Worlds Apart (23 page)

“Doreen, there was a mail box fire on Dekalb Avenue. It was a couple of months ago.”

“No, I did not hear about that. What the hell is a mail box fire anyway? There’s no spontaneous combustion in mail boxes. When did this happen?” She was starting to suspect why I brought this to her attention.

“A few weeks ago, just before Thanksgiving.”

Harvard would not accept a late application from Doreen. If anyone was to be accepted to Harvard, it would have been Doreen. She was ranked in the top five of all seniors.

I told John my suspicions about Doreen’s Harvard application. He thought it wrong to assume something so egregious without having any facts to back it up.

“I have to admit, with Sam’s blind ambitions, I wouldn’t put it past him.” Then John told me that Sam’s girlfriend was thirteen years old.

“How do you know this?” I asked.

“Carlos told me this morning,” he said. “She’s a freshman here at Stanton.”

I was appalled that Sam was with someone so young. I’m sure that in his mind, Sam thought he was doing nothing wrong. This was just another act for his personal gratification. I would never date someone that young and would have had a hard time being with a sophomore.

At lunch, I asked Sam if his girlfriend was really thirteen. He laughed and said that she had just turned fourteen the day before. I called him a child molester.

“I am not a pedophile. She is in high school, here at Stanton, and it’s my business and not yours…so stay out of it!” He began shouting expletives, and I shouted back. He threw his lunch tray at me, covering me in food.

Sam shouted, “I’m seventeen, and it was her parents’ idea for us to get together. All they wanted was to trap me into an arranged marriage. It’s customary in their culture for girls to marry and have babies at a very young age. They know I’m going to be a big success, and they want to cash in early.”

“First, you are almost eighteen. Second, there’s a big difference between an eighteen-year-old boy and a thirteen-year-old girl,” I said. “Where are your morals and ethics? You really disgust me. You are practically a sex fiend. And just because it’s their culture doesn’t mean you should be so willing to adopt it.” I left the cafeteria with everyone staring at my food covered clothes.

“You’re just jealous because you’re virgin!” Sam shouted across the cafeteria. Many people laughed.

“At least I didn’t set fire to a mailbox to make sure Doreen’s application never reached Harvard!” I yelled back. The crowd gasped. More than a hundred students heard this heated exchange between us.

Sam’s face turned bright red. He slammed his fists down onto the table. Carlos was also bright red. I had hit the nail on the head. They were clearly guilty. Sam was in tears when I left, crying like child. But it wasn’t the first time I had seen this. Sam’s anger and emotional outbursts always led to tears. His temper and emotional problems seemed to be getting worse.

I marched into the boys’ bathroom to wash my clothes. I took off my tee-shirt and pants, and threw them on the large hot metal radiator to dry. It wasn’t easy walking around with wet clothing on a cold January day.

John and I walked together to the subway. The psychic was outside her storefront, trying to get us to go inside with her usual tactics. We kept walking. She waved me in. The look on her face gave way to a luring, evil smile.

John explained that some kids were calling Sam a pyromaniac and a pedophile.

“I think he’ll get into Harvard. With Doreen’s application missing, Sam is a sure bet.”

“It’s what he wanted all along. He knew with Doreen’s application gone, he’d be a cinch,” I said.

“I think you were too hard on him about his girlfriend. She is fourteen, and there are lots of young girls that are sexually active. And it is their culture. In the old days that was marrying age for women,” John said.

“In the old days, slavery was normal. So were five-year-old chimney sweepers. It’s not right. We are not living in the old days. I don’t buy the excuse that it’s their culture. What if human sacrifices were their culture? Would he do it?” I said.

“You know, I think he would,” John smiled.

“I think you’re right. He probably would do it. All I’m saying is that he’s seventeen, she’s now fourteen and there’s a big difference.” We both slowed down as we approached the mail box on Dekalb Avenue that we had seen on fire.

“Sam must have had Carlos do it,” John said. “It’s a federal crime.”

“Its just speculation until we have the facts…or until we have a confession,” I said. “But I know that they did it; the look on Sam’s face gave it away.”

I asked John if he would ever be so desperate to go to a psychic.

“Why, are you thinking of going to that woman?” asked John.

“I’d be lying to you if I said that the thought never crossed my mind.”

John stopped me in the middle of the sidewalk, just a few yards from the subway station. He placed his hand on my shoulder and said, “Psychics are for people that don’t believe in God. If you really trusted God with your life, going to a psychic would be a violation of this trust.” John explained his strong beliefs that psychics were not only after your money, but they were after your soul as well. “Psychics will try to get you to believe that they will pray for you, that others are trying to do you harm and that you have to participate in some strange rituals that involve your money.”

“How do you know so much about psychics?” I asked.

“My mother lost a lot of money, and maybe more to a psychic. That’s why we are always in church on Sundays.”

I didn’t believe in black magic or the occult. But I felt bad for John’s mother. “It sounds like your family only goes to church out of fear for the devil, and not from devotion to God,” I said.

“You may be partially right, but church is church, and we’re still going,” John said. “I can’t say the same about you.”

“Well, even though I’m not religious, I know God exists, and I do believe that he has a plan for me.”

John was skeptical. “You know what your problem is? You lost faith when your mother died.” He said it as if he was stating a fact. He was my closest friend, and knew my family well enough.

“I may not be the most religious person in the world, but I know better than to mess with my soul.” I cringed for no reason when I said this.

“David, you need someone in your life to steer you in the right direction when you’re not capable of doing it yourself. I have God, who do you have? ”

“I have myself.”

We walked to the subway, and boarded the F-Train.

Evan, an acquaintance from Stanton, was also boarding the train; I noticed his face was bright red and peeling.

Evan explained that he had thrown a piece of candy in Sam’s chemistry project, causing the solution to change color and ultimately not work. This sounded like Evan, because, from the little that I knew of him, he was a goofball. Sam saw Evan laughing and eating candy, and then threw the solution into his face, causing some minor burns.

They both went to the principal’s office after Evan left the infirmary. The principal lectured them and suspended Evan for 2 days. Sam said that Evan tried to sabotage him, knowing that he was close to being valedictorian.

This is a good example of how justice gets served at Stanton High School. Mr. Mash did not take kindly to attempts to thwart important school projects. Mash did not care that Evan’s face had nearly burned off. Stanton wasn’t the type of school where individual safety came before academic success. Our train arrived, and Evan waited for another train, as John and I boarded.

I asked John about his Regents exams, and he said he was going to ace them because of his superior intellect. I laughed, because John seemed to have a lot of confidence in his “Superior Intellect.” His grades were not that great, and he was no intellectual. I suppose his confidence was a good thing.

My father came home from work around seven or so, and we ate around half past eight. I was still wearing my dry but stained clothing from earlier. My father asked if there was a food fight at school. Harry chuckled. I explained that Sam had a meltdown at school and threw his lunch tray at me. My father said that just because someone is smart doesn’t mean they have any self control.

“My boss has a son, who has a master’s degree in business, but he can’t stay out of trouble. Here’s a kid who had it all, looks, money, a good education, but when his girlfriend left him, be had to be committed to Belleview Hospital,” my father said.

It was the third week of January and I was in Mr. Zoose’s English Class, when there was a knock on the door. Mr. Mash was in the hallway, and motioned for Mr. Zoose to come outside. There was a lot of whispering. Mr. Zoose then closed the door, and continued to talk to Mash. A few minutes later, Mr. Zoose came back inside.

The expression on his face indicated there was bad news. Mr. Zoose spoke in a solemn tone, and was very calm.

“Class, there’s some bad news. About an hour ago, a student, a senior at this school, jumped off the Brooklyn Bridge. We really don’t know much about it at this time. I don’t want anyone here to be in that kind of a situation, where you feel a strong sense of hopelessness and despair and think that taking your life is a solution.”

Delancey asked who had committed suicide. Mr. Zoose said that it was Wilson. Everyone gasped. Delancey started crying. Other students followed. I was quiet. Someone wondered out loud if they would move up in the rankings as a result of Wilson’s death. This may seem callous, cold, and opportunistic, but this was Stanton, and I’m sure more people wondered silently about the impact on the rankings.

I did not know Wilson well, but I did have classes with him a few years ago. Wilson was a very high strung person, very emotionally charged, and seemed a little off kilter. He wasn’t just another Type A personality, he was a Type A+. School was his life, and academics were everything to him. Wilson tried very hard to get the best grades possible. I had last spoken to him about a year before, when he wanted to be a sports reporter for the paper. He later changed his mind, and dropped off the newspaper staff. He didn’t have many friends, and spent most of his lunch hour studying. Wilson once said that there was enormous pressure for him to do well in school and get a scholarship, because his parents did not have the money to pay for college.

This was typical of many of the students at Stanton. Stanton not only pulled together the brightest students, the best math, reading and science scores in New York City, but also many of the kids came from the poorest backgrounds. Wilson was one of many kids that had to bring home high grades and ultimately a scholarship, or else disappoint their families and themselves. I thought about Sal, and wondered how he was making out in college.

Stanton always had nine student deaths a year in the Senior Class. I can’t explain it, but as long as anyone could remember, it had been true. Wilson was near the top five percent academically, but this meant nothing at Stanton. If you are not ranked in the top ten of students academically, and you are not an athlete, then a full scholarship to an Ivy League school was not likely. Some got partial scholarships; most got financial aid. I always said Stanton was a very competitive school, but, the truth was the competition was in our heads.

In other schools, students often care about social acceptance, or how many friends they had. At Stanton your grade point average determines your social acceptance and who your friends were. The smart kids hang with the smart kids. The B students eat lunch with the B students.

High School is not easy. At the time of your life when you are most insecure, the least confident, the most vulnerable, the most impressionable, and the most confused, you are thrust into a situation where the vultures come out to prey. High school is great at amplifying your problems. If you are most insecure about not being smart, then you constantly focus on the kids doing well in school, and that’s what you pay attention to. If you are insecure about your body, you tend to notice the fully developed boys and girls. This isn’t going to help you feel better. If you’re insecure about your family being poor, then you tend to keep an eye on the kids with the fancy clothes from wealthy backgrounds, or the kids that are attending the fancy private colleges without financial aid. There’s always something to remind you about your insecurities in high school.

People develop at different times in their lives. Some get over their insecurities during high school, some take ten years afterwards. Some kids blossom after high school, and show up to their ten year reunion full of pride and confidence. Others peak in high school. It’s hard to imagine that the best years of someone’s life may occur before they turn eighteen, but it happens.

Some student athletes find out after high school that the real world doesn’t care if you were the quarterback or a cheerleader. In high school, everyone knows who the captain of the team is, or who the best pitcher is, but it’s all over when you graduate. Some have to find a new identity and a new self concept. The real world can be unkind to kids who were popular in high school.

For those who are beautiful in high school, their armor may start to lose its luster a few years later. Other kids who are not physically attractive in high school can become a knock out in their thirties. Some kids are mentally strong at a young age, and others, although physically developed, are mentally still developing, and these are the ones that suffer the most emotionally.