Cesspool (4 page)

“No.”

“It basically means marrying up or trading up. When I married Lori, she was fifty pounds overweight.”

Yolanda scowled.

“I didn’t have a problem with it. I loved her the way she was. Her being overweight, me being skinny and mildly ugly—”

“James.”

“No, it’s true. Neither of us felt we could get someone better. Then she lost the weight, and she looked great to other men too. Did you know she was overweight her entire life, until she lost the weight last year?”

“I didn’t know that.”

“She never knew what it was like to be desired by real men, alpha men who could attract lots of women. It made her feel special. Ron was everything I’m not. He was wealthy, good-looking, someone who could make her friends jealous. As bad as it hurts, in a way, I don’t blame her.”

“I
do
blame her.”

“Her parents knew.” James took a deep breath and exhaled, condensation spilling out of his mouth. “They actually liked him.” He pursed his lips, his eyes filling with moisture. “When my dad died, and my mother went that next year, I thought of them as my surrogate parents.” He swallowed. “It was one-sided. I was never good enough.”

“I’m sorry, James.”

“I’m pretty sure they didn’t think I would be here today. They didn’t even reserve a seat for me. I was her fucking husband.” He looked at the asphalt. “I miss her.”

Yolanda wrapped her arms around James. He held on as the dam broke, and the tears flowed.

* * *

James’s cell phone vibrated on the dining room table. His hair was disheveled, and his sweats needed a wash. He ignored the phone, as he scanned the headlines on his laptop.

James clicked on the link to “The Algorithm That Can Predict a Revolution” article. His cell phone vibrated again. He rubbed the stubble on his chin as he read. Afterward he hit the Back button, returning to the headlines. He clicked on the I See Bubbles link. His phone vibrated. He exhaled and glanced at the screen. He had seven text messages and four missed calls. They were all from Yolanda. He read through the texts. The last one said she was coming over. James selected her number and tapped the green phone icon. Yolanda picked up on the first ring.

“James,” she said.

“I’m at the store,” he said, “so I won’t be at home.”

“I just thought you might want to come over and have dinner with us tonight.”

“Thanks, … but I don’t feel up to it. Besides, I shouldn’t be near anyone on Valentine’s Day. I’m a walking cautionary tale. It would be like inviting Kissinger to a peace rally or a vegan to a barbecue or Dr. Dicks to an NBA tryout or Freddy Krueger to a sleepover or—”

“Stop,” she said, giggling. “I’m worried about you.”

“I’m fine.”

“Really?”

“Yes,” James said.

“You need to get out of the house.”

“I have been. I’m at the store, remember?”

“What store?”

“The one that sells stuff.” James chuckled.

“Uh-huh.”

“Seriously I’m fine. I’ll see you on Monday.”

“Are you sure you don’t need more time? I could talk to Dicks for you.”

“I’m sure he would love to extend my
unpaid
leave of absence. He doesn’t have to see my ugly mug, and he can save money with a sub.”

“Didn’t you get paid bereavement leave?”

“Five days.”

“Oh. Are you okay … financially?”

“I’m fine. We had life insurance, and some savings.”

“The kids miss you. They’ve been bugging me about when you’re coming back. I didn’t tell them about Monday, in case you changed your mind. They’ll be excited to see you.”

* * *

James stood near the door and greeted his students as they entered the classroom.

“Good morning, Janelle,” he said.

Her eyes were wide, her mouth open. “Mr. Fish,” she said, giving him a hug.

James held out his arms, so he didn’t touch the girl. The top of her head was braided in a perfect swirl pattern.

She released her grip, stepped back, and said, “We missed you.”

Maurice smiled at James through bright white teeth and high cheekbones. “Hey, Vernon, Mr. Fish is back,” he yelled down the hall as he sidled up to his teacher. “I’m glad you’re back. The subs we had …” Maurice shook his head. “I can see why they only get a hundred dollars a day.”

“We had eleven different subs,” Janelle said.

Maurice laughed as Vernon strutted into the classroom with a crooked smile.

“Thank God,” Vernon said. “Mr. Fish, it was borin’ as hell in here.”

James swallowed the lump in his throat. “Thanks, guys. It’s good to be back.”

The rest of the class spilled into the room and greeted their teacher long after the bell. The mood was jovial and rambunctious.

“Mr. Fisher,” Mrs. Scribner said from the doorway. She stood with her toe tapping and her arms crossed over her chest.

James glanced at the tiny blonde. She looked like a teacher strip-o-gram.

“It’s great that you’re back and everything,” she said, “but my kids are really distracted by the noise.”

James marched over and shut the door in her face. The class laughed and commented on the diss. The kids finally settled into their seats. James stood in front of his class in khakis and a button-down shirt. “So what did you guys learn while I was away?” James asked.

“Nuthin’,” Maurice said.

“He’s right,” Janelle said. “They were teachin’ stuff we already learned. Dr. Dicks said there was no way we were as far as we were.”

“You guys are a lot smarter than they give you credit for,” James said. “Did you learn about the Reconstruction?”

“Yes,” several kids said in unison.

“Since we’re so far ahead on government propaganda, why don’t we concentrate on learning things that will help everyone become a more successful adult?” James scanned the classroom. The kids sat up straight, with their eyes locked on him. “What do you guys think is the purpose of school? Why do you have to go to school for thirteen years?”

“To learn,” a Bolivian kid said.

James nodded.

Vernon frowned. “To learn what they want us to learn.”

“Who’s
they
, Vernon?” James asked.

Vernon shrugged. “People in power. Who else?”

“Can you be more specific?”

“The government,” Vernon said.

“And bankers,” Maurice added.

“And the fascists,” Janelle said.

“Janelle, can you explain to everyone what a fascist is?” James asked.

She stood, taking the spotlight. “Fascism is when you put together private companies with the government.”

James chuckled. “So what do all these people want you to learn? And for what motive?”

“Stuff that makes ’em look good,” a heavyset girl said.

“To keep us from knowin’ the truth,” Maurice said.

“And why wouldn’t they want us to know the truth?” James asked.

“So we don’t get mad. So we’re easier to control,” Maurice replied.

“There’s this comedian that I really like,” James said. “His name was George Carlin.”

“Never heard of him,” Vernon said.

“He died in 2008, so he’s probably a bit before your time. In one of his shows he explained what you guys are talking about. I’m paraphrasing here, but he said something like, ‘They want obedient workers. People who are just smart enough to run the machines and do the paperwork. And just dumb enough to passively accept a lower and lower standard of living. What they don’t want is a population of well-informed, well-educated people, capable of critical thinking. That doesn’t help them. That’s against their interests.’” James paused and looked around at the diversity in the classroom. Boy and girls, black and white, and everything in between. He thought about how they all had one thing in common.
The deck is already stacked against them
. He continued, “That’s what I want for you guys. I want you to learn to think for yourselves. So, for the rest of the year, that’s what we’ll concentrate on.”

* * *

Dr. Dicks sat behind his desk, noticeably higher than James across from him.
Does he have a booster seat back there?
The gold placard on his desk read Dr. Paul Richards. Early summer sunlight pierced through the window. Dust motes were suspended in the rays. The principal leaned forward, his elbows on the desk.

“This is a real problem, Mr. Fisher,” the principal said.

Dr. Dicks was hairy—his forearms, his neck, even the collar of his polo had hair bursting forth. He was like a cross between a caveman, a dwarf, a marine, and a golfer.

“I don’t see what the problem is,” James said. “My students learned the state-mandated curriculum.”

“But they also learned quite a bit of controversial and inappropriate material.”

James exhaled. “Are you telling me that it’s controversial and inappropriate to teach kids to think for themselves?”

“We’ve had several complaints from teachers. Many of your students have been argumentative and disrespectful in their other classes. They’ve challenged teachers and administrators. I had to deal with Janelle yesterday. She called me a statist and said my argument was wrong because I was appealing to authority. I was just assigning her detention for being insubordinate. We’ve had a teacher corroborate that this disobedience has been encouraged by your class.”

James shook his head with a frown. “These kids are learning. They’re gaining confidence. They’re thinking for themselves. And someone who is a critical thinker will not stand for half-truths and manipulations. These teachers who are upset are bullies. They’re not used to kids questioning them. But that’s what we should be encouraging.”

The principal sat silent, his jaw tight.

James stared.
Here it comes
.

“I will not tolerate such deviation from the curriculum. I’m giving you an unsatisfactory evaluation for the school year. Next year you will have to meet with the instructional coach, and you will be subject to unannounced visits from me and the coach to see how you’re progressing. If you do not adhere to the standard, I will be forced to initiate termination proceedings.”

James cackled. “
Initiate termination proceedings
? Are you going to fire me or launch me into space?”

The principal’s face was set in stone. “I assure you this is no laughing matter.”

“Does it feel good to have power over others?”

“Mr. Fisher, you are not helping your cause.”

“Seriously I’d like to know. Do you enjoy making people do what you want them to?”

The principal clenched his fists. “I suggest you leave before you say something you’ll regret.”

James leaned back in his chair. “The kids hate you. Shit, the staff hates you. Ole Dr. Dicks. What an asshole.”

Dr. Dicks slammed his fists on the desk. “You’re fired, Mr. Fisher. You’re what’s wrong with education. You think you know everything, but you offer no discipline.”

James smirked. “I doubt you can fire me for that. The union would have your head. I’m just telling you what people say.”

The large vein in the principal’s neck looked like it would burst. “I’ll find a way to get rid of you. You can be certain of that.” He stood. “Now get out of my office.” He pointed at the door.

James exhaled. “I’ll save you the trouble. I quit.”

Chapter 5: Protect and Serve

Chapter 5

Protect and Serve

James pulled a cart loaded with trees across the gravel lot to his F-150 pickup truck. He dropped the tailgate and heaved the potted fruit trees into the rusted truck bed.

“Hey, mister. You need a hand with those trees?” said a young man with a T-shirt logo that read Growing Dreams.

“I think I have it, thank you,” James replied.

James laid down the trees, so they wouldn’t get windburn on the drive home. He shut the tailgate and drove away. When his cell phone rang, he glanced at the number and tapped the green icon.

“Hey, Yolanda,” James said.

“I was just calling to see how you were settling in up there,” Yolanda said.

“It’s different, … but I like it. Everything’s slower, more natural.”

James drove through town, past three- and four-story brick and stone buildings plus a fountain that shot water ten feet in the air.

“How’s the cabin?” Yolanda asked.

“Rustic. I shower outside and use an outhouse, but I like the simplicity of it all. Maybe Thoreau was on to something.”

Yolanda laughed. “Sounds like my childhood, but I’ll keep my indoor plumbing. The novelty might wear off in the winter.”

“I do have electricity.”

James drove past a police cruiser poised to exit a Sheetz gas station. The officer scowled.

“Can I call you later?” James asked.

The cop followed James, tight to his bumper.

“I have a cop on my ass,” James said.

“I’ll call you later,” Yolanda replied.

James placed his phone in the cup holder and checked his speedometer. He glanced in the rearview mirror, with a sinking feeling in his stomach. The cruiser was still tight to his bumper. He drove through town, the business district giving way to farms and wilderness. After a few minutes the police officer turned on his flashing lights. James pulled over. The police officer gunned the V8 of his Crown Victoria, zooming past. James parked on the shoulder, his heart pounding. After a moment he continued home.

Gravel crunched under the tires of his old Ford. James fiddled with the radio stations, scanning the channels.
Country, classic rock, Christian music, and Christian talk radio
. He frowned and turned off the radio as he motored down the narrow country road, with a dense oak, hickory, and maple forest on either side. Driveways leading to cabins and trailers were scattered about a quarter mile apart.

As the bright sun heated the cab, he rolled down the window. Birds sang; squirrels scurried over dead leaves on the forest floor. He heard a high-pitched holler as he passed a single-wide trailer home. James stopped his truck and spied. The home was partially concealed by a stand of young trees. There was a red Ford Ranger parked in the driveway. An older man dragged a young woman by the crook of her arm. He took her to the backyard, out of view. James sat in his truck, listening. Nothing.