The Gravedigger- Chapter Two

This is the continuing story of my work-in-progress novel...agains, any edits, suggestions, or constructive criticism is greatly appreciated: enjoy...

The chanting of, “Fight! Fight! Fight,” still echoes through the halls even though the fight ended twenty minutes earlier. Countless students repeatedly replaying the blow-by-blow action.

Steven’s opponent, a burly seventh-grade defensive lineman for the eighth-grade football team, sits across the hall on a bench that mirrors the one he currently occupies. To him, the benches look like pews from church; the only thing missing are the cushions—those, and a stack of hymnals. Of course, these benches are the last place he wants to be sitting. They are hard, splintered, and completely uncomfortable. Their only function is for kids such as himself and Eduardo—kids that are in trouble.

He turns his head quickly away from the larger boy, not realizing that he had been staring at Eduardo; but Eduardo noticed.

“Hey, Gringo!”

He ignores Eduardo. If he doesn’t respond, maybe he’ll give up and leave him alone. Then again, if he doesn’t respond, he might end up with a bigger target on his back in the future.

“Gringo! I’m talking to you.”

He can’t help it; he glances back over.

“What!” He snaps, adding more venom to his voice than he intends. He just wants to be left alone. Why can’t Eduardo see that? But isn’t that what bullies thrive on? Once they have you, they don’t let go until you can somehow get the better of them, and sometimes—well, most of the time—even that doesn’t work.

He looks toward Eduardo’s side of the hallway, but refrains from looking directly at the larger boy. He’s apprehensive about meeting Eduardo’s gaze, if he meets Eduardo’s eyes, then the bigger boy will see just how afraid he is.

“You did a good thing today, Gringo.”

What’s that? Did he hear that right? Did Eduardo just complement him?

He turns a questioning gaze and their eyes meet.

Eduardo looks away.

Eduardo sniffles and is on the verge of tears. He wipes a hand across his nose and a bubble of thick liquid forces its way out of the swollen mucus glands in his sinuses, leaving a trail that glistens on his dark skin. He leans forward; shoulders slumped, and concentrates on the white tile floor around his shoes. “I shouldn’t have been picking on her. You were right, Gringo.” He sniffles again and looks up; tears blur the corners of his eyes. “It was brave of you to stand up to me and protect her. I know better! I was taught better than that!”

“So why were you picking on her?” The words jump out of Steven’s mouth before he can reel them in. He’s baffled by what he’s hearing. Never in his life would he have thought he would ever carry on an actual conversation with a jock like Eduardo.

Eduardo’s head drops to his chest and it rocks back and forth, the light from the eight-foot bulbs overhead cast a bright reflection in his dark, sweaty hair. “I don’t know. I really don’t know.” At that moment, Eduardo looks like an adult contemplating a bad relationship decision. “But you, Gringo! You really laid one on me.” He rubs the corner of his right eye and flinches as his finger brushes the dark, tender bruise. Eduardo locks eyes with him and asks, “What’s your name?”

Steven opens his mouth, and then clamps it shut again as a funny thought passes through his head. He smiles slyly and says, “The Gringo.”

Eduardo grins. “Now that’s funny. The Gringo, huh?”

“Yeah. I like the sound of it.”

Eduardo lifts himself from the bench, crosses the hall, and stands in front of Steven. He extends his hand. “You know what’s funny, Gringo?” Their hands lock together.

“What?”

“Wouldn’t it be funny if that nickname stuck?”

“Yeah. That would be funny.”

“I’m sorry for hitting you.”

Steven shakes his head. “I’m not the one you should be apologizing to.”

As if on cue, the office door opens and Principal Skidmore steps into the hallway. Emily Schneider and her dad file out behind him. They turn toward the exit without a backwards glance at the two boys. Two more men step into the hallway after Mr. Schneider. Both the boys’ dads sat in on the meeting.

“Your turn, Eduardo,” says Principle Skidmore.

Steven’s dad, Bill, steps aside to let the boy enter the principal’s office.

“See you around,” says Eduardo, head still hanging low. He steps around the principle and follows his dad into the office. Mr. Skidmore steps inside behind them, closes the door, and leaves Steven and his dad in the hallway. Neither of them speak. A few minutes later, they hear the unmistakable sound of a wooden paddle smacking soft tissue.

* * *

“I’m really not sure what to do with you.” Skidmore settles deeper in his tall-backed armchair. The leather creaks under his weight even though he is a small man. “Stepping in to protect Emily was a very brave thing—especially against Eduardo. It’s hard to punish something like that.”

Steven can’t believe what he’s hearing. Is he actually going to get out of this mess with only a few bruises and scrapes from the play yard tussle? He thinks back to his wait in the hallway and to the sound of that paddle striking Eduardo. The bigger boy was still crying ten minutes later when he finally emerged from the office. Then he reminds himself what Eduardo said to him just before receiving his punishment. There had been true regret there.

He makes a decision—and once again, it’s a decision that an adult would make rather than someone of his age.

He lifts his head and meets Principal Skidmore’s eyes. He asks, “Isn’t it the policy of the school that there will be no fighting between students?”

Skidmore turns to his father with a quizzical look, and then turns back to his student. “Yes,” he says.

“So, what’s the punishment for breaking that rule?”

“Six swats and a three day suspension.”

He pauses for a second, building himself up for what he is about to say. “Is that what Eduardo got?”

Again, the principle looks at his father. Bill just shrugs his shoulders. He doesn’t know where this is leading either.

“Yes,” says principle Skidmore.

Steven straightens in his seat, takes a deep breath, and takes the plunge; “Then my punishment should be the same as his.”

“What?” asks Principal Skidmore.

“What?” echoes his father.

* * *

“Hey, Gringo. Mind if I sit here?”

He can’t help but smile. He motions for Eduardo to take the seat in front of him. The big football jock sitting with the wimpy chess-club kid elicits a few snickers and looks from around the cafeteria. Eduardo quickly glances around the room, meeting the eyes of the kids that dare to mock him. All it takes is that look and the laughing stops.

Today’s their first day back from suspension and their first opportunity to talk.

Eduardo’s hands pause during the motion of opening the carton of milk on his tray. “You weren’t kidding about calling you Gringo, were you? I mean, if you were kidding I won’t call you that.”

“No, I wasn’t kidding. I actually like it. It has a nice ring to it—don’t you think?”

Eduardo sighs and opens the milk carton—a little too roughly—milk spills all over his hand. He shakes it under the table. “Good. I wouldn’t want you to beat me up or anything.”

Eduardo grins a huge, toothy smile.

Steven smiles too.

Like so many other childhood friendships between boys, this one started with brawl in a school playground. And also like so many fights between children, standing up to one another often instills a certain amount of respect between the two opponents. More often than not, the two usually become friends. Such is how it is between Eduardo and Steven. Throughout the remainder of that school year, the two boys are nearly inseparable.

After their friendship began, it wasn’t long that they discovered they only live about a half a mile from each other. Their friendship grows and strengthens over the remainder of that school year, through the summer, and into the next year. When spending time with Eduardo’s family, Steven develops an interest in the Spanish language (Eduardo’s mom does not speak but a few words of English and his dad only enough to get by).

In the beginning, visiting Eduardo and his family was frustrating because of the language barrier between himself and Eduardo’s parents. However, before long, he starts picking up a few phrases here and there. Within a few months, he can converse easily with Eduardo’s parents. It’s a skill he’ll use repeatedly in the coming years.

Most surprising of all, Eduardo’s family begins calling him The Gringo too.

The latter part of Jr. High are some of the best days of his childhood.

Then hard times fall on Eduardo’s family. His father loses his job and near the end of the school year, Eduardo comes to Steven with sad, sad news.

“Hey, Gringo.” As so many times before, he sits in the same seat in the lunchroom, directly across from his friend.

“What’s up?” He says in Spanish—it always seems to have an air of mystery speaking to each other in another language in the midst of other students.

Eduardo doesn’t speak again for several seconds. He doesn’t open his milk—doesn’t even wolf down the chocolate pudding on his tray.

Steven senses something is up. “Hey, what’s going on?”

Eduardo sighs deeply, his big chest expanding outward like a balloon. “I’m moving.”

Steven drops his fork. “What?”

“My dad took a job in Nevada. We’re moving at the end of the school year.”

“What?” he asks again.

Eduardo just sits there, nods, and repeats those two words again, “We’re moving.”

“But-but...that’s next month!”

The bigger kid nods again. His chin rests on his chest and it brings back a memory in Steven’s mind—a memory of the two of them sitting on the benches outside the Principal Skidmore’s office. Tears form in the corners of his eyes and he wipes them away before they can glisten his cheeks.

* * *

The day came sooner than either of them could, or wanted to, imagine. They promise to call each other and write as often as they could. And they did just that for a while, but then the letters and phone calls draw further and further apart. Then one day, Steven gets a letter in the mail. It’s his own letter; mailed the week before. Written on its face, in faded red ink with a big cartoon hand pointing towards his address, are the words: return to sender—no forwarding address.

Life goes on but Steven thinks about his friend often. He tries writing a few more times but always with the same results. As time wore on and the Internet became the chosen tool for correspondence, he, from time to time, would do a web search for his long lost friend. No luck then either.

When the social media boom arrived—still no Eduardo. It wasn’t that he dwelt on his lost friend day in and day out—it’s just that from time to time, those memories of Junior High School boil up within him and to satisfy his curiosity—that need to know, he’d try and do a little research in an attempt to find his friend. For all he knows, Eduardo might have been dead all these years. However, until Steven has confirmation of that fact, he’ll always feel compelled to search.