Unplugged

  Chapter 14

  It is pee-wee hour at Vegas Gym. For both students and their teacher this weekly gathering has become the most keenly awaited event of a week. For the past seven days they lived their lives in anticipation of these two hours. This is not like ballet class or piano lessons or little league, things children often do for their parents’ sake rather than for themselves. These children are not being hauled here by soccer-mom types; the reverse is true. The kids today woke up by themselves, roused their parents and have dragged a parent here. Their folks love them, for sure, but if truth be told, the adults would prefer to be doing something Saturday morning other than carting the little ones to and from this landmark structure in downtown Durham. About a dozen tykes have arrived, most now in handwraps of various quality, grasping by hand or mouth the signed waiver that Sterling had just asked for. The Ukrainian boy comes in a black Mercedes, the Hernández siblings in a battered Ford pickup with Arizona license plates, and Sven in a Volvo sporting a Research Triangle parking permit. Latisha has brought a friend, meaning that there are now four girls, so as to obviate any inter-gender sparring. These girls are all African-American as are several boys. The larger minority, which here is actually a majority, is represented by an assortment of Latino names and children to fit them. Sterling gets to practice his Spanish on both parents and children. Finally there is Bobby Joe, he with the tiny redneck behind which has been known to receive an occasional whooping from his mother. His mother deposits him out of a battered Chevy station wagon whose backseats are overflowing with dirty laundry and siblings. “God bless you Mr. Sterling; now if Bobby Joe misbehaves, just smack him,” she says as she hands over a dollar tuition and the waiver form.

  It had been Bobby Joe the previous week who had asked Sterling if he would run a boxing summer camp, coincidentally an idea that Sterling had mentioned only the previous day to his father. P.A.L. had agreed to provide $1000, matched by the Duke Foundation. Sara has agreed to cook hot lunches, as long as Sterling becomes gofer / sous chef and takes care of the shopping and chopping. To that end, Sterling had already extracted commitments from the local supermarkets to donate what they would otherwise toss in the bins: dented cans, produce that has lost its visual appeal or meat that is fine, despite what the expiration date says. He must keep methodical records of the donations so a list can be handed into their corporate headquarters – Durham Pee-Wee Box Inc. is a registered 501C(3). The budget is tight but Sterling knows that the project is feasible. He has put some flyers by the gym’s entrance; interested parents have already slipped the completed forms under the door. Sterling is demanding a tuition of $10 per pee-wee per week for the three-week course. When this seems too high a price for the parents of some of the kids, he advises them that seasonal work is available and he points them in the direction of Senior’s growing fields, which pay the going wage, which is not much but better than nothing; it’s honest work. When their parents said they were too poor to indulge their children and that the boxing lessons would have to be cancelled, the Hernández boys initially whined vehemently. After four days in which the boys refused to speak a word of Spanish to their parents, the folks relented; the entire brood will be moving into one of the trailers set up for Senior’s migrants. How the boys will get to and from The Sterling over the summer remains to be figured out. Sterling is pretty sure that this task will fall upon the dainty shoulders of William Junior, who gets assigned to tobacco-related chores during summer vacation. “It’s all the same, chauffeur or overseer,” the scion has quipped.

  The day’s lesson plan is fairly straightforward. Calisthenics and warm-up will be followed by an introduction to the speed-bag, now available in its pee-wee format from Mexico which he and Daryl have assembled. Then they will each have a one-minute round in the ring, Sterling officiating.

  The entire program is temporarily upset by a casual remark that Bobby Jo makes to Sterling. Bobby Jo is not happy that his former sparring partner Latisha has abandoned him to join the girls’ team, or the “Nigra League,” according to Bobby Jo, using an expression that he has no doubt picked up around home. Bobby Jo doesn’t come into much contact with black people which is just as well for all concerned. Sterling is not pleased. He grabs Bobby Jo and tells the other tykes that as soon as they all can skip their age by rope, the one-on-one matches will begin. Meanwhile he is going to have a heart-to-heart with Bobby Jo. With one hand Sterling grabs Bobby Jo by the scruff of the neck, as one would lift up a cat, and with his other hand, he grabs the strap. He marches a dangling Bobby Jo into the office and slams the door.

  “What did you say?” Sterling demands.

  Bobby Jo, who spends much of his life navigating away from punishment, takes the offensive:

  “I didn’t use the n-word,” he says.

  “And the word you used, what letter does it begin with?” Sterling demands.

  “Uh, ‘n’, but that’s not the n-word,” he says with as much conviction as he can muster.

  “You know Bobby Jo, we live in a complicated world. We all have to get along together in peace and harmony. Right?,” he asks. He picks up the strap, threateningly.

  “I guess, sure,” Bobby Jo answers.

  “And one of the things we don’t do, so we can all live together in peace and harmony, is to call people names.”

  “I didn’t say it to her face.”

  “You said it to me and that’s the same thing. Here’s a real good rule, Bobby Jo. Anything you have to say to someone, you better be able to say it to their face. Do you understand?” he asks.

  Bobby’s eyes don’t move away from the strap. He says: “I understand, Coach.”

  “What do you understand, Bobby Jo?”

  “That I shouldn’t use the n-word that I didn’t use or the almost n-word that I did use,” he responds.

  “You can use the n-word at home?” Sterling asks.

  “Lordy no. My mouth gets soaped out for that. But we use the almost n-word.”

  “Well, in the real world, in the modern South, there’s no difference between the n-word and the almost n-word. You just have to accept that bit of knowledge from me because I’m older than you and I know the ways of the world better than you.”

  “Coach, if you’re going to whoop me, whoop me quick. I can’t stand the wait and I want to box.”

  “Pull down your shorts,” Sterling orders.

  Bobby Jo dutifully obeys. This makes Sterling furious. He grabs Bobby Jo and talks to him nose-to-nose.

  “Bobby Jo, never, do you understand me, NEVER do you let someone who’s not your mother or a medical doctor see your junk, you understand me, NEVER!”

  Bobby Jo does not understand. He has followed the coach’s order and now he’s getting blamed for following that order. He is utterly confused, not for the first time in his life.

  “But you said…” he tries to begin.

  “And if I said, ‘Bobby Jo, please go up to the University Club, you know that’s on the top of The Pickle Building – the glass skyscraper with a white rod on top – and please jump off to see if you can fly, would you?”

  “Nah, that’d be dumb.”

  “And another thing, you ever hear of a jock strap?” Bobby Jo wants to say he surely knows what a jock is, but that they cost too much. He’s been looking for a used one but they are always too big.

  Sterling finds one, size S ages 9-11, and instructs Bobby Jo to put it on.

  “That’s yours to keep. Pull up your trunks.”

  He obeys, having digested all the coach’s points without a licking, he thinks.

  Sterling in a seemingly fluid gesture puts the boy’s face flat on the desk, bending his body in a right angle. He takes the strap to the youth’s behind in the lightest of blows. The boy waits to see if there is more. There isn’t. Sterling leads the boy out and they head back to the pack of children who are in a circle surrounding the tiniest Hernández who trips at hop
number five. He has to begin all over.

  “Good enough,” Sterling says, putting on a clip-on bowtie. He grabs the smallest Hernández and another youth about the same height and weight and helps them with their gloves and helmets. The protection dwarfs the boys; the armor appears to contain them. The rest of the kids gather at ringside. Sterling has to lift each of the first opponents into the ring. This is the most special moment in their lives. Sterling gives elaborate directions about following referee’s instructions, no low blows, and the like. He talks as if this were a pay-for-view championship bout for the world heavyweight title, fought in Africa or somewhere. The two tykes go to their respective corners and wait eagerly, like Formula 1 racers being held back only by their brakes. He rings the bell.

  The little Hernández and his opponent rush to the center of the ring, actually overshooting it in their eagerness to arrive at the promised land. They return to centerpoint in order to tap gloves like they do on TV, except that they come close to knocking each other down. Sterling dutifully yells ‘box,’ and then the little boys start all out swinging. All of Sterling’s carefully laid instructions about jabs, pivots, counter punches, defense tactics and other aspects of strategy are ignored, replaced by the lust for the knock-out. Many punches are thrown, none landing for points, all wildly off their mark. This sound and fury signifies close to nothing. The air around each boxer receives a savage beating, however. One boy manages accidentally to connect with the other’s forearm, which tempts Sterling to award a point. By the time the clock has reached the minute mark and the bell sounds, the two little fellows are out of adrenalin and so exhausted they can hardly stand up. Sterling leads them back to the center, holding a hand of each, facing the audience. The gym grows silent; the ringside fans, who had been arguing about who is victor, become still, awaiting the referee’s decision. With full drama and almost yanking their tiny arms out of their shoulder sockets, Sterling holds up the hand of each fighter, declaring the match a draw, thus allowing both tykes to claim victory.

  The morning’s card advances. The next taller pair get their round of glory. During the sixty seconds Sterling awards a point which leads to a victory. The loser is almost in tears, but accepts the defeat with as much honor as he can muster. Sterling offers a few sentences on defeat with honor and good sportsmanship, which consoles the loser. There’s nothing worse than seeing athletes cry, he tells the children.

  “All we can ask is that you do your best. If you don’t win and you have done your best, there’s no reason to feel ashamed. Just do your best,” he says. “At this level of competition, there is always tomorrow,” he adds. He repeats all this in Spanish.

  The couples advance. Two girls pair off and, having paid attention to some of what Sterling had said, they actually evidence a bit of technique. Sterling counts five clean hits during the one-minute encounter, which is largely defensive and to the spectators a bit boring. He awards the bout to Latisha 3-2. He explains why this would be considered good boxing: that is, the boxers were focused on getting points. “You all should learn from these young women who, I am happy to say, seem to have been paying attention to what I’ve said. He repeats that in Spanish, too.

  After one of the better matches Sterling reenacts certain vital moments and provides color commentary, alternately playing the roles of each boxer in his replay. He lauds a particular combination, which unfortunately did not score a point as intended and left the boxer open for a left to the head, which was a solid point, the decisive score leading to his loss. “One single point can make all the difference,” he reflects. “Sometimes things just don’t work out the way you intend them, despite your best intentions,” he philosophizes.

  Only once does Sterling have to intervene before the sixty seconds run out, awarding the win by RSC. The middle Hernández, the southpaw, so outclasses his Ukrainian opponent, that Sterling stops the contest after only 30 seconds. None of the assembled pee-wees, even two-on-one, can offer the southpaw the semblance of competition. This worries Sterling who is struggling over what to do with the overqualified fighter, who he thinks is better than Sterling himself was at that age. He’s thinking he may work with him individually and enter him in the next Silvers advancement tournament, something he’ll have to ask his father about. Sterling does, however, know exactly what to say to the pee-wees after this one-sided bout. He turns to the humiliated and hammered Ukrainian boy, who is sulking. Sterling apologizes to the boy and accepts full blame.

  “You have no reason to feel bad, son. This was a mismatch. Mismatches are not the fighter’s fault. They are the fault of the promoter, coaches or trainers or managers. No one here should be fighting lefty Hernández. He’s too good. I’ll give you a parallel. It’s like little Ukraine fighting big Russia. It’s just not going to be fair fight. That doesn’t mean you should feel good about you getting your ass kicked. You should just know it’s not your fault. We’ll find a better match-up next time. You understand what I’m saying.”

  He understands. He comprehends English perfectly; in fact he speaks no Ukrainian, only English and Russian.

  The final bout is between the two largest boys, the senior Hernández and Bobby Jo. They should be equally matched, Sterling hopes. They are both scrawny, strapping youths, if each quite reserved. Their fight is the most interesting on the morning’s card. They are both extremely defensive boxers. They dance around, throwing punches only as a warning to the opponent not to come close. By the time the minute is up, no points have been scored. The bell rings and the boxers approach for the referee’s decision.

  “No, no, no. We’re not near finished. I hope you boys have just had a good rest, because we have another ten minutes before the yoga women arrive. We’ll do last man standing. Or first to get five points wins. No time limit, no rounds. I’m glad you agree.”

  This is the way Sterling has chosen to reward such lackluster performance. The boys do not agree, of course, but neither will be the first to complain. During the break the spectators have split up, gathering around their respective fighter. Latisha is telling Bobby Jo to jab with his left, while he’s getting just the opposite advise from the Swede. Tall Hernández – Sterling has not bothered to give names to the three brothers – is receiving conflicting instructions in Spanish, English and Spanglish. Sterling puts this confusion to a stop when he rings the bell. The boxers approach each other, tap gloves carefully, and actually start throwing punches. Still they are both conservative fighters, but they are not afraid to throw punches. They are just not very good at taking punches. Each punch that connects so distresses the receiver that he staggers and looks over to Sterling to stop the fight. The fighter who has thrown the successful punch, rather than follow it up, is also willing to wait for the referee to call the match. Each time this happens – both fighters are playing this game – Sterling merely yells “Box” to the delight of the spectators and the continued distress of the two boxers. Aware that the referee is not on their side, each fighter searches deep down and surprisingly locates his determination; they now trade punches up close. In a matter of fifteen seconds, they score so many points that Sterling loses count. They are indeed quite evenly matched. The boxers continue, their punches ever diminishing in strength until the action becomes almost slow motion. At this point the yoga women start arriving and Sterling blows the whistle. He separates the boxers who are in a final clinch; he steps between them, taking a hand of each, positioning them so they face the spectators who have moved to the ropes. They eagerly await the decision. He gets ready to raise one of their hands.

  “This fight shows what we call boxer’s heart. At least the second part of the fight. There’s no decision here. Too close to call.” He raises both hands, himself unable to decide who is the victor.

  The young boxers hug each other, their supporters each claiming victory. Pee-wee boxing ends for the day on a most positive note.

  A
fter his customary lunch of PB&J Sterling bikes over for his weekly ultimate scrimmage with the Faux Dukes. This time he intends to be on time so he is the first to arrive at the field. He waits a bit, and cars eventually begin pulling up. They deposit not his ultimate teammates, however, but the members of a girls’ softball team. Sterling knows he hasn’t confused the date or time – such is not really possible; obviously there’s been a change of day or place that he’s not been told about. He asks one of the adults and learns that the park schedule was revamped a few days back for the entire weekend; everyone received texts or email. The softball team even has a phone tree so that all the girls are adequately informed. No one seems to know about the time or place for frisbee, which even the softball brownies don’t consider a real sport. Frustrated, Sterling tries to remember the name or phone number of someone, anyone, on the team. But he has never learned anyone’s last name, ultimate being sufficiently informal that everyone is on a first-name basis only. There’s actually no one in charge, either. He gets back on his bike and cycles around the park looking for the ultimates. He runs across little league baseball, girl soccer, a Tai Chi class, boys soccer and a kite flying contest. No ultimate. He finally wanders around to the park entrance and studies the bulletin board. The Faux Dukes are on for tomorrow.

  Sterling, on his ride back to his namesake, remains a bit peeved: angry that he didn’t plan for this contingency, angry that he took a hammer to the iPhone without first dumping out its phone book, and of course angry at his mother, who continues to be the root of all his evil. Running a red light, he forces a car to brake in order to avoid hitting him. He sheepishly waves off an apology and snaps back to reality. By the time he has arrived home, he’s dispelled his peevishness. The guests will be arriving for the late-afternoon BBQ. In fact he sees a few vehicles, indicating that some guys are already there. He also notices the “Trip-cycle,” motorcycle and sidecar, the latter painted with the names of hit Christian tunes. It’s Sara’s party and her guest list. He puts on a bright face. One of the Trips, heading to the sidecar motorcycle, sees Sterling and gives him a broad smile and friendly wave. The Trips, despite the way Sterling treats them, have always liked him and do indeed consider him an honorary brother. Sterling vows to be on his best behavior for Sara’s sake. The solo Trip takes off. It is not the first time he’s seen a Trip separated from his brethren, but it is a rare event; he realizes there must be something devious being planned if only one is on the cycle. Likely the Trip is making a beer run. Time and time again he’s told the trio that drinking is absolutely prohibited in his home; he’s threatened, he’s pleaded; once he took them all on, not hitting them but merely slapping their faces in a sort of game. On that occasion they were bawling by the time they accepted Sterling’s zero tolerance policy. Once he even opened up a six-pack of contraband and began pouring cans of Bud into the sidecar. It didn’t take them long to relent that time, either. That was some years back before they were into hard liquor and worse. In recent years their tastes have advanced to inhalables, first glue, then pot, then coke. The only time Sterling had experimented with any of these was under duress from the Trips, who have from infancy been able to bully him with peer pressure and chicken clucks. Sterling has nothing against soft drugs; they are universally accepted among his peers. But they are not his thing. First, they don’t mix with athletics. Second, they are too mind-altering for a boy whose mind is specially wired, specially altered before birth. He doesn’t want to tempt fate; he likes the extraordinary wiring he was given and doesn’t want to chance a cross-circuit. His firm rule against anything illicit in The Sterling or within a hundred yards of the building makes him seem a bit of a fuddy-dutty; he accepts that criticism, for it’s not unjust. In any case he doesn’t want to compromise his parents, especially his father who by professional standing is an officer of the court. Dad’s power not-to-arrest can be tested only so far; Sterling has already pushed him beyond reasonable limits. His complaints about the Trips unfortunately fall on deaf ears at home. For years he’s told his mother that the brothers exhibit an addictive and reckless personality; maybe this comment gets lost among the massive bad-mouthing the brothers receive, some just, some not. Still Sterling knows that it’s only a matter of time before track marks show up on their arms. He’s been looking; so far they seem clean. Sara, who likes the Trips and adores their music, agrees that they can sometimes be mischievous; yet she cannot imagine that drugs pose a problem. “Don’t be so old-fashioned,” she reprimands Sterling. “I mean, they are musicians and deserve some slack,” she shrugs.

  When Sterling enters, the two remaining Trips are in the kitchen with their girl friends. All three are parading steady girls on presumed floats of virginity. As opposed to the brothers the girls present striking contrasts: blond, redhead, brunette; 5’3”, 5’7”, 5’11”; flat, average, zaftig; short-cropped, bangs, overflowing curls; Gap Petite Womens Medium Curvy, Lucky Brand Stark Sweet N Low-Short, Dittos Trouser Denim; Lancôme Aubergine Velvet; Maybelline Wild Berry; Avon Kicked Up Coral; Lancôme Cedar Rose blush; Avon Ideal Shade Ginger; Mabelline Rose Petal Dream Mousse Blush. They even smell unique: Lancôme Hypnôse, Avon Eternal Magic and Hermes Caleche. The boys, in contrast, are unified in everything they do, including aftershave and underarm: Old Spice, all from the same bottle, naturally. Each of the girls has trained her sights on one particular brother (they most definitely do not consider them fungible) so they mostly ignore his two siblings. Sterling wonders how they can possibly tell the difference as the boys always dress similarly, have identical mannerisms, etc. He’s known them since birth; they are an indivisible unit. The girls, not to be fooled by the rumored tricks that twins, not to mention triplets, like to play on people, have required their boyfriends to wear identification bracelets, the type found in hospitals that can be removed only with scissors. Jake’s is red; Connor’s is green; and Zack’s is yellow. Connor and Zack – Jake apparently being the one who just left on the motorbike – proudly display their ID bands so Sterling can carefully study them. The boys grin broadly and during the conversation they refer to each other pointedly by first name, again something new to Sterling. “Conner, please tell Sterling about the trip we’ve sent our parents on,” “Or, yes, Zackary, I’d love to tell Sterling.” He’s never heard them call one another anything other than “brother,” or simply “bro.” At one stage, when their idioglossia was at an especially annoying stage, they used special names for one another, but a proffered fist from Sterling convinced them to drop their private language in his presence. He had of course given them the choice to include him; they had of course refused: membership in their club closed at birth. He now shakes his head in disbelief at this new development; there is obviously more to it than meets the eye. He’s never known the Trips to do anything without an overarching ulterior motive. Sara distracts him with some chores and he starts to carry down the fixings to the backyard. It’s his job to man the grill.

  William has arrived with Brandon and a girl. Buffeau has already taken the initiative to light the grill, which isn’t a surprise to Sterling since Brandon seems to be a step ahead of him at every turn. What is a surprise is the girl, who is introduced as Mindy, Brandon’s significant other, which is William’s pompous way of saying “girlfriend.” Sterling is not sure what to make of all this; he’s not opposed to people being kinky; it’s really none of his business. But he cannot envision William involved in a ménage à trois; yet he doesn’t put anything past Brandon who exhibits

  svengali qualities. The two boxers chat about the Under-19, Brandon praising Sterling for being able to maintain weight, while he himself is stuffing his mouth full of chips and dip. Sterling dutifully munches on a carrot; he has trouble remembering what a potato chip used to taste like. Brandon pulls him aside for a confidential chat:

  “Hey, buddy, I was wondering if Mindy and I could get some private time upstairs.”

  Sterling
is not eager to enter this conversation. He preoccupies himself with the barbeque. Eventually he says:

  “Don’t you two have somewhere else, like the backseat of the Mustang?”

  “Shelby,” he says, correcting him. “OK. I just thought I’d ask,” he adds, not intending to pressure his friend nor inflict any guilt. Sterling suddenly feels guilty despite his best efforts not to.

  Brandon’s is not an outrageous request – no doubt Jeremiah will be making a similar request later on. Jeremiah and his wife – they have been married twice, and twice annulled by opposing parents – have been living in on-and-off connubial bliss for several years, a bliss now restricted mostly to weekends. Their first marriage was made possible by their Chinese driver’s licenses and equally forged certified copies of their birth certificates. When they were found out by their parents who, unlike the Register of Deeds (Marriage License Division), saw through the ruses, they had little choice but to consent to the annulment. They were later discovered in a roadside hotel in flagrante delicto by his mother and her husband; at least that taught the adults to knock before entering, the couple says, not the least ashamed of the sordid affair. Their second marriage had parental approval and their real birth certificates were used. It’s just that the approval came not from the parents who had legal custody of the children, but from their exes. Exasperated, Jeremiah’s mother had agreed that the couple could date (a 21st century euphemism for the f-word), but that the silly idea of marriage (she was on her third) had to be postponed until they were both eighteen at which point North Carolina no longer accepts parental opposition. They had thought about getting pregnant to force the issue, but the girl didn’t want to lug a fetus around high school or a baby around community college. Nevertheless, they were counting the days towards nuptials and had already asked Sara to cater. Sterling had agreed to be best man and the Trips were going to sing.

  That couples come to The Sterling for sex is certainly in keeping with tradition. In its earlier guise as a fleabag it used to rent rooms by the hour and the boy himself was conceived there which is no doubt how he got his name. His father was home on leave from the Middle East and his parents and baby Susan were living with his parents. The young-marrieds, wanting some privacy, shacked up for 120 minutes in the Sterling (in the exact space that’s now the boy’s bedroom) and nine months later (less two days) Sterling appeared. So it’s not reasonable for Sterling to have anything against getting laid at The Sterling. So in all fairness he consents to Brandon’s request and the couple head upstairs businesslike. He had not consented, however, that they use his very own bed in his very own bedroom (as opposed to one in the other four available), but by the time he thought of that it was too late. They had already finished their transaction and had returned for dinner. He says to William, not intending to be serious.

  “I guess you’ll be wanting to use my room next.”

  “Thanks,” William replies, accepting the offer. “My friend should be coming any minute.”

  The BBQ is in full swing. In addition Sara has invited many of her artistic schoolmates who Sterling (referring to them as artsy-fartsy) dutifully chats with but can’t pay attention to. Sara’s friends talk mostly in non sequiturs and Sterling has never been able to do much more than try to listen and attempt to piece together what they mean. The artists, themselves, seem to have no problem understanding one another. To add to the menagerie the motorcycle Trip arrives with the third girl, the one detailed in Avon. The rest of the Trips and their lady admirers are present, along with Jeremiah and the girl he introduces as his mistress, as in “mistress of the house,” no derogatoriness intended. William still nervously awaits his friend who, in Sterling’s opinion, is less likely to materialize than Harvey the invisible rabbit. He is wrong; Harvey Della Nave soon arrives in a rental. He is still dressed in his business suit, having just closed a paper deal with Senior Duke. Senior came out ahead on this deal; Della Nave will have to sacrifice some of his commission, which he will gladly do for the sake of getting William in the bargain. He sets down a six-pack of Heineken which disappears into the Trips before it can be confiscated. There are again introductions all around and an explanation must be given to Mr. Della Nave, after the protrusion of Trips requires several double-takes. Sterling addresses the young man as Mister in deference to his age and his attire, producing a glare from William, who calls his desirable partner Harvé, with H aspiré. Sterling tries to pry out some information from Brandon’s date; she seems clueless about Brandon which leaves Sterling to conclude that that she is a professional engaged for the party to establish Buffeau’s sexual orientation for anyone interested. Brandon for his part completely ignores the girl and spends most of his time talking with William and Harvé. Sterling later looks in on his room, between the time it served Brandon and before its use by William (who has dibs on it for the entire night). Sterling notices that the bed does not appear to have been slept in; a close examination of the sheets (he makes the bed fresh for William) provides no telltale evidence of any untoward activity between Brandon and his accomplice, who leave the party early after a plate of victuals.

  The BBQ has been quite a success. The arty classmates who had streamed a Netflix on Van Gogh have now departed. Sterling had spent the evening cleaning up, following Sara’s lead. William and his new friend have vanished into Sterling’s chamber. Sterling hears a few giggles emanate from the room; otherwise he does his best not to imagine, in detail, what is going on. Jeremiah and wife are in his parents’ bedroom; he doesn’t need much imagination to know what is happening there. Sterling has provided them with enough protection to forestall the arrival of a blessed event until after their marriage. The Trips had demanded equal treatment and had insisted on nine rubbers, including three glow-in-the-darks, and the right to return for more. So much for the boys’ virginity pledges, signed in triplicate, before an admiring studio audience. It had been a ratings buster for Oprah. They had also written a song on abstinence, earning them a bullet in Christian rock, and a Grammy nomination (they didn’t win). If Sterling had not been in such a good mood, he would have told the Trips to take a hike to the nearest pharmacy, but he acquiesced to their demands. He knows that long ago they had promised their parents they would never buy prophylactics without telling them beforehand and they always keep the promises to their parents, so they say, if not the ones made to a million viewers nationwide. In fact, they had just that day packed off mommy and daddy on a round-the-world cruise, the tickets for which they themselves had purchased from a tour agency on the condition that the tour be non-changeable, non-refundable. The Trips didn’t want their parents to back out or postpone the trip; in other words, they wanted to be left with virtually no supervision for the next six weeks. Sterling imagined the real beneficiaries would be the area drug dealers.

  Sara and Sterling lie on the couch, alone, under a light blanket, both exhausted and just enjoying each other’s body heat. Events have banished them from their bedrooms. Each of the three adjacent corridor rooms, including Sara’s, is now occupied by a Trip and his loving partner. There isn’t much they can do; the Trips won’t be done until morning so Sara and Sterling have resolved to spend the evening as they are, looking out from their cave in platonic warmth. They have rehashed the matter of the Trips and drugs. To establish his credibility with Sara in this debate and to underscore his points, Sterling relates a story he has never shared with anyone:

  A little less than a year ago, in fact at last year’s Fourth of July, he had joined his parents and sister at the Vaney compound for their annual Independence Day gathering. For the grown-ups it was a low alcohol affair, keeping with the Christian family’s near-abstinence policies. Nothing stronger than beer and wine was provided for the adults. One year they had made it completely booze-free but more than a few invitees had left early; from experience Mr. and Mrs. Vaney have learned to dole out the drinks only to those who looked eager to leave. Th
e kids were of course prohibited from booze altogether, although in previous years one or another of the Trips had managed to sneak in a bottle of Johnny Walker. They themselves were also careful gatekeepers of the scotch, to ensure no one got drunk and thus gave away their behavior to their parents. This year, however, there was no banned liquidity. The Trips were on seemingly model behavior, putting aside all their hypocrisy and actually being righteous and apparently living the lives they pretended to live. Even the cigarettes had disappeared. Earlier they had helped out in the kitchen and had prepared brownies, which the adults were enjoying. The kids also had an open plate of brownies; there was also a smaller, special plate that they carefully guarded. Sterling, who they considered indeed to be their best friend outside themselves, was awarded a brownie from the special collection. Reliving the moment Sterling now tells Sara that the brownies were very tasty and exceedingly crunchy; that should have been an early warning sign, she says. Sterling, who had finished boxing in the JOs a few days earlier, having lost in the third round, was no longer a slave to diet. He was momentarily free to indulge so he munched on a second brownie as well. He began to feel delightfully woozy, so he took his leave and lay down on one of the three identical beds in the kids’ suite. For at least a quarter of an hour, he lay there motionless, without mass. As he explained to Sara, the best he could, he was traveling the universe at the speed of light. All other particles in the universe were also massless, like himself, and from his point of view time stood still and space contracted to nothingness. This is wholly consistent with a theory of metaphysics offered by cosmologists who contend that an infinitely small universe is the one that would undergo a Big Bang. The Big Bang appeared to Sterling in the form of a whopper of a headache, thanks to the Trips’ laced brownies. The Trips never admitted what they had done, nor did Sterling ever cross-examine them or simply beat the truth out of them. Before leaving each had warmly gripped him, a sort of welcome to their fraternal universe. It was at that moment that Sterling realized they truly had a drug problem. He had just had an interesting out-of-body trip; but never again would he try hallucinogenics. And he would always be on guard against Trips bearing gifts.

  Thinking of the devils, one appears from the middle door in the corridor. According to the red wristband it is Jake, who wears a pair of red boxers with a bulge. A few moments later his brother Connor appears, in green boxers and with his green wristband. They wait impatiently; finally one of them gives a brief knock on the third door. A few seconds later Zack appears, apologetic, in yellow, matching wristband and underwear. He wears slippers; his brothers are barefooted. Together they march down toward the washroom, each concealing something in his left hand. Sara and Sterling look at each other and smile. “Comparing notes?” she asks. “Or sperm samples,” Sterling offers.

  In the five minutes before the Trips return to their rooms, Sterling sniffs an odor from the air. He sniffs bloodhound like, catching Sara’s attention. “Cannabis,” she says. Sterling acknowledges she is correct. He starts to rise, but she lightly restrains him. “Let it go,” she says. Sterling accedes and a few minutes later the Trips are marching back from the washroom. What’s wrong with this picture, Sterling asks himself. It’s like the picture they give on I.Q. tests and ask you have to find what’s wrong: like the clock is missing the minute hand or a shoelace that’s untied. These puzzles are not Sterling’s forte, but he’s taken enough practice tests to raise his intelligence as scored by puzzles. Two inconsistencies pop up out in the moving Trip tableau. First, Jake’s red shorts are on backwards. The pee-flap is in the back. Second, the slippers go with the Trip in yellow underwear but now they belong on the feet of the boy in the green shorts. Sara has not caught any of this; Sterling doesn’t explain, but says simply: “I think they’re playing musical beds.” Sara is a bit startled. “No,” she counters. “Yes,” he contends. Sterling is absolutely certain he’s correct, for just before the boys go back into the bedrooms, the slippers are slipped over to the boy who is entering the room from which the slippers had earlier emerged. For anyone’s who keeping track, this is a pass from the boy in green (formerly yellow) to the boy in yellow (formerly red). Sterling no longer bothers to associate name with boy because he’s pretty sure they’ve fabricated the name associations just for the evening. Maybe they don’t even know their real names.

  Sterling rises, offering the excuse that he needs to pee and lunges on tip toes down to the washroom. Closing and bolting the door, he goes directly to the wastebasket which he sifts through to discover all sorts of interesting items. As expected there are three used condoms, filled with equal amounts of liquid. These are not the glow-in-the-darks, which apparently are still held in reserve for the finale. There are three severed wristbands: yellow, green and red. And there is a single cigarette butt, something hand-rolled. Sterling sniffs it to confirm it’s not tobacco. He carefully replaces all the evidence and begins to search the nooks and crannies of the linen closet. He finds what he’s looking for: tucked behind some Costco light bulbs is a men’s leather travel kit for toiletries, initialed JCZ in gold. When unzipped the ditty bag reveals itself as the Trip’s portable drug workshop. Careful not to leave any sign of breaking and entering, Sterling examines the kit’s contents. In addition to a six-pack of condoms (indicating the Trips didn’t need to borrow but three from Sterling to achieve their master plan) there is a baggie of pot, some cigarette papers, a lighter, a spoon, a votive candle, a syringe, a length of heavy duty elastic, two sets of colored wrist bands, all unused but with the appropriate Trip name written on each. There also a brown medicine bottle, label scratched off, which is one-third filled with a translucent liquid. He unscrews the cap to discover a mighty aroma: the strongest semen he’s ever smelled. Finally, he finds two unmarked film canisters. Sterling opens one to find something that resembles rock candy. He looks from the kit to the toilet bowl and then to his face in the mirror. He studies himself in the eyes, intensely, trying to decide is best to do. He carefully looks in the other canister: white powder, sort of like the talcum that is stored in the medicine cabinet. He again looks down at the toilet bowl. He thinks. He doesn’t act. Finally, he is careful to repack the kit just as he found its contents; he returns the shaving kit to its original hiding place.

  Sara has fallen asleep by the time Sterling returns. He slithers beside her, wide awake, his mind racing beyond its desirable speed limit. Yes, the problem is what he expected. He should not be surprised. But he is. He had never run through any scenarios about what to do if he were actually put in the position to be able to do something. He then drifts off and hears his mother in a heart-to-heart:

  “Sterling. I have to give you some very, very sad news.”

  He is sitting down with her at the kitchen table. She has just received a call from Mr. Vaney and he was all beside himself. Before he had completely broken down in sobs, he had told her that they had lost their sons. “One had died of a drug overdose and the other two had killed themselves a few minutes later. There must have been a pre-arranged pact. He wasn’t sure.” This shocks Sterling awake. He fears this is how he will be proved right. He gets no pleasure now from thinking about the inevitable “I-told-you-so” moment.

  He finds himself in a much different position. He wishes he weren’t where he is. He shouldn’t have snooped, but he did. He shouldn’t know what he knows, but he does. Now he has the claim on much more responsibility than he desires. There is only one person to turn to and methodically he starts to hatch a plan. He hopes the Trips survive the night without requiring a trip to the emergency room or the morgue. In any case he has to act fast.

  While he’s deep in thought, preparing for the chain of events that he will initiate tomorrow, the Trips again appear in front of their respective rooms off the corridor. All are barefoot and all hold something in their left hand. They march to the washroom. About five minutes later, they return, the th
ree flagpoles in quite an elevated state – perhaps from a speedball, Sterling doesn’t know – but obviously having changed shorts and wristbands and consequently room assignments. The Trips had said earlier that they wanted to stay the entire night and Sterling had agreed. He had told them he would wake them up by nine so they could get to church on time, after which they had a church lunch, afternoon Bible study and an informal evening concert. “No rest for the weary,” “Only God gets His day off,” “Our Lord’s work is never done,” they had commented in sequence to their lady friends. Thus their Sunday schedule nicely coincided with Sterling’s own plans, as ultimate scrimmage was scheduled for nine-thirty.

  Sterling rises at seven, waking Sara but leaving the rest of the brood asleep. He has a long chat with his mother on Sara’s phone, whispering from the washroom. For once the mother-son conversation is on an intense but even keel, devoid of childish outburst or motherly authoritarianism. For this rare episode, he is sincere with her on both a factual and emotional level. He learns in passing that she had given Sara permission to take her car to Greensboro for Sunday service. The matter has not come up, but apparently Sterling is pretty certain he is still prohibited from driving either family car. He is grounded, save for shopping, sports, legal meetings and other items on a need-advance-approval basis. Under duress he had agreed that he will not exercise his motto: better to ask forgiveness than permission, which he has just broken and has now again must ask for forgiveness. She reminds her son that she and Pandely have pretty much run out of forgiveness. He understands he’s running a deficit in that regard. Catherine is not pleased to learn that all the beds in The Sterling are so actively engaged, but she is an hour away and cannot deal with this until she returns. He says he’s sorry for being such a disappointment. She says disappointments are only temporary. In light of the Trips situation, Sterling has also realized that in the grand scheme of things, his being unplugged is not very important. He tries to tell his mother this, but she now has other worries and will have to make a bunch of phone calls, calling in favors. They end their talk saying they love each other, sincerely.