If I Should Fall: The Second Book of Geshichte Falls

ENTER MARK YOUNG

CONCLUSION

Decius Branch was dressed for what he called a Big Day. While most days he wore anything from the standard black pants and black shirt of a priest to a tired old casual suit or even jeans and a dress shirt, today he sailed about the art room majestically with his usual scowl, but in a black robe and scapular, with billowing sleeves and the old silver cross around his neck. The boys of OLM knew as much about the running of a religious congregation as any group of high school boys would know or care about. They knew that over Dean Meriwether who was just an ordinary man, was the Principal, Father Lukas, or maybe he was under him, it was hard to tell. And then they knew that Father Branch cared to do nothing more than teach art, but that he was the superior of all the priests and brothers who ran the school so, quiet as it was kept, the boss of the boss of the boss. The boys were…. Different today. Something must be going on.

“I’m just going to ask what’s wrong?” the priest demanded. “You all aren’t nearly as irritating as usual and that’s never a good sign.”

Some of the boys gave half hearted chuckles. They knew there were people who smiled and you could never trust them, whose smiles never lasted very long and whose tempers were short. Decius Branch was the opposite, always ferocious, often sarcastic and yet utterly trustworthy, all bark, and it was easy to imagine a lot of bite for the wrong people, but rarely for his students. He was “the one who ran things” but never called it to attention.

The senior boys were almost embarrassed to talk about Mr. Bukowski’s class, but Nate Turner did, and Father Branch, standing by an easel, nodded while they limply talked around their atheism in the presence of the priest they respected.

“I wish you all would stop looking at me,” Mark said.

“No one’s looking at—” Nate dropped that. It was a complete lie. The whole reason Jim had been sent away was because he’d brought up Mark and the car accident.

“He didn’t have to say that,” Mark said. “He didn’t have to call me out in front of the whole class.”

“No one’s calling you out,” Nate frowned. “You went through something and—”

“And you didn’t,” Mark said, and unfolding himself from his seat,, Mark rose and left the classroom.

Father Branch, eyebrow raised, braced himself when the door slammed.

“This,” he said, “may be a day when we talk instead of…. Paint.”

This did not have the usual loud applause, but head nods and Nate said, “Are you gonna check on Mark?”

“I’m going to let Mark sort himself out,” Father Branch said, “And then I’m going to check on Mark.”

The quiet hallway of the fourth floor had nothing else but the chapel, a supply room, old offices and the balcony looking down four stories that watched the stairwell turn in right angles down to the main lobby. As Father Branch went out into it, he warned:

“Remember, I’m right on the other side of the door, and if it gets crazy I’ll have your bones for Communion bread.”

He swished out into the hall, closing the door and sat down beside the miserable Mark.

“I’m sorry for being such a jerk,” Mark said.

“You think I haven’t seen worse in twenty-five years?”

“I thought you’d been here thirty years?”

“Shut up, Mark.”

Then, Decius said, “Seriously, talk to me.”

Mark would have almost been glad to shut up, and had cracked a smile at the middle aged priest being his grumpy self.

He shrugged, more to make the words come up than anything else.

“I’m so mad, Father. And sometimes, sometimes I keep it under control. But… And why did Jim have to bring me up?”

“Because Jim is your friend. Because these boys are all your friends. Because you are one of the most popular boys in your class and everyone worries about you.”

“I don’t need anyone to worry about me. I’m alive.”

Father Branch knew better than to protest. He was quiet a while and then he said, “You went through a lot. We all went through a lot. But you went through so much. And I bet you haven’t even talked to anyone about it.”

Mark turned his face away. He started to talk, but stopped. He started again.

“You know why people like me?”

The priest said nothing.

“Cause I don’t call attention to myself. I smile. I laugh. I hold it together. I’m a good guy. That’s why people like me. I’m not trying to …” emotion overcame Mark, but he shook it off, “I’m not trying to do that.”

“That?”

“Be weird. Get all emotional.”

“You know one day you’re going to have to let down that golden boy mask and let someone in.”

“Joe,” Mark said shortly.

“Joe knew me, And Joe’s gone And….. Fuck God. Fuck him.”

Mark’s hand pounded the wall in a rage that caught him unaware.

“I’m sorry, Father—”

Decius Branch hugged Mark quickly, and Mark began to sob. It was hard and ugly and didn’t last long, and the priest patted the boy’s back and then he said:

“Look at the two of us, acting like we have emotions.”

Mark’s face was red and his eyes were too.

“Why don’t you go wash your face and….”

“Get my mask back on,” Mark wiped the back of his hand across his face, snuffling snot.

“Yes, Mark.

“You know, you can go home for the day. We’re between classes, no one’s in the halls. You can pack up and go and it’ll be alright.”

“I’m good,” Mark said, but his voice was still filled emotion.

“Fine, but if you’re not—”

“I’m good.”

Mark stood up, shaking himself. Still a little wrecked, he turned around and said:

“I do take it off. The mask. For the right people. It does come off.”

 

Once again, Gilead Story found himself doing things that made him feel foolish because it seemed like those things were the right things to do. Russell was waiting for him, and they were on their way to Chayne’s, but Gilead waited at his locker while Dan Soldener and all of his other friends were talking to Mark, and then, when they were gone—Gilead had half feared and half hoped that Mark would go off with them—he cleared his throat and went down the hall to his wavy haired, peat eyed study buddy.

“Stud-dy Bud-dy, what can I do you for?”

Gilead wondered if he looked as stupid as he suddenly felt.

“What?” Mark raised an eyebrow.

“I…. don’t want to overstep.”

“You’re Gilead Story, you overstep all the time. You’ve been overstepping since K through 8.”

“You didn’t know me in K through 8.”

“Of course I did, moron,” Mark smiled out of the corner of his small mouth. “Now, what’s up?”

“Uh… I heard about…. Things today, and… I just… Are you alright? Sorry, none of my business, you look plenty, alright I’ll be on my way.”

“Gil!” Mark said.

“Yes.”

“Gil,” Mark said, looking at him directly. “Thank you. Alright? Thank you. I’m…”

“Fine?”

“That would be a lie,” Mark grinned darkly, taking a hand through his hair.

“Gil.”

“Yes.”

“I… I’m not good with…”

“Feelings.”

“I’m not good with me,” Mark said frankly. “I’m not good with being me. I’m not good with having friends.”

“You have tons of friends.”

“Don’t act fifty IQ points dumber than you are,” Mark said, irritated. “You know what I mean. So… thank you, for being my friend. Okay? For asking. For… I honestly didn’t think it would matter to you.”

“Of course it…. I mean, you’re a person. And… Apparently I’m not good at being me, either.”

“No,” Mark said, shutting his locker and shifting his gym bag over his shoulder.

“You’re actually very good at being you, and good at being a friend. I’ve seen it. I… am lucky if you think we’re friends too.”

Not looking at Gilead, but at his locker, Mark continued.

“I would like you to be patient with me and my awkwardness cause…. I let my guard down for not a lot of people, and I would like you to be one of those people.”

“Sure,” Gilead said. “I mean, if you can be patient with me.”

“Uh, you coming to the track mete this Saturday?”

“I’m not on the track team.”

Mark burst out laughing.

“God, Gil!”

“You’re inviting me. To… of course,” Gilead said. “Cause you’re on the track team. Yeah.”

“Yeah, Gil,” Mark said, nodding and smiling and feeling happy for the first time that day, “Yeah, Gil, I’m on the track team.”

“I will get Russell and see if he wants to hang out with me and we can…. Cheer for you or…. Whatever.”

“Gilead Story, I think I would like that very much. I’ll even run a lap for you.”

“But I thought we all knew this,” Anigel said, crushing out her cigarette.

“But we hadn’t formally announced it,” Rob said as he put out the plates..

Anigel shrugged while Gilead, crossing his arms over his chest and cocking his head, said “So you…. And Chayne?”

“Yup,” Rob said, handing him the lemonade. “Now pour the drinks.”

“That was the shortest, most unheralded announcement I’ve heard about any relationship,” Gilead Story said.

“Well, I’m just glad it’s not because I wasn’t pretty enough,” Jill said.

“What are we supposed to do now?” Gilead asked. “Are we supposed to keep it secret, or should I tell Mom. Or what?”

“You can do whatever you want to do,” Chayne shrugged. He looked to Rob who was tossing the salad and said, “That is what we decided, right?”

“I think so,” Rob, looked unbothered.

He brought the salad to the table and said, “Look, I’m not trying to make a statement. I’m just… I want to be with Chayne and we’re happy together.”

“I think that was your statement,” Anigel said.

Rob was red and even Chayne looked a little embarrassed, so Russell shouted, “Jason Lorry is my boyfriend.”

“What the fuck?” Anigel said.

“Thunder stealer,” Chayne said, though, as he went to the stove to take the last piece of chicken from the skillet, he was relieved the focus was no longer on him.

“I,” Russell said, slowly, “am with…. Jason Lorry.”

“That names sounds familiar,” Anigel said.

“He’s friends with Ralph.”

“Not exactly friends,” Gilead said, “But—”

“Oh, the Indian boy.”

“Half Indian.”

“Whatever. He’s fine, Russell. Kind of dumb, but fine.”

“Thank you?” Russell said.

Not to be outdone, or embarrassed alone, Russell said, “And Gilead’s got Mark Young.”

“What!” Gilead and Chayne said together.

“He’s like a boyfriend.”

“No, he’s not.”

“He’s at least an admirer.”

Gilead scowled and took a drumstick.

“I don’t know what he is, but don’t you go starting rumors.”

“This is so exciting,” Jill said. “The Nineties started out like bullshit, but by the time the new millennium comes, we’ll all be gay!”

They looked at Jill doubtfully, and Russell said, “Well, I’m still in high school, and it’s not 2000 yet, so what I just said is pretty much staying in this kitchen, by which I mean, not on 1735 Breckinridge.”

“No,” Chayne decided, “that might not be a good idea.”

“I told Dad,” Russell said.

“Thom?” Chayne said, as if Russell had another.

“Yes. But… I want some things to be mine. For now.”

Nodding, Chayne said, “Of course.”