The Eyes of a Fighter: A Serial Novel

Chapter 5

Ed Carter was stunned. The cool fall air blew through the trees along the street, but he didn't feel it. A fine layer of sweat glistened on his neck and forehead, but he didn't notice it. Traffic had started up again after the ambulance had taken Carson away. He stood on the sidewalk in silence, incapable of comprehending what had just happened.

The crowd on the street had dispersed and the police had talked with the man in the truck. There was nothing Ed could do. He stood with his hand over his mouth and tried to focus on breathing. He had only wanted to talk to him. He had only wanted to make sure he was healthy and safe.

He shouldn't have run after him. He knew better than to do that. Scared kids don't want to talk to the principal anyway, so why yell and run after them? His mind raced through other imaginary scenarios in which he got to Carson slowly and calmly. Carons reacts with gratitude and opens up about his struggles.

But none of that happened today.

He jumped at the feeling of a touch on his shoulder. Tania didn't speak. She just stood beside him there on the sidewalk with the cold wind blowing. She held her hand there on his shoulder and that said all that needed to be said at the moment.

His breathing slowed to a more regular rhythm and he started to walk back to the school. With Tania beside him, he felt like he had the strength to at least get back to his school. Somewhere he felt at least somewhat comfortable.

Tania broke the silence. "As far as we know, he's still alive Ed. He's in good hands. They've notified his mother. There's nothing more you can do."

Ed was still at a loss for words. He didn't make it to the front door of the school. He sat on the front steps and still wrung his hands. He kept replaying the incident in his head. He heard the squeal of breaks and the sound of Carson's body colliding with the truck, then the pavement. Then the long painful silence that settled over the scene in the immediate aftermath.

"Ed, talk to me. You're not responsible for this," Tania's voice was comforting. "He ran from you. He wasn't watching where he was going. It was an accident."

Ed snapped out of his thoughts. "He ran from me, Tania. He was afraid of me and he ran from me. If I would have just talked to him. I could have just let him go. He wasn't doing anything wrong. Now he's probably going to die because of me. You saw his body there."

Tania was exasperated. "You have work to do Ed. You have a school that needs you. Right here. Behind us through these doors are kids and teachers that need you. Do you remember what we talked about this morning? This place needs a strong leader that doesn't back down."

Ed snorted. "You know that's bullshit Tania. You know it well. How many times have you come to this school with sirens and handcuffs? How many times have you hauled drug dealers and gang members away from my hallways? I can't control this place. Teachers hate working here and students feel scared. Now I have a student that's going to die because of me."

He stood up and threw his hands out at his sides. "I can't do this. Not today. I can't face what's waiting inside that school. There's no way I'm getting any work done today. Everyone will want to know what happened. Word will spread like fire. They will say I ran him off. Who knows what other garbage they accuse me of?"

He stormed into the building with Tania trying to catch up behind him. He walked into the main front office and was met with stares from his secretaries and Assistant Principal. He didn't make eye contact with any of them. He rushed down the hall to his office and opened the door. He grabbed his laptop and phone and stuffed them into his bag. He tore his coat off the back of his chair and walked back.

Everyone still stood in silence and awe of him. They didn't know what to do or say. They'd never seen him like this before. He'd always had challenges here, but he'd been able to keep a calm reserve about all of it. They were seeing him unravel right before their eyes.

Ed stopped before leaving. He turned around. "I'm done for today. I'm going to the hospital to check on a student that was involved in an accident. Please reschedule my meetings and calls for today." He pushed the door open but stopped short. "Goodbye."

Tania was left standing there in the office. She knew that there was nothing more she could tell him right now. He needed to handle this on his own. She felt scared for him but knew the pain he was feeling. She had been involved in a number of incidents just like this one in her years on the force. It was painful. It would be a struggle. She hoped he could get through it quickly. There was a lot of work to be done, and she needed him.

Ed climbed in his truck out in the staff parking lot. The door slammed shut and he began to feel safer and in control. No one could get to him in the truck. He gripped the steering wheel tightly and tried to bring himself under control. He was feeling a dangerous cocktail of emotions. Guilt was at the base. If he would have kept himself under control and left it all alone today would be just another day. But he just had to push things. Look where all that effort got him.

He turned the key and the truck rumbled to life. He pulled out of the staff parking lot and headed in the direction of University Hospital. The video of Carson being struck by the truck replayed itself over and over again in his head. He came to a stop sign and screeched to a stop.

An elderly woman had stepped out into the crosswalk while his mind had been wandering. He shook his head. You have got to get a grip on yourself, he thought. You have to calm yourself down or you'll do more damage than you can handle.

He looked across the intersection and made sure, twice, that no one was walking near the curb. He spotted a liquor store in a cluster of stores across the street. He gripped the wheel a little tighter, breathed out through his nose, and stepped on the gas pedal.

He felt a familiar welcome as he walked into the store. He knew where he was going. A few minutes later, he set two bottles of Scotch whisky on the counter. "And a pack of Marlboro Reds too," he added to his order. Desperate times call for desperate measures, he thought.

and paid. He looked around as he left the store, hoping no one from the school saw him. If anyone had seen him leave work early and go straight to the liquor store he would have some explaining to do. Go ahead, ask me about it. I dare you, he thought.

He lit a cigarette with the truck's push-in lighter. They don't make these anymore, he thought and smiled to himself. The familiar pull of smoke brought some comfort. It had been a long time, since his wife's death, since he'd smoked a cigarette. He had the feeling of being with an old friend again.

He pulled out and headed toward the hospital again. As he drove, his confidence fell. He had trouble focusing on the road. He pulled off down a side street and tried to get his focus back. He decided to just head back home. There was nothing he could do for the kid now. At the hospital, he would only have to face more questions. What was done was done. Diving in for more hurt was not going to help anything.

He made it home. It felt good to be back. He was looking for comfort now. The condo wasn't exactly a castle, but it felt like a safe escape from the madness. The sun was still bright in the sky but the temperature was turning cooler. He shivered as he went up his front steps.

The second he stepped inside, he lit another cigarette. He headed straight for the kitchen and poured himself a tall Scotch. He dropped a couple of ice cubes in it. It is still daytime, after all, he thought. He reached up into a kitchen cabinet and pulled a small plastic ashtray from the top shelf.

He turned his phone off and set it on the counter. He pulled the curtains closed and relished the darkness. Sipping his drink, he flipped through his record collection. He needed something soothing. He removed Kind of Blue from the stack and gingerly took out the record. He looked at the face of Miles Davis on the album cover.

The familiar scratch of the needle made him smile. He took another drink. He moved his hands back and forth softly as the smooth roll of drums and familiar low thump of a standup bass of So What began to fill the room. He settled into his recliner. He closed his eyes. He smoked slowly.

He drank and relished to cool liquor as it went down and warmed his chest.By the end of the first side of the record, he was feeling numb. He went to the kitchen and poured himself another.

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