Brent Who — Finding It: Chapter 3

The following is a chapter from a novel in progress titled Finding It. Please let me know in your comments if you would like me to post further installments.

It had been a few days. It wasn’t like I hadn’t been busy. Each day I woke early, did some of the prescribed exercises before putting on my knee brace — Dr. Clements still insisted I wear it — and went for a jog. I’d decided to wrestle regardless of whether I needed to wear the brace. I convinced myself that I could do it and the coach pushed hard because the team needed someone to wrestle in the unlimited class, what most people called heavyweight.

I couldn’t blame him. And really, I couldn’t blame all the guys who’d turned him down, mostly linemen from the football team, who he’d approached before finally zeroing in on me. I couldn’t blame the guys. Wrestling wasn’t a glamour sport like football or basketball — at least not at Countryside. Also, there was the inconvenient fact that in our league were two of the top heavyweights in the State, Mike Smith, and Mark Heath, the latter was defending State Champion. That meant whoever wrestled in the unlimited class for our team would face those two multiple times. Both were considerably larger than me. So, I knew I was going to get abused, but I hoped that at some point I’d learn how to hold my own. I suppose the reason I wanted to wrestle was that afterward, no one could say I didn’t deserve to wear a varsity jacket, including Kevin, the wrestling team’s captain who had first lettered in his sophomore year. He was the chief instigator of a good deal of the flak I’d taken since being awarded a varsity letter in football following my injury last season.

You see, I was injured in a varsity game, even though it was on my fourth play from scrimmage…ever. Kevin, who had been on the team for three years, had never earned a letter in football because he had never met the qualifier, appearing in at least 13 quarters during a season. That was what I kept track of as team statistician since my injury. This season that was going change for him because Coach Blue played seniors, especially those who had been with the program for at least two prior seasons. Kevin had already played in more than 13 quarters even though as a football player he was a great wrestler.

For whatever reason, he had a problem with me wearing a varsity jacket. Of course, I qualified for varsity again when I worked all season as equipment manager for the wrestling team during my junior year, unable to wrestle because of my knee injury. But already the damage was done. Other students picked up on Kevin’s taunts, which became the origin of “Brent Who?”, the immediate response anytime anyone said my full name.

I didn’t like it, but I could kind of understand it. I didn’t hold a grudge against Kevin, just everyone else for perpetuating it.

After I returned home from my morning jog, it was still dark. I did calisthenics in my room before taking care of the chores at the barn, feeding the livestock, before returning to the house for a quick shower and breakfast. By then it was time to drive to school.

My parents owned a farm near South Charleston in the Southeastern Local School District. But for most of the three prior years, I had an apartment in the Springfield Southern District so I could attend Countryside, which was academically the best public school in the county and one of the best in the state. Jean, my sister, attended Countryside as a tuition student. But due to overcrowding from Baby Boomers like me, Countryside stopped accepting tuition students the year I was ready to begin high school. The only way I could attend was if I lived within the district boundaries.

Since my parents wanted me to have the best possible education and didn’t see that happening in the school district where I lived — along with accumulated taunts and torments I’d endured from bullies throughout grade school — they rented an apartment for me that was a couple of miles from school. Ostensibly, I lived there with Mom, though in truth I had the place to myself. For the first two years, I either rode the bus or biked to school.

Sure, I went home on weekends, especially after junior year began when I had a license and a car to drive. I helped Dad on the farm whenever I wasn’t doing something at school. And during the summer, I spent a lot of time at home, but I also stayed at the apartment, having grown accustomed to being on my own. Besides almost all my stuff was there, like my stereo and portable TV.

Mom checked in on me from time to time. We went shopping for groceries. From the time I was ten, she taught me how to cook, so that wasn’t a problem. And each night Mom called me between 7 and 8, just before she went to bed, to make sure everything was okay. Yeah, my folks always went to bed early. I understood her calls were really a bed check. Mom and Dad trusted me but only so far.

By senior year I was grandfathered so that I could attend Countryside regardless of where I lived. So, I moved back home, which was an adjustment and a half, especially after being pretty much independent for most of three years.

When I finished with my morning routine, I packed up my bass guitar and loaded my car for the trip to Darren’s house for band practice. Darren, who played lead guitar, and his brother Rich, who played drums, formed a band with Darren’s best friend Cam, called Thrush. Cam played bass in the band before me, but he wanted to play rhythm guitar so, shortly after I met Darren in art class when I was a sophomore and he was a freshman, he found out that I played bass and he offered me an audition.

Prior to joining Thrush, I’d played bass for a few years but never officially as a member of a band. I’d taken a few formal lessons but after learning the basics, I jammed with some keyboardists and guitarists I knew from church. I also knew how to play acoustic guitar, except I’d learned to play it left-handed as it was my dad’s guitar and like me, he was ambidextrous. Unlike him, I made a point of doing as many things as possible right-handed. Though he taught me some chords early on and that’s how I began playing. I was nowhere near as good on a six-string as Darren or Cam.

When it came to playing bass, I balked at the higher price the music store wanted for special ordering left-handed instruments. And though learning to play bass right-handed was a challenge and it felt awkward like I was doing it backward, I forced myself to learn.

Earlier in the year, I had a crazy idea about writing a Rock opera. I submitted the proposal to my special studies advisor, Mr. Michaels, but he strongly recommended against it, saying that he didn’t want me to get overly ambitious and set me up to fail. But after that, it was a foregone conclusion that I would write a Rock opera, if for nothing else but to prove I could do it. Bart who played drums in the school jazz ensemble agreed to help me score the percussion since I didn’t know how to do that on sheet music.

I’m not sure whether it was he or I that came up with the idea, but since we both had a Senior English project due in the Spring that needed to have something to do with Beowulf, the Rock opera’s theme was established.

Although the other members of Thrush were lukewarm to the idea of learning the original music I was composing, especially since I was the only one in the band who could read sheet music, I promised to teach them and, gradually, they came around. Ever since our practice time was largely spent learning and rehearsing what I titled One Thane.

Starting out, I wrote lyrics for the melodies I composed. But during a break at one of our early rehearsals, Darren asked me, “If this thing is based on some kind of old poem, why don’t you just use that as your lyrics. I mean — it’s in a different language or something, right?”

“It’s in Old English, or at least that was how it was originally written. We’re studying a translation in class.”

“Is it hard to learn Old English?”

“I’m told it sounds a lot like German,” I said. “But I suppose I could learn it if I knew how to pronounce the words. In choir, we sing stuff all the time that’s written in Latin. We have to learn that phonetically. And I learned phonetics in speech class freshman year.”

“That’s how European bands learn to sing songs in English even though they have no friggin’ clue what they’re singing.”

“I think some of them know,” I said.

Anyway, he talked me into it. I asked my senior English teacher, Mrs. Hines for help with phonetics. From home, she brought a reference book she had since college that contained the epic poem in Old English with phonetic symbols included. With a little effort and practice, I taught myself how to pronounce the words in their original dialect — or at least close to it, assuming I still retained a bad modern American English accent.

It was around ten when I grabbed the makings of a quick sandwich from the refrigerator and sat down to lunch. Saturday morning was laundry day for my mom. It was also the day she went into South Charleston for groceries. So, I was waiting for her to get back home before I left, just because I felt better about her knowing when I left and where I was going.

“And you hate leaving notes.”

That was true.

While I was waiting, I thought of Dawn, wondering what she was doing — how far west she had made it. I opened my wallet and produced the magician’s business card, the one she had used to write a note on the back. Dad would wonder who called long distance to Pittsburgh, but here goes. I dialed.

It rang four times before a man picked up.

“Hi, I was wondering if Dawn is home.”

“Nothing ventured nothing gained.”

“Sure. Who can I say is calling?”

“What luck! She’s there?”

“Tell her Brent from Ohio.”

“Tell her Carlos from her dreams.”

In the background, I could hear rustling, footfalls on hardwood floors, and finally picking up the receiver. “Hello?”

“Dawn. You remember me?”

“Hey, Brent. I was wondering if you were ever going to call.”

“I figured you’d still be on tour with Marv.”

“Yeah, no, that fell through. I’m back home again, obviously.”

“Everything okay?”

“Yeah. I’m working a make-do job. You know how it is. But I’m looking for something better — like I always am. So, are you calling from home?”

“Yeah, my parent’s house. I’m still here until I start college. Maybe I’ll commute. I’m probably going to Wittenberg in Springfield.”

“That should be good for you.”

“Yeah. My sister goes there. It’s a good school. If you have a pad and pen, I can give you the number here.”

“Sure. Hang on.”

I waited for a few seconds.

“Okay, shoot.” I gave her the number and afterward, she read it back to me and I confirmed it for her.

“Great!”

“I was thinking we should stay in touch. You know?”

“Definitely. I’d like to hear how things go for you. And, if you’re ever over this way, just let me know. I’ll give you directions. We can have lunch, go see the sites, such that they are, or something like that.”

“Same if you’re over this way. We could do a movie and dinner, even.”

“Yeah. Hey, I know this is long distance for you and all. I appreciate you calling and letting me know… well, that you thought about me. That’s cool.”

“I’ve thought about you a lot.”

“There you go. That’s what she wanted to know. That’s what she wants to hear.”

“You have?”

“I wondered if you ever figured out what happened with that one trick…”

“About that, Brent. That was nothing I did, just so you know. I know about things like that. That had to be you, hon. However you did it, that was all you.”

“Have you ever heard of wolfcats?”

“Excellent question.”

There was silence on the other end of the line that extended until it became uncomfortable.

“You still there, Dawn?”

“Yeah. It’s just that took me a little by surprise. And I’m trying to think what to say, what can I say? Should we even be talking about this over the phone?”

“She knows.”

“You have heard, then?”

“Are you telling me… that you know what you are?” she asked.

“You knew?”

“Yes!”

“Of course, I did. We can read auras. You must have noticed mine.”

“I… I don’t know how. I’m kinda new to all this. But since you’re like me magical, maybe you can talk me through it?” I asked.

“All this puts a whole new spin on things,” Dawn said. “I was thinking you didn’t know yet. But I can handle you knowing and just not knowing the scope of it.”

“I’ve learned how to do some things, mostly by accident. But it scares me, so I don’t do it often.”

“Yeah, that’s not a good thing. You need to use it.”

“Tell him, sister!”

“Look, I need to be somewhere else,” Dawn said.

“I caught you at a bad time.”

“No, you misunderstand.”

“She can’t talk freely.”

“Your parents don’t know.”

“Absolutely,” she said. “I’ll call you, later. When’s a good time for you?”

“I should be home by eight.”

“Let’s make it nine, then, just to be sure. I’ll call you from my friend’s house. We’re going to do some things tonight.” Then after a pause, she whispered. “Special plans.”

“Her friend’s a witch.”

“Your friend’s a witch?”

“How’d you ever guess?”

“Nicely done!”

I wasn’t sure why it startled me. I should have expected it.

“Nine then?”

“Yeah, that will work well,” she said.

“I don’t have anyone to talk to about this.”

“I know how that feels, trust me.”

“I have a… I’m host to someone named Carlos.”

“That’s cool.”

“Two for the price of one. What a deal!”

“I’m not sure I understand the whole thing between us.”

“We can talk about that, too. I’ll call you.”

“Great. I’ll look forward to it.” And the phone disconnected.

“Well, that went extremely well. Bravo, Brent!”

“She’s a wolfcat, though. How did you know that?”

“You don’t know how to read auras, but I do.”

“Auras?”

“Everything has an aura — everything living, that is. The color tells you a lot about whatever it is and its relationship to everything else in nature. Also, how bright or dim the aura matters as well. The more brilliant…well, the brighter. How do you think that term came to relate to intelligence?”

The garage door opening rattled the house, just as it always did whenever it activated. Mom was home. I stuffed the rest of my sandwich into my mouth and chomped on it while I walked out to the garage to help her bring groceries inside. It was chilly in the breezeway between the house and the garage, making me wish I’d thrown on a coat. But it was too late. I was already there. Mom opened her trunk and I snatched up a couple of bags. She did the same and, after she closed her trunk, we carried the bags into the house.

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