The Teacher

The Teacher: Volume I Maitreya, Part I Unchained, Chapter 1

Part I

UNCHAINED

CHAPTER 1

I NOTICED HOLDEN DURING THE FIRST week of my third year, my junior year at Manistique High. We shared 4th hour lunch. He was sitting alone, picking at his food, and staring out the window looking over our Manistique Mustangs athletic field nestled in the scenic, rustic, rolling, forested countryside of the Upper Peninsula on the rocky northern shores of Lake Michigan.

Lunch after lunch he never spoke to anyone, seemed to be wearing the same clothes each day, and didn't appear to be grooming, yet, there was something about him. By Friday, I was more concerned than I had any right to be.

"Do you see that guy over there?" I asked Lydia, one of a group of close friends who always ate lunch together going back to junior high.

"The one sitting alone, sure, what about him?" she answered, not volunteering any useful information.

"Well, do you know who he is?"

Lydia stared for a moment, then, answered.

"It can't be...Holden...Holden Harwell. I hardly recognize him. Don't you remember, last year he was one of the stars on the hockey team," Lydia offered.

"He was my partner in science and helped me get an A last year. I wonder what's wrong with him," Blaire added, empathetically caught up in our concern for Holden.

"No, he certainly doesn't look good. Anyone know if something happened over the summer?" I asked, desperate to gather any useful information.

No one had any idea what might have caused such a profound change in a guy who only last year seemed to be on top of his world; popular, a good student, an athlete with a scholarship, and plans to attend Michigan State.

I wasn't sure what to do next, then, fate intervened. Holden transferred into my last hour English class. That week we were assigned to read and analyze Catcher in the Rye.

There he presented the same sullen mood, sitting in the back of the room staring out the window with a blank look and didn't even bother to respond when our teacher, Mr. Kostos, asked Holden what he thought the title, Catcher in the Rye, meant and where it came from in the story. Being last hour, when class ended I had a chance to follow Holden, first to his locker, then out the front door where he always went to walk home east down Lake Shore Drive.

Over the next few weeks things didn't get any better with his moods or appearance so I decided to find a day when I could walk home with Holden.

IT WAS A BEAUTIFUL OCTOBER fall Friday in our small town of Manistique, Michigan. The dignified oaks and sprawling maples lining the street were proudly displaying their appealing colors—singed shades of burnt orange blending into robust rusts and earth-tone ebony.

When I finally caught up to Holden, I was somewhat out of breath.

"Hey, wait up. Did you write down our English assignment? I must have been daydreaming or something, but I completely missed what Mr. Kostos said to do?" I asked while trotting to catch up to Holden, shuffling aside leaves with each step.

"I'm sorry, but I didn't pay much attention to anything he said today."

"Holden, right?"

"Yep, that's me . . . and you are...?"

"Fallon...Fallon Ford, remember we had History together last year."

"I'm sorry...no....but don't take it personally, last year's a blur," Holden added, displaying a deep listlessness that seemed more like a clinical indication he really wasn't well.