The class of 86, p.20
The Class of 86, page 20
Teresa laughed out loud. “Ohh, pleeease, Jake. I’m so sure.” Still laughing, she reached for the door. “I’ll see you around. Call me when you want to be honest.”
Jake caught her arm and pulled her back to her seat.
“Get your hands off me! I mean it!”
“Teresa, wait. I can prove everything if you’ll just listen to me. Please.”
“All right, then. Prove it.”
“Now just hear me out, okay?”
“Fine, let’s hear it.”
“Remember, I can prove this,” he said again and slowly spilled it out, emphasizing each word to be sure she understood correctly. “Teresa, you are looking at the body of the eighteen-year-old me with the soul of the forty-year-old me who died and came back. You see, in 2008, we were married and—”
Teresa gasped. “Jake!?” She leaned closer, looking at the crimp of his arms. “Let me see your arms.” He stretched his right arm out and fingered the fresh red needle mark, along with the numerous other tiny needle scars around his vein.
“What?” he asked.
“I knew it!” she screamed. “You’re on drugs!”
“No! Wait, you don’t—”
“It all makes sense now. That’s why you’re acting so weird.” Her eyes grew even wider. “And that’s why you needed so much money. Not for stocks, for drugs! And Tuesday is when you see your dealer. Why didn’t I see this before?” She knocked the roses out of her lap, yanked open the door, and jumped out of the van, slamming the door behind her.
Jake leaned over and called out the open window, “Teresa, wait! I’m not on drugs! Don’t leave before I tell you what’s going to happen tomorrow. I can prove it!”
Teresa skidded to a stop and spun around. “You stay away from me, or I’m calling the police!”
As if taking a cue from the devil himself, Miguel strutted onto the scene. Teresa clutched his arm and hurried him away, protecting him from her drug-crazed ex-boyfriend.
Chapter 23
Jake watched Teresa disappear into the crowd and out of his life for good. He reached down and grabbed the roses she had thrown on the filthy, particle-cluttered floorboard of his van. “Ouch!” One of the thorns jabbed him in the finger—a fitting end to their unnatural reunion.
In desperation, he had resorted to the truth and only proved himself to be a junky. The one person he most wanted to share his secret with thought he was on drugs. The sad thing was that if he was in her place, and she dumped that line on him, he’d think the same thing. He was sick of lying, but Teresa’s reaction only proved that lying was the only option. He felt like he would be sick. He leaned forward, resting his forehead against the steering wheel, taking slow, heavy breaths to ease the sour burn in his stomach.
The burn in his gut finally eased, and he lifted his head from the steering wheel to face his new reality. Teresa was gone for good, and there was nothing he could do about it. Even if he took her to the Red Cross and proved that he’d been giving platelets, even if he did manage to convince her he was telling the truth about dying and coming back to 1986, she still wouldn’t take him back. And the reason was quite simple: she didn’t love him anymore. She told him that herself. “People get together. People grow apart,” and she was “cool with that.”
Of course, that’s the way she saw things with Jake, the guy she’d dated for only ten months. That’s the only way she could feel about it. He should have seen this coming. He should have taken that angel’s hand.
It’s over, he thought, looking at the clinic across the street. Now my baby will never be born. I might as well have aborted it myself.
He blinked his eyes to ward off the stream of tears that would surely come next.
It worked. He didn’t cry. The strange thing was that he didn’t even come close to crying. Then he realized what he’d been denying since his return to 1986. He knew why he’d worked two jobs, unconsciously avoiding her. He knew why he was afraid to touch her, to show simple affection. It was because he didn’t love this Teresa either. He felt obligated to her, obligated to provide a better future for her and their baby, but he didn’t love her, not this Teresa. He loved the mellowed, more mature, and, yes, plumper Teresa. She was the girl he had grown up with, whereas this Teresa hadn’t grown up at all. Aside from the same DNA, the years had made them two different people and embracing the young Teresa felt like a betrayal to his wife, like adultery. If he couldn’t love her honestly, he shouldn’t love her at all.
Clearly, he didn’t belong with this Teresa, and it was also becoming painfully clear he didn’t belong in 1986 either. Come to think of it, even in 2008, he’d never felt a sense of belonging in his own house, his own school, or in Livingston. For some reason, he just never felt at home, even in his hometown. And now that he was living a lie, he felt more alone than ever. How could he ever feel at home in this Livingston when his soul didn’t even belong in this body? No, he didn’t belong there. Where he belonged was in Heaven. Like Grandpa Simon said, Heaven was his true home, his true purpose. As for that uneasy feeling of never feeling at home in his own hometown, apparently he was just homesick for Heaven.
Maybe tomorrow, Jake told himself as he looked to the clinic across the street. Matt was the only thing left on his 1986 agenda. Since he’d lost Teresa, once he saved Matt, Jake had no reason to hang around down here. Maybe he’d get to Heaven by being Roland Denny’s first victim. Matt could be saved by getting Roland to empty his gun on Jake instead.
He put the key into the ignition. He started to turn the key, but a disturbance at the clinic caught his attention. A crowd had gathered around the big oak tree. He couldn’t see what was going on behind the wall of bodies, and curiosity wouldn’t allow him to leave.
He climbed out of the van and dodged traffic as he crossed the street. He stepped over the white crosses on the wide grass island, which was now mostly dirt because of the trampling feet of protesters. He stepped onto the sidewalk and walked up to the crowd so he could get a better view.
Reverend Burch was pinned up against the oak tree by some big dude with a rat-tail stringing down the back of his head onto a black Hank Williams Jr. T-shirt. Jake remembered hearing about this. Reverend Burch had gotten a beating at the clinic, but it was so overshadowed by the shooting the next day that not much was made of it.
To get a closer look, Jake quickly stepped around the crowd and into an opening among the bystanders. He stood at a front angle with a clear, appalling view of Reverend Burch’s assailant. Big white letters on his faded black T-shirt spelled out BOCEPHUS, with the letters arching around his rotund torso.
“You going to give me money to feed my girlfriend’s baby?” Bocephus spewed saliva as he bellowed. “You going to change its diapers? Why don’t you Bible-thumpers mind your own business!”
The other protesters clamored for Bocephus to let Reverend Burch go. A pudgy, gray-headed nun whacked him on the back with her protest sign, but he simply ripped the sign from the nun’s hands, tossed it aside, and kept ranting.
From the looks on these nonviolent people’s faces, they weren’t about to follow up the nun’s attack, but somebody had to do something. Christians had to look out for each other—like Jake should have looked out for Matt like he should look out for Reverend Burch now. No, he wouldn’t go another twenty-two years regretting his inaction. He had to stop this, even if he did get beat up. He could take it. He was young, but the reverend was old. The Reverend wouldn’t heal so easily. He couldn’t just stand there and watch this happen. Not this time!
“Now my girl’s afraid to cross this picket line of yours,” Bocephus said. “Now,” SMACK! He backhanded Reverend Burch across the face. “Pack up and move on outta here before I have to hurt you.”
“Someone must protect the unborn,” Reverend Burch said, stoically looking Bocephus in the eye. Then, he literally turned the other cheek.
Bocephus cocked his arm and tightened his fist. “You want some more, do you?”
Just do it, Jake!
Jake took a sprinter’s stance, harnessing every bit of strength he could muster. He sprang forward, head down and arms wide, and plowed into Bocephus’s meaty thigh. They tumbled to the dirt in a cloud of dust. Jake quickly pushed his nimble young body to its feet and squatted in a defensive position, fists clenched. The muscle-and-fat-laden giant slowly rose up on one knee. Like a bull scuffing the dirt with its hoof, huffing and snorting with flared nostrils, Bocephus poised to take revenge. With even louder shouts from the nonviolent audience, Jake braced himself since he didn’t seem to be getting any physical help, not even from the nun.
Blindsided, Jake smashed against the big oak. The sting of bark dug into his face. His arm wrenched behind his back and pain dug into his shoulder.
“That’s enough of that!” a man shouted as cold steel clamped around Jake’s wrists. A strong hand gripped him by the forearm and whirled him around. Jake stared into the sweaty, rump-nosed face of Wayne Brummitt, the cocky, pot-bellied campus cop Jake had grown all too familiar with during his years at the college.
“Are you out of your mind, kid!?” Wayne screamed just inches from Jake’s face, his breath reeking like a rotting skunk. “You got some kind of death wish or something? If I hadn’t of seen what was going on, that guy would of killed you!” Wayne shouted, pointing to Jake’s opponent, who was laid out, face to the ground, crushing several white crosses and yelling obscenities as another campus cop cuffed his hands behind him. “Now you just take it easy and siddown while I find out what’s goin’ on,” Wayne said, pointing to a large root stemming from the big oak.
Jake sat on the massive root with his hands cuffed behind his back, blinking, his eyes stinging from sweat that he was unable to wipe away. Once he had blinked enough to clear his vision, he watched Wayne rally some of the witnesses to begin his investigation. Although the clinic was technically off campus, since many college students lived in the apartment buildings in the area, the entire block of the abortion clinic was considered campus police jurisdiction.
The pudgy little nun, apparently coming to Jake’s defense, pointed at the lump of flesh sprawled on the ground, twisting and cursing, and then to Jake as she recited her version of what had happened. Nods of confirmation came from other bystanders as Wayne periodically thumbed in Jake’s direction.
Jake heard a surprised gasp. He looked up to see Teresa, gaping in stunned silence with her jaw hanging open. Miguel held her back, a safe distance from her deranged, drug-crazed, violent, handcuffed ex-boyfriend. “You stay away from her!” Miguel demanded in his heavy accent. Without waiting for Jake to explain, Miguel quickly ushered Teresa down the sidewalk and out of harm’s way.
“Just perfect,” Jake muttered and let his head fall back against the tree. A squirrel was clinging to a branch hanging above Jake, grinning at him. “I suppose you think this is funny,” he said to the mocking rodent.
As Jake watched the squirrel, a shadow overtook him. Reverend Burch bent down to one knee and said, “Jake, I don’t know what to say. I can’t say I agree with what you did, but I appreciate it all the same. And don’t worry, Mother Catherine’s giving you a powerful defense. I think they’re going to let you go.”
“Thanks, Reverend,” Jake said, blinking sweat out of his eyes again.
“And, Jake, I saw what happened with you and Teresa just now. I’ve been hearing some gossip around church about your breakup. I wish people wouldn’t do that. Anyhow, I know you’re depressed, but just remember, if God wants you together, you will be.”
“Scuse me, Reverend,” Wayne said.
“Cheer up, son. Things will look different tomorrow,” Reverend Burch said as he rejoined the other protesters.
“All right, partner, stand up.” Wayne slid his hand under Jake’s arm and helped him to his feet. “Now turn around.”
Jake did as he was told, and Wayne removed the handcuffs from Jake’s wrists.
“Now let me see some ID,” Wayne said.
Jake reluctantly pulled out his wallet, flipped it open, and slid out his driver’s license. Wayne took Jake’s license and swaggered over to a parked blue Chevy Nova, put the license on the roof of the car, and began writing info onto a notepad. When Wayne finished, he walked back over to Jake and handed back the license.
“Well then, Jacob Thomas Simon, a legal adult as of last May. I don’t suppose you’re a student here, are you?”
“No,” Jake said. “Not yet.”
“Uh-huh. I didn’t think so. Well, Mr. Simon, this guy’s goin’ downtown with the city police,” he said, pointing to Bocephus, who was still lying face down on the ground and still cussing. “I’d arrest you too, but I’m afraid your friends here’d start picketing my front yard.” Wayne scanned the protesters with contempt. “You Christian fanatics are always causin’ trouble around this clinic, but until now, I never seen a violent one. I’m not sure what to make of that. Maybe I should turn you over to city police.”
“I had to do something,” Jake pleaded. “I couldn’t just stand there and let my preacher get beat up.”
Wayne pulled a handkerchief out of his rear pocket and blotted sweat from his forehead, deep in thought. “I suppose . . . I could let you go this time. But,” he quickly added. “I don’t ever want to see you on, or around campus again. You understand? Not until you can show me some student ID. If I do see you and you don’t show any student ID, I’ll run you in. Understand?”
“Yes, sir,” Jake agreed, trying to sound respectful. “I’ll remember that, sir.”
“Now pick up your pro-life sign and git!” Wayne demanded. He then answered a call on his walkie-talkie and went over to taunt Bocephus.
Jake bowed his head in despair and slowly waded through the crowd. Not only did he have to stop Roland Denny, but now he’d have to sneak past the campus police to get to the clinic.
Rotating blue lights of a city police car startled Jake from his thoughts. He watched a city cop talking with the two campus cops, and all three of them were standing over Bocephus, who was still lying handcuffed on top of those little white crosses. This guy was the reason Jake had to sneak by Wayne. Thanks a lot, Bocephus!
Bocephus caught Jake staring at him and shouted, “I’ll get you, you little twerp. I’ll kill you! You hear me?”
“Don’t bother. I’m already dead!” Jake heard himself scream, his mouth getting the better of him once again.
Jake’s eyes met the blond Dudley Do-Right-looking city cop’s puzzled expression. Wayne pulled out his baton and shouted, “What did I tell you?”
“I’m leaving!” Jake spat and hurried away.
Jake trudged up the sidewalk, past the bookstore and the library toward the river. He stopped at the corner of Riverside and Clinch, wondering where he thought he was going when his van was across the street from the clinic. He started to cross Clinch so he could approach his van on the other side of the street, but he had second thoughts and stopped.
At this point, this was the first time Wayne had ever seen Jake, and Wayne didn’t know what kind of car he drove. If he was going to sneak by the campus police the next day, he certainly didn’t want Wayne to see him climb into his highly recognizable orange VW Bus. So he decided to wait until Wayne had left the scene.
With time to kill, Jake crossed Riverside Drive at the crosswalk and continued onto the Clinch Avenue Bridge that spanned over the French Broad River. From there, he could still clearly watch for Wayne, yet technically remain off campus.
He stood on the sidewalk of the two-lane concrete bridge and waited a few minutes, but Wayne still stood there among the protesters, blabbering on his walkie-talkie, no doubt telling all of his buddy cops about the most excitement he’d seen in months.
“Hurry up, Wayne,” Jake uttered.
It was just as well. He had some thinking to do. Turning his attention away from the clinic, Jake focused on the French Broad River. He leaned over the bridge handrail and peered down into the muddy river, seething with deadly currents and countercurrents, swirling around the concrete bridge pillars below. All Jake would have to do was jump, and his angel would come back and take him to Heaven where he belonged. He leaned a little further over the rail, looking into the churning brown water that was his gateway to paradise.
Who was he kidding? Even if he did muster the courage to jump, he could never do that to his family. It would destroy them. Besides, he still had to save Matt, and suicide was a major sin.
Suddenly, the collar of his shirt dug into his neck, tearing, pulling him away from the concrete rail. “Not on my shift you don’t!”
“Hey! What are you doing?” Jake squealed while being pushed against a Livingston City police car. “You tore my shirt. What’s the big—”
“I’m saving your life, kid. That’s what I’m doing,” the cop said, pinning Jake against the squad car with his baton. The next thing he felt, for the second time in the last hour, was cold steel clamping around his wrists.
“What? You thought I was going to jump?”
The cop turned Jake around to face him. It was that blond Dudley Do-Right-looking police officer Jake had seen at the clinic. “She’s not worth it, kid. I heard those church folks talking about what a rough time you were having, about how your girlfriend dumped you. But believe me, she’s not worth it.”
“Look, you’ve got it all wrong. I wasn’t going to jump.”
The officer shook his head in pity. “‘Don’t bother, I’m already dead?’ Isn’t that what I just heard you say? That’s a cry for help if ever I heard one. Now don’t you worry. It’ll be okay. We’re going to get you all the help you need.”
