Gabriel slid into the seat next to Antonio, and they took off downtown. “I’m glad you came with me, Randy. You have the opportunity now to help yourself and hopefully help others in the future.” White teeth flashed in the dim interior of the van. “The first step is the hardest, isn’t it? But it’s all worth it in the end.”
The warmth of the heater finally began to penetrate his wet clothes, yet Brandon shivered. The enormity of the second chance he was being offered overwhelmed him. If these men had faith in him, there was nothing he couldn’t accomplish. Could he do it? Could he start over again and achieve his dreams?
As Gabriel spoke, Brandon forgot his wet clothes and empty stomach and listened.
* * * *
Present day
Most people loved the rain. They waxed poetic about its warmth and how it cleansed them, making everything seem fresh and new. Brandon, remembering many nights spent hungry, wet, and miserable, hated it. There was nothing fresh and beautiful about soaking-wet clothes and feet. As he walked outside PS 100, also known as the JFK School of Urban Development, Brandon grimaced, glancing up at the sheets of water pouring from the gray, forbidding sky. It splashed down onto the already streaming streets, creating puddles that made it almost impossible to navigate crossing at each corner.
Brandon pulled his hood over his head and narrowed his eyes, attempting to calculate when the light would change so he could make a mad dash for the subway station. He hefted his backpack on his shoulder, wondering why it was so light.
“Damn.” A quick glance inside it proved his fear correct. He’d left his laptop in his classroom. Well, he had to go back for it. Even though the rooms were locked, he couldn’t leave it there overnight until he returned tomorrow. He gave a rueful glance up at the dark sky. Maybe by the time he’d come back out, the rain would have slowed.
Look on the bright side, Brandon. That’s what you’ve learned in the past seven years.
The swarms of children exiting the school had diminished by this time. A few remained behind for after-school programs and clubs, but most couldn’t wait to leave and go home to watch TV, have playdates, and hopefully do their homework. Brandon hadn’t been at this school long, only about three months, but already he loved everything about his teaching assignment.
After he graduated college, he’d applied for the Teaching Collaborative program and was accepted. There he was able to partner with a mentor teacher and work as an apprentice in one of the city’s highest-need areas. It was a hands-on, practical program that allowed him to work directly with an experienced teacher and the students, and after eight months he’d received his teaching degree. Paying it forward, helping the ones who needed it so desperately had been his mantra for the past seven years, since Gabriel found him cowering in that doorway. Tears burned behind his eyes as he remembered the man who’d changed his life, and how he’d died from a heart attack without any warning.
After Gabriel’s death, Brandon had dedicated himself with a single-minded purpose to making something of himself. To making Gabriel proud. To proving he could fulfill his lifetime dream.
He loved his third graders. They were so sweet, eager to learn, and still able to see beauty in the world around them. Brandon wanted to gather them all in his arms and protect them from what he knew waited to hurt them outside. They deserved everything good the world had to offer. Safety, stability, and hope. Everything he’d never had, Brandon was determined to give his kids.
Upon reentering the building, the absolute stillness in the air amazed him. There were no children’s voices echoing off the cement walls or bells sounding in the hallways. Though the staff attempted to liven up the walls by placing children’s artwork throughout the building, it couldn’t hide the overall institutional atmosphere of the hulking brick-and-cement building.
Brandon took the stairs to the second floor, where his classroom was located. He tested the doorknob, glad to see it hadn’t been locked yet, which would have necessitated a trip to the custodian to get the keys. Two students sat in the back of the classroom; they jumped up when he entered the room. A book clattered to the floor between them.
“Hey, guys. What’re you two doing here after school?” Brandon knew these two kids, even though they weren’t his students. Best friends and equally studious, they had each other’s backs and stood up to the taunts and teasing from the other kids who made fun of them for getting good grades and being bookish. The tall boy’s name was Wilson, the shorter and more slightly built boy was Dwayne.
“Sorry, Mr. Gilbert.” Wilson bent to pick up the book. “We were going over the reading assignment Mrs. Forsch gave us.”
Every student should be like these two. “No problem. What are you reading?”
Wilson showed him the book. “The Three Musketeers.”
Brandon stomach twisted. The name Luke and Ash had always called the three of them. “One for all and all for one, huh?”
“Yeah.” Dwayne glanced at him. “You all right, Mr. Gilbert? Your face looks kind of funny.”
Brandon forced a weak smile. “I’m fine. You guys should go on home.”
They grabbed their backpacks and left the classroom.
To his immense relief, he found his laptop in the desk drawer where he’d left it. With his starting salary, he could ill afford to replace it.
For a second he stood at the front of the classroom, his mind spinning back in time. Of his oldest brother, Ash, he had only a hazy memory of a tall skinny boy with black hair, silver eyes, and a sad smile. Brandon never understood why one day Ash was there, tucking him into bed after reading him a bedtime story, and the next he was gone. After several weeks of them both waiting for Ash to return, Luke told him to forget him, Ash was never coming back, and held Brandon tight as he cried.
It had been over fifteen years since Ash left, and Brandon barely remembered him now. But Luke? Losing Luke crushed him. Brandon had never forgotten that awful night of screams and chaos. And in the morning, Brandon was gone, speeding off to a new life, with never another mention of the brother he’d left behind. Any questions he had about Luke were answered with a backhand to the face or a belt across his back.
Brandon long suspected his foster father had abused Luke somehow; Munson delighted in hitting Brandon on occasion, but his real violence was saved for his poor foster mother. There were many nights Brandon spent hearing Munson yelling at her for a perceived wrong he thought he suffered at work that he blamed her for, or for something so small as dinner being late. His mother would go silent; then Munson would leave the house, stomping out his fury, and drive away, tires spinning on the gravel.
In the morning his mother would show up in the kitchen to give him breakfast, and Brandon would pretend not to see the fresh bruises on her arms or legs. When he grew older he’d told her he’d report Munson to the authorities, but she balked and refused to admit it, claiming she’d hurt herself.
Brandon blinked, returning to the present. Those times might have been from another world. He’d long since made peace in his heart that he’d never see his brothers again. And while his life was far from perfect, neither did he live in the blackness that had surrounded him on the fateful night Gabriel found him. In the years since, he’d gone to college, gotten a job, and even had his one and only love affair, so to speak.
A slight smile crossed his lips. Zach had been goofy and fun, but it was nothing more than two friends coming together to stave off their mutual loneliness. There’d been no grand passion, no thoughts of anything permanent between them. When Zach told him one night as they lay in bed that he’d accepted a job in Florida, Brandon wished him well and kissed him good-bye, regretting only that he was losing a friend, not a lover.
