bert sat in the empty front seat right behind the bus driver, slid over to the window, and cast his gaze outside the window. He reasoned that sitting behind the bus driver would be the least popular seat, reducing the likelihood of someone sitting next to him. Sal sat in the cool kids section, the back of the bus.
The ride from the bus stop to Academy was about 30 minutes from Naples’ Chiaia quarter along the southern edge of Villa Comunale Park to the Capodichino district. The bus traveled eastbound along the Port of Naples Seaport, picking up students at four stops. With each opening of the door, a waft of salty sea air entered the bus. Sitting right behind the bus driver, Bert would turn his head toward the door each time it opened and take in the cool salty breeze. He closed his eyes and imagined a man made of sea salt boarding the bus and blowing the breeze on his face, then leaving the bus before the driver shut the door. After hearing the door swoosh shut, he would imagine Sea Salt Man waving at him until the next stop where he would board, blow, and leave again. At the central point of the seaport, the bus turned north on its way to Academy. The cool salty air was quickly replaced by the smoggy warmer air of the city center. The streets were bustling with cars, scooters, bicycles, and pedestrians all making their way to work, school, and errands. Row after row of drying laundry pinned to clotheslines flapped in the wind. The traffic was the usual stop-and-go for a weekday morning, allowing plenty of time to take in the sounds, smells, and sights of the city.
As the bus reached Academy, the students unloaded the bus, congregating at the front of the school. Bert had practiced a couple of times with his mother the week before to make sure he knew where his classes were and what to expect. A tone, then a deep-throated voice over the PA system, “Welcome students, it’s now 9:00. Please report to first period class by 9:10.” The students dispersed: Bert to world history, Caleb to remedial math, Sal to advanced chemistry, and Paul to macroeconomics. They had six periods of classes with an hour for lunch. Extracurricular clubs and sports began at 4:10, sometimes continuing as late as 7:00 p.m. Times were strictly adhered to, with demerits given to students who broke Academy rules, which included fighting, swearing, and tardiness. For regular students, demerits affected class ranking. For students in the tiering program, demerits translated to infractions which pushed a tier one guest into tier two. Neither Paul nor Bert were concerned about demerits, they were rule-followers and weren’t concerned about consequences. For Caleb, demerits meant infractions that would lead to guesting into the dreaded tier two. For Sal, demerits could impact his class ranking, and jeopardize the number one ranking he so craved. They were both motivated by fear; Caleb the fear of embarrassment and Sal the fear of not being number one.
At lunchtime, Bert sat at a table by himself eating his homemade lunch of ricotta cheese and tomato on friselle bread. Seeing Bert, Paul came up to the table with his potato-filled pasta with garlic olive oil and sat across from him. “Hey, Bert.” Paul said.
“Hi.”
Caleb approached with his Neapolitan pizza and sat next to Paul.
“These classes suck. I hate this place!” Caleb said
“Give it time Caleb, you need that 3.0 to get out of you-know-what.” Caleb forgot Paul knew he was in the tiering program and that the only way out was no infractions and a 3.0 grade point average.
“They still suck.”
Sal came over with his spaghetti and seafood sauce and sat next to Bert, intentionally sitting close enough to him so their shoulders were touching, “Hey, dork,” Sal said.
Bert shuffled his chair away from Sal. “Don’t touch me!” Bert blurted. As Sal started to inch his chair toward Bert to continue his teasing, Paul calmly got up and stood over Sal.
“Back off, Sal.” Paul said while looking down at the still-sitting Sal.
Sal stood up and faced Paul. “What’re you gonna do about it?” Sal’s nose was nearly touching the bridge of Paul’s, him being an inch taller, wanting to intimidate Paul.
Paul wasn’t having it. “Don’t do anything that’ll get you demerits. Be cool.”
Demerits. Sal hated the thought of demerits. It wasn’t worth getting into a tussle with Paul. “All good, man.” Sal said as he backed down. Paul quietly went back to his chair and continued eating. Sal moved his chair away from Bert to avoid their shoulders touching.
“Thank you,” Bert said to Sal.
The rest of lunch consisted of idle small talk, first about football, then about girls. “Check her out.” Sal said pointing to a blonde-haired girl sitting at the table next to them.
“I’d tap that!” Caleb said.
Caleb and Sal continued their adolescent banter, Paul and Bert didn’t engage. Bert was reciting facts he had learned from the morning’s history classes under his breath in between bites. Paul could have played along but didn’t find chattering about girls, particularly locker-room talk, the least bit interesting.
The 1:00 tone rang, lunch was over, off to fourth period. Before leaving, Bert approached Paul.
“Thank you,” Bert said putting out his clenched hand to fist-bump Paul.
Paul fist-bumped Bert, “No problem.”
Extracurricular activities started after sixth period. Buses left Academy starting at 4:15 then every hour until the last bus at 7:15. Sal went to football practice, then home on the 7:15. Paul went to debate club and left on the 6:15. Bert attended history club and caught the 5
:15. Not wanting to spend any more time at Academy than necessary, Caleb left promptly at 4:15.
Caleb’s bus ride home was awash with anger about the tiering program, his small and hairless stature, and the incessant teasing from his older brothers. He knew that when he walked in the door his older brothers would be there, ready to harass him. His mind flashed back and forth between hating Academy, hating his home life, hating his appearance. He decided to get off the bus and hang out at Villa Comunale Park until dinnertime at 6:00. This became his routine almost every day, rain or shine. He slowly walked around the park, made his way along the pathway flanked by knee-high grass, empty liquor bottles, and strewn rubbish that littered the once-beautiful park. He knew every graffiti marking on every statue and took note of freshly-painted tags which seemed to show up weekly. He thought about his life, dreading the thought of being nothing more than a shipyard worker like his father. He believed he was meant to be more, but he had no idea what “more” meant. He wished that dinner was later in the evening to minimize the time he had to spend with his brothers, but also knew his mother was adamant about eating at 6:00 and didn’t want to experience her wrath for being late. Caleb made his way to their apartment, arriving at 5:55. Philip was there waiting for him.
“Hey, Tiny One!” Philip said.
Not saying anything, Caleb thought, “Here we go again.”
After debate club, Paul got on the 6:15. On the bus ride home, he stared out the window and thought about how much he loved debate club. Getting into sparring matches, looking for argument angles, and coming up with winning discussion strategies was a real rush for him. This coupled with his humble exterior made him a wolf in sheep’s clothing for debate opponents. He knew he needed to maintain a mild-mannered exterior to keep his opponents off-balance, skills he wanted to hone in debate club. As the bus approached his stop, he remembered he promised to help his father after dinner at the supermarket. He got off at his stop and walked home, enjoying the warm dusk of early evening. He walked in the front door to find his mother preparing dinner.
“Paolo!” his mother said, kissing him on the cheek.
After football practice, Sal showered and caught the 7:15. On the bus ride home Sal thought about his father’s high expectations and what he would say at dinner to please him. He thought about telling him about the difficulty of his classes and how he was planning to ace them, how he would graduate number one in his class and not get any demerits. He then thought about how he backed down to Paul at lunch and how that would not make the list of dinner topics. He knew his father would see that as a sign of weakness, further feeding the inadequate narrative. As he got off the bus and walked home, he thought about his mother, if this would be another night of puking. He opened the door and when into the kitchen where his mother was making pizza.
“Hi honey, pizza tonight.” Sal’s mother said.
“Great. Is Dad home?”
“Just you and me for dinner. He’s working late.”
Sal felt the relief of not having to face his father and enjoying a peaceful dinner with just his mother. Hopefully she’d be able to keep the pizza down.
Bert boarded the 5:15 bus after history club. Knowing that dinner was at 6:00 sharp every night, he knew that the 5:15 bus would get him in the door just in time for dinner. On the ride home Bert recited history fact after fact. He absorbed them like a sponge, it was as if he had unlimited capacity for remembering details and could recall information like a computer retrieves information from a database. Riding along the seaport, Bert thought about Sea-Salt Man each time the bus door opened. He kept watching the time to make sure he could be home in time for dinner at 6:00. Knowing his walk was seven minutes and needing two minutes after arriving home to get ready for dinner, that meant the bus had to be at his stop no later than 5:51. With each minute Bert watched the time to ensure the bus would get to his stop by 5:51. He felt himself getting agitated out of concern that the bus might be late, but was relieved when it arrived at 5:50. Bert walked home in seven minutes and arrived at his front door at 5:57. His mother was setting the table.
“Hi, Bert,” his mother said leaning forward to kiss Bert in her beach ball stance.
“Hi,” Bert said meeting his mother’s kiss with the imaginary ball between them.
“How was Academy?”
“I like my history classes, one guy is nice, one guy is a jerk, and one guy is short.” Bert gave his blunt assessment of his day. “Maybe the nice guy will be my friend.” Bert’s mother gave a warm smile. She had been praying for years that Bert would finally have a friend, his first ever. Perhaps this would be the year.
Marie
2031
M arie had been losing weight, her skin and eyes getting more and more yellow. She hated doctors and hadn’t seen one since Sal was born. It was the pain in her stomach and back that changed Sal from concerned to scared, and convinced Marie to see a doctor. She scheduled an appointment for January 6 at 9 a.m. When the doctor saw her skin and eyes and rapid weight loss he had an idea what it was but needed confirmation. “Marie, I want you to have an CT scan, we need a better look at what’s going on.” Marie went for a CT scan that afternoon. That evening the doctor called her.
“Can you come in tomorrow morning 8:30?” he asked.
“Yes, what’s the problem?”
“There are some abnormalities showing up in the CT scan, we’ll discuss what I’m seeing and treatment options tomorrow.”
“I’ll be there. Thank you.” Marie hung up.
Gene had just finished a conference call in his home office and saw Marie sitting at the kitchen table, expressionless. “Who was that?” he asked.
“The doctor, he wants to see me again tomorrow morning.”
“I’m sure everything is alright, Gene said.”
“If it were nothing, he wouldn’t want to see me again so soon.”
Gene had noticed the changes in Marie’s appearance, but also knew how much she hated doctors. He chose to say nothing, which made Marie feel that he didn’t care about her. His “everything is alright” comment fueled her feelings. She was scared and felt alone in her dismay.
Sal came home from Academy to find his mother sitting at the table, staring into space and looking upset. Gene had already gone into his home office to start another call with his staff in Chicago.
“What’s wrong, Mom?”
Marie needed a sympathetic ear. “I went to the doctor today and he sent me to get a CT scan, now he wants to see me tomorrow morning.” Trying best not to alarm Sal, Marie spoke in a sobering tone, avoiding crying but also not taking the situation too lightly.
“What else did he say?” Sal asked.
“Just that he wants to talk about what he saw and treatment options.” The gravity of events caught up with her. “I’m so scared, Sal.” She dropped her head down on the table, trying to keep her sobs to herself. Sal pulled his chair next to her and held her as she cried. Sal just sat there holding her, hearing his father’s muffled conference call in the other room as backdrop to his mother’s quiet weeping.
Sal insisted on going with Marie to the doctor appointment. She didn’t bother asking Gene, as she knew he was giving a presentation to Miconal’s board of directors that he couldn’t miss.
Sal and Marie sat down at the desk in her doctor’s office, waiting for him to come in. The room was completely quiet except for the tick tock of a vintage clock that hung on the wall. The two sat there, neither saying a word, trying to prepare for whatever the doctor might say. The door opened, the doctor came in wearing a white coat with a stethoscope around his neck.
“Hello, Marie.”
“Hello, this is my son, Sal.”
“Hi, doc,” Sal said as he shook his hand.
The doctor sat down at his desk, Marie’s file already sitting on top. He opened it to the CT results. He spoke calmly but got to the point.
“Marie, the CT scan suggests you have cancer of the pancreas. I’ve already made an appointment f
or you to see our practice’s oncologist today at 9:00 to discuss next steps. I’m concerned enough that we need to move quickly.”
“How long do I have?” Both Marie’s mother and father died a very slow and painful death due to cancer, and she had been the primary caretaker for both. The experience of watching her parents suffer through cancer contributed to her hate of doctors, not because of who they were as people, but because of the news they brought with them.
“It’s too early to tell, which is why I want you to see the oncologist right away.”
Marie and the doctor continued to talk about Marie’s diagnosis. Sal’s own thoughts drowned out their conversation, remembering how his mother cared for her parents as they fought cancer. He had watched her try to keep a strong face in front of them, then break down when they weren’t around. He hated seeing his grandparents suffer and the emotional toll it took on his mother.
“Sal, do you have any questions?” the doctor asked, waking Sal from his brief daydream.
“Can it be cured?”
“We’ll do our best, Sal,” the doctor said.
Sal nodded in response. We’ll do our best was no better than a no to Sal.
“Dr. Sciortino is one of the best oncologists out there. He’ll take good care of you. His office is just down the hall, he’s expecting you.”
The doctor got up, shook both Marie’s and Sal’s hands and led them out of his office.
Marie saw Dr. Sciortino, who ran more tests that confirmed Marie’s cancer was at stage III. She was immediately scheduled for surgery to remove part of her pancreas, then chemotherapy treatments would follow. Sal had to watch her fiery red hair fall out in clumps as she continued chemo treatments. When she was home, nurses cared for her during the day, but in the evening Sal assumed the role of primary caretaker. Gene was in denial and poured himself into his work rather than deal with Marie’s declining condition. Sal watched his once-dignified mother suffer the shame of having her son clean her up after getting sick and using the toilet when nurses weren’t there. She would hold her hands to her face in embarrassment as Sal tended to her, distraught at Sal seeing and touching her most private parts. Despite the chemo, her condition progressed to stage IV. She was in and out of the hospital, with Dr. Sciortino trying all he could to counteract the aggressive cancer. After Marie was admitted to the hospital for a fifth time in May, Dr. Sciortino came into her room while Sal and Gene were sitting with her. He laid out the facts as best he could.
The Lawless One and the End of Time Page 3