We All Fall Down (2 page)

“Maybe they have bigger earthquakes there,” a girl said.

“I don’t think so. The same strength of earthquake has different results in different places,” James said.

“That’s the same with hurricanes,” I said, backing up what James was saying. “I remember hearing how thirty thousand people were killed by a hurricane in Bangladesh last year … or was it the year before … well, anyway, whenever it happened, there’s usually only one or two people killed when there’s a hurricane here.”

“I’d never really thought of it, but you boys are right,” Mrs. Phelps said. “And what are your names?”

“I’m James Bennett and this is my friend, Will Fuller.”

Great, now she knew my name … but now that girl knew my name too. Not a bad trade-off.

“So, James and Will, why do you think that these naturally occurring phenomena don’t create
the same fatalities in this country as they do in other parts of the world?”

“It’s the same as with the plague,” James said.

“Can you explain that?”

“Sure. It’s like the way modern medicine and drugs protect us from the plague. High-quality construction materials, building standards and early-warning systems for hurricanes and tornadoes reduce fatalities, at least here in places like the U.S. or Canada or France … you know … places that are more modern.”

“That’s very well explained, James,” Mrs. Phelps said.

“Thanks. I did a project on this stuff last year,” he said.

I didn’t think I would have told her that. I would have just let her think that I was smart.

“While we still have these potential dangers, we have a level of protection that makes us feel more secure, almost immune,” Mrs. Phelps said.

“Not immune,” James pointed out, “just safer.”

“Yes, of course you’re right. You seem to have given this a lot of thought, James. Are you planning on becoming some sort of civil engineer?”

He shook his head. “I’m going to be a fireman … like my father.”

“That’s great. You know, if you went back a few hundred years it was almost a given that you became whatever your father was. If your father was a blacksmith then you became a blacksmith. If
he ran a store you took over the store when he died.”

“And girls became what their mothers were,” a girl said. “Wives and mothers and household slaves and not much more.”

“Thank goodness that part of history has changed,” Mrs. Phelps said. “But that reminds me: tomorrow, you will all be participating in your co-op placements.”

Because of some sort of reorganization at the school, the teachers were meeting all day, and they had to figure out what to do with the students. We were all going out with somebody—parents or relatives or friends—to shadow them while they did their work.

“I was wondering where people are going tomorrow,” Mrs. Phelps said. “James, are you going with your father?”

“Definitely. He’s taking me to his station, in downtown Manhattan.”

“That could be very exciting,” Mrs. Phelps said.

“Could be, but won’t be,” James answered. “Unfortunately, I have to stay at the station all day. I’m not allowed to go out on the truck on a call.”

“Sounds like a safety precaution, like the ones that keep us safe from hurricanes. What are other people doing?”

“I’m going with my mother to spend a day in the Emergency department. She’s a doctor,” a girl said. I think her name was Sarah.

“That will be a great opportunity. Do you think
you
want to be a doctor?”

“My mother said she’d like me to be anything
except
a doctor.”

“I guess she has her reasons, and tomorrow you’ll have a chance to see what those reasons might be.”

Other people piped up about what they would be doing. One guy was going to spend a day at a vet’s office. Another person was going to sit in court all day—his father was a judge. And a couple of kids were going to spend the day in an elementary school class with their teacher parents. I thought that was a goofy thing to do. We’d all spent a lot of time in schools already, and if you didn’t know what a teacher did for a living by now you probably weren’t smart enough to be one.

“Anybody else want to share their plans?” Mrs. Phelps asked.

“I’m not going with either of my parents,” my dream girl said. “I’m going to be spending my day with my big brother … he works for MTV.”

“Your brother works for
MTV?”
James asked, as people gasped and sat up in their seats.

“He works in the control room,” she said. “He mixes videos, but he also gets to meet celebrities and go to parties and lots of stuff.”

“Will you get to meet anybody famous?” a girl asked.

“I don’t know … maybe. My brother says that there are always famous people around the place.”

There was a murmur of conversation as people tried to imagine who she might meet. I didn’t want her to meet anybody. I already knew I was going to be competing with guys in grade ten and up so I definitely didn’t need a rock star in the mix. But she had the best placement, no question.

“And Will, what will you be doing?” Mrs. Phelps asked.

She caught me off guard. “Um … I’ll be going with my father … to his office.”

“And what does your father do?”

“He works for a trading company.” Boy, did that sound boring. “Like, an international trading company—money markets and stocks and all that stuff.” I hoped I sounded like I knew what I was talking about. “He’s one of the head guys,” I added, trying to make it sound at least a little bit interesting. “And his office is in Manhattan.”

“That sounds like an interesting experience,” Mrs. Phelps said.

“I guess so,” I said, sounding less positive than she did.

“Now, since you’re going to be away tomorrow I’m going to give you a double reading assignment. I want all of chapters two, three and four read by Wednesday. All of you have a great day tomorrow. Who knows, it might be an experience that changes your entire life!”

I scraped the last bit of food off my plate and shoveled it into my mouth.

“Would you like seconds?” my mother asked.

“Thanks, but no thanks.”

“Okay, but watching you wolf that down, I got the feeling that you really liked it.”

“I did. I love your lasagna.”

“Thank you. I like making things you enjoy.”

I did like her cooking, but that wasn’t why I had eaten so quickly. I was in a rush to get to James’s place—we had a practice scheduled.

“There’s lots more if you want another piece.”

“Maybe later, for a bedtime snack. Besides, shouldn’t you save some for Dad?”

“There’s plenty for him.”

“I have to get going,” I said as I got up and took my dishes to the counter.

“Where to?”

“James’s.”

“Could you help me clean up before you go?”

“Sure, no problem.” I was in a rush, but it was faster to do it than argue about it.

While my mother scrubbed the lasagna pan I loaded my stuff into the dishwasher and then headed back to get the rest of the things off the table. My father’s place was all set—dinner plate, side plate, glass, cutlery and napkin. All untouched.

“Do you want me to leave the place for Dad, or put it away?”

“I guess you can leave it.” She sounded tired.

“When did he say he’d be home?” I asked.

“He’ll be home at seven … unless he calls again.”

In our house it was important to either be on time or call and say when you were going to be home. My mother was a fanatic about that.

“Do you have any homework tonight?”

“A few chapters to read for history. I’m going to bring my textbook with me and James and I will go over it tonight.”

“Before or after you play music?”

“What makes you think we’re going to play tonight?” I asked.

“Aren’t you?”

“Well, yeah.”

“Just make sure you do your homework first, that’s all I’m asking,” she said.

“There’s no rush. I have tomorrow night, too.”

“Oh, that’s right, you’re spending the day with your father.”

“Yeah.”

She furrowed her brow. “You don’t sound very excited.”

“Well … I guess it’s better than going to school.”

“It should be very interesting. I know your father has been looking forward to it.”

“He has?”

“He’s been talking a lot about it,” she said.

I shrugged. “I haven’t seen him enough this week to know what he’s been talking about.”

“This has been a busy week for him,” my mother said.

“And how is that different from any other week?”

My mother didn’t answer right away. “Your father isn’t happy with the situation either. He would like to be able to spend more time with us.”

It seemed pretty simple to me. If he wanted to spend more time with us he just had to leave his office. I knew he had an important job, and that
meant a lot of responsibility … as well as a big paycheck. But money wasn’t a big problem for us. If we’d needed the cash, Mom could have gone back to work after I started school, but she chose to stay home and put in time with her charities and volunteer work, so we couldn’t be that hard up.

“There, all done,” I said as I loaded the last of the dishes into the washer.

My mother pulled the lasagna pan out of the soapy water in the sink.

“You boys must be getting pretty good considering how much you’ve been practicing.”

“We’re getting better.”

“It’s very nice of Mr. and Mrs. Bennett to let you use their basement.”

“Yep.”

“And they don’t mind?”

“Nope. Mrs. Bennett says as long as she can hear us playing she knows where we are and that we’re not getting into any trouble.”

“And Mr. Bennett?”

“I think he likes us being there. He even came downstairs and played with us the other night.”

She smiled. “He did?”

“Yeah, he plays guitar. It’s all old school … you know, like Led Zeppelin and the Stones and the Beatles, but he can really play. He’s pretty cool for an old guy.”

“Old guy? He’s about the same age as your father and me.”

“That’s what I said, for an
old guy.”
I smiled. “Actually, he’s still in pretty good shape, too. Sometimes he plays some hoops with us on the driveway and he can almost keep up.”

“Being fit is part of his job,” my mother said.

“You can’t have a fat, unfit fireman.” She paused. “It’s been a while since you and your father played basketball together.”

“A long time.”

“Maybe you could challenge him to a game this weekend,” she suggested.

“What are the chances he’ll even be home this weekend?”

“Well, I don’t see any business trips scheduled,” she said, taking a look at the calendar on the side of the fridge.

“Just because they aren’t scheduled doesn’t mean they don’t happen.”

My mother looked sad. “Things do come up.” She put a hand on my shoulder. “It’s not easy, and it’s not what any of us would want. It’s just the way it is sometimes. Your father would love nothing better than to play some basketball with you, or even go over to James’s place and jam with you boys.”

“Jam?”

“Play along … that is the word, isn’t it … jam?”

“Yeah. You got the word right—it was the idea of Dad playing an instrument that kind of freaked me out there.”

“It’s been a lot of years, but I imagine he can still play the drums.”

“Oh yeah, Dad told me he used to play the drums when he was my age.”

“It’s probably like riding a bike,” my mother said. “I can still picture your father in his friend’s garage, playing with his band.”

“He was in a band?” That I didn’t know.

“I don’t think they ever had a name or played anywhere except the garage, but they considered themselves a band … just the way you boys do.”

We’d only played in the basement so far, but we had big plans, and we almost had a name.

“I can just picture your father, pounding away on those drums, his hair halfway down his back and—”

“Dad had hair halfway down his back?” I asked in amazement.

I’d started letting my hair grow at the end of school last year, but I was keeping my mouth shut about it and expecting any day to hear my father tell me to get a haircut. Mine still wasn’t quite to my shoulders. “Everybody had long hair then. Haven’t you seen any pictures of him from those days?”

“Not that I can remember.”

“Your father wasn’t born old, you know.”

Maybe not old, but at least in his late twenties. I couldn’t picture him as a teenager, doing teenager things.

“Your father used to be a pretty cool dude back then.”

“Okay …”

“And your mother was one hot little—”

“That’s way too much information!” I said, putting my hands over my ears. “I gotta get going. I’ll be home by nine.”

“No later. Don’t forget how early your father leaves for work in the morning. And call me if you’re not going to be at James’s. You know how I worry.”

“I will. See you later.”

It was barely light. I slumped down farther into the front seat of my dad’s car, closing my eyes, trying to get at least a few minutes more sleep. I’d known my father hit the road early—he was usually gone long before I got up—but it was different
knowing
it and
doing
it. This might have been my father’s usual morning, but it wasn’t mine. And to make matters even worse I’d been up really late. After getting home from James’s, I’d stayed up listening to tunes and putting together some lyrics for a song we were working on. I’d even picked up my history book and got a start on the reading assignment. It was after midnight by the time I
turned out the light. Somehow I just couldn’t make myself go to sleep any earlier than that. Now, I was paying the price. My father was full of energy and talking a mile a minute. Maybe he considered this “quality” parenting time. For me, there’d have been a lot more quality to it if he’d just shut up and let me sleep.

If you combined his early mornings with his late nights, business trips and the occasional work-filled weekend, there were times when it seemed like my father was more a rumor at our house than a confirmed fact. I once joked with James that if my parents ever got divorced, and didn’t tell me about it, it would be weeks or even months before I figured it out. Not that he and my mom would ever get divorced. They still held hands, giggled together and always kissed goodbye and said, “I love you.” At times it was almost a little bit sickening. I felt like yelling out, “You’re married already so can you just knock it off?”