Dark Echoes of Heritage- Chapter One

The hallways rattled with cackling laughter, slamming locker doors, and screeching sneakers. I scowled at Mrs. Arnold. Just my luck that it was the English teacher’s turn to monitor detention. Rolling my eyes without grabbing her attention, I gazed out the window. Kids were racing towards the parking lot like they’d escaped a ten-year prison sentence. Surely, they chose this room so the detainees could watch as all their jail mates happily ran free.

It’s also the start of spring break. I clenched my fist in pure disgust. Not only am I stuck here at the beginning of a holiday week, but I’m also on the verge of failing English. I huffed at the thought of her. Mrs. Arnold. She had to assign a ten-page report due the week before a break. On what planet does that make sense? I had a game that week. There was absolutely no time for me to get it done. I’ve had no time for any paper or reading this semester, but none of that matters now because I’m kicked off the team.

Grumbling, I unzipped my backpack, pulling at a notebook and pencil. I should start writing apologies. My eyes felt wet. I jumped at the sound of the moving desk. I glanced up to see one of the kids that smoked out back during lunch. I hadn’t noticed him sitting there before with so many thoughts swirling through my head.

“You okay, man?” He said, leaning in, moving his desk closer to mine. “Never thought I’d see you in here.”

I grimaced, “yea, dude. Fine.” I turned my head towards the window, signaling for him to shut up and leave me alone. I never thought I’d be here, either. My mom is going to be furious. I needed to fix this. If I fail English, I won’t graduate. I pushed the pencil hard into the paper, cracking the tip. I smiled. It was an excuse to get up. I couldn’t write with a broken pencil. Mrs. Arnold was head-deep in the pile of papers on her desk. On the right side behind her was an old dusty pencil sharpener screwed into the wall. I could fix this. I could talk her into giving me another chance. Then when I break all this negative news to my mother, I could at least say I’m working on it. I glanced over my shoulder at the smoke kid, who was deadlocked on me, smiling.

“What?” I said, annoyed.

“You up to something?” he said in a whisper.

I narrowed my eyes, ignoring his accusation, and stood up. As soon as I did, Mrs. Arnold’s head lifted. She didn’t say anything, only quietly watched as I walked up to the front of the classroom. The smell of old books and dust caused my stomach to stir. I wondered if these rooms were ever cleaned. All the desks and bookshelves looked stale and unmanaged. I held up my pencil, showing the snapped black lead. She nodded as I maneuvered around her to the sharpener. Slowly I placed my pencil in the tiny hole and twisted the hinge. The noise was unbearable. The screech shredded to my core, but she didn’t turn around. The relic seemed to adjust and quiet down as I rotated the handle.

Mrs. Arnold was attractive. I’d admit that. She had to be in her early thirties. I spun the handle again, scanning the back of her head. Her long blonde hair fell beyond the back of the chair. It had highlights and low lights. I wondered how much that cost her. My mom always complained about the prices at her salon. She shuffled in her seat, and I noticed I’d stop spinning the handle bringing attention to myself. The smoke kid wasn’t trying to hide his interest in my situation. His thin dark hair floated just above his eyes. He started tapping his fingers on his desk, insinuating that I needed to get to it.

My shoulders sank. I couldn’t believe I was here. This is my life now. I got stuck in detention with a smoking kid. He was right as much as I couldn’t stand him, and he had no idea what I was attempting. I pulled out my half-sharpened pencil and moved to the front of Mrs. Arnold’s desk. My tongue caught. I wasn’t sure how to start, so I stood there, unmoving. A few kids walked past the door, grabbing my attention. I stared through the glass window, imagining I was one of them.

“Can I help you, Edwin?”

Startled, I looked back to Mrs. Arnold. I’d gotten lost in the world beyond the glass window. She had a stern face, unamused. Small wrinkles formed on her forehead between her eyes as she waited for me to answer. Most people called me Eddie. Typically, I only heard Edwin when someone was pissed-off. Her top was nice. It was a silky royal blue. It complemented her hair. “That’s a nice color on you,” I said with a smile.

She frowned, “what do you need, Edwin?”

I could feel sweat forming in the palm of my hands. I shouldn’t have mentioned her shirt. The smoke kid was right. I need to speak my truth. I wiped my hands on my jeans and stood a little straighter. “Mrs. Arnold…” She held up her hand, stopping me. My heart sank, and I felt defeated. I opened my mouth to speak again, but her strict facial expression stopped me. She stood up, attempting to meet my eyes. At 5’ 3, she didn’t have a chance. She pushed her hair behind her shoulders, flipped the paper she was reading, and placed a paperweight on top of it. My anxiety was beginning to peak, and my breath felt like seeping lava. The hot wings at lunch were definitely a mistake. My chest tightened. She lifted her hand, signaling me to step to the side. I did immediately.

“Devon,” she shouted. The smoke kid sat straight in his chair, acknowledging her call out. “I need to speak with Edwin. We will be stepping out into the hallway for a moment. Please behave yourself.” She finished by tilting her head forward towards him while raising her eyebrows. He nodded rapidly. She looked at me and then at the door.

I sped to the door, ripped it open, and parked outside against a locker without a second thought. I’d avoided any eye contact with Devon on my way out. I am miserable right now. This wasn’t me. My mind raced as I waited to hear my sentence, yet I was unsure what I’d done. I thought about my dad and what he would think.

It had only been my mother, grandfather, and me when he'd passed. We’d lost him to cancer when I was only two years old—no other relatives. My grandfather mainly became nonexistent after that. I’d see him on birthdays, holidays, and occasional brief encounters at the house. That’s about it. He lives and breathes the family business. He started a peanut company years ago. My mom and I live on the estate with him, although he’s about two acres away from us. It was something growing up surrounded by acres and acres of peanut crops. Luckily, I didn’t have an allergy. It did cause problems when I was young, as some kids couldn’t come to parties at my house.

“Eddie,” Mrs. Arnold said in a softer voice. Her eyes had changed. They looked more forgiving. I went to speak, but she interrupted. “I know this isn’t you. You’re a good kid. I’m not sure what’s going on, but I could guess why you approached my desk.” I tried to interrupt again, but she stopped me. “Look, I don’t want to fail you. I get it. It’s senior year, you’re distracted, and you have whatever’s happening with that football team. How about this? Spring break starts for you when you leave this classroom. That’s one whole week. Write me that ten-page paper, but on whatever you want. She held up her hand again. I know not many kids want to write an essay over their break, but this is the chance I want to give you. Ten pages, whatever you want, on my desk the Monday morning we return. Deal?”

She held out her hand. I stared at it. She was right. I did not want to write a paper over spring break, and I didn’t care that she gave me an open topic, but I had no choice. I smiled wide and grabbed her hand, shaking it rapidly.

“Thank you, Mrs. Arnold. I promise I’ll have it done by Monday. I swear.”

She smiled sincerely, “Now, get back to detention and use your time wisely.”

I nodded nervously and stormed back into the room. Devon quickly turned his head down to the papers on his desk, acting as if he wasn’t aggressively staring at the door, wondering what our conversation was about. I sat at my desk and turned to him, staring hard. He looked up passively.

“Well?” he whispered.

“Shh!” I said, holding my finger to my mouth. He rolled his eyes and went back to scribbling. I looked down at my tattered notebook. The blank pages were daunting. What in the world was I going to write about?

The room went silent. I peeked over at Devon. He was sound asleep. It had only been five minutes at most since we last talked. He accomplished undercover sleeping so fast and well. He had balanced a World History book, the thickest we received senior year, perched just right to cover his entire face, leaving room to tuck his hands beneath his head. The angle at that Mrs. Arnold was sitting portrayed the idea that he was fast at work, nose deep into studying. I chuckled to myself. As unpleasant as this kid seemed at times, he was savvy.

The ticking of the clock was never-ending. I could even hear the small battery-powered motor controlling the hands. Now and again, Mrs. Arnold would sigh, look outside, scan us, then sink her head back into her papers. She was right, and I should use this hour to my advantage. I watched as the tree branches against the window lightly shuffled in a tiny gust. It was a beautiful day. I knew everyone was at Emma’s pool party. She handed out secret invitations to a select group one week ago. I’m sure she didn’t want me there now, even though she did give me one last Friday. I zoned out, staring deeper at the tiny white flowers beginning to bloom on the swaying branch. It had only been a few days, and I missed her. I think I did love Emma or still do. I wish I could talk with her and explain what happened, but I can’t. There’s no way it would land well with anyone. Goosebumps trailed down my forearm as I thought about her perfectly smooth, light brown skin glistening in the Georgia heat. We’d been together for three months, a lifetime in high school. She’d gotten into NYU and would be going there in the fall.

I, on the other hand, am staying local. I got into a few schools, but my grandfather offered to pay my tuition with one stipulation, I needed to stay in state and be a Bulldog. The University of Georgia, here I come. I don’t know why he insisted on that school, but he did. Most would think failing English was a hard stop from getting into any college, but I had stellar grades throughout my four years. I received my acceptance letter two weeks ago, and we’ve already sent in the down payment. This semester has been weird for me. If I could fix my English grade, I would be home-free.

There wasn’t a soul in sight outside, and the parking lot was barren. I flicked my pencil up the blank page, deciding what to tell my mom. She knew my issue with the team, well that I was kicked off, but she had no idea about English. Since Mrs. Arnold had given me this last-minute assignment, maybe I’ll keep it to myself. My family isn’t big talkers, so it’s not like I’ll need to tell her much. I flicked my pencil again.

This past Christmas, I asked her to tell me an old story of hers, something that she remembered about my dad. My grandfather stared ahead, never acknowledging my question, and my mother just started crying. Her crying was controlled, though, lighter than in previous years. That outcome hadn’t been my intention and still left me feeling awful. I rubbed her back and said don’t worry about it another time. She gave me a forgiving smile, patted my cheek, and left the living room. My grandfather still sat silently in an oversized leather chair consumed by the light of the fire. My mom gets the dinner catered yearly for just the three of us. We eat, open a few presents, and then go our separate routes. I can’t remember any other way.

A few years back, we’d done our usual split, and I’d heard loud music, furniture moving around and off noises. I went to check on my mom. Her room had been torn apart. Chairs tipped over, sheets pulled off the bed, a vase broken, and the shower was running. My heart raced when I hadn’t seen her anywhere. I stood there momentarily, contemplating whether I should look in the shower. I didn’t want to see my mom naked, but I was terrified that something may have happened to her. Unable to contain the stress cracking my outer core, I charged into her bathroom. She was scrunched in the corner of the shower with her back against the wall, holding her knees tightly against her chest, crying. “Mom,” I said, but she didn’t look up, so I shouted, “MOM.” My body ached in sadness as I could not figure out what to do. Quickly, I grabbed my mobile and called my grandfather. Time froze as I stood there powerless, watching her helplessly. The next thing I knew, my grandfather had held my shoulders, guiding me back into the bedroom. It’s like I’d blacked out.

“It’s okay, Ed. Go to your room. I’ll help her. It’ll be okay,” he whispered.

Flustered beyond belief, I left the room without looking back. We have yet to talk about it. Neither of them has ever brought it up, and I never asked. She was just okay.

When she scurried off this year, I’d joked with my grandfather, muttering, “Wondering if she’s got a boyfriend?” His breath was his only response, along with the rattling ice in his glass of bourbon. I’d sat there for a bit, unphased by his lack of interaction staring at the sparkling gold Christmas tree, taking in the scattered wrapping paper and a few dessert plates filled with crumbs. At least I wasn’t alone, and there were no weird noises. My grandfather hangs around a touch longer each Christmas now.

He stood up, stretched his back, smirked at me, and said, “I’m going to bed, kid. Merry Christmas.” I think he liked my joke because I rarely ever see him smirk. He set his empty glass on the side table and shuffled passed me, pausing briefly to touch my shoulder. I watched him cut through the hall and listened as the front door clicked shut. I sighed, collected my few gifts, and headed to my room.

“Okay, everyone, the detention is officially over. You’re free to go,” Mrs. Arnold said a touch too loud.

She stood and began to collect her things as Devon was startled awake. I looked at the clock. Already? I picked up my blank notebook and huffed. Good start, Eddie.

“Nice detention-ing with you, bro,” Devon said fist bumping my arm.

“Yeah, dude,” I smiled.

He wasn’t so bad. He threw his bookbag over his arm and went out the door. I lingered a bit, not wanting to go home. I gathered my things, jamming them into my bag. Mrs. Arnold had a face that read hurry along now. She wanted to start her holiday just as much as any kid here. She followed me through the door, pulled it shut, waved, and wished me luck walking in the opposite direction. I watched as she yanked out her phone and never looked back. With my shoulders hanging low, I headed to the parking lot. I stopped on the sidewalk to stare at my lone car. Emma loved my car, and so did I. It was my dad’s vintage emerald green Jaguar. My mom gifted it to me on my eighteenth birthday this past November.

I opted to take the long way home. I wasn’t up to explaining why I was late, and if I could sneak in through the back, my mom may not even notice. The white shells that formed the driveway crunched louder than usual as I slowly pulled into my spot. I turned off the car, grabbed my bookbag in the front seat, and creaked the door open. My face dropped. My mother was standing there with her arms crossed. I smiled and waved like everything had been expected, “Hi.”

“Edwin, where’ve you been?” She stomped closer.

Edwin, I sighed, rolling my head to the right to crack my neck, “I had to stay late.”

“Why?”

“Why are you out here waiting for me?” I said, slamming the car door shut, feeling my

defense walls grow thicker.

“We need to talk,” she grabbed my arm, pulling me to the side. She wore a loose-fit white silk button-up shirt along with fitted khaki-colored pants. She’d gained a little weight this past year and looked better. She needed it. She never wore much makeup and had her usual faint smell of self-tanner mixed with Chanel perfume.

“About what?” I said, not wanting to sell myself out, not knowing the topic of conversation.

“Okay,” she said, stepping closer, “Mrs. Arnold called.”

“When?” I said, irritated. When did she even have time? I stared at my mom’s stacked gold necklaces clanging into one another. She must’ve walked in the opposite direction for that reason.

“Eddie,” she lifted my chin, “What is going on? This isn’t like you.”

“Nothing,” I wasn’t ready to discuss anything with my mother. “I’ll take care of it. Okay? I was just distracted. I’m fine.” I yanked my bookbag up on my shoulder and stared past her at the giant pink roses lining the front of the house. They’d gotten so big with the brighter spring sun. She touched my arm lightly and then squeezed it.

“I have an idea for your paper.”

Her concern and interest took me aback. She’d never been this intrigued by anything, at least that I’d seen. When Emma and I started dating, I thought she’d be nosey, ask questions, and maybe want to meet her, but nothing. When I got kicked off the football team, she shrugged it off and said their loss.

Three days ago, I asked her to join me on a stroll through the fields. I suggested we check out the lake. There was one on the property that was about a fifteen-minute walk. She used to take me there when I was ten. It was a summer I’d never forget. We went every day, and she taught me how to fish. It had been the most time we’d ever spent together. She wore a t-shirt, jeans, and sneakers and pulled her hair back into a high ponytail. I was impressed at how she could pull a fish off the hook without a wince. We had peanut butter sandwiches for lunch, of course, and spent a whole hour together. She’d turned me down and gave me no reason.

“What’s your idea?” I said, shaking her hand away from my arm. I tightened my lips, ready to say no to her thoughts, even though I knew I had nothing.

“Why don’t you interview your grandfather?”

“What? No way. He barely talks to me. I’ll end up with nothing.” I yanked my bookbag strap tight to my chest and pushed past her.

“Eddie,” she shouted, “Stop.”

I stood with my back to her and rolled my eyes. My white sneakers dug into the shells as my hands squeezed hard around my bag’s straps. I took a deep breath, unintentionally wafting my mouth full of rose scent, making me nauseous.

“Eddie,” my mom said in a lighter tone. I turned around to see her staring at me with concern. “Please, talk with your grandfather. He has a fascinating past. Your father used to tell me a few things here and there, but I think he could help you,” she waved her hand, “With whatever you’re going through. Before you say no again, I already talked with him and told him the situation. He agreed.”

“What?” I shouted, “Are you serious?” Without giving her an answer, I stormed down the driveway, kicking shells with every step. I couldn’t help but glance back at her when I reached the front door. Her face was kind, but I was frustrated. How could she? I said I’d handle it. I slammed the door shut and ran to my room. My eyes suddenly felt wet again.