“I want to talk to you,” Dad says in my ear. I pull the bike into the driveway, tear off my helmet, and hurl the Bluetooth against the garage. It breaks in half. I get off the bike, kick the stand, and race toward the broken device. I stomp on the two pieces with the black heel of my riding boot like they’re cockroaches on the floor, and then I grind the smashed pieces into smaller pieces until they resemble electronic sawdust.
I head inside the house and race toward my room. Like I was packing for an overnight wrestling camp, I grab my gym bag out of the closet and start throwing in clothes. I put my phone on speaker and call Eric. For once, he answers instead of waiting for a text.
“Eric, I need a place to stay.” Mychal’s dad would return me to his Seal brother.
“Just Man, what’s going on?”
“I can’t say,” I answer. I won’t say because it isn’t true. Calvin’s just a stupid kid who doesn’t know anything about anything except how to get under my skin.
“I’ll ask the momster.”
“I’m coming over anyway,” I answer. He starts asking more questions, but I’m not answering because none of this nonsense is anyone’s business. “I’ll be there in fifteen.”
As I’m hanging up with Eric, Dad’s calling. I turn my phone off. I pack my charger and football jersey. I figure I can survive a few days until I can work out what I’m going to do and where I’m going to live. Or maybe Eric’s mom will be too drunk to notice I’m there.
On the way out of the house, I start to detour into Dad’s bedroom to take one last look, but the thought of it gags me. Instead, I head down to the weight room and pick up a twenty pound dumbbell. This 180 pound idiot needs twenty more pounds of stupid.
I open the garage and see our matching Shelby Mustangs. I throw my stuff—other than the dumbbell—in my trunk, put down the roof, turn the music up, and drive out of the garage. With the car in park, I head back to the garage, dumbbell in hand.
Six feet from Dad’s car, I hurl it at the windshield. The glass explodes onto the garage floor. I watch it break into a thousand pieces. Like my life.
I take a moment to savor the result of my rage before I turn back toward my car.
But at the bottom of the driveway—Dad. The bike blocks one side of the driveway; he blocks the other. His helmet hangs in his left hand, his phone in his right. He says nothing.
I look back at the shattered glass and then try to stare at Dad, but I can’t. I’ve seen him through grainy screens from across thousands of miles while gunfire could be heard in the distance. I’ve heard him through the snap, crackle, and pop of bad telephone connections. I’ve watched videos he made and posted for me. All those years and miles away, we stayed connected. He remained my friend, my mentor, my hero, my inspiration, my father, my future.
Until today. Now he’s just a stranger I used to know.
“Justin, what is wrong with you?!” the man at the bottom of the driveway yells. I don’t answer because a man I once respected told me to never talk to strangers. I jump back in the car, turn the wheel hard to the right, hit the gas, and exit across the once-perfect front lawn.
10
“Justin, they need to see you in the office,” Mrs. McFadden says. She says it loud enough for others to hear. Like a zombie, I rise from my chair, not even bothering to check her out, and start for the door. It seems like “Do as you’re told” is programmed deep within my DNA.
“What up?” Eric and Mychal call out.
“I don’t know,” I reply, trying to figure out what I’ve done to get me into trouble. Mychal, Eric, and I were late this morning. Staying up all night playing Call of Duty will cause that, but that’s nothing. Seal-son football players in this school get away with most anything. If I had been a civilian and punched out Anton, I’d be in juvie or at least serving a suspension.
“If you’re not back in fifteen, I’ll send in reinforcements,” Mychal cracks. I’d laugh if it was funny or if anything was funny, but despite the bright sun, there’s nothing but dark clouds for me today.
As I walk down the hall toward the office, I consider sprinting the other way, but fight the urge because I need school, especially football. I need a team, a unit, a family.
Once inside the principal’s outer office, “I was told to see…” is as far as I get. Her secretary sits at her desk, but she’s not alone in the room. In front of the door is a uniformed military police officer and next to him is Colonel Edwin Ladd, United States Navy.
“Justin, you’re coming home,” Colonel Ladd announces.
I say nothing, so he whispers something to the secretary. She finds a reason to exit.
“Justin, listen to me. You’re coming home with me, right now,” Colonel Ladd says, his voice louder, maybe about a five on a scale of one to ten. I’ve heard his ten, I’ve taken it. Bring it on. “We need to talk. You can come home with me or I can have Officer Jenkins escort you to the brig.”
His arms are crossed over his chest; I let mine dangle at my sides. My feet don’t move.
“Justin, I’m giving you a choice.”
I stare at Colonel Ladd but turn toward the officer. “What did I do?”
“Property damage on a military facility,” the MP answers.
“But I’m not in the military, so you can’t do anything,” I spit back.
“Justin, you’re not making this easy,” the man with the ribbons on his chest says.
“And I’m never going to be in the military. Ever.”
“We can transfer you to civilian authorities for prosecution of sentence,” the MP says with the tone of a finely tuned robot, also known as a good soldier, a flesh and bone drone.
I step toward the officer, staring at him and put my hands out in front of me. “Do it.”
“Justin, think about this,” Colonel Ladd says. “You’ll lose everything. Your spot on the team. Your chance at the Academy. I don’t know what’s wrong with you, but whatever it is…”
“You.”
“What are you saying?” The volume drops to three.
“You.” My hands remain in front of me waiting for the cuffs, but the cuffs remain on the MP’s belt. “You’re what’s wrong.”
“Justin, you can’t keep this up.”
I think of all the things I could say, but they would only embarrass me more. “I’m going back to class.” I put my hands in my pockets while Colonel Ladd and the MP stare at each other.
“Justin, please come home.” The volume drops almost to one. A whisper.
“No.”
Colonel Ladd motions for the MP to stand next him. Whispers are exchanged. More secrets to be kept from me. Colonel Ladd has quite the experience and expertise in this area.
The MP takes the cuffs off his belt and motions for me to turn around. I do as I’m told.
“Put him in the back seat of my car,” Colonel Ladd commands. “He’s going home.”
11
“Justin, you two finish up,” Colonel Ladd shouts from the kitchen window. “Dinner’s in five.” Colonel Parker is in the kitchen with him.
Like I’ve done since I was brought home against my will this afternoon, I say nothing. I guess Dad thought Colonel Parker and Calvin would get me out of my funk. Great idea.
“So, takedowns, how do you do that?” Calvin asks. I wasn’t going to have anything to do with him, but he reminded me I said I’d show him fighting stuff. Fine. If that’s what he wants, who am I to resist his invitation?
“Listen, the way to learn anything is to do it, so stand up.” He follows orders. He’ll make a good soldier—if he can learn to live with pain.
He no sooner assumes what looks like a fighting stance than I shoot. I grab him around both legs, lift him in the air, and slam him hard against the grass. Even as we’re going down, I twist my body so when we land, I’ll have side control. He groans when he hits the grass and has the air knocked out of his body; it was his turn to know what that felt like. “That’s a receipt,” I hiss.
“Wh
at did I do to…?” he starts to ask me, but I cut off his wind easily. I lace my arms together and have him locked in a rear naked choke. I apply enough pressure to make it hurt, but not so much that he’ll black out. Enough so he’ll talk, but not so much that he can scream.
“Why did you lie to me?”
“Lie?”
“What you said about your father and my dad.” I crank my right arm tighter.
“You’re hurting me.”
I got my mouth against his right ear. “That’s the idea. Now you know how I felt.”
“It’s not a lie,” he croaks. With the pressure against his throat he’s barely able to talk.
“It is a lie. My dad’s not gay.”
“Justin, let me go.”
“I should twist your lying head off.”
“Did you talk to him?”
I wrap my legs around his twisting torso and squeeze there. “This is what it feels like to have your life crushed.”
“I’m sorry, Justin. They said you knew,” Calvin says, although now it’s through tears.
“There’s nothing to know.”
“I’m sorry. Forget it.”
“You forget you told me,” I tell him. “If you tell anyone else, I’ll rip your head off.”
“Let me go.”
I squeeze my legs tighter; he’s as good as paralyzed. “It never…”
“Justin, what are you doing?” Colonel Parker yells from a distance. I let his son go. Calvin starts coughing and wheezing but quickly covers his face to hide the tears.
“I was teaching him how to fight,” I yell over my shoulder. “I thought that’s what you wanted.”
I’m still on the ground, so he’s towering over me. With his Seal training, he could kill me twenty different ways in less than ten seconds. “That’s not what it looked like.”
I stare up at Colonel Parker. “Lot of things are like that.”
“Like what?”
“Not what they look like,” I answer, and then turn to the kid. “Know what I mean, Calvin?”
Through the coughing, he manages to answer. “Sure thing, Justin.”
“Well, next time go easy; he’s just learning.” Colonel Parker smiles and offers me a hand. I want to kick him between the legs. I wave away his help; I don’t want him touching me.
“I’ve got to learn,” Calvin says as he rises. He wipes the grass stains from his jeans with his left hand, while with his right, he tries to cover up the other stain: I made him wet his pants.
12
“Justin, I’m not interested,” Erin says. I got one arm over the top of her head, resting over her locker, the other on her right side. If it was MMA, I’d squeeze and she’d tap, but so far, she’s not surrendering. “I’m already going to Homecoming with Jimmy. You know that.”
“I heard he’s taking somebody else,” I whisper like some big secret.
“Whoever told you that is lying.”
“Got the truth straight from the horse’s mouth,” I lie.
“I don’t believe you. Jimmy wouldn’t even look at another girl.”
I laugh. “Who said he’s taking a girl? Mychal said he’s taking Anton Washington.”
She gets this look on her face like she just stubbed her toe. Hard.
“I thought you knew about Jimmy,” I press forward like I’m rushing the passer. “I mean everybody on the team knows. He’s always checking us out. And Anton’s a sure thing.”
She bites her bottom lip. I’m not going to tell her about Anton coming on to me. “If you’re saying this to make me mad,” she says in quivering voice, “you’re doing a good job.”
I take another step closer, drop the arm so it’s almost resting on her shoulder. “I like you, Erin, and it makes me sad to know you’ll be all alone in your house on Homecoming night while Jimmy and Anton are doing whatever it is disgusting freaks like them do. So, come with me. You’ve probably heard I’m a better fighter than Jimmy, and trust me, Erin, that’s not the only thing I can do better than him.”
She slaps me hard on the cheek, pushes past me, and walks away. “So, that’s a maybe,” I yell after her, but she’s running, no doubt to find Jimmy to defend her. Thank you very much.
***
“Hey, Allison. Mind if I sit down?” I ask. I haven’t seen her since the post-game party and I don’t know her that well, except that she came on to me. She’s at a table with a small group, and a couple of her friends start whispering.
“Not at all, Justin,” she responds. The girls eat salads for lunch. I got a backpack full of power bars.
“You all going to the Homecoming game?” I ask them. Everybody nods. “We’re gonna crush those guys. It’s gonna be a war. The line is going to a combat zone. You watch for me, number 99. I’ll be right in the mix. Any of you have boyfriends on the team?”
For some reason this generates a slew of whispers, giggles, and embarrassed looks, but none of them say anything except a bland blonde with long hair. “My boyfriend is in band.”
I poke Allison under the table. When she looks over at me, I roll my eyes. She laughs.
“How about the Homecoming dance?” My question evokes the same responses. “Any of you hear that Jimmy Martin and Anton Washington are going together? Gross, right?”
Lots of nervous laughter, sipping of sodas, and crunching of salads to cover that none of them know how to respond. Of course, the second that they can, they’ll spread the news via text and Twitter.
“Maybe Allison and I can get some photos of them.”
“You’re taking Allison?” bland blonde asks. Allison’s face is seven shades of blush.
“Of course. Didn’t she tell you?” I say and then put my arm around Allison’s shoulders. She doesn’t try to pull away; she moves a little closer. “Allison, why didn’t you tell them?” Allison stumbles for an answer. “There’s only one thing wrong; I think Allison should’ve been Homecoming Queen, don’t all of you?” More nods and smiles. I’m laying it on thicker than syrup over pancakes. “Too bad the school decided to have two queens this year.”
“Two?” Allison asks.
I answer. “Yeah, two queens: Anton and Jimmy.”
13
“Justin, you ready?” Colonel Stewart asks. I nod and bang my gloves together. Jimmy responds the same, although I don’t sense he’s hiding a smile behind his mouthpiece like I am.
“Then get it on!” Stewart yells over the shouting Seal fathers and sons. Most everyone has already watched one battle tonight as we eked out a last-minute victory over East High. As predicted, it was a war on the scrimmage line, but Mychal played a stellar game. His normal.
But football can’t always scratch the itch, so I’m glad for the chance for a quick real fight in the backyard while the girls go get prettied up for the dance.
“Get him, Jimmy! Don’t back down!” Colonel Martin shouts. I hear no encouragement from Colonel Ladd, which is fine with me. Our almost week-long battle of silence remains locked in a stalemate. He didn’t wish me luck before the game, which is fine since I don’t need his encouragement. Or support. Or love. Or anything. All I need is an exit strategy.
Jimmy plays tight end, so he didn’t put as many minutes on the field as I did, but he did take a hellacious hit catching the winning touchdown pass. Maybe he thinks he’s a superhero, which is why he challenged me to a fight after Erin blathered to him like a baby.
“Come on, Justin!” Calvin yells out. He was against me last time. I’d prefer that.
Jimmy’s throwing bombs from the get-go, trying to take my head off, but I duck most of them or sidestep. He tries a few kicks, but again he misses more than he hits.
“Fight, Justin!” somebody yells, maybe Calvin. Somebody who doesn’t understand fighting or war. It’s not about the first punch or the last, but the right strike at the right time.
Jimmy shoots, which I block. He should know better, since my winter sport is wrestling while his is basketball. He can a hit a three, but no way is he getting
a double leg on me.
“Jimmy, let’s go!” His dad is loud. Basic training drill instructor loud.
When Jimmy tries to rush for another takedown, I underhook his arms with mine. Rather than tossing him to the ground with a judo throw, which I could easily do, I force my arms so I get my hands locked behind his head. I pull down on his head while bringing my knee toward his face. It’s a basic MMA equation: face meets knee equals lights out.
Except, as I bring my right knee up, he snatches it and pushes me to the grass. He lands on top of me, but doesn’t have the skill to get full mount or even side control. I easily escape, but as I get back up, I realize it’s a mistake. On the ground, I own him. When we stand again, he hits two quick right jabs, one right between my eyes. I don’t see stars; I see an opportunity.
Playtime is over. Scissors beats paper, and he’s about to get his head chopped off.
I throw fists, but it’s the knee I’m looking to use, as bait. When there’s an opening, he reaches for my leg, grabs it, and forces me to the ground. He tries to throw punches but most of them miss. So intent on knocking me out, he leaves himself open. When Jimmy leans toward me to drop a hammer fist, I snatch his neck and wrap him up like a Christmas present in a guillotine choke. With his head encircled, he can’t move anything but his eyelids. He taps my leg.
And I apply more pressure. He taps harder, but it’s dark so I wonder if anyone notices his black glove frantically smacking against my black trunks. I like Jimmy and he’s got guts to want to fight me, but this isn’t about him. Too bad he doesn’t know that. In a few seconds, he won’t know anything as I put him to sleep. Goodnight moon. Goodnight Jimmy.
“Let him go!” shouts a most unwelcome voice. Colonel Edwin Ladd, US Homosexual.
I clench tighter, trying to pull Jimmy’s head off and stuff it down the Colonel’s throat.
“Now!” Colonel Ladd pries my hands from Jimmy’s neck. I stand, but Jimmy stays down.
“Get your filthy hands off me!”
Combat Zone Page 3
