Somewhere Between Black and White (17 page)

He really stepped in it this time.
Expulsion was imminent. Probably legal repercussions, the dean had said. And
what was his mom going to think when she found out what he’d done? He dreaded the
shock and disappointment on her face.

His computer sat on his desk in the
corner of the room, silently condemning him for making it his partner in crime.
Rising to his feet, he stared out the window before reluctantly turning on his
computer. It was too late. The damage had been done. How could he have been so
stupid?

He navigated to the website that he and
his friends created, but it had already been taken down. It started out fun;
they found suggestive photos of men and women in Calvin Klein ads, and
Photoshopped them so they appeared as if Ian was the woman. It was never meant
to go beyond the walls of this room, a joke between Jake and his buddies.  But
then somewhere along the way they came up with the idea to put the pictures on
the internet, so that others could share in the hilarity. If Ian saw it, so
what? Too bad for him, if he couldn’t take a joke.

Something deep in Jake’s heart warned
him not to go down that road, telling him it was a bad idea, but giving in to
the encouragement of his friends had been too easy. What was the big deal? It
was all for a laugh. Nobody cared for Ian anyway.

Now, it was as if he was recognizing for
the first time how ruthless this whole thing had been. The comments other kids added
on the website were beyond cruel; one of them even said he wished Ian would do
them all a favor and off himself. When the dean had pulled up the site in her
office, he had to turn from the horror in her eyes. It wouldn’t matter if he
went home and took the site down, she said. She would take screen shots of
everything as proof. And if he thought they couldn’t prove he was the creator,
she assured him that IP addresses could be traced.

Jake covered his face with his hands. He
would never, ever be able to take back what he had done to Ian. He recalled
what Mr. Collins said about Ian’s mother, that she might be dying, and thought
of his own mom who was very sick with multiple sclerosis. He could still hear the
anger and disgust in Mr. C’s voice. 

Jake had no choice but to be the ass in
the hallway. There was no way in hell he was going to let anyone at that school
know he was sorry. His mother would be the only one. What would he to say to
her? He had to tell her himself, before she started receiving the phone calls.

Jake trudged the long stretch from his
room and sat down on the coffee table beside her. “Mom,” he said quietly.

His mother stirred from her nap. “Hey,
Jakey.” She squinted from the light and smiled. “How was school?”

“It was bad. Really bad.” He burst into
tears. “Mom, I did something terrible.”

Twenty-Two

Sam had finished several beers and
Sophie as many glasses of wine, trying to forget the rotten day. They both sank
into the sofa, somber and quiet, while
Wheel of Fortune
animated the TV
screen. “It’s Greenwich Village,” Sam grumbled, gesturing with his hand. “How
can you not know that?” 

Sophie had never seen him so despondent,
not even when Abby died. She shifted closer, brushing her hand over his knee. “So,
how did you come to find out about the website?”

His eyes lingered on the T.V. “Do you
know Ian?”

“I don’t
know
him all that well.
I met him at a pizza lunch, and he stops by my room from time to time to say
hello. He seems like a really sweet kid.”

“He’s a
great
kid. But, he gets bullied
because, well, you know.  He’s . . . I don’t know for sure that he’s gay. Don’t
even know if he knows.”  He reached for his bottle on the coffee table. “He has
a younger sister, a sixth grader. For some reason she didn’t feel comfortable
going to the dean’s office. She came to me with it, showed me the site. It’s
awful. You wouldn’t believe it if you saw it.”

Sophie shook her head. “How did his
sister know who made it?”

“I guess it’s been talk amongst some of
the students, and Jake wasn’t denying it.”

“God, why are kids so frickin’ mean? I
don’t remember them being this
mean
when we were kids. Do you?”

“I don’t know,” Sam answered wearily,
pushing the hair off his forehead. “There’s more, though. Ian was working on
some kind of Movie Maker project—”

“Movie Maker?”

“I’ll show it to you. Anyway, he left
the video open on his computer, and his sister, Mia, watched it.” Sam turned to
her, his usual bright eyes now clouded with concern. “She’s only twelve,
Sophie, but these kids have gone through so much with their mom being sick. Mia
took one look at this video Ian made and knew she had to show it to someone.”

“She gave you a copy?”

Sam nodded. “I’ve got it on a flash
drive. I sent a copy to the counselor.”

The wine had made her feel light,
floaty, but this whole incident left her in a black mood. Her body, warm and
tranquilized by the alcohol, was strangely disconnected from her heart that
ached for this poor boy.

They
remained in silence, Sophie twirling her glass, and Sam methodically drumming
his fingers on his bottle of ale.

In the early morning hours, Sophie woke
to thoughts of Ian. She lay on her side with Sam curled up against her, his arm
snug around her waist. She wouldn’t normally remove herself from such bliss. He
was quite simply the best place in the world. But her agitation wouldn’t allow
her to sleep, and she gently lifted his arm and crawled out of bed.

She wandered to Sam’s office, the
ceramic tile cold beneath her feet, and turned on his computer. The monitor’s
bluish glow diffused the darkness as she waited for the machine to boot, its
fan whirring softly in the vast silence of the house. Easing into the wheeled
computer chair, praying it wouldn’t squeak, she inserted the flash drive and
located the video she and Sam had watched the night before. The video revealing
emotions Ian had felt compelled to express.

Sophie lowered the volume until the
sound was barely audible. Ian’s choice of music was poignant, gut-wrenching. “Mad
World”. Not the 1980s version, but the heartbreaking Gary Jules cover done
nearly twenty years later. 

Ian’s voice was never heard; his story conveyed
through images.

Cheerless, woeful images.    

Hearts, bandaged and broken. Beaten by a
hammer.

Alabaster rag dolls, carelessly stitched
together, but no features—only dark, empty circles for eyes.

A nondescript figure among a sea of
faces. The word “help” covering its body from head to toe. No one taking
notice.

A blood-red tear spilling from a human
eye.

One after another they came, each
picture expressing his anguish.

After the images had faded, Ian appeared
in front of the camera as the music played on. The backdrop of Ian’s innocent
young face amplified the unbearably mournful lyrics. He looked into the lens
for a few short moments. 

She no longer watched a video. He was
sitting in front of her. Flesh and blood. Looking in her eyes, begging for
relief. 

Ian reached up and turned off the
camera. The video went black.

Riveted to the screen, tears dripped
down her face as the video restarted. She watched it three more times, thinking
of him walking the halls alone, wondering if he heard remarks behind his back.
Still, he always managed to give her a friendly hello.

“Sophie?” Sam whispered, his hand on her
shoulder. “What are you doing?”

She swiped her hands across her cheeks.

“Why are you watching this again?” 

She covered her eyes with her palms, her
face contorted, trying to control the sounds caught in her throat as the song
repeated its forlorn message.

“Sophie. . . .”

“Do you think he’s going to do something
stupid?”

“No.” He turned her chair around and
pulled her up, taking her in his arms. “No, I don’t. You gotta stop watching
this, okay?”

“How do you know?”

“I don’t know. I just hope. I think he
wanted
his sister to find it. And she did. His twelve-year-old guardian angel.”

She hugged him fiercely, hating that she
was so emotionally overwrought. His t-shirt was soft against her cheek as she
breathed deeply, subduing her sobs. “I feel like you’re
my
guardian
angel,” she said, trying to break from the heaviness.

“Well. . . .” He shrugged with mock
arrogance. “Why
wouldn’t
you?” 

She let out a clipped laugh.

“Hey.” He lifted her chin. “I was pretty
dark about this thing with Ian last night, but now . . . I just have a feeling
he’s gonna be okay. He’s tougher than he looks.”

She nodded, and he took her by the hand
and led her back to the bedroom.

“Sam, I want to tell you something, while
I’ve still got some of that wine in my bloodstream.”

“Does it have anything to do with how
devilishly handsome I am?”

Still sniffling some, she brought her
finger to her lips, pretending to consider his question.  “Not that you’re not
devilishly handsome. But no, it doesn’t have to do with that.”

“Then what else could it be?” Now back
under the covers, he held up the blankets, inviting her to climb in.

She released an apprehensive sigh and
snuggled up against him. “Okay, you can’t look at me while I tell you this.”
She buried herself into his chest.

“Why?” His chin rested on top of her
head. He had no choice, the way she had positioned herself.

“I just don’t want you to.” So concerned
about what he would think of her, even still. Especially after Evie’s reaction.

“You’re so weird.” His voice was quiet.
“What did you want to tell me?”

It was another vision, but from awhile
ago. They came less frequently now, and she was actually glad about it. But
this particular one was very tied up in questions she had about Sam, about his
nature and how he came by it.

Through a tiny paned window was a
glimpse of this life she pretty much accepted was once part of her, of them. 

Her belly showing the beginnings of
life, she sat on Sam’s lap where he lounged in a winged back chair, absorbed in
a book. She peered into it inquisitively, and he showed her an inscription on
the title page. Someone had given this book to him. The title was a strange
word, something she had trouble pronouncing.
Dhammapada
.

“I don’t even know if I’m saying that
right,” Sophie clarified after she shared this small morsel with Sam. “I
Googled it, because I wanted to know how to pronounce it, and what the heck it
was.”

Sam said nothing, and being that she
couldn’t see his face, she wondered what he was thinking. “Does that mean
anything to you? Are you familiar with that book?” 

He remained silent, and she backed away
so that she could see his reaction.

“Yeah,” he answered abruptly, as if he
hadn’t realized she asked him anything.  “Yeah, I read it in college. Part of a
philosophy course I took.” He wore a slight frown.

“Sam, what’s wrong?”

“Be right back.” He jumped out of bed
and left the room.

“Sam?” She could hear him rifling
through the book case in his office.

A minute later, he returned and switched
on the lamp on the bedside table. “I have a copy of it,” he said breathlessly.
“I bought it in a used book store a few years ago.” He handed it to her.

Sophie gasped, almost comically. The
hard cover, faced with red cloth, was worn and soiled, but it was the same.
“This is it, Sam! This is the one I saw!” She frantically opened the cover to
the title page, at the same time trying to treat the book with the greatest of care.
And there was the inscription: 

My
Dearest Matthew,

I
hope this will answer some of the questions you have.  It has been an honor to
know you.

Your
friend,

Ping

“Oh my God, oh my God. . . .” Sophie
said as she turned the pages.

“Holy shit,” was Sam’s simultaneous
response.

This couldn’t  be—Sam finding this in a
book store years before they even met. Sophie flipped back to the first page
and ran her fingers over the inscription. “Do you know who these people are?”

Sam sat down beside her, staring at the
book in shock. “No, I don’t.” He hesitated before he asked, “Was I this Matthew
person?”

“How the hell do I know?”

“You’re the one who’s seen the book, saw
yourself sitting on this person’s lap.”

“This person was
you
, but I don’t
know if he was Matthew,” she explained. “I don’t know—I think maybe he was.”

“And you mean to tell me that you have
never had these kinds of things happen to you, until you met me.”

“I swear.” The very book she had seen in
her vision now rested in her trembling hands. Why was this happening? Or was
she just going crazy? “So you’ve read this book. More than once.”