6

March 1970

“Dude, are you serious?”

Jeff’s face was solemn. High school solemn, which meant it could change into laughing at any second. But for the moment he was pretty serious.

“I know, but just listen. We’re his only friends, understand?” I tried not to sound like my father. I could tell it wasn’t working.

Tim piped in. “Not true. What about Bill Shiffle and his band of merry losers? They sure seem pretty chummy with him.”

Tim was right. And we couldn’t stand Bill Shiffle.

Ring had started hanging out pretty regularly with a certain group of guys, of whom Bill Shiffle was the leader. These were not the most popular kids in the school, to put it mildly. Now, all this would have been fine if they’d really sought Ring’s friendship. But anyone could see what was happening. Their main goal in life was to get Ring to do crazy stuff.

He was like their puppet—and he didn’t seem to realize that when they taunted him to say or do something rude, they weren’t laughing with him.

It was easy for me to see why Ring was drawn to Bill. Bill had polio and walked with a considerable limp and a leg brace. They had a connection based on their immobility. But it seemed to me that Bill didn’t want or need that kind of connection. He was just eager to exploit Ring’s trust.

As for Ring, he had been as cold to people in general as he’d been at first to me. But when Bill and his band of teenage buddies took him in, he became completely unbearable.

Ring had not particularly encouraged my attempts to be his friend, but somehow I still felt protective of him. I may not have even liked him all that much at the time, but I had been in his home. I had seen and thought a little about what his world was like. And I didn’t want him to be used and laughed at.

But Ring didn’t get it. He seemed to think that since he and Shiffle both walked with limps, they had a true bond. My fear was that if he kept hanging out with those guys, it would actually become one—and he’d become as much of a jerk as Shiffle.

“The last time we were at a baseball game,” Tim pointed out, “Ring acted like a complete idiot.”

I remembered what he was talking about. Ring sat in the stands that ran down the first baseline, and we sat behind home plate. I could barely concentrate on the game. They kept daring Ring to say stupid things to girls or to heckle the players—and he came through for them every time. When they laughed, he laughed too. I didn’t.

Ring looked like a complete fool to everyone, and I hated it.

“Guys! What’s the big deal?” I said, giving it my best try. “We’re going to be sitting in the bleachers watching the game. He can sit with us, you dorks.” I didn’t care for baseball as much as basketball. The games took so long to play that watching it was an endurance sport itself. By the time the pitcher adjusted his cap for the seventh time in the last five minutes, spat a small moat around the pitcher’s mound, called off three signals from the catcher, and decided to actually throw the ball, I could walk to the concession stand and buy a hotdog. And all that for a “Ball one!”

“Jeff, what if we bring my sister Kathy along too?” I suggested. “Would that sway your decision at all?” Jeff turned his head to the side and furrowed his brow.

“Not cool, man. Not cool at all.”

Tim jumped right in with me. “Was it not cool when you held hands with her at the hayride last fall?”

Aggravation was afoot—and we were the smelly sneakers. A collective smile bounced back and forth between Tim’s face and mine. Jeff’s face, on the other hand, was unsuccessfully trying to hold its ground against the aggression of slight red circles developing just above his cheekbones.

“We’re just friends! I don’t like her, you know, that way!” Jeff protested.

“Sure you don’t. You probably like her mom instead!” Tim said.

My smile quickly morphed into a hard punch in Tim’s arm. “Hey! That’s my mom you’re talking about! When I’m out on a date with your mom, she hates it when people talk about my mom.”

Tim punched me back and we all started laughing. The great thing about “mom jokes” was that they didn’t have to make any sense at all. They were always funny, even when they weren’t.

Tim stopped laughing and spoke with the serious tone only he could muster at such a young age. I guess it came from all his leadership roles. He was the quarterback of the football team. He was the starting point guard on the basketball team. He was the president of the junior class. He knew what it meant to guide a conversation on a forced march in a new direction.

“Look, Dave, we’ve all tried this before. Heck, you’ve tried this a hundred times since the kid moved here. We’re all sorry that he has so many ‘issues.’”

He put up a few air quotes as he said it. It offended me more than I thought it should. He continued. “But the dude does not want to be friends with us. And quite honestly, I’m over trying to be friends with him too. I got enough people who do want to hang out to waste my time with some retard who doesn’t want to hang out.”

“Tim! Shut up, moron. Too far.” Jeff just shook his head in disgust. “You’re an idiot sometimes.”

“You know what,” I said with the obvious steam of an engine about to blow a gasket, “you do what you got to do, pretty boy. I’m sorry that you’ve got such a reputation to guard.”

Tim leaned his head to one side and glared hard at me. “You know that’s not it, Dave. This is not about me thinking I’m too popular or something. This is about Ring being as stubborn as a mule every time we try to be nice to him.”

I honestly couldn’t argue too much with that. Ring had been pretty rude to all of us, although he would at least tolerate me, apparently since I’d paid some unspecified kind of dues. I’d made that house call the fall before, and because of that, he would speak to me in spurts. In the hall. At lunch. In class when we were supposed to be listening to the teacher.

Truthfully, those days were difficult times because as long as it was just the two of us, things were pretty endurable. But the moment a new player was introduced into the social experiment, it all went up in smoke.

My parents were consistent in urging me to be a friend to Ring. Not that I really needed that much motivation. Something inside of me wanted to be his friend—enough so that now I would fight for his cause in my most important group of friends.

I looked at Tim and calmly said, “Okay, you’re right. He can be an idiot, but the guy has cerebral palsy and his mom died last year.”

Tim piped in, “Yeah, okay. Last year. How long is he going to drag his cross around? It’s time to move on—I mean, at least try not to be a jerk.”

“Seriously?” I asked. “Your mom dying is not just something you ‘get over’ in a day or two.”

Tim wasn’t trying to be insensitive. He was only verbalizing what so many people thought about those who have faced significant losses. Just get over it already! Your pain is inconvenient. It’s awkward for the rest of us, so we’re going to ask you to move on, my friend, okay?

I had seen it a million times with my dad’s stuff as a pastor. Uncle Bob just won’t move past his wife’s death. Aunt Sarah is wallowing in her grief. Can you talk to her, tell her to act normal?

Plus, Ring’s situation was far from normal.

“Look, I don’t know if he’s trying or not. I do know it’s one lousy baseball game. What do you say, guys? Are we man enough?”

Tim had been leaning forward in his chair and he sat all the way back to let out a long, drawn-out sigh. “Fine, Davey, if it means so much to you. But you’re buying the hotdogs.”

He knew I hated it when he called me Davey. I absolutely hated it. But I wore a smile as we left the cafeteria and headed for class.

The day dragged along until the bell rang to end fifth period. As usual, within five seconds a deluge of adolescent humanity flooded the hallway—students in every size, shape, and attitude all crammed into the tight area around the lockers. They moved like a pack of wildebeest, with one straggler in the rear.

Ring knew his way around that jungle of Liberty High School by now. I’d expected the football players to make fun of him, but oddly there was less of that than I’d predicted. Perhaps it was because he was so skilled at keeping to himself. He learned to wait until the masses had moved through before dragging himself to his locker.

In fact, it was the teachers who seemed most annoyed by his presence. He was always late to class, and rarely lifted a finger to do anything once he got there. But there was more to it than this. When he was called upon in class to answer a question, he could always be counted upon to drop some line of cold condescension. He had honed abrasiveness to a fine art.

In English class, Mrs. Godwin asked him if he had his homework. To which Ring replied, “No, I ate it.”

“Do you mean your dog ate it?” Mrs. Godwin replied in a gentle tone. Middle-aged with hair just turning gray, she was a little portly and a little self-conscious of it. But she was a kind person. She wanted to go easy on the special needs kid.

Ring looked back at Bill Shiffle, who nodded with a smirk. Ring fired back without hesitation. “No, I mean I ate it befoh yuh wouwd have a chance to eat it.”

The whole class erupted into laughter, and Mrs. Godwin’s face turned the deep hue of embarrassment.

But Ring knew he had the upper hand. No way would she send him to detention. You had to go easy on the “disadvantaged” kids. Heck, even writing penalties seemed like cruel punishment for a kid who had so much trouble with pencils and paper. Thankfully for Ring, the bell rung before Mrs. Godwin had time to process what to do. He was saved by the bell and the questionable perks of cerebral palsy.

Mrs. Godwin was not the only faculty victim of Ring’s rudeness. Rumors of his sour demeanor, especially in the face of kindness and patience, had spread throughout the entire teaching staff. How did I know this? Teachers live under the mistaken belief that kids lose their power of hearing and perception as long as adults are talking to other adults and they are ten or fifteen feet away.

The other day I had overheard Coach Hall and Mrs. Flagmere talking at the door after gym class just before the bell was supposed to ring. I was lucky enough to have gym the last period of the day, which meant Coach Hall would usually get pretty lax about how many push-ups and sit-ups we had to do. He would opt for dodgeball instead—meaning he got to play too. He had a killer arm, and it gave him joy to hurl the ball at freshmen and sophomores diving for cover. It was like coaching therapy.

The game was over and we were nursing our bruises and putting our sweaty clothes back in our gym lockers. I finished changing and stood by the gym door, hoping to catch a little bit of the cool breeze that blew through every time someone entered or exited.

Coach Hall leaned back against the wall, spinning his whistle in circles. “He did what? I don’t believe it.”

“I’m not lying, Bill! That kid called me an ugly cow in front of my whole class! I couldn’t believe it either. I’ve got a pretty good idea Bill Shiffle and his crew dared him to do it. They were giggling, thick as thieves, at the whole thing. I was mortified!”

“And what did Principal Davenport say about it?”

“That’s the craziest part! He told me that David Ring was a special case and that he would talk to him about it. Any other kid? He would have sent him to detention for a week!”

Coach Hall adjusted his polyester shorts. “If you ask me, that kid needs to be in a special school.”

“I know,” said an exasperated Mrs. Flagmere. “But they say he does well enough on all the standardized tests to be in regular school.”

Coach Hall began popping his knuckles one by one. “What that boy needs is a good butt-kicking out on the football field.”

“Bill, you know he couldn’t cut it out there. Those boys would kill him. He’s a sad case, even if he is one of the most annoying students I’ve ever had in class.” The two of them went on talking, changing the subject to some other objectionable student.

This was the kind of reputation Ring was making with the adults in our school, especially the women. I was still trying to build whatever peculiar friendship we had, but it felt like Noah building the ark all by himself. Ring was not lifting a finger to help, and I was running out of patience. I was getting tired of being a one-kid crusade. My friends were getting tired of me getting tired of it. Worst of all, Ring wouldn’t do a thing to help himself.

I found him at his locker awkwardly trying to put an English textbook back in so he could grab his geography book. It seemed like his fingers were having a harder time than usual finding the dexterity to make things work.

“Hey, Ring.” His eyes moved my direction, but he said nothing. Typical Ring. I persisted, turning up the volume a bit. “I said, ‘Hey, Ring.’”

Nothing but heavy breathing and the continuation of his fumbling through books and random papers. I decided to let it go.

“Me and Tim and Jeff thought you might want to come hang out at the baseball game this afternoon. It starts about 4:00. You in?”

“I hayt base . . . baw.”

I was over it. “Fine, Ring! You sit around here hating everything—I’m done.”

And I smacked the locker next to him. It made a clanging echo down the long hallway disproportionately louder than my actual smack, and I was glad. He jumped a little bit, and broke his self-imposed sight embargo to look at me. His eyes were not angry. They were concerned.

This just ticked me off even more. I’d heard this song before and I knew that he would extend just enough civility to keep me on the hook.

I just couldn’t understand why it had to be such a mystery with him. Was it so incredibly hard simply to stop acting like a jerk? A couple of million things in my life, his life, and the school around us would be better for it.

“Save it!” I barked, and walked past him. I didn’t mean to, but I accidentally bumped him as I passed and he dropped the geography book on the tile floor. A dozen scrap sheets of notebook paper spilled out of the book. Our little private skirmish now looked like a full-out battle—and it also looked, for all the world, as if I had knocked his book out of his hands on purpose.

The typical onlookers gathered around us. A few giggling freshman girls. One or two gawkers. And a few football players who seemed a little too amused. I did not like it—not one bit. Just then a teacher walked up on the scene. Now I was liking this whole scenario even less.

It was Ms. Myers, the psychology teacher. She was younger than most of the faculty. Prettier too. She had soft blonde hair that hung just low enough to kiss the top of her shoulders. She was one of those rare teachers you could tell was a real human being; that is, you could imagine her having an actual life outside the campus. It didn’t hurt that you could also actually tell she was a woman by the way her clothes accented her curves just so.

“David? Are you okay?”

“Yes, ma’am,” I replied sheepishly.

“I wasn’t talking to you.” She didn’t yell it, but her tone was gruff enough to rattle my stomach a bit. Ring didn’t say a word—typical. He knew what had really happened, but now I was going to look like the bully.

“Ms. Myers, I promise it’s not what it looks like. You see, I—”

“You mean you did not knock Mr. Ring’s books out of his hands? And now you are not standing here watching rather than helping to pick them up, as all these lovely people pass by?”

I was becoming more speechless with each word she spoke. These were uncharted waters for me—and I was drowning in them. Hey, I was the preacher’s kid!

I could feel my gaze suddenly nosedive to the floor. I scanned the swirling designs in the tile—and the more-than-occasional blot of old chewing gum now turned black and hidden as a permanent part of the floor. I felt about like one of those blots.

“Mr. Wideman, I expect so much more from you. I wonder what your father would have to say about this?”

“Ma’am, if you would just listen to me, I promise it is not what you think.”

“You can save it for Principal Davenport. Come on, let’s go.”

I took a deep breath and began walking with her toward the main office. I just knew that certain death awaited me at home—and for nothing but trying to invite Ring to a baseball game. I vowed that mistake as my last one regarding David Ring.

“Wayeet.” It was the same “wait” I had heard in his basement a few months back. “Dayvid didden do anythang wong. It was an acciden’.”

Ms. Myers looked at me suspiciously, as if I was orchestrating this whole thing. I just raised my eyebrows, clearly signaling, What? I’m just standing here.

“David, I saw him knock those books out of your hand. Don’t defend him. You didn’t do anything wrong here.”

She spoke to Ring with the kindness I had tried to speak to him with for so long. It was the first time I had heard a female successfully do so—without some smart-aleck retort.

Ring looked her in the eyes. “No, ma’am. Dayvid didden mean to do it. He’s my fwiend.” I was as shocked as she was to hear him say it. He kept his eyes locked on Ms. Myers. In the world of teenage boys, it would not suffice to actually look at the guy you were helping out. I just stood there watching the whole thing as if I was not a participant in it.

Ms. Myers turned to me and said, “Well, I guess you’re off the hook, Mr. Wideman. If David here is such a great friend, maybe you should start showing it by picking up that book and those papers so mysteriously scattered on the floor.”

She walked away and there we were again—Ring and me. What was I supposed to say now? Thanks? That would indicate that I had actually done something wrong and needed rescue. It still seemed to me that the whole mess would never have transpired if he’d just been a decent guy and said yes to the baseball game.

But the incident gave me another glimpse of what was inside Ring—the real Ring. Beyond the limp, the slurred words, and the hard shell compensating for them—inside all of that, there was a real person. So yes, I said thanks, and I told myself it was more of a peace offering than any earned gratitude.

“Yo’ welcome.”

The bell rang just after he said it and we went off to class. During sixth period, I brooded over what it all meant. Later that afternoon, I watched for him at the baseball game.

He never showed.