Howard closed the front door behind him and headed to the bedroom. He slipped off his loafers and slacks, and hung the carefully folded pants on a varnished hanger. Still donning his black socks, he padded to the kitchen to mix a vodka and tonic: two ice cubes, a jigger and a half of vodka, freshly opened tonic water and two drops of Rose’s Lime Juice. He relaxed in his lounge chair, propped his feet on the footrest and turned on the local news. After the news, he mixed another drink and settled in for Wheel of Fortune. After that, he changed into sweatpants and an old t-shirt and make dinner.
Five nights a week for the past fifteen years this was Howard’s ritual. At the end of each workday, he’d reliably unwind by following the same steps every night. It helped him transition from his work life to his home life, and helped him to sleep soundly every night. Little did he know that ritual was about to upended.
Howard was a substitute teacher, and had a reputation for saying yes to any call. Preschool to high school, including Special Education, Alternative Schools, Religious Schools, Reform Schools and even occasional Community College work. Howard had no hesitation going into a hostile situation about which he knew little or nothing and patiently taking the insults and harassment without complaint. He was unflappable, but not because he didn’t care. He would do his best with every substitution gig, try to make sense of the lesson plan, and gamely soldier on with the kids razzing him without mercy.
The substitute teacher work was supposed to be a placeholder until he could land a permanent job, but as one year turned into two he found that he liked his interchangeable role. He would come to the rescue, keep the listing ship above water long enough for the captain to return (sometimes days, sometimes months) and then walk away a hero for having tried at all. No residual muss nor fuss.
The idea of working with the same class for nine months, dragging them through the prescribed curriculum, having to worry about test scores, departmental griping and high strung parents; it all seemed like too much. This way he was like a dragonfly, skating over the surface of the water, lightly touching down here and there, the ripples of his visit fading into nothing.
&&&
Ellen’s friends at work told her she had a lot to offer. But somehow, year after year, she was always passed over by suitors. No boyfriends in high school or college, and none since she started working in the accounting department at a local Dry Cleaning chain; “Sixteen Stores to Make You Look Your Best.” Hundreds of near misses populated her romantic history. If she was out with a group, people would gradually pair up and peel off, but Ellen would be left at the table, gamely sipping her melting ice trying to look upbeat and friendly. She’d had dates, a few one-night stands, some drunken trysts, but never got traction with anyone. She told her friends that she tried to focus on other things, to live her life and wait for love to find her, if it ever did. But in truth, she enjoyed the freedom of being unattached. She had a cat, which she loved, and which made few demands. Outside of work, her time was her own and she did not have to negotiate it with anyone. She wasn’t shy, so going to dinner parties, the movies, or other public events alone didn’t bother her. In fact, it was a conversation she had at a friend’s barbecue that led down an unexpected path.
“Wait, you fight for living?” Ellen asked.
“Not for a living yet, but I do get paid,” Bobby replied, his right cheek with stitches and fresh bruising around his eye and ear. “It’s mixed martial arts, and I fight on the weekends. I’ve become ranked, which means that I can qualify for prize money.”
“Doesn’t it hurt?”
“You get used to it. During the fight there’s really no pain because of the adrenalin, but the next day you wake up feeling like you’ve been dropped out the back of a plane.”
“Why do you do this to yourself? It sounds awful.” Ellen noted.
“When I was in the service we learned martial arts and I really took to it. I became an instructor, took more classes, and when I got out I kept at it.” Bobby was a fit and handsome thirty-seven, his nose mashed and ears a bit swollen, but with nicely chiseled features. Ellen didn’t notice any of that.
“Does it take long to learn? I mean, before you can get into a fight with someone?”
“Six months to a year before you’d be ready to fight a beginner match. The first time you fight someone is pretty overwhelming, even though you’ve been taking hits for months. Fighting a stranger is just not something a person usually does. There’s a women’s league, if you’re interested.”
Ellen signed up at Bobby’s gym and had her first fight after eight months of practice. She lost by decision, suffered three broken ribs and a partially torn ACL in her right knee. She was sore for a month, but anxious to go again. She started to go to the gym every day after work, sparring, working out, and improving her cardio. It became her ritual and she’d never felt happier. She stopped going on blind dates and rarely went out with co-workers. She had her cat and her fighting and she was happy.
&&&
Howard had finished a week at a reform school, covering for a teacher who had uterine polyps removed. The class was mostly inert, but one of the boys took a particular dislike to Howard. Devin was seventeen and in juvenile detention for theft, car jacking, assault and dealing weed. He called Howard names, which he ignored until he began to lose control of the room.
“Hey, Mr. Van-By-The-River, I think your ass is leaking from the fisting you took last night!” Devin called out from the back. Some of the other boys laughed along. Devin continued, “Those are some pretty sharp slacks you’ve got there! Are you dressed up for a for a fresh boy toy to bring back to your van? You pedophile loser!” The room was laughing, and Howard tried to gamely smile and roll with the insult saying, “Okay, let’s get back to the Roman Empire and some of the technology they used to set up camps and build cities, some of it is still standing today …”
Devin interrupted, “Romans! Those guys were banging little boys night and day from what I heard. That why you like them so much?”
Howard had been pointing at map projected on the wall, the wooden stick still in his hand as he walked to the back of the room and whipped it across Devin’s face. The sharp crack of it made everyone in the room jump, as a welt instantly rose across Devin’s cheek with just a bit of blood spotting out in a dotted line. Devin clutched his face and cowered as Howard held the pointer for another strike, but he stopped mid-swing.
“You’re dead,” Devin said, giving Howard a dead-eyed stare. Devin held up his phone, took Howard’s photo and texted it to someone.
Howard went back to his lesson, the class silent, trying to act normally and simply get the job done. Howard was scared. He’d never lost control like that before, and hitting a student was way outside the boundaries. Especially when it left an obvious mark. If he were being physically threatened, the administration would certainly allow him to defend himself. In this instance, Howard had simply reached his limit and wanted to punish a little prick that had it coming.
Howard finished the day and told the principal he would not be able to come back the following week due to a family emergency. He drove home, parked under the shade of his numbered slot in the carport at his apartment complex and felt a bit better. As he closed the door, someone standing at the back of his car said, “Hello Howard.”
It was a weedy man in his late twenties; toothless with a shaved head and tattoos covering his neck, arms, and torso. He was tall, a bit over six feet, with a significant slump and seemed made of muscle and sinew. He had two others with him: a Samoan-looking man who was as wide as he was tall, and a much older man with long gray hair and a long beard, a bandanna tied over his head and wrap-around sunglasses masking his expression.
“My brother sent me a text from school today. Said you weren’t very nice to him. Why weren’t you nice to Devin Howard?”
Howard could feel his heart throbbing in his chest.
“I don’t want any trouble. I made a mistake, and I’m sorry. I just want to go to my apartment.”
“You made a mistake alright,” Devin’s brother signaled for the other men to surround Howard. “We’ll start with your face, like with Devin, and then work our way down.”
As the men closed in on Howard, he cried out “Help! Please help me!”
“Hey! What’s going on here? What are you trying to do to this guy?” Ellen said, as she stepped out of her car. She lived in the same complex as Howard and although they had passed each other many times they had never spoken.
“None of your business, sweet tits. And Howard, you little bitch, you better shut up or this is going to go even worse than you think.”
Ellen leapt at Devin’s brother, landing a blow to side of his knee snapping it instantly. As he went down she spun around, kicking him in the head and knocking him unconscious. The other two men came after her and with four quick blows they were too were out cold.
“Are you okay?” Ellen asked Howard, who was growing paler by the second. “You better sit down.” She eased Howard to the ground, leaning him against his car. As she did so, Devin’s brother woke, reached into his pants and pulled out a gun. He started to raise his arm and Ellen grabbed his wrist and punched him in the throat. He choked, and started to fall again, trying to catch himself with his hand still on the gun. He shot the ground and the bullet ricocheted into his belly. A pool of dark blood quickly grew under him. Howard’s eyes rolled back in his head as he slumped the ground.
&&&
Howard woke in a strangely familiar apartment. He was on the couch, a pillow under his head and a blanket over him. He knew the apartment, but all the furniture was different. He looked around as saw Ellen working in the kitchen.
“Feeling better?” she asked.
“I think so. Where am I?”
“My apartment. I figured someone should keep an eye on you, so you’ve been sleeping it off on the couch.”
“What happened?”
“The less you know the better. Believe me. Who were those guys anyway?”
“The brother of one of my students and his friends, I guess. Did that guy shoot himself?”
“As I said, the less you know the better. Let’s just say that none of them will ever bother you again, or anyone else. Trust me, I know the type; they won’t be missed. Are you hungry? Do you think you can eat?”
“Um, yeah. I’m hungry. I can eat.”
“Good. I made spaghetti, simple but delicious. I’m having some wine but you should probably stick to water.”
“Sorry. I’m not really used to situations like that.”
“Don’t give it another thought. Nobody should ever get used to things like that. But lucky for you I was in the right place at the right time. Do you want some bread?”
Ellen and Howard chatted easily over dinner, which finished with Haggen Dazs ice cream bars.
As he was leaving, Howard said, “Thanks again for all your help, and the dinner. I really appreciate it.”
“No problem.”
“Ellen, would you like to go out to dinner sometime, or maybe a movie?”
“Let’s do both.” Ellen handed Howard a slip of paper with her phone number and he walked spritely back to his apartment.