The End of Marking Time (12 page)

I picked up and Charlotte told me she had an appointment for me in two days. She wouldn’t tell me where we were going only that I should be dressed and ready to go by nine-thirty that morning. When she hung up, I imagined her locking me in a room to confront my mother like I had the bully. Maybe Charlotte would charge her with neglect after all the things I’d said. I really didn’t know what to expect, but my body surged with nervous energy. Even weighed down by the steak, I couldn’t keep my eyes closed.

The next morning I was up at eight o’clock, earlier than I ever woke in the old days. I was jittery with nervous energy, but my thoughts were fuzzy and I needed a coffee to clear my head before I started my lesson. I went for breakfast without even turning on the television. All the way down the stairs and along the sidewalk I pictured my mother in one of those tent-sized flowery dresses. She was on the witness stand just as she’d been every time I closed my eyes that night. The prosecutor badgered her for the way she had treated me and I felt sorry for her when I saw how scared she was. She had done it to herself. I didn’t blame Charlotte. I couldn’t really blame myself either, but I still felt guilty.

The ding didn’t surprise me when I walked through the door. Everyone stopped and listened once it sounded and then relaxed when the high note and low note followed. I looked for the guy who’d explained it to me the day before. I had dozens more questions for him, but I never saw him again. Graduates like him could really help the relearners, but when I suggested Wendell make mentoring a part of the program, he told me the counselors were more effective. They were educated professionals, but none of them had ever been to prison.

I ate my donut in front of the blackened TV. I finished eating before starting the next disc, so I didn’t spill coffee on the deep blue carpet if I got an answer wrong and got zapped. To be honest, I sipped slowly because I knew I was headed for more shocks. When I emptied my coffee I had an idea. I rinsed the cup, cut out the bottom, and wrapped it around my wrist to insulate myself from the charges. I looped the strap outside the paper cup and started the black box.

Wendell appeared and asked me to fasten the strap around my wrist. I checked the connection and even tightened it, but the program wouldn’t continue until I removed the cup and exposed myself to the shocks. Later on, I’d learn that the strap not only delivered shocks, but also measured the electrical impulses traveling up and down my arm. Wendell expected relearners to cheat his black box at every turn and he’d done a great job stopping us.

When the strap was tight against my skin, the schoolyard appeared. Kids ran and played on a sunny day. Miniature Michael just stood there motionless on the screen, watching the other kids. It took me ten minutes to realize that on this new disc it was up to me to move around my virtual environment. Wendell’s program was brilliant in many ways, but it failed to provide even basic guidance. A little bit of instruction here and there would have saved me hours of puzzling over what he expected me to do. Maybe that was the point of the entire exercise, but I didn’t give him that much credit. I’m not sure even now that’s what he intended.

Once I figured I could move myself around, I started exploring the playground, watching the girls huddled in a tight circle and the boys playing tag. A boy ran by me and dropped something green in my path. The system prompted me. Ignore. Investigate.

I pressed Investigate and found a five dollar bill.

I tried to move and the system prompted again. Replace. Carry.

I chose to carry the bill and the system forced me to be so specific as to tell it I wanted to put the bill in my pocket. I was annoyed it asked so many questions. What I should have been was wary, but in the simulation or in life, if someone dropped cash in front of me I was going to pocket it.

The same boy came past me a few minutes later with his eyes on the ground. I steered away from him. A teacher crossed the playground and asked if everything was ok. After being jolted for my response in the classroom the day before, I chose a single word answer. I typed, Yes.

Recess ended and we went back in for a lesson. The boy sat in the seat next to me looking sad. Eventually the teacher came down the aisle and asked him what was wrong. He told her he’d lost his lunch money. The system prompted me and I ignored his problem. Then the teacher stood up in front of the room and asked if anyone had found anything on the playground.

“I’m not giving it to you, you ugly old bat,” I said to the screen.

The simulation paused. Holographic Wendell appeared with a stern expression. “You must learn respect for figures in authority, Michael. Teachers, police, counselors, even me, we are here to help you. More important, we make our society work for everyone. When you disobey directions from someone in authority, you are taking from someone else. You may be putting them at risk. You may be taking an opportunity from them or depriving them of something tangible like you are doing in this case. You will never graduate from this program if you do not learn to understand authority figures, their roles in our society, and how you can help them to be effective.”

I couldn’t believe he expected me to be a rat. Bad enough he wanted me to give the kid his money back. I’d figured that out, but he was telling me I had to help the cops? How could I do that?

Unfortunately for me, I missed an important part of the message. I heard Wendell talking, but I didn’t make the connection that the program had heard what I said. It interpreted my words and was displeased. It took me a long time to realize that the box understood what I was saying, and until I finally figured it out I kept shouting whatever came to mind, just like I did when the Sox were on television. That only sped up my punishments.

The teacher asked again if anyone had found the boy’s money.

It took the shock to wake me up to the lesson.

When the plastic strap stopped stinging my wrist, and that’s what it was, a mild sting compared to what was to come, Wendell materialized and told me he was disappointed. He lectured about how wrong it was to take something that belonged to someone else.

My punishment was quite unexpected. The simulation started again. Two kids dropped money right in front of me. I avoided picking it up, but then kids dropped more and more things. I realized what I was going to have to do. I picked up an apple and followed the little girl who dropped it. I gave it back to her, expecting the simulation to end. She thanked me, but recess continued and as I looked around the playground, the kids were steadily dropping things all over. My hesitation to get involved cost me. I couldn’t pick up the things fast enough and soon the playground was covered in various items. I could only pick up one item at a time and I had to find each child to return it. It was impossible to remember who dropped what. My second trial ended in a shock and another lecture from Wendell.

The third trial I did better. I raced after each item and returned it to the appropriate child. If the kids weren’t moving in every conceivable direction, I might have been able to keep up, but the longer the simulation went on, the faster things were dropped. I returned forty-one items and then received my third shock and my third lecture. My real mistake was in the beginning. The longer it took me to learn the lesson, the harder my task became.

I caught my breath before starting again. I knew what I had to do, but I was missing something. Wendell wanted to teach me not only that it was wrong to take something that wasn’t mine, but also that it was my duty to help those who had lost something. I understood, but the mechanics seemed impossible. Rather than start again, I took off the wrist strap and paced around thinking how I could possibly track down the kids to return the items. Somewhere between the refrigerator and the couch it hit me.

I started again. I immediately picked up a book a little girl had dropped and opened a dialog bubble over miniature Michael’s head. I typed the word teacher and the teacher came to my aid. She took the book and from then on, rather than scatter like the children did, she followed me. I scooped up item after item and in about two minutes the playground was clean and the simulation once again went black. Fireworks exploded in front of me.

My victory made me surprisingly proud. Wendell was teaching me things I should have learned in kindergarten. This game couldn’t change my thinking, but I finally understood what the black box wanted from me. If I conducted my virtual self like a saint, the simulation would be easy. Pretty soon I was going to learn that my ideas about sainthood might be a little left of center.

It took me three hours to finish the simulation, but had I understood the dynamics, I would have been done in two minutes. That was the record time—two minutes and five seconds.

I sat in front of the blank television feeling as proud of my performance in the simulation as if I had gone out and helped those kids in real life. Doing something good was like turning on a bright light in my chest that warmed me from the inside. I’d never felt like that before. The only thing I can compare it to is the thrill you get when you meet a girl and realize she feels the chemistry as much as you do. I was too jazzed to start another disc, so I rewarded myself with a trip outside to get to know my new neighborhood.

I left my apartment with no particular destination in mind. I soaked in my surroundings and began adjusting to my new life. The concrete landing and the heavy steel railings were meant to survive decades of abuse. Unlike the projects I grew up in, the stench of poverty had been removed from the stairwells. Climbing down, I wondered if the forty thousand was responsible. If everyone could afford life’s necessities, there was no reason to squat in a cardboard box in the park or under some concrete stairs. I also realized I hadn’t seen any kids running around. My mother had conceived seven kids to earn her living. Her life would be so much easier now. All she had to do was hold out her hand and she’d get more than she needed—without a single child to chase after.

I felt more hopeful at that moment than I ever would again. Out the window I saw a patch of grass enclosed by brick walls on all sides. A few guys sat at a picnic table. They had to be my neighbors, otherwise they couldn’t have gotten out there. It took a while, but I walked down to the ground floor and found the courtyard door.

Every man at the picnic table eyed me suspiciously as I approached. When they saw my ankle bracelet the closest man stood and offered to shake my hand. Joel introduced himself. He was a hulk of a guy, tattooed with barbed wire up and down his arms. “What are you in for?” he asked.

“This the prison yard?”

The three of them showed me their ankle bracelets.

Until that moment I thought of this place as just another neighborhood. It wasn’t tagged and broken down like where I grew up. Wendell had duped me into thinking I was living free and clear on the outside, but I was about to get an education. The three guys in front of me were tattooed, pierced, and pumped. All three were on edge, wary of every move, and ready to fight at a second’s notice. Most people walked around so consumed by their own thoughts they lost track of their surroundings. These three predators lived off people like that. So did I.

One of the guys got nervous and stood up to leave, like I was a snitch.

“I’m just new at this,” I said.

“Shitty luck. What’d you do?”

When I told them I stole a credit card and some cash they laughed out loud. When they stopped making jokes I told them that was before the thumb scanners made them useless and that I’d been in a coma when the courts unleashed chaos on the streets. They warmed to me then.

Deone, the smallest of the three, introduced the group. Joel was in for attempted murder after some guy started dating his chick and then taunted him. Tyrone was in for stealing from the grocery store. He just couldn’t get by on his forty thousand. Deone and I had the most in common. He’d stolen a Lexus because he needed to get behind the wheel. He couldn’t afford one of his own and his urge to drive a slick ride kept him here. You couldn’t beat the new tracking devices, but he couldn’t help himself.

Our building didn’t have the amenities of a suburban apartment complex. There was no pool, no restaurant, and no game room. It was more like a school with private classes held in each student’s room. We couldn’t see the teachers, but Deone assured me they were there.

“If you guys have it all figured out, why are you still here?”

“Algebra,” Deone said.

I didn’t know what algebra was.

“What are you working on?” he asked.

I didn’t know how to describe my progress other than to say disc three.

They laughed again. “Dude, haven’t you figured it out?”

“What?”

“All you have to do is act like Mother Theresa.”

I didn’t know who that was. “Yeah,” I said.

I didn’t fool anyone. “Think of the biggest sissy you ever went to school with,” Joel said. “Got it? Now when you turn on the box, pretend he’s there and it’s your job to act like such a fag that you make him look tough. Like you’re helping him get a girl or something.”

Joel’s life revolved around women. A couple days later I’d learn that DNA testing for fatherless welfare kids was killing him. He was supporting eleven children and being stuck in here was bankrupting him, but he’d never finished high school and that was one of Wendell’s new requirements. He couldn’t work until he graduated.