The Banks of Certain Rivers (22 page)

“I had to like, fight him off me,” the boy says in a
nasal, pubescent voice, and the video ends.

“Wait a minute,” I say. I feel, as I say it, like I’m
standing behind myself, watching all this unfold over my own
shoulder. “That didn’t….” I take a deep
breath and look around the room. “It didn’t happen that
way. That has to be fake. It didn’t….”

They all stare at me.

“Was that Cody Tate?” I manage to ask.

Stu Lepinski raises his eyebrows. “So you do know him?”

“I don’t know him at all!” I say, and they continue
to stare. “But a student mentioned his name last period. That
video is not real.”

Stu pulls the laptop back, and types and clicks. “That’s
what we thought.” He glances up at me. “At first. But
this was posted online also—”

“Also?” I say.

“It’s since been removed,” Stu goes on, “but
someone emailed Karen a copy last night.” He turns the laptop
once again, and now I see the same thing happen from a different
angle. Run—
hey!
—shake and throw to the ground.
I
had to like, fight him off me.
A different cell phone camera, a
different angle. A secondary source. I’m incapable of saying
anything after the video ends.

“Do you want to see it one more time?” Stu asks. Karen
won’t lift her eyes from her notepad, and Gracie looks furious.

I shake my head. “It didn’t happen that way,” I
say, but suddenly I doubt my own memory, and the feeling is beyond
unsettling. If anything, I feel like I’m going to throw up.

Stu Lepinski points at his laptop with his pen. “Did you have
some reason to be angry with Cody Tate?”

“Neil,” Peggy says, leaning close to speak into my ear.
“Do you have a lawyer?”

“Why would I need a lawyer?” I ask, my voice rising,
quavering. I look around the room. “That…it didn’t
happen like that! Have you talked to any of the kids who were there?
Did you talk to Amy Vandekemp?”

“We talked to them, Neil,” Karen says, without looking
up. “They didn’t see what happened. They only found you
afterwards.”

“We have to ask you to leave the building,” Peggy says.

“You’re firing me?”

“No, it’s a suspension—”

“Standard,” Stu Lipinski cuts in.

“—While we investigate.” Peggy finishes.
“Administrative leave while we sort it all out.”

“But…this afternoon,” I stammer. “Justin
Samples is radioactive, and the girls are running to the river….”

Peggy puts her hand on my shoulder. “I need to escort you off
campus now, Neil.”

I’m far too stunned
to even try to run home, so Peggy, who knows my routine, quietly
offers me a ride once I gather up my things from my classroom. I’m
shaking as we leave the building, knees wobbly, surprised I can even
walk, and it’s all I can do to climb up into her Suburban and
slump into the passenger seat. My elbow rests on the windowsill as
she takes me north out of town, my forehead cradled in my hand. Peggy
says nothing as she drives.

This is bad. As if the situation with Lauren wasn’t bad enough.
This is very, very bad.

“I didn’t do that, Peggy,” I bring myself to say.
“I didn’t—”

“I cannot fucking believe this,” she snaps. “You,
Neil! You, of all people!”

“It didn’t happen that way, though.”

“Taking matters into your own hands like that—”

“What are you talking about?”

“—When we had everything under control. You didn’t
even know the details! Do you even have a clue how much you have
screwed things up for me? Not to mention the family—”

“Peggy, what the hell? What family?”

Peggy turns her gaze from the road just long enough to give me a
withering stare. “How could you in a thousand years have
thought punishing Cody Tate on your own would make anything right or
easier for the Mastersons?”

“What? Peggy, who is Cody Tate?”

“The boyfriend,” Peggy hisses.

“Boyfriend?” My mouth hangs open for a moment. “Denise
Masterson’s boyfriend? And you think…are you saying you
think I did that because I was trying to punish some kid I don’t
even know? I didn’t even know about the pictures until you told
me Monday!”

“I’ve
seen
the videos, Neil. From two different
phones, and they both show me the same thing. I’ve talked to
the students involved. There’s only one story that doesn’t
line up with the others. You know which one that is? Yours!”

“Fine,” I say, holding off panic. “Fine. Just go.
Drive.”

“What the hell, Neil. I’ve known you for so long. How—”

“No, really,” I say, interrupting her. “Just
drive.” I rub my face with hands. “Oh, oh, wait a minute.
I need to tell you something. I need to tell you about Sparks.
Timothy Sparks. Senior. Friend of Christopher. Someone tried to show
him one of the Masterson pictures. There. You can ask him about it. I
needed to tell you, and now I’ve told you. I’m relieved
of my burden.”

“Why are you talking about this right now?”

“Isn’t it a felony if I don’t? If I know that’s
going on and I fail to report it? Oh, wait, wait, I guess beating a
kid up is probably pretty serious too. Assault can be a felony,
right?”

“Christ, Neil,” she says, shaking her head as we slow to
stop at a red light. “Are you cracking up?”

“The video…I didn’t do that!”

The signal changes to green, but instead of accelerating Peggy turns
to me with narrowed eyes. “You are seriously,
seriously
telling me you didn’t to that to Cody Tate,” she says
slowly.

“I can’t believe you’d ever have thought I would in
the first place. I broke up a fight, and the kid hit me with his
elbow.”

“He says he punched you because you were on top of him. He says
he was trying to get away.”

“Why would I do that?” I ask. “How could I do that?
I didn’t. But I saw the video too, and now I have to ask
myself, did I? Am I going crazy?”

“It doesn’t look good, I’ll say that.”

I have to laugh at this. “Well how the hell is it supposed to
look? It looks terrible. I’m going to lose my job.”

“Don’t jump to any conclusions yet. You’re a
well-liked, well-respected teacher. Which makes this so strange to
me.”

“Wait, wait.” I sit up as the suburban takes off again.
“You’re telling me not to jump to conclusions? Who just
suspended me from my job? What about due process, or benefit of the
doubt? Good reputation? Well-liked? Who’s jumping to
conclusions, here?”

“The district’s getting slammed with calls about it,
Neil. Not just local callers, either. Nasty reactions and emails from
all over. We have to respond to them. I hate to say it’s PR,
but, it’s PR. A big part of it, anyway. And you’re
getting your due process. It’s a leave with pay.”

I rub my eyes with my thumb and index finger. “I’m going
to get canned for this. How can that video be possible? If it is I’m
going crazy—”

Peggy shakes her head. “Maybe don’t say anything else
about it until you talk to a lawyer. Not to me or anyone else. And
the hidden message in that is, you better call your lawyer as soon as
you get home.”

“Is there going to be a lawsuit?”

“Jesus, I shouldn’t be talking to you about this. I don’t
even know what to believe here. But we’ve been friends for a
long time. Stu Lepinski thinks the family will sue the district.
Along with you.”

“Goddammit, Peggy. What the hell?”

“Do you have a lawyer? Even if there’s a settlement,
you’re going to need—”

“I don’t care about a fucking lawyer, okay? I don’t
care about any lawsuit! I’m going to lose my insurance!”

“What? Neil, why are you even worrying about….”
When the realization hits her, she actually steps on the brakes for a
second, and I’m jostled as the car lurches. “Oh, no.
Wendy.”

“Oh, no is right.”

Peggy turns onto my drive and takes us up to the house. Lauren’s
car is parked at Carol’s, but I do not smile when I see it.

“Neil,” Peggy says, leaning over as I step down from the
car. “Did you do that to that kid?”

“Do you think I did?”

“I’m conflicted here. The guy I know, and the guy in that
video….”

“I feel like I don’t even know who I am,” I say.

“Look. Talk to a lawyer. Have Chris come see me if anything is
weird for him at school. Don’t sit around and go crazy. Go for
a run, or take Tabby out if you want. Just give me a heads-up first
if you’re taking the boat. Steer clear of anybody at the
district. Don’t be in contact with anyone. I’ll check in
with you tonight, and I’ll let you know if I hear anything.
Just keep it between you and me if we talk, all right? Get out for a
run.”

I slam the door to her Suburban, go inside my house, and drop my bags
to the floor. I lean against the wall, and my knees feel wobbly, like
I’ve just returned from a year at sea, or I’m back on
earth after a voyage to the moon. I need something to ground me.
Anything. I could go see Lauren, but not yet. Not yet. I could take a
slug from the bottle of whiskey in my pantry, but I’d like to
keep myself from heading down that path. Instead, I go to the living
room, drop to my big chair and tap Michael’s name in my phone’s
contact list. Mike answers on the third ring.

“Got the email, you liked the pho!” he says. “It’s
pho-fucking-tastic, right? I knew Chris would be stoked to try—”

“Mike, stop, I am in a big, big pile of shit right now.”

“What’s up?” he asks. I can hear the sounds of his
restaurant kitchen behind him; clanking pots, spraying water, his
crew shouting this and that. I tell him what’s happened, only
with the video, not with Lauren, and the sounds go away. I hear a
door shut, and I know he’s gone into his office.

“Dude,” he says after I finish. “Dude. So the thing
is online? What is it, YouTube?” I hear him typing at a
keyboard. “There’s nothing for your name.” A pause.
“A lot of me on TV…a lot of my cooking stuff if I put
just Kazenzakis in. But nothing for you.”

“Try ‘Port Manitou,’” I offer. “Or
‘Port Manitou Teacher.’”

“Hang on, I got something.” He falls quiet, and I hear my
shout of “Hey!” over the line.
I had to like, fight
him off me.
I hear the shout again, and know he’s watching
a second time.

“This is fucked up, Neil. How could you do this?”

“I didn’t do it!”

“I’m watching you do it right now.”

“I did not do that. But…I don’t know. I’m
going to get canned. I’m going to lose my insurance. I can’t
move Wendy, where am I going to put Wendy if I can’t keep her
there?”

“You are really saying you didn’t do this? You’re
full of shit.”

“Mike! I helped the kid up off the ground. That was it.”

Michael sighs. He’s not buying it. “You should call
Kathleen,” he says. He’s right. Kathleen is always calm
in a crisis.

“I know. I’m going to right after this. You don’t
believe me, do you?”

“It’s not that.”

“Then what?”

“This just looks really bad, man.”

We hang up, and I try the Detroit office of the adoption agency where
my sister works. I get the worse of her two assistants and know
immediately my call won’t be going through.

“I need to talk to Kathleen,” I say. “This is her
brother, Neil. It’s urgent.”

“Ms. Kazenzakis is with a client right now….”

I hang up and go to our spare bedroom and open my laptop. I point my
browser to YouTube and search for “Port Manitou Teacher,”
and there I am, number one in the results. The name of the video is:
“TEACHER GOES APESHIT ON STUDENT, WTF???!!!” and it’s
already registered more than eighty-five hundred views. I cannot help
watching it, once, again, and one more time after that, and each time
it’s like gravity departs, like I unmoor from the earth and
float uncertainly until it ends. I scroll down to skim through the
accumulated comments, already eight pages long:

“This is MESSED UP.”

“Look lyk roid rage crazzy teacher haaaa.”

“Both our daughters had Mr. K. for physics and this seems very
out of character.”

I highlight the address for the video at the top of the screen, copy
it, and paste it into an email addressed to my sister. As a subject,
I type:

“Watch this and call me immediately.”

Two minutes and forty-four seconds pass before my phone rings.

“Neil, it’s Kath. What the hell?”

I explain, again, what happened, and I hear my sister scribbling in
the background.

“You know,” Kathleen says once I finish, “my first
impression here is that your version of this story is maybe…shaky.”

“I’m starting to feel that way about my version of this
story too.”

“But you’re my little brother, and right now you’re
going to tell me, did you do this or not?”

“I did not. Do you think I’d do something like that?”

“Of course not. I don’t think you’re capable.”

“Exactly. I absolutely did not do that.”

“Okay. I believe you,” Kathleen says, and for the first
time I feel the pressure of the day lift, just a little. I hear more
scribbling. “Do you have a lawyer? Do you even know a lawyer?”

I laugh at this. “Not really. Do you?”

“The only lawyers I really know all work with adoption. But
there’s a guy I know in Grand Rapids who might be able help.
Let me get in touch with him. Give me a couple hours and keep an eye
on your phone, okay? Watch your email too.”

In the calmness of my sister’s voice, I begin to feel that my
greatest fear of this morning may not come to pass. In her reassuring
tone, I can start to believe that, at least today, I might not crack.

Lauren, I see when
I
check through the kitchen window, is still next door. Through the
line of trees between my house and Carol’s I can see the red
color of her car; it’s there each time I check. I could go over
there, I almost go over there, but I don’t. I’m not ready
to explain what’s going on. Instead, I consider Peggy Mackie’s
advice and change into running clothes. And because I’m not
ready to tell Lauren what’s going on and don’t want her
to see me running down the drive, I head out my back door, across the
field, and through the orchard toward the beach house.