Mismatched

by Chautona Havig

  As the woman flipped through the bills in her wallet, she flushed. “I suppose it is. Thank you,” she murmured as she took the bill and hurried out of the store.

  “You’d think it was an insult or something,” he muttered.

  “It was nice of you to give it back. A lot of people would have pretended to drop their own money and picked it up. I see it all the time.” The girl handed him his change. “People always expect the worst out of you, don’t they?”

  “I suppose I can’t blame them.”

  “Well, I can. I’ve watched you ever since the first day you came in here. You are one of the few customers who helps me bag your stuff. Everyone else just expects me to ring up their things, bag them, take their money, and make pleasant chitchat all in seconds so they can get home to their families.”

  After muttering an awkward, “Thanks,” Leo waggled the bottle as a wave goodbye and hurried from the store.

  The scent of hot steaks nearly made him salivate as he opened the door. “Found it!”

  “Just in time. The potatoes are done—”

  “Potatoes?”

  “Sure, I baked—”

  Leo shook his head. “No, I’ve baked potatoes before—takes an hour in the oven.”

  “But only fifteen minutes in the microwave.”

  The plates looked amazing. She thrust steak, potatoes, and a bowl of salad that actually looked appetizing into his hand. “I’m sorry I don’t have a table…”

  “You have a coffee table. It’ll work. I’ve got drinks in the freezer. Hold on.”

  She’d done an amazing amount of work in such a short amount of time, and yet seemed as calm and comfortable as ever. Did nothing ruffle her? Leo didn’t have time to ponder the mysteries of Allison; she sat waiting, apparently for him to pray.

  After his miserable excuse for a prayer of thanks for the food, Leo cut his first bite of steak. “So, what is this proposition?”

  “I had to teach that class today and we got on the subject of ‘the bad boy appeal.’”

  Understanding dawned. “I see.”

  “There is so much misinformation about you. These kids hear rumors and are clueless as to reality. I had an idea and Chief Varney likes it.”

  “You talked to the chief?” Leo choked on his second bite.

  “Yes. I thought maybe if you did a question and answer session in various classes at the school, kids could learn how people are drawn into gangs and things and what the realities of life in a gang really are.”

  “You won’t want that.”

  Allison’s excitement visibly dampened. “Why not?”

  “It’ll sound glamorous to some of them. Let’s face it; if you’re not caught, it’s a pretty good life.”

  “Well, then don’t stress the ‘if you’re not caught’ part. Stress the part where if you decide to leave your life is in danger. Don’t lie,” she hastened to add, “but don’t dwell on what might be the good parts.” Before he could answer, she added the kicker. “The chief says you could get community service hours for it.”

  “Really?”

  “Yep. You said once that you hadn’t done any of those yet…”

  “I haven’t. The one time I asked, the chief said he’d let me know when it was time. I just thought maybe he’d think I was looking to run the minute I got done, so I waited.”

  “You’re planning to stay?”

  He speared a forkful of salad and waved it at her. “This is good, by the way. I like a good salad, but every one I’ve ever tried to make is gross the day I make it or the next day. Not to mention, I am tired when I get home from work.”

  “I’ll bring half bags of premix when I get them. Mom won’t touch the stuff, but I’m with you. I don’t feel like making a salad when I get home no matter how badly I want one. This way, we both win.” She smiled. “Of course, my garden loses, but hey.”

  “Garden?”

  “Ok, my mom’s flower beds. Less waste in the fridge means less compost for the petunias.”

  The meal continued in silence until at last, Leo said, “So, what will this—this—thing require from me?”

  Chapter Eight

  Leo left the jar of daisies on the desk of room twenty-one and hurried out into the hall. With his back turned, he evaded recognition as she hurried back to her room after her lunch break. Though it was a risk to do it, he couldn’t help glancing through the window in the door to see her reaction. A smile, a finger traced along the petals—satisfaction.

  That mission complete, he strolled back to the office and waited for his turn to speak to the principal. It had been years since he’d sat in the same row of chairs waiting for another verdict. Well, it felt like the same row. Did every school office have the same ugly set of orange melamine seats?

  “Mr. Hasaert? Principal Alderman will see you now.”

  Still amazed at how swiftly he had been called into the school, Leo stepped cautiously into the bright office—that was refreshing anyway—and waited to hear what the principal of Fairbury High School had to say about Allison’s assembly idea. The woman seated at the desk surprised him. He’d expected a man, middle-aged, and balding—probably portly. This woman couldn’t be much older than he was and petite—barely five feet.

  “It’s nice to meet you, Mr. Hasaert. May I call you Leo?” Bubbly and perky too. How did she command any respect from the kids?

  “That’d be nice, thank you.”

  “Allison Wahl spoke to me this morning about her assembly idea. There’s a school board meeting tonight, so we had to rush things a bit. I’m sorry. I want to get a good feel for what you think you’d discuss so I can present it. With the Rockland gang problem, I think this would be an excellent way to show the other side.”

  “I just thought it would be a question and answer session. I’m not a public speaker…”

  She stared at papers on her desk. “Were you on trial for murder?”

  “No.” Leo expected her to question that.

  “What about drugs?”

  “I’ve used them, yes.” He shook his head. “I assumed you had a copy of my record.”

  She slid copies of Leo’s police record, plea bargain, and his parole officer’s reports across the desk. “I have it all. I just wonder what you’d discuss that isn’t in these.”

  “Look, Ms. Alderman, I’m not going to glamorize my previous life, if that’s what’s worrying you. I am, however, going to be frank. I am going to speak plainly of my faith and of my mistakes. I won’t lie to the kids.”

  Lisa Alderman stood and offered her hand to him. “I’ll call you in the morning. Can you get off work during school hours?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Welcome to Fairbury High, Leo. I really hope you’ll make the impact on the students that I think you will.”

  He stood before the mirror, trying to look serious and believable as he answered imaginary questions. “Sure, gangs sound fun. Just wait until you’re stuck with nowhere to go—stupid. C’mon, don’t sound like a wuss. They won’t believe you.”

  Leo tried again. And again. Each attempt to formulate any kind of real statement failed.

  Disgusted, he grabbed his dirty clothes and piled them in the laundry basket. A glance at it told him he must be nearly out of clean clothes. He opened his drawer, saw one sock and a pair of underwear, and shut it again. The next drawer showed a ratty t-shirt and the dress shirt he’d worn in court. “Yeah. Laundry it is.”

  His pockets held three quarters—not even enough for a load. He fumbled through his wallet for bills and came up with six dollars—all ones. “Need to cash that check at lunch tomorrow too.”

  In preparation for a trip to the Laundromat, Leo sorted his clothes into two piles. Whites and towels in one, everything else in the other. They’d be small loads, they always were, but it kept his whites from looking dingy. “I don’t even know why I care.”

  All the way to Ferndale, he tried to imagine what questions the kids might ask. Each answer he formulated diss
atisfied him. Still he tried, repeatedly, until he pulled into the parking lot with no more idea of how to convey the seriousness of what it meant to become part of a gang.

  He dragged the laundry basket into the building and found two empty washers. As he tossed his clothes in each one and fed his bills into the change machine, Leo began to second-guess his agreement to participate in Allison’s “discussion.” Kids knew better. Despite the tendency of adults to consider teenagers clueless, he had known exactly what his choices meant back when he went to work for the Kasimirs. The talks wouldn’t do anyone any good.

  I’m not doing it. It’s a waste of time and it will just disappoint her. He refused to acknowledge that not doing it would disappoint her. Besides, if she doesn’t like it, maybe she’ll get smart and quit trying to be friends with a guy who could get her killed.

  His mind made up, Leo sank into a chair and crossed his arms over his chest. A kid—maybe ten or eleven—watched him from the other end of the row of chairs. The boy’s mother watched him too, but unlike her son, the woman feared him.

  “You get gauges?”

  Leo nodded. “Yeah.”

  “Where are they?”

  “Took ‘em out.”

  The kid frowned. “How come? They’re cool. You musta had big ones.”

  “Yeah, pretty big.” Leo watched the mother try to distract her son and took pity on her. “Now I’m stuck with stupid holes.”

  “Why not put back the gauges?”

  “Trying to get ‘em to shrink as much as I can,” Leo admitted.

  “But why?”

  “Because someday I’m gonna be ninety walking around with wrinkled, floppy, giant holes. How stupid. Can’t believe I didn’t think of that before I stretched ‘em out like this.”

  The mother mouthed a silent, “Thank you.” Leo ducked his head.

  “What’s the spider web for?”

  Again, the kid sounded impressed. “Just thought it looked good.” And it identified me to the others.

  “I’m gonna get something cool like that someday.”

  “Wish I hadn’t.”

  “No way! Why not?”

  Leo shrugged. “Same thing. Feels great when you do it—aside from needle pain. Then you wake up and realize you look ridiculous.”

  “I think you look cool.”

  Did the kid know any other word? If he said cool one more time, Leo thought he’d scream. Wasn’t “cool” not cool anymore? Didn’t kids call things sick or tight or some other stupid term that wouldn’t last another week before another stupid term took over?

  “I did too when I got it. Tastes change. You get older. Even kids get older. Then one day you wake up and realize you’re stuck with stuff all over you that you don’t like anymore.” He leaned forward. “Be smarter than me, kid. Don’t do things that are permanent.”

  “Like tattoos?”

  “Sure, tattoos are one thing, but even more important, don’t do things that change your life forever. It might seem great today, but when you’re stuck with a bad group of friends because they won’t leave you alone, you’ll remember the day you thought it was so—” He hesitated before using the boy’s buzz word, “—cool to hang out with the tough kids and you’ll regret it.”

  “You hung out with the tough kids?”

  “Got myself in a lot of trouble.”

  “That why you’re hating on your ink and piercings and stuff?” A sneer twisted the boy’s lips.

  Too heavy handed. See. This is totally not your forte. Don’t do it. “I’m not hating on them as much as on me for not thinking about it more. It’s one thing to say, ‘I love this and want it decorating my neck for the rest of my life.’ It’s another to say, ‘This will make me look cool with the other guys. I’ll do it.’”

  The boy didn’t speak. He turned away, watching the primetime program that left little to the imagination and much to sully a kid’s mind. Leo glanced at the kid’s mother, wondering how someone so concerned about holes in ears and ink in skin could care so little about the images in her son’s mind.

  The things I could tell you about what that scene will do to him in a year or two would make you ready to have him sent to a monastery. It reminded Leo of the part in the Gospels where Jesus ripped the Pharisees for being overly concerned with the outside when they were letting the inside rot.

  As he got up to move his clothes to the dryer, the boy’s eyes followed him. He fed the machines the necessary quarters and returned to his seat. Still the boy watched. Eventually, the kid said, “I guess it is dumb to do stuff without thinking about if you really like it. When I get a tattoo. I’m gonna make sure it’s my idea and that it’s exactly what I want.”

  It wasn’t acquiescence to what some might consider the superior idea of holeless and tattooless bodies, but Leo couldn’t complain. The idea of thoughtful decisions had been planted and taken root. That had to count for something. Hope for success in his talks with the students sparked.

  Nerves sent shockwaves of misery through Leo as he stood before a classroom of what seemed like a hundred kids. His rational side told him there couldn’t be more than twenty—maybe thirty—but his panicked persona insisted there were more. Instead of one large assembly, the school board voted to do several classes on different days. Students whose parents did not approve of the session could have their children opt out and spend that period in the library. From the looks of this first one, not many if any had refused.

  Allison meant to reassure him with her smile, but for him, it was nothing more than a reminder that he needed such encouragement. “As you all know, today we’re having a question and answer session with Fairbury’s most infamous new resident—Leo Hasaert.”

  Hands nearly shaking, Leo stood in front of the desk and stuffed them in his pockets. “Hello. Like I told Ms. Alderman, I’m not much of a speaker. So, you just ask questions, and I’ll answer them.”

  A kid in the front was the first to speak. “Tell us about your time in that gang—what was it—”

  “The Kasimirs. As I said, I’ll answer questions, elaborate even, but I’m not narrating.”

  A girl in the second row asked the next question. “Have you ever killed anyone?”

  It wasn’t the question he expected to start with, but it would work. “No. I’m sure my mother would say that I killed her, but considering she was alive the last time I saw her, I think it was...” he thought for a moment. “Come on, Allison. What’s the word for a story to illustrate a story or something like that?”

  “Metaphor.” The answer came from a kid on the far right.

  “Right.” The memory of his mother’s obituary slammed into his heart and squeezed it. Oh, God, forgive me. Ugh.

  “What about drugs?”

  Leo shrugged. “What about them?”

  “Ever done drugs?” The same boy with the answer to metaphors asked the question.

  “Yes.”

  Allison saw the need for a little more direction and interjected her own question. “Leo, can you tell us what about the gang appealed to you? How old were you when you joined?”

  “I was seventeen. High school dropout. I couldn’t see the point of sitting in a hot classroom all day reading stuff about a bunch of old dead people or reading books written by a bunch of old dead people. So, I started dealing drugs. Frankly, I was not much of a salesman. My skill was evading the cops.”

  “How?”

  The kid asking the question looked like a rebel—a kid who would take anything he said and use it to his advantage. “I knew how they thought. I could predict how they’d react and where they’d be blind. I got away with selling meth because I was good at knowing how to stay out of the cops’ path. What I didn’t know was that I was really selling for the Kasimirs.”

  “But what did you do—”

  “What’s your name?” As Leo waited for an answer, he prayed for the right words.

  “Landon.”

  “Look, Landon. I’m not here to give you a crash course i
n how to evade the law. I’m here to show you exactly what happens when you do.” He raised the leg of his jeans and showed the clunky ankle bracelet that he had to wear for the next two and a half years. “If you wanted a lesson in how to be a criminal, you came to the wrong class. This is ‘Avoid Jail 101.’”

  The classroom laughed, and Landon had the grace to look chagrined. “Fair enough. So, when did you find out who your real bosses were?”

  “When they pulled me in to discuss my particular…” he hunted for a word that didn’t sound positive and then shrugged. “Skills I guess. I was excited. I mean, come on. Here were big tough guys with cool bikes, leather jackets, and respect. People feared them when they’d roll into town. They wanted what I had.”

  “So did you continue to deal drugs?”

  Leo shook his head. “My so-called career in drug dealing lasted exactly six weeks before they figured out how I managed to sell right under the cops’ noses. By the way, those deals are the bulk of my sentence.”

  A quiet girl, clearly not popular but pretty enough raised her hand. “Exactly how did you get caught?”

  “I didn’t.”

  The class erupted in laughter until they saw he wasn’t joking. When the jokes dissolved into whispers, Leo decided to elaborate. “I became a Christian and turned myself into the police.”

  “And ratted out your friends.” The accusation came from a burly kid—beefy enough to be a linebacker.

  “At first, no. I had every intention of confessing my own crimes and leaving others out. Then I discovered how many people the Kasimirs killed each year. I’d been out of that loop.”

  “Weren’t you afraid of getting caught—retribution?”

  A question about fear from such a tough-looking kid surprised him. Leo nodded and glanced toward Allison. “Are visual aids allowed?”

  “Such as?”

  “Scars.” Silence—ominous and fearful—descended over the classroom.

  Allison swallowed hard before she gave a grimace intended to be an encouraging smile. “As long as it’s above the waist…”