“Marie, right now we need to keep you comfortable.” Marie remembered that term--it meant she was going to die. She’d been preparing for him to say the words and was ready to accept it. Sal wasn’t.
“What does that mean?” Sal said.
“It means we need to minimize her pain.”
“Does that mean she’s going to die?” Sal’s anxiety escalated.
“Yes.”
Sal looked at his mother, who was lying in the bed, a comforting smile on her face, being strong for her son, having accepted her fate. He then looked at Gene, expressionless, looking at Marie, finally acknowledging she was going to die. Sal couldn’t hold himself back.
“Why weren’t you around more for her? Why didn’t you care for her? She needed you and you weren’t there!” Years of frustration came out of Sal toward Gene, the self-absorbed man who put his career in front of his family, set impossible-to-achieve expectations for Sal, and let Sal step in as caretaker when it should have been him doing it. For the first time in his life Gene just sat there--no snappy retort, no snide comment, no you’re not good enough critiques. Worst of all, no apology. He just sat there quiet. And it made Sal livid.
Marie lived for three more weeks then died on June 2, 2031. She had an open-casket wake followed by a graveside service. Before they closed her casket, Sal put a note in her hand, a promise he was determined to keep for the rest of his life: The day will come when no one dies from cancer and I’m going to make it happen. I just wish I could have helped you. I’m so sorry, Mom. I love you.
Graduation
2034
S weat started to well under Paul’s black graduation cap. Already a humid 32 degrees Celsius at 9:30 a.m., Paul wished he hadn’t worn a jacket and tie under his long black gown. He stood with the 240 Academy graduates waiting outside the campus football stadium. “Where did the time go?” he thought. Their first day at Academy seemed like yesterday, now after four years they were graduating.
Caleb spotted him and came over.
“We’re out of here!” Caleb said as he gave his cousin a huge hug, not bothering to contain his enthusiasm.
“Good job, Caleb.”
“Yeah, thanks for the pep talks.”
Pep talks between Paul and Caleb were a regular occurrence during the four years at Academy. With the continued threat of tier two looming over Caleb, he was constantly on edge that he would do something that would get him guested. When Caleb was agitated over some perceived act of unfairness toward him, Paul’s smooth, reassuring words were the perfect antidote to Caleb’s flustered demeanor. It only took a few minutes for Caleb to calm down after talking with Paul. Had Paul not been at Academy, Caleb would have most certainly been guested into tier two.
Sal stood by himself, looking out over the infield grass and into the stands where parents and guests were sitting. He spotted his father, then noticed an empty seat next to him. He teared up at the sight of the empty seat. It didn’t matter to him that his father was there.
She wasn’t there, that’s what was killing him.
Bert gazed out over the infield, preoccupied with the seat and stage configuration. He looked out over the 240 white chairs--one for each graduating student--perfectly lined up on the infield grass in ten rows of 24. He observed the black stage with 30 white chairs for faculty and special guests behind a large podium. He imagined a man made of flames arising from the podium, generating the sweltering heat of the morning. Flame Man’s arms thrashed in concert with the orchestra’s dissonant toots and plucks as the musicians warmed up. His flailing stopped when the musicians quieted at the raising of the orchestra conductor’s baton, then Flame Man’s arms fluidly moved in conjunction with the conductor’ baton when the orchestra began playing.
At 9:45 the students began their entrance to the stadium, followed by faculty and special guests. Academy’s dean of students then approached the podium, signaling to the conductor to stop the music. He began his welcome address. “Students, parents, friends, families, guests, and faculty; welcome to the Naples Academy 2034 graduation ceremony!” He barely finished his sentence before being interrupted by clapping and whooping from the students. The dean continued with his welcome, introduced the special guests, then invited the student with the number one academic ranking to approach the podium and be recognized. Sal seethed as Paul rose from his chair, walked up the stairs to the stage, shook the dean’s hand, and accepted a silver plaque recognizing his achievement. Paul and Sal were the only two students with 4.0 grade point averages, but Sal received two demerits due to fighting at football games. Because Paul had received no demerits, he was ranked number one. He hated not adding that plaque to his trophies, but he would have given up all his trophies just to have his mother there.
Three special guests added their congratulations and provided their advice to the graduating students. The dean then approached the podium to begin handing out diplomas. Paul stood with the first row of alphabetically arranged students. They exited their row to the right and walked to the stairway at the right end of the stage. One by one, they ascended the two stairs and waited at the top until their name was called. Paul was fourth in line. As he made his way to the stage, he flashed back over his four years at Academy. Aside from having a perfect grade point average, Paul continued to display a remarkable ability as a debater. It didn’t matter the topic, Paul could structure and execute a winning argument regardless of whether he personally believed in the position. Paul had a knack for knowing what to say and just as importantly, what not to say. He never went on a date. He wasn’t anti-girl, he just had better things to do. During his third year at Academy Paul decided that he wanted to be an economist. He applied and was given a scholarship to the London School of Economics. The scholarship was another blessing for his family, allowing Paul to go to an elite school his parents couldn’t afford otherwise.
“Paolo James Ambrosi,” The dean announced. Paul walked up to the podium, accepted his diploma, shook the dean’s hand, descended the left stairway, and returned to his seat. From the moment his name was announced, he could hear people cheering for him, most of all his parents and siblings. At 14, he didn’t pay attention to public accolades, but at 18 he was much more aware of people cheering. And he liked it.
Sal’s row stood up to get diplomas. After Marie’s funeral, Sal and his father became more like roommates than father and son. Gene continued to focus on his work, paying less and less attention to Sal. His once-high expectations of Sal gave way to indifference. Sal responded by modeling his father’s behavior, putting his all into his Academy experience. Sal learned to be completely self-sufficient, not expecting or getting any help from his father. He became obsessed with the vicious disease that took his mother from him so suddenly. Except for football, his classes and extracurricular activities all had a singular focus--to eradicate cancer.
“Salvatore Eugenio Carlotta,” the dean announced. Sal walked toward the podium, accepted his diploma, shook the dean’s hand, and left the stage. As he walked back to his seat he could see his father talking on his phone, oblivious to Sal getting his diploma. “God, I hate him.” College at Columbia couldn’t happen fast enough for Sal. He was so done with his father, the further away from him the better.
Rows three, four, five, then six left their seats in single file to receive their diplomas. In row nine, Caleb was counting the minutes until he didn’t need to step foot at this hellhole of a school again. During his four years at Academy he grew eight inches, topping out at five feet ten. Puberty sprouted in year two, with Caleb growing a wispy mustache that he filled in with mascara to help him look older.
Caleb succeeded in steering clear of tier two. In four years, he never committed an infraction that caused him to be guested, but because he never achieved a 3.0 grade point average, he remained in the tiering program. Knowing he was always one infraction away from being guested to tier two motivated him to behave, hanging over his head like a looming storm.
History, math,
science, they all were a waste of time to Caleb. “Just get by,” he would think as each semester started. In his second year at Academy, he decided to take an introduction to holograms class. This was nothing like he experienced in any of his prior classes. The class was so easy for him, the concepts made sense, and he could see how his knowledge of holograms could be useful later in life. He aced the class, the first time ever doing so. Holograms became his obsession, and he learned everything he could about them. He sat by himself each day after school leaning against the Enrico Pessina statue at Villa Comunale. He talked with imaginary holograms, fancying a world where lonely people would never be lonely again. His hologram friends would be loyal. His hologram friends wouldn’t judge. His hologram friends would be supportive. His hologram friends would be there when he wanted them and go away when he didn’t. In his world, hologram friends were the elixir to loneliness.
Row nine stood up. Caleb made his way to the stage. “Caleb Devin Todd,” the dean announced. Caleb walked to the podium, accepted his diploma, gave the dean the finger, and walked off the stage back to his seat. That would have gotten him guested into tier two. Small victory.
Row ten stood up. Bert was the third from the last student in the row. During his four years at Academy, Bert excelled in anything and everything related to history. In his mind there was no changing history, and no interpretation of history, it either happened or it didn’t. It just made so much sense.
Prior to Academy, Bert never lived in one place more than a year. His father worked at NSA Naples without new transfer orders for four years, allowing Bert to stay at Academy. This was the longest that Bert had been in any one place in his entire life, and he loved the stability and predictability. It also allowed him to build a friendship for the first time. From the first day at Academy, Paul defended him and proved himself to be a loyal and trusted friend. Paul and Bert went to movies together, shared an occasional Neapolitan pizza, and just hung out. Paul understood that Bert would get overwhelmed after about two hours of socialization and timed his visits with Bert to stay within the two-hour window. Paul also modeled positive behaviors on how to interact with others, how to use judgment in what to say, and when to not blurt out whatever was on his mind. Paul was Bert’s only friend, but there was no better friend he could have had.
Bert made his way up the stage stairs. “Bertrand Allen Winn,” the dean announced. Bert walked to the podium, accepted his diploma, extended a guarded handshake and walked off the stage. Ryan and Hayley Winn were both in tears seeing their son graduate from Academy. As Bert walked back to his seat, Paul left his seat, walked up to Bert, and fist-bumped him.
“Good job, man!” Paul said.
“Thank you.”
After the final diplomas were awarded, the dean announced, “Ladies and gentlemen, let me be the first to present to you the Naples Academy graduating class of 2034!” Joyful hollers filled the stadium with the launching of sweat-soaked graduation caps being thrown in the air. It was a race run well, but much more difficult races awaited the four.
Columbia
2034
T he girl sitting next to Sal on the plane had red hair and blue eyes, reminding him of his mother. While he did not discriminate on who he hooked up with, he had a penchant for red hair and blue eyes. She had just closed her book and shut her eyes. Now it was time to make his move.
“So, what’s taking you to New York?” Sal asked.
She opened her eyes and looked over at Sal. “Finally, he’s talking to me,” she thought.
“NYU,” she answered.
“Cool, Columbia.”
Awkward pause. She didn’t know anyone in New York, but she thought he was so cute. She kept the conversation going. “What’s your major?” She asked.
“Biomedical engineering with an emphasis in oncology.”
“Political science then law school.” She hoped they would have a common interest through their major, but it wasn’t happening. A question would keep him talking. “What’s oncology?”
“The study of cancers.” Sal said. He liked that she asked him a question and wanted to keep the conversation going.
“How did you get interested in that?” She asked.
“My mother died of cancer.” Sal rubbed his eye as if to wipe a tear away to continue his act.
"So sorry about your mom,” she said. Cute and sensitive, someone she might want to get to know better. They chit-chatted through the rest of the flight.
“Here’s my number, coffee sometime?” She asked as the jet pulled up to the gate.
“I’ll message you later this week.” Sal said.
Mission accomplished. He said and did all the right things to get her number. That’s all that mattered to him.
Getting women to sleep with him was a competition. He kept pictures of women on his phone with notes on how long it took him to get them to bed, his electronic “notch-on-the-belt” triumphs. Like his trophies in his bedroom, he regularly perused the pictures, reveling in his conquests. Even though he had the pictures, he had long forgotten most of their names. The redhead with blue eyes he met on the plane would make it into his collection, her name soon to be forgotten like so many others.
Most students attended college within their home ethnarchies. For Sal to attend Columbia, there would typically be a process of filing for student visa applications, interviews, and waiting for months with no guarantee of approval. That is, unless you were well connected with a fat checkbook. Sal’s father knew how to work the system and grease the palm of the right bureaucrat who approved Sal’s student visa in one meeting. Sal wanted to be away from his father, and his father was content for Sal to be away from him.
A Ph.D. in biomedical engineering took a typical student eight to nine years to achieve. Typical wasn’t in Sal’s lexicon, he set his sights on finishing in seven. Extra classes during the school year, summer sessions, schmoozing the professors. Doable for Sal. What else would he spend time doing? His mother was dead, he hated his father, and he had no one else in his life who meant anything to him. He decided to fast-track his bachelor’s degree in three years, then an additional four to get his Ph.D. He scheduled time with his biomedical engineering advisor Dr. Allen to talk through his plans.
“Sal, good to meet you,” Dr. Allen said.
“Nice to meet you as well.”
“So, I see you are entering Columbia from Naples Academy with a 4.0 GPA. Impressive.”
“Thank you.”
“I understand from your email that you want to be on a seven-year Ph.D. program, is that right?”
“Yes.”
She removed her glasses and placed them on the desk. “Sal, no one has ever graduated the program in seven years. Even at eight years the work is intense. What’s your rush?”
“Did you say no one has ever graduated in seven years?”
“That’s right.”
“I’ll be the first.”
Dr. Allen was taken aback by Sal’s arrogance. “Sal, it took me eight years of intense study to get my Ph.D. You’re a brand spanking new freshman who thinks he’s going to school the rest of us and get it done in seven. Time for a reality check, young man.”
Dr. Allen’s condescending tone reminded Sal of his father. Seeing he wasn’t going to get anywhere with her, he grabbed his backpack, forced a polite, “Thank you Dr. Allen,” and left her office. Another person for Sal to prove wrong.
Master of Failure
2034
C aleb couldn’t get the words “shipyard worker” out of his head. He had no glamorous plan to attend a prestigious university, travel the world, or meet interesting people after graduating from Academy. He was destined for the shipyard, just like his father and brothers before him. He despised the thought but had to make money, so shipyard it was.
“I’m Caleb Todd, shipyard worker.” He imagined being in a bar trying to pick up girls. “Who would be interested in a shipyard worker?” Caleb thought. While there were plenty of shipyard workers wh
o earned an honest and happy living, for Caleb it was the lowest of the low. Yet unless something drastic happened to change his future, the best Caleb would achieve was becoming a shipyard foreman. “Caleb Todd, shipyard foreman” sounded like he wasn’t an apprentice failure anymore, he was a master failure.
“Caleb, get the forklift and bring that pallet of rice to the loading dock,” his foreman said.
“Rice pallet, check.” As Caleb walked to the forklift, he imagined a hologram friend walking next to him. He started a conversation with his imaginary buddy.
“Hey Caleb Todd, shipyard failure,” his imaginary friend said.
“Yeah, has a real ring to it,” Caleb said.
“On your way to foreman failure.”
“I can see it etched my headstone now, ‘Here Lies Caleb Todd, Master of Failure.’”
Caleb reached the forklift, started it up, drove to the pallet staging area, and loaded a pallet on the forklift. His imaginary friend was sitting next to him.
The Lawless One and the End of Time Page 4