Sneakteaching by Grant Pylkas - HTML preview

Chapter 16
The Cave

ZJ and LD knew that they had some new users on the evening route. This was a good time. The first time that they sold drugs to new users, they got to sample the goods. It was an act of faith on the pusher’s part to use with the new client. This was a sales technique that had a history of proven results. If there were any chicks in the crowd of new users, ZJ and LD would party with them until the drugs were ingested, shot, or smoked.

Big Guy knew that he would never tap into the disease of addiction until and unless he introduced the addicts to their new god. This new god was not benevolent; it was one that would consume the individual and produce a stream of revenue to the dealer for years to come, and the younger, the better. Because the longer a junkie used drugs, the longer Big Guy had a customer. There was a high turnover rate because addicts tend to die early in life.

Parents are also very naive about their young children. They believe that they still have children at home. Middle school is the best shot Big Guy had at starting kids on drugs. LD and ZJ had been top producers in middle school. Now, as high school drug reps, they had not been the best he’d ever had. They were still producing, but Big Guy thought that maybe they had become complacent. The two had been the best in middle school. Here they were, only fifteen and already over the hill. Big Guy was thinking that it was time to turn them into customers and retire them from sales.

Before the two had left the apartment, and after the two had sampled the goods, ZJ and LD were getting ready to leave for the appointed rounds.

Big Guy looked ZJ straight in the eye, laughed out loud, and said, “ZJ, just remember, on some days, the bear gets the hunter, and on some days, the hunter gets the bear.” Big Guy was toying with ZJ, and ZJ was not sophisticated or experienced enough to realize that Big Guy was laughing at him. “Be careful, ZJ, tonight may be the night the bear gets you.” Big Guy was really getting a kick out of taunting ZJ.

“Yeah, what?” ZJ was in a drug haze but was intuitive enough to realize that he was suppose to have gotten something out of the lesson that Big Guy was teaching. Just like all the lessons that ZJ was supposed to have learned, this one was a wasted lesson in a drugged mind.

“Yeah, know the situation, ZJ? Remember, be on your toes; the drug drop can turn on you and go bad in a heartbeat. Always beware of the cave, the one where the mad bear lives, because you cannot tell what the bear is protecting, or what it is willing to do to achieve its goals. Don’t tangle with a mad bear, and don’t let the bear get you.” It was a warning, and it would to go unheeded.

All this time, Big Guy is laughing and joking, making light of the task at hand yet warning of the inherent risk that existed in the evening to come. He was remembering back to his own youth, and how at fifteen he had been immortal. He was remembering how drugs had ruined his life and wandering down the road of regrets and lost loves. He was longing for the girl that had walked away from him and his disease. What might his life have been like? If only —— then he stopped himself. He was entering a place that he used to fix with drugs and beer. In an attempt to get the girl back, he found sobriety. But it was too late; she wouldn’t take the risk on him and it was over. He was in a place he didn’t want to be. He had to rely on his AA training to change his thinking pattern.

He then refocused on the home in the Caribbean he would soon have. He thought about the life that he would lead as soon as he had just a little more money. He was also in the presence of two young junkies he was sure wouldn’t see twenty. This quickly brought his attention back to the here and now.

Here were these two punks that had sold their souls, and were, in fact, owned by another. All this had happened because of their youthful passion for sex, excitement, and self-aggrandizement. They were led into addiction, eager for the fast life, and what they got, they had wished for.

Neither one ever understood the warning that Big Guy had issued. When you’re that age, the only way you learn is by failing and paying the price for failure. It would be so for these two.

The two boys left the company of Big Guy, high and loaded down with enough drugs to put any adult in prison for forty years. If caught, these two boys would do no time at all, as they would be first-time drug offenders.

The events of the night went without complication. The two boys partied with several new customers, and they had some fun with a couple of young, female addicts who paid more than money for their drugs. The deliveries were made and the money was collected. Now, it was time to go to the hockey arena and meet another new customer.

The only clue to who this new junkie could be was on the printed computer label. They were to ask for the “Hockey player,” then, Hockey player’s response should be, “Things go better with coke.”

The Hockey arena was like a thousand other hockey arenas across the country. Built with American Legion money, collected from the sale of pull-tabs in the local bars, it was a well-kept facility. At night, with the lights turned on and the parking lot well lit, this was a place that had held the dreams of many a high school hockey player, thinking that he was just a few games away from the big leagues.

Everyone at Northwest knew that ZJ and LD were the go-to guys for drugs, so just their presence at the hockey arena was disturbing to the hockey players and the young ladies that had come to watch them. As LD and ZJ split up, they started looking for the one they were to call, Hockey player.

As ZJ went around to the players’ entrance, he recognized a classmate from my classroom, “Hey, what’s up, man?” Maybe it was time to square up the debt for “Ratting” on him in my classroom. ZJ was famous for never missing an opportunity to bully someone.

“Nothing,” replied Hank.

 

“Just hangin’, man?” ZJ was toying with Hank. He had no idea how to treat people.

Intuitively, Hank made eye contact with ZJ and fired off a preemptive communication, “Look, ZJ, I’m not the one you’re looking for.” Hank was thinking that ZJ was trying to sell him drugs, but ZJ was going about the task of picking a fight.

Hank wasn’t sure what ZJ wanted, but he waited until ZJ was starting for him and then called out, “ZJ.” Hank was not totally sure what he was going to say. What he was about to say would even surprise him, so he paused to think. The pause was read by ZJ to be a sign of weakness. ZJ turned to look for LD. He needed LD to make sure that he won the fight.

Hank spoke with incredible clarity, “ZJ, you’re in Mr. P’s class with me, and I don’t like the crap you’ve been giving him, so cut it out.”

This really amused ZJ. In fact, he started laughing. The laughing became irrational. The sincerity with which Hank had spoken was not something that ZJ, the bully of middle school, had ever seen before. What the hell, thought ZJ. This asshole just doesn’t get it; you don’t screw with me. I can still intimidate this little prick, just like I did when we were in middle school.

ZJ finally quit laughing like a crazy man. What he then said was not funny to anyone, especially not Hank. “Look, asshole, I do as I please in every class. If P wants to take me on, I’m ready for him. If you think that some weak, punk-ass, wanna-be tough guy like you is gonna tell me who to leave alone and who to fuck with, your ass is grass. So get the fuck over to the candy store with the other little boys, or go home and tell your mama what a bad boy I am, but don’t ever get in my face again, dick-head!” ZJ was so eloquent and respectful.

Hank just looked at him, not saying a word. ZJ was closing the distance between them, fully expecting Hank to turn and run at any second. ZJ came closer, and closer, until he was right in Hank’s face. ZJ started yelling, “Asshole! Asshole! Asshole!” ZJ was so close that Hank could smell the chemical stink on ZJ’s breath, in fact, he could smell a combination of tobacco, alcohol, and chemicals that were being processed by ZJ’s respiratory system in an attempt to rid itself of the unwanted substances in his system. This was not endearing to Hank who stood his ground, never saying a word. He just stood there, staring at ZJ.
All this didn’t go unnoticed by Hank’s teammates and friends, as they started to gather around Hank. Within seconds, Hank was joined by teammates, hockey players, and spectators, and many had hockey sticks. ZJ, no stranger to a fight, especially an unfair fight, started to be aware of the numbers of loyal mates that Hank had gathered. ZJ didn’t have his group with him. ZJ didn’t even have a group. He was also jealous of Hank and the loyalty that his friends and teammates were displaying.
He realized that even LD was nowhere to be seen. He eventually backed away, but not without a few last words, “Look asshole, your friends can’t be around you forever. Just remember, you don’t fuck with superman, Leroy Brown, or ZJ.” ZJ turned and walked away, something he would not have done if the tables had been turned. These were not street fighters, junkies, or pushers; they were just kids trying to help a friend. ZJ wasn’t laughing anymore.
A few minutes later, and a safe distance away from Hank and his friends, LD walked up to ZJ and said, “I found Hockey player and we’ve had the best day ever. Let’s get this long green back to Big Guy. We’ll get our stuff, find some bitches, get laid, and get wrecked one more time before we go home.”
“Yeah,” was all ZJ could muster, as he turned his attention to the bag of green that he and LD had collected. It held twenty-three thousand bucks, big dough for these two street punks. LD started yelling, “Yeah, a lot of green! A lot of green!”
ZJ started smiling, and his thoughts turned to the drugs and women that this kind of money would secure for him and LD.

Chapter 17
The Sting

LD started walking to the car, away from the ballpark and into the parking lot, but ZJ lingered for a second to see if he had anything to worry about and kept looking back at the hockey arena. As ZJ picked up the pace to catch up to LD, the lights of the hockey arena began to fade, and the parking lot came into sight. There were cones of light raining down from the light poles, with rings of light drifting down onto the blacktop. The night was clear and cloudless. This evening would have been perfect, but for the events that were about to unfold.

As the two caught up to each other in the parking lot, a kid with a dark, hooded sweatshirt, blue jeans, and smooth black shoes came up behind them. It was as if a ghost had appeared out of the dark between the lighted areas of the parking lot. Neither one of the two had even sensed the presence of this silent, small person. ZJ heard a small voice, something that stopped him cold.

“Say what, LD?” ZJ hoped he’d heard LD. “What, ZJ?” LD hadn’t heard a thing.

Everything changed in the split second that it took for ZJ to reach for his car keys. ZJ didn’t have a license, but of all his indiscretions, driving without even a permit was just a minor point.
“If either one of you wants to see tomorrow, you

better do exactly what I say,” the voice from Hell had spoken. It wasn’t loud or demanding; it was just there. Both dealers were totally taken by surprise. They spun around and looked at a pair of eerie eyes, the kind that the Goth kids wore to make themselves look weird. Worse yet, the eye coverings were luminescent and glowed in the dark.

“If you reach for a weapon, you’re dead,” a cool calm voice stated. The voice was coming out of the hooded sweatshirt standing about six feet away. In the dark light of the parking lot, the figure looked almost comical. The not so funny part was that he had a pistol pointed right at them.

He was all made up with dark eye shadow, eye inserts, and black, theatrical face paint framed his face in the outline of the pullover hood. ZJ and LD could hardly see the flat, black, .22-caliber handgun with a matt finish, as it was held in a hand gloved in a dark purple, rubber surgical glove. For a split second, the two were all but giddy looking at the attire of their adversary. A feeling that was short lived.

It took them but a nanosecond to realize that the pistol had a silencer on the muzzle of the barrel.
All of a sudden, the gun with its muzzle swollen by the silencer looked huge. Not much went on for the moment that it took for LD to realize that this may be the end of the ride. In some strange way, he was actually feeling relief, and not what one would expect.
The voice was weak and small and as flat as the matt finish on the gun, “If you two would please turn over your car keys?” This came from the strange, small figure with the long sleeved, hooded sweatshirt with the great big gun pointed at them.
It’s funny how sober you can become when you need to, thought ZJ. This was a simple carjacking and nothing to worry about. He didn’t want the sweat soaked jockstrap that LD was transporting in a gym bag. A gym bag at hockey arena could only contain hockey gear, right, ZJ rationalized to himself. The car was all this guy was after.
How could he know what was in the gym bag? “Want to jack the car? Here, take the keys.” ZJ whipped the keys down onto the pavement in front of this strange, little man. “But I’d better not ever catch you,” ZJ warned with bravado and clenched teeth.
He could hear the simple “Swoooosh,” like the sound you hear when you release compressed air from a tire, and then, the sensation of a burning, and the feeling of a liquid running down ZJ’s arm, and finally, the red color on the sleeve of his shirt. He thought he might have felt pain, but the only pain was a burning sensation. It took a second, but he knew that he had been shot. He heard the bullet hit the car door behind him, and he knew that as long as he lived, he would always remember the thud of the bullet hitting the metal of the door.
“What the hell!” were his first words, as he looked this weird, little man in the funny eyes that had been used to conceal his real eyes. ZJ’s eyes were like silver dollars, as wide open as they could get without them rolling right out of his head.
The little man began to speak, “If I’d wanted you dead, you would already be dead.” There was no emotion in his voice, just information.
Again, the funny, little voice came out of this thing that had just shot ZJ, “Now, if either one of you wants to graduate, give me the money, all of it, and every last cent. Got it?”
ZJ thought he was tough, but this guy didn’t seem tough at all, it seemed as though he was a machine, just doing, not feeling. He was a lawn mower, a conveyor belt, just an appliance doing its work. ZJ was a bit numb to all of this because he was bleeding, but it did not escape LD’s attention.
LD went limp and collapsed right on the spot, just like a wet rag. LD was out cold. As tough as he thought he was, as mean as he thought he was, and as mean as he had been to others, he was still just a kid. His pants were wet in the crouch, and the smell of human waste was in the air. This sent a cold shiver through ZJ, as he had never seen anyone react as LD had. He was also loosing blood and beginning to feel physically weak himself. ZJ, who had never had a spiritual thought in his life, found himself making covenants with God. He had never even thought about a Supreme Being in his fifteen years.
He was promising to get straight, clean, and sober if God would spare his life.
ZJ instinctively reached for the moneybag that LD had been carrying and bent down to get the money. He slid it around on the pavement, never even questioning how this strange, little guy knew he had a large amount of money, and he kicked the bag across the pavement to the hooded guy.
The hooded guy then said, “Give me the keys. Pick them up and give them to me, slowly, and no funny business.” ZJ did as he was told. Then, hooded guy got into ZJ’s car with the money and slowly drove into the night. If fact, he was so in control that he drove slowly, using the blinker as he left the parking lot, just like you or I would if we’d just left a McDonalds parking lot.
ZJ automatically called Big Guy on his cell phone. He explained what had happened and asked what to do?
Big Guy said, “Look, you have to call the police and tell them everything except the amount of money that was taken. Tell them about being carjacked and being shot, and do it right now. Don’t worry about the money. I will help you track it down after you get treated for your gunshot wound. Get LD taken care of. Give the police a good description of the car; maybe they can help us find this guy.”
911 was called and the police showed up. LD was revived, and ZJ was taken to Regions Hospital. His mother was called from the hospital and she was on her way, assured that her son would live.
As LD sat waiting for his parents to show up at the hospital, it occurred to him that he could have been killed. LD thought to himself, This is it; it isn’t drugs, girls, and fun anymore; it’s time to get out. I could get straight and put a lot of distance between me and ZJ. I know that things are just not going to be the same ever again.
If he had only known how right, really right, he was, he might have opened up to his parents. If he could have seen things in a crystal ball and predicted outcomes, as my mom had been able to do, I know he would have done things differently that night.
He didn’t open up to the police that night. True to his childhood friend, he was not going to get ZJ in trouble. For LD, this whole incident was even more complicated than just not telling on ZJ. ZJ was his family. It was the only family he really had.
ZJ’s mom showed up and he told her about the carjacking, but that was all. He got eight stitches, four in the front of his arm and four more in the back where the bullet had gone out. He also got some great pain medication by prescription. He would get to stay home for a few days and stay legally high for his recovery. Why the bullet had not shattered the bone and left him crippled for life was a mystery. The doctors were amazed at the small amount of damage the bullet had caused. ZJ seemed to have more luck than sense.
Shortly after the ten o’clock news, the doorbell rang at Big Guys apartment. Big Guy looked out the peephole and opened the door. In walked a little man with a hooded sweatshirt. He handed Big Guy the gym bag full of money. Big Guy opened the moneybag, reached in, got out ten of the one hundred dollar bills, and handed them to the hooded guy. Hooded guy handed the handgun and silencer to Big Guy, and then he asked, “Is that all you need, Big Guy?”
“Get out of here,” Big Guy ordered, as he grabbed the gun and silencer.
“Ok,” was all he said, and hooded guy disappeared into the night.

Chapter 18
Hockey Hank

The news of ZJ’s adventure went through the school like wildfire. Such a tale of violence and gunshot wounds would create a stir at any high school in the country. All the kids were anxious to tell me the tale, none more so than Hank, who had defended my honor just minutes before ZJ got shot. He felt himself a hero in some way, because he had stood up to this now famous thug.

The next day, I was standing in front of my classroom door, saying hi to kids and trying hard to match names with faces. I was waiting for class to begin, when Hank walked up to me and in an immature manner said, “You really care, don’t cha?”

I asked, “About what?”

“About kids.” Hank seemed surprised that I didn’t know what he was talking about.
In a knee-jerk reaction, I answered, “Yes, I do.”
I wasn’t sure what to make of the exchange. It was out of place for what little I knew about Hank. I concluded that kids do a lot of strange things that I don’t understand. This was one of them.
Hank went in and sat down next to a pretty, young lady he had met in my class. Her name was Brittany, a bright student that was in my class for only one reason; she liked the teacher. Well, also it was maybe because there were lots of boys in my room. She didn’t care much for the subject matter. The two were talking about what seemed to be nothing, when I heard Hank say, “Brittany, I saw ZJ at the hockey arena last night, and I told him to lay off P. I meant it, too. I really like P.” I was sure that was meant for my ears.
“I really like him, too, Hank, but remember, ZJ and LD are creeps, so you would be better off leaving them alone; P can take care of himself,” Brittany advised Hank.
“Yeah, I know, Brit.” Hank was not all that smooth with girls, but this one seemed different.
“Did you hear the gossip about ZJ and LD getting carjacked in the parking lot at the hockey arena?” Brit was full of the story and really wanted to tell someone. Hank was smart enough, and smitten enough, to just want to hear her voice, even if it was to hear a story he had heard before.
Hank just casually lied about hearing the story and said, “No, tell me. Whad ya hear?”
“The story I heard was that they got carjacked and ZJ got shot in the arm. He had eight stitches, they say.” Brit went on and told the tale, maybe even adding a little drama that wasn’t in the story she had heard. After she was done, there was a short pause as Hank took in what she had said.
Hank was a bit awkward at this impressing a girl thing, but most tenth graders are, and he was no different. As he calculated his response, the thought flashed through his mind that this girl was special, and maybe one that he could really like. “Wow, that will improve sales,” was all Hank could think of to say, not wanting the conversation to end.
“What do you mean?” Brit was truly curious at this point.
“ZJ and LD will talk up the tale and embellish it. They will make themselves look tough,” Hank was really angry as he said this.
“So what?” Brit didn’t understand.
“It’s drama, Brit. Just drama and gossip that is intended to create a story that makes them the center of the bad-guy universe. The better the story, the more the bad guys and girls will want to know them. They will be dangerous and hip, and that will be great for sales. They are going to sell more drugs than anyone else,” Hank’s anger wasn’t hidden as he talked. “Hank, you stay away, please?” Brit sounded honestly concerned.
Was that genuine concern that I heard, Hank was thinking. I hope it was?
“I will, Brit, but it pisses me off.” He was really mad. He was immature, but he was smart enough to know that a lot of kids would be sucked into a life of drugs and all the baggage that went with that life. He knew that the first encounter with drugs was a choice; the rest of the experience would be made by an addicted mind with the disease removing any choice. He was experienced beyond his years when it came to the addict. He knew more than most tenth graders in this regard.
“Hank, class is starting. Just get to work and P will be pleased, I will be pleased, and you can keep that A that P said you’re getting in his class, get it?” She found herself giving him advice that she normally wouldn’t give to someone if she didn’t care about him. It hit her right that minute that she liked this guy, really liked this guy. Wow!
I was taking roll by the time the exchange had taken place, and we were starting the computers and loading the drawings. Hank and Brit approached me. Hank started the conversation with a question, “Do you know Swede, the old hockey coach?”
I had been asked questions like this before by hockey players who were curious about what had happened to this well liked and popular varsity coach. Swede was still in the district, teaching as he always had at a middle school. I knew him from my early days in the district when we met through a mutual friend and had even found some common ground on which to base a friendship. He was a great guy, and I understood why young people would like him. He was personable and a very good listener. He wasn’t the world’s best choice for win/losses when it came to coaching hockey, yet that didn’t seem to matter to his players. They just plain liked and respected him.
I was a bit puzzled and asked Hank, “Why do you ask?”
Hank and Brit were both looking at each other, wondering which one should start the reply, with neither one being quite mature enough to know how to approach the subject with social grace. This subject would be off limits in any other classroom.
“Well, Brit and I were wondering if you had heard the reason why Swede was let go from his varsity coaching position.” I had no idea where this was coming from. The talk in the school, all day, had been of the shooting on the evening before.
Why are we talking about a hockey coach? I was wise enough to know that I could do nothing about what I was about to hear. The two had opened up a dialogue that they had obviously discussed before. “No, I don’t know the reason that Swede was let go.” But I was curious now, “Tell me, what do you think happened?” I had taken the bait. There was no turning back now.
“We think that Fritz canned him because he didn’t win enough games,” Hank spoke for both of them.
Both were nodding their heads in agreement. Now, I had opened a subject that would have meet with an “I don’t know; now get back to work” in any other classroom in the building. If I had known what was politically correct and what was good for me, I would have done the same thing. Instead, I went where I thought we could get some teaching done, hoping for a teachable moment, and asked of the two, “Want to tell me?” I then sat back, ready to listen to the story.
Hank went right into what he thought had happened, as if he knew the exact details. In fact, I thought, given the amount of detail and knowledge he is showing about how athletics works in the high school, he is quite impressive.
He was quite sophisticated in the politics of how the system worked. This story had obviously been told before. He had developed his position and was selling hard.
“The way we think this happened was that Fritz decided that having a .500 season was not good enough for his Eskimos, so he was determined to get rid of Swede. He knew that Swede had just moved to a new house, so he sent out a coaching contract for the hockey season that was to come to the old house. He knew that by the time the mail got forwarded, it would have expired according to the terms that he had written into the new contract. The minute that the time was up, he called Swede and had him come in to the office. He then fired him for not responding to the request for the new contract. Swede was furious, as it had not been done this way ever before. He told Fritz that he had always been given the courtesy of a phone call when he needed to be renewed. Fritz explained that the old athletic director was retired, and now, things were going to be done Fritz’s way. Short of an all-out school board fight, he could accept the fact that he had been fired, or he could fight a losing battle with the board.” That was Hank’s story. He sat back in his chair, looked at Brit, and said, “It’s so, P.”
I know that there had been a problem with Swede. I knew he had left the head coaching position, but I had always thought that Swede decided that life was too short for all the hours he spent coaching. He decided that he would as gracefully as possible go back to teaching at the middle school for reasons of his own. He never shared his anger with me or the school board. He certainly could have and may yet, someday. My guess would be that he would share his story when he thought he had a fighting chance of winning.
Hank just got madder and madder each time he told this story. The new coach was not there to teach the basics of the game; he was there to win at all costs. This included cutting Northwest High students from the team, in favor of out of district students that had been recruited by the new coach. Many of those students had been on that team from before middle school. Hank was one of them that had been cut. He was crushed. As he thought about this his eyes began to tear up, and Britt stepped in to console him.
I told the two students, “Step out into the hallway to collect yourselves, and return when you’re ready.” This was a big risk for a teacher at Northwest High; it was also the right thing to do.
I was told later that the beginning of their dating relationship had started that day in the hall.

Chapter 19
Impulse

We had started class and I was working on something, when a student that had known me from back in our middle school years came to my desk. She had followed my classes, tying to get into them. She liked being in my room. She was certainly more of an artisan than a draftsperson, but she had found a way to express her creativity through the use of the computer, drawing program I was teaching. I was fine with that, since any talent was welcome in my room.

On this day, Stacy pulled up a chair next to my desk, “Mr. P?”
“Yes?” I should learn not to pay attention to kids. I’m being sarcastic.
“I’ve got to sign up for my junior-year classes, and —— would you help me?” She was asking me to help her make some of the decisions she was struggling with.
What a complement, I thought. This was the moment every teacher waits for, the chance to influence the lives of students. In