Safe

by Mark Zubro

  My parents and I were exhausted. They took me home.

  CHAPTER FORTY

  Sunday 9:30 A.M.

  Sunday morning at my house was very subdued. It’s usually a quiet time of reading papers and munching on pastries.

  The first thing I did was take a pain pill. By the time I finished taking a shower and dressing it had kicked in and all the aches were pretty manageable.

  The first thing my mom did was hug me tight. I found myself pretty teary eyed too. Grandma was making pancakes from scratch. They were fabulous.

  Mom said, “I hope everything is going to be okay.”

  “Me too.”

  My dad came up to me and swung an arm around my shoulder. “That was pretty brave last night. I’m proud of the way you saved the other kid.”

  “Thanks, Dad.”

  “I just don’t ever want to get a call like that from you again.”

  I promised I’d do my best.

  I tried calling Singleton, but still got his voicemail.

  Early in the afternoon I revised my sports column for the paper. Then I called Jack and Darlene to let them know what happened. Jack wanted to beat people up, but I told him most of them were probably in jail. Darlene berated herself for insisting I go to the party. I assured her that she couldn’t possibly have known that Boyer would spy out the party and set a trap.

  I called the hospital to see if Steve was still there. My mom and dad, and Darlene, and even Jack offered to go with when I visited him. I told them it was something I wanted to do on my own.

  I stopped at a Barnes and Noble bookstore and picked up a three volume paperback boxed set of The Lord of the Rings. I didn’t know what else to get him. It was my favorite book so I figured I’d give it a try. I also bought one of those funny get-well cards.

  At the hospital, a group of seven people were clustered outside of Steve’s room. One was Reverend Koemer. As I approached, I could hear him. I paused down the hall and listened.

  The Reverend said, “He won’t tell me what happened. He won’t talk to his mother. I don’t know what’s wrong with him.”

  He caught sight of me. His face broke into a somber smile. He introduced me to the assembled group as the “hero who saved my son’s life”. He told me all their names, but I only remembered which one was Mrs. Koemer. She was a pale, short, thin woman with straight gray hair cut in a sort of bowl. She patted my arm.

  “Can I see Steve?” I asked. I held up the books and card. “I brought him something.”

  Mrs. Koemer hesitated, but the Reverend said, “Of course, you can. All we know about what happened last night is what you told us. I want to know everything. Maybe he’ll talk to you, and you can tell us what is going on.”

  CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

  Sunday 3:11 P.M.

  I entered the room. A few machines gave off green or orange electronic light. Shafts of sunlight escaped around the edges of dark curtains and provided streaks of brightness across the room. Steve lay on his back with his eyes closed. I let the door click shut softly, trying not to disturb him.

  I walked to the bed and watched him for a minute. His stark black hair contrasted sharply with his pale skin. His broken leg was outside of the bed sheets. A cast covered it from foot to knee. He had numerous bandages on his arms and shoulders. Black and purple bruising shown around his left eye.

  On a table next to the bed were his broken black-framed glasses and a bottle of water with a straw. I put the book and card next to them.

  The closet door was open. I saw my letterman’s jacket hanging there. I could see bloodstains. It was probably wrecked, which didn’t seem important at that moment.

  I pulled a chair close to the side of the bed and sat. He wore one of those threadbare hospital gowns. I took his hand in mine. His skin felt dry and warm. I watched his chest rise and fall. He was part of probably the bravest thing I’d ever do in my life. I felt proud and awful. What if he’d died? What if I’d died?

  Steve opened his eyes.

  “Hi,” I said. I tried a smile.

  He looked me in the eyes. “You saved me. Thanks.” He turned his head away. “You must hate me.”

  “I don’t hate you. You didn’t screw up. Boyer attacked you, that wasn’t your fault.”

  “I shouldn’t have been out there.”

  “The Boyers of the world are everywhere.”

  He looked me in the eyes again, squeezed my hand and held on tightly. I squeezed back. He said, “I remember what you did. You were brave.” He gulped. “You saved me. You carried me.”

  “I thought you were pretty passed out.”

  His voice was very soft. I had to lean close to hear him. He said, “I remember parts. I remember wearing your letterman’s jacket. I’ve always wanted to wear your jacket, to just touch it.” He swallowed hard and licked his lips. His voice dropped to a whisper. “To just touch you, or be touched by you.”

  He shut his eyes and turned red under his bruises. After a few moments he reopened them and said, “I’m sorry.” He started to take his hand away from mine.

  I put both my hands around his, caressed his arm, and met his eyes. “You were pretty brave too. You fought back.”

  “I was just scared. I didn’t want him to…” he whispered, “I didn’t want to be raped.”

  “You did great. What you did gave me the chance to save us. If it wasn’t for you, I don’t know what would have happened.”

  His hand started to relax. “I was so scared.”

  “Me too.”

  “I guess I kind of went nuts.”

  “I’m glad. Those few seconds made a huge difference.”

  Our hands rested together. He gulped then said, “I’ve always been scared to talk to you, at the newspaper office and stuff.”

  “Why?” I asked.

  “I’m a nobody, and you’re a star athlete.” He glanced at the shut door. “I’ve had a crush on you for a long time. I’m sorry.”

  “It’s okay,” I said. “You don’t have to apologize. I admire you. It took a lot of courage to say what you just said to me. You’re pretty brave.”

  “Oh.” His brown eyes continued to hold mine. After a few more moments of silence, he shut his eyes. We continued holding hands. The sunlight that leaked through the breaks in the curtains had changed a bit. Shadows and light played on his face.

  I asked, “Should I leave?”

  He opened his eyes. “Is the crowd still out in the hall?”

  “Yeah.”

  He sighed. “My dad’s been after me to tell him everything that happened. You didn’t tell anybody what Boyer tried to do to me?”

  “No. You can if you want. That was sexual assault. They could add it to the charges.”

  “I can’t,” Steve said. “You even mention sex to my dad, and he goes wild. Any gay stuff, and he’d go ballistic.”

  “But this wouldn’t really be about you being gay. It would be about Boyer being a rapist.”

  “My dad would blame me. He’d find a way.”

  “I wish I could help you more.”

  “At least I know somebody who’s gay, and who I can talk to. Somebody’s who’s a friend.”

  He got quiet and watched my eyes.

  I looked at the door then at him. I moved so I was sitting on the bed and holding his hand. I was on the opposite side from his wrecked leg. My thigh touched his torso.

  Slowly, I reached my hand up, caressed his cheek, then with my fingertips brushed his hair back from his forehead.

  He whispered, “I was so scared.”

  “You’re safe now.”

  Silence.

  I continued to stroke his hair.

  He reached a hand toward my face. His fingertips touched my left cheek, my ear, my hair.

  “Hold me,” he whispered.

  We both glanced at the door.

  I lay down next to him, put one arm around him, being careful to avoid any bandages and bruises.

  He sighed and shut his eyes. I wasn’t sure
how long we lay there, not more than a few moments I guess. I liked it a lot, touching him when we were safe. He even smelled good which I thought was maybe odd for me to notice, but it was cool. But then a nurse bustled into the room. He saw us, nodded, and said, “I can come back.”

  I scrambled to my feet. Steve and I both mumbled some form of, “No, s’okay.”

  We were pretty red. The nurse took his blood pressure, checked the readings on the machines, and made notations on a chart. He said, “We might be able to let you go in day or so. We’re still waiting for some test results.” The nurse left.

  Steve and I smiled at each other.

  I said, “Would you like to go out sometime, like to a movie or something?”

  “Like a date?”

  “Yeah.”

  “With me?”

  “You’re the only other one here.”

  His smile rearranged his bruises and cuts. He nodded. “Sure.”

  “I’ll be back.” I pointed to the books on the table. “I got you something.”

  He picked them up. “I’ve only seen the movies. I liked them.”

  “Maybe you’ll like the book too.”

  “Thanks for coming and thanks again for saving me.”

  I felt kind of like in the first Harry Potter book when Harry, Ron, and Hermione defeat the troll. They hadn’t been friends before, but with them going through that dangerous adventure from then on they were friends. I felt affection toward Steve, protective. I wanted to see him outside of school, and terror, and the orange groves.

  After a final quick hug, I left.

  The Reverend accosted me in the hall. “What did he say?”

  I said, “He’s still pretty out of it.” I started moving down the hall before he could ask me anything else.

  CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

  Monday 7:30 A.M.

  The next day I took half a pain pill. I wasn’t feeling that bad, and I didn’t want to even remotely become dependent on them. I took another awkward shower with my casted foot out of the stall and the rest of me in. I had to wipe up the floor after I finished.

  When I thumped into the newspaper office on my walking cast, Darlene greeted me like a hero returning. A few of the others clustered around with congratulations on defeating Frank Boyer. Eventually, Darlene got us all to work. She parceled out Steve’s duties to the rest of us to work on before the end of the day.

  Bert hadn’t showed up, and I wanted to see him. He needed to answer some questions about his presence in the orange groves a week ago. I wasn’t going to let him get away like he did at the party Saturday night.

  School turned out to be a lot more like ordinary than I expected. So many rumors flew about fights and being gay and what all, I couldn’t keep up even if I’d wanted to.

  After school at the paper, we all pitched in and helped, especially after Bert didn’t show up then either. He had three articles due. Darlene had tried his cell phone, texted him, and left messages. Trumble finally called Bert’s house. They said he was too ill to come to the phone.

  Ian hadn’t even started his article. He was in his best, “I’m depressed,” mode. He growled if anyone got within two feet of him. He didn’t try to get me to confirm or deny any rumors.

  I finished my work at four and was getting ready to leave when Bill Singleton entered the newspaper office. Behind him was Mr. Ashcroft and a man in a suit. Singleton and the stranger wore visitor’s passes.

  Mr. Trumble fell all over himself fussing over the once famous newsman. Our teacher introduced him to everybody and seemed genuinely surprised that I’d already met the reporter. Ashcroft interrupted Trumble’s nonstop babbling. They wanted to talk to me.

  In the hall I asked Singleton what was going on. He smiled at me. “We’re having a little meeting.” He introduced the stranger. “This is Alfred Miller from the ACLU.” We shook hands. He asked how I was. I told him fine.

  On the way to Ashcroft’s office, Singleton filled me in. We were meeting about Delahanty, the baseball coach. Singleton also added, “I told Alfred everything especially about Kyle and how the administration did nothing to help him.”

  CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

  Monday 4:05 P.M.

  Outside the school’s front office was another man in a suit. He was introduced to us as William Sodden, the school board’s attorney.

  Alfred Miller began the meeting. He was maybe in his sixties. Slender with a bushy mustache, he wore tortoise shell glasses, and had a thin reedy voice. “We seem to have a problem.”

  Miller and Sodden got into this hearty, bluff, “Well, I’m sure we can solve everything pretty quick.” That adult mode with all those fake smiles but you really get the feeling they’d rather be doing anything else but talking to these people. Sodden asked how I was doing. I said that I was fine. Sodden seemed to be around thirty-five, maybe six-foot and a little overweight. Ashcroft sat back in his big chair and looked kind of ashen. His upper lip was damp with sweat.

  The intercom buzzed. Ashcroft picked it up and barked into it that he didn’t want to be disturbed. Then he listened for a second. He hung up, turned to me. “Your parents are here.”

  Singleton, Miller, and I met my parents in the hall. Singleton had called them and given them lots of preliminary information.

  Singleton and the lawyer went over everything again. Basically, Singleton had spent the weekend talking with old contacts and had convinced the lawyer to take immediate action.

  To Singleton, I said, “I tried to call you.”

  “I was out of town. I forgot to charge my cell phone before I left home. It took quite a while to make my contacts. I had to call in a lot of old markers. Alfred is an old friend of mine.”

  I was kind of nervous about explaining what Delahanty had threatened with all these adults. My mom and dad were mostly outraged. Miller calmed them and urged them to let him handle everything. He assured them the ACLU was eager to be involved in the case, and that they were not to worry about the fees.

  Miller asked, “Is it a problem taking immediate action?”

  My parents were surprised, annoyed, pissed, grateful, and totally pleased something was going to be done right then.

  They were taken aback by Singleton procuring a lawyer for me. Singleton said, “You’re son is worth it. The issue is worth it.”

  My mom said to me, “You should have told us about this coach.”

  My dad said, “We’ll deal with that later.”

  That didn’t stop my mom. “You should have told us all this.”

  With more nerve than I thought I’d ever have, I said, “The whole telling you I’m gay thing didn’t go so good.”

  That stopped her.

  We all trooped back into the office. After a round of preliminary stuff, Miller turned to me and said, “Roger, will you tell these people what you told Mr. Singleton about Coach Delahanty.”

  Singleton gave me an encouraging look, smiled, and said, “Everything’s going to be fine.”

  I wished he’d prepped me, but what the heck, I figured I’d had a brush with real fear. These guys were nothing, and I knew Singleton was on my side, and the ACLU guy was there, and my mom and dad nodded encouragingly.

  I told them everything Delahanty had said. The two lawyers took notes. I sweated and rubbed my palms on my jeans at the beginning. After I got into it, I wasn’t so nervous. I gave them all the details I could remember.

  By the time I was done, my dad was really mad. “I want this Delahanty person here for this meeting. This is an outrage.”

  “You can’t let this happen,” my mother added.

  The ACLU lawyer said, “It is not going to happen.”

  Delahanty was summoned. He demanded he have a union representative present. Mrs. Templeton appeared. She’d been Kyle’s teacher who I’d talked to earlier about him. I had no idea she was a union rep. I knew nothing about the teachers’ union.

  Mrs. Templeton smiled at me. More chairs were brought into the now crowded office. The adults di
d a round of ass protecting and legal wrangling. We all took a break for several minutes. Miller, Singleton, my parents, and I met in the hall. Templeton and Delahanty met in a classroom a few doors down. Sodden and Ashcroft stayed in his office.

  “Did I do okay?” I asked.

  Miller responded with a question. “Did you tell the truth?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Then you did perfect, plus your story was believable. I certainly believed you.”

  “Are they going to call me a liar?”

  “They might try.”

  Singleton said, “You were fantastic.”

  “How does this work?” I asked.

  “We scare the hell out of them,” Miller said.

  My mom and dad reassured me, and said I’d done great.

  My dad said, “We’re getting to the bottom of this, here, now, tonight. My son will not be discriminated against.”

  Miller gave them a grim smile. “With a bit of luck, we may fix things tonight, but it depends on them.”

  We reconvened about thirty minutes later.

  Delahanty was real red, but sort of subdued, kind of like a volcano that was told not to erupt. Ashcroft was still pale.

  I retold my story.

  The lawyers took a few more notes. Mrs. Templeton took a lot of notes. Mr. Delahanty sat there with a pad of paper but wrote nothing down. As I talked, he got redder and redder, either an explosion or a stroke waiting to happen.

  When I finished my story, Delahanty burst out, “He’s lying.”

  Templeton tried to hush him. She asked to speak to him out in the hall. He said, “No, I’m going to confront this liar here and now. He has no proof for anything he said. No proof.”

  My dad said, “My son does not lie.”

  My mom said, “How dare you try to ruin his life? What kind of man are you?”

  Delahanty started to say something. Mrs. Templeton, the board lawyer, and Mr. Ashcroft urged him to silence. It was Mrs. Templeton who had the last words, “Coach, shut up.”

  Delahanty did.

  Miller continued, “And I’ve been talking to a few people about the Kyle Davis case.”