An Account of a Crime

Dear Jack,

Here is a piece I wrote that is autobiographical. It retells the story of a choir event from high school that ended badly, and has deeply effected me. The retelling, although several years later, is accurate to my accounting with little embellishment.

I like to sing, although I’m not all that good at it. I like to think I have some talent, but really I can’t stand the way I sound. Yet strangely enough Ms. Dean had asked me to be one of the two tenors to represent our school chorus at the district honor’s festival. Even though I was certain I did not sing well, I still had a hint of pride that made me glow with a sort of self-righteous fire of superiority that accompanied me on the trip there. Altogether there were about 20 of us from the choir going; all on a big smelly school bus headed for Decatur. We left school a little after lunch. I sat in the back of the bus with the rest of the guys and altos. I expected this day to be like any other day.

Riding on a bus with a bunch of choir people is a very different experience from riding the bus with non singers. First of all, aside from the lack of the usual fighting and fussing, paper balls and cussing, we sing. I mean we start with Veggie Tale tunes and go as far as six part canons we learned in middle school. Anyone passing would think we’re crazy, and in fact half the people we do pass give us weird looks. The first person to pass us was this guy driving his black mustang without a shirt. Of course the girls noticed him first--he was well built, and self-confident enough to drive through metro Atlanta that way. Kristin, probably the biggest flirt in choir not to mention the most obnoxious and funny, pulled her window down and waved at him.

“Hey hottie! I like your... car.” He winked back of course. “Aw, man... he’s turned left. The next vehicle to pass was a group of guys in a little Mazda...almost following Kristin‘s “hottie”. Thomas, who is sitting in front of me, saw them. Thomas, and I do not usually get a long all the time. He is a trouble maker, and I don’t like how he never takes singing seriously. I take singing very seriously, and am not all that good. He hardly puts any effort and sounds wonderful.

“Talk about some obvious fudge packers.” And with a tactful voice, he screamed it out Kristin’s window, just loud enough for them to hear it.

“What the hell are you doing Thomas?” Kristin, pulled the window up just in time, for as she finished clicking the window into its closed position, it was splashed by hand cream that the Mazda men have squirted on the bus as they passed.

“Told you...who else would have lubricant.” Obnoxious laughs started with him and spread across the bus.

Brian and Adam were sitting behind me. Brian, is a sophomore; a little conceited, and certain that he is cool. He sings tenor with me, and we tend to joke about my weight, and his lack of weight--he is sort of lanky. Adam is a bass. He is also a senior. He and I probably get along the best in our little group.

“Hey do you guys know Red Moon Rising?” Brian, always into the oldies. Of course we did. Thus we joined in bits of words and mumble as the song takes shape, each of us laughing at the innovations we make when we don’t know the words. In that moment of humor and singing, I felt at ease, not worried about the problems in my life, nor the problems in my friends’ lives--just content with life, and oblivious to the future.

Through the course of the day, Thomas, Brian, Adam, and I discussed the possibility of spending the night together.

“Ya’ll can stay at my house--my mom won’t mind,” Thomas.

“Yeah but you live farther away from the school... we’ll have to get up earlier to be there on time,” spouts Brian, always looking for the most sleep he can get.

“Yeah but your mom can be a real... I don’t have to say it... everyone else knows...you are a life like Kyle and your mom fulfills her role.” Adam usually speaks in clauses... but due to his obsession with South Park, he really doesn’t make much sense.

“Regardless, if we stay at Thomas’ house, you can drive us to school and our parents won’t have to deal with it.” This is of course my logical interjection...probably what keeps people thinking I’m a nerd.

We don’t usually hang out that much, so it seemed like a good chance for us to grow closer. My mom and Adam’s mom did not have any hang ups, but Brian’s mother had to be convinced that we would behave. Thomas’ mother liked the idea, and volunteered her house for our sleep over.

Adam drove me and Brian, and Thomas rode with his mother. I was shocked when we got to their house. They were the dirtiest people I had ever seen. They had a leaning tower of dishes at the sink, and a cat clawing at the droplets of water coming out of the faucet. I could feel the filth and fleas in the room. I tried to make the best of things, but then Thomas’ mother lit up a cigarette. I cannot stand the smell of cigarettes, but being a guest, I just smiled, and breathed through my coat lapel. On the little TV was some movie about a guy who is killed because he wants to leave a gang. I don’t find it the most entertaining show, so I sit and stare at the surroundings, thinking of other stuff we could do, like play a game. Then I saw the monopoly board.

We played monopoly until about 11:30. About that time, Thomas’ mother came in and said, “Looks like we’ll have to go to Wal-Mart, Thomas’ dress pants have rip in them.” What a time to go, I thought--at midnight. “I only have a room for one person. Adam, you‘ll have to drive James and Brian.”

We climbed into Adam’s little Honda. Let me describe this Honda. It consists of three seats, a driver’s seat, a passenger’s seat, and a part of the back bench seat for one more passenger. The rest of the seat is covered with books, McDonald’s bags, clothes, shoes, dress clothes, a twelve pack of Dr. Pepper, and a carton of Marlboro Reds. The cigarettes shock me, as I did not know that Adam smoked,

“I didn‘t know you smoked, Adam.”

“Nah man, I don‘t...those are my father‘s...so is all that other stuff. Sometimes he sleeps out here.” Neither Brian or I dared inquire why.

We arrived at Wal-Mart around 12:15. For the time, it is surprisingly busy. Adam, Brian, and I shuffle into the entrance by the garden supplies, while Thomas and his mother head towards the main department store entrance. Adam and Brian, in their usual way which makes me wonder if they are really high-schoolers, drag me to the toy department to look at remote control cars. I try to appease them and act cool by suggesting different cars that they would like to look at. Finally, they decide upon two corvettes. Adam’s is red, and Brian’s is black. I of course would not buy either, and would prefer to go back to Thomas’ and get back to monopoly. They got in line to pay for their toys, and I went to find Thomas and his mother, to tell them that we were heading back so they could play with their new toys in their driveway. As I am walking, I accidentally ran into a kid named Chris Greenwood. I have tried to be nice to this kid before, but for some reason, I am a target of most of his jokes.

“Hey faggot, what are you doing here. This is my territory... I’d watch my back.” He backs me down an aisle. I have no idea what I ever did to him, yet I am faced with the usual Chris--a Chris who has no sense of who I am, or wants to accept the fact that I am not gay, and am not at odds with him. For some reason he does not have a tolerance for me. I am not an odd person, as far as I can see. Yet I try to be hospitable, and courteous.

“Sorry Chris. Didn‘t mean to run into you...gotta go...see you in...class.” I ran very cautiously towards Thomas and his mother, sparing not a second to contemplate why this guy has this hostility towards me. I told them our plans about going back to their house and waiting for them; with only a slight hint of hesitation she agreed; and I headed back to Adam and Brian who were waiting for me on the other side of the check out line.

It was a cold night. When we had entered Wal-Mart I had not realized how cold it was, but now as we left and I could see the orange glow of the street lights illuminate the coming fog, I felt a chill of expectancy, and fear run through my body. We got back to Adam’s car, got in, and waited as he turned the ignition. It wouldn’t start. He tried again.... same response. A Third time... it started.

“We’ll let it warm up before we head out, meanwhile we can get the cars working,” said Adam in his usual authoritative manner. Great. Just what I wanted to do, sit and wait in the cold for them to figure out how to play with child toys. I didn’t say a word about it. I must admit that I could see why they liked the cars, Adam had his car we sat in, and Brian didn’t have a car, thus these toys represented not only the youth in them, but also the desire of the future, to have a car like the ones they were playing with. I sat there pondering this thought, and noticed a scuffle along the wall at Wal-Mart.

“Check this out,” I said, “Looks like someone’s getting beat up.” Three guys were pushing some other guy around. I know he got slammed into the concrete wall, and then they started kicking him. Another guy joined in. I hoped to help the guy being brutalized. Nope. He took a shopping cart and, lifted it over his head, and slammed it down on the guy.

“Shit! He didn’t!” Brian.

“We ought to stop this,” responded Adam. He honks his horn, and flashes the lights. A lot of good that’s going to do. The victim of this beating was able to get up. The four guys still surrounded him, and he too off. He raced towards US. Running, holding his side, letting the blood flow down his face and fall into the wind and mist. One pursued him. As the victim nearly reached our car, he stopped, to catch his breathe. The other caught up with him, they were eight feet in front of the car. He grabbed the victim, and twisted him around. Another scuffle--struggle--attempt to be released. We’re frozen in the action. Then we heard it. The victim fell to the wet black pavement, as a pool of blood slowly spilled out around him. The pursuer, turned showing his profile, and the gun which must have been still smoking, in his hand. Without a care to the world he walked away...back towards the guys from whence he came.

“SHIT! Shitshitshit!” Brian.

“Fuck” Adam.

Nothing. James. I was too shocked to realize what I just saw. “Did we just see.....?”

Awkward silence. “I think so” in stereo from the front.

Adam stepped on the gas pedal. We tore past the body, and raced towards the street. We were getting out of there. I felt good about this, yet at the exact same moment, I wanted to scream out “Stop! We got to help him! We’ve got to!” Yet my cowardice would not allow me to utter such words. I would regret the feeling later. We ran through a red light, and another... I don’t know where Adam was going to stop. A police officer turned on his lights as we ran through another. He pulled us over at a Conaco. We were more than willing to explain what we saw. He took us inside where he spoke with us individually. I really did not remember much about the victim or the pursuer, only that the pursuer was wearing red. I felt horrid. How could I not know what I saw? I was watching the whole thing. Neither Adam or Brian added much more to the description. After taking our statements, he let us go back to Thomas’ house. We had forgotten about Thomas.

We arrived at Thomas’ house around 2 AM. He was still up of course. He and his mother had been in the check-out line when the victim supposedly crawled into the store, holding his jaw to his head, trying to stop the blood from squirting out on people. It was then that Thomas said something that made my soul quiver inside me.

“I’m pretty sure Chris Greenwood did it.”

“He was there? He’s a punk, but I can’t see him doing that” interjects Brian.

“I’m sure we’ll know for sure Monday... if he’s in school or not,” Adam adds.

I did not need to hear this. I did not want to hear this. I did not want to live the rest of the night. Why did I have to witness this? I didn’t even stop to help--that was all I could think of. Surely that’s what Christ would have done.... the good Samaritan. I did NOTHING, and now one I know is accused of doing this. I wish I could see the pursuer’s face so I could reclaim the innocence of Chris. I may not have gotten a long with him, but would not stand to have him be that bad, and I could not stand to think that he hurt someone and I just left them there to bleed to death on the wet pavement.

The next day, really three hours later that same morning, we arrived at Salem High to leave for the rest of the honor’s choir. Thomas’ mother and the four of us explained to Ms. Dean what happened. I, in actuality, did very little talking. She told us to come, and that she would use her cell-phone to notify our parents. We entered the bus, full of the cheerful sounds of the choir, ready to go sing. I sat down on an empty bench, held my head against the seat in front of me, and began to cry. Adam, Brian, and Thomas headed to the back of the bus... to feed the meat of gossip to the she-wolves in the Alto and Soprano section. I could not share in this view of what I had seen. Too much to handle... too much to deal with... I had to sort it out in my mind before I could grasp how to sort it out in words to people who could not share in the full depth of what I was feeling. I wanted answers... I wanted comfort, I wanted closure to the night. Hell, I didn’t even know how to find out if the guy really died or not. Just knowing if the guy was living or dead would have taken some of the burden away.

In my self despair and contemplation, all I could muster to comfort myself was a song I had heard and now sang to myself:

Holy Spirit, come mold me.
Holy Spirit, console me.
Take my heart Lord, and hold me to Your breast.
And sing to me, Your melodies of love.
Sing to me Your melodies of love.
Quiet me in Your holy Love and rejoice over me with singing.
Quiet me in Your holy Love and rejoice over me with singing.
Quiet me.... with Your HOLY Love....and rejoice....... over me.....

I began to cry. I felt something in that song... that prayer for solace that pulled the pent up emotions inside me out. “Quiet me” That is all I wanted.... peace. I must have sang that song several hundred times while contemplating the act of malice I had seen. The act of disregard I showed, and the selfish fear I felt... the self hate that was growing in me. “Eloi, Eloi, lema sabachtani.--My God, my God, why have you forsaken me? Why have I forsaken you?” I know someone tried to talk to me...I wouldn’t talk back... I was lost in thought.

I didn’t make it through the day completely. Ms. Dean had us meet with her, the chaperons, the youth minister from the host church, and the director of the program. I did not get much from them. I didn’t want anything from them. I didn’t know them... I wanted solace from some unknown source... my Church? God? The victim? Who knows. All I could do was cry. She took us to IHOP and was able to get us to eat...it was there that I noticed Adam, Brian, and Thomas were not taking it as badly as I was. Why was this? What made them able to cope with what we saw, and what we didn’t do? If only I knew their secret. The rest of the day flew past me. The performance happened... that is all I can say. I know I sung in it, but I cannot remember it.

When we arrived back at school, my mother and brother were waiting for me. As I got in the car, my brother, trying to show concern said, “So you saw a guy get his face blown off?”

“Joe!” My mom, knowing I would not appreciate that.

“Yeah, whatever,” I responded, ignoring his ignorance. I wanted to tell them what I felt, I wanted them to pull over and hug me, yet I couldn’t bring myself to tell them. I let it start to brood in me anew. Besides, he was too concerned with his relationship with his girl friend T. J. to really concern himself with listening. I got home, and went to my room where I cried more tears. I tried to call my best friends, but I could not get them to understand my feelings, and did not want to deal with it. The next day was Sunday, and surely I would get some solace at church... surely.

My priest, Father Lin, was busy before mass. I had managed to speak to one of the choir members, and he tried his best to reach out to me with consoling words and gestures. I wish I would not have resisted them... I wanted consolation, yet I did not want someone to just give it to me... I wanted to work it out for myself. Consequently, I cried through the mass in the back of the church. I observed Fr. Lin consecrate the host, and the congregation go to receive the body and blood of Christ, and then I saw myself walking forward. I was moving to the altar, to lay my burdens down, to let this fear and anger and despondent wonder go, and to receive the solace and renewal of Christ’s presence in my life. As I took the host in my tear-soaked hand, the fractured body of one acquainted with grief... a man of sorrow, I felt the weight begin to leave me. “Now the silence... now the joyful celebration.” Out with James... out with the hostility towards myself. Out with the fear that Chris may have done this. Out with the burden of not stopping, of leaving him in the night. Out with so many things... and in with Jesus, in with comfort, understanding, the faith to know I don’t have to know why things happen, or why they are bad. I took the chalice in my hands and drank the precious blood; crossed myself, and with a different form of tear, cried back to the rear of the church.

It didn’t matter if Chris did it, it didn’t matter if the person was dead or living, what mattered was that God was present even in that hour of darkness, and I only now knew it. I found the first steps that led to closure. All it took was one step, and I could deal with the rest of the day, another step... another week.. I would never be able to get over what I saw, yet I could live with it, and know that I need not fear the terrors of the night.