That wouldn’t have mattered so much if the class hadn’t been History, but, as it happened, the history teacher was the strictest teacher in the school and would not tolerate lateness.
When he finally got to class he tried to be as quiet as possible so as not to attract the teacher’s attention. She was talking to the class at the moment and, if he planned it right, he might be able to get to his table before she saw him. He barely had time to register the irony of trying to be quiet as a mute, when the teacher, a woman named Mrs. Norton, turned and noticed him.
“One day of detention,” she said immediately. “And why don’t you come up here and fill in these blanks for us, won’t you Adam?”
Ordinarily Adam really liked Mrs. Norton, since she was one of the teachers who actually took her job seriously and pushed you to do better, but right now her indifference to her students shone through as the cruelty Adam felt. Silently sighing, as he had done throughout the day, he walked up to the board to do the problems:
The battle of Waterloo was between the French and the _______.
The Queen of England in 1565 was Queen ___________.
The Constitution was created in the year ____.
The Nazi party was started in _______.
Russia and America were at a stalemate in the ______ War.
Patiently Adam wrote out the answers: The Seventh Coalition, Elizabeth I, 1787, Germany and Cold.
Mrs. Norton’s face turned a little bit red as the class gave a collective chuckle. Obviously she’d expected him to get one wrong. It didn’t last long, however. She had another task for him.
“Take this to the Principal,” she said, handing him a prewritten letter from her bag. I meant to give it to him earlier, but because you have been such a nuisance you must take it for me this very moment. When you return go straight to your seat.”
And with that, Adam found himself in the hall again, this time on the way to the Principals office.
He would have gone straight there like a good messenger had he not heard sobbing emanating from in the girl’s bathroom.
He stopped, looking up and down the hall for a girl who might be able to go in and check on the situation for him. Finding that nobody was even in the hall, since everyone was in classes, he hesitantly entered the bathroom.
The sobbing was coming from the stall farthest to the right, and, from the whispered words the girl inside it was gulping to herself, he could tell someone had hurt her emotionally.
“Not worth anything… ugly… never been born… Melissa… why?” she said, between sobs.
Adam realized then that he was totally out of his depth. This girl needed someone to talk to, and he couldn’t offer spoken encouragement at all. Besides, it would be awkward of him to try communicating to her here in this bathroom. What could he do that would help her and be meaningful?
The answer brought a smile to his face, and he reached again for his trusty marker. Above the sinks in the bathroom he wrote: “You’re wonderful, beautiful and amazing just the way you are!” He also drew a smiley face for good measure.
Then he knocked on the stall door and hurried out of the bathroom, proud of himself.
When he returned from the Principal’s office he saw a girl hurry out of the bathroom to her classroom.
He was sure that he saw her smiling before she took off.
That might have made his day… if Brandon hadn’t come strolling down the corner just then.
Without missing a beat Brandon punched him in the stomach, flashing his hall pass as he went.
“Just going to the bathroom,” he said, grinning as he departed.
Getting home after such a day was a relief for Adam.
With a look of relief he went inside, found his bed and fell onto it like a dead log. He would have slept like one to, but he found that he needed something else…
Sitting up, Adam tried to figure out what it was he needed. It was Friday, so he didn’t need to work on homework. His mom would be home in a couple hours, so he didn’t need to do anything for her. No chores, no appointments, nothing… No, what he really needed, he realized, was something to revitalize his soul. His mind and body could recharge off of sleep, but today his heart and soul had taken a beating.
Knowing that, Adam realized that he wanted to go to the park, his favorite place outside of his home. In 5 minutes he was out the door and on his way.
As he strode down the street, heading three blocks north and two blocks west, he pulled out his whiteboard again. He liked to write with it when he walked. He often wondered why other people didn’t write when they walked, but he figured it was probably because he was used to it. When you’re mute and can’t afford special technology you have to make do with writing, and if you can write while walking you aren’t as limited.
“Why do I like the park so much?” he wrote to himself. “Maybe because it’s so wide and open. Maybe it’s the people! There’s lots of people sometimes, and everyone’s together in the park. Or maybe it’s just that I like nature… I don’t know. I haven’t had much time to be in nature. I’ve always been here. I wonder what camping is like… We should go on a vacation when mom gets money.” He wiped the board clean.
“That’s probably part of it, the nature. But I’m fairly sure I know what really gets me to go: the music. I’ll admit it; I love sound. Writing’s nice, and I’ll probably make a career of that, but music and sound… that’s beautiful. If we could afford an instrument I’d learn to play it perfectly. I’ve got the harmonica, I suppose, but a proper instrument would be nice. But the park has tons of noise! There’s that band that’s always there, playing their hearts out. And then everyone makes some noise while playing at the park, or chatting or something. It’s not quiet by any standard.”
He ended up putting the board away to day dream about the park, noise and people. About 15 minutes later he arrived, and an unconscious smile graced his face. He really did love the park.
With a flat, open and grassy plain, a gazebo and some tables lay at one end of the park, while a play structure with children lay at the other. A small restroom sat in the middle of one of its longer edges, unobtrusive and useful. A flat bit of round concrete lay in the center of the park with two basketball hoops at either end of the circle. It was the perfect place for demonstrations, bands, performances and other things, and, though most of the time people just played basketball there, a local band would come and play music. The band, named the Orange Trench-Coats, was made up of three guys and a girl. All of them could play guitar, but one guy could play guitar, another base, and the girl and last guy could sing.
Today they hadn’t arrived yet. They tended to come out around when the sun was close to setting, probably because of the cool, orange color the sky sometimes looked around that time. Adam had expected this, so, while he waited, he took a walk around the park once.
He saw a couple having a picnic in the green grass. They seemed happy, holding each other and talking about everything in the world. A few yards away a soccer group about his age was playing a small game. The players weren’t the best, but they worked well with each other. An old man and woman near the concrete were sitting on a bench, not saying a word.
A pang of longing for any of those lives struck Adam at that moment, as it often does when people see other people happy. A lot of people grow cold from such pangs. They learn to hate happiness and those that have it, while desperately trying to grasp onto that sunshine. Adam, however, was like a small child witnessing a sunbeam hanging in the dust of the air; he was curious and overcome with desire for that life, not hate. Maybe that was why, when the elderly couple vacated their seats, he crossed the park to sit where they had.
Perhaps he could absorb a bit of it from where they’d been.
Suddenly, a soccer ball came flying out of nowhere, striking the basketball hoops post and flying toward Adam!
Without thinking, Adam threw up his hands and caught the ball, stunned. He looked around and there was one of the soccer players approaching him.
“Hey nice catch man! That’s our ball. Sorry about that!” He put his hand up, obviously asking for the ball back, so Adam courteously obliged him. “Hey! You’ve got a pretty good arm! Want to play with us?”
Adam had never played soccer before. Eagerly, he nodded his head up and down, laying his backpack down at the bench and running over to the soccer player.
“Say, dude, what’s your name?” he asked quizzically. Adam, realizing he’d left his whiteboard in his bag, ran and got it. He wrote something quickly on it and ran back to the player.
“My name is Adam! I’m mute, so I can’t talk, but I’d love to play!”
“Oh…” said the player, his look changing. The feelings of friendliness left his face, replaced by pity and slight disgust. “So… are you a cripple, then?” Adam gave a shrug that said “you could say that.”
“I see… well, if you can’t talk to people then you can’t work as well with the other guys. Sorry.” And, not meeting his eyes, the player ran back to his fellows.
Adam felt a deep, sinking, horrible feeling in his stomach as he watched him go.
Slowly, he turned and walked back to his bag and the bench.
Sitting there, rejected and beaten down, Adam could only think one thing: “this isn’t worth it”.
He tried to be a nice guy. He really did. Didn’t he? Yes, he’d helped Lillian, and he’d helped Dirk, and he’d helped that girl in the bathroom… But what good came of it? Nothing. Nobody would talk to him, play with him, and treat him like a normal person. What was wrong with the world? Why did the evil people win? Why did he, the good guy, get trampled down? What was the point of being good if there were no benefits? No point at all, as far as Adam could see. Why not be like Brandon? Treat all the girls like junk, maybe one would go for it. Something! Anything! But being good… it was getting old, and it wasn’t making him any happier. You can only be nice for so long without people being nice to you before you snap. He’d get them… each and every person that had pushed him down. He’d be better than all of them.
Yes… one day they’d all look at him and ask him for jobs, beg him for help. And then he would. Only when his reward was the satisfaction of their helplessness. The idea gave him a savage pleasure.
But fate had put him in this position, hadn’t it? He hadn’t done anything to get his father killed, or put himself in such a terrible school, or earn anyone’s hate. It must be fate. And then Adam felt one of the worst things a person can feel… anger, tinted with hate, directed toward the universe, mankind and… maybe even God.
He grew conscious of his sin then, and tears came to his eyes. No. No, he couldn’t think about that. He could think like that. That would kill him. He’d lose himself to hate and pain and anger. But what if just stopped trying? Nobody would hurt him then, would they? No more getting beat up. No more bleeding heart. If- if he gave up on stuff it would be easier, wouldn’t it? Yes… yes, he knew it would be easier. From this day on, he’d be nothing. Not good, not evil… just himself. No, not himself; less than himself. Anything. Anything to stop the pain…
Then someone touched his shoulder.
Looking up, Adam found himself looking into the eyes of the leader of the Orange Trench-Coats. He was a slender guy of about 17 with dark brown hair, dressed in jeans, a black shirt and, of course, an orange trench coat. Seeing him standing there, much less touching his shoulder, Adam struggled to wipe away his tears.
“You okay, man?”
Adam nodded, trying not to look at him so he didn’t see his red eyes.
“Nah, you’re not,” he said softly, bending down to Adam’s level. “Well, I’m not too good with talking, and I’ve seen you watch us before. You’re the mute kid, so I know you’re not too good at talking either.”
Adam nodded a little bit.
“Well,” said the guy gently, “my name’s Rowan. What’s yours?”
Adam scribbled his name on his board.
“Well, nice to meet you Adam. I can guess what your problem is, so I’m going get my buddies to help me play a song for you, okay?”
Adam finally looked him in the face. Shocked that anyone would do that, he nodded to him, and, smiling, Rowan turned and ran to his band, which had gathered at the center of the concrete. He huddled up his buddies for a bit and, though the other two guys and the girl looked over at him every once and a while, they said nothing. Then, nodding in agreement, they picked up their instruments.
After a moment of checking with each other, Rowan began to play.
Adam couldn’t describe what he heard next. It seemed to embody all that he had felt when he’d first come to the park. The music was happy, and searching; lost, but not out. Goodness lay there.
Then the music changed… It got dark. The goodness and contentedness were gone, leaving only that searching emptiness… there was more there too. All that pain that Adam felt. The sound spoke to him in an intimate way, in with the passion only music could convey.
The music slowed to nothingness; the prelude was now over.
Then the true song began. The drums, beating out the rhythm, kept the pace of the base and two guitars. It drummed on, refusing to stop. What did it convey? Adam was sure he felt it but- Hope. It was hope it conveyed.
And the hope built. It grew and grew until it was a magnificent flower of sound, turning to the sky with pronounced beauty. Adam, as a writer one day, would try to describe that sound and what it was like. He’d find it impossible to do, of course.
Rowan broke into a sweet, loving guitar solo. There was that goodness again. That drive.
His female partner joined him, and the goodness became love and passion.
The base lent its voice and it became wisdom.
The drum threw in its beat at last, adding strength, and, with a bang, the song came to an end.
Adam stood slowly.
He understood.
Goodness was its own reward. Beauty and satisfaction was both in traveling the path and reaching the end of the road.
Love was precious.
The world, moments before hell, now seemed heaven to Adam. It’s beauty and peace, tranquility and wonder; all of that was fantastic! The world was a fantastic place, populated by fantastic people! And goodness did, in the end prevail. Evil couldn’t triumph. It only destroyed itself. Right was better than wrong. And giving up? Giving up! Impossible! Who would give up on a thing such as this! This wonderful, beautiful, amazing life!
This, his life, was the only life worth living.
In a state of pure joy, Adam ran to Rowan and band. Like old friends, they all embraced. Through mutual understanding, they were all as good as friends. Adam, looking in Rowan’s eyes, mouthed the words “Thank You.” Hugging him one last time, Adam waved to them all, grabbed his stuff and ran home, knowing that he would see them again. Maybe he might even become friends with all of them. But right now, he felt like he had to get home to his mother: the source of all his love and good.
It was she who had raised him, educated him and bestowed on him this glorious way of living, and he owed her the world.
He flew through the door and searched the house. He found her in the dining room, sitting at the table. Beautiful, wonderful, loving, hard working… all these things embodied her in Adam’s eyes.
“Hey honey, how was your day?” she said, smiling up at him.
Adam, without a word spoken or written, hurried over to her and hugged her as tightly as he could, and she, with her mom-like senses, hugged back silently as well.
For how long they were like that neither knew, but many silent things passed between them. Love. Companionship. Gratitude. Passion. Forgiveness. Courage.
All, however, was interrupted by the doorbell.
Adam, standing up, hurried to the door and found, to his surprise, Lillian standing before him.
“Hey, Adam… was wondering if you were home. I just wanted to say… thank you. For earlier. That was really nice of you. Maybe we could hang out again sometime?
The End
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