Downfall And Rise Read online

  “How are you feeling today?” She asked.

  I knew she meant it. And not in a pitying way. She was hoping for a good answer, that I was doing well, was still trying to succeed and grasp awesome things in life. We all loved her for it. Well, those of us that tried at all loved her for it.

  “I feel really great, Ms. Springsen. I feel like overcoming my condition, rocking my English exam, and earning my scholarship back.”

  “That's what I like to hear,” She said cheerfully. “In that case, why don't we go ahead and get started?”

  I took a seat and began. Ms Springsen started to read out the instructions and accommodations provided. I raised my hand to interrupt.

  “Ms. Springsen,” I said. “I'm aware that I may not have access to as many accommodations in college. If it's alright, can you try giving me the time updates as if a normal student's time had passed?”

  That comment got me another smile.

  It turned out I was able to finish the English section without any accommodations at all. And I thought I had written a killer essay about overcoming personal challenges. But I knew for a fact now that my memory was back. That knowledge alone was enough to bring tears of joys to my eyes. But I had to hold myself together until all my tests were done, so I held the waterworks in check for now.

  I walked out of the classroom, dodging a casual push from another bully on my way out. No strategy that time, just practice from being pushed as soon as I walked around a doorway. Not even bothering to acknowledge the jerk, I did a fist pump into the air. A third of my scholarship had already been saved. I just knew it. Today was going to be a good day.

  As part of my accommodations, I was allowed a study hall for my next period, then lunch, then my last two tests. Again, no problems. For the study hall I mean.

  Lunch was a different story.

  Wearing the leather helmet was going to be really awkward in the cafeteria. Ms. Springsen was nice enough not to comment on it, and I was used to jeers in the hallways anyway. But I didn't like having to sit there, eating lunch, with about a hundred people staring at my funny-looking helmet. So before I left my study period for lunch, I pulled out my jacket and beanie to try and hide my helmet as much as possible. People were going to still stare and snicker, but at least there wouldn't be full-blown laughter this way. As much as I tried to pretend otherwise, that still bothered me.

  I went ahead and found a table no one else was sitting and pulled up there.

  Not so long ago, I had a lot more friends at this school. Don't get me wrong, I was never super popular, but with pretty good grades, some decent (not great, just decent) performance on the football team, and being generally known as a nice guy, I had been able to get along with just about anybody. In addition to the disability caused by my head injury, two things changed all that:

  The first happened at a football party at the end of my sophomore year. We were celebrating the end of a season. The junior quarterback was hosting the party at his parent's second home, the one they never really stayed at. So there wasn't a lot of supervision and us being teenagers, we used the excuse to get hammered. Well, not all of us. Believe it or not, not every single teenager is crazy about alcohol, and at the time, I was really worried about disappointing my parents. Especially my Dad. Growing up, my Dad had been my hero all my life. It's hard to explain why. Part of it was seeing a lot of people respect him, not because of his money or position, but for how he treated people. Part of it was how he showed me all the fun things in life. He played football and catch with me, and when I discovered video games, he showed me how they worked, since he helped program them at his company. He and Mom read stories to me, taught me how to treat people, how to be chivalrous to girls, and to not care that holding the door open was old-fashioned to people. And whenever I did the right thing, he let me know, and told me I was making a difference in the world. I grew up all my life thinking that I couldn't ask for a better father.

  And yes, this party happened before his suicide, so I was still worried about disappointing him. So I stayed sober for the whole thing. Which means I have a different memory than most of the other people there that night.

  Their story is that I got between the quarterback and his girlfriend because I was an overly stuck up prude trying to ruin everyone's fun, and that I had a secret crush on his girlfriend. My story is that I stopped the quarterback and at least two other guys from taking advantage of an unconscious girl. It caused a big stink, because I didn't know the exact best way to handle that situation but my parents had taught me enough that I knew I actually had to try and do something, so I got between the guys and girl and started shouting at them. All things considered, I was lucky, because even back when I was in shape the three of them still could've kicked my ass easily. Instead, a few of the other sober people acted after I acted, and everyone went to separate corners to calm down. The party ended early, parents arrived and intervened, and the whole thing was hushed over. Eventually. A couple of parents wanted my head for spreading lies about their 'babies,' but some others argued that a parent should have been at that party to begin with, and that my intervention in whatever happened probably prevented some 'scandal-creating photos' from being released. By the way, here's a pro-tip for parents: if your child is a two hundred pound linebacker and you are concerned about other kids making fun of him, don't call him a 'baby' in public.

  At any rate, most people felt like I had attacked and tarnished their reputations- including the girl I had tried to defend. She got in my face over it one day in the school hallways, and shortly afterwards transferred to another school. I never talked to her again. A few weeks later I found that I had a lot fewer friends on the football team.

  But my father told me he was proud of me. So I got through that summer alright, and just put up with everything.

  But the fall was different.

  About three weeks into school we came home to my dad sitting limp in his office. There was a small red hole in the front of his head and a larger one in the back, with blood on the floor directly under both holes.

  When we all had finished screaming and calling the police, we found that there was a note on his desk, typed and printed off of his computer. In it he had apologized to us for living a double life and for the inappropriate relationships he had with three of the young girls in church- kids the church had sponsored through a new homeless ministry and that our entire family had been very close to.

  When we finished reading that note, we all started screaming again. At that point we knew he had been murdered and framed because there was no way in hell my father would ever have done a single thing that note said he did. We told the police as much when they finally came. We shouted and demanded that they find Dad's killer right now and find those girls so that they could prove his innocence.

  They found the girls.

  And every single one of them testified against my father.

  The police and child protective services said they conducted a thorough investigation, and all signs pointed to Dad's death being a suicide, and to being guilty of all the crimes the note confessed to.

  John Malcolm, formerly known to my mother as the most devoted husband she could have ever asked for, to my sister as “Greatest! Daddy! Everrrrrrr!!!!11one” -That was what she called him online, word for word- respected by everyone in his church and community, and also the man I had one day hoped to be like when I grew up ever since I was six, had gone to his grave labeled a liar, a coward, a hypocrite, and a child predator.

  To call that the darkest year of my family's life would be an insulting understatement. But even after two years of therapy and soul-searching we still don't have a better term for that year.

  Afterwards, though, a lot of people in the community started avoiding us. We became 'cursed' to a lot of people. Everyone wondered how Mom could have missed such blatant hypocrisy in my father. Everyone wondered if my sister had also been abused.

  And, just at the edge of my hearing, people wonder
ed if my Dad's behavior would be genetically passed down to me, if I would start displaying similar tendencies. I got cold shoulders in additions to the cold looks in the school hallways now, older people who knew me made this weird, forced smile when they had to talk to me, and the church youth group leader stopped inviting me to help out with the children's vacation bible school activities every summer.

  So yeah, table to myself. No problem. No crowd of people coming up to talk to me about how things are going, no one coming up and saying “Hey Wes, may I sit here?” No-

  “Hey Wes! How are things going? Is it alright if I sit here?”

  Huh?

  I looked up from my lunch to see the third blonde-haired woman of the day that had decided to be nice to me.

  “Oh, hi Christina. Sure you can sit here.”

  Christina was wearing her blue-red cheerleader's outfit for the pep rally after school today. She smiled at me as she sat down with her tray and sandwich.

  “Want some chips?” I asked. Mom had kind of over-packed my lunch.

  “No thanks,” she said. Then, looking again at my three bags of Cheetos, she quietly sneaked a hand over and took one. Then, when I didn't say anything, she sneaked her hand over and took another.

  “Just wanted to see how you were doing these days,” She said as she popped a Cheeto into her mouth. “And to steal your food. But seriously, how have you been? Long time no see.”

  “Yeah, I haven't able to make it to church much these days...”

  “Oh no, I totally understand that,” Christina said quickly. “Doctor's appointments and everything. I wouldn't make it much either. Really, Wes, I just wanted to say hi and catch up.”

  “I believe you,” I said quickly. And I did. Christina was one of the few people who kept me from writing off church- and maybe God himself- altogether. There were maybe four members of the youth group at church who didn't start avoiding me after Dad's suicide, and Christina was one of them. In fact, along with some of the other misfits in the drama class I still went to, they were just about the only people that still talked to me.

  “I'm actually doing really good,” I said after a quick bite of my own sandwich. “Head barely hurts today. Can walk without the cane if I have to so far, at least for a couple of steps.”

  “Great!” She said brightly. “Had any of your tests yet?”

  “I already had Literature and Writing this morning,” I said, a little surprised that Christina knew about them. “Think I aced both portions.”

  “That's awesome!” She pumped her fists halfway into the air. “That totally rocks! Thanks for letting me know!”

  “You're welcome,” I cracked a grin. “I appreciate the enthusiasm, but is there a reason you're so excited?”

  “Well, yeah.” She said. “A couple of us from church, and some of your friends from drama got together to root for you today. I didn't know you were in drama, by the way.”

  “They just let me help with the technical stuff. Sound and lights. But how did you meet my friends in drama?”

  “Davelon and I found out about your tests from your sister. We asked who else would probably be rooting for you today, so we got together and made these bracelets.”

  She pulled up her sleeve to reveal a bead bracelet that said 'Team Wes' in several bright colors.

  “You're all wearing those?”

  “Yeah,” She said with a smile that was half-shy, half-proud. I had to grin back.

  “That's... incredibly cheesy.” I said. “And really appreciated. Thank you guys. Seriously. Thank you all.”

  “No problem,” Cristina said with a confident shrug. “But now you have to completely rock out today or you'll make us all look bad, right?”

  “That's no problem,” I said, still grinning. “I think I can still rock out.”

  “Good. I'm glad,” The cheerleader said, then took another of my Cheetos. I tried not to look too happy, or too embarrassed, but it was hard.

  Then the last person I expected to see today walked by.

  “Hey lady,” Quarterback Chris Rhodes said, giving Christina a side-arm hug as he swung by our table. At well over six feet, he had to stoop low to do that. “I didn't expect to see you this lunch. What's up?”

  Christina smiled shyly, but happily at him.

  “This is my free period, so I thought I'd let Wes know the rest of us were pulling for him. See?” She pulled up her sleeve to show the bracelet again.

  “That's awesome,” he said enthusiastically, then turned to look at me with a smile that did not reach his eyes. “Right, your tests are today. I forgot man, you should have told me so I can root for you.”

  Like hell, I thought to myself.

  In the line of people rooting for me in life, Chris Rhodes stands right behind Sauron and Adolf Hitler.

  “I haven't told anyone,” I lied. “I've been so swamped with trying to study and stay healthy for it. Sorry man. Didn't mean to keep you in the dark.”

  Another of Dad's lessons crept into my mind: To learn how to love your enemies, read the Bible. To learn how to survive them, read the Art of War.

  “Well, if you get a chance, swing by the football table so we can wish you good luck, alright?”

  “Yeah sure,” I gave him my second lie. “I'll try and do that on my way out.”

  “Great,” he said, turning his dark-haired head back to Christina. “Are we still on for next week?”

  “Yup,” she said with another of her half-cheesy smiles. “As long as my parents know I'm home by ten,”

  “Great,” he said, his gray eyes twinkling. “In that case, I'll see you at the game tonight. You should come too Wes,”

  “Sure,” Lie number three said. “If I get a chance.”

  “That'd be great. We miss seeing you Wes.”

  Bastard, I thought as he walked off.

  Cristina watched him go, then turned back to me.

  “I didn't know you knew Chris so well,” She said, brushing some hair out of her smile.

  “Yeah, well, we don't hang as much since I left football,” I said, trying not to sound too careful.

  I don't even know where to begin on describing Chris Rhodes. He's tall and muscular, big enough to impress you, without seeming overly large. He has perfect dark hair, piercing brown eyes, supermodel good looks. He has led our football team to title games twice in a row already, breaking several high school records and helped us-I mean them, they're not my team anymore- win last year's state championship. This year, our school is expected to compete in the high school national championship largely because of his skills as both quarterback and team captain. He already has done spreads in both sports and modeling magazines.

  He's also the reason I'd never be valedictorian at this school, because even before my condition he was at the top of the class every single year. Science, Math, English, you name it- it all came incredibly easy to him. Some of his science projects had already garnered notice from several technology companies. And where I had to work to try and keep my single scholarship, multiple schools were fighting over him, offering everything imaginable on a silver platter just to get a verbal commitment from him. And he earned these opportunities solely on effort. His father was a senior vice president at the giant corporation that gave most of the people in my town jobs. Chris could pay for college pretty much any way he wanted, and some scholarship packages offered to him were probably against the rules because he didn't remotely qualify for needing financial aid.

  Now yes, I am jealous. I can't pretend I'm not. Most guys are jealous of him. But that's not the reason Chris and I are enemies.

  We're enemies because he was the quarterback I stopped at that party those years ago.

  “Hey Wes, you still there?” Christina asked, tapping the table and threatening to take my last Cheeto.

  “Yeah, sorry,” I said, snatching the last chip into my mouth with a grin. “Just thinking.”

  “So...” Christina said carefully. “Why don't you talk to the football team any
more? I know you still hang out with Davelon, but he wouldn't say why we couldn't get more of the players on Team Wes.”

  Davelon was in fact, my only remaining friend on the football team. And he's probably the reason I didn't get my ass kicked more often.

  And apparently Christina didn't know that. And, being Christina, she wanted to know more about the boys she cheered for during football games. Especially the quarterback.

  This was not going to be a fun conversation.

  “Davelon's my only friend left on the football team,” I said finally. “The rest of the guys I have to watch out for or they'll knock me around.”

  “What?” She said in disbelief. “You're kidding. No way. The entire team?”