Korê in New York

What happens when a kid refuses to leave the past behind? What happens when the past won't go away? Read on and don't worry about the emotional damage.

1. “Wait until tonight.”

   Parasailing was packed. It was behind building three on the dune rather than the lagoon side of Rialitee. Our group from the Official Teen Pavillion who came with a smiling Dylan numbered half a dozen: Mitchell, Jared, Jean, Melody, the pock marked girl, and myself. Mitchell wanted to try to sail and was disappointed that the line to put on a harness and get tied to a boat and dragged through the sea was so long.

   The line was long because the kids from the other, the elite group if you will, were there. I realized that this was my first encounter with them in three days. That made it feel strange. Then I remembered to look for Davida, Margolin, or Hannah. None of them were here. The group was mostly boys, many with decent muscles, some skinny and a bit too flabby. Then there were the girls. Several wore bikinis and showed off their flat, bronzed tummies and growing tits. Others hid their not quite perfect bodies under coverups or shorts and t-shirts. Onely one or two of the girls looked ready to sail. One had on an expensive looking partial wet suit. The other had on a utilitarian one piece.

   I stood behind one piece in the line and said nothing. I started thinking about Mr. Sailor, the groundskeeper, the refugee from the closed assembly plants, and grey, dead winters of the Midwest or the rural Northeast, doing thankless and low paying work so his daughter would never know the oppressive grind of life. There was something ragingly sad about all that and something frightening. I needed to talk it over. I thought about Ms. Marmelstein, but I didn’t trust her. I thought about emailing my father, but this was not an emergency and all outgoing communication would be packet sniffed.

   I thought of Jean and Jared and of Haley, Amanda, and Jersey Dom, the counselors. The movement betrayed its own. The revolution eats its own. That shouldn’t have been news. I had lived under the Fast Crowd at Houghton’s thumb for three miserable years. So much of me was invested in escape.

   Then my thoughts turned from sadness to fear. What if someone rigged my harness wrong. It would be easy to get rid of a Young Achievers founding member, and make it look like an accident. That was crazy! There would be investigators. My family would hire a private pathologist. You can get in big trouble for murder. If you treat me like a paying customer, I am gone in four days and you haven’t yielded any secrets about which I can do anything.

   That really was the truth and that made me feel even more retched. How do you recruit a Klarissa, a Melody, a Jean and a Jared or a proud Mitchell. You have to acknowledge the dark side of adult authority and I know that not too many adults are ready to do that.

   I listened as the girls in the bikinis cooed and giggled. They were discussing Troy DiVilliers. Was he here? Dylan watched the girls. “Sorry, Dylan,” I thought of the one counselor who did not speak to me. “You don’t work with the right crowd. What did you do to get exiled? Are you the one we can recruit?”

   I mused on this as I reached the head of the line. Dylan glanced at me. The other girls from the Official Pavillion were not going to sail. I was not going to back down. I got my harness on good and tight and waded out from the dock, getting myself all wet first. Dylan took my stuff bag which had my clothes and books.

   “Oh this is like a lead weight!” he half said half laughed.

   I glanced at him. “What you got in here?” he asked.

   “You all ready know,” I snarled.

   “Yeah…you think it’s the most important thing in the world.” It was school, books, or learning. “Wait until tonight.” Dylan smiled.

   Then the woman on the back of the boat asked if I was ready. I signaled, and the speed boat started its engine. It dragged me out of the water. I held on hard to the ropes. My shute pack dragged behind me. I pressed the button as I picked up speed and sat in the water. The chute deployed, and up I went. It was a wonderful view of the island. I imagined telling Piper, Chin, Larisa, and Eugenia about it. Nearly all my friends would have tried this except maybe Chin who really did get scaird, but we could talk her into it. I was sure of that. I was sad when the boat slowed and I drifted down on to the beach.

   My legs felt weak and one of the assistants, a light skinned African American woman with dull eyes, helped me out of my harness, while another assistant who could have been the first one’s slightly shorter sister helped gather the chute so it could be repacked. I wanted to ask the women where they came from, but knew I did not want to hear the answers.

   I needed to find Dylan. He had mys tuff. Dylan was at a table with Melody, and the girl in the dry suit and the two bikini girls. “You have to realize,” he said “That a lot of these Young Assholes have parents who are really older assholes and teachers. It’s a team just as we side with the cool adults like Troy DeVilliers…”

   “…Yes,” asked Dylan. “Are you OK Kore?” He got my name right which surprised me.

   “I’d like my bag.” I wondered if Dylan had lost the bag accidentally. He hadn’t. He knew what he had to do to keep his job. “What happens,” I asked myself, “when the paid help stops wanting to be just paid help?”

   I wanted somewhere to sit privately and read, but there was no such place. I found Mitchell instead. He stood with Jared. Jean stood a distance away looking nervously around. It took me a while to figure out that Jean was standing guard. “This place is really lame,” Mitchell reentered a soft conversation. “We spend most of the time just waiting and half the kids don’t even want to go.”

   “It’s a metaphor,” I said.

   “A meta-what. You’ve got to learn to speak regular English,” Jared advised me.

   “Fuck you,” I answered. You can’t get more regular than that.

   “It’s OK. She gets off on English class,” said Mitchell of me.

   “And wouldn’t you rather do something of substance than all this waiting?” I asked Mitchell. “And wouldn’t you rather have your courage appreciated instead of laughed at and called gay?”

   “What courage?”Jared was a very quick study.

   “Mitchell’s. He’s fearless on the high dive and he can even dive off of it.”

   Mitchell shrugged and then he folded his arms. “School sucks,” he spat at me.

   “Are you so afraid of work that you might have to do in school that you’re willing to put up with waiting and no one appreciating you for who you really are?”

   “People know who I am when we have support. I’m not scaird of grownups!” Mitchell smiled, “and I don’t suck up to them like you do either!”

   “Yes, but when the group has fun. Your dreams are bigger than theirs.”

   Mitchell did not answer. Jared glanced at me uneasily. Jean shifted his feet. Were they going to fetch Dylan. “She’s got balls to be doing this here,” Mitchell said to Jean and Jared. “Real cujones.”

   “She’s an asshole,” Jared answered.

   “People can make life really tough for you,” Jean threatened.

   “Fuck ‘em,” I replied.

   For a long time nobody said anything. There wasn’t time for any one to have a second sail, so when the crowd started to break up, Dylan walked us back to the Official Teen Pavillion. The video game room and computer room upstairs was crowded. I was tempted to send an email to either Dr. Angelus or to my mom to see if I could get in touch wtih someone near Harrisburgh to find out if there was a Chapter that Mitchell could join or whether he would have to be a founding member should he say “yes.” Would he say  “yes?”

   I thought about that as I lay down my towel and went for a prelunch swim. I used an outdoor shower and changed in the bathroom before we went to lunch. I had a meatball sub which felt and tasted like a disappointment as we sat in an uneasy herd in the food court. Amanda described the afternoon ceramics class. Most of us short termers could be painting greenware or we could help with clay prep and try our hand at the pottery wheels though we’d have no finished pots to take home. The other option was beach volleyball and basketball.

   Mitchell groaned but went with the volleyball. I had a debt to pay to Amanda. The ceramics studio was in Building 5’s basement at level S 6. It smelled faintly of sulphur. I helped pound clay and tried to make my mind a blank. The clay felt cool and slimely. I decided I liked its odor. I enjoyed hearing Amanda talk about ceramics techiques and even demonstrate them. We shared the studio with a group of younger kids who had trouble concentrating all except for a few girls who were devotees to their art. Presumably, they were too young to decide whom they would serve. What did they think of the “politics” that had invaded their older siblings’ world?

   I was musing on this, when I saw a shadow over me. “What are you doing here?” asked Marcus Sidlow.

   I looked up, and suddenly I was really afraid. I was in trouble. Wait…this is a resort. They can’t torture me. They’re not going to kill me. Maybe they’ll send me home early. That wouldn’t be too bad. Sometimes it pays to be rational.

   “Ceramics class,” I answered.

   “How boring…”

   “I like it.”

   “Kayla is taking the girls to the shops in the Crystal Arcade in Building 3.”

   “I don’t want to go shopping.”

   “Kayla and I would love to see you and I promised her…Kore, she’s worried about you.”

   “Why, this is a resort with lovely activities for teens.” I could feel the smile frozen like a mask on my face.

   “She’s still worried. She said none of us have been paying attention to you, and besides you don’t have enough days here to finish a project.”

   Marcus Sidlow was right. Amanda came over and suggested I leave with my “host.” I said I was sorry for running out on her. She told me it wasn’t my fault.

   I stood at the sink, taking my good sweet time to wash my hands and arms. I had worn an apron so my shirt and shorts were clean. It was not air conditioned in the Crystal Arcade but the sea breezes kept me cool. I stopped in Sephora to smell the perfumes. Hannah and Margolin laughed about that. The clothes did not interest me though I played with the jewelry and souvenirs in another store.

   “If there’s something you want,” Kayla cooed.

   What did I want? I really wanted to sit on one of the bamboo and Hatian cotton dyed some pretty color square, cushioned benches and to read. I wanted to sit in the bowels of General Cafeteria #2 and eat with the counselors. I wanted to travel to Fairway early on a September Evening. I wanted to walk along the silvery Hudson River. I wanted….

   “Where would you like to eat supper?” asked Kayla.

   “Kuo Chang, but you don’t go there,” I answered.

   “I am going to have my husband take you.”

   “Why?” I blurted out.

   “Because we’re tired of seeing you eat dinner alone. It’s very hard…to be the way you are. It has to be.”

   “You can cut the patronizing bullshit now!” I thought.

   “It’s not as bad as it looks,” I quipped.

   “I wish I knew what made you the way you are, but some of it is upbringing. The adults around you want a little Spartan girl. Well they have one, but what happens when the Spartans crack on the battle field.”

   “Spartans come back with their shield or on it,” I replied, just as I saw Mitchell. He was red faced as he ran down the hall towards Kayla and me. Then he pulled to a halt and looked around bewildered.

   “Hello,” I called out.

   Kayla rolled her eyes at the tall boy. “Amanda said you were here,” Mitchell all but panted.

   “She let you go?” I asked.

   “She can’t keep me prisoner,” Mitchell answered. “Kore, I want to do it.”

   “Fine do you want to swear it as an oath or take it as a pledge?” I asked. If Mitchell was serious, the news would get around sooner or later.

   “What’s the difference?”

   “An oath needs a Bible or some sort of holy book.”

   “Where are we going to get a Bible?”

   “There’s a library in the basement of Building 2. Also I want to get in touch with Dr. Angelus and find out if there’s a chapter in Harisburgh.”

   “Milton has a chapter,” sighed Mitchell. “They think I’m a dumb jock, but I can show them.”

   I hugged Mitchell. Just then Marcus came away from a drink stand holding something clear in a clear plastic cup. Kayla told him: “You’re not going to believe what’s happening.”

   “Mr. Sidlow,” I said. “Mitchell and I have some errands to do before we go to dinner. Mitchell, can you eat dinner with us afterwards? We’re going to have dumplings at Kuo Chang unless you want something else?”

   “I’d like steak,” answered Mitchell.

   “Mr. Sidlow, can you get us into a steak restaurant tonight?” I asked.

   “What’s the occasion?” asked Mr. Sidlow.

   “Mitchell is going to take the oath.”

   Mr. Sidlow saw everything that Tuesday night. He saw me search the Young Achiever’s web site checking for a Milton chapter and saw me email the Chapter President and founding members asking for support to be sent to the airport when  Mitchell arrived home.

   He was with us when I got the Bible out of the library and he watched as Mitchell took the four point oath and became a Young Achiever. True to his word, Mr. Sidlow got us into the Captain’s Lounge which had a magnficient sides and salads bar. I had just the bar while the men ate steaks. They talked about sports and feats of daring do and the need for young men to prove themselves. Some day, I realized and it would be soon, Mitchell would learn he ate dinner with the enemy.

   Tuesday night we returned for Official Teen Activities. Jean and Jared were upstairs in the video game room most of the night. Neither Klarissa nor Melody wanted to dance. Word of Mitchell’s defection was spreading very fast. Even the counselors were whispering among themselves.

   Towards the end of the night, Jersey Dom, took me aside. “You don’t have to be nervous,” he told me.

   “You’re angry at me for doing what I believe in,” I said.

   “No. Mitchell will pay. He was paying anyway. No one who’s a winner…well you understand, don’t you.”

   I nodded. “I hope this doesn’t make your job harder,” I commented.

   “It won’t. Paid employees work for the resort, not group. Kore, you need to call your family back in New York.”

   “Why?” I asked. The phones here are tapped. “I’ll tell them about Mitchell.”

   “This is not about Mitchell. You need to call home. It’s an emergency.”

   “Why are you telling me this?” I asked.

   “Because the Sidlows are high level executives and I’m just a paid employee. When we get this place cleaned, up I’m going to escort you to the comm lounge. Yes, the call is probably tapped. So what…you aren’t going to say anything any one doesn’t know.”

   “I don’t understand. What happened?”

   “Your sister was kidnapped.”

   “How do you know? Who told you?”

   “Word about these things gets around. I’m sorry you’re the last to know.”

   I did follow Jersey Dom back into Building 2. We upstairs and through offices that were still awake with night shift employees wearing white tunics over tight jeans or short shorts or miniskirts. Both the younger and older ones could have been in movies, with character parts for the middle aged zealots. I called New York.

   A sleepy and angry RoAnn picked up. “Why are you calling at this hour?” she asked. It was close to three am in Provodenciales and about two am in New York.

   “They’re making me do it,” I answered. “The teen activity counselors here at the resort. They told me some bullshit story about Minerva being kidnapped.”

   “It wasn’t Minerva and anyway no one was kidnapped.”

   “They weren’t?”

   “No.”

   “What about Ivanna.”

   “She’s asleep in her room. The girls are all here. Nothing has happened.”

   “I love you RoAnn and tell Dad I love him too,” I realized my stepmother was NOT going to talk.

   “I love you too. Get some sleep, Kore,” and with that the call was over.

   “You got nothing,” I thought staring at the night staff. I hoped Marcus and Kayla would not be mad at me for being late. Since I had an escort from Jersey Dom, they were not angry. Marcus asked how my mother was.

   “My mother’s in Herkimer County,” I answered.

   “I mean, your step-mother,” Marcus corrected himself.

   “He’s fine. Someone tried to play a tasteless practical joke on me tonight,” I commented. “Something about either Minerva or Ivanna being kidnapped.”

   “Ivanna is back with her mother,” answered Kayla.

   “Why would she leave?” I asked.

   “Because it’s no fun having a Spartan for a mom. You ran away from yours didn’t you?” Kayla asked.

   “I’m going to bed,” I replied. I was sick of this game and I had a feeling that it hadn’t even started yet. I realized as I stood under the hot shower that I was in over my head. The world’s suckiest spy is a very stupid person and the world’s suckiest Young Achiever’s Recruiter is a total asshole.

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