Chapter 30
A Day of Reckoning?
“I have to be there?” Robert asked the person on the other end of the phone line. He was making a quick call between classes, using a phone card his mom kept charged for him and placing the call on the dorm lobby payphone. He hadn’t yet replaced the cell phone stolen by Thomas as he lay comatose on the side of the road, and decided to go “old school” by using landlines, at least until after the case ended and his property was returned to him. Since he was now a true scholar and no longer the athlete, he thought the fewer distractions the better.
“I’m afraid so,” replied Barbara. “I’ve seen these pleas go south at the last minute many times, and the defendant’s attorney is wavering on me, telling me that it’s probably for plea but not definitely.”
“I’ve gotta miss class when I might not be needed?”
“Sorry.”
“That’s just great. See you Monday,” he said, almost shouting, as he slammed down the handset loud enough for anyone within thirty feet to hear him and know the call didn’t end well. Several students who were visiting in the lobby turned their heads at the shout and slam, wondering what was so important that it had to disturb their relatively carefree lives. He caught a smile from a relatively cute blond coed (though not nearly a cure as Janie, he silently realized) just a few feet away whom he’d seen a few times around campus but never actually spoke to. He turned to her and said, “What’s your problem?” the frustration of his own existence getting the better of him, making him flashback to the unpleasant, arrogant jock he was before his first church youth camp, the one where he’d met Janie.
Her companion, a brown-haired freshman boy of medium build and height, stood up and thrust out his chest, defending his woman. “Chill out,” he replied, voice wavering a bit as his fear of the more physically imposing figure of Robert, right arm still hanging in a sling. The fear nearly got the better of him. Unfortunately, another part of him was thinking that the partly-handicapped jock looking at him was incapable of offering much of a physical challenge.
As the adrenaline pumped through the freshman’s system, he thought, I’ll pop him in the shoulder if I have to, and then glanced around the room looking for a chair or something else he could pick up if need be. “You’re the one who’s getting out of hand,” he added.
He’s not worth it, Robert thought. Just walk away.
Instead of listening to his inner voice of reason, he walked toward the couple and glared at the boy. “You think this sling’ll protect your scrawny butt?”
The boy glared right back, though beads of sweat began to bubble up on his forehead. Robert was at least six inches taller and was much more muscled, though the incapacitated right arm hid much of his physical prowess. Looking up, a phantom crick twitching in his neck as he tilted his head upward, the boy said nothing, afraid that his nerves might cause his voice to crack yet again.
“I asked you a question. Do you think I can’t beat the snot out of you with one arm?” he asked, as he lifted his good arm and flexed his sizable muscles through a tightly fitting T-shirt, revealing the muscle tone only a well-conditioned athlete could have at such a young age.
The boy considered his options: to fight and lose both the fight and the girl, or do nothing. “You’re not worth it,” he finally said.
“Ditto,” Robert said as he turned his back to the boy and walked away.
As he walked toward the elevator, the boy looked over at his girlfriend, who had a frown on her face as she stared at Robert’ backside, gaze directed toward his jeans-enhanced bottom.
Suddenly, without warning, the boy rushed Robert from behind and tried to leap on his back. Years of sports had conditioned Robert to react instantly, and the accident had apparently not diminished his well-tuned reflexes. He ducked and the boy glanced off him at an angle, ending up on the floor in front of the dorm’s vending machines. The bum’s rush attracted the attention of all those in the lobby, including two resident assistants. The boy was now lying flat on his back. Just as Robert was about to slam his left fist into the boy’s face one of the RAs grabbed his injured shoulder to pull him back.
“Ouch!” Robert yelled as searing pain shot through his shoulder and into his spine. “Okay, okay,” he begged, still being held back. “Let me go,” he added as he shook off the RA who had grabbed his throbbing shoulder. The RA tumbled to the ground beside the cowardly assailant.
“He attacked me!” Robert protested.
The other RA was standing between Robert and the boy, doing his best to defuse an obviously heated situation. “Both of you,” he said as he pointed, “to the office. Now!”
The cowardly boy stood up, unaided, and all walked toward the office just a dozen feet from where the melee had broken out, the RA who grabbed Robert walking between the two combatants with Robert bringing up the rear. After they reached the RAs’ ultra-compact office—just big enough to fit a tiny metal desk and three chairs—the RA who seemed to be in command, a rather large black man around twenty-two years of age with a closely-cropped haircut, pulled the door shut behind them. He took the seat behind the desk. Robert and the boy sat side by side in the two seats opposite the RAs. The meeker, weaker RA, a very skinny and short Hispanic man around the same age as the lead RA, stood next to the door, apparently content to let his larger, more physically imposing colleague lead the discussion.
“What the heck was that all about?” Tony Brunson, the larger, head RA asked the boy.
“Why are you asking me that question?”
“I saw the whole thing. Are you a coward or something? Waiting till the man’s back is turned; you ought to be skinned for being a weasel.”
Robert did his best to suppress a smile, but the right corner of his lips turned up slightly.
Tony jerked his head in his direction. “Don’t think you’re not at fault, too.”
Robert looked toward the surface of the desk, feeling at least a little embarrassed. “Sorry.”
“So what are we going to do about this mess?”
No one said a word.
“The book says I should kick both of you out of the dorms and refer this matter to the dean of students, and that usually means you’re both expelled from school in a week. What do you think?”
The boy said nothing. All Robert could think about was his pastor preaching the virtues of turning the other cheek. I should’ve walked away before saying anything.
“I’m sorry,” Robert said.
“What?”
“I’m sorry,” he said again. “I told you about the trial in Oklahoma. I was on the phone with the prosecutor, and she said I have to go to Darkwell Monday morning, and that the jerk who did this to me might not plead guilty after all, which means I might have to miss school for nothing. I just snapped, even though that’s no real excuse. That’s all, and I’m sorry.”
“What about you?” Tony asked the boy.
He was also staring at the desk. “I’m sorry, too.”
“Well then, what are you waiting for? Shake hands and we’ll forget this happened.”
They turned toward one another as Robert offered the coward his good hand. “Robert Baxter,” he said. “No hard feelings?”
The boy grabbed Robert’s hand with a sweaty-palmed, fish-like grip. “Jim Clemons,” he replied. “None here. Same for you?”
“Of course.”
“Glad that we could all meet and spend some quality time together,” Tony said sarcastically. “You two get out of here and do something productive, like study!”
After Robert and Jim left the office, Tony motioned for Chris to shut the door behind them. He took the seat vacated by Robert.
“We could get in trouble for that,” Chris said.
“I know.”
“Then why’d you do it?”
“You’re new to this RA thing. We’ve got to use our best judgment. Robert almost died a few months ago, so he’s dealing with a lot of crap right now, and that punk wasn’t
totally innocent. So what’re we going to do? Set one up for expulsion and let the other go? Can’t do it. So we let ‘em both off the hook one time. Give ‘em a freebie. One more screw up, and they’re gone. Understand?”
Silently, Tony considered telling Chris his real reason for letting the two freshmen off with not even a slap on the wrist. Tony had been a bruiser in his youth; he had even been part of a gang a few years before. Yet his Savior, Jesus Christ, through grace had saved him from that baggage and cleansed him of his sins. Weren’t those two young men who weren’t nearly as deserving of punishment as he was entitled to such grace? His thoughts lingered on the question. No, that’s not right, he further considered. No one deserves grace. It was just something that’s given, just as Jesus saved him from his own mistakes despite the fact that he deserved no mercy at all.
“Grace,” was all he said to his colleague. “Just a little grace to get us through the day.”
Reluctantly, Chris nodded his head in agreement. He was new, he had to admit. It was his first semester as a paid RA, and he had much to learn. He asked, “Won’t they fire us if they find out?”
Tony laughed. “Not at all. We’re part peer counselors and part RAs. It’s our job to make judgment calls. If they posed a serious threat to life and limb, it’s a different story. But they don’t, so we move on.”
Tony stood up and walked around the desk to the door. “Let’s get out there and help some kids, okay?”
Chris stood up and walked toward the door. Patting Chris on the back with his right hand and turning the doorknob with his left, Tony opened the door and walked toward the soda machines. “Want a cola?” Tony asked Chris over his shoulder as he fumbled around in his pocket for loose change.
“Sure.”
Broken: A story of hope and forgiveness Page 42
