The "Life Goes On" Chapter You Have to Read Before You Can Get to the Good Stuff

Ben,

I was rather disheartened at your submission to this project. What I have is a delightful tale about a historical artifact. What I don't have are any sources, any factual evidence to back these claims, or an introductory paragraph.

If you want to write about a particular artifact in your town, present legitimate research. What is the history of the area? What problems do they represent? I have attached some links to help get you started.

I look forward to a revised submission.

~Mr. Randall

I stared at my computer mouse until it became part of my pupils. I imagined my teacher screaming, sucked into a portal, begging me to left click and set him free. What class was this again? Who cared? I needed to learn about this dump of a town, or my parents would ship me off to military school.

After looking up chocolate chip waffle recipes, I tried Randall's links.

I eyed a date tied with newspaper photos, written by a man I swore I just saw in the obituaries.

Superhuman Pills, or Extreme Luck?

Wildwood Cowboys and Delcoph Wolves go head-to-head in the courtroom days after Wildwood, considered the season's underdogs, claimed victory in the basketball district finals. With the discovery of empty pill containers in the guest locker room, Delcoph files reports of the use of steroids in Wildwood High, pushing an unfair advantage in the climactic moments of the game. Indeed, Wildwood has proved infamous of drug possession in its past. Many plays proved "superhuman" with players jumping at "astounding heights."

It is only a matter of time before these drugged Cowboys are brought to justice and the Wolves howl supreme.

Drugs! Perfect!

I minimized the tab and snapped open a private browser. Drug issues. But the article was ancient. I needed current problems. I needed something to tie into my fountain.

The fountain had to be important, somehow.

The next link jumped to a Wikipedia page. My tiny person scouted the perimeter, begging me to jump off the cliff of words and into my eternal oblivion. The articles ranged from early scandals to the great oil war of a year I can't remember right now.

I scrolled for a halfway point and drilled into focus.

Delcoph is characterized by distinct class differences, with incomes either falling below the 30,000 or above the 110,000 marks. The lack of "middle class" has been the cause of much conflict in the past, with a certain "barrier" between upper- and lower-class town divisions.

The "upper" division has grown infamous, scandalous reputations over the years, with the presence of figures, such as Rex Peterson, stirring much controversy. This is primarily due to large corporations running most industries in the area. Small businesses are rare in the upper division. The "lower" division has since grown in numbers, increasing the already-large poverty rate in the area. This side of town is negatively regarded for increased gang violence, drug deals, and pollution in the area.

Perhaps the most infamous scandal between divisions was the arrest of Johnny Peterson, father to Mayor Rex Peterson. J. Peterson, having been linked with one of the biggest cartels of the 21st century, utilized possession of illegal substances to drain poor homes and fill rich pockets. R. Peterson denies any knowledge. See Great Peterson Drug Cartel Scandal here.

I was right. This wasn't any better than what I could make up.

Screw the fountain. I threw in every issue I could find: class division, drugs, gangs, drugs, violence, drugs. When I wrote something about cartel scandals, I left it vague. God forbid I learn something new.

I pasted the links at the bottom of the page and submitted the paper without so much as a spellcheck.

✎✎✎

After my brother's departure, my parents dove headfirst into the normal schedule. First thing Monday morning, Mom's purple Lexus rolled from sight. I found a note on my bedroom door reminding me about therapy and the progress she hoped I would make. I signed my initials and left it on the refrigerator.

My teacher hadn't graded the new revisions to my paper. I suppose I'd written it less than twelve hours ago. Still, the problem-student wasn't a priority?

Homework done, friends at school, and family abandoned, I watched the news.

Peterson was down in the count. The reporter doubted he would be able to pull out of his latest fiasco: refusing to donate to an "orphans with cancer" charity.

I stared at the couch. The empty chip bag still sat crinkled beside it; the chip crumbs had sprawled. Maybe Kyle was back in his dorm room watching this right now. Bad news about Peterson was sure to cheer him up.

Yet, with bad news about Peterson came something else.

I didn't know what led me. One minute, I was slumped on the couch, chest empty. The next, I picked up the home phone and dialed ten digits.

"Ben," Dad said. "What's wrong?"

"I think Peterson is going to lose."

His swallow was like a shotgun. "Don't worry about it. I have five meetings set up today. Your mother set up the interviews with some bloggers in the area and we have lunch with an orphan set up."

"Oh."

"You don't need to worry, Ben. That's your mother's job."

He chuckled.

"I know." My hand itched to hang up, but the fridge caught my sight. "Are you coming home tonight?"

Dad fidgeted with his phone. I heard the crunch noise. "It's gonna be late."

"Okay."

I let the line linger before I pressed the red button and placed the ancient technology back on its stand. I'd be seeing less of them. With Kyle's scent all over the house, they wouldn't dare bring Rex here. Always a plus.

Peterson's stupidity could be the difference between peace and trench warfare.

✎✎✎

That afternoon, therapy became freaking Battle Royale.

"I hate to say it." Dr. White pinched his tongue between his teeth and eyed the room. "But I made a mistake."

It was like he'd transformed our brains into mason jars, smashed them with a hammer, and chucked the shards out the classroom window. Dr. White? Admitting he was wrong about something? I didn't care what it was. He'd grabbed my tiny person by his tiny little brain.

Dr. White stared at the plate of chocolate chip cookies on his desk. "It was a mistake to look into your worst fears. I skipped a critical step. In order to know our fears, we need to understand ourselves. So, this week, we are going to do some personal belief searching."

Here I thought life would get boring for a while.

Austin's boulders for feet pounded on the floor. "You can get away with that?"

"I'm not getting away with anything." Dr. White frowned. "Is there something you'd like to share about your own personal beliefs, Austin?"

Austin stared at the ceiling. "Well, Mom and I practice what I like to call semipermeable religious taste testing. This week we decided to be Buddhist monks. Last week we were Modernistic Lutherans. Next week we'll be totalitarian atheists."

"Thank you," Dr. White said. "What Austin has demonstrated here is a common misconception that religion is equivalent to personal beliefs. What I'm challenging you to realize is that religion is only one subcategory of the human ability to believe in something."

"Fine," Austin said. "I believe in what I see."

"What do you see?"

"I see that I've got friends now and that's what matters. It doesn't matter how they got there."

Dr. White scrunched his forehead, fidgeting a pen between his fingers. "But how did they get there?" He leaned toward the room. "That's your story. How you respond to things is who you are. Everyone believes in something. It's one of our fundamental rights as human beings."

Willie sat towards the group's edge, a dazed expression as his arm wrapped around Kim. Thirteen? This kid was thirteen? He looked like the Gandhi of the Biggest Losers in History, a calm breeze in the wake of a destructive tsunami. Beside me, Julia rubbed her temples with her fingertips.

Stuart swallowed. "Austin has a point. I could believe in witches and wizards and goblins. Doesn't make any of it true."

"Sure," Dr. White chuckled. "Maybe we'll all die and find out we're being ruled by some Greek mythology overlord. Still, we have the right to believe in something while we're here."

There is the separation of church and state. I don't really care about that crap. However, I am a firm believer between the separation of thinking and school. This fell under that category, as did every therapy session, and I didn't like it.

Julia faced the wall. "Exactly. You can believe what you want."

"Says you!" Austin looked ready to jump my lap to get to her. "Christian parents, Christian daughter. Yes, way to do some personal belief searching."

"And what do you believe in?" she snapped. "The dehumanizing of women?"

"I told you. That was Ben's brother. Not me!"

"I didn't hear you disagreeing with anything he said."

Austin whipped his head on me. His voice sounded like a lawnmower that wouldn't start. "Where is your brother anyway? Tell him he managed to ruin my life in five minutes. That's gotta be some sort of record."

The world tilted farther away from the sun. Dr. White had dropped his binder, eyes creased like a piece of paper. Stuart fidgeted with a mechanical pencil—the led was halfway out. Willie dropped his arms from Kim. We had an audience.

Playback. Kyle was yelling again. He told my parents they weren't doing a good enough job with me. He was telling me that he left for his own good, and for mine. Rewind. I'm eleven. A sixteen-year-old Kyle is at the door. He looks at me. He tells Dad he's not doing a good enough job with him. My brother leaves. He tells me it's for his own good, nothing about mine.

"Well," Austin shot. "Where is he?"

"He left."

Julia's eyes tilted. "I thought he was staying through the end of the week."

"He left last night."

"Why?" Austin demanded.

I came up with something to aid my friend in his war against the White Beast. "Didn't say. I think he's getting back together with his girlfriend."

"Ha!"

Julia turned me around. "I don't believe that."

"That's what happened."

She folded her hands together. I watched a series of judgments pass through her eyes, finding myself on the high court, my jury of peers ready to declare my guilt. She rested her hand on mine.

"Okay."

✎✎✎

Stacks, half an hour later.

Austin shoveled a meatball. "Your dad's taking this all way too far this year. He realizes we're not that tough of an audience, right? He doesn't have to try to outperform himself. Someone back me up here."

A shockwave settled through my chest. Austin had two levels: happy, and dancing-on-rainbows happy.

"Yo lovebirds!"

He chucked a Cheeto at Willie and Kim.

Kim came up for air. "I think it's nice. You know. Belief systems. Personal stuff. I mean, I'm set. But it's always good to know your own head." She grabbed Willie's face again, who did not hesitate to lean over her in the booth.

Stuart gripped the edge of the table. "There. Are. Billions of germs in the human mouth."

Willie shooed him with his hand. Julia scooched from the lovebirds and turned to Austin. "It's not like he's preaching religions or anything. He's just trying to figure out the next step for everybody."

"But he is religious," Austin said. "And so are you."

"What does that have to do with anything?"

Austin gnawed on his fork. "He's too involved. There's a personal agenda to it, so no one's gonna be learning anything."

Willie slipped out of the make-out session and swiped his phone from his pocket. The seat vibrated. I peeked over Austin's shoulder.

You are one open-minded individual.

I wanted to slap myself. Austin is open-minded. He's obnoxious about it and needs the whole world to hear him talk to feel important. But for some reason, he was louder than a politician and more jittery than Stuart. Did they switch bodies?

"Quit exchanging micro-pesticides with your tongues!"

Never mind.

✎✎✎

With each day, the shots fired between Austin and Julia grew from gunpowder to cannons. They stuck me between them, but I served as a better semipermeable membrane than a brick wall between warring countries. I wished they would stop. I hated getting caught in the religious crossfire. Or any crossfire.

Scratch that. This wasn't crossfire. They'd stretched my brain into Playdoh and expected me to spring to one side. But that's not how Playdoh works. Playdoh goes where it's told. Eventually, I would tear in two. Had this seriously started because of one sexist comment?

I hoped not. That would make me responsible. Because Kyle wasn't here.

✎✎✎

My teacher got back to me later that week.

Ben,

You have great essay topics within your essay, but no essay. Present an essay on one of the specific issues you summarized in your last paragraph. For instance, what is the story behind this cartel in the area? What causes these pollution problems you stated? Dig deeper.

~Mr. Randell

Procrastination was the best solution at this point. I closed my laptop, wrote out the day's events, and stared at the ceiling. I wish it would fall on me.