After the Prize

FIFTY-ONE

ONE

Jack Sperling didn’t have the patience to wait for the phone call. He was popping with energy. His anxious and jumpy mood didn’t go well with the idea of hanging around the house. He thought it best to calm his nerves by hiking in Lassen National Park. He even decided to leave his cell phone at home. There’d be a message waiting when he returned, and that’d be soon enough.

As he drove east from Shingletown his brain rolled through the different scenarios. He found it very hard to stop thinking about what it would be like to win the damn thing. Jack detested disorderly minds and didn’t like the fact that his fit the category today. He finally went back to his old distracter and started naming the presidents in order. He’d learned them in eighth grade and never forgotten it. But his presidential mantra failed to work on this warm spring morning. By the time he came to the first Roosevelt his thoughts had already wandered back to the idea of winning. He never made it past Wilson. Winning the prize was too big a deal to be pushed aside by an eighth grade exercise.

He had the trail to himself because it was an April weekday. The first lake he walked past looked cool and inviting. The air was very still and the lake shined as smooth as the cloudless sky. The snow had melted early this year, but Jack knew it would be a long time before he could take the plunge. It would be another couple of months before the water was even close to tolerable.

These kinds of mornings were the reason for Jack’s devotion to Lassen National Park. He often tried to calculate the number of times he’d walked this narrow path along the lake. It never came out the same. He discovered the trail in 2009 and figured he’d averaged forty times a year in the decade since. He could easily see the total getting up to an even five hundred during the early twenty-twenties. He especially liked the woods now because it wasn’t the season for the summer tourists. He never missed their lack of reverence for the quiet of the deep woods. There were only distant bird sounds and the occasional rustle in the nearby bushes as a field mouse ran for cover. Jack kept a fast pace, but he couldn’t run away from his mind’s preoccupation.

It’s not going to happen, he said to himself. Those kinds of things never happen to me.

After the second lake the trail turned toward Grace Mountain and began to climb toward its summit. There was a lone picnic table at the top waiting for Jack and his tuna fish sandwich. The march to his lunch would take fifty-seven minutes on a normal day, but he knew today it would be faster. His record was forty-nine minutes, but that was the day after Stephanie decided she’d had enough of him and his north woods. He felt stressed today, but not with the same deluge of adrenaline produced by Stephanie’s leaving. He knew he’d break all records if he ever heard she’d gotten married again. He was trying very hard to hold onto the belief that she would realize her mistake. But it had been two years and his confidence in her return had begun to fade. Plus, Jack’s casual romance with his neighbor had taken a serious turn. Lynette had begun dropping hints about wanting to move in with him.

The trail straightened out and turned very steep as he approached the last half-mile. It was the toughest part of the hike and he leaned into it as he increased his pace. He tried to clean his sweat-covered glasses while walking, but finally had to stop and do it right. As he put the paper towel back into his pocket, two trail bikes turned the corner up by the summit and came racing down the hill. The riders were both teenage boys. They sped by on either side of him and left him standing between two parallel clouds of dust. Jack wondered why they weren’t in school. Just as the dust cleared, a third bike rider came speeding directly at him. The shirtless young man slammed on the brakes when he got close to Jack. The back wheel went sideways as the sliding tire pelted Jack with a shower of dirt and small stones. One of the little rocks flew up and cracked his glasses. Jack’s head snapped back and he was instantly flooded with rage. The boy laughed out loud, quickly righted himself and pedaled down the hill as fast as he could.

You stupid son of a bitch, Jack screamed after him.

The boy’s response was to turn, smile and give him the finger. Jack quickly bent down and grabbed a lemon-sized rock. He lofted it into the air with the ancient instincts from his high school quarterbacking days. The boy rode his bike under it just like a streaking split end. The rock landed with a loud smack against his upper back. The boy screamed as he hit the brakes and then pitched forward over the handlebars. There was an explosion of dust as the kid hit the ground and rolled over a few times. The bike flipped up into the air and slammed against the side of the hill. Jack smiled at his successful revenge and then turned back toward the summit.

Screw you, asshole, he said over his shoulder. I hope you’re sore for a week.

Jack’s conscience bothered him a little as he turned and resumed his hike, but he blew it off. He firmly believed that people were meant to suffer the consequences of their stupid actions.

The shadows and breezes under the pine trees felt great after the sweaty trek to the top. Jack’s hands were still shaking a little as he ate his sandwich and drank his grape juice. The pine tree world seemed divided into isolated compartments as he peered out through his cracked glasses. When the meal was done, he took out his yellow pad and tried to write a poem. Nothing came to him. His mind now had two layers of distraction. First, there was the prize, and more immediately, the boy lying in the dirt. He knew that his temper and the need to strike back had gotten the best of him. After forty minutes with a creeping sense of guilt, he packed up and started back down. He decided he’d go see if the kid was still there and in need of help. As he began to walk, a Forest Service helicopter roared overhead and he got a sinking feeling in his stomach. He started to hope for an empty trail and no sign of the recent events.

As he came down the mountain he could see the helicopter had landed in a field near the second lake. He stood perfectly still and watched as some men in blue uniforms unloaded a stretcher from the helicopter. What really scared him was the fact that they weren’t in a hurry.

Jack started walking again but his legs seemed to be doing it on their own. He felt like a detached observer floating above these two objects that managed to take step after step. As he approached the straightaway in the trail, he saw two men in green uniforms pacing around where the boy had fallen. The bike was leaning against the rock wall. Jack could see that its front wheel was no longer a perfect circle. It looked like it had been punched in by gigantic brass knuckles. He contemplated his next move. Part of him wanted to go back to the top and sit at the picnic table for a long time. The desire to wait and walk down an empty trail was overwhelming. He turned and started back up, but then stopped. When he looked down toward the rangers again he saw the boy’s limp body being loaded onto the stretcher. After the boy had been carted away one of the rangers turned and looked in his direction. Jack couldn’t help but wonder what they’d think if they saw him continue up the mountain. Jack bent down as if he’d walked back to pick up something. He even opened his backpack and pretended to put an object into it. Then he started down the hill again, resigned to a conversation with the men in green. As he got close he realized he actually knew one of them.

Mr. Sperling, the ranger said as he approached. We had a tragedy here today. You’re lucky you didn’t see what I just saw.

What was it? Jack asked.

A teenage boy with a broken neck.

Oh no, Jack said slowly.

Probably died almost instantly. I constantly warn these fellas to wear their helmets and to not speed down this hill. Fifteen miles an hour is the speed limit, but they always go faster. He must have hit a rock or something. Probably flipped over the handlebars. I’m sure glad I’m not the one who has to tell his parents.

He’s dead? Jack asked.

That’s what I’m telling you. Only fifteen years old. It’s a damn shame.

Did you see the three of them? the other ranger asked as he walked up.

They went rushing by me, Jack said. They were going really fast. I stopped to let the dust settle.

This is Jack Sperling, the older ranger said. He’s our local poet. A rather famous one, I gather. Jack, this is Hugh Underwood. He’s been with us for a couple of months.

Hugh grinned through his red beard as he and Jack shook hands.

Jack Sperling? Hugh said. I read one of your poems in my Oral Interp class in college. It was called ‘The Strawberry Van.’ It went very well with Holocaust Remembrance Week.

That’s when it’s meant to be read, Jack said as he made an effort to smile.

Did you know any of those boys? Hugh asked.

I don’t think so, Jack said. They went by me really fast.

His name was Roger Boley. Ring a bell?

Nope, Jack said as he shook his head.

I know his father, the older ranger said. He engraves headstones for a living. How do you like that? Probably get to do his own son’s. Wow, that’s going to be a tough one.

Their three heads turned as the helicopter engine revved up and the blades began to rotate. They watched together as the machine lifted off the ground and angled away from the sun.

What happened to your glasses? Hugh Underwood asked when the sound had faded.

I was cleaning them and I dropped them. I have an extra pair at home.

Jack looked down and saw the rock he had thrown. It was lying between Ranger Underwood’s feet. He almost let out a gasp, but caught himself and quickly closed his mouth.

Damn shame, the older man repeated.

Your name is Underwood and you became a forest ranger? Jack said to Hugh. That’s slightly poetic.

In forestry school I never heard the end of it, Hugh said. My nick name was Underlumber. I guess you could call that poetic.

Yeah, Jack said as he faked a laugh. Well, I’ve got to get home and roast a chicken. Plus, the neighbor’s kid will be coming over with her homework.

Both rangers nodded as Jack continued down the hill. When he came to the first lake he stopped for a few minutes and stared at the smooth water. He knew what his responsibilities were in this case, but he felt more than a little reluctant to face up to them. Confessing his part in the boy’s death would totally screw up his life. He decided not to do anything rash. He knew one of his strengths was thinking problems through and coming to logical conclusions. He was good at that and this situation called for some serious review and reflection. He didn’t want to make an immediate decision based on guilt.

On the ride home the prize never came into his mind. All his brainpower was used to toss and turn the events of the day. When he pulled into his long driveway he could see Emily sitting on the steps of his front porch. Her schoolbooks were in her lap and she had a big smile on her face. He parked the pickup and walked over to her.

You’re out early today, he said.

Teachers conference. Only had half a day.

Oh, yeah. You told me.

I guess this is the last time you’ll be helping me with my English, she said as she stood.

Why do you say that? he asked as he walked up the porch steps.

You’ll be too big a shot for little me.

Huh?

Mom heard it on the radio. You won the Pulitzer Prize.

TWO

I’m feeling successful

at the moment.

What I want is no longer

in a distant fog.

But good determination

pumps fuel into dangerous ego.

Vanity rises up

and slips carelessly out.

By chance, I have a deadly tamer.

A stop-gap on my street.

I live near a retirement home.

Several times a year

there are flashing lights

down the road from me.

I peek out the window and see

the emergency people

are not in a hurry.

Jack read his latest poem for the fifth time and had to admit, he liked it. Short and to the point. The kind of thing he was known for. He’d lived near a retirement home during his eleven years in Seattle. He’d always known there was a poem living in those flashing lights, but had never quite figured out how to do it. The line about the emergency people not being in a hurry was perfect, but he felt guilty about where it came from. He felt slightly ashamed of his ability to milk the day’s events. Yet, isn’t that what he always did with the events of his life? Isn’t that what just earned him the Pulitzer?

He looked over at Emily as she worked away on her essay. She was a cute fourteen-year-old, but when she concentrated on her work, she became absolutely beautiful. She had an ability to focus that Jack envied. He wanted to work on a poem about that. He wanted to find a way to describe the beauty of her complete concentration.

Now that his focus on the poem had ended, Jack’s brain automatically flooded with thoughts about Roger Boley. The guilt returned and he felt his jaw muscles tighten. Jack was sure he’d never be found out, but the images were beginning to haunt him. He worried that they would never go away. The argument echoing around in his head had no clear winner. Jack kept lobbying for the idea that the kid had brought it on himself. But victory had not yet been achieved. He thought maybe there was a poem to be found in this, as well. Jack hoped it would be a poem about getting used to the idea of having done something wrong. Maybe writing it would help bury the guilt.

This should have been the proudest day of his life, but his mind’s eye kept seeing dust clouds and a tumbling bicycle. He worried that it would be the first image to come into his mind every morning. Jack made a great effort to move his thoughts away from Roger Boley and onto the Pulitzer Prize.

He hadn’t listened to the messages on his phone yet, but he knew there were twenty-seven of them. He saw that the first one was from the Pulitzer people and the next five were from newspapers. The rest were from family and friends. The newspaper calls would be the worst kind to return. He’d be saying the same thing over and over again. He was tempted to delete them, but he knew his publisher would be angry if he did. Jack decided it would be his chore for tomorrow morning. Tomorrow afternoon he’d go into Redding and attempt to teach his American Literature class at Shasta College. He’d probably be taking bows all day. He knew the department chair would be bursting his buttons.

Done, Emily said as she slammed down her pen. I still don’t know why I can’t do my first draft on the computer.

Because I’m an old-fashioned guy, Jack said as he forced a smile. You’re practicing a lost art.

I’m practicing with an old fart, she said as she grinned. You can’t get mad at me because you’re a poet and it rhymes.

I have never rhymed ‘art’ and ‘fart’ in my life. Let me see what you wrote.

Emily walked over and put her paper in his hands. She sat back down and pretended to read a magazine as Jack looked over her essay.

"You’re for school uniforms?" Jack asked.

Of course not, Emily said as she put down the magazine. Every kid in the class is against school uniforms. She’s going to get thirty-two essays that say exactly the same thing. The thirty-third essay will stand out because it’s the opposite. Isn’t that what you always say? Don’t give them what they expect.

Yeah, but you should give them what you believe.

I believe I want an ‘A’ on this essay. I’m willing to fake it a little to get there.

You have a great future in marketing.

Marketing?

Selling.

Oh no. I’ll never be a salesperson. My future is set. I’m going to be in the ballet. You know that.

Yes, I do, Jack agreed as he went back to her paper.

You know what Gary Cooper said? Emily asked as soon as Jack finished reading her essay.

Gary Cooper? I’m surprised you even know who he is.

Oh, sure. I’ve seen his movie ‘High Noon’ twice. My mom loves Grace Kelly. Grace Kelly plays his girlfriend. I decided to read Gary Cooper’s biography.

You’re kidding?

Not at all. Gary Cooper said when he did westerns he’d look at the other cowboys to see how they were sitting in their saddles. If they were all slouching, he’d sit up straight. If they were all sitting up straight, he’d slouch. He said it’s what got him noticed.

So you’re slouching through this essay?

The rest of the class will be slouching. I’ll be the one sitting up straight. So, how did you like it?

Your comma placement is weird as usual, but the content is very good.

Would you give me an ‘A’?

’B plus’, because I know you’re faking it.

I’ll get an ‘A’, Emily said as she took the paper from Jack and sat back down.

You probably will, Jack said.

There was a soft knock on the door, but neither of them left their seats to answer it.

That’s Mom, Emily said as she closed her books. "Time for you two to talk or whatever."

The door slowly opened and Lynette Fuller stepped into the room. She was wearing the dark blue sweater Jack had given her for her fortieth birthday. It went perfectly with her blonde hair and rosy cheeks.

Am I interrupting? she asked.

Nope, I’m done, Emily said as she stood. You two can have your beer now. I’m going home to put this in my A-Laptop. Oh, wait a minute, that’s right, I don’t have an A-Lap like most of the kids. I’ve got a clunky old desktop from the dark ages.

They cost twelve hundred dollars, Lynette almost shouted.

Emily slammed her books together and both adults watched as she walked out the door.

She seems a bit on edge today, Jack said as he went into the kitchen to get the two beers.

She didn’t tell you? Lynette asked as she sat down on the couch.

Tell me what?

My brother’s on a real campaign to get me to move to Los Angeles. He says there’s a job opening up at his company. We’d finally be able to do Christmas and birthdays together. Emily would get to know her cousins and my parents would only be sixty miles away. Today I told Emily I’m beginning to think it’s a good idea.

You did? Jack asked from the kitchen. You want to move?

"I don’t want to move, Jack. I may have to move. I’m raising a teenager by myself. I get no money from Glen and my job pays crap. There’s not much else around here, either."

Emily doesn’t like the idea, I take it, Jack said as he handed Lynette a can of beer and sat down close to her.

"This is her home. She doesn’t know anywhere else. She likes her friends. She loves you. She likes the pine trees. She likes her ballet lessons in Redding. It’s a tough sell."

I don’t think she’d make a very good city girl.

Whenever we go down there, she can’t wait to get back home.

I bet.

What about you? Lynette asked slowly. Do you think it’s a good idea?

I’d really miss you. I enjoy our relationship.

So do I, Lynette said as she looked him in the eye. Well, Mr. Neighbor, lover, I’m not much for pressuring a person, but I’m borderline on this move. All I need is one more reason to stay here.

We’ve been through this, Lynette.

Come on, Jack, let’s move in together and see what happens. You already treat Emily like she’s your daughter. I’m not asking for marriage. I just want to wake up with somebody. Let’s play at it for a while and see what happens.

I can’t, Jack said softly. I need the quiet. I need to close my door on the world. I really like our relationship, but I’m not ready for that again.

Because you’re still in love with Stephanie. You think you’ll blow it if she comes back and finds us living together.

I don’t think that’s it.

Yes it is and you know it! She’s not coming back, Jack. ‘She’s salon and you’re saloon’ to quote an old song. You and I are perfect for each other and you know it.

We are, but I’m not sure about things.

My God, you haven’t seen her for two years!

She’s not the reason.

So what is the reason?

Well, I think, I’m in love with living alone.

Amazing, just amazing, Lynette said as she stood and then walked to the door. Congratulations on your Pulitzer. Today you won a prize and lost a prize. I’m moving to Los Angeles.

Lynette, Jack said to her back just before she slammed the door.

He listened as her boots stomped down the wooden steps. He heard the first couple of foot crunches on the gravel, but then nothing. Jack sank into the couch and sighed. It was not the Pulitzer celebration he had expected. He sat perfectly still for a few seconds as the wonderful blanket of silence warmed his house. He smiled briefly. Then Roger Boley showed up again.

THREE

Jack spent most of the next morning on the phone. College professors he hadn’t thought about in years had managed to find him. As did some long lost high school friends. He talked to his editor, his publisher, his agent, and did five over-the-phone newspaper interviews. He was proud of the award and at first flattered with all the attention, but soon tired of it. The questions and comments all tended to run along similar tracks. He found himself giving the same answers again and again. He tried hard to fight off the feeling of obligation. Did he really have to respond to his tenth grade English teacher? How the hell did all these people find his phone number? While talking to an old high school teammate, he looked over at his computer and cursed the Internet.

Jack drove into Redding and taught his classes at Shasta College. His lecture on The Grapes of Wrath kept getting interrupted. Almost every administrator on the campus managed to show up at his classroom. The congratulations were endless and he grew tired of hearing his students told how lucky they were. The students themselves were polite and seemed rather shy about all the fuss. A few of them came up and shook his hand before class. Their biggest concern was that the Pulitzer would mean he’d be moving on to a more prestigious college. He assured them he wasn’t going anywhere. He found their worries about his leaving to be the most gratifying aspect of this whole turn of events. He was invited to have dinner with the dean of faculty, but answered that he had a prior commitment.

His prior commitment was an idea for how to get away from everything and everybody. He’d recently read about a new California State Park near Crescent City that had beach camping. He’d been promising himself a trip to check it out. Now seemed like the ideal time. He only taught on Tuesdays and Thursdays, so he had a nice long weekend ahead of him. The ocean waves would offer their calming effect and the trip included a lovely ride along the Klamath River. He thought about it as he walked to his car. The deal was sealed when he checked his phone and found seventeen new messages.

He was packing his duffel bag when Emily knocked on the front door. As usual she didn’t wait for him to answer. She marched heavily into the room and dropped her schoolbooks on the dining room table. She parked herself in a chair and stared at him with a sour look on her face.

Why aren’t we allowed to live with you? she demanded.

That’s a pretty complicated question.

That’s what adults always say. They always say everything’s so complicated.

Sometimes it is.

Is it me? Am I the complication? Emily asked. Would you live with my mom if I wasn’t around?

No, you’re my favorite kid in the whole world.

So what’s the problem?

I like living by myself. I’m kind of content with the way things are.

Oh, Emily said quietly. Well, now I have to move to Los Angeles. I have to leave my friends and try to survive with all the violent gangs down there.

Oh, come on, Jack said. I lived in Los Angeles for three years. There are lots of nice areas without gangs. Give it a chance. You might like it. I’m sure there are excellent ballet studios.

We’re going to live in Tujunga. What kind of name is that?

Tujunga is nice, Jack said as he stuffed some sweatshirts into his duffel bag. It’s near the mountains. You’ll feel right at home.

Where are you going? Emily asked after a second.

The phone calls are driving me crazy. I’m going camping over on the coast. I’ll be back in a few days.

Who’s supposed to help me with my writing? I have to do a report on Benjamin Franklin.

Write it up and I’ll look at it when I get back.

Oh, I don’t give a shit, anyway.

Emily!

What does it matter? What does anything matter? I hope I flunk.

You don’t mean that, Jack said as he walked toward her.

Yes, I do, Emily shouted. I don’t want to move!

Emily grabbed her books off the table, stomped across the room and slammed the door on her way out.

Jack walked over to the door, opened it and stepped onto the porch. Emily was already walking down the driveway as he called after her.

Emily, come on. I’ve got ice cream. Chocolate chip.

You’ve got to be kidding! she yelled back at him.

Emily continued down the driveway as a green truck turned in and carefully made its way past her. As it came closer, Jack saw it was a Forest Service vehicle. After the truck came to a halt, Hugh Underwood emerged from