The Less Fortunates
By Charles C. Martin
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The Less Fortunates © 2016 Charles C. Martin
This work of fiction was written by Charles C. Martin and edited by Kathryn W. Martin. Cover artwork and design by Rob Allen. This novel is a work of fiction. Any references to real people, events, establishments, organization, or locales are intended only to give the fiction a sense of reality and authenticity, and are used fictitiously. All other names, characters, and places, and all dialogue and incidents portrayed in this book are the product of the author’s imagination. The Less Fortunates. Copyright 2016 by Charles C Martin. All rights reserved. Printed in the United States of America. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews. Isaiah 53:5 o God there is power there. Let it loose. There is a printed copy of this work with ISBN 978-1532854286 The Less Fortunates / Charles C. Martin – 1st ed. 238 pp
To Agwe
Table of Contents
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1
They told me when to wake up, what to wear, when to sleep, when to eat, how to act. I felt like a pet, but not the kind that slept on the couch. Like the mangy dog chained to his doghouse, unloved by its owners, and taking up space. Five days a week the owners had me seated at the second desk, last aisle, in classroom number four at the Havana School for Boys. I wasn’t even seventeen, but had already spent so much of my life in that place that I had the cracks on my desk and mold patterns on the ceiling memorized, like a useless map of nothing. The air was thick and smelled like hell, but it didn’t matter anymore. My dreary day to day was about to be shattered beyond recognition. First was the idea.
The idea was like a gift and always the easy part. But the rest, as one of my foster dads used to say, was what separated the men from the boys. Not to say anything special about him. That guy was a total bastard. But the rest began on a Tuesday morning in that same old room, with those same old people, and same old Mr. Peterson up front and jabbering on about photosynthesis.
Big Peterson looked like he barely made it out of bed that morning. He didn’t want to be there anymore than we did, but at least he got paid. I could handle the time a little easier than most. The rest of the room was filled with lifeless expressions fighting sleep - all of ‘em. It sucked because if you fell asleep in big Peterson's class, he crept toward you and kicked your desk hard enough to give himself a hernia. Then you got an F for the day and two additional hours of after school detention with the same dick.
I could cope though, and I did it by drifting. At least that’s what I called it. Mentally escaping a less fortunate physical reality. I learned how to drift a long time ago, and drifting was the reason I could hear my heart pumping that late morning in May. The idea that had been stirring in my head for months was now a plan. The plan was the reason that in the crowd of mostly brown haired, pale face boys, there was only one who was smiling.
I popped my knuckles and thought about the boat, the ocean, the freedom. I could smell it, taste it, almost feel it. The pen in my hand slowly transformed into an old, salty rope while I watched the sun move from behind a cloud. I squinted from the sharp glare on the water and took a deep breath. Then a sudden and loud groan from the back of the class snapped me off the boat. “UGGHHHHHH!” It sounded like someone dying.
Big Peterson spiked his chalk to the floor like an underpaid athlete, and we watched it break into several pieces and roll to the wall.
“Forest, was that you? Young man, was that you?”
All eyes turned toward the back of the class. Forest, a tall seventeen year old with wide shoulders, scars on his fists, and disorderly red hair stared at the wall behind big Peterson and slowly shook his head. I smirked. The hell it wasn’t. Everyone knew it was Forest.
“Only one more strike, son.”
Big Peterson’s eyeballs were about to pop out, freak. He held up a trembling finger and said softly and slowly, “Just. One. More.”
Staredown. We could hear the sound of some kids talking outside, it was that quiet. The same old shit was getting old though. It had been happening almost weekly. Big Peterson taunting Forest to do something, anything that might get him expelled.
He was down to his last strike. During the silence my mind drifted back to the other two strikes. It was a test day and the room was silent, with the exception of big Peterson blowing his nose every two or three minutes. Then papers suddenly flew through the air, and Forest just bolted out of class. It was funny afterwards, but in the moment we were all like, what the hell?
But after I thought about it, that wasn’t even a strike. Strike one was the first and last time the teacher fell asleep at his desk, thanks to Forest. My smile faded when I thought about strike number two. Unfortunately, it involved me. Forest overheard me say his sister, Becca, was smoking hot. He got in my face, and things escalated unbelievably fast. I didn’t see what was so wrong with what I said. It wasn’t an insult. I wished I was smoking hot. If some girl called me smoking hot, it’d make my week. No, my year.
I did get a punch in, the first one, but it all went downhill from there. No one would pull him off of me. I had a concussion. Sat in the hospital for four days. That was six months earlier, I still had these squiggly lines that passed across my right eye, and my jaw clicked when I yawned. I threw the punch because I knew it was going to go down anyway. I could see it in his eyes.
“Watch him boys, I need witnesses,” said big Peterson. “Just one more. C'mon you know you want to.”
Forest began wiggling his middle finger.
“There! You saw it. Raise your hand if you saw it. He flipped me off!” No one raised their hand. No surprise there.
“Joey.” Mr. Peterson and a few others turned their attention my way.
“Shit,” I whispered.
Ever since the fight he thought I had good rat potential.
“You saw him, didn’t you? Look now. He’s flipping me off.”
Forest continued to stare down big Peterson stone faced. Thumb, index and middle finger open across his temple. “Look!” shouted Mr. Peterson.
Forest wiggled his middle finger again.
“Joey, what do you call that?”
I tried to drift.
“Joey!” Impossible.
“I have no idea,” I responded. Just leave me alone man, I screamed in my head and hoped I communicated it with my eyes. He turned his attention back to Forest.
The bell rang. Thank God. Everyone stood up and it quickly put an end to the awkward stalemate. For half a second Forest dropped his other fingers leaving the middle exposed. “There!” yelled Mr. Peterson, but we were already pushing our way out of class, including Forest.
Just outside of classroom number four I made my way through the crowd of boys in green shirts and khaki shorts, to the old window that looked down to the yard. I leaned up against the window frame and felt chips of white paint fall to the floor. It looked like it did every other day, same time. Some of the guys started playing basketball, and others gathered into groups in the yard. There was no grass, just concrete and dirt. A few weeds would try to spring up but
were mashed down to the earth before they had a chance. I watched my group form and wondered how they would react. It was an idea and a damn good one. I was ready.
Once downstairs I pushed open the rusty double doors leading to the yard.
“What’s up Joey?” said a kid from class dribbling a basketball. I nodded and joined my friends on the other side of the court. The five of them stood in a disjointed circle with Forest just outside of it. He leaned with his back against the concrete wall and casually looked out at the yard, uninterested in the conversation. I threw my backpack against the wall. Luke was rambling on about motorcycle engines again, c90 this, c90 that. No one cared. No one even acted like they cared. It was as good a time as any to bring up my plan.
“I’m out of here next month, for good,” I said.
Luke rolled his eyes and Chris said, “Here we go again.”
“No man. This is it. You guys too. We’re sailing the hell out of here.”
Chris gave me a bullshit look.
“Dude, just because you took a few sailing lessons from that kids wish charity doesn’t make you a sailor. You probably hadn’t even been on a canoe before that.”
“That’s actually true, but it doesn’t matter,” I replied. “Just listen. There’s a guy named Sam there that runs the marina and teaches the lessons. Big guy, laid back, takes a lot of naps. So, here’s the thing. People pay this marina to keep their boats parked in the water at the dock. I asked Sam and he said some of the boats sit there for months, even years without moving. This is what you aren’t going to believe, but I swear to God it’s true. You know what keeps these boats from sailing out into the ocean and never coming back?”
Luke shrugged.
“Ropes. Ropes with knots.”
Luke looked confused. “But you can cut ropes.”
“Yeah. I checked them all and there must be hundreds. They are all tied to the dock with ropes.”
“That doesn’t make any sense. No ones that stupid. What about the motor?” asked Luke.
“On a sailboat there’s a small motor on the back. No key. It starts just like a lawn mower. Seriously. You untie the boat, get on it, pull the rope to start the motor, and off you go. That’s it.”
Luke squinted and rubbed the back of his neck. “That just can’t be right, man. There must be really heavy security.”
I laughed. “Yeah, Joe. He’s heavy, looks like he could be big Peterson’s brother.”
Luke thought about it, “Okay so let’s say you steal one of these boats and sail off into the ocean. Where the hell are you going?”
“I’ll tell you exactly where we’re going.”
“You’re,” said Luke.
“Last weekend I was in Sam’s office, supposed to be doing homework. He had a map on his desk. I picked it up, and it hit me. Less than a hundred miles out. The Bahamas. The Bahamas! Hundreds of islands to get lost in. It’s not a world away man. I mean, shit - one hundred miles.”
“Psh! There’s a lot of sharks out there too,” said Chris.
I threw my hands in the air, “There’s a lot of crackheads down the street with guns.”
“I like the train idea better,” said Luke.
Chris laughed. “Yeah, no sharks, but guaranteed Luke gets humped by a bum.”
“We can pull this off, man,” I snapped. “We just need a month, maybe two to prepare. Let’s take a shot.”
Luke shook his head. A quick look around and it was obvious the rest of them thought the idea was crazy.
“Sorry, Joey. You can die of thirst or get eaten by yourself. You’re on your own, man,” said Chris.
“No you aren’t.”
The sudden and unusual voice of Forest caught our attention. He set his stone like eyes on me. The situation eerily reminded me of the moments before the fight, and I felt my spine tingle. For a second I thought I heard the faint sounds of the chaos while my head hit the floor over and over.
“We have to leave tonight,” he said.
Oh shit. They all turned to me, wondering how in the hell I was going to respond to Forest. I needed the bell to ring, but it was at least five minutes away. I mean, yeah I wanted to break outta there and make a run for the Bahamas, but a hundred miles on a sailboat with Forest, hell no! I wasn’t even saying that because we weren’t friends. I’d look at him wrong, and the dude would push me off the boat in the middle of the ocean. No exaggeration - guaranteed.
Luke and Chris looked like they felt sorry for me. The seconds ticked by. I had to say something.
“Forest, we have a bit of a history man,” I responded.
He shook his head, “No we don’t. That’s done.”
“I think I made it sound too easy,” I said more softly than I wanted to.
Chris chimed in, “Yeah, no shit, like you’re selling a timeshare or something.”
I didn’t know what the hell a timeshare was, but I nodded in agreement. Chris was just trying to help me get out of it, but I still had to say something.
“Tonight’s impossible. It’s at least a hundred miles, but if the wind is coming out of the east then we have to like zig zag to get there and that could turn into two hundred miles, maybe more. Top speed is seven miles an hour and we will probably average more like two or three, zero if there’s no wind. We have to figure out food, water, all that. It’s going to take a lot of time to prepare.”
Forest shook his head. “No, man. Tomorrow these creeps are picking up my sister. It has to be tonight. We leave with her, tonight.”
He mentioned his sister, and I got a little uneasy and looked away for a second.
What the hell was this onslaught of craziness? She was why I saw these squiggly lines every thirty seconds in my right eye. He thought we we’re going to all live on a sailboat and I would be able to keep from looking at his sister 24/7. Psh. I may as well have shot myself in the head to got it over with quickly. It was time to back out.
“There’s just no way to leave tonight.”
Forest didn’t buy it. “I’m leaving tonight with Becca. Come with us if you want.”
He couldn’t be serious. “Dude, this is my idea.”
The group was dead silent while they listened to the rare and awkward conversation between me and Forest.
“I know, Joey. But I have to make a go of it tonight. No choice. The people adopting Becca, the dude's a creep. She’s my only family. This is my shot. Tonight at lights out I need directions to the marina. I need to know everything you know about sailboats.”
“Damn it,” I whispered. Forest was being somewhat cool and I would look like a bitch if I didn’t help him. I sure as hell wasn’t ready for round two either. “Alright man. I’ll tell you what I can.”
It sucked. But at least I wasn’t going to get pushed off a boat in the middle of the ocean.
Forest turned his attention to the group, “Everyone else, this is important. They’ll ask where I went. Tell them to the Amtrak Station on 37th. That I snuck on a train. Tell them I’m heading west. Say to Los Angeles. Luke you say Burbank.”
“Burbank?” asked Luke.
“It’s just outside of L.A.” said Forest. “Make sure you say Burbank. Then they will believe the story.”
Throughout the day I couldn’t think of anything else. My favorite daydream was officially dead. Daydreams helped the days go by faster there and made the environment somewhat tolerable. I was pissed and depressed. An odd set of circumstances and now Forest, the one who beat the shit out of me, and his hot as hell sister were going in my place. It just didn’t seem right. It wasn’t right.