Golden Boy

by R. G. Lawrence

  Golden Boy

  Are you in for a surprise…

  Several high school friends, a final night of farewells and a stranger offering to transport each of the kids into the future for a tiny peek at what life has in store for them.

  A mental case or the real deal? That’s what this group of teens has to decide. And when they do, the fun begins.

  “You see, there are a multitude of different and diverse holes in our universe, sort of like switching channels on a TV, or jumping from program to program on your computer. The universe is full of a legion of dimensions, many things going on at the same time, in different…how do I explain this, different time warps. That sounds pretty dramatic, like something from a Star Trek episode, but it’s the easiest way for you to understand. I travel between these warps, like a problem solver. Or better yet, a trouble shooter.”

  This traveler is for real, and what he has to offer changes the lives of each of these teens…and not all for the good.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used factiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or to actual events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Golden Boy This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This eBook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share with. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return it and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of the author.

  Copyright@1996 R.G. Lawrence. All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book, or portions thereof, in any form. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical without the express written permission of the author. The scanning, uploading, and distribution of this book via the Internet or via any other means without the permission of the publisher is illegal and punishable by law. Please purchase only authorized editions, and do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials. The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.

  Published by: 23Publishing

  ISBN: 978-0-9846882-0-3

  Version2011.10.01

  Acknowledgments

  Golden Boy is dedicated to the five women in my life who have never given up hope;

  Elizabeth, Phyllis, Margaret, Hannah and Paige.

  Each one of you kept the faith and held things together through the storms, even when the days were the darkest.

  You mean more to me than I can ever express.

  Know that I love each one of you, and thank you.

  By R.G. Lawrence

  Golden Boy

  The Circle

  Summer With Fidel

  Prologue

  The traveler waited silently in the woods, a slight breeze the only relief from the humid August evening. The man was patient, knowing it wouldn't be long before they arrived, this carload of youngsters enjoying those last few carefree moments between high school and that rude entry into the real world of college, jobs, and uncertain futures. He could sense them not far off, their vehicle approaching, the anticipation rising.

  This had been no ordinary trip for the traveler, but one well worth the wait. Oh yes, he thought, they're almost here, these children, so much like kids all over the world, bright, ambitious, ready to go out and face the world, leave their mark in the fields of their choices. But as he waited, he also could feel several diverse emotions not particularly common to seventeen and eighteen-year-old children. The auras coming from this group contained a mixture of pronounced sadness, a great deal of uncertainty and a large dose of fear and apprehension.

  And one aura that stood out above the rest, one of total certainty and absolute confidence. He was impressed with this one; this from a man who didn’t impress easily.

  And one of them was much more, so different and unique, the one he had come for, the one who was born for this moment, for this meeting with the traveler.

  The auto was filled with two great athletes, a beautiful African-American girl and her friend, and the three lovely but diverse girls. This group contained a broad gamut of personalities and bright futures; the best of the best. And tonight they had come together in a series of coincidences…well, maybe not such a coincidence, the traveler chuckled. One of these children had been chosen, and however long it took, the man in the woods was honored to be the one waiting.

  The park was dark, the reflection of the moon off the black water of the lake the only illumination save the vehicle’s headlights as it approached. On most summer nights there would be several carloads of locals partying, bonfires blazing, radios blaring through the air, and plenty of beer flowing. Tonight it was simply dark and deserted, exactly the way it had been predestined.

  As the traveler waited, his mind flashed to the past, to the many other meetings he had experienced on this planet. He had made many friends, and probably a like number of enemies during his travels. He had helped shape history, had helped to prevent devastating catastrophes, and aided in keeping a fragile order of sanity to this rather insane world.

  But he had never had the opportunity to simply shape young lives, to help a group of nice kids make better and wiser decisions. The idea intrigued him, and his mind was made up. This night would be special, a teaching experience for the one who had been chosen.

  Suddenly, the traveler stood, the car pulling into the picnic area, the doors opening, the children appearing, and the party beginning.

  Showtime, the traveler chuckled. It was going to be quite a night.

  1

  July 17, 2007

  “Folks, let’s be real careful out there in this heat cause it’s hot enough to fry eggs on the sidewalk,” the local AM weatherman kept repeating, overusing the phrase, even though it was fairly accurate.

  It was another in a series of blistering, dusty afternoons the locals referred to as an “omen from hell” and Washington politicians used for their own climate change agendas. The heat was beating down without relief, the sun inducing false mirages, the scorching temperature topping the 100 degree mark for the umpteenth day in a row. Area newspapers were claiming it as the worst regional heat wave in 50 years. Air-conditioners were operating around the clock, lawns being watered on a rigid schedule dictated closely by the city utility department to prevent shortages to the Radford water supply.

  Earlier in the week, an elderly couple, Harry and Elise McCaulkin, residents of Radford for more than 40 years, had been found dead in the living room, their television set on and tuned to the Weather Channel. Their house was equipped with one tiny air-conditioner, a window unit located in their upstairs bedroom. It was out-of-order, overworked, the compressor locked up tight and the fan blowing hot air. Heat-related death was an unheard of occurrence in this community, one that prided itself on taking care of its elderly.

  An editorial appearing in the Radford Daily News claimed that “a retiree of Turner Steel Corporation, which Mr. McCaulkin happened to be, should never find himself dying of the heat.”

  Publicly, Turner Steel President H. Tucker Hall immediately ordered an investigation of area retirees, instructing the company to provide any and all necessary aid that would prevent another tragedy. Behind closed doors, Hall ordered his marketing department to suspend all association with the local newspaper until further notice. They had somehow forgotten who buttered their bread.

  The drought was affecting
other area businesses as well, folks preferring to stay indoors rather than venture out into the heat for even the few minutes it takes to run simple errands. Farmers had all but given up on the corn harvest, the plants producing nothing but burned, brown ears, pitifully small and wasted, hanging limp from the stalks. The season was a bust, the farm community praying for one good “gully-washer.” Except for the local water park, the two municipal swimming pools, and the three local golf courses, the town of Radford was at a virtual standstill.

  2

  The youngster was sunburned, his nose peeling dead skin, each freckle across his face high-lighted by the changing color of his complexion, his ears red and sore. His long brown hair was soaked, the sweat pouring down his forehead into his eyes, making him instinctively wipe them with the back of his hand, causing them to sting and burn. This was the first summer he had not cut his hair short, and today he was regretting that decision.

  “C’mon Rod, walk home with me…please. Let’s go swimming in Rinehart’s pond. You’re not gonna get another bag today, it’s too late.” Tony was exhausted, whining the way little brothers do when they don’t get their way, the way Tony would have sounded a year ago, sounding a bit out of character now. The kid had caddied 36 holes, the last eighteen for a duffer with a heavy staff bag who had been all over the course and causing the boy to walk twice the distance of a normal round. As tired as the 13-year old was, the walk home was not going to be a picnic. The thought of a dip in Cecil Rinehart’s pond pulled at him like the promise of a shot of dope to an addict.

  “You go on, Tone, Mr. Wellston left a message in the pro shop that he was going to be late, and asked that I wait on him. He’s a great tip, and he lets me play along on the out holes.”

  Rod was two years older than his brother, but unless one looked closely, the pair could nearly pass for twins. Tony had gone through a growth spurt during the last eight months and now stood only a half-inch shorter than his brother. The dark complexion was the same, the chocolate brown eyes identical, and many of the mannerisms of the pair similar.

  “Take off, Tone, I’ll see you at home. But no swimming, not by yourself. You know what dad said.”

  “I know, not without you or Andy there. Christ, you’d think I was five-years-old. I’ll see you later.” But Rod was already gone, walking away from his brother, down to the caddy shack, waiting for his tardy customer.

  Tony turned, walking across the parking lot, stopping at the concession stand and buying a Coke with part of his day’s pay. He counted out his money, jamming the remainder in his pocket and walking on, away from the club. He stepped over the curb, turned to see if he could still see his brother, couldn’t, and started across the field, skirting number 17. There were two players standing in the middle of the fairway, their caddies standing alongside. Tony looked closely, thought maybe the boy on the left might be Andy, waved and didn’t receive a wave in return, and kept walking, soon disappearing in the distance, the heat beating down relentlessly on his bare head.

  The path home through the corn fields cut the trip nearly in half. The boys had been taking this route ever since they had started caddying, Andy and Rod four years ago, Tony working his second summer. The Rinehart farm was three-quarters of the way home, the large pond a welcome oasis after a long day in the sun. The three friends would run the last several hundred yards, racing each other to be the first to get his clothes off and jump in the cool water. Ol’ man Rinehart knew they swam there and didn’t mind, asking only that they never swim alone. The boys had never broken that rule.

  Tony saw the water in the distance and started to jog to the pond, but without anyone to race and the heat sapping away his remaining strength, he settled into a fast walk. When the youngster reached the water, he planned to sit down, catch his breath, and then finish the walk home. Today, the water seemed to be calling to him, the heat sapping all of his strength, the pond telling him that it would relieve his exhaustion as it had done so often.

  The boy pulled his t-shirt over his head, kicked his tennis shoes and socks off and sat on the little dock, his feet dangling in the water. The wooden planks were hot on his butt, the heat burning through the seat of his jeans. As the relief from the water moved up his legs, a feeling of rejuvenation overtook him. He lay back on the dock, his shoulders resting on his tennis shoes and without really thinking, reached down and unzipped his cutoffs, pushing them and his underwear down his legs. He stood, looking around to make sure nobody was watching, fighting the guilt that was beginning to creep into his head. He looked at the Rinehart farmhouse, not able to see anything but the weathervane, the old metal rooster standing perfectly still on the very tip of the berm. Glancing toward the corn field, Tony checked to make sure Mr. Rinehart wasn’t about on the tractor, not wanting the farmer to see him alone.

  Not seeing any movement, certain that he was alone, the boy hesitated one brief moment, stood and then dove into the water, the coolness hitting him, refreshing him, telling him that this was a good idea, no, it was an excellent idea. He swam out 20 feet, feeling better than he had all week, turned back toward the dock and kicked twice.

  The cramps hit him like a bullet, starting in his legs, paralyzing his lower body, doubling him over in the water, the pain shooting up through his groin into his bowels, traveling up inside his anus like a sudden bolt of electricity. It pushed on into his stomach, making him gasp, needing to vomit, his stomach empty save for the solitary Coke, the carbonation bringing bubbles to his mouth and out his nose. He desperately tried to get his legs to kick, but they were dead to his commands. He tried to power his way back with his arms, each one feeling like heavy lead weights.

  The boy disappeared beneath the water, working his way back to the surface, determination on his face, not yet aware of the peril he was in. He knew he was a strong kid, a good athlete, and could eventually make it back to the dock. He was blocking the panic, but it was right there below the surface of his consciousness. He went under again, this time having more difficulty reaching the surface, begging his legs to kick. Getting no response, misjudging the sunlight, his senses commanding him to breath, he took a deep gulp of air while still three feet beneath the surface, swallowing nothing but green pond water, his lungs filling with liquid instead of the valuable oxygen he so needed, the dirty water coursing through his system.

  Tony finally reached the surface, looking one last time at the dock only twelve feet away, but maybe it was a mile, he wasn’t sure. He suddenly knew it didn’t matter, was no longer concerned, wanting to just go to sleep, giving in to the water, all his fight gone.

  The last thing the boy saw was his old tennis shoes, wondering briefly if he should have worn his new ones, wishing he had drowned with his new tennis shoes there, the pair he had bought with his caddying money, the first practical item he had ever purchased with his own money. His mom had been so proud. He wished that he had worn them this last day, this dying day.

  Going under again, this time not caring, he welcomed the water, breathed it in, feeling for one tiny second that he could live under the water, become one with the fish. Breathe water, suck it in, go to sleep and wake up swimming, smiling, wondering if Rod would be the one to find him.

  3

  August 15, 2010

  “Gram, get this wild man out of here so I can get dressed. Go on, Carl Alan, go find gramma, she’s got a cookie for you.”

  Carl Alan Toonis, four-years-old and already looking like a linebacker, heard the magic word ‘cookie’ and turned from his mother, running out the door in search of his great-grandmother and the promised treat. Carl Alan’s mother turned back to the mirror, pulled the barrette from her hair and started to undress, running behind schedule, needing a bath before her appointment downtown. She grabbed the clean bath towel off her bed, wrapped it around herself, and walked down the hallway to the house’s only bathroom, the old hall carpet worn completely through in several places and showing hints of the wood floor beneath it. The bathroom didn’t have a show
er, a luxury Shauna had only experienced during gym classes in high school. Turning the tub water on, she glanced at the mirror, always critical of her body.

  Not bad, she thought absently, for an 18-year old girl with a four-year-old child. Anyone who saw her flat stomach would be shocked that she had a child, not that anyone was going to see her stomach. Shauna knew that someday she would meet a special man who would want to take care of Carl Alan and her, and when that magical moment happened, she wanted to be as perfect as possible for him. In the meantime, there wasn’t nobody gonna see her goodies, she chuckled to herself. One brainless night of adolescent sex had set her back, almost knocked her out of the game altogether, and she was never going to take that chance again, not without a gold wedding band on her left hand.

  Shauna Lynn Toonis stepped into the bath water, feeling the heat climb up her body, finally relaxing, letting the steam and water wash away the stress that she was feeling about today’s pending interview. Her head leaning against the back of the tub, she silently reviewed questions and answers she expected to field during the afternoon’s session. Catching herself nodding, she struggled up, finishing the bath, drying off and padding back down the hallway to the tiny room she shared with her son.

  “Gram, you got Carl?” she called towards the kitchen, standing at the door waiting for an answer.

  “I got him, honey, you get ready now, or you’re gonna be late. We’re just fine.”

  Smiling, Shauna closed the door, and finished preparing for the most important meeting in her young life. Only her gramma, her best friend Gretta, and she knew how important this interview was.