The Distance

9/20/12

“Have you ever heard of a man named Winston Churchill, Mr. Darnell?”  

                The room was clustered with a series of motivational posters, kids’ drawings, and plaques verifying that the scrawny man sitting in his overpriced rolling chair had a slight clue of what he was doing. In the back left corner there was a desk, obviously kempt and recently polished with books and papers piled high in an orderly fashion. A golden cup held a multitude of pens, each with a little slogan.

     “No.” Danny replied.

     Mr. Marcus adjusted his bulbous glasses downward towards his nose, the way any authority figure would if they were about to punish someone. Yet, Danny sat unfazed, arms still crossed over his layered flannel button-up and Sex Pistols T-shirt. His face held disgust, for he didn’t respect Mr. Marcus, or frankly, his position.

     “Well, he was a British military officer and writer. He was very, very talented in his work and like most accomplished authors; he had a multitude of profound quotes. Also…”

     Danny giggled to himself. Mr. Marcus was an intellectual, yes, but for God’s sake did he have to use five syllabic words every time he spoke? It became annoying and limited Danny’s attention span to that of an ADHD squirrel. He didn’t pay courtesy to Mr. Marcus’s words any longer, but he watched the movements in his face, maintaining eye-contact.

     “Ok.” Danny wasn’t sure if he had cut Mr. Marcus off, or if he was simply agreeing to whatever rhetorical information he was spewing. Either way, Mr. Marcus didn’t’ seem pleased with his lack of participation.

     “Anyways, Mr. Churchill had a vaguely famous quote; he said ‘If you’re going through Hell, keep going.’”

     Mr. Marcus sat further back in his chair, obviously proud of himself. Danny didn’t quite see why, when all he did was regurgitate some inspirational bull crap. While definitely intriguing, Danny couldn’t figure out why it held any meaning to why he was called to Mr. Marcus’ office. He now itched to find out.

     “What do you think Hell is?” Mr. Marcus asked.

     “Nothing,” Danny responded.

Mr. Marcus picked up a yellow paper pad and a ballpoint pen with the Chumbawamba one-liner ‘I get knocked down, but I get up again’ in bold purple letter across the side. He clicked the pen, twirling it around in his hands before scribbling something illegible on the top of the paper.

     “Ah, a non-believer I see?”  

     “Not necessarily,” Danny cultivated his words in such a way that Mr. Marcus almost fell of his guard.

     “Well, if you look at it from all points of view, Hell isn’t just a religious ideal. Hell can be seen as whatever you want it to be. I could argue that this school is Hell, or that living with my ex-wife was Hell,” he chuckled “Anyone can form their own idea of what Hell is.”

Mr. Marcus stopped and wondered if Danny had processed any of this.

“What’s your idea of Hell Mr. Darnell?”

Danny kept quiet. His mind raced with the question. Immediately, he knew his answer, but couldn’t share this with Mr. Marcus. The more he pondered; he realized the point of the quote. He didn’t know whether to be scared or furious.

”Why does my idea of ‘Hell’ matter to you Mr. Marcus,” Danny’s voice held contempt.

     Mr. Marcus was becoming frustrated, throwing down his pen and note pad on the ground next to his chair and swiping off his glasses into his jacket pocket.

     He leaned forward, “How are things at home Danny?”

     The words were enough to make him shut down. He would not grant Mr. Marcus a one word response. His eyes focused on his worn out converse.

     “Come on now Danny, I’m just trying to help you. A few of your teachers have come forward and said that they have seen marks on you. You are very bright, but become easily distracted during class.”

     “Can I leave now?” Danny jumped in, scrambling for a way out of this conversation.

     Mr. Marcus bowed his head in defeat,” If that’s what you choose to do.”

Danny raced out the door.    

9/23/12

The bell at Madison High School rang at 3:50p.m. Monday through Friday, and each of those days he was the first one out of the doors. He leaped down the steps, usually skipping the bottom two, before starting his stride home. Most kids his age walk, or maybe slouch to any remote place they felt held some resolution. But not him, he moved with purpose, and I would be a fool not to pay attention. Once he arrived at his home, a small white house that showed heavy damage, he skidded to a halt about a yard away from his porch, almost debating going inside. Then he would finally gain the courage to go in, where he would reside until the next morning. Occasionally, averaging once or twice a week, there would be a burst of screaming, Danny would run down those porch steps, out to the street, and down to the Dollar General four blocks away. Tonight was one of those nights.

I had lived down the block from the Darnell’s for six years. At first they had been average people. The mother stayed at home, the father worked at the local plant, and Danny went to school each day. Yet the more I looked, the more diluted the ideal family façade appeared. Soon, I noticed the tension between the mother and father, never coming to neighborhood functions or never being seen together walking down the block. Also, Danny’s little runaways started to become rehearsed, and very loud. I grew tired of watching a problem I could fix. He was full of questions, and I was full of answers.

Tonight I had prepared. I knew that he would be sitting underneath that street light, head between knees, waiting for some miracle to happen I suppose. Finally, I would give him what he was waiting for. I pulled my truck up and parked behind the store, pulled out my blade, and walked below the street light.

9/24/12

I woke up in confusion. I was in a room, a plain one with no windows and a solid oak door. It was thoroughly cleaned, no traces of dust or marks on any of the bed posts. There was a dresser, and when I pulled it open it was full of solid color t-shirts, jeans, socks, and boxers. The floor was freshly carpeted and had lines on which a vacuum had traced. The walls were red, my favorite color, with a poster of a guitar above the bed. Trying to shove the door open was of no use, for it was heavy, and had locks placed on the other side. There were no vents and the carpet refused to be pried up. I was trapped, but not harmed. Why? I couldn’t fathom any reason anyone would take me, or why they would modify the room to my liking. I thought about crying for help, but I was realistic. Nobody would hear me, excluding my captor, who would probably get a rise out of it.  If he had a purpose for me, than he would come and get me. I sat back on the bed and remained as calm as possible while waiting for whatever might happen.

“Hello Danny,” A male voice boomed and I turned my head, placing my arms behind my back against the pillow to reassure whoever was watching that I was not in fact startled. He knew my name.

“Hey,” I sounded more annoyed than anything.

“Are you enjoying yourself Danny?”

            “It’s a bit humid in here actually.”

            The voice was coming from a small audio box placed in the wall. My captor was a coward, probably single, lonely, and middle-aged. It gave me room to play around, and time to figure out a plan.

            “You don’t think your being a bit cocky for someone who just got drug off of the street at 2:00 a.m. and placed in a locked room? Interesting Danny, truly interesting. Well I’m sure you’ll run out of confidence some time. Just wait and see.”

            I didn’t respond, preserving my confidence I suppose.

            “Let’s start from the beginning shall we?” he asked. 

The beginning of what? I didn’t dare ask, but the question would haunt me.

            “Alright,” I said.

There was a brief pause, and from the audio box I swore I could hear the shuffle of papers. Was he keeping notes?

“So Danny,” he answered, “What are your favorite hobbies?”

“Music, some occasional basketball, ya know, the works.”

            He giggled, I imagined him shaking his receding hair lined head.

            “Danny, you know that lying will get you nowhere here, correct? See, I know all about you.”

            “Oh really?” I asked

            “Yes, for instance, you live on 1516 Peach Lane, you’re a single child, you do like music, but don’t even own a basketball or a hoop, and you attend Madison High School. At home you remain invisible, it’s safe to, I presume.”

            There was a long pause before he spoke again, “What? No vulgar comment to follow that one up? Well Danny, I believe I found something we may have in common. When I was a young man I had similar problems such as yours.”

            “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” my voice cracked.

            “Oh I believe you do Danny. You must not be so daft as to think that I hadn’t done my research. I know all about it. He must come home drunk a lot, right? I bet…”

            “Shut up,” I raised my voice. I knew what he was aiming for.

            “So you do know what I’m talking about? I can’t say how proud I am Danny, truly. But you know none of what he does is your fault. You’re just a mere victim, nothing more. Just a silly punching bag…”

            “You don’t know anything!” I screamed. Confidence gone, confusion became fear, and I couldn't block out his words. Tears spilled, and I was ashamed to be so weak.

            “I’m afraid I do Danny. I was a lot like you once, in reality, you’re almost a mirror of my younger self. I know living this way isn’t enjoyable in the slightest; I know the pain that you endure. Trust me. I’m only here to help you.”

            I guess that I had no other choice.

10/1/12

The rain fell in a rhythm that had created a humdrum white noise that neither Danny nor his captor had paid much attention to. That was, until it stopped. The rhythm had somehow lost the beat, the melody gone. There was a disturbance in the flow, one that could only be caused by moving bodies. Danny’s captor responded quickly and calmly.

“They’re here to take you back.”

“Who? And to where?” Danny couldn’t keep the same composure. 

“The police. They’re going to take you back to your home.”

Danny had no response.

 “I know this is hard, but all you have to do Danny is remember the things I’ve taught you, and you’ll be fine.”

As if on cue three uniformed police man burst through the locked door, pointing their guns around the room. Danny froze with his hands in his pockets leaning against the wall. A police woman dressed in a bullet proof vest ran over to Danny.

“Danny Darnell? Everything is okay; you’re going to be fine. Come with me,” She pulled him aside like he was a helpless victim. Danny pulled away from her grasp and walked out the doors into the sunlight by himself. As un-poetic as it seems, it didn’t have much effect. As he walked onto the street, curiosity consumed him, and he turned to face the house he had been ‘captive’ in. But when he turned, it wasn’t the house that had drawn his focus. It was his captor moving out of the house, shackled in hand cuffs.

 Danny reached out for the police woman’s arm, struggling to keep his balance.

“No, this isn’t right.”

Mr. Marcus was filed into the squad car. He sat staring at Danny, before giving a slight nod of the head. His face disappeared as the car pulled out of the driveway.

Danny felt the fierceness of the flames recede.