“You think that bizarro face you see all the time is me? You think I’d shoot all around through eternity looking like that? Wouldn’t I have to be the dumbest guy in four galaxies? Can you hear it? ‘Man, you look bad, how’d you do that?’ and I’d say, ‘Oh, I kicked a two-hundred-pound stack of Sheetrock over on myself.’ There’s a good way to get into heavenly Mensa.”
“Yeah, but how do I know that when I’m awake? This is a dream.”
“If it were you that died,” I say, “would you come back and scare me out of my pants?”
“I might, once or twice.”
“I always was a better friend than you. Anyway, just think about how we were.”
“So why did you ask me about getting baptized?”
“Duh!” I say. “We’ve been dreading Tarter since fifth grade. Now you’re going into his class and into his church and he’s coming to your house? Why do you think I asked?”
“Bad, huh? You can predict the future?”
“Does it make sense that I can predict the future if it hasn’t happened yet? What would that do to your free will?”
“So why are you warning me about Tarter?”
“If you’re in the middle of a train tunnel and you hear a loud whistle and see a single light getting bigger and bigger, you wouldn’t have much trouble guessing what’s up, right?”
“Got it.”
7
DEAD AUTHORS BEWARE
On the first day of school, Eddie gets a lot of room. He’s a frosh, so it wouldn’t be unusual to see his books knocked out of his hand a time or two, or the drinking fountain turned up in his face as he leans over it, but the jocks and the Goths and everyone between watch him coming through the front entrance and ache a little. Losing your dad and your best friend inside a month buys a little extra consideration. A path opens for him between the front door and the lockers.
There’s a curriculum element at Bear Creek High School I was pretty psyched up about before I cashed out. In most high schools, freshmen have almost no choices for electives. Math, social studies, English, PE, and science requirements eat up most of your day. But first period at Bear Creek, you can take any class you want, provided you can keep up. Eddie and I were going to take Really Modern Literature because we both like stories and because Ms. Ruth Lloyd teaches it. She’s the school librarian, so it’s her only class, and she puts everything into it.
First day, first period, first RML class. Wish I were here. Ms. Lloyd says, “Good morning, ladies and gentlemen.”
Everyone but Eddie answers, and he nods and smiles. “Good morning.”
“You have signed up for Really Modern Literature, where the only requirement is that you read books by authors who are still alive. Can you imagine that? Did you know there were authors who are still alive?”
Everybody laughs. They do know it, but they also know most of the authors they’ve read in the past few years are goners.
“If you want to read fifteen books by Stephen King, you can read fifteen books by Stephen King, though I wouldn’t recommend it because most Stephen King books are long.” She reads off a long list of authors she likes: Grisham, Rowling, Blume, Hinton, Clancy, O’Brien, Crutcher, Curtis, Vonnegut (“but you better hurry”), Lee (“you better keep hurrying”).
It’s ironic; now that I’m dead I can read authors that are alive. Of course it takes me a microminimillisecond to read a book, because all I have to do is pop into the head of the author right after she or he wrote it. It’s like Ultimate Cliff Notes. Dead kids could get good grades really easy, if we could convince anyone to let us take the test. I’m coming to this class with Eddie every day.
Ms. Lloyd goes on with her one requirement. “You have to read one book in common, and because I am old and smart and you are young and…well, young…I will decide which book that will be. With the other books, all you have to do to pass the class with an A is take five minutes out of your busy lives to give me the one line in the book that meant the most to you: made you laugh or cry or angry or just made you wiser, or if you hated it, a line that is evidence why. Then you move on. I’m assigning one book, Warren Peece, by Crutcher. That one we’ll discuss in detail.”
Lori Combs raises her hand. “Why did you pick that book? He’s like the only author on this list I’ve never heard of.”
Ms. Lloyd smiles. “I picked it because it has a lot of bad language, and I thought that might get some of you who tend to get your book reports from the backs of cereal boxes to actually read a book cover to cover. I’ve been to Mr. Crutcher’s website, and from the sounds of things he was lucky to graduate from high school. Those of you who don’t consider yourselves happy readers, take heart. Also, the book covers some issues I think are worth talking about. Of course I’ll send a permission slip home. I’d appreciate it if you’d just have your parents sign it and don’t say what it is, like you do with your report cards.”
Sandra Evans, a junior, raises her hand. “How do we know you won’t give us an alternate book that is awful and boring, just to punish us for being offended by a book you like?”
“You don’t know that,” Ms. Lloyd says, “and now that you’ve said it, it sounds like a wonderful idea. Ms. Evans, there is a good chance you will grow up to be a teacher.”
Dan Moeltke raises his hand. Dan is a way smart senior and a mover and shaker in the Tarter Brigade, aka Youth for Christ. He’s in a neck-and-neck race with Kathy Gould for valedictorian of their class. Dan’s valedictory address would be very different from Kathy’s. “Do you know this Crutcher guy?” he asks.
Ms. Lloyd smiles. “No, I’ve never met the author. Why do you ask?”
Dan scopes the room. “There have to be twenty-five or thirty students here. That’s twenty-five or thirty books. Chris Crutcher could be getting rich off us. I was wondering if you got a kickback.”
Eddie multiplies thirty times four dollars and fifty cents.
“You’re a very bright young man, Mr. Moeltke. You should sign up exclusively for business classes. You’ll be able to take care of your parents in their old age.”
“My parents are fully capable of taking care of themselves,” Dan says. “Of course I’m also wondering if this book is fit to read.”
“Of course you are, Mr. Moeltke. I’m expecting spirited debate from you.”
“You’ll get it.”
“I guess we’ll see if you have what it takes to challenge yourself to stretch, Dan.”
I ingest Warren Peece in the amount of time between when you flip on the light switch and the light comes on. Divided by infinity. Okay, I’m showing off, but if I’m going to keep up I have to know what’s going on. The moment I know the book, I know why the likes of Ms. Lloyd wants to use it, why the likes of Dan Moeltke doesn’t, why Eddie Proffit will embrace it, and why as I gaze into the tunnel, the light I see is the oncoming train.
8
PROTECTING IMPRESSIONABLE MINDS
One reason dead people are so smart is that we see from a long way away while at the same time burrowing into any heart or mind we choose. I said before most dead folks don’t hang around long after they croak. That’s because there are far more interesting things to experience in the universe than the narrow story that is life on any given planet, or the even narrower focus of the stories surrounding the people you knew when you were alive. Eddie is the reason I stay. You might think it would be my father.
My father is crippled with grief at my death. He and I lived alone since my mother left when I was three. She had a different dream to chase. Obviously I know where she is now, but that’s not part of Eddie’s story, and it’s not likely to be part of my father’s. She just fell in love with someone else, and Dad couldn’t make himself fall out of love, so he turned all his attention to me, and to his job, which may not seem like much but gave him access to kids, who he would have been working with had he gone to college and become a teacher. He’s what Eddie’s dad was: an underachiever in the eyes of many, but not his own. Eddie’s da
d had the same “bouncing brain” as Eddie, but my dad could have gone on to school easily, even had a track scholarship to a small college in Washington, but he was so in love with my mother, and when she decided to stay in Bear Creek and cut hair and make people’s finger- and toenails into miniature artists’ canvases, he couldn’t make himself leave. When I was alive I wondered if he ever regretted not getting out, especially after she left, but now that I’m dead I know he never regretted it a minute. He loves my mother so much, even to this day, that he wouldn’t give up the experience of loving her for a Ph.D. in physics. His connection to her is as strong today as it ever was, even though she doesn’t feel it. I don’t worry about my dad because I know he signed up to play the Earthgame as an optimistic dreamer and he will teach much, and learn much and feel much pain. I believe he will make contributions to the world he never would have made if he hadn’t lost me. It’s a curiosity with humans, how so much productivity can come from searing pain. Of course, much stagnation also comes from searing pain. Heck, searing pain is big fuel. I’ll see my dad in the wink of an eye anyway. Eternity is a pretty cool place.
But Eddie is the only human I know who has a gut-level knowledge of how life on Earth is connected to life in the universe. And since life in the universe is all about freedom, his instinct will always be to move toward freedom on Earth.
Meanwhile, the Eddie train and the Tarter train are speeding toward each other on the same track, and I am almost giddy to watch the crash.
“Ruth Lloyd has assigned a book to her literature class that should raise all our red flags,” the Reverend Tarter says. The weekly church board meeting is winding down and the reverend is bringing up one last piece of what he considers important business. “Dan Moeltke brought it to my attention. You all know Dan; he’s president of Youth for Christ. Apparently the book has some pretty rough language, and it tackles issues better left to responsible parents. Dan went to the author’s website and came back with some interesting information, most of which is included in this handout I have for you.” He passes three stapled sheets to each of the seven board members. “Long story short, the author is relatively obscure, has ten books out, no best-sellers. He presents himself as a child and family therapist, though as near as I can tell he has only a bachelor’s degree. He’s a self-proclaimed nonreader who spent some time as a teacher in alternative education, I’m assuming because he couldn’t cut it in the public schools. Just the influence we need on our kids, huh? The real red flags come up in the areas of homosexuality—he comes down squarely on the side of legalized gay marriage—and drug abuse. The man believes drugs should be decriminalized.
“The book in question, according to Dan, is filled with four-letter words, has a gay character as one of the central figures, taunts fundamental Christianity, and promotes defiance of authority, particularly teachers and parents. My word, a minor character even gets an abortion.”
The board members shake their heads in that what’s-the-world-coming-to way that most adults recognize. “What’s the world coming to?” Florence Gifford, the one female board member, asks. The question is rhetorical. Florence believes she knows what the world is coming to. An end.
Samuel Cromwell, one of three church board members who is also on the school board, speaks up. “This Crutcher sounds like some kind of pervert or something. What didn’t he put in this book?”
“Nothing I can think of,” Tarter says. “Dan says he seems to have grown up in the hippie generation and simply never got over it. One thing that offended Dan was that almost all his books have an athletic backdrop, but Dan found none of the values he’s come to cherish through athletics in this book. You all know Dan is a scholarship-quality athlete, so I guess he can claim some expertise there.”
“Is this the course my daughter calls Really Modern Literature?” Maxwell West asks. “I may have signed a permission slip for that book. Montana said it was just a routine form for all of Ms. Lloyd’s classes.”
“Well, you might want to take a closer look at what you sign from now on,” the reverend says.
Montana West is not exactly the daughter Mr. West thought he was raising. He gave her a perfect cowgirl’s name, but he got a girl with more piercings than she has places for holes and tattoos that would make a Marine green with envy. The brightest color she wears is black.
Todd Griggs sits forward. Todd is a farmer and a lumberjack, has been on both the church board and the school board for almost eight years. He’s a decent guy, and a true believer, one who never questions Tarter because he believes the reverend is blessed with divine wisdom. “So what’s the plan, boss?” he says.
“Actually,” Tarter says back, “I can’t very well openly take on a respected colleague on a matter of curriculum choice, and I like Ruth Lloyd as a person, so we need a concerned parent to bring a formal challenge to the use of the book in general. That will assure a board hearing at some point. I think we can sit back and watch for a while, because our Mr. Moeltke has taken the bull by the horns. Youth for Christ is nearly fifty students strong in the high school, and they have formal club status. I think we lodge the complaint and let them take the lead. Our position will be a lot stronger if it’s backed by students.”
Maxwell West volunteers to take the formal challenge to Mrs. Madison, the principal, tomorrow morning, knowing that will take the book out of the kids’ hands until the school board settles the matter. Since he’s not a school board member, yet, there is no apparent conflict of interest, and it will also send a message to his daughter not to try to slip anything else past the old man. He will march into the office first thing in the morning. The members of the church board agree that this move will be their first strike in their new battle to clean up the curriculum and return decency to education.
I’ll bet that what returns will be war to the West household. I’m dead, and I’m afraid of Montana West.
Maxwell West storms into the office the next morning, lending new meaning to the word “indignant,” demanding to see the principal, along with Ruth Lloyd. Mrs. Madison and he talk cordially once the door is closed, while an office aide goes to the library to get Ms. Lloyd. Mrs. Madison is the lead soprano in the Red Brick Church choir. Together they also lend new meaning to the term “slam dunk.”
I’m hovering above the windowsill in Ms. Lloyd’s class, because I can, when she surprises everyone. “I need you to pass your copies of Warren Peece to the front of the room,” she says as the students settle into their seats.
“How come?” Sherry Green asks. “I’m not finished with it.”
“You are for now,” Ms. Lloyd says, and there isn’t a student in the room who can’t see she’s ready to lynch someone, “unless you have a copy of your own. If you do, I advise you to carry it, cover facing out, to every class, to lunch. Read it on the lawn before school and during breaks. Just don’t open it in class.”
Montana West raises her hand, which has to be a first for Montana West. “Was my dad in the office challenging this book? Is that why he was here? Was he? You better tell me, Ms. Lloyd.”
“I’m afraid I’m not allowed to divulge that information just yet,” Ms. Lloyd says.
“Well then, just don’t say anything if it’s true. Is my dad trying to get this book banned?”
Ms. Lloyd smiles.
Montana bounces her forehead off her desk. “Does anyone in this room have parents willing to adopt me? I don’t eat much; in fact, I’m anorexic, so I don’t eat anything. I pay for my own skin punctures and I prefer to live underground in the dark, so an unfinished basement will work just fine. I’ll use it to hunker down after I kill my father.”
“No need to break the law,” Ms. Lloyd says, “though I feel a little like it myself right now.” She moves in front of her desk and leans against the edge. “Folks, I’ve seen this before. They’ll tell you it’s about family values and Christian values and morality and our need to get control over our educational system. But it’s about you. That’s it. Just you. If y
ou’re going to stop this, you’re going to have to stop it yourselves. Decide whether you think your mind is strong enough to hear tough stories, told in their native tongue—and let the censors know. I can holler about this all day long, but I’m the person who brought it into school, so my voice won’t mean much.” Eddie watches Ms. Lloyd carefully, and she seems pretty upset. If he could see what I see, he’d back up, because she’s about one click of temper from exploding right in front of the class.
And my man Eddie is only a couple of clicks behind her. So far the story has captivated him. The characters aren’t like him, but they’re struggling and they don’t even want much. The gay character just wants to be allowed to be what he is, but no one understands. The sixteen-year-old thinking about an abortion is so confused and terrified she doesn’t know whether to keep the baby or not, and has no one to turn to. In fact, to the point where Eddie has read, she’s hiding the pregnancy, fantasizing about leaving the baby in a Dumpster. She won’t, but that’s how scared she is. Man, Eddie thought at first, if there’s a problem this Crutcher guy doesn’t stick into his book, it must be because he doesn’t know about it. You couldn’t find this many problems in a zoo. But he has fallen into the story because, while he might have thought it excessive before this last summer, finding the dead bodies of two people he loved dearly in the space of a month has changed his perspective on how bad things can get. Suddenly he feels a rush of strength. I’ve lost all I’m willing to lose, he thinks, and if he’d open up a window or two he’d hear me cheering. My dad would whack me across the back of the head if I let somebody tell me what I can read or what I can think. He sits back in his seat, his mind bouncing from his dad to backyard catches to exploding truck tires. When it comes time to pass his copy of Warren Peece forward, he pretends to add his to the stack but discreetly places it back into his backpack.