299 Days: The Preparation (3 page)

Later, the kids playing with Grant wouldn’t have anything to do with him. “Grant touched a dead dude,” they said. They said Grant was weird for touching a dead person. They were probably ashamed that they hadn’t done anything, but they took it out on Grant by shunning him. Grant couldn’t understand why people hated him for doing the right thing.

Decades later, Grant would understand what was going on when he learned the term “sheepdog.” Sheep are blissfully ignorant and peacefully graze on grass while wolves are lurking in the shadows, planning their attack. Farms with sheep always had sheepdogs to guard the sheep. The sheepdogs can’t stand to see a sheep in danger so they rush in to help, putting themselves in danger. To a sheepdog, the thought of seeing a sheep hurt is worse than having the wolf attack the sheepdog. The sheepdog can’t help rushing into danger; it is innate.

The other reason Grant would later understand that the sheepdog analogy was so fitting was that sheep are scared of the sheepdogs trying to protect them. After all, a sheepdog looks a little bit like a wolf to a sheep. They’re both in the dog family. The sheep can’t understand that a sheepdog would rush in to protect them because they wouldn’t protect each other. The sheep view the wolf-looking sheepdogs with suspicion.

The sheepdogs, like Grant, accept that the sheep didn’t appreciate them, but they still can’t stand to see the suffering so they jump in to help. They can’t help it. It’s just how they are.

Grant and his sister would escape the ogre Larry and the dreary Forks house by reading. The Matson kids were frequent visitors to the library in town. It was a pretty decent one. The local logging company that ran the town donated all the books. The great thing about the library was that their dad wasn’t there. Grant remembered his dad’s attitude about the library. One time Carol said, “Dad, we’re going to the library.” Their dad answered, “Good. You can bother the people there and leave me alone.” That about summed it up.

There was a whole world in that library, a world outside of Forks and the ogre. It was full of stories from all over the world and from different time periods. Grant especially liked to read about the American Revolution. A small band of underdogs take on the most powerful people on earth and win! What a story. Grant could relate. These stories made a big impact on Grant as he grew up.

One of Grant’s strongest memories of his childhood was his mom sitting at the dining table with bills and a checkbook and crying uncontrollably. They “got by,” but it was really a struggle. He would watch her cry and think about being rich. Not millionaire rich. Just rich enough so he wouldn’t have to cry when he paid the bills. That seemed impossible there in Forks, but Grant could sense that what he was thinking about would happen later.

Grant got those feelings sometimes when it came to big things like what he would be when he grew up. It was hard to explain, but what he thought was going to happen in the future was just going to happen. He knew it was unlikely that a person could actually tell what was going to happen, but it seemed like there was a path to what he saw happening in the future. He couldn’t actually see the exact contours of the path. But it was there; someone couldn’t see it unless they were looking for it. Like a deer path in the woods. It’s there if a person is looking for it. Grant knew the path was taking him somewhere good—out of Forks. It was just going to happen. Maybe he would do all the work to make it happen, or maybe it just would happen. Or maybe it was a combination of both. He got used to this feeling.

One day when Grant was about nine, his dad seemed mad. This sometimes meant Grant was going to get hit. He would walk on eggshells and avoid his dad, which worked part of the time.

“Come here!” Grant’s dad yelled. Oh crap. Grant walked into the kitchen not knowing what was coming. His dad looked at him and, like he was talking to an adult, said to Grant, “You ruined my life.” Grant’s dad then explained how he could have been a photographer if he didn’t have to stay home, “and take care of you little brats.” Grant waited to see if he was going to get hit. After a few seconds of silence, Grant just left.

It was weird. Grant, at the ripe old age of nine, thought what his dad had just said was so absurd. A photographer? His dad didn’t even own a camera. Grant knew he should be devastated that he was just told that he had ruined his dad’s life, but for some reason Grant couldn’t take it seriously. He just thought about how he was going to get out of there when he graduated from high school. He wondered how many nine year-olds were calmly making escape plans. He even felt sorry for his dad.

But, Grant still hated his dad. Being told you ruined your dad’s life was actually a pretty good day compared to others. Getting beat up is no fun. Grant felt helpless, being so small and unable to fight back.

The worst part was the time he had to go to school with a black eye. Everyone knew what had happened. It was the most humiliating experience in his life. Words couldn’t describe how embarrassing it was. People, especially kids, treated someone differently when they knew that person was getting their ass beat at home. The bullies at school would pick on that person more. They sensed the weakness and wanted to get in on the fun. The decent kids would pity that kid, though. When he had the black eye, Grant got physically ill before going to school. He threw up and tried to stay home claiming he was sick.

Grant’s mom wouldn’t let him stay home. She didn’t want to make Larry mad. In her mind, there was some sort of disagreement between Larry and her son that led to the black eye. It was their business, and she wasn’t going to get involved.

Grant could never understand why his mom didn’t stick up for him. Actually, he could. She had the self-esteem of a turnip. But that didn’t excuse it. Mothers were supposed to protect their children, weren’t they?

It was particularly hard for a sheepdog like Grant to understand how a mother could let this happen to her kids. People were supposed to protect the weak. All she had to do was tell Larry to stop or call the police, but she wouldn’t.

Grant developed a strong dislike for people who could stop bullies but didn’t almost as much as he hated the bullies themselves. He and his sister would talk about why their mom wasn’t doing anything. Was it because they were bad kids? One time they both went to their mom and told her to divorce their dad. She cried for days.

Larry Matson was a socialist. Grant remembered his dad always talking about “corporations” and the “proletariat.” Every bad thing that had happened to their dad was caused by corporations, like the logging company. By about middle school, Grant knew more about Lenin and Marx from listening to his dad than most adults would ever know.

There was a little church across the street from Grant’s house. He noticed that every Sunday nice people who were dressed up went there. They seemed happy. Something good must be happening in that building, Grant thought.

“Hey, Dad, can I go to the church?” Grant asked, one day. Of course it would be OK to go to church.

“Hell no,” his dad said. A speech on how Christianity is used to oppress workers followed. Grant’s mother just sat there quietly, listening idly by while her husband basically set Grant on a course that could prevent him from ever going to church.

One Sunday when his dad was out of the house, Grant snuck over to the church. It was a great place. It was full of normal people were who were so glad to have him there. After that day, Grant snuck over whenever he could. He felt like such a rebel going to church.

It was hard to say how often he got beat up by his dad. Entire segments of Grant’s childhood were a blur to him; he just erased it from his memory. But Grant did remember one thing clearly; the day the beatings changed.

A sophomore in high school, Grant was now over six feet tall. He came home from school one day and his dad was in the kitchen. His dad started yelling at him about some chore that hadn’t been done, and then started coming at him. Grant planted his feet, clenched his fist, and punched his dad right in the face. It hurt Grant’s hand, but it hurt his dad more. For a split second, the look on his dad’s face was total surprise. It was like he was saying, “You… just hit… me?” In that moment, it was obvious his dad had realized that Grant was now big enough to fight back. The bastard was scared.

Grant loved it. The bully was getting hit for a change! Grant felt a surge of adrenaline. It was like he was fully alive and invincible. That felt really good (despite the throbbing pain in his fist). He wanted to do it again. Grant started chasing his dad through the house. He loved to see the ogre run like a scared little girl. This was for all the times his dad had hurt him and his sister. Hurt defenseless innocent little kids.

Grant didn’t want to hurt the guy as much as he wanted the guy to quit hurting him. But, yeah, Grant did want to hurt him, at least a little.

After showing the old man what a pussy he was, Grant waited for the inevitable retaliation. Sure enough, the next day he was home from school in the kitchen cutting a block of (government) cheese with a big knife. His dad came into the kitchen looking like he was going to kill Grant. Like he was going to actually kill him. It was a look Grant never forgot.

Grant was terrified. He dropped the big knife and started to run. As he got out of the kitchen, he looked back to see his dad picking up the knife and starting to chase after him, with the huge butcher knife. Grant saw everything in slow motion. He was focused on the blade and couldn’t really see anything else. He couldn’t hear anything. All he could see was the knife in slow motion. The fear gave him super human strength.

Grant ran, faster than ever, through the dining room and living room and out the front door. The ogre was a few seconds behind him. Grant had the strangest thought as he was running down the porch and into the street; hopefully no neighbors would see this. Oh, how the town would talk. That was actually running through his mind as he was running for his life.

Grant kept running for blocks. He was amazed at how fast he’d run and how far. That fat old bastard couldn’t keep up. Grant was several blocks from his house.

And then he stopped. Now what would he do? He had to come back home at some point. Would that knife be waiting for him? Would his dad wait until Grant fell asleep and slit his throat at night?

Grant walked around the neighborhood for a few hours. It was getting dark. What would he do? As he was deciding to go back home, his dog, Buttons, came running up to him. Grant was glad to see him and noticed Buttons’ collar chain. Grant loosened the chain and swung it a couple of times in the air as a weapon. It was a pretty decent fighting tool.

“Thanks, Buttons,” Grant said as he gripped onto his improvised weapon. “Might as well get this over with,” he said to Buttons. He walked toward home. Every step was terrifying. Each step brought him closer to the house where the ogre and the knife were. The lights were on in his house. His dad was waiting for him.

Be a man and get it over with, Grant thought. It never occurred to him to go for help. Who would help him? He couldn’t think of a single person who could help him. He needed to do this himself. No one was ever around to help. You had to do things like this on your own. It’s just how the world was.

Grant walked in the front door with the chain out as a weapon. The old man saw him with the chain. The bastard decided that his boy was getting big enough and smart enough to whip him.

“It’s dinner time,” his dad said to Grant.

That’s it? Grant thought. The rest of the night, his dad didn’t say anything to Grant, which was fine with him. Grant couldn’t sleep that night. He kept the dog chain under his pillow. He also loaded his. 22 rifle and put it by the bed.

Grant woke up the next morning, and was genuinely surprised that he was alive. He got ready for school.

School sucked. It was so stupid. Grant was an extremely good student; straight As when he tried. School was so easy that he was bored. Except for history, especially American History.

Grant loved the Revolutionary War. He read every book in the library about George Washington. His hero was Marion Fox, the “Swamp Fox” who fought a guerilla war in South Carolina against the British. Grant was fascinated about how a small band of farmers and other average men and women could tie up a sizable chunk of the most powerful army in the world at the time. Fascinated; and he wondered why he was so drawn to this subject.

Grant could get along with anyone (except Larry, apparently).

He was the one kid who could hang out with just about every clique: preppies, stoners, rednecks, Mexicans, the town’s one black kid— anyone. Grant found it easy to move from one kind of person to another for two reasons. First, he didn’t care about a person’s status or social standing. If a person’s social standing mattered then, by definition, Grant was worthless. So this wasn’t a way for him to measure people because he would fail that test.

Second, Grant had a strong innate political sense. Not “politics” like the obnoxious “vote for me!” student body candidate. That was “retail” politics; shaking hands, figuring who could help you, and promising things you couldn’t ever deliver. That wasn’t Grant at all.

Grant was a master of “wholesale” politics. Figuring out what motivates people to do things they wouldn’t normally do, how to make people feel comfortable, how to explain a complicated problem facing them by relating it to something in their everyday lives so they understood that their little problem is part of something bigger. Grant knew exactly how far the other person could go towards doing what Grant wanted and when it was time to stop asking for more. He understood how vanity and ego were tools to get people to do what he wanted. He figured out a lot about institutions—teachers, bureaucracies, businesses—and how they made decisions, which allowed him to tailor a plan toward getting that institution to decide the issue his way. This skill can’t be taught; Grant was born with it.

While Grant downplayed his intelligence as much as possible, other kids could tell that he was smart—but that didn’t help him in high school social circles where conformity was more important than merit. On the positive side, Grant was fairly good looking so that helped. But no girls really took him seriously since he was… well, a loser.