Prelude
A bright white light envelops the entire area. There are sounds slowly fading in and out, but they are, for now, faint and indescribable. Slowly but surely, the light fades, and reveals scenery that the boy had before only seen on television shows. The sights of curtains, bedpans, and such become familiar to him, so too do the sounds; above all a constant beeping sound. The boy, slowly raises himself and looks left to immediately see a heartbeat monitor and the wires that connected it to his chest. He comes to the realization that he is in a hospital bed.
However, the boy isn’t sure at first as to how he got there. There wasn’t anyone else in the room to ask the question, no doctors or nurses, no patient in the bed next to his, and surprisingly, no sign of his parents who he was sure would be at his bedside until there was confirmation that he’d be okay. Regardless, he wouldn’t have asked anyone out loud as he wasn’t one to talk to people he didn’t know. But it didn’t matter; it would all come back to him as he would attempt to raise himself further to get out of the bed. A brief yet sharp sensation of pain comes to the boy on the back of his neck. He takes his left hand to caress the inflicted area when familiar sounds of arguing, swearing, screaming, and a loud honking ring in his head.
Immediately, the memory of the events leading up to this moment comes back to the boy; he does his best to disregard the pain and leap out of bed. He doesn’t call for anyone to let them know he is now conscious; he shows no concern of his well-being, nor does he care for how long he was unconscious. He rushes out of the room and down the hallway of the hospital looking at the signs of each door he passes, quickly reading the names of the patients that were stationed in each room. With each room he passes, and with each placard he reads that doesn’t reveal the name he is looking for, the boy becomes more frantic. The boy eventually ends up at the end of the hall to the floor nurses’ station panting and sweating but more from the anxiety than the running. Before the nurse at the station can even form the words to call for a doctor in response to the boy’s awakening, he screams out the name of a girl and follows up by asking of her whereabouts.
Now the boy has gained the attention of nearby doctors and nurses, who were nodded to by the nurse at the station, hence her refusal to answer the question. They move closer to surround him in an attempt to calm him down; one doctor even reaches in his pocket for a needle of what can be assumed to be a sedative. The boy notices the mob of medical staff closing in on him and runs directly through him. His relative small size works to his advantage as he able to slip through two doctors. He runs back down the hallway to a doorway leading to a flight of stairs. Still in a panicked state, the boy is now being pursued by members of the medical staff including members of hospital security who have been notified of his “escape”.
With security personnel closing in on him, they chase the boy from both the bottom and top flight of stairs. He only makes it down two floors; but with no other options available to him, he exits the stairwell on the floor he is currently on. He notices an unoccupied elevator to the left of him. He runs toward it but he doesn’t get far. As he runs toward the elevator, he glances at a window of a hospital room and sees several adult figures standing around a hospital bed, accompanied by a doctor and a nurse. It is at this moment that time seems to slow down. The boy can now only hear his heartbeat at the pulse and rate similar to when something dramatic happened on one of his favorite tv shows.
Two of those figures belong to his own parents standing over a hospital bed in a somber matter. Across from them are a couple. The woman turns her head slightly away from the bed and begins crying heavily upon the shoulder of the man at her side. It’s only slightly, but the boy also recognizes the face of the crying woman; it is that of the mother the girl he was looking for. The boy pushes the room door open in a dramatic manner that gains the attention of everyone save for the crying mother. Even so, there is only one sound that fills the room, the beeping sound that the boy himself awoke to. Though the pitch was somewhat similar, this beeping sound came in the form of more constant, flatter tone. The boy nervously walks toward the bed; the mourning couple separate their mourning embrace to allow the boy to pass.
There the boy sees her lying in that bed peacefully; her eyes closed, not making a movement, sound, or breath. And there he stood, nearly as motionless as she. The anxiousness that filled the boy a moment is gone, along with any other emotion that he could’ve had at the time. As it was earlier, there is silence; the boy hears nothing not even the drop of the tears as they ran down his face, not even the footsteps of his earlier pursuers as they rush into the room, not even the adults who attempt to comfort him. Shortly after the silence, the light returns that enveloped his entire vision earlier returns. At this moment, for the boy, who risked God knows what to see this girl, if only one more time, sees nothing, hears nothing, feels nothing, is nothing.
Chapter One
Monday August 23, 1999
Now if you’re of the camp that finds the cup half full then you probably believe how precious a commodity memories are as they play a pivotal role in dictating the actions that define us. At only fourteen, William Moon has quite a few defining memories. However only one plays constantly in his mind above all of the others. And it is that memory that define not only his actions, but his overall attitude. That being the very nonchalant, uncaring, unconcerned attitude that he’s been warned countless times will bite him in the butt eventually. And the very attitude that he tried his very hardest to hide as his father attempts to both navigate through Monday morning traffic and give him a condensed version of one of his infamous lectures:
“Listen up boy. Now your momma wants you to go to this school and make all kinds of friends. She wants you to get involved in activities and have new experiences. She wants you to have moments that you’ll remember all your life.”
“Did she say all that? Sounds more like something out of one of those self help books she’s been reading,” Will replied.
“It don’t matter,” answered Will’s dad. He would continue, “what DOES matter is what I want. And what I want is not to be getting any phone calls from the school. Now I busted my ass for years and I finally got a decent paying job; enough money to put us in that nice house in that fancy neighborhood. And I don’t wanna lose it ‘cuz I gotta take time off to come down to talk you your teachers ‘cuz you don’t wanna act right. I mean you like that nice big house we got now right? You like having a room to yourself right? You like living in that neighborhood where the street lights work and the pizza man actually delivers? And you walk around in shoes that cost more than 50 dollars and not have to worry about getting jumped for them? You want all that to go away?” As he normally did, Will’s dad prattled on louder and faster and seemingly with no intention on ever stopping his lecture. Fortunately for Will, the two had reached their destination, a vehicle drop off spot near the front quad of what appeared to be an above average looking high school.
The car came to a complete stop and Will attempted to get out. But when he reached for the door, Will’s dad sighed as signaling the continuing of his speech. Cars behind his honked loudly and their drivers yelled at him to move up. Will didn’t think his dad heard the honking, or he did but was going to finish what he had to say regardless. “You don’t wanna make friends or whatever? Fine then; just keep your mouth shut and your eyes open. You tracking?” he asked, still somewhat nostalgic over his military days.
“Yes” William responded softly
“What was that?” His dad asked somewhat intimidatingly.
“YES SIR!” Will would exclaim as loud as he could, yet still very quietly and somewhat sarcastically.
“Good. Now get out the car boy, you holdin’ up traffic.”
Will went for the door again but paused briefly to ensure his father didn’t have anything else to say. He gave a quick glance to his dad, who responded with a dismissive hand motion. He exited the black Isuzu Rodeo which quickly drove off of the lot and in its place replaced by a slightly more expensive car, something that definitely belonged to the resident of an upper middle class neighborhood. Will stared at the school in front of him for a moment. It kind of resembled one of those schools that set the scene of one of the recently released “teen” movies; a prep school rented out by the studio during the summer to give viewers the impression that there were hundreds of students attending although the movie only focused on seven of them at most. What stood out was the massive statue of the historic figure of which the school derived its name, George Washington. Standing proud and patriotic as ever, Washington looked towards the skies with an eagle perched on his right arm. A plaque was placed on the pedestal of the statue. A shining shade of gold at first, the plaque, like the statue itself definitely showed its decades of wear and tear.
Despite his generally uninterested nature, Will walked, with his hands in the pockets of his navy blue hoodie, toward the statue of Washington to read the words of the plaque. With his hands still in his pockets, he squinted and tilted his head to the side as he tried to make out as many of the fading words as he could. “....Virtuous….youth…..fail?” He read as those were the only words he could decipher from the old text. “What the hell does that even mean?” Will asked himself. Then, the voice of a young female was heard:
“The best means of forming a manly, virtuous, and happy people will be found in the right education of youth. Without this foundation, every other means, in my opinion, must fail.” Will turned his head to the left to see a girl taller than he, with a skin complexion much darker than his own and an single afro puff that dwarfed his short top fade in comparison tied in a black and white striped headband. The girl wore little makeup but Will could easily assume that she could garner attention with her large hoop earrings, similar to those worn by the ladies who frequented the beauty shop his mother used to go to, would wear; especially those who loved to go on about how they “didn’t need no man!”
“Is that what that’s supposed to say?” Will asked the girl. “Mm-hmm,” she replied nodding her head. “They asked about that quote on an AP History exam I had to take a while ago. Of course it’s a little bit out of it’s time. Don’t you think? I mean back then, women and especially our ancestors didn’t have much access to the education he claimed would make us virtuous and happy. Shoot we didn’t even have that education 50 years ago when this school was founded.”
“Sooo….?” Will asked blankly.
“So,” she replied “Now that we DO have access to this education, we have a responsibility to take full advantage of it!” the girl continued passionately. “Not just for ourselves, but for our ancestors who didn’t have this, and our brothers and sisters, who still don’t!” Will continued his blank, confused stare of the girl who started to bear a resemblance to one of the “soul sisters” on some of his parents’ old records. “What are you, like a teacher here? Is this some kind of motivation thing?” he asked. “Who me?” The girl responded in a shocked tone. “No, I’m a student just like you. I’m Krystal, a sophomore.” Krystal extended her hand out to Will looking for a handshake. “And you are?” She asked. He answered, with his hands still in his pockets, “I’m..” he paused briefly and then continued nervously, “gonna late for homeroom.” Will walked quickly away from Krystal and towards the campus, with hands still in his pockets.
Moments later as Will walked through the campus, passing the building that housed the cafeteria, the first bell of the day rang. Students began walking in every direction towards their classes. Will, however, paused to reach into the left pocket of his pitch black jeans to pull out a wrinkled piece of paper. It was his class schedule, detailing the name of the courses his parents registered him for, along with what periods these classes were for and where they located. The top of that list read “Homeroom - J. Pierce - 8:15 AM - E108”. Will had about ten minutes to locate the E Building, a task that would prove difficult as the many connected buildings that made up the main campus, did not have a clear indication as to which one was which. Will put the schedule, now in a worse state than before, back into his jeans pocket and reached again into the pockets of his hoodie.
He pulled out a pair of earbud headphones, which were connected to a portable CD player he had in the pockets. He then took the CD player out of his pocket, turned it on and immediately turned to track 7 of a burned CD composing of random songs he downloaded from Napster at his neighbor’s house months prior. This song in particular became a favorite of his in those past months, although he didn’t share it with anyone, especially his parents, who tripled check to ensure his every album purchase came from Wal-Mart, where only the clean versions of albums were sold, or his younger brother, who deemed himself “too black to listen to rock music.” The song was titled Stinkfist by the band Tool. About a month ago, Will logged on to the internet at a local library with the purpose of finding the lyrics to the song. He came across a music discussion message board that posted said lyrics; but more interestingly had a 100+ post long discussion over the meaning of said lyrics. Regardless of the lyrics’ true meaning, Will interpreted them, and the song as a whole, in only one way. These next four years were going to be like a movie to Will, and this song would serve as its opening theme. What kind of movie, however, remained to be seen.
The song played as Will navigated through the connected buildings. He hoped he’d be in the E building soon if he wasn’t already, not oblivious to the irony that homeroom would be the only class he had assigned in that building. He only knew that the room had to be on the first floor of the building because of the number 108, so he didn’t bother traversing any of the many staircases in the buildings he walked through. Of course he could’ve asked any of the many people he came across in his search for directions, but he didn’t want to pause the song. On top of that he wasn’t feeling real talkative either. So instead, he chose to walk past the security guard randomly patting down students, past the tall athletic boy wearing the green and gold letterman jacket who was busy making out with his cheerleader girlfriend, past the adult in the important looking dress skirt shouting commands at students walking by and would definitely tell him to take out his headphones if he approached her, and past the janitor who looked at the youth with eyes of utter disgust and disappointment. Will would continue to walk through the halls, surrounded by the mass of tall green lockers, until the last words of the song were sung and the instrumental faded out. The tardy bell rang. Still not even sure what building he was in, Will uttered underneath his breath, “crap.”
A chime sounded from a nearby intercom:
“Good morning students, faculty, and staff of Washington High School. This is Principal Caine speaking. I’d like to welcome all of you to a new school year. Now I knew you all cannot wait to start learning so I’ll be be brief. I want to remind everyone of our new school security measures. Students can be subject to searches at any given time and must cooperate with security officers or face disciplinary action. This includes pat downs, locker searches and metal detector searches. Additionally, if probable cause calls for it, students must submit to a urinalysis. Finally, I’d like to remind everyone of the district’s new policy on truancy. Any student violating truancy rules will face severe disciplinary action. Now then, let’s have both a fun and fulfilling year full of educational experience!”
Another chime sounded from the intercom.
About eight minutes after the tardy bell and after that ringing notion of encouragement from the principal, Will finally made his way to the E building where his homeroom class was. All that remained was to find room number 108. Will, unfortunately, came into the E building from the rear entrance, so he found himself staring at doors labeled 129 and 130. Room 108 would be down the hall a ways. So he started walking down the hall, hands still in his hoodie pockets. He finally would reach his destination. He took the earbuds out of his ears and turned off his CD Player. After the song he initially wanted to play ended the CD was set into a shuffle play order and Will didn’t pay attention to what song played next. He looked down at the silver doorknob, connected to the wooden door but before he opened it, he let out a sigh, and said seemingly to himself, “I hope you’re watching.”
Now at this part in the movies, which is about five or ten minutes in, the reluctant protagonist sits at their desk, paying little to no attention to the lecture or anything else going on. But then, the door opens and in walks slowly a vision of beauty like none the protagonist has seen before. Some sappy love song plays and without any words being conveyed, the protagonist knows they’ve found love, or the hormonally driven teenage version of love. And they determine they will do almost anything to get that love. Will didn’t think any of the 29 other students harbored such a thought towards him when he walked into homeroom. Of course, the looked up from their desks or whatever else commanded their attention at the time, but they gave one glance at him, who after arriving ten minutes late was technically the “new kid”. Shortly afterward, having already passed their silent judgements on Will, the students went back to what they were doing besides paying attention to the teacher. They knew, he wasn’t anyone that was going to be considered “important.”
The teacher, who was interrupted by Will’s sudden entrance, also gave a glance at him. His judgment, however, wasn’t as silent but it was brief, “Oh great. Another one,” he groaned taking off his glasses to rub his eyes and shaking his head. The teacher, James Pierce, stood at his desk at the front of the classroom with a tired look in his eyes. Here stood a man about in his mid forties, with grey streaks intertwining in his auburn hair. His short mustache and goatee bore the same resemblance; auburn mixed with gray. His beard, mostly composed of stubble covered a good portion of the sides of his face, and was unkempt. In other circumstance, Pierce would’ve given the impression that he was a misunderstood genius, or at the least someone too heavily invested in his work to concern himself with appearance. But given that his occupation was “high school teacher,” Will’s first impression of Pierce was that of a man, who had either given up altogether, or is living one day at a time with no significant goal, waiting for the inevitable end. With one hand gripping a half empty mug of coffee that read #1 Teacher, Pierce spoke to Will now directly. “I’m going to assume, that you’re Moon.” Will shook his head in response. “Well what are you waiting for, Mr. Moon, an invitation?” He points in the direction of the desks “Grab some wood and be quick about it.”
Will came to the conclusion that his options in who he was going to be sitting next to for the next year were severely limited. Of the thirty desks, which seems like far too many for the small room, that were arranged in six rows of five each, almost connected to each other giving not even the skinniest individual much room to navigate through, only one was empty. It didn’t matter to Will though; he wasn’t too enthused about getting to know either of the other students on either side of him. Will squoze as best he could, ignoring the few silent snickers of some of his classmates as he passed them, past the third and fourth rows of desks to the empty desk which was about the second to the last in the fourth row. This was ideal for Will although not perfect; the further back in the classroom, the less chance he had being called upon for anything, or at least that’s what he believed anyway.
The silence that filled the room as Will moved towards his seat was broken and Mr. Pierce continued his lecture. “Now before that interruption, I was saying that student handbooks on your desks are yours to keep. It would behoove you to..you know..actually open it and read it. There’s some pretty interesting things in there on tardiness among other things. Now I know some of you will read the thing word for word, cover to cover. Some of you may not even pay it any mind after I finish what I have to say. But regardless, each of you will refer to the very last page and sign it, confirming that you WILL follow the rules outlined in the handbook and you accept the punishment that goes with violating those rules.”
Mr. Pierce would continue on about rules this and handbooks that. Will looked down on his desk and there it was, a book about 50 plus pages in length, bound in a green and athletic gold hardcover. Of the two groups Pierce mention regarding the handbook, Will would definitely be in the latter as he flipped directly to the last page and signed on the dotted line at the bottom of the page. Well it was more like a scribbled line than a legitimate signature; Will saw no need or use for cursive writing past the third grade. He closed the handbook immediately after his half-hearted signature. For all he knew or cared, there could have been a clause in there that allowed the school to sell the students to science or even worse, market research. Mr Pierce, was still going on about rules and guidelines. His speech seemed memorized as if he’d given this many, many times before; as if it was familiar to him as The Pledge of Allegiance or The Lord’s Prayer. The students were just as interested in his spiel as he was giving it, which was to say, not at all. One was reading an issue of a fashion magazine. Two were gossiping with each other. One passed a note to another and so on and so forth.
Then there was the student that sat on Will’s left side. He, like every other student and the teacher, was Caucasian with a somewhat tanned skin. However, that is where the similarities ended. This “character” as Will would soon refer to him as, wore a black sideways cap on top of a white du-rag covering his ginger red hair. Around his neck were both a sterling silver necklace with medium length links and a sterling silver dog tag necklace that went almost completely down his black Fubu jersey separating the gold 0 and 5 in the middle of the shirt. His baggy navy jeans were only halfway covered up by his desk but his brown Lugz boots stood out, the right one completely taking up that portion of the classroom floor. Will would have never made these observations, or at least never spoke on them; he would have never paid this “character” any mind at all throughout the year. But it was the “character” that made the first statement in a short conversation that would teach Will more about him than he’d ever want to know:
“Say man. You ain’t from ‘round here are you? Where you from?” The classmate asked.
“Salem,” Will responded, not sure as to why.
“Say word, son for real? Salem? The SALEM?”
“Yeah. Why?”
The classmate leaned back in his desk as he used one of his hand to cover his mouth in both amazement and disbelief. “YOOOO!” he exclaimed “That’s dope! I heard that place was one of the hardest hoods out there! So yo, you roll with the 20s’?” He asked referencing a notorious street gang based out Will’s previous town. Before Will could respond, his classmate would continue, “Nah that’s blood gang. I see you rocking that blue; you probably ran with them Lost Boys,” referencing a rival gang that fought for territory in the Salem area. Will still didn’t answer immediately. He took note of his classmate’s obviously forced slang speech. He was clearly new at this.
“I didn’t roll with any gang,” Will finally responded.
“Oh I see,” said the classmate, “you rode solo. That’s real dope, that’s what I do. Do my own dirt, put in my own work, split my cheddar with nah ‘nother person, know what I’m sayin’?”
Will gave the classmate a stern yet confused look, “I have no idea what you’re saying.”
“Say homie, it’s cool ‘cuz you in my hood now, feel me? What’s your name, homie?”
“William. Everybody just calls me Will.”
“Okay Will,” the classmate said. “I’m Rob. But everybody ‘round here calls me ‘Big Rob Dawg’ or ‘Rob ‘em Up’ or..”
“Mr Stanley!” Pierce shouted!
“Huh?” Rob replied, shifting his view from Will to the front of the class. “What’s up?”
“Well since you’re in such a talkative mood, Mr. Stanley, perhaps you can tell us what the student handbook says about vandalism of campus property.”
Rob would answer, “It’s just Rob, man. None of that “Mr. Stanley’ stuff. And nah I can’t tell you. I ain’t read that part yet.”
Pierce smirked sarcastically, “Hmph, well then maybe your new friend, Mr. Moon, can tell us. Or the both of you can get further acquainted in detention after school today.”
Will gave Rob an angry look. He too looked towards the rest of the class. “Ummm,” Will replied quietly, “don’t do it?”
Pierce didn’t respond immediately. He stared at the two and took a brief sip from his coffee mug and the placed it down on his desk. “Yes. Don’t do it. Not the exact answer I was looking for, but still a correct answer nonetheless. Keep those words in mind, class, don’t do it. Let those words swirl in your mind and remain there. Any time you have to pause for even a second to ask yourself if what you’re about to do is a good idea then heed Mr. Moon’s words. Don’t. Do. It.”
The other students turned around to look at Will. Their looks varied but Will only seemed to noticed the few who gave him disapproving scowls. Previously Will believed that their opinion of him was that of indifference. Now it had to be one of utter contempt. Although it was faint, as it came from the front of the classroom, Will could hear one student suck their teeth and proclaim him a “suck up.” Rob whispered to Will, “Good lookin’ out homie.” The other students turned back around in their seats. Rob extended his fist out to Will looking for a fist bump. Will, his hands still at his hide, gave let another sigh, similar to the one he gave before he opened the classroom door. “No problem….homie,” Will responded.