“Where’s it coming from?”
“Oh, look, it’s the plow boy.”
“What are you doing in here, Clod Hopper?”
I looked down at the egg sandwich Mom had made for me.
“I think he’s eating a cow shit sandwich.”
The other boys laughed, drawing attention from the next table.
“I thought brown-baggers were supposed to eat outside?”
“Yep, that’s the rule.”
“Probably when he learns the parts of speech,” a girl said, “he’ll be able to read the rulebook.”
I knew who it was without looking—Ember.
“Didn’t they make a rule book with pictures,” she said, “so the farmers can figure out the regulations?”
That got her a round of laughter.
“Yeah,” a boy said, “a coloring book.”
I rolled the rest of my sandwich in the paper bag and grabbed my thermos of milk.
“Oh, no. He’s about to cry.”
They boo-hooed and tossed off more smart remarks as I hurried from the cafeteria.
I couldn’t get away fast enough, and I sure wasn’t hungry anymore.
That’s the last time I’ll go there for lunch. Is there really a rule about not taking your lunch into the cafeteria? Maybe if I eat there, I have to buy my lunch. If I had lunch money, I would. Tomorrow, I’ll go outside at lunchtime to see if anyone else brings their lunch from home.
* * * * *
“Mom, I don’t want to go to school.”
It was the morning after my first day of high school.
“Why?” She worked on my sandwich for lunch.
“Everyone hates me.”
“I don’t think they hate you.”
“They picked on me all day, even at lunch.”
“Did you tell them to leave you alone?”
I shook my head and took a bite of Post Toasties and milk, then added another teaspoon of sugar.
“When they say something mean to you, say something back.”
“But I can never think of anything until it’s all over. After they laugh and walk away, then I think of a comeback.”
“Well, you have to think faster.”
Yeah, good idea, Mom. But my brain is too slow for that.
“How about if I just punch them in the face? Except for the girls.”
“The girls are mean, too?”
“Yes.”
There’s no way I’m gonna talk to a girl. Or punch one, although I’d rather do that than talk to them.
“Where are you when they pick on you?”
“In the hallway, and at lunchtime in the cafeteria.”
“Okay, when a class ends, stay in the classroom until just a minute before the next class, then hurry to the next one before they have time to say anything. And find a quiet place to eat lunch. You don’t have to go to the cafeteria for lunch.”
“Good idea, Mom.”
I took my lunch sack and ran to catch the school bus.
* * * * *
At lunchtime, I grabbed my sandwich from the locker and hurried outside, where I wandered around until I came to the football field. I climbed the steps and sat in the middle of the empty bleachers.
As I unwrapped my egg sandwich from the wax paper, I noticed someone across the field, in the middle of the other set of bleachers. From her size, I knew it was Patsy. I thought about going over to ask if I could eat with her, but someone sat beside her. It was a girl with metal braces on both legs.
I could see they were talking while they ate, so I decided not to intrude. Besides, I didn’t know how to intrude.
Do I just walk over and sit down? Or ask if I could sit with them? What if they say, ‘No?’ Then what? That would be embarrassing. Better to keep to myself.
After a quick lunch, I went to my science classroom a half-hour early and sat in the empty room, where it was quiet. Twenty-five minutes later, when the kids started coming in, I pretended to read my textbook.
“Wow,” one of the boys said, “he knows how to read.”
“Na, he’s got a comic book hidden inside his science book.”
They laughed.
I should say something. What’s a good comeback? “Yeah, I got Superman in here.” No, that’s stupid. “Sure, don’t you wish you had one in yours?” No, that requires an answer, and he’d have a smart remark, then I’d have to think of another one. My God, social life’s complicated. I’ll just keep quiet until they get tired of pestering me. How long’s that going to take? Probably the whole semester. Crap, three months of teasing, pestering, and wisecracks. I’ll never make it. How does Patsy do it?
Mrs. Adams’s history class had some of the same students from my English class.
I sat in the back, hoping no one would notice.
After the teacher wrote 330 BC on the blackboard, she asked, “Where did Alexander the Great come from?”
Several students raised their hands.
She went to stand in front of a girl. “What’s your name?”
“Ember Coldstream.”
“Can you answer the question?”
“I think Brindley knows. He’s an expert on ancient history.” She turned to grin at me.
What? Why is she doing this to me?
“Brindley,” Mrs. Adams said, “where did Alexander the Great come from?”
“Um…England?”
“No. Anyone?”
Juliet raised her hand. Mrs. Adams nodded to her.
“Macedonia.”
“Right. And what empire was the first to be conquered by him?”
“Greece.”
“Right again. Good work. I’m glad someone’s been reading during summer vacation. Now, let’s talk about the Roman Empire.”
Before the class was over, she assigned us the first three chapters to read before the next day’s class.
* * * * *
Algebra was just as hard as English and history.
Why didn’t Mrs. Caldwell teach us some of this stuff?
“Buenas tardes estudiantes,” (Good afternoon, students) Mrs. Sandoval said at the beginning of Spanish class.
Several kids responded, “Buenas tardes, Señora Sandoval.”
“Es un hermoso día,” (It’s a beautiful day) Ember said.
I sat in the back of the room, staying very still. I had no idea what Ember had said, but it brought a smile to the teacher’s face.She then looked my way, and I sank down, knowing what was coming.
“Como te llamas, joven?” (What’s your name, young man?)
I only knew by her tone of voice that she’d asked a question. I shook my head.
“I asked your name.”
“Oh, Charley Brindley.”
“El tiene un ligero problema mental,” (He has a slight mental problem) Ember said.
A few of the students giggled.
I only knew it was something about a mental problem; I could guess the rest.
“Oh, siento mucho escuchar eso,” (Oh, I’m so sorry to hear that) Mrs. Sandoval said. “We’ll start off slow for your benefit.”
Ember’s smile looked very much like a sneer.
Why does she hate me?
I opened my textbook and held it up in front of my face.
* * * * *
After school, I stood on the sidewalk, waiting for the school bus.
“Back of the line, Clod Hopper.”
“What?” It was the freckle-faced Crammer.
“You’re standing in my spot. Get to the back of the line, where you belong.”
“There’s no line.”
“There will be, and you’re in my spot.”
He shoved me backwards, knocking my books to the ground.
Some other kids came to watch.
I lunged for him, grabbing him around the waist.
Crammer brought up his knee, hitting me in the stomach.
When I swung at him, he hit me in the chest, knocking me down.
The others laughed. “Go get him, Brindley.”
I jumped up and swung my right fist.
He turned his shoulder toward me.
My fist hit solid muscle.
He punched me in the face, and I went down. I got to my knees, rubbing my eye.
The bus pulled up, and everyone filed on, laughing at me as they passed me. I was last to board. I dropped into a seat behind the driver.
* * * * *
After a month in school, I’d learned nothing, except for the best places to hide at lunchtime and to keep quiet in class. The teachers finally quit asking me questions, since I could never answer anything correctly.
It was the same in all six subjects. I sat in the back and just tried not to be noticed. I took notes and read my assignments, but I was just too slow. Most of the other kids participated in class, always ready to show off their knowledge, particularly the girls – and especially Ember. I guess because her father was a teacher.
* * * * *
I left English, hurrying toward my history class.
“Hay Seed.”
I turned to see Crammer coming toward me, followed closely by his gang of three.
Oh, no. Not again.
“What?”
“You wear those same overalls every day?”
I looked down at myself. Actually, I had four pair. Mom washed clothes three times a week. We had a wringer washing machine on the back porch. Dad and my uncle Leo had rigged up an old electric motor they’d salvaged from a junk yard, to rotate the drum paddle. But all my overalls did look alike.
“And the same flour sack shirt?” he asked.
“Yeah, I-I guess so.”
“Tell your old lady to use a burlap bag next time. That’s more your style.”
He turned to grin at his pals. They laughed. He looked back at me, waiting, I guess, for a response.
I didn’t have one.
Chapter Three
March 23, 2019
“Caitlion, just listen to me. We’ve had a good eighteen years. Now, you’re going out there and live your life. Go to university, run the company, travel…but promise me you won’t squander your life. Live it to the fullest, for me.”
“Charley,” the man said. “It’s time.”
I nodded.
My little Caitlion held my wrinkled old hand to her cheek. “I can’t let you go.”
“You have to, baby. He said it’s time.”
I waved a hand toward him. She looked around, as if no one else was there.
“I want you to…” I stopped for a breath. “…go get me a Big Mac. Can you do that?”
She sniffed and smiled. “Will they let you have it?”
“The nurse said I could have anything I want today.” That wasn’t true, but it really didn’t matter.
She stood. “I’ll be back in ten minutes. You want fries?”
I nodded and gave her my last smile, then she left the room.
“When you arrive, look for this iPad in the loft of the barn,” the blue doctor said. “It’s loaded with everything; Encyclopedia Britannica, Wikipedia…” He glanced at the glowing screen before him, which illuminated his face in a greenish light. He slid his finger up to the next page. “Every book in the Library of Congress, every invention in the U.S. Patent Office, formulas and descriptions of every medicine known to man, and a lot more you’ll find when you need it. There’ll be a solar charging panel, too. You have to keep everything hidden. They would never understand.”
“What loft? What barn?” I asked.
“The round barn. You know how to work the notebook, right?”
“Yeah, but I can’t even walk. Are they going to take me in an ambulance?”
“No, you’re going to fly.”
I almost laughed. “Oh, okay.”
“We only have a few minutes. All your instructions will be in a folder named ‘Instructions.’”
How clever to disguise the name like that. I never would have figured that out.
“Instructions for what?”
“You’ll see when you get there.”
“What kind of doctor…are you?” My heart did some kind of flip-flop I’d never felt before. Not painful, but disconcerting. My breath stopped for a few seconds.
“…before she gets back,” he said.
“Wha—” Tingling, my legs.
“…but you won’t be able to contact us.”
“Contact who?”
What a strange feeling. Something warm flowing through me.
I heard some erratic beeps, then a long one.
I felt a whoosh, like air pushed out of a tunnel ahead of a speeding train.
Then a jolt.
Chapter Four
September 27, 1945
I felt a jolt, like an electric shock. But there was no pain; just a quick buzz inside my head, then tingling throughout my body. It felt as if all the blood had been sucked out of me and instantly replaced with new blood interlaced with some sort of effervescent bubbly substance. It actually felt pretty good, and my vision sharpened to crystal clarity. I closed my eyes for a moment, savoring the new feeling, then opened my eyes to see the ugly face of Justin Crammer.
“You hear me, asshole?”
“What did you say about my mom?”
“I said, your old lady can’t sew for shit.”
He glanced at Ember and his two boy pals, then grinned. He turned back and grabbed me by the collar.
I didn’t even think; just reacted. Gripping his hand, I put pressure on the back kof his wrist and twisted it to the side.
He went to his knees, crying out.
When he balled his other hand into a fist and swung at me, I twisted more, putting him on the floor.
Damn, where did that come from?
I let him go and stepped back.
I could’ve broken his wrist.
He struggled to stand but only got one knee under himself. Ember reached to take his arm, but he shook her off.
“Get away from me,” he told her, then stood. “I’ll get you for this, Brindley.”
“Okay. How’re you going to do that?”
“You’ll find out.”
“How about push-ups, right now?”
“What?”
“The one of us who does the most in five minutes, wins.”
Someone behind him laughed.
Yeah, I know, he’s the strongest player on the football team.
Crammer grinned, dropped to the floor, and positioned himself on his hands.
I handed my books to Ember and fell beside him.
We began together.
At ten, I started counting aloud.
When we hit fifteen, he slowed a little.
The other kids cheered him on.
At thirty, I said, “One-hand.”
“What?”
I put my left hand behind my back and kept going.
Crammer did the same.
He got to thirty-five, then fell on his chest, breathing hard.
I continued, pushing easily with my right arm.
“Forty,” I said, then stood and held out my hand.
He knocked it away. “This ain’t over.”
“Oh, now what?”
“You just better watch out.”
I glanced at Ember and lifted a shoulder. She did the same.
“Watch out.” She mouthed the words, then handed over my books, with a smile.
The bell rang.
Crammer stomped away, followed by Ember and his pals.
* * * * *
In history class, I took my usual seat in the back. Strange visions filled my mind, like dreaming while awake.
A war in the jungle…a wide river flowing through the rainforest…an oasis in the desert…skiing…
It was like a long movie set to super fast motion.
