The Acolytes of Crane "Updated Edition" (16 page)

If
I whipped my front foot outwards, directing my slide sideways away from the
board, I could flip it. It would rotate like a slick bullet shooting through
the air, and finish a complete revolution so that I could once more regain the
skateboard on the ground. It was a trick known as the “
kick-flip
.”

The
ollie
and the
kick-flip
were just a couple of “mother” tricks,
which would give birth to wide range of more difficult tricks such as
backside-kick-flips
and others.

I
could not do many tricks, but one of the few I did with superb proficiency was
the kick-flip. I would execute my kick flips so beautifully that the board
would clap against my tail foot as if wanting to connect to me. I knew it was
well received, because people tried to model their flips after mine.

‘What
do we have here? A couple of aspiring shredders! What is up, dudes?’ Dan asked,
as he carved the corner of the street.

Dan
Anderson, otherwise known as Dangling Dan Anderson was sixteen years old, and
our next target. Perfect timing. Dan was about the same height as me, which was
just over five feet. His hair was brown and mohawked. His shoes had their giant
tongues stretched halfway up to his shins. Being an adolescent, his face farmed
a bit of facial hair that looked like peach fuzz.

When
Dan was fourteen, he was at Fulton’s baseball fields, skating around the
pavilion. That day, he took a break to rest his back against the pavilion
walls. His friends were standing in front of him, chatting. One of the kids
looked over and noticed something that was amusing. Dan had recently ripped his
pants on a failed trick and there, draped out on the ground—through his torn up-jeans—laid
Dan’s family jewels. They were displayed so prominently and unforgettable, that
even Dan laughed at what happened, and he didn’t care in the slightest. The
nickname stuck.

Dan
was hard to impress and was volatile. On occasion, he stomped his skateboard in
half or banged it against his head if he didn’t land a trick. That was his
trademark personality quirk. Our plan for Dan was somewhat weak. We wanted to
lure him into a game of SKATE, and impress him with our moves, mainly my
kick-flip, and then coax him into our group.

The
one true problem with that mission: Dan was a master among novices. Everything
I did, he did way better. He was so good, I always tracked his superb moves and
re-framed them into “slow motion” in my mind. He ripped the Hearth apart. He
was amazing.

Three-sixty
kick-flips, switch hard-flips
,
and anything else I could think of, he would accomplish after a few minimal
attempts. Let’s face it, he was a pro in the game of SKATE. He didn’t need
X73-21’s to soar. That kid could soar on his talent alone, and he flew in a
sense that there were grace and beauty in what he did.

‘Hey
Dan, you want to play SKATE?’ I asked.

‘You
are damn right I do,’ he answered. ‘I have been waiting all day. Let’s do
this.’ He was starving for action.

For
about an hour, we shredded. Lincoln and I lost to Dan, and then we all shredded
some more. We two lost and well—we lost some more. It was ugly, and my
kick-flips were not bringing in the shock and awe in the way I needed them.

As
the competition ground on, my stomach started to hurt, dismaying me with its
lousy timing. Suddenly, my innards felt like they were twisting and imploding
within. Constipation was about to burst. I needed a bathroom. There wasn’t a
port-a-potty around to take care of business. For once, I admired women for
carrying well-stocked purses—they never seemed to be out of tissue.

A
twisting and wrenching pain rose up from the depths of my bowels to haunt me.
It was my stomach, and it was becoming worse. I found myself pinching my butt
cheeks together to hold it in, but the beast needed to escape.

I
needed to do a major class two upload into the forest. It wasn’t a
run-of-the-mill bathroom break. It was a steaming, rolling, and writhing burn
that twisted my insides. I had about three hundred yards to the forest, which
now looked daunting.

‘Dude,
I have to go,’ I said, looking toward Lincoln.

I
fervently thrust away at my skateboard, steering it toward my dump destination
as fast as I could. My legs felt the burn from pushing against the ground so
robustly. I didn’t want to use my X73-21’s because I worried everyone was
watching me. The faster I skated, the harder the monster within my bowels tried
to breach the threshold. The rough parking lot blacktop sent vibrations up my
legs, causing even more discomfort. 

I
was about half of the way to the forest, when I began to run, and that was a
big mistake. The running churned the movement within my bowels, and then I
farted. I was about ten feet from the finish line, and the blast to the insides
of the legs of my pants was devastating. My trousers were now one giant
stinking, high-to-heaven stink that could kill any cockroaches that lay in its
path. I was soiled, and my innocent pants were defeated by one of the fiercest
poops known to man.

There
were two semi-trailers affording a convenient cover for my entry into the
woods. I took down my pants, removed them, and tried to clean up with some
surrounding leaves.

It
was tough because most of the items of foliage in the woods were small and
useless. The smell was absolutely wicked and morphed repugnantly into the
deadliest of nose burning stenches. I cleaned up my legs and butt as much as
one could in my situation, unavoidably smearing some of that brown stuff on my
fingers and thumbs despite my best intentions.

In
conclusion, I had no decent pair of pants, and I somehow needed to complete the
mission before I went home. Which was: to find out whether Dan was fit for our
team.

With
my pants devastated by the brown contents of my butt, there was nothing left to
do but try to get Lincoln’s attention. I needed a way out. I edged the
semi-trailer and hung the clothed portion of my body by the hitch side of it. I
yelled out to Lincoln.

‘What’s
wrong, Ted?’ Lincoln yelled from the group. ‘C’mon guys, let’s go see what is
up.’
Oh no
! How many mistakes can one person make in an hour’s time? I
think I was on pace to break the record. I didn’t want the entire crew to see
me. Lincoln, with no clue as to the disaster lurking ahead, was leading the
whole party of grungy skaters toward me while I cowered behind the trailer.

As
they quickly made their way over, Dan looked upon my face. He must have been
able to decipher my bright-red complexion, because he yelled, ‘Wait, guys! I
think there is something up. Lincoln, why don't you just go see what is wrong
with your bro.’

It
was obvious we needed Dan for a number of reasons. His agility was remarkable.
There was nothing like it out of all the people we knew. What he did
effortlessly on that skateboard was magical. More importantly, when he saved me
from humiliation, there was no need to test any further.

In
a relatively short time, he had revealed his character and secured our initial
readings on him. I was impressed with him and felt excited about such a prize
find. He was definitely an introspective and empathetic kid worth trusting with
our secret.

The
rest of the kids took off to skate at this bread company’s parking ramp. Dan
had some extra pants in his bag, to avoid a repeat of the dangling incident. He
brought them to me, and tossed them around the trailer.

‘You
know, you two dudes are straight. Man, you have a wicked kick-flip bro. You
shit your pants though didn’t you?’ Dan asked as he covered his nose, ‘same
thing happened to me at my grandparents’ house when I was five. Everyone gives
me hell for it at family gatherings.’

Dan
really enjoyed swearing. He had let every swear word fly from his lips with
total disregard the whole time I knew him. It didn’t bother us, because Dan was
just being himself.

He
asserted that he only used swear words to accentuate his creative expression of
self. At least, that was his excuse. Dan told us he was trying to quit per his
parents’ request. I personally felt that swearing was a waste of breath. I
stepped out from behind the trailer with Dan’s pants freshly fitted, my hands
over my hips.

‘That
was an awesome thing you did for me, man. Where is Lincoln?’ I asked.

‘He
was making sure the other guys left. He was buying you some time, dude. That is
a good friend you have there.’

I
knew from experience from long car rides that if there was a window of
opportunity opening, I should spit through it. If the spit flew back at my face
because the window closed too fast, then I knew I made a mistake. Either way,
there was nothing to lose but time.

‘Dan,
if I was going to show you something, would you promise to keep it secret? You
cannot tell anyone, and I mean anyone.’

‘Okay
dude, chillax, you are not going to do something weird, are you?’ he asked. He
was put off slightly by my pushy demeanor.

Lincoln
walked from around the corner of the building. Now that we three were alone, my
two friends would be given a premium view of a glorious futuristic technology
that I, with my pulse racing, was about to unveil for the first time ever to
people of this planet. I had a sinking feeling that if the demonstration did
not work, I would be forever ridiculed. But I had to believe in myself.

‘Stand
back,’ I said. In a voice quieter to myself I continued, ‘Here goes.’

I
pushed off. The wheels on my board smoked, like a spinning yo-yo on a frying
pan. I hit the embankment with the force of a raging bull.

I
was ready to fly. Just as certain as the Earth rotates round the sun, the
experiment worked. With no ramp at all, my board soared magically ten feet into
the air, stunning Dan and Lincoln. It was much easier than I could have ever
imagined. I felt euphoric, losing myself within the moment.

Like
a maverick in flight school, I performed a difficult trick, a
fly-by
. By
the time I returned to earth, Dan and Lincoln had dropped onto their knees in
shock.

‘Dude,
what the hell was that?’ Dan said covering his eyes, as if he saw something
that he should not have. He was hungry for more. Action junkies are just that,
addicted to excitement.

It
gave me so much confidence to see Dan react in the same manner that Lincoln
did. His words were exiting his mouth at an almost painful rate. I have never
heard so many F-words before in my life, except during a heated fight between
my parents. It was entertaining.

Despite
our challenges and minor defeats, we had decisively slain our mistakes and rode
our blessings to success. In the end, we had strength, courage, honor, and
integrity.

“Dan
easily succumbed to the wonder of our story and desired more and more details,
lapping them up like a thirsty dog to a water dish. We told him everything, and
he accepted it. Despite his faith in us, for the next two hours, as he strove
hard to push aside all his ingrained sense of reality, he shook his head and
looked at us like we were crazy. It didn’t matter. With my successful
implementation of Lincoln’s plan, it seemed that a dedicated, unified and bold
unit was finally taking shape.  A fearless team was being assembled.”

“Position
and ranking itself does not always command respect from followers. To be a
leader, a person must also submit to integrity and discipline.”

We
had to do the right thing, and I knew, in order to become a great leader, I
needed to stick my neck out and bring a team together.

It
was 2016, on a Sunday in October. Crisp autumn air revisited my lungs. I had a
flashback, rewinding my memories to those of three years ago: sinewy, rough
hands around my neck, I was only a boy, held against the wall in the hallway of
a crappy apartment by a man with no conscience. Now, I was a budding teenager,
tasked with the urgent quest to save Earth.

I
marveled at how much had changed in the last three years. One event the day
before pounded reality into my head: I actually flew. Yup, right above the
astonished faces of Lincoln and Dan. Without a skateboard. It was like magic. I
performed this incredible feat in a clearing out in the woods behind my
grandparents’ house, where no one could see us.

After
I took flight with my space boots, I decided to have Dan and Lincoln tag along
to hang out at my house to discuss the next steps. Grandma Laverne allowed us
to retreat privately in my bedroom, and for hours, I regurgitated everything
that I learned about the multiverse to Lincoln and Dan. Bless my grandma. Sensing
that we badly valued our private time together, she brought supper up to my
room for all of us three. Dusk arrived early enough; it was fall, after all.
After another hour, Dan and Lincoln had to go home. 

Before
they left, I explained to them that it wasn’t about us, it was about the
greater good. I told them that the Dacturons could rise out of nowhere to
destroy us all on Earth if we didn’t act quickly.

I
showed them an old picture I had hidden in my closet under a floorboard. It was
a picture of Jason, and Travis was in it.

I
wanted to be sure that they would be able to identify Travis.

He
was still stalking me.

I
believed he was there that night. I could not see him as I looked out my
brightly lit room with my friends, but I felt him looking in on me from the
darkness.

“My
amulet glowed in order to confirm that something—or someone—was out there. I
could feel hatred glaring in on me. It is almost like a sixth sense, which
tempted me to turn and look about frantically. I need a break. Oh yeah.”

Now
is the time. Just do it.

I
lay down this tablet and kneel, placing my hands on the floor, which
disgustingly is caked with thick dust that still causes me breathing
difficulties.

I
am on to something, and I wish to do a few solid push-ups to disguise my
maneuver. My weak shoulders and twig-like wrists tremble from the weight they
bear.

Building
muscle isn’t my goal, so I slow my repetitions. I search for that interesting
thing, as I push my body away from the dirty floor.

I
look around frantically, losing hope. My mind has been playing tricks on me
lately. I glumly conclude one thing: if I die now, I have nothing to show for
it. I would die a failure; just a young man in a cell.

Wait!
I see something. What is it? A disk lies upon my cell’s floor—about an inch in
diameter. The guards are watching me though, and I act as unnoticeable as I
can—slyly clutching the disc, and slowly moseying over to my mats. Feeling
apprehensive over getting caught, I lie down.

What
is this thing? I pretend to rub my eyes, but I conceal the disk in the palm of
my hand, and take a couple of quick glances at it as I mime my fatigue. It is
dull silver, and has a circular grid of tiny microscopic holes over the top
surface.

Before
I insert it discreetly into my pocket, a slight sound escapes from it and
barely reaches my ears. Excited, but careful not to show my panic, I pretend to
scratch my scalp behind my right ear. In doing so, I hold the wafer-thin disk
about one inch from my ear. The sound has faded out.

I
think I know what it is, and I think I know who left it. That shapely nurse.
With a smooth move, I drop it off in my shirt pocket, as I mime stroking my
shoulder.

Exhilarated,
I inhale the musty old air deeply, take a sip of stale water, and turn the
tablet on.

I
see my reflection among the oily smears of my tablet’s screen: a shadowy
depression under each cheekbone, and eyes sunk in deep, highlighting my
cheekbones. My hair is straw-like and matted.

Looking
up at the turret, I see it is bathed in green floodlights. The floodlights
switch from blue to green each evening. Between changes, there is a burst of
red, signaling the transition. In the beginning, I used to count how many
incidences of red illuminations I had seen, so I could count my number of days
in captivity. However, I had long ago stopped counting.

I
do know I am nineteen. I am far too young to perform the despairing,
excruciating dalliance with the ultimate Prince of Darkness—Death. Shuddering
at yet again peering into the bottom of the abyss, I lift the tablet again, and
I begin:

“Two
weeks went by. My new friends and I used the time to build our relationships.
We skated, played games, and learned about each other. To describe us, I would
say we were inseparable. We felt we had bonded for life.”

We
tried to bring-in a couple of people on our recruitment list, yet they
gleefully shot down their chances with unintended bravado. We shook our heads.
For example, we stood with mouths agape as we stood in a 7-Eleven and watched a
promising candidate surreptitiously stuff a candy bar right into his pocket,
without paying. There went
that
prospect. 

We
were heading toward panic mode—we had seven days left. It was Sunday again, and
it was colder than usual. We were down to the last two people on our list, and
probably the most unlikely to join, Mariah Espinosa and Liam McCaffrey. Mariah
was the girl I long had a long-time crush on. Liam was the guy on the farm
whose mother we had already suspected of a possible act of “hanky panky.” 

It
was a brisk evening as Lincoln and I hitched a ride with my grandpa, who had
kindly agreed to drop us off at the Woodland Fun Haven Center, which was a cool
arcade, with the latest in interactive video games, laser tag, mini bowling
alley, and make-your-own soft ice cream dispensing machines. I had the window
down in the car, because my grandpa was puffing away on a cigarette. The wind
whipped my face, but it was better than burning my lungs with second-hand
smoke.

Our
next target was Mariah. One of our sources told us the day before that she
might be at Fun Haven, because her girlfriend was having a birthday party
there. That was where we would try to recruit her.

Once
again, we didn’t have a plan. We had faith in all of our allies, with the
Dietons on my side.

As
I sat in the back seat, I was daydreaming about Mariah. I flashed back to the
conversation I had at home with grandpa this morning. I had found him reading
the sports section, as usual, on his favorite armchair, which had
garish-looking duct tape splayed across the upper part. My adrenalin raced, but
I instinctively knew I could trust him. Standing behind him stupidly, I
hesitated to speak out. He did not know I was right behind him.

A
minute passed. I cleared my throat, but he did not hear me. I urged myself to
take the bull by the horns; I could hear my grandma’s shower still running.

‘Grandpa,’
I said.

Marv
moved his head back slightly at the sound of my voice, and turned his head back
to look at me. One sight at my blushing face alerted him that something was up.
He put his entire paper down on the folding table in front of him, and gently
said, ‘Yes, Theodore?’

‘Grandpa,
there’s this girl,’ I said, walking over to face him man-to-man. ‘She—she is so
beautiful. I don’t know how to talk to her.’

Grandpa
chuckled. He clasped his hands on his lap.

‘Son,
it does not matter what you do, if she is the girl for you, then all you need
is to be cool and be yourself. She will be attracted to whatever she likes.
You’re just the right age to start thinking about girls, but since you are, I
must warn you. It’s a dog-eat-dog world out there. If this is the perfect girl
for you, go talk to her before another guy does. The good girls always go
quickly. Don’t even think about what you are going to say, just say it. If
she’s right for you, she will like you for who you are.’

‘Thanks,
grandpa.’ I wasn’t sure what to say. I still felt troubled.

Grandpa
searched for clues in my expression. ‘Is there something you’re not telling me,
Theodore?’

‘Well,
I mean, even if a guy and a girl love each other, and get married, there’s no
way it’s forever, right?’

Marv
appeared concerned. He reached out for my hand, and gently pulled me closer. ‘I
assure you, son, grandma and I are rock solid. Rock solid. Don’t you worry.’ He
gave my hand a light squeeze.

‘It’s
not you.’

‘Oh.
Who is it, then?’

I
blurted out, ‘Grandpa, I think Liam’s mom had another man in her house.’

‘What,
McCaffrey! Absurd, that is the preacher’s wife. Theodore Daniel Crane, you tell
me exactly what you think you saw.’

I
told him what I saw, and grandpa kept on nodding, absorbing the sordid details.
When I had finished, he told me to put it to rest. He said that there was any
possible explanation; maybe the man was Mrs. McCaffrey’s father, staying over
in the guest room? He warned me not to jump to conclusions. He didn’t want me
uttering a word to anyone about what I experienced. As I listened to his wise
words, I felt better that I’d told a grown-up. There is a serene feeling of
relief once a scandal—bottled up inside you for so long—is shared.

Lincoln
jabbed me into my side with his elbow. ‘Wake up, dude, we’re here.’

We
had arrived at Fun Haven, There were about ten kids hanging out in front of the
building, waiting for their parents. Lincoln and I stepped out of the car and
waved goodbye to Marv as he pulled away.

Whack!
A light, tiny object clipped me in the face. Stunned, I turned my head at the
direction from which it had come. From a distance, Jack Winters and his friends
were firing tightly wadded pieces of paper at people with rubber bands.

As
Lincoln and I gaped in surprise, I saw another tiny ball of paper rotating in
the air, suspended, just an inch from my cheek. Then, like a rock, it fell to
the ground. Signaling to Lincoln, I started sprinting and we both ran inside to
avoid the impish boys.

Thank
goodness the bullies had not even noticed that wad of paper behaving strangely.
Choosing my battles carefully was a skill that I was honing. Maturing was a
side effect of carrying the weight of the multiverse.

I
noticed the Dietons usually intervened only if I first had my turn to defend
myself from something that wasn’t fatal.  The Dietons seemed to wisely allow me
to develop my skills first, before intervening. I agreed with these ground
rules. I preferred to rely on my own actions first whenever possible.  

Lincoln
and I paid the admission fee. Once inside, I marveled at the black lights and
fluorescent colors everywhere. The music was shaking the walls with bass, and
everyone was blasting away with laser guns and having fun. At the back, there
was a small bowling alley as well as some indoor basketball hoops.  We had to
rent the bowling shoes if we didn’t have our own.

One
downside from renting bowling shoes is that they stink, because it seems like
one thousand people wear them every week. It is disgusting if you think hard
about it.

I
didn’t feel like taking my X73-21’s off, but I needed to program my kicks to
look like bowling shoes. I sat down next to Lincoln when he was trying his
stinky bowling shoes on, and since the dressing room was empty, I took my
opportunity to program a bowling shoe image onto them. Instantly, they mirrored
Lincoln’s bowling shoes. Lincoln’s eyes widened in approval.

‘Don’t
be showing off, maverick,’ he said.

I
said, ‘Alright, let’s go rip it up, keep your eyes open for M.E.’

Mariah
was nowhere to be seen. We just carried on with our fun, and what an evening it
was! Without a prospect to zero in on, we were blissfully free to do as we
wished, just to goof off like teenagers again. I felt so liberated within the
arcade, blasting away with laser guns; and grabbing the steering wheels and
planting my butt firmly on top of fake seats of the car racing cabinets. Above
us, the disco ball radiated millions of colors onto everything within sight. It
was as if the disco ball was absorbing my pressing, singular mission,
successfully diffusing it into a spectacle of harmony.

Losing
Lincoln, I stopped to catch a break at the soft ice cream self-help machines,
and I saw him arguing with someone in a dark corner of the rink near the
arcade. He was furious.

The
person he spoke to was taller and wore a dark hoodie. When the conversation
appeared to be over, he slipped away into a crowd. Not letting him out of my
sight, I strolled over to him. I nearly tripped due to these butt-ugly,
ill-fitting bowling shoes, and a couple of girls laughed at me as I stumbled.