Kindness for Weakness (19 page)

But I don’t know if that’s allowed or if Max will get mad, so I stay where I am on the floor, smoothing Apollo’s fur with the palms of my hands.

“He’s a great dog,” I say.

“I think so. You know what I like best about him?”

“What?”

“He’s been through hell and back, this dog, but he’s not mean. Apollo doesn’t have a mean bone in his body.”

“He doesn’t fight with other dogs?”

“Not unless he absolutely has to, no.”

“Does he ever have to?”

“Once. I was walking him through town on a leash, and this big Doberman ran through a screen door and attacked him.”

I look at Apollo with his head tilted back so I can scratch under his chin. His eyes are closed, and his rib cage rises and falls with each deep breath.

“What happened?”

“They fought. It was a tangle of snapping, flashing teeth; I dropped the leash and got the hell away from them.”

“Did Apollo get hurt?”

“Nope.”

“How about the other dog?”

“The Doberman? Apollo whipped him good; he needed a lot of stitches.”

Max smiles and leans down to pat the dog on his head. I can see that he’s proud. “Every creature has a right to defend itself,” he says. “That’s not mean.”

“Have you ever been attacked?” I know it’s a personal question, but it just slips out.

Max’s thick white eyebrows bunch together. He looks down at his tan work boots, and right away I’m sorry I asked. “Sorry. It’s none of my business,” I say.

“No,” he says. “It’s okay. You go on and ask anything you want to. I might not answer, but you still go on and ask.”

Neither of us says anything for a long time, but it’s not uncomfortable. A few feet over, I can see Levon and the rottweiler in a standoff, looking at each other.

“I was in the army,” says Max. “In Vietnam. That’s where I had to fight. I don’t talk about it much, but now that you ask, I think it’s why I love this dog. We’ve both had
to fight a lot, and neither one of us is mean or angry. At least I don’t think we are.”

Apollo pushes my hand with his nose to tell me that I’m not paying enough attention to him, so I scratch again behind his ears, which he seems to like best.

Crupier puts his fingers into his mouth and blows a loud whistle. “Time’s up!” he says. I stand and shake Max’s hand.

“Thank you,” I say.

“Sure,” he says. “What’s your name?”

“James.”

“Nice to meet you, James.”

Apollo stands up stiffly and chuffs like an old bear. He leans up against Max, the pair of them watching me leave the gym.

Antwon has said nothing to me since our fight, and I’m beginning to think that Socrates Fortlow was right: if you stand up for yourself, then that’s all you can do. You won’t ever have anything to be sorry about, because you’ll know you did your best. For the first time in I don’t know how long, I am relaxed. Even though I lost my stage, I am no longer afraid. Antwon and his boys can call me names or try to fight me, but now I know how to fight back. I can’t help feeling proud of myself; it’s a totally new feeling, and a good one.

Mr. Samson reminds us that it’s time for group. Automatically we move our chairs in a circle and sit. “I want to hear from someone who used his skills this week,” he says.

Antwon raises his hand, says, “I did.” This is a surprise, because Antwon never participates; he either puts his head down or sits back and sucks his teeth whenever the rest of us talk.

Samson sighs as though he knows he will regret calling on Antwon.

“Okay, let’s hear it.”

“I used my dick skills when I was giving it to Levon’s mother.”

All the boys laugh as Levon stands up. His face is a mask of rage.

“You talking about my momma?”

Antwon grins.

Mr. E stands in front of Levon while Samson gets in Antwon’s way. If this goes any further, Samson will push the pin on his radio, and then the two boys will be taken to empty rooms in medical to sit and cool off. For the rest of the day, if necessary. And if they still don’t cool off, one of them will get switched to another unit. Probably Antwon, since he’s been on almost every unit in the facility and is still on level one, which means no privileges.

But with the focus on Antwon and Levon, no one is paying attention to Double X or Coty. Double X picks his chair up above his head. I can see exactly what is going to happen, and for a moment, I think I can stop it. I can throw my body into his and knock him off balance, or just reach out and grab the chair. I could shout to Samson, “Look out! Behind you!” But I don’t. I say nothing. I do nothing as Double X brings the chair down onto the back of Samson’s head.

It happens so fast! The chair crunches, and the big man falls like a tree and lands on his face. He doesn’t even put out his arms to protect himself, like his brain has shut down or something. How can someone so big and powerful crumble like that?

Then Antwon sucker punches Mr. E in the face and
follows it up with a series of blows that would drop any normal person. But Mr. E stands with a smear of blood underneath his cheek. Double X comes over to help Antwon, while Coty unhooks the keys from Samson’s belt.

The other boys are going crazy, like they’ve turned into animals. They’re jumping around throwing gang signs, shouting incoherent war cries. It’s impossible to tell whose side they’re on or what they want to happen. I don’t think they know. For my part I stand mute and dumb, staring at the heap on the floor that moments ago was the strongest man I have ever known. He was nice to me. He taught me how to lift weights and build up my muscles. He told me I was stronger than I really knew. So how can I stand by helplessly while bad things happen? How come I never know what to do? I thought I was done being afraid, but I am still terrified.

I take a step toward Samson’s giant unmoving body. If I can just get to his radio and push the small rectangular orange button, the pin … I take another step.

“Hey!” someone yells.

Hands grab at me, pulling me away from Samson and his radio. Wilfred tears my shirtsleeve off. Then he jumps on top of a table, pumping his fist in the air while Mr. E faces Antwon and Double X, talking slowly and calmly, but he’s also speaking to the rest of us.

“Think, guys,” says Mr. Eboue. “You don’t want to do this.” He turns for a second toward the giant body of his friend, who is still unmoving on the floor. “Samson! You okay, brother?”

There is no answer from Samson. Mr. E is backing up
toward the door, hoping that help will come soon. He hits his own pin, and this time the radio responds almost instantly: “All available staff to Bravo Unit!”

“Come on!” says Coty. He’s got the keys and is posted by a window looking out onto the main hallway. “Now!”

And just when I start to think that they might get away with it, Levon comes out of nowhere and clotheslines Antwon with an outstretched arm, sending him backward into the wall. Then Levon dives on top of him, pinning him with his knees on his chest, pounding him in the face with his fists. The blows make solid thwacks.

“Talk about my momma! My momma is a fucking saint, motherfucker! Nobody talks shit about her.”

With Antwon out of the picture, Mr. E squares off against Double X, who, all of a sudden, looks unsure. Maybe even a little scared. He takes a halfhearted jab at Mr. E, but the guard pushes Double X’s arm away with the heel of his hand and spins him around into an arm bar. Lightning fast, Mr. E pulls his cuffs out, snaps them onto Double X, and pulls him down roughly onto his butt.

“You stay there,” he says, breathing heavily. Coty takes this as his cue and bolts out the door into the main hallway. The rest of us watch through the big plate-glass windows as he runs smack into a troop of approaching guards.

Mr. E leans over the body of his friend. “Talk to me, brother. Say something.”

I count nine guards in Bravo Unit before we are herded, one by one, into our rooms. Coty, Double X, Antwon, and Levon are all on the floor being restrained. Freddie knocks on the heater vent and tells me that soon they will be cuffed and taken away; we will not see them again, though he thinks Levon may get a second chance, since he
did
help Mr. E.

Looking out my window, I see Samson start to move a little bit as a crew of paramedics arrives. He tries to lift his head up, but Mr. E makes him lie back down so the paramedics can put this thing on his neck to stabilize it.

After they wheel Samson away, Freddie says, “This is really bad.”

“Yeah.” I feel sick to my stomach; I am trying to slow my breathing down so I don’t throw up. I hear Freddie talking, but I’m not really listening.

“Oskar’s dead. Samson’s all fucked up. And you!”

The last part catches my attention. “What about me?”

“What was you thinking, stepping in like that?”

“I don’t know. I just did it.”

He grunts.

“Did you see what they did to Samson?” I ask.

“I know, but I’m just saying …”

“What
are
you saying, Freddie?”

“That those guys are gonna give you shit for that.”

And as usual, he’s right. Wilfred bumps me in line at dinner the next day and spills my juice all over my food, soaking my hamburger bun and fries. I ask the cooks for more food, but the kid working the steam trays says, “Sorry, no seconds.” Then he flashes a quick grin and says, “No seconds for brownnosers and staff pets!” In gym, playing basketball, I get fouled so many times that Mr. Crupier calls the game and sends us back to the unit to our rooms. “Nice job, James,” someone says. “Fucking snitch.”

The dog people are back, and I get to spend half an hour with Apollo after school. He greets me by pushing his massive golden head into my chest. I am so happy to see him that I have no words for it. I scratch him behind his ears, and rub his belly when he flops down at my feet on the gym floor. I tell him how much I’ve missed him. And even though it’s childish and embarrassing, I say all kinds of stupid shit like “You’re my best friend” and “I love you, Apollo.”

Max, the owner/handler, tries talking to me. He asks me how I’ve been doing and when I’m going to get out. But when the tears start rolling down my face onto Apollo’s coat, he gives up. They are big hot tears, and they pour out of me so easily, like a valve has been opened. I should try to stop myself, but the truth is, I just don’t care anymore.
Maybe I am soft and weak. Maybe I am a crybaby and a brownnoser. I don’t care.

“I’ll leave you two alone,” Max says, even though the handlers are supposed to be with their dogs the whole time. “It looks like you have a lot to talk to each other about.”

And we do. Apollo lets me hug him and pet him and cry into his thick fur. When I finally stop to wipe my eyes, he lifts his paw and places it gently on my leg. In the background I can hear Bobby, who has taken Levon’s place. His cast is off, and he’s playing tug-of-war with the big rottweiler, whose name I gather is Rosie. He is laughing and shouting.

“James,” he calls out, “check this out. Rosie’s mad strong. Look!”

But I don’t care about him or anyone else right now, because my time is almost up and I don’t want to leave Apollo, the big shaggy creature who loves me back so perfectly. Max is still sitting on the bleachers, watching patiently, but the next group of kids is already lining up, getting ready for their turn.

Apollo and I both stand; he leans against me so that my hand brushes the side of his head. Then he nudges me with his muzzle, leaning in even closer until I can feel his weight against my leg. We stay that way for several minutes, and I feel strong and safe, like nothing can touch me as long as we’re together. It’s about the best feeling I’ve ever had in my short trouble-filled life. Because I know that this dog loves me completely. It’s so simple, and I try to enjoy it even though I know it will fade as soon as I walk out the gym doors.

Today in Ms. Bonetta’s class we get a surprise. “I have an announcement,” she says, standing in front of the class, looking shockingly beautiful in a black dress and heels. I’ve never seen a woman so classy and sexy up close; it makes me feel a little crazy, like I’m dizzy and can’t think straight. My body is buzzing even though I know she’s my teacher and I am her student, and never in a million years would anything happen between us.

She’s smiling, like she’s got the best news in the world, something that could cheer up a bunch of delinquent kids and an angry redneck guard.

Predictably, Wilfred raises his hand. “Are you having a baby?”

Some of the guys chuckle, no doubt thinking about the lucky guy who might have gotten her pregnant.

“Wilfred, I’m writing you up for asking personal questions,” Crupier says. “You know better.”

“Sorry, mister.” Wilfred lowers his head, ashamed. Or angry. It’s impossible to tell the difference, except that when
he’s angry, he curses quietly, under his breath, and makes threats. And when he’s really angry, he throws his giant shovel hands into the air until the guards restrain him. As long as I’ve been here, though, he hasn’t actually hit anyone; it’s more like when a little kid has a tantrum.

“It’s okay,” Ms. Bonetta says. “It’s not that kind of a surprise, Wilfred.” She pauses to build the suspense. Even Crupier looks interested; he closes his copy of
Traditional Bow Hunter
magazine and looks up at the pretty teacher.

“One of you boys has just been accepted into community college!” She claps her hands a couple of times and waits for our reaction.

But everyone knows it’s Freddie. Wilfred and Kyle wave their hands away to show that they couldn’t care less. Even Freddie tries to downplay it by saying, “It ain’t a real acceptance, because it’s just community college; all you have to do is apply.”

Ms. Bonetta puts her hands on her hips. “It
is
a big deal. It
is
an accomplishment, Freddie, because you worked hard to get this far. Isn’t that right, Mr. Crupier?”

The guard looks like he’s been slapped awake. “Yeah,” he says mechanically. “Absolutely. Nice job, Peach.” Then he grins stupidly at the teacher, like he expects a reward for talking nice to a poor troubled kid.