Ride the Storm

It was the 14th of March, two days before spring break. An icy rain started just after dark. Inwood High School was quiet when basketball practice was over; only splat-clicks against the large picture window could be heard. The blinds were pulled up and the curtains drawn back. Two men watched the clouds. The teacher’s lounge was empty except for Mel Tolson, the boys’ basketball coach, and Dr. Charles Cassius, team doctor.

Coach Tolson didn’t want the vacation. The Lions were on a tear and the interruption couldn’t help. “You can’t win if you don’t play,” he’d say. His other favorite tag line the players imitated in the locker room, a pencil stub in their mouths for the bobbing cigarette, “One hundred and ten percent!”

Humid air in the room smelled like whiteboard marker ink and stale tobacco. Dark grey sky started to grumble and distant lightning flashes lit the two men’s faces as they sat at a long table. Their features changed with each strobe; sharp-edged black shadows cut new Bizzaro facets like a demented plastic surgeon. Coach Tolson crushed out his fourth and last cigarette, twisted the empty pack into a tight rope and put it into the lopsided, mustard-colored ceramic ashtray, a Special Ed student’s gift from art class.

Doc wiped crumbs off the cold, smooth, table surface with his palm. Someone was always bringing cookies or brownies into the room, leaving temptations too close to him and his voracious sweet tooth. That’s why he couldn’t lose the forty pounds that was helping to clog the life out of his aortic arteries. He scooped luscious bits onto an extra leaflet that advertised: Faculty Meeting Friday—Indiana State Text Book Review. He was tempted to funnel them into his mouth. Doc was hungry. The men looked up when the door opened and a dripping, black licorice stick umbrella came through pulling a tall, lean woman, Jenifer Chichester, the history teacher.

Jenifer said as she walked in, “Sorry I’m late guys. Had to chat up Bert after class. Pretend things are normal. We have to at least try to keep him at ease while we think of what to do.”

Doc said, “And what did Bert have to say?”

Coach said, “Same old stuff, I’ll bet. The guy’s a broken record. Cornered me again this morning.” Coach Tolson made a hand pistol; slow motion pointed it toward his temple and stuck his tongue out like a panting Gargoyle. With the barrel he pushed his frameless glasses as if they had slipped down, even though they hadn’t, and repeated the adjustment every few minutes just in case they had.

Coach Tolson made a high pitched voice, “We are educators. Responsible for teaching truth to these young minds with the best information we can from hundreds of years of human observations.” The coach went back to his own voice. “Bert’s position on the selection committee to pick the text for sciences in this state is a problem. People listen to him because he’s written books and won a few dumb awards.”

His voice went high again. “A mind is a terrible thing to waste.”

Jenifer stood up, “I’m not worried about their minds. Their very souls are in danger of being lost.” The men nodded. Jenifer sat down. “It’s going to be close. Too close.”

Doc said, “Stolen.”

Coach shook his head. “Every young soul in Indiana.” He looked at Doc and then Jenifer. “What should we do?”

Doc said, “Same as any thief.” They were quiet for a moment.

Coach said, “Maybe he’ll croak from a heart attack.”

Jenifer frowned. “But, he runs four miles on the school track every morning; gets a bottle of sports drink at the vending machine right outside the boy’s locker room at six thirty, just like clockwork.”

“Still, it could happen,” Doc said. “There are chemicals that mimic a heart seizure.” Jenifer and Coach stared at him.

Jenifer stood, folded her arms across her chest and stepped toward the window. The roiling sky drew a faraway look. She clasped her hands together, focused on the Coach and then Doc. She said,

“God works in a mysterious way,

His wonders to perform;

He plants his footsteps in the sea,

And rides upon the storm.”

A divine call had been issued and went through the still room with spirit. The air snapped.

Coach said, “I have the keys to the vending machine.”

Doc stood up and said, “I’ll see you about six tomorrow morning, Coach.”

Jenifer pulled the umbrella off of the back of her chair. It dripped on her foot. “Goddam bumbershoot pissed on me.” The men laughed. “God bless you guys. See you tomorrow.”