As Luck Would Have It (22 page)

What awful things did we do to deserve a three-year term in this prison they call middle school?  Why can’t we just excuse ourselves if we have to go to the bathroom, why can’t the teacher just take it on faith that’s where we’re going, not outside to steal a smoke?  Why can’t we eat our lunch in peace, walk in the hall without a monitor, or even take our milk out of the cafeteria and drink it out
side
on the lawn when the weather is warm?  What crimes did we commit that justify this punishment?

Oh yes, the crimes we have committed; I’ve gotten way off track here, stop me if I do that, please, it’s my fifteen year-old brain not quite
up
to this frantic pace.
  I was about to consider the reality of
the 9
th
grade and our sexual maturity, or more accurately,
Joseph’s
that is, and Mr. Strickmann’s apparent discomfort with it.  While most of the other boys might have been looking at Suzie’s tits, or at least feigning to, Joseph was absorbed in something, or should I say someone else.  Mark Landerman’s family had moved to Mayfield between semesters, and as luck would have it, Mark conveniently found a seat in algebra right next to Joseph, who was now unable to look straight ahead at the board or the teacher, or at anything other than Mark.  If Mark had been Martha, no one would have cared too much, except possibly for Martha, but she doesn’t count since she doesn’t exist.  Funny thing is, Mark didn’t seem to mind the attention one bit and all of
the
sudden they weren’t kids anymore, perplexing their parents by playing with dolls instead of toy soldiers; no, they were two handsome young men who now looked forward to algebra class and lot more than that most likely.

This crime especially would not go unnoticed or ignored.  You might get away, possibly, if you were lucky, with some minor infraction like going to your locker between classes for an apple you left there, but not this.  Boys will be boys, you say?  Not in our school, not in 197
6
, not a chance.  Joseph was in pretty deep now and I wondered how he would possibly navigate his way through this
.
  Maybe the other gay boys were securely tucked away in their closets; but there was no closet for Joseph; like Dorothy in the
Wizard of Oz
, nothing in that black bag for him so to speak.  But Dorothy’s good and wicked witches were in her imagination and this was dreadfully real; no one would drop a house on Mr. Strickmann or dump a bucket of water on our algebra teacher, Mr. Sharkton, and make him melt away instead of making Joseph’s life more difficult than it already was.  Why couldn’t he just look away or show some compassion, knowing full well that Joseph already had to defend himself from the taunts, the snickering, the threats of physical abuse, his books dumped to the floor when he wasn’t looking, the food tossed at him in the cafeteria, his friend
s
trying their best to deflect some of it away, but understanding completely that they were more or less powerless to help; they couldn’t be there every time some prick stuck out a foot to trip him up as he came around the corner.

If I disliked school before, now I cursed the place every time I walked through its doors.  Whatever trace of respect or esteem I still had for our teachers had
evaporated now
, even if Mr. Sharkton had not.  What he did when he realized that Joseph had the hots for Mark was disgraceful for any teacher, but particularly in this case. 
Sharkton was a fifty something year
-
old dandy of a man, a jaded priss of a chap, who unlike Joseph, never had the guts to admit to himself or anyone else who he was.  He was easily 40 pounds overweight and reminded me of a mean
-
spirited version of Mr. French on
Family Affair
; but there was to be no Jody or Buffy for him to look after, lonely and insecure as he must have been, and not likely to be trusted around little boys either.  Frustrated by life,
and especially
by someone like Joseph who actually intended to live it fully,
the way he dealt
with his self-inflicted homophobia was to send Joseph off with a note to see Mr. Strickmann.  We were never to learn the exact contents of that note, but both of us were to feel the undeniable weight it carried.

Joseph caught up with me after school and described the interrogation he’d endured in the Vice Principal’s office that afternoon.  Strickmann had asked him point blank if he was messing around with boys, and it was clear enough even to someone as young as we were that it was none of his
damn
business, and although Joseph was as scared of Strickmann as anyone would be, he refused to answer his questions.  That led to more verbal abuse and even threats of suspension or worse if he remained uncooperative.  I told Joseph that we needed to tell his parents, but he didn’t want to do that, not just yet anyway, that he would rather work out the problem himself.  The thought of his parents charging into the school for another confrontation like the one my father had nearly two years earlier would be best avoided he thought.

Maybe
Joseph figured on just letting things die down on their own,
but
our less than distinguished educators had other ideas.  The very next day when we sat down in algebra class after lunch, Mr. Sharkton immediately told Joseph that he was not to return to his class until
further notice, and that Mr. Strickmann was waiting once again for him in his office.  Joseph turned red, but did not move.  Our teacher, rather than do his job and actually teach for a change, came over and grabbed him by the arm and forcibly pulled Joseph out of his chair and proceeded to drag him towards the door.

I wasn’t about to sit still and watch while these insults were being hurled mercilessly at my best friend, who hadn’t done anything wrong, hadn’t hurt anybody, hadn’t skipped class, hadn’t mouthed off to the teacher; no, I’d seen enough already and so I stood up and yelled at Sharkton to take his hands off of Joseph and move his fat ass out of the way, both of us were gone now, the two of us would discuss this with Mr. Strickmann, and when we were done, it would be he, Sharkton, not Joseph who would not be allowed back in class.

For all my bravado, which surprised everyone, especially me, it was a different scene once we arrived at the Vice Principal’s office.  Strickmann slammed the office door and screamed at me, threatening to call my parents, that is until he remembered that I had none; then he summoned one of the janitors and a couple of teachers to escort me out of the building; I was suspended until my aunt or uncle came to school, at which time a decision would be made as to whether or not I’d be able to return.  I was shaking visibly as I walked out and feeling sick at the thought of Joseph having to face yet another excruciating altercation with Strickmann.  But there was nothing I could do b
ut
wait, wait outside that is in the freezing Chicago cold for more than an hour until class finally ended and Joseph walked sheepishly out, embarrassed once again by all of this, but grateful that I hadn’t left him there.

I would have waited all night if I had to; I would never live to see him fight this alone, not after everything he had done for me and the sacrifices he had made to help me through the worst times imaginable. 
We walked together quietly for awhile; I’d been out in the cold so long I felt numb by it, but Joseph was shivering as we went.  I put my arm around my friend and said it would be alright, we’d figure it out, we always did, right?  It was OK with me if he liked Mark; he’s a nice guy, I like him too, who cares what Strickmann thin
k
s, we can work it out.  I tried to say the right things so he would feel better and maybe not so scared, and though the words sounded right when they came out, I wasn’t all that convinced and could only wonder what might happen next.

What did come next surprised the hell out of me.  Joseph finally decided to spill his guts and tell his parents everything, and then they wanted to talk to me with Uncle Jack there as well.  They had no reason to doubt what they had heard, or think that he was exaggerating, but they wanted to hear my impressions of the situation at school before deciding what in the world they were going to do.  And Joseph had told the
m
about my pending suspension
, so
it seemed to make sense for everyone concerned to sit down together and hash it out, especially since my uncle would have to make an appearance at school as well.  I felt funny at first talking to Mr. and Mrs. Klein about the gay thing; the subject never came up when I was around.  But they had
already
come to grips with their son’s sexual orientation and seemed concerned only with what he was being put through and whether I thought the situation would improve.

When we came into the house, both of them hugged me and thanked me for standing up for Joseph; they were so happy I had been there.  It was
nothing;
he would have done it for me I’m sure.  Mr. Klein pulled me aside while the others were in the living room; Clifford, you don’t understand what it meant to him,
how he looks up to you, what a life saver you’ve been to him.  I resisted the temptation to laugh at that;
was he serious
, Joseph was the one who saved me, remember?  But there was little for me to do
now
; Strickmann was just mean for no particular reason and he hated us both, they would have to take the bull by the horns as they say, we all knew that by now.  And the Kleins had been patient enough already; they hadn’t overreacted, hadn’t pushed it too much, until now that is.  The school board itself was going to have to provide some answers finally, not just because of what had happened to their son; they would now have to be accountable to the other students also.

They pulled Joseph out of our middle school and enrolled him in a Jewish day school, at least for the last semester before high school.  That wasn’t all the
y were going to do though;
they met with Mr. Greenbaum
,
who
filed a civil lawsuit alleging intentional infliction of emotional distress, as w
ell as civil rights violations
. 
They also filed a criminal complaint against Mr. Sharkton and Mr. Strickmann for assault; both of them it seemed had grabbed Joseph in an attempt to intimidate him. 
I was worried about what would happen to me when I returned to school, alone without my friend this time, assuming of course that Uncle Jack could persuade them to let me back in.  I knew what his parents had done was in Joseph’s best interest and that he would learn more at his new school
probably.
  But what would it be like there without him?  I’d have to just put up with it for a few more months until I would
also escape from prison and go to Chesterton High where Christian was.

With luck now keeping score more or less, it should come as no surprise to anyone that I was back in school in just two days, but now we had a substitute teacher in algebra and Mr. Sharkton was nowhere to be found.  The reaction by my classmates was mixed and confusing; some
o
f the other kids avoided me completely, while others seemed to hold me in higher esteem because of what I had done.  Strangely, some of the students expressed concern for Mr. Sharkton and wondered when he would be back.  I would have thought everyone would be happy with someone else teaching us, but that didn’t seem to be the case; the substitute having obvious difficulty keeping control of the class and getting our lessons done in the allotted hour.

The inquisitor Strickmann hadn’t gone anywhere, though there were rumors that the police had been to his office while I was absent.  I knew that the Kleins had filed
a formal complaint, but I had no idea what that meant as far as I was concerned.  On the one hand if it was true that the police had visited the school, he was sure to be in a foul mood; on the other hand since there had already been one grievance filed, he might be less inclined to come after me again.  It was impos
sible to tell what he might do and I knew I would just have to wait to
see how my final semester would play out.

There
are
a lot of really bad things
that can happen to
a 1
4 y
ear-old
after watching his parents die in a fiery crash.  Maybe I shouldn’t complain about having to live with my quarrelsome aunt or detached uncle, there were much worse things than that.  Nighttime, for instance.  The dark and lonely space of the bedroom was creepy enough and I was afraid of the visions that might disturb me if I closed my eyes and let them in.  But it was the nightmares that haunted me most; the dreadful dreams of every description that wound their way through my subconscious mind
on so many nights.
  Strange and terrifying glimpses into what surely must be hell would startle me to wakefulness, sweating and shaking in fear in those first moments when I was not quite certain whether they were real or not, and then, worrying that they might return to torture me again if I gave in to my drowsiness and allowed sleep to invite them back again, like an unwelcome house guest.

I stayed awake as late as I possibly could each night, hoping to fend them off, but rarely succeeding.  One time I had a particularly vivid and frightening dream, so realistic and awful that I still remember it clearly after all these years.  I was in an airplane with my parents going on a vacation to someplace warm.  This was interesting to me, since I had never flown anywhere up to that point, yet my recollection of the plane and the flight itself seemed quite realistic in all respects; the sounds of the engines and the sensations of flight much like they actually are.  Had my memory of the dream been obscured by time, or did this particular nightmare invoke a different sort of significance or meaning?