“Matt. Wait…”
I stopped. I was intensely conscious of her proximity, just inches away in the cramped space. Her fingertips touched my sleeve, and the space between us seemed to shrink even more. “I just wanted to say thank you… For spending so much time looking out for me.”
As I looked into her seemingly huge eyes, I wanted nothing more at that moment than to kiss her. “I’ve loved every second we spent together.”
“Me too,” she whispered.
I leaned forward in what seemed like slow motion. My lips brushed against hers. I’d never kissed a girl before. The sensation was an epiphany. Her lips were supple and warm, and as the moment extended I instinctively put my hands on her waist. Her lips parted, just barely, and her eyes closed. The moment was magic… And fleeting.
She pulled away from me. “I’ve got to go.” Her voice was rough.
I opened my mouth to respond, but she turned away and half ran to her father’s trailer.
I stood there for a long time listening to the crickets and bullfrogs with their ringing song. All of my attention was focused on the memory of that kiss, the shock of the sudden separation and her running away. I was buffeted by confusion.
Eventually I turned and began walking across the lot, back to my parent’s trailer.
***
Tom Neighbors, the general manager for the circus, had a zero tolerance policy for fighting. People had been ruined by fighting on the lot—sometimes docked half a month’s pay, others suspended or even fired. So I had been fairly confident as I went about my day-to-day business that I wouldn’t have to worry about Red coming after me.
I was as wrong as I could be.
The attack that night came out of nowhere. I was halfway across the lot when a crushing blow hit the back of my head and my vision went black. I staggered to my knees as my vision came back, just in time for Red to kick me in the stomach. I fell backward, the pain excruciating, and before I could recover he aimed another kick. I screamed and curled into a fetal position. I was in good shape from years of swinging on the rigging, and practicing as a catcher had forced me to develop a lot of upper body strength. Red attacked me by surprise and put me down before I had a chance to do anything.
He kicked me -- once, twice, a third time, before I could roll away, scrambling to get on my feet. Just as I got up, I heard someone shout.
“Hey! Who’s fighting?”
Someone was approaching in the darkness. Red gave me a vicious look, then turned and ran. I sagged, falling to a crouch and letting my elbows rest on my knees. I felt nauseous. Rory Nelson, one of the circus handlers, approached. When he saw me, he leaned close and said, “Matt? Are you okay?”
I nodded slowly. “Yeah.” My voice came out as not much more than a growl.
“Who was that? You know they don’t tolerate fighting on the lot.”
I shook my head. Instinctively, I kept my mouth shut. “He hit me from behind. I don’t know who it was.”
Why didn’t I identify Red on the spot? I didn’t owe him anything. I think maybe I had an idea I would be the one to dish out punishment to him. Whatever it was, instinct, natural cussedness, I don’t know. But I came to regret it.
“You sure you’re not hurt?”
“Yeah, I’m fine.” I wasn’t, but I didn’t want any trouble. I stood up, carefully hiding the pain in my ribs.
“If you’re sure,” he said.
“I am.” Then I turned to walk to my family’s trailer.
***
I didn’t see Red again that year. I don’t know where he and his father went for the winter, and I didn’t care. I was glad he wasn’t in Florida.
It was Carlina’s senior year in high school and my junior year. As it often was, the first two weeks back were a scramble to catch up so we had some idea of what was going on. We were in different grades, but we ended up taking two classes together, economics and drama. I was thrilled… We were the only circus kids in either class, so it was natural for us to spend time studying together.
Papa and I were at a stalemate. I continued to ride whenever I could with Carlina, but practiced with the family every night. It was grueling, but I knew if I slacked even in the slightest, Papa would forbid me to see her. Late fall faded into a frigid winter, with temperatures plunging into the twenties, the frost killing off large swatch of orange groves. Dad grumbled for days about having to buy winter coats for all of us—he grumbled, but of course he did it. When March came, we were back on the road.
Carlina and I continued to spend time with each other, but by July, it was clear something was wrong. I showed up one day to ride and she wasn’t there—and no one could tell me where she was.
The next day, same story.
On the third day I found her as she walked across the lot toward the main ticket booths.
She was walking with Red.
I approached, feeling my body and lips go stiff. Her eyes widened. Red crossed his arms over his chest.
“Carlina…” I couldn’t continue the sentence. I didn’t know what to say.
“Go away.” Red’s words were pugnacious.
“No… this is between me and her,” I said.
Tears started to run down her face. “Matt—I’m sorry… just let it go. I don’t love you, I never did.”
It was like she’d reached into my insides, grabbed ahold of my guts and twisted. I almost gasped. Red approached me closer. “Go away, little runt,” he said.
I’d been trained from an early age to keep a hold of my temper. Papa didn’t tolerate fighting or emotional outbursts. But this set me off. Without a second thought I let out a yell and punched Red in the face.
I felt his nose crumple under my first and he fell back, yelling in pain. I hit him with another blow to the face, then another, before he began to recover. Carlina screamed, “Matt, no!”
That just stoked the rage even more. Red had pushed me around and bullied me for years. He’d treated her like crap too, and now she was going back to him. I charged him, throwing punch after punch at his midsection. He doubled over and I kneed him in the face.
Red went down just as two of the pitchmen grabbed me, holding me in place. I struggled to get away from them as Red rolled away from us. Carlina was crying, and Red got up even as the two men started to lose their grip. They didn’t lose their grip quickly enough—he charged, knocking me off balance and out of the arms of the pitchmen. I tripped over a generator and fell backward, narrowly avoiding hitting my skull on the pavement. Now the pitchmen were holding him.
I staggered to my feet.
“I’ll kill you,” Red shouted. “You. Are. Dead.”
I just shook my head.
An hour later, both of us were standing with our fathers as Tom Neighbors, the general manager, dressed them down for not keeping us under control.
“This is your only warning, and I’m only giving you that because you’re still a kid,” he said, pointing a finger at me. “I don’t care if your father could levitate up to the bar. You don’t fight on my lot, understand?”
I nodded. “Yes, sir.”
He repeated a similar warning to Red.
All I could see was Carlina. Crying. Why was I so stupid? Why didn’t I see it?
***
A week later, I’d finally reached the point I couldn’t handle it any longer. I’d spent days doing nothing but the trapeze and sleeping. I had to know. Why?
But when I went to the paddock, her father’s trailer wasn’t there.
What the hell? Urgently, I began to search around. Everything was as it should be in the area—except the missing trailer. I ran over to the paddock and shouted to one of the riders. “Where’s Nick? Carlina?”
The rider shrugged. “Gone. Nick was fired.”
“What?”
He shrugged again.
Fired. What the hell? He’d been with the circus forever.
Then the suspicion began to rise. My dad knew the fight with Red was over Carlina. He knew it
.
I began to run back to our trailer.
***
I arrived just as Papa came out of the trailer, followed by Mamma. They were preparing to head to the arena for the show.
“What did you do?” I shouted. “She’s gone!”
Papa’s face twisted in anger. “And good riddance!” he shouted. “She’s a whore! She used you then went back to that shit-for-brains Red. Her father was a drunk who was stealing!”
“That’s not true!”
He grabbed my shoulders. “Matty, get a hold of yourself!”
“You had him fired!” My accusation rang out across the lot. A small crowd was forming.
“I did no such thing,” Papa shouted. “Now get yourself under control. We have a show.”
“Screw the show!” I shouted. “I don’t want to be in your stupid show any more.”
“Matty!” Mamma’s voice was shocked.
Papa slapped me across the face. I was stunned, immediately shocked into quiet. I heard murmuring around us.
“I wish I wasn’t your son,” I said. My tone was bitter. “I wish you were dead.”
He looked at me and shook his head, a gesture of dismissal. “We’ll talk after the show. Go get yourself dressed.”
He turned and walked away.
Those words were the last we ever spoke to each other.
Chapter Fourteen
Chummy, aren’t they (Matt)
The beginning of the meeting is almost a replay of the last one. Peggy Young is there first—I think she’ll likely be early to her own funeral. She wears a flowered dress which was probably in style in the 1960s, but who cares about that? The important thing is that she is a tough old bird. When I arrive, she’s standing in the administrative office on the third floor of the town hall, where the school department is headquartered.
Tyler shows up right behind me, then Dianne Blakely, who gives me a death glare as she breezes past the secretaries and walks straight into the superintendent’s office without knocking.
“Chummy, aren’t they?” Peggy observes.
“Huh,” Tyler says.
“It pays to give these sorts of things attention,” she says. Then she winks.
Tyler grins. If she wasn’t 50 years older than he is, I think he’d be in love. We spend a few minutes talking strategy about the upcoming meeting, but we quiet as we hear footsteps coming up the stairs. It’s Susan Greeley, the most reasonable of the school committee members. Her shoulder length blonde hair is done up in tiny ringlets, and she’s wearing a sleeveless, formfitting burgundy dress. If it wasn’t for the wedding ring, I would think she was out for a date.
“How are you all doing?” She looks perfectly friendly when she asks the question.
Of course it’s Tyler who answers. Susan may be a couple of years older than he is, and married, but Tyler is still Tyler. “I think we’ll all be doing a lot better when the strike is all over. We should make a deal today and go out for drinks and celebrate.”
“You’re right, we should. You all can come back to my place, and meet my husband. He loves to mix martinis.”
Tyler sags like a slowly deflating basketball.
The office door opens, and Michael Barrington, the superintendent, waves. “Come in, everyone. I didn’t realize you were waiting out here.”
I’m sure he didn’t. Peggy looks as if she’s just sucked on a lemon.
Two minutes later we’re all sitting around the table again. Barrington says, “Thank you all for coming today. Before we discuss the terms of our revised offer to the union, I need to make a couple of comments.”
Peggy and I meet each other’s eyes. New proposal. That’s good news.
“As you all know, it’s a violation of the law for the teachers union to strike. We’re going to make a new proposal in an effort to resolve this issue, but I want to be clear that we intend to pursue legal action against the union. As you know, the last strike in the state, by the teachers union in Cambridge, resulted in a several hundred thousand dollars fine against the union.”
I find it interesting that he opens the negotiation with threats. Everyone in the union is aware of the Cambridge strike and the fines that the teacher’s union had to pay. That was part of the discussion we had in the first place, and we made a decision to go ahead because of the principle. All I can guess is that he’s looking for a stronger bargaining position.
“That said, the committee and the town selectmen feel it’s urgent to get the doors open again in the school system. We are prepared to make a compromise proposal. Are you ready to hear it?” At our nods, he continues. “First, the issue of the department heads. Our proposal is that we can proceed with eliminating the department head positions and replace them with curriculum coordinators as planned. However, we will do so by attrition—when a department head retires, only then will the position be eliminated. We will then allow the schools to examine the impact for two years, and revisit it the end of the two-year period.”
Barrington continues with the details of the counterproposal. The school system would split the difference between what the union asked for, and zero, which was what the school committee had originally proposed. Health insurance premiums would still increase, but the school system would pick up an additional 15% of that increase.
Peggy, Tyler and I all maintain poker faces. Any proposal would have to be taken back to the union anyway, but I suspect that this compromise proposal will do the trick.
“The final change in our counter proposal addresses disciplinary procedures,” Barrington says. “I think you all know that we’ve had some concerns about continued bullying at the high school. The anti-bullying task force made several recommendations earlier this year which addressed the need for more accountability on the faculty and staff. The committee has agreed that any new offer to the union must include these provisions.”
Diane Blakely passes out the report from the anti-bullying task force. I’m familiar with the recommendations already, and I don’t think there will be any issues as far as the union is concerned. Essentially what the proposal does is allows the superintendent’s office to directly address issues in the classroom when the education or safety of a child is involved. The language is overly broad, but I think it will likely go through. I don’t say anything, though. We’ll let the union address that when it meets.
“I’d like to see more specific language in that provision,” Peggy says. “It will be difficult to make a recommendation to the union when it’s so open ended.”
Barrington frowns. “In principle I agree, Peggy. In practice, we need to get the kids back in school. I think we can fine tune the language over time.”
Peggy looks at him skeptically. “I don’t see any reason why we can’t get the language sorted out now.”
Barrington almost rolls his eyes, and his impatience is visible. The sinks back into his seat. “What are you looking for here?”
“We need some specifics. Under what circumstances does the superintendent’s office get involved?”
Susan Greeley speaks in an annoyed sort of whiny tone. “It’s for bullying.”
“We know what it’s for,” Peggy says. “If it is for bullying, then there’s no reason we can’t be very specific about the language. As it stands, the wording in the proposal gives the superintendent’s office carte blanche to intervene in any disciplinary matter. That’s always been in the hands of the school principals, not the district.”
Blakely and Barrington look at each other. Her expression is one of annoyance. Barrington shrugs. “I don’t have any problem with revising the language,” he says.
“Then let’s get started.” Peggy’s tone allows for no defiance.
The process of going over the school committee’s proposal is slow. All of us want to get back to work, so we go through it one sentence at a time. Peggy’s insistent, and the more she raises potential scenarios, the more I think she’s correct.
Despite everything, I feel like we are making sol
id progress. Shortly before we break for lunch, I have a moment that takes me aback.
Tyler makes a sarcastic comment about how the teachers will be grateful to me, because there would have been no strike without me and Peggy. Peggy mutters something, I don’t know what. But for the barest second, the superintendent looks at me with naked malice. It’s over so quick I doubt whether I ever saw it; his face shifts back into politician mode. It’s disturbing. It’s almost four in the afternoon when we finally wrap it up. The proposal is ready, we’ve all agreed on it, and now it merely needs to be submitted to the union for a vote.
The meeting breaks up, all of us coming to our feet. Tyler stretches and Susan says, “I’ve got to be going. The babysitters were expecting me home more than an hour ago.” We all shake hands with her and begin to disperse. Downstairs and out the front door, Peggy stops me and Tyler. “That Michael is up to something,” she says.
“What do you mean?” Tyler looks confused when he asks the question.
“It’s out of character for him to give up this easily,” she says. “Michael Barrington isn’t a smart man. But he is one to carry a grudge. Matt, you and Tyler keep in touch with me.”
A few minutes later in the car, Tyler sums up his feelings about Peggy. “I can’t decide if that old bat is crazy or brilliant. Her warning made my skin crawl.”
He’s not the only one. Not only does the thought creep me out, but I suspect she’s right. Barrington’s already got a bad reputation within the school system, and he’s been in office just a year. Let’s hope he doesn’t take out his resentments on us. “I think we ought to be careful, Tyler.”
“You ain’t kidding.”
It’s almost 5 o’clock when I get back home. I’m tired. Emotionally tired. I want the strike over, but I also can’t help but wonder … what happens with me and Zoe when it’s over? Over the last two weeks we’ve spent a lot of time together. Time that has meant a lot to me, and I don’t want to give that up.
I should call her right now. I reach for the phone—I’m probably one of the few people left in America with a landline—but before I can pick it up and dial, it rings.