Storm Portal

by Michael R. Stern

  “I need to write down what I'm going to say tomorrow and call George.”

  “Eat first, play later,” said Ashley, drawing a scowl from me. Linda brought the salad and a loaf of Italian bread, already sliced, to the table.

  “Ash, get the butter and dressings for me, please,” she said. She sat down across from me, resting her arms on the table. She said that she and Ash had been thinking about our situation. “Try to put yourself in the president's position. He has to be concerned about the country. He's as concerned for himself and his family as you are for us and your students. He doesn't know you. You like how he has handled his job. He's a lot like you, and you know it. You even say the same things. And you hung up on him, twice.” As I usually do, I listened to her carefully. Linda cuts to the chase.

  “I'll bet that doesn't happen to him often,” said Ash.

  Ignoring Ashley, I asked Linda, “Do you think I should call him again? I really want to get past tomorrow and see what the fallout is.”

  “Then call him tomorrow. And apologize again.”

  “Do we get to go to the White House?” Ash smirked.

  I scowled. “Look, they want to do experiments on me, like I'm an alien. Before I let them do that, I want a lot more info. If they BS me, I'll know. I know too much about politics to be baffled by it. I'll call tomorrow. Let's eat.”

  Knowing that the government would back up my story to the teachers, I laid out a plan. I would tell them how I had met a guy who worked in special effects, how he'd asked me to test the projections in an independent setting. I'd tell them I was upset about how it had turned out and its impact on my students. Linda and Ashley helped polish the plan. I told them I thought this was how politicians must write speeches. Linda said they had speechwriters. I stood in front of them and rehearsed the entire speech.

  Ash said, “Not bad. And no teleprompters.”

  Then I called George, told him what I planned to say, and suggested some opening remarks for him to make. I wished him good luck and good night. “Thank Lois for me, will you? For her help.”

  “Sure,” said George. “See you tomorrow.”

  “OK,” I said to Linda and Ashley. “Now the kids. We have to explain Appomattox, the fire, and the president at the gym.” Lying was the only practical option, but it didn't make me happy. Unless the topic came up, I decided I wouldn't talk about the president. Only a few students actually saw him, so I could say he had just stopped by to visit and we were at the office when he came in.

  “That ought to work fine,” said Ashley. “After all, it was Friday afternoon, and the school was pretty empty.”

  “I think we're set. Thanks for all your help, Ash,” I said. “Now go home!”

  Ash wiped away nonexistent tears. “I know when I'm not wanted.”

  “No you don't.”

  Linda and I walked him to the front door. “Thanks for the bagels.”

  “See you in the morning. Want a ride?”

  “No thanks. I'm going to want to bolt when the meeting ends,” I said.

  * * *

  THE WHITE HOUSE was not quiet. Late Sunday, after Fritz had hung up on him, the president was informed that Eledoria had bombed Jerusalem, supposedly in response to Israeli agents attempting to kill their ruler. Israel denied the accusation and sent planes over the Eledorian capital, Sooksamad, where they faced antiaircraft missiles and jet fire. The president had spoken to both leaders, as well as a number of others in the region. He had also spoken to the Russian president and the Chinese ambassador, trying to prevent the conflict from escalating. He spoke to the Secretary of Defense and then to the Secretary of the Treasury about probable fallout in the markets, which were already volatile. After dinner with his family, he returned to his office for a meeting with the Secretary of Homeland Security. They discussed possible domestic terrorist activity as well as concern about severe storms expected in several parts of the country. He asked Sam Clemmons to arrange a cabinet meeting for 7:30 a.m. to get caught up on the evening's events. Finally, at about 11:30, Tom came to the Oval Office as the president was preparing to leave.

  “Nice quiet weekend, Tom,” said the president.

  Tom grimaced in reply. “Mr. President, I know the thing with the Russells didn't go too well. And I haven't had a chance to fill you in, sir.” Tom reported on his tasks in New Jersey. He told the president he had erased the tapes and left a bug in the classroom to monitor Russell directly. “Mr. Koppler knows about the bugs at the houses. I didn't tell him everything.”

  “I'm not sure I'm happy about his knowing, but it's too late to do anything about it now. It might actually calm him down a little. Keep me advised.”

  “Yes sir. Good night,” said Tom.

  The First Lady was reading in the sitting room next to the Lincoln Bedroom when he walked in and leaned over to kiss her.

  “What a day,” he said. “You know, with all this chaos, we haven't talked about the Russell thing. I think he has a lot of guts. He hung up on the president of the United States, twice.”

  She chuckled. “Hon, he hung up on you because you forgot he was on your team, and he got mad. I think I've seen you get mad like that before. It'll pass. I told you, he's a good guy, just like you.”

  * * *

  VOTED “MOST LIKELY to Play for the Boston Celtics” by his classmates … sweet thought … hadn't even liked basketball that much … more focused on summer than graduation … not much time before Kathy left for Stanford … wished he could go that far … money always got in the way but odd jobs, cutting grass … maybe enough saved to visit a couple of times … how different that year's prom was … how much they'd taught each other that year.

  Startled by night noises, Ashley left his reverie. “Damn, not again,” he said to himself. He placed the book gently on his cluttered coffee table and went to bed.

  Chapter Fifteen

  THE MORNING BROUGHT clouds, humidity, wind, and predictions of thunderstorms. I had never before had an emotional relationship with the weather report. I switched channels. The TV news reported from Jerusalem, with evening videos and a live daylight feed. Linda said that the damage was horrible. A search and rescue operation was proceeding, the reporter said.

  Since I didn't have a homeroom class, I still had a few minutes to consider what the day might be like. And what the president had done. Outside, the maples tossed their offspring, twirling into the air. When I was a kid, we attached the split seed pods with their sap to our noses. The daily announcements yanked me back inside. George listed the mandatory staff meeting first and then said, “Mr. Russell will discuss his adventures of last week.”

  Well, that guarantees a terrible day. Why did he add that? The kids all know the stories by now, and their principal just put the fat in the fire. “Time to change gears,” I said aloud, as the bell rang ending homeroom. Within moments, the first period class began to arrive. My tenth graders are generally the noisiest of the day, especially on Mondays, but the quiet was otherworldly. Janet Abbott raised her hand. Normally, she smiled; not today. Her demeanor was a combination of curious and worried.

  “Good morning, Janet.”

  “Hi, Mr. Russell. Mr. Russell, what are you going to tell the teachers?”

  What I said now would set the stage for the rest of the day. “OK, let me ask you all a question. Raise your hand if you have heard any stories about Friday's classes.” Every single eye was on me, and every hand went up. No surprise there. I said, “OK, tell me what you heard.”

  The class began to buzz. “One at a time, raise your hands.”

  Bill Carlson was first. “A lot of different stuff, Mr. R.”

  “Yeah,” said Dylan Lake, no hand raised, not his usual style. “I heard you saw Robert E. Lee and a fire and lots of dead people.”

  “And the classroom was a forest,” added Dana Goldsense. The buzz started again.

  “Chill guys,” I said, and to my surprise, they settled down right away. “Well it seems you've heard a lot. So now le
t me tell you how it happened.” I knew I was going to have to repeat this story for each of my classes, so I needed to get it right. “Last summer, while we were at Cape Cod, we met…”

  “Where's that, Mr. R?” said Bill.

  “Someone tell him, please.”

  Johnny Autumn said, “It's that claw thing that sticks out of Massachusetts. Right, Mr. R?”

  “That works,” I said. “As I was saying, we met a guy who works for a special effects company in California and his team was developing a projection system that could create holographs able to fill entire rooms with different scenery. They had worked on movies and TV design for stuff like Star Trek and Thor. He asked if I would allow him to use my classroom to beta test their system as it was being developed. I told him it sounded interesting, but I would need to know more before I agreed.

  “We stayed in contact, and last fall he called and asked if I could give him some idea of what we might be studying this month. Without being specific, I told him I was teaching about the Civil War, the period between the two world wars, and early twentieth-century labor history. He told me that they were technically ready to go, but he wanted specific subjects to develop for the classroom. We discussed how the system worked, as much as he could tell me.” Hands went up.

  “Let me finish.” Like Chris Matthews, I thought. The hands went down. “Last week, he called again and said they had finished programming and needed to place the projection equipment in the room.” I'll need to tell George about this part. “Anyway, they came in after school and installed the projectors around the room. I was surprised at how small they were.” Heads turned, searching for something out of place. “They're gone now. They took everything out over the weekend.”

  Louise Butler asked, “Why didn't our class have it?” Her question reflected the genuine disappointment on the faces around her.

  “I told my friend to pick the material he felt would work best. I didn't tell him what to use.”

  “So none of it was real?” asked Vicki Ann Brothers.

  “All right, now,” I said. “You're all old enough to know that what you heard happened is at best implausible, unlikely. If it really happened, where are the trees? Where are the charred dead bodies?”

  “Gross” and “eew” rang out from different parts of the room.

  “I agree. Time travel has been a source of lots of fictional adventures and lots of movies. Have any of you seen The Time Machine or Bill and Ted's Excellent Adventure?” A few hands went up, and blank stares appeared in heads nodding no. One hand remained raised.

  “Yes, Janet.”

  “Mr. Russell, if holograms aren't real, then how come everything was solid. Why didn't everyone just fall through the dirt? Or the street?”

  “Good question, Janet. I don't know how they did that, and I didn't think of it myself.” She smiled at having come up with something her teacher hadn't. I thought, I love her. Always thinking. These kids can help fill in the mystery and make my explanation better. “I spoke to my friend on Saturday and told him he picked some pretty awful stuff, but I also told him it was incredibly realistic. Obviously, he was happy we were impressed.”

  “Mr. Russell, what was Robert E. Lee like?” asked Harry James.

  “That's a really good question, Harry. General Lee was a little taller than me. He had a well-trimmed white beard.” Be careful, I thought. “We met him the day after he surrendered to General Grant. He seemed a little depressed.” That answer satisfied Harry, but other hands went up.

  “I guess we aren't going to have that quiz today,” I said. Cheers and clapping erupted briefly.

  “Yes, Bill”

  “Mr. R, you talked to Robert E. Lee. How do you know that what he said made sense?”

  “Well, Bill, it made sense to me, and I've been studying General Lee and the Civil War for a long time.”

  Janet said, “But didn't you tell him about the world today?”

  “Yes. We showed him cell phones and computers. He was fascinated. We talked about cars and planes, too.”

  Janet followed up. “Well, if you were really there, wouldn't that have changed the way the world is? I think it wasn't real.”

  “Another good point, Janet. Class? If it really happened, if it wasn't just a projection, wouldn't the world be different now?”

  “How do we know it isn't?” said Sherry Steinberg. “Maybe all the changes took place before today.”

  “Still a bit skeptical are you, Sherry?”

  “Not really. But if it was real, wouldn't all the changes have happened already?”

  “I'd agree, Sherry, but nothing seems different to me today. Does it to you?”

  Jumping in, Steven Chew said, “What if the changes haven't caught up yet? What if it's like a wave and has to get to the shore and that takes time?”

  “If that's true, Steven, then we might see something happen down the road, if it were real. But that's a good point.” But maybe he's hit on something, I thought. Could that explain why my ID was blank but we could access computer pictures? Why I had no money? And the words reappearing in Dan's book. Did time catch up?

  Another smiling student. I think that if you want kids to learn to think, you have to compliment them when they do. Steven wasn't done. “Or what if the changes happened, but to us they're just normal. Because, like, we were born into them.”

  “I'm really proud of you all. Do you realize how quiet you've been and how much serious thought and analysis you've just completed? Well done! For homework…” They stopped being quiet. “Quiet down. For homework, write a minimum of two pages on whether you think what you've heard about was real or if the hologram is what happened. Write this down.” I waited until the shuffling and scuffling for pens and notebooks had stopped. “I want you to discuss both options and why you reach the conclusion you do. Class is almost over. Does anyone else have a question?”

  Bill once again raised his hand. “I don't have a question, but that whole thing must have been awesome. I wish I'd been there.” A murmur of agreement went through the class.

  “Maybe next time.”

  “You're gonna do it again?” asked Dylan Lake, who almost never said anything.

  “We'll see, Dylan.”

  The bell ending the first period sounded. I thought, “One down.”

  The next class began to come in, but something was different about them. They were too quiet. I prepared to tell the story again, but before I did, I asked, “What's up guys?”

  Melissa Nicholas said, “Mr. Russell, we get our letters this week, and some people have already gotten some.”

  They were all seniors, and the letters were, of course, from colleges they hadn't heard from yet. “So, how's it going so far?” I asked, knowing I had a reprieve for a moment.

  “Not so good for me so far,” replied Melissa. “But I've still got three more to hear from.”

  I looked around as the kids looked at each other.

  “I've heard from my safe school, Mr. R. Didn't get in,” Josh Martin said. “It's been a terrible weekend at home, I can tell you.”

  “I know it's none of my business. If anyone wants to talk about your decisions, I would be happy to help if I can. Even if you just have questions.”

  Susan Adams said, “I got in early decision, Mr. R, but this is really hard for all of us.”

  “Mr. R, I got an athletic scholarship to a school in Kansas,” said James Junior. “But my parents aren't sure they want me to go so far. I've still got a couple of schools in the east, but no scholarship, so I don't know yet.”

  A palpable fear of failure permeated the class. “Listen, guys,” I said, “I know you're worried. You've done all this work, all these years, and now it's out of your hands. But trust me, the world isn't ending. Your futures are just beginning, so be optimistic. The worst that can happen is you don't end up where you want to go. When you get all your letters, then you can make decisions. If any of you want to talk when you're deciding, come and see me. If you want.”
A hand went up.

  Josh asked, “Mr. R, did you like college?”

  I hesitated, knowing it was a serious question. “Do you want a short, glib answer? Or do you really want to know what I think?”

  “What you really think,” answered Marjorie Cousins.

  “Okay. When I reached this week in high school, I had all my letters but one. It took five days after I was supposed to hear when it finally arrived. I walked home at lunch each day to check the mail because no one was home for me to call. So I know how anxious it can make you, the waiting. I got into my first choice school.”

  “Where did you go, Mr. R?” asked Walt Bridges.

  That's the first time since I started teaching that a student has asked. Maybe things are changing. “Cornell,” I said. “Work's gonna change, guys. You'll have lots more time outside of class, but you'll have tons more reading and writing, and you'll have to study subjects you haven't seen before. They don't care how much work you have from other classes. So you'll need to plan your time. And you'll meet people from all sorts of backgrounds with stories of their own.” A quick image of my dorm hallway flashed. “My only advice is to try new things.”

  “What was it like for you, Mr. R?” asked Terry Francis.

  “Well, just to keep this short. The roommate I had my freshman year was also my roommate for our junior and senior years. We still keep in touch. I took classes in subjects I wasn't remotely interested in, but I also took a lot of history classes. In my last year, I was a manager of the hockey team. That was fun.”

  “You played hockey?” asked Josh, surprised.

  “Nope. I love hockey, though. I kept statistics and picked up jock straps.” The class snickered. “Anyway, there are four years of stories to collect for yourselves. And I have mine, but I am not going to tell you now,” I said. A few ran through my head, and I grinned.

  Walt raised his hand again. “Mr. R, will you tell us what happened on Friday?”

  Finally. “We don't have much time left, so briefly…” I told the class what I had told the first period class. As the bell was about to end the class, Kimberly Goldstein said, “So everything we heard about the forest and Robert E. Lee and all, all that was fake?”