Spirit Mountain (10 page)

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Forever Silent

A Novel by J.K. Drew

(read on for a sample)

Chapter One

Chip leaned over and whispered, “I seriously cannot stand this Shakespeare stuff. All those ‘thees’ and ‘thous’ drive me nuts.”

I nodded, keeping a wary eye out for Miss Baker. “If you ask me, I think they should translate all this for us.”

Chip was getting into it. “They call this a literature class, but these plays make no sense. It’s just a bunch of gibberish.”

I was just about to speak, but Chip continued, his voice slightly louder. “Why, we could be reading some ‘Nam stories, or detective books. Now
that’s
literature. We should be reading up-to-date material, not these incomprehensible fairy tales.”

So I could hear Chip more clearly, I shifted my body toward his seat; my arm hung limply at my side and my hand grazed the gray carpet. An instant later, a woman’s size eight stepped just inches from my index finger. The black loafer was polished to perfection, and I could see my worried expression around the toes.

A voice from above snapped, “I suggest you two get back to your reading.”

Her suggestion was a wise one, and I quickly put it into practice. It was not smart to anger Miss Baker. She was an ornery one.

Hamlet did not grab my attention and I found my eyes wandering to Liz Fodler. Now that was a woman! She was only a senior, as am I, but she could be classified into that special breed of womanhood. Her hair was long and blond and it hung over her seat and onto my desk. When Miss Baker stepped away, I reached over and took up a handful of it without Liz knowing. It was soft, and I noticed a slight hint of roses emanating from it. Images of Liz danced through my mind. Her stunningly blue eyes, her smile, her body. What if I asked her out right now? What would she do? Laugh? But what if she did agree? Liz and I at the movies, my arm around her, feeling her cuddle up next to me. What a glorious thought.

She turned around and I was stuck still holding her hair. She looked at me, her blue eyes glaring fiercely. “What do you think you’re doing?”

The truth was embarrassing—I was caught caressing her hair in the middle of a fabulous daydream. My face turned red. I began to speak, but only stuttered.

“Let go,” she commanded.

I fumbled with her hair, trying to free it from my grasp. I was successful with the majority of it, but some of the strands were stuck to my sweaty palm. I pulled my hand back and two hairs ripped free from her scalp. She let out a small yelp.

“I—I’m sorry.” I didn’t know what else to say. If I knew her, maybe I could have laughed it off, but I did not, and I doubted that she knew my name.

She grabbed a brush from her purse on the floor and began brushing out her hair. I watched her dumbly, but she only looked ahead.

This time I heard Miss Baker coming. She stepped slowly and stealthily, always trying to sneak up on her prey. She passed me and stood in front of Liz.

“Now what have I told you about brushing your hair in class, Elizabeth?”

Liz did not answer, but continued looking ahead. She set the brush down on her desk. Miss Baker reached down and took hold of it. “I’m confiscating this for now. You can retrieve it after school.”

I sank down in my seat. I could not believe that I had gotten Liz in trouble. Miss Baker turned and walked away with a smile on her face. That lady really seemed to enjoy disciplining a student. What a sick person.

Liz spun around. She was beautiful. “Thanks a lot!” she snapped.

“I—I’m sorry.”

She snarled and shook her head in disgust. She began to turn back in her seat. “Uh, Liz,” I said, stopping her.

She did not even bother looking at me; she just looked blankly at the side wall. “What?” she asked almost pleadingly, like she wanted me to get out of her life forever.

“Would you go out with me?”

She tensed lightly, as if the question came as a shock to her. Actually, it came as a surprise even to me. I just sort of blurted it out because it had been on my mind. Her gaze turned from the wall to me. She laughed pitifully. “You’re a pig,” she said simply and effectively. She tucked her hair behind her seat and resumed reading.

Oh well
, I thought,
at least I tried
.

A hand suddenly grabbed my shoulder. It was Chip, and his mouth was dangling open. “Did you just do what I think you just did?”

I nodded. I was not depressed that Liz had rejected me, for I was fully expecting it.

Chip sat back in his seat. He was mumbling to himself, and I picked up the words, “What guts.”

Actually, I figured, it was not guts. I just wanted to see how she would reject me. Her method was not creative, but it was indeed effective. Sadly, I doubted that I would ever talk to her again.

I shrugged it off and stared down into my book. This was the last chapter of our literature book, and the hardest. We were in the last month of school and I was getting restless just thinking about graduation.

Miss Baker walked swiftly past my desk, just as I was forcing myself to read. She stood perfectly erect in front of the class. After clearing her throat, she said, “Class, may I please have your attention?” When the heads of my classmates looked up, she went on. “As you know, our school year is coming to an end. There will still be two more major grades in this class. Your final for this last chapter and an oral report.”

As if rehearsed, the class moaned in harmony, “Oral report?”

Miss Baker glanced around, beaming with satisfaction at the students’ obvious misery. When the grumbling ceased, she began again. “The report is due this Friday. You are to give your opinion on how our school could serve you, the students, in a better way.”

Chip blurted out, “Is that it? This is going to be easy.”

Miss Baker shot him an imposing glance. “It may be easy, Mr. Clark, but judging by the rows of zeroes next to your name in the grade book, you’ve been taking things a bit too easy.”

Off to my left and three rows down, Betty Glore raised her hand. Miss Baker nodded with a polite smile and the teacher’s pet asked, “Can you give us some examples as to how the school can be made better?”

Miss Baker folded her hands in front of her and tilted her head. “Sure, Betty.”

I thought I was going to get sick. She and Betty were simply too much.

Under her arm were a few stapled papers. She said, “I was just about to give some examples from last year. I guess great minds think alike.” They both giggled and Chip and I moaned. She looked at the first paper. “This one did it on the condition of our school. He suggested it should be painted and such.” She studied the next one. “She suggests that we build more classrooms so the classes wouldn’t be so crowded.”

She gave some of the technicalities of the report, and I jotted the notes down. As Chip had mentioned, the report seemed to be rather easy. I looked around at the different characters in my classroom. As a matter of fact, the reports should be quite interesting.

The bell rang and outside I caught up with Chip. My literature class was the last class of the day, and at this time I usually hitched a ride with Chip.

Together we made for his Mustang that was parked in the school’s parking lot. Once inside, he whipped past the school like a madman. I had always felt that I was risking my life with each ride in Chip’s car. He headed out on the open road to our homes on the distant hillside. We lived in Springdale, a small town just ten miles outside of Santa Barbara. Our town was just slightly too far to make a habit out of going to the beach, but during the summer I did go once in a while. Springdale was not even big enough to have its own high school, but rather high school students from Springdale and one other town had to venture off to Souna every day to school. When we were in ninth and tenth grades we were bussed to Souna High School, but when Chip got a car for his birthday, we made the trip on our own.

I looked over at Chip and immediately tensed when I saw him driving with his knee. A crumpled paper bag lay at his side and he was stuffing a bologna sandwich in his mouth. Chip was not big, I even considered him bony, but he took pride in the fact that he could eat more than everybody in our school. Four times this year he was challenged to an eating contest by some of the heavier guys in school, and each time he out-ate them easily.

He turned and looked at me, and with a mouthful of mutilated sandwich he asked, “Are you hungry?”

I must have been looking too long, but I was actually thinking. “Uh, no. Chip, how can you eat so much and not get fat?”

He smiled, and a bit of crust dropped from the corner of his mouth onto his lap. “I don’t know, but I consider it a gift.”

I laughed, but it sounded more like a snort. “Some gift.”

He turned off from the main highway and up a mountain road. We had to drive over the Crown Mountains to get to our homes. Many times I had hunted rabbits in these mountains, or in my youth scrambled over the jagged rock at its peaks, for which these mountains got their name.

The road was not treacherous through the Crown Mountains, but they were not smooth either. Chip did not lower his speed at all, but even increased it. As he sped around the corners and hazardously near the protective railings, I gripped the door handle and the edge of my seat to keep from being thrown around inside the car.

Once again, we made it through the mountains safely; and I breathed a sigh of relief.

Chip had already finished eating his sandwich and a bag of potato chips. Now he was slurping on a canned drink. He momentarily put it aside and said, “Ya know, Cal, I’m getting real tired of Miss Baker. I’ll be glad when that class is finally over.” He then shot me a quick glance, his eyes gleaming. “I still can’t believe you asked Liz out.”

“Why not? Is she some unobtainable goddess?”

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d say yes. What was her reply? I only saw her turn around with a sick look on her face.”

“She called me a pig.”

“I’m surprised she even acknowledged you.”

“Now you’re getting ridiculous. She’s only human.”

“But what a human! The only guy she has ever gone out with was that guy in the local band.”

“Oh yeah, the lead guitar player in Bad Sweat?”

“That’s the one.”

“Maybe it’s time for her to experience a new guy. After all, I’m not that horrible looking.” I said, pulling down the visor and inspecting my face in the mirror.

“Oh brother.” Chip turned and concentrated on the road once again.

My house rested on the east side of a small hill, providing a majestic view of the sunset each evening. Chip dropped me off and continued on to his house further up the road.

The sun was still high overhead and a cool breeze scattered some fallen leaves as if they had been kicked by a passing child. I made my way past some towering oaks and bushy bottlebrush trees. I came upon my backyard after a small hike. Chip lived on the road behind my house, so it was more convenient for him to drop me off there instead of swinging around to my street.

I entered my house from the back door. I shrugged off my book bag, left it on the floor, threw open the refrigerator, and scanned it like a preying falcon. I spotted a plate full of cold chicken and quickly snatched it. I sat down at the kitchen table and began ripping the flesh from the bones. I was on my second leg when I heard the doorbell ring. I was in a semi-frenzy, so I ignored it. As if an animal, I ran my tongue along the leg bone.

My mom let out a scream. I flipped the plate of chicken in the air and knocked over the chair as I made for the swinging door that separated the kitchen from the living room. I threw my whole body against the door, stumbled, and looked a policeman straight in the eye.

He did not flinch or act surprised. Wildly, I looked from him to my hysterical mother on the couch. She sat crumpled in a ball, and her body shuddered as if she were shivering from extreme cold.

What was going on? I looked at the policeman for answers. He was not looking at me, but indeed staring down at the ground. My stomach sank. Something terrible had happened and I almost did not want to hear it.

I was still squatting in an awkward position from bursting through the door, so I straightened slowly. My mom had not looked up or even acknowledged me, and the policeman’s eyes were still diverted from mine. Was anyone going to speak? What had happened? I could not stand it anymore.

“Officer, why is my mother crying?”

The small policeman still did not look up. He rubbed his thick mustache and took a deep breath. He looked at me. His eyes shimmered.

“Your brother, Gary, is dead.”

Chapter Two

My legs quivered, and I looked around for a seat. Finding the sofa behind me, I sat.

That one sentence ran continuously through my bewildered mind: “Your brother, Gary, is dead... Your brother, Gary, is dead... Your brother, Gary, is dead...”

I ran my fingers through my hair. Dead? He’s dead? How could he be dead? I just saw him this morning! This is ridiculous. This man is insane.

I looked up at the officer and tried to smile. “He can’t be dead,” I said, trying to reason with him. “He’ll be coming home on the bus in just a few minutes.”

The policeman winced as if he had been pierced with a needle. He started to talk, but then stopped again. It was obviously as painful for him to give the news as it was for the family members to receive it. But I would not receive it! He had made a mistake!

He seemed to summon some courage. “Your brother won’t be coming home on the bus. He never went to school today. Today was the day he had planned to commit suicide.” He breathed deeply, his chest shuddering. “I am afraid he was successful.”

Suicide? Gary? Why would he do that? He was only in the tenth grade. What troubles could he possibly have at that age? I pulled at my hair, unconscious of the pain shooting through my scalp. This cannot be. Not my brother. Not Gary.

The policeman opened a notebook, and when I stared up at him, he said, “Your brother took an overdose of drugs around noon, and his body was found in Sullivan Park. He has been positively identified.” He closed the notebook as if he were in slow motion. He took a step toward the door. “I should be going now.”

I stood up, fists clenched, holding back the pain. The policeman stepped through the door and down the walkway. My mind was swirling, feeding me half-crazed thoughts. I ran to the doorway. “Sure, give my mother and me the worst news of our lives and just walk off! Why don’t you just go to your peaceful little family and hope to God that your kid doesn’t do the same thing Gary did! I hate you!”

The policeman had stopped and listened to what I had to say. He began to turn, but decided against it. He bowed his head even lower than what it was and walked on. He stepped into his police car and gave me one last look. To my surprise, he called to me, “Don’t hold the rest of the world accountable for your brother’s death. It will only deepen the wound and hurt you in the long run.” He closed the door and drove off.

I stood in the doorway and stared up into the sky. Why Gary? To my dismay, my mind formed Gary’s face out of a round cloud. His hair was curly as ever, and when it smiled down at me, I turned quickly, unable to gaze upon his face any longer.

I heard my mother whimpering behind me, and I went over to her side and held her in my arms. Her only acknowledgment that I was there was that she turned her face to my shoulder and stained my shirt with her wet cheeks.

***

I stepped out the door and looked up at the pale moon.

This time, thankfully, my mind did not form my brother’s face out of the moon’s uniquely placed craters. The night was cool, as it usually was at this higher elevation. I tucked my arms at my side and shoved my hands into my coat pockets. I needed desperately to get out of the house.

I turned onto the sidewalk and walked blindly forward. I had no idea where I was headed. Walking stiffly, my mind summoned long-hidden images of my brother. I remembered back to the time when I was seven and he was five. We were wrestling on the grass and I had his arms pinned beneath my knees. Never before had I punched someone in the face. I had witnessed it many times on TV and had always wanted to experience it. While my brother struggled under my legs, I tightened my hand into a ball, hurled it down hard, and punched him in the face. Blood poured down his cheeks and into his hair. He threw me off of him and ran into the house. Later, I received one of my worst beatings from my father.

Why had I hit him? Why had I been so cruel? I stopped walking. Tears crammed the corners of my eyes, but I controlled them. Had I been a bully to him? Or was I simply just a child wanting to experience a new sensation? I thought back to when Gary had begged for Chip to give him rides to school also, but we both refused him. Why couldn’t we just drive him? It was not that big of a deal. After asking, he had walked off slowly, and he never asked again. He never even brought the subject up. He would not stoop to the level of begging. If someone did not want to do something for him, then fine, forget it. That had been his opinion on such matters, and Gary had lived faithfully by it.

I clenched my fists within my pockets. “You could at least have given him a ride,” I whispered to the oncoming wind. Why was I so mean to him?

I made a left onto an adjoining residential street. The night was cloudless and the stars shown freely; the moon gleamed at my right side. A dog barked a few houses down, its attuned hearing picking up my scraping feet.

I was now an only child. That thought caused a tear to drop freely from my eye to the concrete. As I passed it underfoot, it sparkled from the suspended moon. That was my first tear, and sadly, I knew there would be many more.

Further down the street I saw a familiar Mustang. From the blanket of darkness, its white body was now a dark silver. I had unconsciously headed for Chip’s house, like I had always done when I desperately needed to talk to someone.

Again I stopped. Could someone have talked my brother out of suicide? Had he talked to anyone? Why hadn’t he talked to me? I was his blasted brother!

The dog’s barking intensified as I passed the house, but it was only a distant noise to me. I crossed the street and, taking my time, approached the front door. I hesitated. As far as I knew, my mother and I were the only ones who knew about Gary’s death. Chip needed to know, though, he was close to the family. I knocked with an open fist. I had no strength to knock vigorously, partly due to the fact that I had skipped dinner.

Chip’s graying mother answered the door, and when she saw me standing in the flood of light, she raised her eyebrows, surprised to see me so late. “Uh, come on in Calvin. Chip’s in his room.”

I stepped into the warm house. “Thank you, Mrs. O’Brian.” I nodded to Mr. O’Brian, who was seated in front of the television. I headed down the dimly lit hallway alone, and opened Chip’s door, which was at the end and on the right.

Chip was sprawled out on the floor with pieces of his stereo everywhere. How he would ever get that thing back together, I did not know, but Chip always liked tinkering with gadgets. This time, though, I thought he was over his head.

He looked up at me, but his eyes were unfocused. He was giving this project his full concentration. I looked at the mess beneath me. He had better, I thought. His eyes cleared, then he frowned.

“Cal? What are you doing here so late?”

“I—”

“Never mind. You can help me with this. I appear to be having some trouble with the transistors.”

I carefully maneuvered through the different electronic gadgets and sat at the foot of his bed. He turned the stereo so I could see it more clearly. He pointed to a bronze cylinder. “What do you think?”

I looked at him. My mind was elsewhere, not here, not worrying about a stereo.

Chip did not seem to notice my lack of attention or interest. He went on, talking almost to himself. “I’m pretty sure it’s hooked up right. If I had the booklet I’d know, but hey, it’s only a bunch of metal and plastic, nothing an experienced mind couldn’t handle.”

“You’re right,” I said, turning my attention to him. After all, I did come to see Chip, not dwell on my dead brother. “It’s simple for an experienced mind, but the problem is you’re not experienced.”

He smiled, his upper front teeth protruding slightly outwards. “Don’t doubt me. I’ve overcome worse.”

I was tired of this. I didn’t come over to discuss the annihilated stereo. “Chip, listen to me.”

He frowned, not wanting to turn away from his project, but he finally gave me his full attention.

When he did, I said, “Chip, my brother is dead.”

Forever Silent

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