Authors: Christopher Hoskins
Instead
of heading to the lunchroom, I took advantage of the hall monitor’s
distractedness with another student and slipped out the side door to the back
parking lot. From there, I ducked by windows and wove between cars until I hit
the tree line and moved into its protective recesses. Catee’s place was only a
couple blocks from school, and if done right, I could get answers and be back
by the start of afternoon block. I’d hardly be missed at all.
On
the street and out of eyeshot of the building, I relaxed a little, but only
briefly. The anxiety of my escape became replaced with a new one—what was
I planning to do when I got to Catee’s house? How would I get answers
and
go
unnoticed? Was I just going to knock on the door and ask her dad if she was
home?
Hey, Mr. Laverdier. Remember me? You kicked me out a few months ago …
You “asked” me to give your daughter some space ...… Well, I was just wondering
if we could both ditch school and hang out in her room today? Is that all
right?
Fat chance.
Sure
enough, when I rounded the final block and her house came into view, his car
was sitting there in the driveway. I figured he’d be home—finally taking
a few days off to hold her hostage or whatever—and I took added
discretion to go undetected.
I
moved up Mrs. Arnold’s driveway, instead of their own. Her car was gone, and
the house seemed dead; plus, her backyard was directly connected with Catee’s.
I hugged vinyl siding and slinked to the house’s corner. From there, I could
observe the windows of Catee’s place and I looked for her, or her dad, but saw
neither. I waited, looked, waited, and looked again, before I collected enough
bearings to dart forward and flatten against it.
Inching
along, I moved to her window and stretched to give it a couple light taps. I
hoped she’d heard me, but that I was quiet enough to go undetected by Mr.
Laverdier, wherever he might be.
Without
response, I tapped again, this time louder, more adamantly. Still, no response.
And I repeated a third time, growing more worried about whatever horrific fate
could’ve befallen her—hoping against all odds that she was okay and that
she was just sick in bed, maybe even sleeping.
Undaunted,
I reached up with both hands, grabbed the windowsill, and was just about to
hoist myself up for a look inside, when the window slid upward. But even if I
were tall enough to see over its ledge, the solar glare would’ve obscured my
ability to see anyone inside. I had to swallow my heart down from my throat. I
was at a crossroad with two choices: I could hold my ground and wait for
whoever it was—her or her dad—to provide me with some closure, or I
could run back to school like a coward, even more perplexed than when I
escaped.
I
chose the former. Resolute in my commitment to Catee, I wasn’t leaving without answers
or making sure she was okay.
“Shhhh!!”
“Catee!”
I whispered up. “Catee, are you all right? What happened? What’s going on?”
“I’m
grounded,” she answered.
“From
school? From the phone? What’s going on, Catee???”
“From
everything. From life!” she kept to a loud whisper.
“Why?
What happened?”
“He
found the key … the broken one!”
“Oh,
shit.”
We’d
totally forgotten about it. It’s amazing that in spite of our best planning,
we’d somehow missed something so obvious. Blinded by our office discovery, we
completely forgot about the sliver of plastic we’d lost and left in the lock. I
can only imagine her dad’s reaction when he went to put his key inside, and
found it jammed-up with melted-down poker chips. Based on all I’d witnessed
until then, I could barely fathom the rage he had to have flown into.
“Are
you okay, Catee? Did he hurt you?!” I asked it like I had the stature to
protect her from him.
“Not
really, no.”
“What
do you mean?” I took a step back to get better look at her. I squinted and
shielded my eyes to see her more clearly and to look for any signs that she’d
been harmed.
“Get
against the house!!” she hissed, protecting me like I was trying to do for her.
“Where
is he?” I asked.
“I
don’t know. Somewhere.”
“Well,
can you leave? Can you get out??”
“Not
if I plan on coming back.”
“So,
what? He’s going to keep you trapped in your room forever now?”
“Probably
not.”
“What’s
that mean? When’s he going to let you out? Does he have your phone, too?” I had
too many questions and not enough answers.
“I
don’t know how long he’s planning to keep me here. Yeah, he took my phone,
too.”
“Why?”
“I
don’t know. He kept asking me what I was doing in his office—like he was
worried; like he was hiding something; like he was scared by whatever I
might’ve found. I told him I wasn’t looking for anything—that I just
wanted to see inside. He didn’t believe it. He said I couldn’t be trusted and
that I was hiding something.”
“That’s
funny, coming from him,” I scoffed.
“Right?
He told me I was grounded until I could be honest with him about what I was
doing in there—until I told him what I was looking for and what I’d found
inside.”
“Does
he know I was there, too?”
“I
don’t think so. He never asked. He doesn’t even know we’re hanging out
anymore.”
“So
what do we do now that—”
“WHO
ARE YOU TALKING TO IN THERE!? OPEN THIS DOOR, RIGHT NOW!!” Mr. Laverdier’s
voice banged around her bedroom walls and assaulted me through the window’s
opening.
“You’ve
got to go! Now!!!”
“But
Catee—”
“Just
go!!” she pushed the glass closed and disappeared from sight.
And
without further argument or hesitation, I followed her directions.
Thoughtlessly, I dove into the winter-thin hedges that ran along her house,
squeezed through their scratchy branches, and popped into her neighbors’
backyard—to their surprise and mine.
“Hey,”
I said, readjusting my clothes. “Sorry, I was just … ”
The
two looked at me with confusion but said nothing in the brief seconds it took
to collect myself and disappear around the front of their house, to take the
long way back to school, and to avoid the front of Catee’s place. I worried
about my involvement in everything, and I was guilt-ridden for whatever I’d
gotten her into. I was scared by what might come next, and I was terrified by
what her dad would do if he found me there.
I
still didn’t have anything concrete to be afraid of, but there was obviously
something going on—I’d come to that conclusion long before then. But,
after he quarantined whatever she might know, I knew without question that
something was wrong. He was hiding something—something that scared him as
much as it did us.
By
the time I got back to school, it was already afternoon block. And as I
discreetly reentered the building, Ms. Lagasse was there to snatch me up. The
pleasant teaching cadet, who so warmly welcomed me on day one, wasn’t so
inviting as she dragged me to the office that afternoon.
“Damian,
I don’t know what’s gotten into you: sneaking out of school like that.” I
wondered how she even remembered my name. “Do you know we’re responsible for
you the entire time you’re here, even if you cut class and something happens to
you out there?” I really didn’t need her lecture. What she worried about paled
in comparison to the worrisome realities I was facing: about Catee, about her
dad, and about whatever was happening to her at that moment. The last thing I
needed was to hear Ms. Lagasse’s rant, when all I could think about was
protecting the girl who meant everything to me.
My
mom was less than enthusiastic about coming to pick me up that day. She was
even less enthusiastic when she got there and learned why. I made up some lie
for her as we sat in parallel chairs, opposite Mr. Smithson and his desk. It
really didn’t matter what I told either of them. All I’d be doing is throwing
out crazy accusations with no foundation aside from teenage, gut
instinct—which never seems to hold as much weight as an adult’s—and
there was little that he or Mom would do with that alone. And by the time there
was any hard evidence to support my suspicion of Mr. Laverdier’s instability,
there wouldn’t be enough time left for anyone to do anything about it.
Mr.
Smithson and my mom bought the lines I fed them about needing to get out of the
building—that I’d only gone outside to clear my head on the basketball
courts, alone—and I gave them vague details about the girl problems I was
having.
“I
remember those days all too well,” Mr. Smithson empathized.
“We
can talk about this more when we get home.” Mom said, with a reach and
supportive squeeze of my knee.
The
“relationship-problem” line always works well with adults. It strikes some
chord at the heart of humanity that resonates with even the coldest and oldest
person. Adults become immediately sensitive about such matters and seldom delve
for the gritty details when you tell them it has to do with a relationship.
It’s like a teenage “Get Out of Jail Free” card.
Unfortunately
for me, it wasn’t a card I could play and put back in the deck so easily. I
knew by the time we were in the car, or at the very latest, sitting down at the
dinner table, Mom would be probing for more details—out of concern for me
and affection for Catee. What she didn’t understand was that while I hadn’t
spit a complete lie in Mr. Smithson’s office, I also hadn’t been honest with
either of them. I didn’t mention that it had absolutely nothing to do with the
dynamic between her and me, and I didn’t mention that it had
everything
to do with her crazy dad. Plus, what proof did I have of anything going on? Was
there any? I didn’t even know that much. And I certainly didn’t know then, that
in just three, short months, everything would change the way it did; that life
as we knew it would be turned upside down in unimaginable and unprecedented
ways.
Mr.
Smithson dismissed us
from his office that
afternoon with a verbal reprimand and a supportive pat on the back for me. He
asked my mom to take me home for the afternoon, and he suggested I use the time
to work things out, and to return the next day with a clear head and ready for
a fresh start.
But
that’s one of those expressions people use, just because other people use
it—it’s not even possible.
When
something’s begun, it can never be fully taken back.
Fresh
starts are made for Hollywood.
This
was Madison.
The
place where Mr. Laverdier unleashed his plague on the world.
“So,
why so glum, chum?” My dad chided, as I poked my mashed potatoes with only
playful interest.
“What
do you mean, Dad?”
“Well,
you’ve barely touched a bite, and when your sister’s not here, we rely on
you
for our entertainment. Your mom and I know each other all too well already,” he
laughed
“Darryl,
you be careful,” Mom interjected from her end of the table.
“Relax
Martha. I’m not going
there
.” He looked up from his half-eaten plate and
shot her a wink.
“Guys,
I don’t know where
there
is, but I really don’t think I
want
to
go there. Can you finish this … this … whatever it is,” I pointed my fork back
and forth between them, “later on, when you’re alone or something?”
“Well,
well. Aren’t we feeling feisty tonight, favorite son of mine.”
“I’m
your only son, Mom.”
“Well,
if I had others, you’d still be my favorite,” she affirmed.
“And
if you had others, you’d be saying the same things to them that you’re saying
to me. It’s cool though, go on.” I spoke short and dismissively, in a way that
was unfounded and that didn’t go unrecognized.
“Damian,”
Dad addressed me sternly, “what’s going on here?” In a rare incident, unseen
before, he set down his fork mid-meal and turned his attention to me. “This
attitude isn’t like you, and I don’t think I like it very much on you. It’s not
the young man I raised. If something’s bothering you, say it. You know there
are no judgments handed down at this table. Whatever’s weighing on your mind,
you need to get it off your chest.”
I
looked to him.
I
looked to my mom, who’d also laid her utensil to rest.
And
then I unleashed a torrent of things that I knew and suspected about Catee’s
dad. I told them about the way I’d seen him treat her, and how
he
was
the guy who ran over that dog, and that my dad had already met him at the
garage. I described how he kicked me out of their house the first time he found
me there (my parents rationalized and argued in support of him on that one, and
I would have agreed, had it not been for the tone, the look, and the manner in
which he delivered his eviction). I told them about how he’d been spending day
and night at the hospital, working way past hours on who knew what, and I tried
to summarize as best I could, all those papers we read in his office. About how
he’d found some sort of white blood cell enhancer—something that could’ve
helped cancer patients—but that it was taken from him, twisted, and torn
apart. And I told them about Catee being caught after we broke into his office,
and that it was the
real
reason I’d left school that day—to check
on her and to make sure she was okay.