Plan of Attack
The
Promise
“Bad luck?”
“Predestination?”
“Fate?”
“Bad Karma?”
“God’s will?
“My own fault?”
“My own poor choices?”
How could I know a choice was poor
until after it was made?
Every minute of existence is filled
with choices. Even thinking about this is a matter of choice. At any instant, I
can choose to continue to ponder or cast my thoughts in another direction.
All choices are based on previous
choices which begin a birth. They lead us down a path through a myriad of
decision points like a lab rat in an unending maze.
At every turn, an entirely different
path can be selected. No one makes decisions that he believes will lead to
completely negative results. Even the worst choices are made with some
overriding positive result being
expected.
It is much like climbing a tree with
an infinite number of branches. One poor selection can lead to a rotted limb
and when we grasp it, we fall.
At what point could we have chosen a
branch leading to a sturdier limb. Was it the first branch point or the second
or the third or the nth? And if our choice at any of these junctures was
different would it have necessarily led to a better fate? Is it equally
possible that it could have led to even a worse one?
I sit here with all of these thoughts
racing, all questions and no answers. Even if I could conjure the answers, how
would it help?
"Let vengeance be mine sayeth the
Lord."
That Bible phrase flashed through my
mind over and over and now I had come to know its true meaning. I should have
left revenge in God's hands and never taken it for my own. I should have known
that it would be impossible for me to do a better job than He.
They say that one's entire life can
flash before you in an instant. I never really believed that but now I know
that it is true.
All I could do now is hope that all
these realizations were not a prelude to my demise.
Well, enough of this self pity and
philosophical bullshit.
Let me tell you how I came to this
point, what happened, how it happened and how it all began.
I sat silently at the back of the
class barely hearing the words of Miss Mosser.
“Fractions are like the slices of a
pizza pie...” seemed to be echoing through a long, dark tunnel extending to the
front of the room. I could feel a knife-like pain searing through my guts. I
knew I was going puke any minute. I hadn’t felt good this morning before I left
for school but I said nothing. I had to go to school today because today was the day Martin Shaw,
the all pro NFL linebacker was coming to our school to talk to us kids! No kid
in his right mind would miss that.
We had been told of his coming four
weeks ahead of time and Miss Mosser had even put a huge calendar on the front
bulletin board with today’s date encircled in red Magic Marker. Each day during
the preceding weeks she crossed off the date as the day of his arrival
approached.
Whenever any one of us stepped out of
line she would point to the calendar and threaten keep us from the school
assembly on the big day. Upon hearing her menacing words all eyes turned
glaringly to the offender causing him to slump sheepishly back into his seat
and quietly rue his poor behavior.
As much as I tried I couldn’t fend off
the mounting pain and nausea any longer. Suddenly, my stomach spasms pulsed
forth a stream of vomit all over my desk and my head fell forward into its
acrid pool.
I struggled to raise my head from the
slimy mass and open my eyes. All was a blur accept the bulletin board calendar
with its brightly encircled number twenty-one which gleamed against the dull
background
Within seconds all blackened.
My next memories were those of
flashing lights and voices resonating from a
deep, distant source. Again darkness swept over me.
It felt like only minutes later that I
found myself lying motionless as a mask was slowly lowered over my face. Once
again a deep haze encompassed me while flashes of colored lights sparkled and
danced in the everywhere.
The next thing I would remember is
awakening in a hospital bed with my mother and Ralph by my side. She reached
down and picked him up to rub his well worn, furry face next to mine.
"Ralph is so glad to see you. You
had him really worried’ she explained as she continued to stroke my face with my
favorite stuffed animal.
"What happened Ma? Did I miss
Martin Shaw?" I asked with the most panicky tone I could muster.
"You did but I’ve been told that
he may come to see you personally once you’re a little better" she
replied.
"You mean come to see me by
himself ?" I said excitedly.
"That’s what Miss Mosser told
me" she answered.
Wow! I could hardly believe it. Martin
Shaw coming right here to see me right here in this room. That would make all
this worth it, I thought to myself.
But really happened to me? my thoughts
continued.
"Am I going to be alright?"
I asked aloud.
"The doctor said for sure"
my mother answered.
"You had appendicitis and the
doctor fixed you."
"What does that mean?" I
asked.
"You had a problem with your
insides and doctor had to fix it and you’re going to be okay" she
reassured me.
"When is Mr. Martin coming to see
me?" I continued eagerly.
"Very soon if you
keep getting better!"
She was right. It wasn’t more than a
day later that a huge figure appeared in the doorway of my room, almost
blocking it completed.
There he was, Martin Shaw, coming to
see just me and he even brought me a football.
He stayed for several minutes telling
me how glad he was to see me getting better and how he too had once had
appendicitis.
A dream couldn’t have been better.
"Mr. Martin, I’m going to work
really hard to become a great football player just like you. You’re my
hero" I said enthusastically.
"Teddy, I’m not your hero. Doctor
Spiegel is you’re hero. He saved your life. Without him you wouldn’t be here
now.
You know who my hero is?" he
asked rhetorically,
"Doctor Sabine, he’s the doctor
that saved my life when I had appendicitis.
Do me a favor kid, don’t be a football
player, study hard and be a doctor."
With that, he placed his hand on my
forehead and said " Promise
me!"
How could I not promise Martin Shaw
anything?
I immediately stammered out "I
promise! I promise! I will !"
From that moment forth I knew I was
destine to become a doctor!
The thought never left me.
That's how it all started.
When I returned to school the
following week, I was greeted as a hero, not because I had survived
appendicitis but because I had met with Martin Shaw one on one.
I was a kid with a new attitude. The
hero’s welcome by the class was not what did it, it was that promise to Mr.
Shaw that I had made.
Soon half the kids in the class were
asking to copy my homework. When that happened I knew that I was no longer the
classroom "daydreamer", I had become the class "brain".
As the school year wore on, I more and
more became known as the "geek".
I didn’t mind it at all because I knew that I had a dream and a promise
to keep. I spent so much time with the books that my mother began to worry. I
don’t think it was because she didn’t want me to be smart. The best guess is that
she had heard too many old wife’s tales about people who study too much, going
crazy.
Whatever her concerns might have been
she made several efforts to curtail my the length of my study periods in favor
of "normal boy" activities like stick ball and loitering.
At one point she and my father when
out and bought me some video games. When I think about it, the whole thing was
like Backwards Land. With most kids the fight is about getting the kids to
study, not getting them to stop studying but that’s the way it was!
When I got to high school she and my
father’s constant prodding finally worked. They worked, not because I actually
believed her admonishments of my "going crazy from too much
studying" but instead because I
knew that extra-curriculars would help get into a good college. And besides it
would end the constant nagging.
So it was that, in spite of the fact
that it took a lot of time away from my studies, I joined the high school football team. It
was there that I met Richie White. Ironically, Richie White was very
black.
He and I were assigned lockers right
next to each other and we became fast friends. Whenever I told anyone that he
and I were "fast friends" they always corrected me saying he was the
"fast friend" and I was the "slower fast friend". They were
reminding me that Richie was certainly the
better player. In spite of being the "slow fast friend" I was
still good enough to make the team.
Of course, Richie with his superior
speed and agility, became an outstanding halfback, while I, with lesser speed
but good size, was assigned a lineman's spot, right guard to be precise. I was
adequate but not close to the high caliber of Richie's play.
Despite of my initial resistance to my
parent's prodding, I found the football experience to be rewarding. I made a
lot of friends that otherwise would surely have shunned me as one of the
school’s nerds had I not participated and most importantly, Richie and I would
have never become best friends.
He was not only a good halfback but
also a pretty good student. I don’t think he studied like I did and he never
really reached ‘nerd’ status but he did well in school. The top ten percent at
least.
By the time we reached our senior year
I was in a close race with Harry Swartzbard for class valedictorian. Only about
two tenths of a point separated us. When it finally came down to the wire,
Harry broke the tape one tenth of a point ahead. I had to settle for sloppy
seconds.
Here’s how it all happened.
It all centered around AP Calculus. As
the year progressed we both received As in each of the three preceding marking
periods and now it came down to the last marking period and the final exam.
Less than an A for either of us would surely result in a the death blow to our
valedictorian aspirations. Both of us aced the last marking period and then of
course it was the final exam that would determine our final grade.
Harry scored a ninety eight and I
scored ninety. It was over. Harry wore the crown. To say I was disappointed is
an understatement. I was crushed.
I kept telling myself I was
discouraged and tried hard not to be bitter.
My mother always said "The only
thing worse than a loser is to be a sore loser" and knew that she was
right. I went on the congratulate Harry with a hardly handshake and no obvious
feelings of overwhelming disappointment, although deep inside, my stomach
rolled.
It was not until several weeks later
that I found out that my inner most feelings were probably more than justified
after all.
I had been accepted at the State
University. Ironically Richie was also going to attend State and was entering
the same program as me, Pre Med. I had already received my first semester’s
schedule. When I looked at it, the words "General College Chemistry
I" glared out at me.
Although I did well in chemistry much
of it seemed difficult to grasp. It certainly wasn't one of the "Easy
A" subjects for me. I had to spend hour upon hour with the chemistry book
to fully comprehend its intricacies.
Upon seeing it on my first semester
course list, I decided to go to the library and take out Zumdath’s -
Introduction to General Chemistry. I knew that was the book used last year at
State and was probably the same would be used in the upcoming semester. It
would be good to do some reviewing before I began the course.
I entered the library and walked to
the stacks at the back which I knew housed the science section.
Who did I met there but Becky Goldman!
Becky had been in almost every one of
my classes throughout my four years at Heckman High. She was never one of my
best buds but I knew her fairly well. She was pretty smart and pretty too.
I greeted her with a causal ‘What’s
new?
Becky always had the latest town and
school gossip and was never reticent about spreading it far and wide.
"Well, did you hear about Mr.
Ashberg?" she replied eagerly.
Mr. Ashberg was our AP Calculus
teacher whose exam had cost me the high school valedictory.
"No, what?" I answered.
"He married Harry Swartzbard’s
mother!
Evidently they had been going at it
hot and heavy for some time.
That’s probably why she and Harry’s
dad split in the first place.
I heard she got a ton of money when
they split. Harry’s dad was a pretty rich guy."
"Holy shit" I reflexively
blurted.
Upon hearing her revelation, my mind
drifted. Throughout the remaining conversation
with Becky I could think of nothing else but her comment about Ashberg. I
replied to her with robotic, detached responses as I continued to ponder over
and over what she had just told me.
I had been part of study groups that prepared for Ashberg’s Calculus
tests during my senior year. Harry was always part of them too. Several of us
would regularly get together prior to exams. I remember always having been
surprised by Harry’s exceptionally good grades on the exams despite his obvious
lack of knowledge during our study sessions. I had passed it off as a unique
ability on his part to rise to the occasion on the day of the exam.
I knew this kind of thing happens
frequently in athletics. Some guys are great in practice and shitty in the
game. We used to call them ‘gym stars’.
Meanwhile, other guys are poor in
practice and really excel when the pressure is on during the game.
I used to think that maybe Harry was one of those kind of
guys but after hearing Becky’s story, now I wasn’t so sure.
Ashberg dating Harry’s mother all the
time. Harry’s getting those great grades in Calculus even though he appeared to
know shit during our study sessions?
You don’t have to be Isaac Newton to
figure out what was probably going on here, I thought to myself.
Becky left the library and I went into
the main lobby and seated myself so as to try and clear my head. After an hour
or so of mental turmoil I realized I should just let it go. It was a bitter
pill but what is done is done and there was nothing that I could do to change
it.
First of all, how could I know if my suspicions were correct. All the
evidence was purely circumstantial I told myself.
Then again, I thought to myself,
"Men have been executed based on less circumstantial evidence than
that".
How could I just let it go?
Well, suppose it was true after all
and I could prove it?
If Ashberg really was greasing up Harry’s
grades because of his thing with Harry’s old lady, what could I do about
anyway?
Demand a GPA recalculation and a
repeat of the graduation ceremony?
I’m sure that would happen!
I suppose I’d just have to suck it
down and be philosophical about the whole thing.
It was treachery against which I had
no means of rectification or reprisal
As Omar Khayyám once wrote:
‘The Moving Finger writes; and, having
writ,
Moves on: nor all thy Piety nor Wit,
Shall lure it back to cancel half a
Line,
Nor all thy Tears wash out a Word of
it.’
‘What is
done is done! Gotta leave it behind and move on’
I shook my head as if to shake free
all those tormenting thoughts, placed Zumdath’s - Introduction to General
Chemistry under my arm and walked home.
Read the entire story at: SMASHWORDS & AMAZON
Read the entire story at: SMASHWORDS & AMAZON
