Mid Life Love (3 page)

“Okay.” I
sighed. “Well...I’ll do my best to remember that. I’ll send you a letter this
week and...Don’t forget that I promised to take you out for a beer in six years.
Hope you’re still looking forward to that.”

“I am. I’ll hold
you to that, son.”

“Goodbye.” I
hung up.

I knew I
should’ve been more enthusiastic about his phone call or about my mother
completing drug rehab, but the excitement tended to wane after someone relapsed
twelve times, after someone disappointed you so much that you no longer
believed in them.

I tried to shake
the thought of my messed up parents out of my mind and revved up my car. I was
about to hit the gas in reverse, but I suddenly heard the jangling of a grocery
cart from behind.

I sighed and
looked in my rearview mirror, prepared to honk at whoever was there, but I saw
that it was the beautiful woman I’d seen days ago.

She was wearing
a dark gray pencil skirt and a pink silk blouse, but her hair was different
today. It was bone straight and the wind seemed to enjoy tossing it as she
walked.

She pushed her
cart past my car without looking my way, but I still caught a glimpse of her
gorgeous green eyes.

I watched her
walk inside and turned off my car.

Before I could
step out, my phone rang again. Oasis Drug and Rehabilitation Center.

My mother.

So much for not
thinking about the past today...

J
onathan

Summer 2002

It was raining.
Hard.

Streaks of
lightning were dancing across the sky, and rain bullets were beating across my
window pane.

As I looked
outside, I saw the reflections of my miserable life in the downpour: Both my
parents were denied an early release from prison, my little sister had been
sent to live with yet another foster family, and my own terrible excuse for a
foster family was trying their hardest to convince me to stay in state for
college; they knew that if I stayed, they would get a bonus check from the
Children’s Welfare Office for successfully raising a child who remained in
state for college.

I knew that my
life was bound to be terrible if I spent any more time in the hell hole that
was Ohio, so that night I made a plan to get out.

I told my foster
parents that I’d decided to go to the University of Dayton, and that right
after my graduation ceremony, I wanted to go to a nice restaurant and
celebrate. The greedy look in their eyes almost made me hurl on the spot, but I
kept playing the part.

I smiled and
told them I was grateful for all they’d done for me over the years. I just left
out the part about them hijacking my parents’ prison letters, taking me clothes
shopping at Goodwill while their biological kids were allowed to shop at real
stores, and reminding me day in and day out that I would “end up just like [my]
parents one day—a cracked out meth-head who deserved to rot behind bars.”

When the day of
my graduation came, I set my well thought out plan in motion: I stuffed my best
pants and shirts into a backpack, five hundred dollars I’d made from secretly
doing college kids’ computer science homework, and a few essentials for a life
on the run.

“What’s that
backpack for?” My foster-mother Luanne walked into my room.

“It’s my outfit
I’m going to wear after the ceremony. I want to dress more casual at dinner.”

“Oh! Of course!
No one wants to get their fancy suit dirty at dinner.” She adjusted my tie.
“It’s too bad you weren’t
born
into this family. We could’ve bought you
a better suit, but you know how it is. The state only gives us enough money to
feed you, not clothe you.”

I tried not to
flinch as she ran a lint-brush against my shoulders.

“Your high
school graduation is going to be the highlight of your life.” She sighed. “You
probably won’t last that long in college, but don’t worry, neither me nor Bob
expect you to.”

“Thank you very
much...”

“I still can’t
imagine what it must have been like to have meth-dealers as parents. It must
have been
awful
! I think about it every day and I feel so bad for you.”
She stepped back to look at me. “But then I say to myself: Luanne,
thank god
you saved that boy, even if it is only temporary and he becomes a druggie just
like his pitiful parents. At least he’ll have some fond memories to look back
on while he sits in prison!” She smiled. “I’m going to get my camera!”

She left and I
thought about jumping out the window right then and there. But I knew that was
futile. We lived in the middle of nowhere and I needed the family car to get me
into the city.

My foster
brother Corey walked into the room and shut the door behind him. He crossed his
arms and stared at me for a long time.

I was tempted to
tell him that today would be the last day I would ever see him, but I couldn’t
bring myself to do it. He and I had actually become great friends despite his
parents’ treatment of me, and if I wasn’t so broken on the inside I would’ve
stayed a little longer—just for him and his little sister.

“I’m sorry about
my parents.” He sighed. “But I want you to know that I really
liked
having
a brother—
a lot
. Are you going to forget all about me and Jessica when
you leave and start over? I can’t blame you if you say yes.”

“What are you
talking about? I’m not—”

“Don’t worry.”
He picked up my backpack and stuffed a brown paper bag inside. “I’m not going
to tell my parents. I’ll act like I don’t know anything. Just promise me that
when you prove them wrong and do something big with your life, you’ll find me
and Jessica and hang out with us again.”

“Promise. Are
you still going to Notre Dame in the fall?”

“Yeah, but
you’re not going to the University of Dayton. Are you?”

I froze. I
wasn’t sure what to say. “I—”

“I know I’m not
as good as you are with computers, but you do know that I’m a master hacker
right?” He laughed. “I hacked into the university’s list of confirmed students
for the fall and your name wasn’t on it. You weren’t on
any
lists at any
college that accepted you. So, I started thinking about what I would be
planning if I were you, and I—”

“I don’t want
you to think that I don’t trust you, Corey. I just couldn’t—”

“We can email
each other to stay in touch. Whatever you do, don’t look back once you leave.
You need to stick to buses and cabs—take alternative routes even if it forces
you to go out of your way. Oh, and don’t open that brown bag I gave you until
you’re out of the state.” He stood up and gave me a brief hug. “Jessica knows
too by the way...She’s too hurt to say goodbye, but she understands and she says
she loves you.”

“Oh my god! Look
at the two of you!” Luanne burst through my door with the camera. “I need a
picture of my sons! Well, a photo of my
foster
son and my
real
son!
Both of you stand together! Smile on three! One! Two!—”

––––––––

“H
ey! Kid!” The
cab driver snapped me out of my thoughts. “Wake up! This is as far as forty
five bucks will take you.”

I looked outside
and saw tall stone buildings, but I couldn’t make out what any of them were.
I’d been hopping from bus to bus and cab to cab for days and I’d lost all sense
of location because everywhere I went it was raining.

“Thank you.” I
handed him the money and stepped out of the car.

Within seconds,
the thin jacket and tattered jeans I was wearing were completely drenched. I
had an umbrella in my backpack, but I knew pulling it out now was useless.

I walked through
what appeared to be a college campus—there was greenery and buildings every few
feet, but each building I attempted to get into was locked.

I apparently
needed an access card to get in. A
Harvard University
access card.

I’d been
accepted into Harvard months ago, but I never wrote back to confirm. As soon as
I’d read that their top computer science graduate from the past year was a guy
who developed a mini computer—something I’d done when I was
fourteen
, I
decided that there was nothing they could teach me.

I saw a group of
students holding the door to a lecture hall open, so I rushed past them. I
walked down the hallway, peering into every classroom, cursing when I saw that
they were all filled.

Once I was at
the end of the hall, I slipped inside a dark classroom and breathed a sigh of
relief.

“Nice of you to
join us
on time
. Have a seat in the back please.” The lights came on and
a blond haired man in a tweed suit stood up behind a podium. “Anytime now,
son...”

The class
laughed and I walked up the steps, taking a seat in the last row.

I ignored the
itchy feel of damp denim against my skin and looked up at the board: Summer
Course, Advanced Software 4100.

All the students
had laptops and state of the art data configuration boards on their desks. All
of them looked way older than I was.

I guess this is
a senior level course...

“So...” The
professor moved the projector screen from the center of the room. “We’ve been
deconstructing our hypothetical company ‘Beta Link’ and so far we have three
people in the running for the best computer: George Hamilton II, Lindsay
Franco, and William Dane. Could the three of you come up here and show the class
what you’ve built please?”

They took their
places up front and explained their computers in the most mundane voices I’d
ever heard. It was bad enough that their computers sucked, but their sense of
arrogance and know-it-all attitudes were even harder to bear.

They have access
to the best technology in the world and this is the best they can come up with?

“Very
impressive!” The professor clapped. “To everyone else in this room, you have
quite the competition if you’re going to get an A. Does anyone have any
questions for George, Lindsay, or William?”

No one raised
their hand.

“No one? No one
has a question about how they developed their processors? You’re just going to
let them walk away with the top grades? I can only give out a certain number of
A’s you know. There is a very steep curve in this class and I
will
be
putting it to use...”

I raised my
hand.

“Yes, you.” He
pointed to me. “What do you want to ask?”

“Those aren’t
really the best computers, right? You’re just using those three as an example
to make the rest of—the rest of
us
work harder, correct?”

The room erupted
into murmurs. Everyone looked back and forth between me and the professor.

“No. I’m not,”
he said. “These are indeed the best computers in the class, and seeing as
though you didn’t bring
yours
to critique today makes me feel like
they’re definitely better than whatever you built. But, since you seem to think
that—”

“George’s
computer will crash in six weeks.” I crossed my arms. “He’s over-compassing the
ram drive with unnecessary wiring. One too many shut downs and it’ll never turn
on again. Lindsay’s computer, if you want to call it that, is using all the
wrong materials. Unless everyone else in this class is using sticks and stones,
a computer with recycled coils and used wiring should never be considered a
good
computer. Technology isn’t up to date enough for eco-computers yet. And
William’s computer, though impressive to
look
at, is—actually, he pretty
much copied Dell’s earliest model and re-drafted a few mechanisms. Any
high-school student with half a brain can do that.”

The room fell
silent.

The professor
took off his glasses and rubbed his forehead. “Class dismissed.” He shook his
head and the students rushed out of the room, as if they were scared he was
about to explode.

I stood up and
walked down the steps, ignoring the intense glares that were coming from the
three computer clowns who were putting their toys away.

“Wait, you.” The
professor waved at me. “I want to talk to you for a second.” He waited for
everyone to leave the room. “What’s your name?”

“Bill Gates.”

“Your
real
name...”

“Jonathan
Statham,” I murmured.

“Mr. Statham,
you’re not a student in this class are you?”

I shook my head.

“Do you even go
to this school?”

“No...”

“So, what made
you come here today?” He motioned for me to sit in the front row. “You look
like you’re still in high school. Are you still in high school?” He waited for
me to say something, but I only blinked.

“Okay then...” He
sat down next to me. “Tell me how someone randomly shows up to Harvard and
knows more about computers than my senior honors students.”

I sighed. I
thought about coming up with a lie, telling him that I really was a student and
just wanted to drop in on a high level class, but I was tired of lying, tired
of running.

“My parents used
to—”
Accept electronics for the meth they sold sometimes?
“They used to
um, leave electronics around the house and I would look at how all their parts
worked...And I would steal—I mean, I would borrow books from the library and read
about computer mechanics...”

“You never went
to a tech camp?”

“No.”

“Hmmm.” He
rubbed his chin. “So, your goal is to
sneak
into Harvard?”

I rolled my
eyes. “If I wanted to come here, I would’ve accepted the offer.” I realized he
was probably going to call the cops on me for trespassing, so I put on my best
apologetic face. “I’m sorry for today. I won’t interrupt your kindergarten
class again. I’m gonna go—”

“I’m not going
to call security on you.” He laughed. Then he suddenly looked serious. “Where
are you from?”

I didn’t say
anything.

“Okay...Do your
parents know you’re here? I’m sure they’re worried sick about you...”

“They’re in
prison.”

He looked
sympathetic. “Well, your legal guardians must be looking for—”

“I’m
eighteen
.”
I wasn’t a ward of the state anymore. I didn’t belong to anyone, and if his
classroom wasn’t so warm I would have walked out as soon as he asked me what my
name was.

“You must have
made pretty good grades in high school to get accepted here, Jonathan...What
number were you in your class?”

Why do I feel
like I can trust this guy?

“First. I gave a
speech and everything.” I reached into my backpack and pulled out my crumpled
speech, tossing it to him. I was hoping he would actually read it for some
reason—unlike my foster parents who’d seemed completely oblivious to the fact
that I was the valedictorian.

As he looked
over the speech, I realized I hadn’t opened the brown paper bag from Corey. I
peered into the bag and saw a framed picture of me, him, and Jessica, a
flash-drive with “read” scribbled across it, a stack of my parents’ unopened
prison letters, and a one thousand dollar check addressed to me. There was an
orange post-it clipped to the back of it: “
Cash it some place sketchy—like a
liquor store or a bail bonds place so I can re-route the information about
where it was cashed...Your welcome, Corey. PS—Please let me know if you find the
Fountain of Youth while you’re traveling...I’m convinced it’s in New York now...
”