1917

November 20, 1918

  It was a regular Wednesday—or at least, as “regular” as it could be when Garry Cecil was around to make life miserable. He had a knack for picking on me, his taunts and jabs relentless, turning every mundane school day into an exercise in endurance. Regular wasn’t supposed to feel like walking on eggshells, but with Gaeey in the picture, that’s exactly what it became.

  His presence was a storm cloud that followed me down the hallways, in the cafeteria, and even in the quiet moments when I thought I could escape. Wednesdays were just another reminder that, sometimes, the world isn’t fair—but maybe, just maybe, there was a way to weather it.

“How do you feel about going to the nuthouse, Jeremiah?” Cecil sneered, standing in my way and blocking my entrance to Mr. Bailey’s classroom. His smirk was as obnoxious as ever, his words sharp and cutting, designed to get under my skin.

  I could feel my frustration building, but I kept my expression calm, refusing to give him the satisfaction of a reaction. The hallway felt smaller with him standing there, his presence looming like a shadow, daring me to push past him. But something in me knew that giving in to his taunts would only make things worse.

“Move, Cecil!” I demanded, my tone rough and unyielding.

“Alright, I’ll move, homo lover!” he sneered, the venom in his voice laced with the usual nastiness he reserved for his insults.

  I paused, letting his words hang in the air for a moment before smiling evenly. “You are exactly what you hate, Cecil. That’s how it tends to be.” I met his glare with a calm that seemed to throw him off.

  Cecil hated gays so loudly, so vehemently, that it wouldn’t have surprised me if his hatred was a reflection of his own internal struggle. Sometimes, people’s biggest fears and insecurities manifest as the things they claim to despise most. Watching his sneer falter for just a split second was all the confirmation I needed.

  I entered Mr. Bailey’s classroom at long last, relief washing over me as I made my way to my usual spot at the front. The desk I claimed was familiar, though far from pristine. Its surface was scratched and dirty, scars from the previous year’s wear and tear. I traced one of the grooves absentmindedly, wondering how many restless hands had marked it before mine.

  The classroom itself felt both welcoming and chaotic—books piled on shelves, charts on the walls, and the faint smell of chalk in the air. Despite its imperfections, it was a space where learning happened, and for better or worse, I was ready to tackle whatever the day would bring.

“Today, we will discuss covalent bonds! Does anyone know what those are?” Mr. Bailey asked, his voice lively and expectant.

  The classroom responded with silence, a collection of blank stares from every corner, including my own. It was clear that the concept hadn’t clicked for anyone yet—or maybe we’d never even heard of it before. I stared down at my scratched desk, hoping someone else might break the awkward stillness. But it stretched on, making it all the more obvious how little any of us understood about this mysterious topic he was introducing.

“Covalent bonds are… a type of chemical bond where atoms share pairs of electrons to achieve stability in their outer electron shells…”

  “I saw someone mouth ‘what the fu—’” and felt exactly the same as the male student. I believe his name was Clive Jones or something.

  Mr. Bailey continued explaining: “Basically, a valence shell is the outermost electron shell… the one that determines how atoms bond…”

  The class let out an “ohhh,” the sound of collective understanding. The concept clicked once he broke it into digestible pieces.

  “Thank you, Mr. Bailey,” I said, impulsively hugging him.

  He blinked, startled. “You didn’t have to do that; it’s only an explanation of our lesson,” he chuckled.

  “Anytime, kiddo,” he added lightly.

“I can’t wait to do experiments in this class!” Clive (or whoever it was) blurted.

“We will get to it, don’t you worry!” Mr. Bailey replied, full of energy.

  “What type of experiments will we do?” I asked.

“Thin layer chromatography, for example.”

  Silence.

  Confusion.

  Blank faces.

  Mr. Bailey laughed gently and explained TLC, turning a terrifying sci-fi term into something comprehensible and even exciting.

  Suddenly, he glanced at the clock. “We seem to be out of time!”

  “Oh, crap…” I muttered. Gaeey was probably waiting outside.

  “It’s okay, let me walk you out,” Mr. Bailey said, surprising me.

  He must’ve noticed the tension. Somehow, he knew.

  We stepped outside—straight into Garty.

  “See what it’s like to be appreciated, Gaeey? I thought not.” I taunted.

  I was bullying a bully, and I didn’t care—not then. Maybe it wasn’t the right choice, but in that moment, it felt justified.

  At lunch, Matt sat with Peggy and me, making googly eyes at her until I shot him a glare sharp enough to cut steel. He immediately shrank like a frightened turtle.

  “Mrs. Brompton once got us in trouble,” I guffawed, laughing uncontrollably.

  People stared. I didn’t care.

“You kissed in front of her?!” Matt gasped.

  “We sure did!” Peggy giggled.

“Wicked cool! I want to do that too when I get a woman!”

  “Careful of her eagle gaze,” Peggy warned. “She sees everything.”

  Later, a teacher asked, “¿Cómo estás?” I said, “Bien,” the only Spanish word I knew.

  Señor Gomez appeared—white as chalk despite the name—and welcomed me into the class. Spanish was a relief after the t*****e of Algebra II. Gato. Perro. Simple. Manageable. Human.

  The bell rang. “Adiós, estudiantes.”

  Life at home was… different.

  My mother wore a crimson-red dress, unusual for her. Red was my father’s favorite color.

  “It’s okay, Mama Cass, you can mourn him all you want,” I said.

  “I just miss him very much,” she whispered, a tear sliding down her cheek like a carriage winding down a narrow road.

  “I—I miss him too. Every damn day,” I said.

  Instead of scolding me for cursing—like Father would’ve—she pulled me into a hug.

  Afterward, I mumbled, “I-I have homework to do.”

  “Oh, okay… see you tomorrow then?” she asked softly.

  “Yes, see you tomorrow.”

  That night, I prayed I wouldn’t lose her too.

“Dear Heavenly Father, please guide and protect my loving mother… keep her out of harm’s way… I ask for these things in the sacred name of Jesus Christ, Amen.”

Amen.