He was going to pass out now, and then it wouldn’t matter.
Noises reached his ears through a tunnel. Like the noises in his grandmother’s house, where he’d had to sleep in the living room. Sounds that leak through a veil of half sleep, jarring in a distant, disconnected way. Filtering through the no-man’s-land of semiconsciousness.
Just before he sank into it, before muddy gray behind his eyelids turned black, he heard a different sound.
A shouted word.
“Hey!”
It could not have come from either of his tormentors. The word started at a high pitch, the voice of a child, then cracked halfway through. The way Gordie’s voice had, the way all boys’ voices will when they are changing.
The sound of the bat clattering on the pavement.
Gordie felt himself turn liquid, boneless. Unsupported by himself or his attackers. He fell softly on what he knew by feel to be the big form of Sandy. A comfort. Sparing him from the hard pavement. They would rest here together.
Somehow he remembered feeling Sandy’s breathing. Perhaps because its presence was something he really needed to feel.
Chapter Thirty
REUBEN
“Say good-bye to Frank, honey.”
“Good-bye, Frank.”
They stood out on the curb in front of the Washington Arms Hotel, in the light of the street lamps. A warm, comfortable spring night.
“Come on, Trevor,” Frank said. “Let’s help the doorman get all your stuff into the trunk.”
In addition to the baggage they’d brought from home, Trevor had three new heavy boxes, a complete set of encyclopedias he’d received as a birthday gift from the White House. The doorman could surely have handled it all, but Trevor helped supervise as the gift made its way into the trunk of a hotel limousine bound for the airport.
Arlene took hold of Reuben’s hand and led him to the front of the car.
“Are you still feeling sick?” he asked her. She seemed down somehow, distracted, her mood altered by something he couldn’t quite name or touch.
“No, I’m okay now. I just need to talk to you about something.”
“Now?”
“I kind of need to get this off my chest.”
“You’re not seriously sick, are you?”
“No. I’m just pregnant, is all.”
In the silent moment to follow, Reuben heard the sound of a disturbance, distant, maybe off on the next block. A light scuffle. It didn’t really sink in, any more than her words had.
“Could you say something please, Reuben?”
“How far along?”
“I know what you’re thinking.”
“Do you?”
It seemed odd to imagine she would. He didn’t know what he was thinking, or even if he was thinking. He could only feel his focus on the sound of her voice, and Trevor’s voice behind them, and the shouts and thuds on the next block, as if to decide, in a detached way, which seemed more real.
“You’re thinking, was it that time I came over in the middle of the night to your house? Or was it right before Ricky left?”
“I forgot about that.” He hadn’t forgotten that night, far from it, but it hadn’t occurred to him to factor it into this discussion. He had not for a moment considered the idea that this pregnancy could be any of his doing. “So? Which was it?”
“Well, they were only a week or ten days apart, so it’s a little hard to tell.”
“So, how do we know?”
“Well, I guess we don’t. Look, if it’s too much for you, I understand. I mean, it’s not what I want. You know that. I got this ring back now, I’d sort of like to keep it. But I had to tell you, right? But I’ll understand, I mean, if you want to wait till we know. I mean, later, you know. Then we’ll know.”
But in the confusion of the moment, even having to say whether or not it was too much for him seemed too much.
A split second later Frank appeared at his shoulder. “Isn’t Trevor up here with you?”
Arlene seemed more distracted than alarmed. “No, we thought he was back there with you.”
“Well, he was just a minute ago….”
With a bad dawning that must have been more intuition than observation, Reuben turned his head in the direction of the noises, the muffled shouts and grunts he’d been hearing without attention, without focus, as a backdrop to this confusing exchange.
He saw a small group of figures at the end of the block, outside a restaurant or bar with awnings on the windows. Two men against the building, one on the ground. Two or three standing over the felled man. A baseball bat raised over a head.
And Trevor, running fast in their direction. With a good head start.
Reuben took off after him at a dead sprint.
At the edge of Reuben’s vision, the brick facade of their hotel slid by like a dream, a blurred, distorted image through a wide-angle lens. Why couldn’t he reach the end of it? He could feel his legs, his heart, opening and straining, yet the distance seemed to stretch out.
Why couldn’t he close the gap to the boy?
“Trevor!” he screamed. Screamed. Bellowing, echoing from his lungs, pure panic. Heads turned.
Trevor’s head did not.
Reuben’s chest ached and burned. How could he be so short of oxygen so fast? He could see Trevor’s untucked shirttail flapping out behind him as he ran.
Trevor streaked past the two men pressed against the building. Reuben could see them now, he was almost that close. One of the men wore a blue and gray uniform, like that of a security guard. The other wore baggy jeans, his head shaved, and he seemed to have the guard pinned to the building somehow.
The light from the street lamp glinted off something metal between them, a flash of light in Reuben’s eye.
Both men turned their heads as Trevor flew by. The man with the raised bat turned with startled curiosity to watch Trevor’s approach.
Without putting on the brakes, Trevor slammed into the man and knocked him down. As he tumbled, he fell against the legs of his accomplice, who also went down. Their second victim crumpled to the sidewalk, untouched, as if an imaginary wind had blown him over. The bat clattered loudly on the sidewalk as Trevor scrambled to his feet.
Reuben had almost drawn level with the men against the building when Trevor turned suddenly, started back in his direction. For what? To head back to Reuben? Or did he think he could knock the last man down?
The skinhead spun away from the guard to block Trevor’s path. Trevor’s impetus carried him forward to that meeting.
They came together just a foot or two from the end of Reuben’s hand. Just a car length from the security guard. Either he or Reuben could almost have reached out and grabbed the man’s jacket, if it hadn’t all happened so fast.
Almost.
Then, just as suddenly, the skin-headed man ran off into the dark. Past his two partners, who scrambled to their feet and sprinted after him, sliding into the night like a river. Just that fast. Someone threw a switch and they were gone.
Reuben remained the best witness to the sudden collision, yet he failed to comprehend it. He saw it but could not explain it.
It would take him minutes to know what had happened, days to accept that it really had. Most of his life to understand.
1994 interview by Chris Chandler, from
Tracking the Movement
CHRIS: Just take a big, deep breath. Okay?
REUBEN: I’m okay.
CHRIS: Take your time with this.
REUBEN: I can do this. Just give me a minute.
CHRIS: I can give you all day, buddy. We got nothing but time.
REUBEN: I saw it from so close. But from a funny angle. I was watching the collision from behind. I had no idea what I’d seen. I just remember seeing the man’s right elbow come back, and then fly forward again. It just looked like he’d punched Trevor in the stomach. Not particularly hard. What I can’t figure out is, could I really not see what happened? Or was it just so import
ant to me? You know. Not to see.
CHRIS: I’m putting this box of Kleenex over by you.
REUBEN: Thanks. I just need to breathe for a minute.
CHRIS: It hasn’t been long enough. They say time heals all wounds, you know? But I’m not sure that’s true with all of them. Besides, it takes a ton of time.
REUBEN: After they ran off, Trevor was standing there. He looked okay. He had his hands over his stomach. His face was just so open. How do I explain it? He wasn’t registering any pain or fear. That I could see. I said, “Trevor.” It was all I could say. I thought it was over. I thought he was okay. The danger had gone and my family was still all there. Which I guess is how I always thought it would be.
CHRIS: You know, if you can’t do this—
REUBEN: No. I can. I want this on paper. I want this in the book. It’s important.
CHRIS: Breathe. Take your time.
REUBEN: I have to tell you this part. What he said. I’m not even sure what it means, but it stays with me. So I have to say this. I guess I heard footsteps behind me. I think I remember that. Frank’s voice, but I never looked around. Trevor looked up at my face. God only knows what he saw there. I can’t even imagine. I don’t even know what I was feeling. I couldn’t even tell yet. But some of it must have been right there on my face. He could see it. I could see it on him. It was like looking in a mirror. Then I looked down…. I looked down at Trevor’s hands. And then Trevor looked down. It’s like he just shifted his eyes down to see where I was looking. And he held his hands out, away from his body, under the light from the street lamp. He looked so surprised.
CHRIS: Because there was blood, you mean?
REUBEN: He looked up at my face again, and he said, “I’m okay, Reuben. It’s okay. Don’t worry.”
CHRIS: Was he in shock, do you think?
REUBEN: I don’t know. I can’t sort that out. I was. But Trevor, I don’t know. Sometimes I think he was. Sometimes I think he said he was okay because he didn’t know yet that he wasn’t. Other times I think he was just trying to comfort me. He didn’t want me to be upset.
CHRIS: What do you think motivated him to jump in there? You think he’d just kind of gotten in the habit of trying to help in a big way?
REUBEN: He thought he had to do one more.
CHRIS: We all thought he’d done plenty.
REUBEN: I know. That’s what we told him. But he thought Jerry was a failed attempt. He thought he had two down, one to go. So he was on the lookout for somebody who needed something.
CHRIS: If only he’d known about Jerry.
REUBEN: He was having a really good day.
CHRIS: What do you mean?
REUBEN: He kept saying that. This is the best day ever, he kept saying that. He even asked me if I thought he’d ever have another one like it.
CHRIS: Wow. That hurts. Huh?
REUBEN: Actually, in a funny sort of way, it’s been a consolation to me. That day was the high point of his life. And it probably always would have been. You know what I mean?
CHRIS: I think so.
REUBEN: He said he was fine. He told me not to worry.
CHRIS: Did he say anything else?
REUBEN: No. Nothing else.
Chapter Thirty-One
CHRIS
He lay naked under the covers beside Sally, watching TV. She had pulled a night shade over her eyes. He couldn’t tell if she was asleep or not.
“Breaking news from Washington,” the anchor announced to open the eleven o’clock news.
This couldn’t be it. Not with the stone face on this newsman. This is not about Trevor.
“Trevor McKinney, the boy who met with the president of the United States earlier today, has been hospitalized tonight in Washington, D. C., not far from the hotel where his family had been staying. Witnesses say the boy suffered a single stab wound as he tried to intervene in a mugging on the street outside the hotel. A hospital spokesperson reports that Trevor was admitted in critical condition and is undergoing emergency surgery. No further word on his condition is available at this time.”
Sitting straight up in bed, Chris glanced over to see Sally slip off the night shade and raise her head.
“President Clinton tonight expressed deep shock and concern for Trevor’s condition. The president has issued the following statement. Quote. ‘It seems unimaginably sad that a boy who came to Washington to be honored for his good deeds and his dedication to promoting kindness in the world should be targeted in a senseless act of violence. My heart goes out to Trevor and his family, and my family will say a prayer tonight for his speedy recovery. We hope the rest of America will join us in a prayer for Trevor’s well-being.’”
The screen filled with the tape of Trevor’s earlier meeting with the president. Chris blinked at it, feeling empty.
He felt her hand on his arm.
He rolled out of bed. Looked for the cordless phone. Finally located it in the living room. She followed after him and drew the curtains closed. It hadn’t occurred to him that he’d been standing in front of the apartment windows naked. When he realized, he didn’t care.
He punched long distance information, 202 area code. Asked for a listing for every hospital in the Washington, D. C., area.
He hit it on the first try.
The admission desk said yes, Trevor was there. He was in surgery. The woman punched his information up on the computer.
“He’s listed as critical.”
“That’s all you can tell me?”
“For the present time, yes. I’m sorry. We’re getting a lot of calls about him.”
“Where’s his mother? Arlene McKinney. She must be there, right?”
“I’m sorry, sir, I couldn’t say.”
“Could you page her for me?”
A pause, an audible sigh. He heard the line click onto hold.
He bit the inside of his lip and waited.
He moved into the kitchen with the phone under his chin and poured three fingers of brandy. He looked up to see Sally watching quietly. They both looked away again.
Then a voice on the line. “Yeah? Who is this?”
“Arlene?”
“Who is this?”
“It’s Chris, Arlene. Chris Chandler.”
“Oh, Chris.” Her voice sounded tight and rough.
“What happened, Arlene?”
“Oh, Chris, I don’t know. It all happened so fast. He got stabbed. He saw some guys gettin’ beat up. He tried to mix in.”
“Is he gonna be okay?”
“They won’t tell us, Chris.” Her voice dissolved into sobs. “He’s been in surgery over two hours. They just won’t tell us a damn thing. They say we’ll know when they do. I gotta go, Chris.”
“Okay. Arlene? Never mind. Okay.”
The dial tone rang in his ear. He clicked the button on the phone to off.
He walked past Sally, back into the bedroom.
“You okay, Chris?”
He slipped back under the covers.
“Hey. Chris. You okay?”
“Did they say anything else about him on the news?”
“Just that they’d update his condition when they had it.”
They sat quietly through the end of the news broadcast. Then into the late-night talk shows. Chris sat awake long after she’d faded, the light from the TV screen flickering on his face, surfing channels. Watching minute-long scraps of late movies.
No updates. Programming seemed to go on.
HE JOLTED AWAKE, surprised he’d ever been asleep.
He looked at the clock and saw it was late morning.
The TV droned on at the end of the bed. He could hear Sally in the kitchen making coffee.
He sat up and rubbed his eyes.
On the screen, President Clinton held a press conference. Or footage from an earlier press conference was being shown.
Chris woke up just in time to hear him say that the flags in Washington would fly at half-mast today and that at noon, the country
would stop what it was doing and observe a moment of silence. Edit to news anchor, who said, “On a sad final note, today would have been Trevor’s fourteenth birthday. More news after these messages.”
ARLENE’S FRONT LAWN HAD BECOME A SEA OF CAMERAS and news teams by the time Chris arrived. He had to park in her driveway behind the GTO. All the street parking had been taken up by television news crew vans.
He cut sideways across her front grass.
“She’s not talking to anyone,” a female anchor with stiff, perfect blond hair told him as he stepped onto the front porch.
He rapped hard on the front door. “Arlene? It’s me, Chris.”
The door peeked open and Reuben drew him inside by one elbow. Arlene lay on the couch on her side, a glass of water and a box of Kleenex close by.
“I wish they’d go away,” she said. “Can you make ’em go away, Chris?”
He sat down on the couch beside her. She patted his hand.
“Everybody cares about this story, Arlene. I’ve never seen anything like it. I’ve never seen people mobilize over one story like this.”
“It’s not a story, Chris. It happened.”
“I know. I’m sorry. That’s just the way I talk.”
“I can’t talk to all of them. It’s too much.”
“I know, Arlene. I know. Look, you don’t have to talk to anybody. But that Citizen of the Month segment is going to run tomorrow. With an update, of course. If there’s anything you want to say, I can get one cameraman in here. That’s it. Me and one camera. You don’t have to do it. But if there’s something you want to tell the public about this. They really want to hear from you.”
She sat up, wiped her eyes, and sniffled. “Like what?”
“I don’t know. Anything you want to say.”
“Well, I could just say there’s a memorial next Sunday in front of City Hall. We thought maybe even a candlelight march after. You know, if people are interested. If there are people out there who cared about Trevor, they could come and bring a candle. That sort of thing?”
“Yeah. That would be great.” Chris felt tears forming, threatening just behind his eyes. “I’ll go get a cameraman.”
Pay It Forward Page 23
