Silent Warrior, Chapter 27

It took fifteen seconds of staring at his own Nikes, but Craig Dunham finally said what he needed to say: “Look, Scott…I’m probably the last person who should be asking you for help right now. You threw a garbage can at me only a few months before. Hell, you probably feel like doing even more than that, maybe deck me a good one on the chin. But…I didn’t ask for this appointment for nothing, I swear to god.”

Sitting in his comfy swivel chair with the ease and professionalism of a true counselor, Scott calmly said, “Listen, Craig, whatever happened between us in the past, it’s all over now. Things are different now, just like Miss Williams said they would be. I have a new job and you happen to be my first client. You’re here for a reason and I’d probably be right in thinking it has something to do with that scar on your hand.”

Craig sighed and lifted up his hooded sweatshirt to reveal he had even more scars than that. One on his belly, one on his ribs, and a couple of bruises on his chest. Scott hypnotically gazed at them in sympathy and replied with a whispery, “Holy shit. Those are fresh. Who did this to you?” No response. “Craig, if I’m going to help you, I need to know everything that happened. How did you get these bruises? Walking into a doorknob doesn’t do that to people and neither does falling down stairs.”

“Funny, because that’s what I’ve been telling people this whole time. Anytime I took off my shirt for gym class or football practice, they’d be as plain as day. I’d laugh about them with the guys, but there’s no way in hell I’m telling them everything. Oh, and I also said they’re from being tackled during games. I think that was what threw them off my trail.”

“Craig, you didn’t answer my question.”

“My dad did this,” said Craig with trembling lips, causing Scott to lean back in his chair with even more pathos in his eyes. “He, uh…he caught me listening to some…questionable music. Here, let me show you.” As Craig choked back tears, he pulled various CD’s out of his backpack, all of the cases cracked, all of the music preaching nonconformist values: Marilyn Manson, Rob Zombie, Motionless in White, and Ghost to name a few.

“Is your dad religious?”

“Oh, that’s putting it mildly. He makes the old testament look like a Disney movie.” Craig still refused to make eye contact with Scott. “The first time I heard about him talking about God and shit, I didn’t know what to make of it. And just for that little bit of doubt, he beat the shit out of me. I was only six years old then. That’s not some Freudian shit and I know it doesn’t excuse what I’ve done to people like you. It’s just that…” The tears slowly fell from his face and Scott was there to hand him tissues.

Scott leaned forward in his chair to further engage in his subject and placed folded steeple hands in his own lap. “Listen to me. I’m sure not many people are inclined to tell you this, but I’m going to tell it to you right now. Nobody…and I mean nobody…should ever use their religion or politics as a weapon against another human being. It’s not a dad’s job to beat the shit out of his kids over a minor disagreement. It’s not discipline. It’s barbarism. There’s nothing wrong with the music you’re listening to and there’s nothing wrong with questioning authority.”

With his lips trembling even harder, Craig wept, “What will the team think of me? They can’t see me crying like this.”

“Well, that’s funny, because I always thought the true definition of a friend is someone who is loyal to you until the end. It’s like Marilyn Manson always said: if you want to find out who your friends are, sink the ship. The first ones to jump are not your friends. If your football teammates make fun of you for being emotional, they’re not true friends. They’re bullies with a close connection to you. The reason you picked on other students so much was because of all these negative influences, and no, that’s not Freudian bullshit.”

Craig shrugged and said, “They’re the only friends I’ve ever had. I can’t just tell them to fuck off.”

“You know what’s worse than having no friends at all? Having shitty friends who bring you down just to build themselves up. I’m sure those kids have some deep-seeded issues just like you do, but until they come forward with open arms and open hearts, they don’t deserve you. If you want to cry your eyes out, you’re more than welcome to do so. Not only is this stigma of men not being able to cry bullshit, but you’re doing it in a safe place: my office. Nothing you do here will ever leave this room…except for one thing.” Scott handed Craig the phone cradle and nodded knowingly at him.

“You want me to call 9-1-1 on my dad? Are you crazy? The cops aren’t going to believe me. They don’t believe anybody who doesn’t have more DNA evidence than a CSI laboratory.”

“Your bruises and cuts are more than enough evidence to put your father away for a long time. And even if the cops don’t believe your side of the story, at least this police report will set everything in motion so that you don’t have to see him again. If there’s another family member or friend you can stay with, find them and pack your bags. The cops may be overly skeptical, but if you don’t try to at least reach out to them, this is going to continue and things will only get worse. Come on, Craig. Just try.”

After a while of staring at his counselor with dewy eyes, Craig took the phone cradle with a convulsing hand and slowly brought his fingers to the keypad. “Would you mind giving me some privacy, Scott? This is my first 9-1-1 call and I…I can’t explain it right now.”

“You don’t have to explain it to me, Craig. I’ve been there before. The first call is never easy. I know this, because I was the one who made the call when my own father died. You never forget your first time for a lot of things. If you want privacy, I’d be more than happy to step outside the office for a little while. Take as much time as you need and don’t leave out any important details.”

With one arm, Craig gave an awkward hug to Scott and thanked him over and over again for his help. Scott reluctantly returned the hug and stepped out of his digs to give Craig his due privacy. Once the door was closed, Scott rubbed his face and breathed sobering sighs. He almost didn’t see Adrienne standing in front of him with a brown paper sack and a smile on her face.

“I take it your new job’s getting pretty intense right now,” said Adrienne.

“It’s a lot to handle at once, but overall, I’m glad I took the job. I just need some time to recuperate after that, that’s all. Is that my lunch?”

“Sure is. You left it on the kitchen counter this morning. And no, there aren’t any worms or maggots in your lunch today. Instead, you’re getting a classic favorite: peanut butter and jelly. Not just any kind of P&J, but Concord grape jelly and crunchy peanut butter. Your favorite!”

“No way!” said Scott with a sudden burst of happiness. Sure enough, he pulled the sandwich out of the sack and there it was in all its glory: the ever important grape jam. “You’re the queen!” he said before kissing Adrienne on the cheek and hurriedly unwrapping the plastic from his sandwich.

“Let me know when you get off work and we’ll see a movie or something. See you soon!” smiled Adrienne before she waved and hopped off to her next class. She didn’t see it, but Scott waved right back at her in a hypnotically slow manner. She probably got the message by now.

Scott had a seat in one of the chairs outside his office and eyeballed the contents of the peanut butter and jelly sandwich. He even pulled the two pieces of sourdough bread apart to see if there really were worms crawling around in there. His smile slowly descended into a faraway introspective expression. He searched every corner of his sandwich, every squished grape, and every broken peanut in the peanut butter. It was as though he was a detective honoring a search warrant. But no. Not one worm, not one maggot, and not one sing-songy command from his now-known biological mother.

The real test came when Scott took his first bite of sandwich. As he chewed, he rolled the food around in his tongue for yet another throughout inspection. Not one slime-covered creature swirled around in his mouth. In fact, the sandwich tasted as delicious as a P&J could be, probably because it was his personal favorite. Scott took another bite. And another. And another, until the whole thing was gone in record time. For even more reassurance, Scott lifted his T-shirt and saw that the skin was forming nicely over his previously exposed ribcage. If someone was looking for signs of an eating disorder or PTSD, they’d have to actually have the detective skills of someone honoring a search warrant.

Principal Williams made a throat clearing sound and Scott was immediately yanked out of his trance long enough for him to realize he’d been exposing his belly this entire time. Pulling his shirt down, he smiled and allowed redness to envelop his face. Principal Williams didn’t punish him for it, just smiled right back at him and said, “It’s good to have you on the team, Scott. Carry on.”

Silent Warrior, Chapter 24

For the first time in what seemed like ages, Scott George felt as though he belonged somewhere. He couldn’t get this feeling at home, so he got it at school when he walked through the front door with students and teachers applauding his arrival. He knew he couldn’t thank them enough for what they had done, so he smiled a warm smile and waved back at them.

But he knew now was not the time for complacency. He never once lost sight of the fact that this was a high school, the testing grounds for the next level of education: college. Scott studied his ass off for the upcoming finals, putting extra effort into US history. He did more than just memorize dates, events, and wars; he delved into their respective contexts. How did structural racism begin? How does it continue into today’s society? Is democracy still alive? The answer to the last question was yes and Scott was living proof. Now he had to show that proof to the rest of the school by acing these final exams.

He sat in his usual desk in his history class and took in all the sights of this new regime. The desks were in almost pristine condition. The students radiated with calmness. The new teacher, Mr. Corbin, didn’t stare down at his pupils like was a giant munching on villagers. Scott’s only concern was with the jock bully who had taunted him in the past. The football stud didn’t look like much of a stud as he kept his head down and fingered what appeared to be a wound on his hand. Scott couldn’t help but feel for the poor guy, whatever happened to him. He even managed to remember the big guy’s name: Craig Dunham. Imagine that: giving somebody a name actually helps humanize that person.

“Good morning, class,” said Mr. Corbin, instantly gaining his pupils’ attentions. “It’s been a long road to get to this point and you’ve all done very well so far. That’s all I’ve ever wanted from any class I teach: universal success. I have no quotas to fill as far as negative marks go. You all have met me halfway and I’m eternally grateful. You’ve proven to me that democracy is far from dead despite what the previous teacher has hammered into you. Without a proper education in a calm work environment, we can’t have a true democracy. But we have just one more part of this long journey and that’s the final exam. There are fifty questions, all of which are multiple choice. You have one hour to complete the test, but you most likely won’t need all of it.”

As soon as Mr. Corbin passed out the scantron sheets and the students had their pencils ready, he said, “Good luck to each and every one of you. I hope you all find the success you’re looking for today and every day after that. Your exam begins…now!” The students went right to work in filling in those bubbles, Scott included.

For the weeks leading up to this exam, Scott felt a sense of peace and quiet surge through his body. He knew he didn’t owe it to just one factor, as there were many pieces of this unbreakable puzzle. Whether it was moving in with Adrienne, feeling welcome under Mr. Corbin’s tutelage, or the fact that he confronted his personal demons and won, Scott was able to focus on his test without burning himself out. Any worms and puppets that had previously invaded his mind had faded into black and white pictures and were pushed aside with relative ease. The EMDR techniques during therapy did their job and then some. But there was no time to reflect, because he only had one hour before the test was over.

What was the major reason for the civil war? Keeping the confederacy from seceding. Who assassinated President Lincoln? John Wilkes-Booth. What does being “sold up the river” mean? Being a slave who was traded by boat to an arguably harsher master. Who was the eventual Supreme Court justice who argued successfully against Plessey vs. Ferguson? Thurgood Marshall. What year was John Lennon assassinated? 1980. Soon enough, the questions and answers came together with enough ease that Scott finished his test before the rest of the class. For that, he took a deep breath and took his test to Mr. Corbin’s office, though the nerves about his grade caused his stomach to hurt and his heart to race.

“I knew it: you didn’t need the full hour after all. Very impressive, Mr. George,” said Mr. Corbin with a warm smile. When Scott didn’t return to his seat, he asked, “Did you have a question for me?”

“Uh, yeah, uh…” Scott cleared his throat to buy his nerves some extra time. “Would it be okay with you if you graded my test now?”

“I don’t see why not. Could you shut the door, please?” Scott did as he was told and allowed his arms to quiver at the sight of Mr. Corbin running his red pen through the test. The new teacher made a few Nike logo gestures with his mouth, but then nodded and gave a half smile. He capped his pen and told Scott, “Okay, that’s an eighty-nine percent. A solid B+.” Scott clutched his chest and breathed a heavy sigh of relief, his nerves turning into warm prickly feelings throughout his arms, shoulders, and scalp. Mr. Corbin said, “That B+ should be a significant boost to your overall grade since it weighs the most. You should be proud.”

“Trust me, Mr. Corbin, you have no idea how relieved I am,” said Scott in between heavy breaths.

“As long as I have you in my office, why don’t you take a seat and talk to me for a minute. Don’t worry, you’re not in trouble for anything. Just please, take a seat.” Scott once again did as he was told, hands folded neatly across his lap and his toes bouncing his leg up and down. Mr. Corbin removed his glasses and asked, “How are you feeling these days, Mr. George?”

“I guess I’m doing alright. It hasn’t been perfect, but…I’m doing okay for now.” Scott’s eyes darted from side to side as he strengthened his efforts to suppress his worm flashbacks. He had a sinking feeling that that’s where this conversation was going.

“That’s good to hear,” said Mr. Corbin with a nod. “It seems as though it’s been a while since you’ve last heard this line of questioning.”

Scott sadly smiled and said, “Am I that easy to read?”

“No question about it. But I do hope you’re not living your life with any regrets. Don’t use your experiences as an excuse to stay down. Use them as a weapon. You’re going to need that weapon after you graduate.” When Scott shrugged his shoulders in confusion, Mr. Corbin pulled a sheet of paper out of a file folder and said, “Sorry, I should probably explain. Principal Williams wanted me to give you this before you left my class for the day.”

Scott gazed at the paper in his hands with confusion and happiness in his expression. “It’s a job application…for being the school’s sensitivity counselor? Oh no, I couldn’t do this. I don’t even have a psychology degree. Shit, I’m not even out of school yet to get one of those things.”

“You don’t need one, Scott. You’re perfectly qualified to have this job. You know what it’s like to need somebody to talk to, somebody to share your feelings with. You’ve gained more experience in just this last semester than most people do in a lifetime. Like I said, use your experiences not as a stopping point, but as a new beginning. Granted, you won’t make a lot of money in your first year. This is school, after all, and teachers and staff members alike struggle with their money enough as it is. But if you need a way to support yourself and your girlfriend while you save up for college, this would be the route to go. What say you, Scott?”

“I…I don’t know what to say…”

Mr. Corbin joked, “Your enthusiasm is underwhelming, Scott. If I was drowning and somebody threw me a handful of life preservers, I’d have a bigger smile on my face than you.” The student and teacher shared a laugh together at the blatantly stolen Dr. Phil line.

“It’s funny that you quoted Dr. Phil just now because…I kind of feel like him by filling out this application.”

“You are almost like him, except far less bullshit.” Scott hiked his eyebrows at Mr. Corbin, who smiled casually and said, “Bet you didn’t hear that word a lot from Mr. Simpson. But just to stay on the safe side, let’s keep it between you and me.”

“It’s a deal,” said Scott as the two of them shook hands. “You wouldn’t happen to have a pen on you right now, would you?”

“You can write with the one I used to grade your test. I’m sure Miss Williams won’t mind a little red ink. She used to have my job, so she used it quite liberally. Here you go,” said Mr. Corbin as he handed Scott the pen. The newly healed high school senior filled out the application with a careful writing speed while the teacher interlaced his fingers behind his own head and relaxed for a while. “Take your time, Scott. There’s no rush. Slow and steady wins the race.” Even more lines that Scott had never heard Mr. Simpson say in his lifetime.