The Truth
by
Josie M. Fisher
I woke up, confused and in pain. I was alone, and I didn’t know where I was, or why. All I knew was that my stomach ached and my throat was on fire. The last thing in my memory was sitting and talking with a boy I had just met. I remembered feeling a little fuzzy, and then, there was nothing. That was the most frightening part; something had happened to me, and I had no idea what it was. When the doctor came in, he told me that I had been drugged. The drug is one of a group called amnesiacs; it had wiped my memory completely.
I’ve been scared before, and I’ve felt alone. My mother was diagnosed with cancer last October, and in order to get her into a special treatment program, we left Indiana and moved to Sleepyside, NY. We left the only home I had ever known, our family and all of the friends I had grown up with. It was during Christmas break that we moved, and Mom was sick. At my new school, the students were already secure in their groups, and I felt as if there wasn’t any room for me. I was an outsider. That was lonely. On the home front, Dad was working double shifts to pay for Mom’s treatment, and our expenses. The treatment Mom was getting made her desperately weak and deathly ill. There were days when she could barely move. I truly worried that she was dying. That was the ultimate in scary.
So, you can see that I am no stranger to scared and alone. In the hospital, I moved quickly past being afraid, and directly into being angry. I begged a pen and notebook from a nurse, and wrote scathing editorials, pouring out my feelings toward the miscreant who had caused me such trouble. I even took my frustration out on the one person who had made an effort to be my friend: Dan Mangan.
Dan arrived with a reputation. Rumors pegged him as a former gang member who had fallen into a better situation, but still maintained an air of bad boy mystique. When we first met, I acted like an idiot, and he still treated me with kindness and respect. He came to see me while I was in the hospital, and I accused him of drugging me for nefarious purposes. I was wrong, and I was fortunate; Dan didn’t hold my accusations against me. Instead, he was understanding, and he offered to help me find the culprit.
This brought me to the Bob-Whites. The Bob-Whites are supposed to be a semi-secret club, but everyone knows of them. There are seven of them: Jim Frayne, Honey Wheeler, Brian, Mart and Trixie Belden, Diana Lynch and Dan Mangan. They have quite the reputation for good deeds and mystery solving. I had seen them. I even had classes with two of them, but their close knit group, although friendly, made me hesitate to approach them. Dan provided me entry into their group, and I have no regrets.
They welcomed me. My opinions were listened to and respected. The girls came to my house and my sister and I never once felt like outsiders. We brainstormed. We deduced. We came up with a plan. This plan is what led me to B.J.
***
B.J. McClendon is an eighth grade student. Until last summer, he was known as Benny, a member of a New York City street gang called The Cowhands. When his older half-brother went to prison, B.J.’s mother, an alcoholic, drank herself to death and B.J. found himself in the custody of the State of New York.
B.J. was fortunate. His father was contacted and came for him, bringing B.J. to start a new life here in Sleepyside. B.J. took well to his new life. Safely ensconced with his father and grandmother, he started school here in Sleepyside and was doing quite well. The one thing he did religiously, was avoid Dan Mangan, the one person who had known him in his previous life.
But, for some people, life is not that easy. B.J. was grabbed one afternoon by members of his old gang. They wanted to use him to get to Dan. When B.J. refused, the gang members beat up on him. When he still refused, they threatened his newfound family. Faced with the threat of violence toward his grandmother, and the potential loss of his home, B.J. gave in to the gang’s demands.
The Spring Dance at Sleepyside High was the chosen venue. As a member of the Eighth grade Leadership Committee, B.J. volunteered to serve at the dance. The gang leader gave him a bottle of clear liquid and told him to use it to spike the punchbowl. B.J. did not know what was in the bottle. He assumed, incorrectly, that it was alcohol. Afraid, but not wanting to do serious harm, he did not dump it into the bowl as ordered. Instead, he dosed about a dozen cups, figuring that a few drops per glass of punch would not harm anyone.
But it wasn’t alcohol in that bottle. It was a powerful mix of two drugs. Drugs that cause disorientation and amnesia, nausea and shortness of breath. Twenty-three students ended up at the hospital that night. I was one of them. Nine of us were admitted for treatment, because of our severe reaction to the amount of drugs ingested. Luckily, all of the afflicted recovered.
By the time school started on Monday, B.J. was overwhelmed by guilt, and terrified. The police were looking for a poisoner, and Derek, the gang leader was extremely unhappy that B.J. had failed in his assignment.
Through a process of elimination, the Bob-Whites and I narrowed our list of suspects down to four people, one of which was B.J. McClendon. We split into pairs, each pair taking one of our suspects. I was teamed up with Dan, and we drew B.J. We tracked him down on Thursday, and confronted him. As soon as Dan recognized him, B.J. willing confessed to the whole thing. Principal Stratton informed the police, and they agreed to let B.J. turn himself in. Trixie Belden and I accompanied B.J. on his walk to the police station, and that is when things became really dangerous.
***
Four members of the Cowhands snatched us, literally, off the street as we walked to the police station. We were dragged down alleyways and into a filthy rat-hole of a house on South Hawthorne Street. The whole thing was surreal. What was even stranger, was watching shy, timid little B.J. metamorphose into a hero.
The gang members were not gentle. They tossed Trixie and I around as if we were rag dolls. B.J. protested, only to be slapped down. I antagonized the leader, Derek, and he hit me. B.J. took him down, despite the difference in size, turning the violence from me, and onto himself.
As things grew more tense, B.J. grew calmer and more focused. I can still smell the rotting garbage; I remember the saggy cushions and poking springs of the couch on which I sat, and the greasy-gummy feel of the floor beneath my feet. I can hear Derek swearing at B.J., calling him worthless and weak, tearing him down with every breath. B.J. appeared defeated, but it was a ruse. He was working on an escape plan, but not for himself. He signaled to Trixie, she interpreted it, and informed me. It was beautifully planned and executed. At the moment we made our mad dash for the door, B.J.-- all five feet four inches, barely one hundred pounds of him--launched himself at the remaining gang members, distracting them and allowing Trixie and I to make our escape.
Unbeknownst to us, the Bob-Whites had notified the police, while Dan Mangan and Jim Frayne followed to keep an eye on things. Trixie and I ran directly into the boys as we left the house, and were immediately taken to safety by the police surrounding the building. From the safety of a police car, we watched as the police swarmed the house and captured the gang, leading them out one by one. B.J. did not appear. In his valiant attempt to free us, B.J. was badly beaten, his injuries causing him to have a severe asthma attack. He spent the next three days in the hospital. The same hospital in which I had awakened the previous week, alone, in pain, and frightened.
Full circle.
I began writing while in the hospital. I was furious. I wanted to find the person who had hurt me, and tear him or her to pieces. I found him, but I no longer want to make him suffer; he already has.
I said that I knew loneliness and fear. This is true, but I have never known it to the extent of people like B.J. McClendon. I have never spent the day wondering if there would be food to eat or a place to sleep. I haven’t lived on baloney sandwiches and warm cherry Kool-Aid for weeks at a time, wondering if the next words out of my mouth would get me beaten, exiled, or even killed. I have never been forced to choose between doing something wrong and having my life and that of those I love destroyed.
My parents are alive, and love me without conditions. I have a comfortable home and plenty of healthy food. I might sometimes be lonely, but I have only to turn to my family, and I am surrounded by their love and support. This is so much more than many ever have.
B.J. said something that stuck with me. When Derek, the gang leader, had B.J. by the throat, calling him worthless, telling him that his loyalty was to the gang, his job to help them force Dan back into the gang, B.J. held his ground. He quietly said, “You can beat me up, you can even kill me; but you can’t force me back into the gang, and you can’t force Dan either. We aren’t alone anymore, not either one of us. We don’t need the gang to belong.”
So simple, yet so profound. We all long to be a part of something, to belong. We are so afraid to be alone, that we will take acceptance at almost any price; even at the expense of our conscience and humanity. It is odd though, that once we experience true acceptance, the kind where we are loved not for what we can do, but just because we are, belonging takes on a whole new meaning.
I belong. I have my family and my friends, both old and new. Many of you who are reading this, also belong. We are the fortunate ones, whether we know it or not. Look around. Reaching out to another person sometimes can take us beyond our comfort zone, but it can also be most rewarding. This is the truth I have learned in the last week; open your heart, open your mind, and reach out to those you might not otherwise notice. The life that is saved may be your own.
***
Chewing on his lip, he slipped the papers into the large manilla envelope and sealed it. She was going to be angry when she found out what he had done, of that much, he was certain. He could only hope that if she did find out, she would be so happy with the result, that she would forgive him. Maybe. Hopefully.
***
