Chapter 5

On Tuesday, Mrs. Middleton said she was considering putting on a production of “Our Town.” There were six main characters and three supporting roles with room for as many as nineteen other actors. She handed out a synopsis of the play for us to consider. Auditions would be open for anyone, but she expected our drama class to carry the weight.

I raised my hand, and Mrs. Middleton called on me. “I’d like to volunteer to be the carpenter for the production.”

She looked at me for a minute, trying to figure out how to respond. “For those of you who are unfamiliar with the play, one of its unique features is that it is performed with minimal props and no backdrop. It’s done on an empty stage and therefore doesn’t need a carpenter.”

“My work here is done.” I guessed that she wanted a little more out of me than that.

Before I even sat down at lunch, Kim grabbed my hand and dragged me across the cafeteria and outside. As soon as the door closed, she hugged me to her in her best bear hug. “I love you, Jackson Michael Pierce.”

“Good thing,” I croaked, pretending I was having a hard time breathing.

“You goof. Did you know that Our Town didn’t need a carpenter?”

“Yes. No. Maybe. I think I heard Mel talking about it. I do not want to be center stage on a Friday night when we perform a play. If I have to participate, I want to be one of those nameless guys in black that run around on stage between scenes.”

“Okay, let’s think this through. There are no backdrops and very few props. Exactly how much anonymous stagehand stuff do you think would be happening? And, why did you sign up for drama if you don’t want to be in a play? Hmmm?”

“I like Mrs. Middleton, and it was my only chance to be in class with you.”

“Both good answers, but you had to know there would be a production involved.”

“Maybe a tiny little part of me knew that. What brought this on?”

“The hug?” I nodded. “You’re just right. I realized that there are a whole bunch of good men in our lives. Bobby is a good man. Vince is a good man, and there’s a bunch of good men that hang out with us at school and men at your house and my parents’ house, but you’re my good man and you’re just right.”

“Why do I suddenly feel like mama bear? I love you too.”

“Come on, Goldilocks, let’s go get some lunch.”

We went back in and decided to sit with Cherry and Mei. They asked about our weekend. We didn’t get past riding. Mel, in her giant pink foam cowboy hat was worth as many laughs the second time around as the first.

They had gone surf fishing at the north end of Folly Beach with Mei’s dad. Lighthouse Inlet can be a great place to fish, but it’s a bit tricky, and you really have to know the tides. I’d seen people surf fishing before, and I’d always had the same question.

“How do you cast out far enough?” I asked.

“Cannon. You ever make a potato gun?”

“Long time ago. PVC pipe, hairspray, and a potato, right?”

“Once you put the potato down in, you add your bait. It launches it out pretty far.”

I tried to picture it. “One guy holds his pole with the bail open and the other shoots it out to sea?”

“Exactly. Works like a champ. We caught enough to fill a freezer.”

“I’ve never heard of that before, but it’s cheaper than a boat.”

Kim and I learned a little about Chinese fish recipes. I was pretty sure the Chinese take-out restaurant we liked didn’t follow those recipes. I decided authentic might not always be best.

That afternoon, I continued to work with our new swimmers. Their strengths started to become more evident. Billy Sears and Trey Portman were relatively strong in all four strokes. The other three weren’t going to have a strong butterfly without a lot of work. Vic Perlman had a strong backstroke and it just kept getting better. His shoulder rotation was exceptional.

I congratulated them on their improvement. I told them we’d talk about strategies going forward, and they would need to decide how they wanted to focus. I drove Kim home and dropped her off. I had homework to do before kung fu that night, and we skipped lifting.

That night, Sifu Chen worked with us on speed and power. A wide stance is best for generating power, but a narrow stance is best for speedy movement. So, of course, we worked on generating power from a narrow stance and moving quickly from a wide stance. It was more than an interesting exercise. Sifu Chen wanted our kung fu to be useful in a variety of situations.

“In the school, you may arrive early and stretch or warm up. Your uniform allows great mobility. If you must use kung fu in the parking lot of the grocery store, it is unlikely that you would enjoy those luxuries. Your kung fu must be effective when you are wearing jeans, have a cold, or your left arm is in a cast. You cannot choose when the fight will come to you.”

“Prepare for the worst-case scenario,” Franklin said.

“Yes, yes. Before WWII, the American navy practiced during good weather. When the weather turned bad, they came back to port. The Japanese navy practiced when the weather was bad, and came back to port when the weather was good. Who do you think was better prepared?”

“Is that true? That’s backwards.” I hadn’t read that in my history books, but had no reason to think it wasn’t true.

“Unfortunately, it is true. One day, we will practice with one arm in a sling. Another day,” he said and pointed to a wheelchair. It had been parked in the corner since we first started taking lessons, but I didn’t have an idea what it was for.

“I remember seeing a TV show called Longstreet. James Franciscus played the part of a blind PI and Bruce Lee taught him how to fight,” Franklin said.

“Blind?” I asked.

“Exactly so. It was very Hollywood, but the concepts were good. If it comes on again, you should watch it.”

“Master Po was blind,” I said. Po was one of the monks in the TV show Kung Fu.

“Yes. Also, very Hollywood, Grasshopper.”

“But we’re going to practice some of that?” Franklin asked.

“Quite so, but not tonight. If you would like the mental challenge, imagine the possible advantages and disadvantages of defending yourself on crutches,” he said with a smile. We were done for the night.

“You’ve got a pretty good stick to work with,” Franklin said on the drive back to his house.

“While you’re hopping around on one leg. Kind of hard to establish your base.”

“Use one for balance and the other as a weapon, maybe. I don’t know. I think you’d have to try it.”

“I’m going to,” I said, thinking it through. “We have a pair of crutches, and I have a heavy bag. I’ll try it and see what happens.”

“You know, as soon as you get that figured out, he’ll put you in that wheelchair.”

“Have you ever heard of drunken kung fu? Who invented that, and were they drunk at the time?”

On Wednesday, Kim and I sat together. We planned on going to the center that night to tutor kids, and we wanted to talk. But we didn’t talk. What was there to say? I knew she was wondering the same things I was. Should we take Mac again? Would we have the same kids, or would they be different? Should we tell any of our friends we were doing this? Would we encourage anyone else to join us, and if so, who? Lunch was unremarkable, tasteless calories. Fuel.

That afternoon, we had a great leg workout, probably because we had to do something with the energy we weren’t using anywhere else. We showered, changed clothes, and worked on homework until it was time to leave. Rather than be bad company at home, we stopped at Burger King on the way.

With Mac on a short leash, walking up from the parking lot, we stopped, held hands, then held each other. “Hope. They need hope more than they need good grades,” Kim said. She was right. I looked down at Mac, wagging his tail in eager anticipation. It was impossible to be grumpy with this little guy around.

We stopped at the front desk and got our visitor name tags. After normal hours, each house mom or dad took a turn at the front desk. Mrs. Belmont said she’d notify some folks we were there and ready to help.

We’d just sat down when a dozen kids came tearing around the corner and into the cafeteria. Mac was ready. The first little boy came sliding into position as though he’d just stolen second base. Mac rolled over on his back and got his first belly rub of the night.

“Once you’ve said ‘hello,’ go grab whatever schoolwork you need help with. Hey, I’m Mrs. Porter. The kids have been waiting for you to come back. No, that’s not right. They’ve been waiting for Mac to come back,” she laughed. We stood and shook hands, then watched the kids for a few minutes.

“Alright, let’s take advantage of our time. Frank, Nicky, and Lisa lead the way. Go get your math books. I know you’re having trouble with that. Let’s get some of that straightened out.”

With a bit of grumbling and a bit of encouragement, they filed out. One of the house dads stood at the door, putting a reassuring hand on each shoulder as they went past. When they came back in, Kim and I worked with the kids, while Mrs. Porter acted as a gatekeeper for Mac. It worked pretty well.

By the time we left, Mac was worn out, and so were we. I drove Kim home, and we found her parents relaxing in the den. Mac ran in circles until Mrs. McTighe picked him up. He made one more circle in her lap and fell asleep while she rubbed his ears. “How did it go?”

“Jack tutored math, and I tutored English, for the most part. I think we saw twenty kids. Maybe a few more. There was a big range of ability. Some of them had really short attention spans. The staff appreciated us.”

“A couple of them were real talkers. One kid I worked with was in five different schools last year, and he just wants to stay where he is because he likes it. His parents are in prison, so he thinks he can stay at this school. It seemed like it was more important to him that his parents stayed in prison so he could stay at one school. What a thing to be thankful for.”

“I had a little girl who was at the center because her mother is missing and her father is in jail. She just wants to see her little sister.”

“Did she say why her father was in jail? Is he going to get out soon?” Mrs. McTighe asked.

“You don’t want to know. The girl I was working with was eleven. Her father is in jail, awaiting trial for sexually abusing her younger sister. I think her mom took off when all that happened.”

“The mother probably feels responsible,” Mr. McTighe said.

“She was very bright and seemed to be well-adjusted. There’s just no telling.”

“Are you glad you’re doing it?” Mr. McTighe asked.

“I am. I want to keep doing it. I just have to remind myself that no one at the center is responsible for what has happened to the kids. The kids aren’t responsible, and neither are we.”

“It’s late enough. I want to call Fallon,” Kim said. She did, and when they connected, she put her on speaker phone. Kim and Fallon did most of the talking.

Kim described the kids we worked with. Fallon asked a few questions. After a few minutes, Michael joined the conversation. We talked for another twenty minutes before Michael dropped a bomb.

“Let me give you one piece of advice that really changed things for me. Don’t get mad at their biological parents. It’s easy to do. Don’t. You don’t know the circumstances. These kids may have been abused or neglected by their parents, but you don’t know what their parents went through. This could be a huge improvement over their own childhood. You just don’t know. If you want to make an assumption, assume their biological parents were doing the best they could, and it just wasn’t good enough.”

“Even when a little girl tells us her father raped her little sister?” Kim asked.

“Even then. You don’t know their history, and even if you did, what difference would it make? That’s someone else’s battle to fight. I have to go. That’s my tip of the week. I’m glad you two are doing this. Proud of you,” he said. We talked with Fallon for a few more minutes and hung up.

“Well, that’s a different way of looking at things,” I said.

“I think he’s right. I don’t think it would be easy to separate the kids from their circumstances, but I think you should try,” Mr. McTighe said.

“Yes. Keep your focus on what you can control. You’ve given them joy by taking Mac with you and shown them you care. That’s a pretty big deal for some of these kids. Remind them that they aren’t defined by their circumstances. No one is, but these kids really need to hear that. Give them hope.”

“My circumstances don’t define me, but they sure make things easier,” I said.

“They do, and you don’t take that for granted. I bet you know people who do.”

“A couple. They’re insufferable.” I thought about that for a minute or two. “When Sally moved away, I let that circumstance define me, and I was pretty miserable to be around.”

“It didn’t last, though,” Kim said.

“No. Thanks for rescuing me from that.”

We talked for a few more minutes, and I went home to prep for the next day. Mom and Dane were in the kitchen. I set Mac down in the entryway, and he made a beeline for their voices. They asked, and I gave them the short version of our evening, including talking with Michael and Fallon and their advice.

“I’m glad you’ve got them for advice and counsel, because this is way outside my wheelhouse,” Dane said.

“Me, too. Proud of you for trying this.”

Thursday was pretty relaxed, but we had some excitement on Friday. Lunch had just begun when Jay Spencer, our starting quarterback, tapped me on the shoulder and motioned for me to go with him. There was already a crowd of people heading for the door to the outside.

“What’s going on?” I asked.

“Couple of bonehead freshmen. I’d be surprised if it doesn’t turn into a fight. I thought you might want to help break it up. If it goes the way I think it will, we’ll get there in time for a shoving match. Play along. Stephanie is going to ask, ‘What’s going on?’ I’ll explain it loudly, and they’ll probably quit.”

“What do I have to do?”

“Look menacing.”

I don’t know how Jay knew it, but he had nailed it. Two freshmen were standing just outside their critical distance, daring the other one to do something first. Twenty kids surrounded them, either egging them on or warning them they’d be suspended if they fought. One kid shoved the other and was rewarded with some name-calling. “You’re a pussy,” with the clever comeback, “Then why don’t you try something?”

“Call it,” Jay said when we’d worked our way close to them. He tossed a coin in the air and covered it with his hand.