Becoming Who We Are Ch. 04

Copyright © 2021 to the author

**

Luke stared at his mother, eyes wide.

"Oh my God," he said, sinking onto a chair. "Is she okay? What happened?"

Shaken by the attack on her youngest child, Mrs. Tang did not answer. Instead, she wiped at her face, and Luke ran to the bathroom to fetch a box of tissues for her. He placed them in front of his mother. She absently plucked one from the box and dabbed at her eyes. She took a deep breath.

"Mary -- Mary was walking to the restaurant from her school, like she always does," Mrs. Tang said, her voice quavering. "She was by that vacant lot when some hoods pulled up in a car. She said they yelled some things at her, but she tried to ignore them. Then they got out of the car and she ran, but they caught up with her."

Her voice broke and she reached for another tissue to soak up the fresh tears that filled her eyes.

"What'd they do?" Luke asked hesitantly.

"They surrounded her and pushed her around and called her names. One shoved her so hard that she fell and hit her head."

"Is she all right?"

"She's at the hospital now, with your father. She has a bump on her head, and she must have hit her arm on the sidewalk too. She had a bad scrape, and the doctor said he thought her wrist was broken."

Luke winced in sympathy.

"When did all this happen?"

"A few hours ago," she said, checking her watch.

"How'd you find out about it?"

"After she came to, she picked herself up and walked the rest of the way to the restaurant."

"My God."

"Don't take the Lord's name in vain," his mother said automatically, her thoughts on her daughter. She stood and gave herself a little shake. "I have to go get our insurance information. I'll be back later."

"Will Mary be in the hospital all night?"

"They don't know yet. The doctors said they had to do some kind of a scan to see if her brain was injured."

She looked ready to cry at the thought.

"Can I come to the hospital with you?"

His mother frowned, then shook her head.

"No. Mark's already there, with your father. I don't see what good it would do to have you there, too."

"Do you want me to call anybody?"

His mother considered that idea, then shook her head again.

"I don't want to call anyone until we know about the brain scan."

"What about her school?"

"Why would we call the school now? It's closed. That's a stupid idea."

She left Luke at the table and walked upstairs to her office, trying to remember where she had put the family's medical information. By the time she reached the little room, she had forgotten about her oldest child.

In the brightly-lit kitchen, Luke stared at the doorway through which his mother had just passed, not seeing it at all. So his presence wouldn't do any good and his ideas were stupid? He felt angry and resentful at his mother's attitude. Abruptly, his emotions melted into sorrow. She was right. His sister didn't need him there. Nobody needed him. He never did anyone any good.

With a heavy heart, he trudged up the stairs. He met his mother on the landing.

"I'll be back later," she later, passing him without looking at his face. "Do your homework and go to bed."

"Okay," he said to her departing back. "Tell Mary I hope she's all right."

But his mother had already gone.

**

The next morning, when Luke went downstairs, he found the kitchen empty. All the bedroom doors except Mary's remained shut, so he assumed his sister had stayed at the hospital overnight. He prepared a bowl of cornflakes, poured a glass of orange juice and sat at the table to eat alone.

He had almost finished when his brother appeared. Mark's hair stuck straight up and his eyes looked bloodshot. He went straight to the cereal and milk and fixed a bowl for himself. Luke let him eat a few bites in peace before speaking.

"So what happened to Mary?"

"Some guys jumped her and roughed her up."

"Bastards!"

"Tell me about it. She hit her head on the sidewalk and got a concussion. Her wrist was broken, too, but the doctors said that probably happened when she put an arm out to break her fall. So the guys didn't do that deliberately."

"How noble of them. Does anyone know who they were?"

Mark shook his head.

"Mary said she had never seen them before. She thought they looked like high school kids, big guys, jocks."

"Is she okay?"

Mark shrugged.

"She's really upset. Nothing like this has ever happened to her before."

"We've all gotten called names before."

"Well, yeah, but nobody's ever pushed her around like that, and she said she's never been called names like that. I guess girls don't do that."

"Names like what?"

"She said the nicest thing they called her was a fucking chink bitch."

Luke sat back in his chair and took a deep breath, letting it out slowly.

"No wonder she's shaken up. Mary's always gotten along with everybody."

"Yeah. Sunday school doesn't exactly prepare kids for stuff like this."

"So when's she supposed to get out of the hospital?"

"Some time today. They kept her there for observation or something," Mark said, looking at the table and digging back into his cornflakes.

Luke took the hint and left Mark alone, putting away the milk and cereal before trotting upstairs for a shower.

As he waited for his brother to get ready, Luke flipped through his story one last time. He didn't hear his mother's step in the hallway before she poked her head into his room.

"We're not opening today. Your father and I will be at the hospital. I just called the doctor, and he said Mary can come home this afternoon."

She gave the sheaf of papers in her son's hand a sudden sharp look. "What's that?"

Luke gazed at the story in his hand as if he had never seen it before.

"This?" he asked, trying to buy some time.

"Yes," she said, her voice acerbic. She took a step into the room. "That."

Luke looked at his mother and the papers.

"Uh, nothing much. Just something for, uh, school."

She extended one hand.

"Give it to me."

Luke directed his gaze at the floor in front of his mother's feet.

"It's the story I told you about yesterday."

"Let me see it."

Luke obeyed. His mother scanned the first page and flipped through the rest of it.

"This is an English assignment?"

"Um, no, actually, it's for history."

"I thought you said the story was for your English class."

"Did I? I must have gotten mixed up. I meant to say history."

"Schools certainly have changed since I was a girl," his mother remarked, her tone sarcastic. "I don't ever recall having to write fiction for a history class."

"This is a non-traditional history class."

"Oh? I'd like to talk to your history teacher. What's his name?"

"Mrs. Cowden."

"Mrs. Cowden," she repeated, eyeing her son's bent head. "I think I'll call her and talk to her about her assignments."

"Hey, Luke," Mark called from the hallway. "We have to get going."

Relieved at the interruption, Luke reached for his backpack.

"May I have the story back, please?" he said, deciding to brazen his way through this. "Mrs. Cowden expects it today."

His mother handed it back to him, assessing his face. The boy was lying, she thought.

"Does she really?" she said skeptically.

Luke didn't answer. He joined Mark in the hall and the pair ran down the stairs.

"What was going on in there?" Mark asked once they had reached the sidewalk and their mother's sharp ears could no longer hear them.

"I was looking at my story and she walked in on me."

"And?"

"You know how she is. She doesn't like me to write. She wants me to spend all my time studying math."

Mark shook his head.

"I don't get it. You always get A's in English and C's in math. You'd think they'd have figured you out by now."

"They just think I'm lazy."

"But you're not. You told me you spent all day writing that story."

"I know, and you know. But they don't know, and they don't want to know."

"It's not fair."

"It never is," Luke said sadly.

They crossed the street and turned towards the school. Someone behind them shouted, "Wait up!" Both turned to see Melina running to catch up with them.

"Hi, Mark," she said, smiling at him. She swiveled her head to include Luke in her greeting. "Hi. I'm Melina. You must be Mark's brother?"

"Yeah," Luke said, responding to the question in her tone. "I'm Luke."

"Are you a senior too?"

"Yeah."

The quiet type, Melina thought. Or maybe his day hadn't started well. He looked kind of downcast. Oh, well. She'd consider him a conversation challenge.

"Do you work at the restaurant too?"

Luke nodded, his expression growing even sadder.

"Oh, you don't know yet," Mark cut in. "Some guys jumped our sister yesterday."

"Oh, no!" Melina exclaimed. "Is she okay?"

"She fell and hit her head and broke her wrist, but other than that, it looks like she'll be all right. The doctors said she had a mild concussion, and they kept her in the hospital last night."

Melina nodded. "Smart move. You shouldn't mess with a concussion."

"What do you know about it?" Luke asked.

"A couple of things. My mom's an emergency medical technician."

"Oh. Sorry."

"No problem. Anyway, she talks sometimes about the people she takes to the hospitals. She says head injuries can be a lot worse than they look at first."

"I didn't know your mom did that," Mark said.

"Well, she does. She's even studying for the paramedic exam. She wants to work for a medic unit with one of the hospitals. Anyway, what happened to your sister? Was she the one working Saturday when Pete and I were there?"

Mark bobbed his head.

"That's right. Her name's Mary. She was walking to the restaurant when some guys pulled up in a car and called her some names, then jumped her when she tried to run. She fell on the sidewalk and hit her head and broke her wrist."

"That's terrible!"

"Yeah. She's really shaken up. The weird thing is, when she came to, she just got up and walked the rest of the way to the restaurant."

"My mom says you never know how people will react after they get knocked out. At least your sister was able to get up."

"I guess so. The doctors think she'll be able to come home today."

"That's good."

The trio walked in silence for a little while.

"Why'd they pick your sister?" Melina finally asked.

"Because she's Asian. She said they called her a chink bitch."

Melina scowled. "That's just stupid."

"Well, a lot of people don't like us," Mark said. "They think we're not real Americans and we should go back where we came from."

"But you're as American as I am."

"Sure, but we look different," Luke said. "A lot of people think the only real Americans are white."

"That's stupid, too," Melina protested. "I mean, history isn't my best subject, but even I know that. America's supposed to be for everyone."

"Just because it's supposed to be doesn't mean it is," Luke said, rather surprised to have this discussion with someone outside of his history class. "People shouldn't steal, but they do. People shouldn't murder, but they do. People shouldn't judge others by their looks, but they do. What people are supposed to do doesn't have much of an effect on what they actually do, at least not in my experience."

Melina shot him a respectful glance. "Are you on the debating team or something?"

"No," he said, smiling. "I don't do stuff like that."

"How come? You'd be great at it."

"Arguing with you is one thing. Arguing with a bunch of people on a stage in front of a bunch of other people is not how I want to spend my time."

"Okay," Melina said. She turned to Mark. "Why didn't you tell me you had a such a great brother?"

He paused, then decided to take a chance.

"Because I was hoping to impress you with my own brilliance first."

She grinned. "You already did that, when you decided to hang out with me rather than Suzanne."

"Is she that evil one you were telling me about?" Luke asked.

"Evil's putting it lightly," Mark said, rolling his eyes.

"Oh, she's not that bad," Melina said. Mark glared at her. "Well, maybe she is that bad, but she's hardly Satan."

"Does Satan play the sax?" Luke asked innocently.

The other two turned to him, Melina smirking and Mark looking annoyed.

"I picture him as more the auto-harp type," Melina said.

Both boys laughed. "Did you have to learn to play that one, too?" Mark asked.

"Absolutely. Fayetteville Public Schools, third grade, Mrs. Davis. No one escaped from her class without learning the auto-harp, the recorder and the bells. Drove my parents crazy."

By now, Luke had relaxed. He definitely liked this girl. She didn't ignore him or talk down to him as most girls did.

"So what teachers do you have?" he asked her.

When she mentioned Mrs. Cowden, he beamed.

"She's great! I have her for A.P. history."

"I like her, too. She really knows her stuff, and she always makes it so interesting. I never liked history much in Maryland."

"Too bad you're not in my class. It's called 'Alternative American History.' I really like it."

"Sounds interesting," Melina said. "A shame I didn't know about it."

The school loomed above them. The three joined the other kids walking through the front doors. At the staircase, Melina turned to Luke.

"Nice to meet you," she said. "See you around."

He smiled at her. "I hope so. See ya."

As he had the first day, Mark followed her up the stairs and enjoyed the view. "He liked you," he said, raising his voice to cut through the din in the echoing stairwell.

"Good. I liked him too."

The noise discouraged them both from further conversation. As they passed through the doors at the top of the stairs, he drew up beside her.

"One thing, though," Melina said. "Is he always so sad?"

"What do you mean?"

"I thought he looked depressed when I first saw him."

"Oh. He and my mom had an argument this morning, that's all."

They stepped into the classroom and took their seats. Lakeesha walked in a few seconds later, and the three immediately fell into conversation.

A few rooms away, Mrs. Cowden had just taken a phone call.

"Yes, Mrs. Tang, Luke is in one of my classes. In fact, he's one of my best students. He really has an aptitude for history."

Mrs. Tang disregarded the kind words. "I'm calling because he said he wrote a story for your class. I'm trying to find out if that's true."

The teacher gave the telephone a perplexed look. Whatever was the woman talking about?

"I beg your pardon?"

Mrs. Tang smiled. So she was right. The boy had lied.

"My son said he wrote a story for your class."

The conversation with Luke the previous day flooded back to Mrs. Cowden. He had mentioned a story, hadn't he?

"Oh, yes. Luke told me about it yesterday. I'm quite looking forward to reading it. He has a lovely inventive mind."

Now Mrs. Tang looked bewildered, sitting in her tidy office at home. "So you did assign it?"

Mrs. Cowden almost told Luke's mother the truth, but some instinct changed her mind. "Yes," she said, "I did."

"I see. Well, I'm sorry to have bothered you."

"Not at all. In fact, I'm glad you did call. I appreciate parents who take the time to involve themselves in their children's lives. That's so important. So many parents can't be bothered. I can tell you that Luke is a joy to have in class. He's very bright and always knows the material. I wish the other students were half as diligent."

"Thank you for your time," Mrs. Tang said, as if she hadn't heard a word the teacher had said. "Goodbye."

"Goodbye." Mrs. Cowden slowly replaced the receiver in its cradle. What an odd conversation. Most parents couldn't hear enough praise about their kids, but this woman didn't even acknowledge it. That troubled the teacher. She sat in the history department office, lost in thought, until the five-minute bell rang. She would have to find some time soon to sit down with Luke and learn why he had lied.

**

When he appeared in her classroom later that day, Luke's face looked flushed and Mrs. Cowden could see him panting. The bell rang and the class settled down.

As she lectured, Mrs. Cowden kept a close eye on Luke. He seemed preoccupied as the class began, but relaxed as she spoke. After a couple of minutes, she could no longer see his chest heaving. Had he run all the way from the other side of the building? With an inward shrug, she put those thoughts aside and engaged the class in a discussion on the pros and cons of laws forbidding interracial marriages. Why had the colonists felt it necessary to enact such laws? How did such laws pave the way for later types of bigotry and the institutionalization of racism? Three weeks into the semester, the students knew each other well enough to speak up, with the usual three or four leaders doing most of the talking. Mrs. Cowden occasionally prompted other students to enter the debate, but mostly she sat back and listened and watched. Luke said nothing, but for once she did not press him to speak. He often did contribute to class discussions, and she felt inclined to give him a day off.

Once the kids started repeating their arguments, she concluded the debate and passed around some review sheets. The period would not end for another ten minutes, so she told the students to use the time to study for Thursday's test.

"Luke, come here please," she said as the students opened their binders and textbooks. She pointed to a chair beside her desk and beckoned the boy forward. "I want to talk to you."

Once he sat down, she pitched her voice low enough that no one but Luke could hear her. "You mother called me this morning."

She saw him inhale sharply. His cheeks reddened.

"What about?"

"She asked if I assigned that story you wrote."

Luke's blush deepened. His eyes focused on her desk.

"Look at me," she commanded. His eyes met hers. "Why did you tell her I assigned that story?"

Luke didn't answer immediately. He clasped his fingers in an intricate pattern and lightly tapped one foot. Mrs. Cowden waited.

"My mother doesn't like me to write stories that aren't for school. I was looking at the story while I was waiting on my brother and she caught me and asked what the paper was for." He gave her a pleading look. "I had already told you about it and I was going to show it to you, so I told her the story was an assignment for your class. I guess she didn't believe me."

He looked down at the floor, expecting a reprimand.

Mrs. Cowden peered at him thoughtfully. She did not approve of his lying to his mother, but she also did not approve of his mother sneaking around checking up on him. She needed a little more time to think it over.

"Did you bring the story with you?"

Startled, he looked up at her and nodded.

"Go get it. I'll read it during last period. Can you come back here after school today?"

He nodded again.

"Good we'll talk about this then. Now get that story. All this preamble has made me particularly eager to read it."

Luke dug the story from his backpack and brought it to the waiting teacher. Her eyebrows shot up when she saw its length.

"Rather long, isn't it?"

Luke smiled briefly. "Mark said the same thing."

"Did he read it?"

Luke shook his head. "I don't show him much of what I write. He's not much into reading."

Mrs. Cowden placed the story in her desk's top drawer.

"Oh. Well, fortunately for you, I love to read."

"Good."

The tone sounded, ending their tete a tete. The teacher rose.

"Don't forget, test is Thursday. Study tonight -- don't leave it all for Wednesday. If you have any questions, ask tomorrow."

Most of the students had already left by the time Luke got his books together.

"I'll see you later, Luke."

The teacher smiled at him. He looked back at her, his eyes serious. Then he turned and walked out the door.