Long Road to Hero

© 2010 Mike Haszto. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

First published by AuthorHouse 12/28/2010

ISBN: 978-1-4567-2195-4 (e)

ISBN: 978-1-4567-2196-1 (dj)

ISBN: 978-1-4567-2197-8 (sc)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2010919212

Printed in the United States of America

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models,

and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.

This book is printed on acid-free paper.

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any Web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

Contents

Foreword

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter32

Chapter33

Chapter34

Chapter35

Chapter36

Chapter37

Chapter38

Chapter39

Chapter40

Chapter41

Chapter42

Chapter43

Chapter 44

Chapter45

Chapter46

Chapter47

Chapter48

Chapter49

Chapter50

Chapter51

Chapter52

Chapter53

Chapter54

Chapter55

The End

=Acknowledgements…

Foreword

Anybody who knows me knows that I can become quite chatty at a moment’s notice. I possess a level of passion that at times is only equaled by sports champions or the most ruthless of business people. Unfortunately for me, I do not possess the level of execution that is needed to be considered a sports champion or a successful ruthless business person. But in the world of chatty, I admit that I can hold a pretty good conversation when discussing topics that I can be passionate about.

My writings are often like that as well. Hit a topic that I can show off my passion, and the visions and messages are not only loud and clear, but they drown one with words and power, too. Asked to write about something that isn’t as passionate to me, and I’ll stare at a computer screen and write maybe fifty words in two hours. Now one can understand why I never made it as a newspaper reporter.

Writing Long Road to Hero was often both sides of the proverbial coin rolled into one. It started out as a passionate story about an anti-politically correct person living in an overpowering politically correct world. I am not a politically correct person except when I have to be by profession, so my intense passionate juices really thrived in this developing story. Then, something happened. Quickly it became a tale of a person being in the right place at the right time doing the right thing in the face of situational adversity. I thought…cool…another passion of mine. And as the words flowed (and sometimes overflowed), once again the story took an unexpected turn.

The challenges I faced writing this book that had more paths than the Bayard Cutting Arboretum on Long Island were that oftentimes each storyline competed against the other to win out story time. As the reader progresses, there are multiple themes. I will tell you that multiple themes and competing storylines are not a good sign of focus for a novel. But I will tell you that even with all of the movements and developments that Joe had gone through during his journey through life, they were all necessary. I cannot and will not give away any endings or which of the multiple themes came away the dominant, but I will admit that there were some that I could not get passionate about.

I am not overly chatty in this foreword about Long Road to Hero, but that doesn’t mean that I am not passionate about this book. As books go, how can I not be considered passionate or overly chatty when the story itself is approximately 450 pages?

I am not overly chatty in this foreword because I’ve saved that side of my personality and writing skills for the story. This is a story that needed those attributes, and utilized them.

Suffice to say, I am proud of the story and loved the most challenging piece of work I’ve ever written.

And that, my friends, I am very passionate about.

Mike

Chapter 1

Joe awoke suddenly with a clatter of beeps and buzzers surrounding him. He had absolutely no idea just why he was where he was, let alone exactly where he was. His eyes couldn’t focus. His mind couldn’t focus. He just lay there thinking I’m Joe…I’m Joe…I’m Joe…

He heard all kinds of noises and sounds around him, but couldn’t put two and two together. Lights were in and out of his eyes. He couldn’t move. He just lay there trying to relax as much as he could.

Joe! Joe! Can you hear me? cried out a voice.

He could hear the scream, but it didn’t register. He couldn’t move his eyes…it was much too much of a strain. Again, the cry came out, though this time it was more sternly.

Joe! Joe! Can you hear me?

A bright white light came across his pupils. Again, he just lay there non-responsive.

Time was not a factor. It seemed as though it wasn’t moving at the same rate time was accustomed to. Fact is, it seemed as though it wasn’t moving at all.

The sounds came and went in Joe’s mind. He couldn’t concentrate on anything, yet he did notice the sounds were coming and going in volume. One nonexistent moment it appeared deafening. The next same moment the volume was turned down close to one. And as with everything else he was feeling at the moment, he had no idea why. He just lay there…thinking…not thinking…who really knew. After all, Joe didn’t.

The scene played on with a long flatline type of beep. Joe’s eyes were closed.

What Joe couldn’t realize was there was about a half dozen people leaning over him trying to get him to respond to anything. It was in a bright open type of room begging for description. There was no describing the surroundings however. The temperature was nondescript. Other than a certain brightness in light, nothing could be seen, heard or felt.

Cut! Print! Nicely done everyone… shrieked a breaking female voice.

Then just as suddenly as it had all began, it stopped.

Everything that had just been experienced was no more.

Joe got up from his horizontal position, shrugged his shoulders while rubbing his arms with his opposite hands. He was attempting to circulate some life back into his chilled body. He was partly successful.

A beautiful television type doll strolled up to Joe and introduced herself.

Hi Joe, Melissa Rhinehart of the EQ Channel, can we chat a minute?

The EQ Channel? What’s that? replied Joe.

Entertainment Quotient. Another new channel for entertainment for the intelligent viewer she laughed.

Isn’t that an oxymoron? Joe quipped.

They shared a distinctive laugh together, which included Melissa’s cameraman.

In this society Melissa chimed back, isn’t everything an oxymoron of some type?

Touché said Joe.

They both looked at each other in an uncomfortable pause. Without trying, Joe seemed to have this instinctive gift of making people very uncomfortable around him. The funny thing about that, though, was that he really had no idea he was doing it. It wasn’t a repulsive feeling, and it wasn’t an arrogant or obnoxious feeling that seeped into the emotions of anyone he was with.

It really wasn’t a look that he had, or ever made. It wasn’t the sound of his voice, or really anything he ever said. The bottom line was that Joe was an above average handsome guy, with above average intelligence, and spoke…well…above average. He kept himself clean, as in personal hygiene. He wore above average clothes, not very trendy, as his senses leaned toward being a traditional type of guy.

No one could put their finger on it…not in the fifty five years he had lived on this earth. Just suffice to say, he made people uncomfortable.

Someone once described him as a no one guy from nowhere, but that wasn’t entirely accurate…obviously.

Joe cleared his throat and pressed on.

Melissa? I have all of the time that you need. I’m just your average geek with a lot of nothing to do, so how can I help you?

Melissa smiled with the corners of her mouth. She had heard that line before. It was Joe’s trademark line, something he said before any and every interview that was asked of him.

A few seconds passed, and she warmed up to him following his response.

Joe, before I turn the camera and microphone on, I just need to know one thing. How do you do it? she asked.

Do what? he questioned back.

Do what you do? she fired back immediately with a twinkle in her green eyes that peeked through a flowing red mane that helped to give her a sexy national image.

What do I do? he smiled back at her.

Exactly that…how do you do that?

Exactly what? was his innocent response.

And it was totally innocent. He had no idea what he was doing to get this kind of dialogue from her.

As much as Melissa started to feel uncomfortable again, she smiled through it and shook her head.

I don’t know about you, Joe, but I’m gonna find out one day…

Promise? asked Joe.

Guarantee she laughed.

Joe just smiled.

Okay, Joe, let’s begin…

Before we begin, are you comfortable doing this here? Would you rather step off of the set, or go closer to another part of the set? Joe queried.

I’m good here if you are…whatever you’d like she said.

Okay…go.

The cameraman pointed the camera toward Joe, and within a quick moment and a signal from Melissa, the red light of the camera turned on.

Melissa began her interview.

I’m with Joe, the newest national interest speeding up the popularity charts with a bullet…

Hi Melissa smiled Joe in a very simplistic way.

Joe, I’ve got to ask you right away, why no last name?

Last name? he laughed. Gosh, I really don’t use one. I’m just Joe.

Now, come on Joe, Joe is a very common name and we all have last names… she sparkled in her perky way.

That’s exactly the reason I go by Joe. I’m your basic nobody from nowhere. I don’t use a last name because I honestly don’t use a last name. There’s nothing hidden or secretive about it.

Joe, your biography states that you are from Clifford, Michigan. Isn’t that true?

Well, I was born there he simply stated.

That proves you came from somewhere…but oddly enough no last name is used.

You’re correct, Melissa. I was born in Clifford, but truly come from nowhere right now. Haven’t been anywhere in years. I’m just me.

Joe, how do you explain your sudden rise in fame?

Fame? What fame? I’m just me. He humbly said in a matter of fact tone.

"Well, as you state, you’re a nobody from nowhere, but now you have a large portion of America asking just who you are…you have a nation thirsty to know about you…what can you tell us?

Honestly, Melissa, my life is an open book.

Open book? We don’t know anything about you!

Well, there’s really nothing to know. What you see is what I am.

We all have a hard time believing that, Joe…

Joe looked directly into the camera. He made a couple of hand mannerisms that basically said that ‘this is me’.

Hi America…my name is Joe. Thank you for your interest.

Melissa appeared amused by what Joe did, but decided to wrap up the interview.

Joe, thanks for taking the time to chat with us. This is Melissa Rhinehart on location with Joe, America’s newest and biggest secret.

She smiled into the camera for the customary ten seconds of silence, and the cameraman gave the all clear to her. She lowered the microphone with the distinctive EQ logo on it, and gave Joe a small shove/punch with her right fist into his upper left arm.

I don’t know about you…

Precisely he answered with a grin.

May we do this again sometime? she asked.

You mean you want to?

Hmmm…yeah I see what you mean… she twinkled back at him, assuming she was playing his game.

Nevertheless, this wasn’t a game.

While Melissa and her cameraman wrapped up her report and eventually their equipment, Joe went quietly into his chair on the set and said nothing. He looked briefly around the set, taking his surroundings all in, and then stared off into the distance by way of looking down into his legs.

The day’s practice runs were finished, and people were scurrying about to put the final touches on a day that only lasted a mere eight hours, a quick one in entertainment time.

Just as with his last scene, Joe continued to sit in his chair in timeless fashion. No movements were made. It was just a simple type of quiet from a simple type of person. He didn’t like to sit around and think, so usually he just stared in blank looks and thoughts. To say he was the study of nothing would be accurate.

Melissa though, went about her business of closing up shop there, but couldn’t help but be consumed by Joe. She couldn’t figure out why. She still felt a strange discomfort about him, but couldn’t figure out why.

She looked over at him frequently, almost seemingly tracking every move that he made. That tally sheet though would be totally empty, as he continued to sit there doing absolutely nothing. She thought, ‘if that guy is playing a part, I’ve never seen anyone do that so damn well’.

It became a mission of hers while she was there to catch him doing something out of the character he was portraying. He didn’t. She spent a half hour looking over the set and speaking with a couple of different people who were still there in hopes of catching him doing something…ANYTHING!

She was about to leave disappointed when she walked up to him and disturbed him of his distance.

Joe, off the record. This is starting to get to me. What gives?

Hi Melissa. What gives? What do you mean?

Come on, I’m dying to know.

Know what? I’m just your average geek with a lot of nothing to do… he said.

Yes, I know you’re line. I want to know about you…

Know about me? What do you want to know?

His evading the answering of her questions was wearing thin on her. She was becoming impatient fast, and he knew that.

Joe, what’s your last name?

I don’t use one.

Joe, where do you live?

Nowhere really.

Nowhere?

Not really.

Then where do you call home?

I have no home.

You have no home?

No not really.

She took her hands and grabbed her red mane and acted the moment of pulling her hair out. He smiled.

I don’t mean to frustrate you he calmly said.

Oh but you do… she laughed.

I’m sorry about that he replied in his usual calm demeanor.

Joe, I would imagine you’re single…is that true?

Why would you think that? he said guarded.

I can’t imagine you being married to a woman who could stand that type of frustration she joked.

Am I that bad of a guy?

I really don’t know, I was just kidding. But you sure frustrate me.

Why so Melissa?

Because I’m very open and aggressive and I’m used to getting answers to questions I ask. As a reporter, I dig until I find the truth…or at least a juicy tidbit.

You think I’m not giving you answers? he asked.

You’re not giving me the answers I’m accustomed to.

Is it that I just frustrate you because I really don’t have any interesting answers?

Could be. But I swear you must have SOME interesting answers to give. I mean, everybody has something interesting to contribute.

Joe looked stoically at Melissa.

Melissa, I really don’t know what to say. I’m just me. Joe.

Can you at least tell me one thing…just one thing about you.

Okay…shoot.

Are you single or married?

Yes I am.

He smiled as he watched her reaction of dumbfoundedness.

Yes you are single or yes you are married? she pushed.

Yes I am he repeated.

Yes you am what? she pointedly directed.

Yes I am he again said calmly.

He looked at her as she began to lose it. Inside he laughed hard at watching a beautiful green eyed redhead lose control of herself. Outside, he just looked at her…calmly, with a look of interest as to why she was getting so bent out of shape.

The whole sequence would have made a great sitcom.

Before leaving Joe, Melissa took a long hard look into Joe’s eyes. Her intensity was noted by Joe, and they both knew that their paths would again cross in the future.

As she turned to leave, Joe spoke up.

I’m so sorry for wasting your time.

It wasn’t wasted, believe me.

I will give you better answers next time…promise.

You will give me better answers next time…guaranteed.

Chapter 2

Joe was the type of child that only a mother could truly love. He wasn’t overly athletic, and he wasn’t very intelligent. He was touted as someone who was above average in both of those areas, but nothing special or exceptional. He did grow up in Clifford, a very tiny town in the thumb part of the mitten known as the lower part of Michigan.

To say Clifford was tiny would honestly be a gross understatement. The town was located about an hours drive east from Saginaw, the closest town that someone might have heard of. It was a perfect town for Joe to hail from. It seemed to fit in perfectly with the whole ‘Joe’ thing. But, was it a thing?

Joe didn’t have any experiences as a child that was out of the norm. He wasn’t a leader by any stretch of the imagination, and he wasn’t what anyone would call a follower. He just seemed to live life as it came, on his terms, and that was very calmly…for the most part.

He was an only child from a set of parents who were hard working middle class folks. Well, his father Jim had the career, and his mom Jean had the fulltime job of rearing Joe. It wasn’t an easy task for his mom, and there were numerous times that she would have gladly traded with his father. But in those days of family, they were pretty much the average family with an above average kid.

That wasn’t to say that his parents were any less than Joe or he was anything more than his parents. Simply stated, their family status was average for that time. They all did the things that average families did in the sixties and seventies…especially spending time with each other.

Every morning it was breakfast together, just like a traditional family. Every evening, it was dinner together. Every night it was television time together. Or it was homework time, where everyone contributed to the education of Joe. There was plenty of life lessons learned together as well.

Unlike the current social and family structure of America, Joe’s parents and he actually talked of the birds and the bees. They all talked of formulating beliefs and opinions on various topics. No topics were off limits as he went through adolescence. His parents did not force or push their own beliefs on Joe. Topics included girls, drugs, drinking, education, career, whatever…it didn’t matter. His parents wanted Joe to be a person who thought for himself, and not come by his opinions because of others.

And that became one of the pillars of Joe’s foundation through life. He always thought for himself. He lived life on his terms, and without the influence of anyone else.

That’s not to say that his upbringing was all butter scones and tea. Actually, it was quite to the contrary. But that had little to do with his parents and their family structure.

It had everything to do with an ever-changing world, a world that was evolving very quickly around them. Although the hamlet of Clifford was not necessarily changing, the family structures were and so were Joe’s peers.

He did not have an easy time of it going through school. He was often picked on because he plainly didn’t fit in. Sure, he played all the games that all of his friends and neighbors did, but he wasn’t outstanding by any means. He was simply above average.

In kickball, he didn’t kick for power, and he certainly wasn’t overly fast. In baseball it was pretty much the same. He got his fair share of hits so he was never really looked on as a geek or a wimp, but there was something always about him that just didn’t fit in with the rest of the kids. He fielded okay, and threw the baseball just fine, but again, he was like the grass that they all played on…quiet, unassuming and growing at its own pace.

He didn’t possess the competitiveness and intensity of the other kids, and that was why he was continually overlooked and shied away from. He was the quiet kid. The kid who didn’t get into any trouble, and the kid who didn’t cause any as well.

He was an average build for a child. He had a paper route when he turned eleven. Joe rode his maroon two wheel bicycle all over town delivering newspapers. Overall, it was a good job for an early teenager. It

taught responsibility and also made him a few dollars.

It was not an easy task to do such a paper route in the presence of a town of about three hundred people. Everybody knew Joe, and he knew everyone as well, but the route stretched for miles because of the openness of land in town.

One day, however, he had to ride seven blocks out of his way because a small Yorkie dog wouldn’t leave him alone while on his route. The day was a hot one in June and he was wearing jeans. The dog came out of nowhere, and took a hold of his leg about ankle high, and wouldn’t let go.

It pestered him like a mosquito from Washington Street to Main Street and onwards to Marlette Road, the whole way until it finally gave up. He went through the whole town and out again until that dog finally gave up.

He had rips from teeth marks in his favorite pair of jeans. The numerous small bites had drawn some blood from the youngster. How did Joe react?

Joe could easily have been upset with the dog. He could have easily been upset with the bites. Moreover, he could have been easily upset with anything else that happened on the route that day, just on general principle.

But he wasn’t.

He just shook it off like anything else in his life…at least to that point.

Reading Joe was at times complex. Whether it was his parents during a family discussion, or a teacher in a class room lesson, or even a neighborhood friend or two, there was a lot of guessing and assumptions to how Joe communicated and how he felt about things.

There were countless times he was misunderstood because of his quiet nature. There were also countless times that he was misunderstood because he appeared to be apathetic. It wasn’t because he was apathetic, but oftentimes the general look on his plain face would convey such a message. No one could explain why, especially his parents Jim and Jean.

Jim’s career with an automaker took a toll at times on Joe. Jim’s factory hours during the third shift in nearby Flint (a shorter distance from Saginaw, though it took about the same time drivewise) often left Jim extremely tired for those family breakfasts, family dinners, and even some of those family discussions concerning life lessons. Where it also took its toll was during the day as he slept.

Many times Joe sensed he needed a masculine hand or viewpoint in his endeavors, but the house rule was not to disturb Jim while sleeping. His next option, while not necessarily a bad one, was his mother Jean. However, as boys know, sometimes a father’s presence commands a little more of what they need at a certain time…whatever that may be.

Jean reminded the folks of Clifford as someone who came from the fifties and just stuck there. She resembled June Cleaver from the Leave It To Beaver television show, and possessed just as many qualities as Donna Reed from her television show during the fifties as well.

So many of the days spent doing household chores and such she would be in a dress looking like she just stepped out of the television. She always appeared neat and clean, and took pride in her personal hygiene.

Jean was ever-present. She was everywhere. If there was ever an issue or a need from her husband Jim or from Joe, she was there. And it appeared she always had the right answers for whatever concern was given to her.

Loyalty went hand in hand with family. Anyone that knew or had connections with the family felt that strongly. She was a very easy going woman, but tough and fair when she needed to be. She had all the answers, and while there were times she could be soft and coddling with them, she also seemed an expert at spitting nails if she had to be. That was a trait she needed to be so badly considering the family structure and raising an only child boy through his adventurous teen years.

**********

Joe’s childhood was pretty boring to a child of the present. There were no computers back then, so all of the social websites and video games, and downloaded music were not happening. There were no mobile or cellular phones as well. There was just one landline phone going into the house that was stationed in the kitchen on the wall. It certainly wasn’t fancy, and the phone itself matched the conservative kitchen décor as off white.

So without computer and cell phone, Joe spent his time like most other children back in those decades: outside eight hours a day when school was not in session, and pretty much listening to the radio or watching television when inside.

His time outside was spent with a couple of neighborhood buddies, Rich and Gregg, though he always seemed to be the third wheel or the odd man out in situations. There weren’t many other kids to play with or hang with in the tiny village that were his age. And when those two boys were not available, he basically went solo, riding his maroon bike anywhere and everywhere on whatever adventures he could. When it rained and his day was spent inside, it was all puzzles and board games for him. Sometimes his mom would play a game or two with him, but often he did these things solo. The key was he needed to stay quiet because of his father’s need to sleep during the day.

Joe’s only organized activities were Boy Scouts and Little League baseball. The Boy Scouts met once a week in the basement of a local church and did camp outs whenever the Jamboree weekend was during the calendar year, and also two other weekends usually reserved for the summer and fall. Joe was an above average scout, reaching the level of First Class. He accomplished many challenges in which he was awarded badges, but fell far short of the Eagle Scout ranking. In Little League, Joe advanced with his age group from year to year, and enjoyed playing, but reaped little success in the eyes of his peers and coaches. While his skills were above average, his demeanor seemed to hold him back because he wasn’t like many of his teammates in the sense of intense or competitive.

Joe enjoyed the radio with the strongest of feelings…well, next to his bicycle. It always amazed him that people could talk and music could be heard over a little transistor radio. While there weren’t a lot of listening options during the daytime, Joe spent most of his radio time wearing down its battery at night, where he could tune in several far away stations. This also worked much better at night because of the sleep patterns of his father. With him at work, it made it easier for Joe to listen to his radio.

Joe’s favorite station at night was from Canada. It was across the river from Detroit, Windsor to be exact. CKLW on the 800 AM frequency would mesmerize Joe at night with fast talking deejays and what seemed like endless music. It wasn’t the same type of music heard modern day, but a melodic music that seemed to touch his soul. It was also the strongest, most clear station he could get on that little transistor. Other stations he could pick up interested him too. A station from New York City, WNBC at 660 AM, was another favorite. He had always seen what New York had looked like from television or movies, and that created an interest to actually hear what was going on there live on the radio. Most of the time it came in pretty clear for him to listen to, but CKLW was so loud that it seemed like they were broadcasting from outside his window. There were a few other stations that Joe enjoyed tuning into, but only on rare occasion when he lost interest on CKLW or WNBC. He didn’t care much for the Detroit stations, for whatever reason, so he didn’t tune into any of those.

There wasn’t a whole lot of television to watch there. With Clifford and the surrounding areas being an area of scattered population at best, the only television that could be picked up was out of Detroit with a seriously high television antenna. A station out of Flint and Saginaw could be viewed as well, but the content of those mirrored the Detroit stations a good part of the time.

When watching the television, Joe and his family did have access to the three television networks of that time, and one independent station from Detroit that excelled in playing afternoon cartoons shows after two and older television series after five. The family usually spent their evenings watching the television together, just before Jim needed to go to work.

Yes, Joe’s childhood was pretty boring as compared to a childhood of modern day.

Chapter 3

Rich, Gregg and Joe were on a bike adventure one summer day that took them east of town.

Instead of cruising east out of town down Madison Street to its end, the thirteen year old boys decided to head south to Clifford Street, and then head east. There was many a day that the boys biked over to Indian Creek, usually heading past the Madison Street dead end and cruising through the wilderness on their rugged bikes. But this day, they decided to go further and challenge what was ahead of them.

The boys hadn’t ever wandered down Clifford Street before. But this day, they put on their Captain Adventure hats and decided to bike down Clifford Street to where Indian Creek crossed, and beyond. They were smart enough to fill their water bottles on each bicycle. They filled their pockets with Bazooka bubble gum that they bought at the stationary store on Main Street and off they went.

It was a sunshine filled day in the upper seventies, and for this day, all three boys were loving life.

They left around ten thirty in the morning, and rode the few miles up Clifford to the Stiver Drain, passed Indian Creek. They left the road and decided to walk their bikes up on the side of the drain path. Rich was closest to the stream, walking his sturdy blue BMX bike over the rocky terrain.

Gregg was comfortably accompanying his green bike in between the other boys in the middle while Joe was walking his maroon bike on the outside of them.

Conversation took over as the kids wandered up north of the roadway they had biked.

Hey Joe, saw you helping your dad the other day in the yard. What’s he doing there? asked Gregg.

He wanted to put in a basketball court with concrete, so I could learn how to play. He said it would be cool to have you guys over and give us another thing we could do.

Wow…basketball. Yeah that would be cool said Rich. We don’t have anywhere to play around here, especially when the school is closed.

So what were you doing with him? Gregg asked. It looked like you were digging stuff up and moving a lot of ground.

Yeah, we were. The ground needed to be leveled, so we were doing that.

When do you think it’ll be ready? Rich questioned.

Not really sure. It took all day to level the land and pound it down.

So is he gonna pour concrete there? asked Gregg.

Yeah…that’s his plan. I think on his next day off he’s gonna get everything we need. I’ll probably have to help him with that too.

Don’t sound so excited Joe… said Gregg sarcastically.

All three boys laughed, though Joe’s was more of a phony chuckle. He really wasn’t that excited about the whole thing. If anything, it would just serve to have his friends over so they had something to do. Joe wasn’t really into basketball.

Ah, we’ll see how it turns out… Joe mentioned.

Well, I know I’m excited about it Gregg replied. Let me know when it’s done. I’ve got a basketball…

Yeah, it’ll be cool shooting hoops agreed Rich.

No problem, guys, I’ll keep you updated… said Joe.

The boys continued to walk along the drain, not necessarily looking for anything in particular. This was just another adventure that was in search of excitement. Boys will be boys kind of thing. The conversation slowed a bit as they walked northeast toward the end of the streaming drain.

Then, much like boys will do, they became jabbermouths again.

Damn Tigers suck again, don’t they? Gregg initiated. Man, I wish they’d do something…

Speaking of them, you going to any games this summer? Rich asked.

I’m not sure…depends on my Dad. Tiger Stadium is such a cool place to watch a game replied Gregg.

Well, if you go, make sure you take me with you to the Indians games…

Rich remarked.

I know. That’s your favorite team…why I have no idea… chuckled Gregg.

I dunno either sneered Rich, think it’s because they are both such losers, and when they get together, they actually score runs off of each other.

The boys laughed. Up until now, Joe was his usual quiet.

You know, you’re right. They both are horrible teams. But they play some pretty good games against each other.

Well, we’ll see what my Dad can do Gregg said. He’s always been a die hard fan his whole life. I’m sure we’ll go see the usual ten or fifteen games. And since my sister doesn’t like to go, I’ll probably be able to take one of you to each game…

I got dibs on the Indians! Rich reiterated.

Okay, okay! We’ll see…

Again, the boys laughed over the over-enthusiasm showed by Rich.

Joe, you want dibs on someone? Gregg asked.

Joe just looked at both of them and calmly said Since the Tigers are my favorite team, I’ll take dibs on all the other games except the Indians.

Gregg laughed again.

You know, Joe, I like your thinking… he said as he laughed some more.

Wait a sec…I’m getting jipped here… muttered Rich. I wanna go to more than just the Indians…

It seemed like this whole conversation had turned into a competition of sorts to see who could tag along to the most Tiger games. Rich was overly passionate about the whole thing and every now and then found himself stumbling with his bike as he encountered loose uneven rocks in his path.

Every now and then Gregg warned Rich about getting too close to the embankment toward the water, but Rich paid him no never mind.

The conversation continued about baseball, focusing on some of the Tiger’s players. Rich was touting statistics like kids did back then of Tigers as well as Indians players, trying to prove a point about how the Indians were a better team this particular season.

The boy’s attention was all on that as Rich stumbled with his bike down the embankment, rolling on the rocks and dirt all the way to the drain water.

It was a good fifty to seventy feet down on a steep angle. The bike then flew into the water with Rich actually falling off the edge into the stream writhing in pain.

He was lying in about three feet of water, barely keeping his head up. His moans were loud and echoing over the open land.

Joe and Gregg stood there for a brief moment in shock. They were still at the top of the embankment with jaws hanging open. Both felt their feet heavy with concrete and their thighs filled with jello. Gregg panicked.

Oh my God…Rich…JESUS! he screamed.

Joe dropped his bike and started down the steep decline.

Come on Gregg…I see him.

Shit man…he’s hurt. Dumb ass…I hope he’s alright.

Come on Gregg… Joe shouted up the hill. He needs us.

I told him…I warned him… Gregg yelled back.

Don’t matter…come on Gregg…we need you down here Joe screamed back.

It was the most emotion Joe has ever exhibited. Indeed, the situation called for it.

Joe reached the side of the stream in about a minute, give or take a few seconds. Gregg was still gingerly trying to maneuver the hill down. The bicycle of Rich’s was downstream about a hundred feet or so. No one cared about that. Rich looked like a tangled puppet in the water, limbs going in all directions. He appeared to be stable in the water, but it was a mystery just how he was doing that. His head and one arm and leg were at the water’s surface while everything else was submerged.

The only audible sounds coming from Rich were his loud moans.

Joe emptied the pockets of his jeans on the shore before jumping into the cool water. Immediately he could feel a type of current taking him downstream. He looked back at Gregg, who was still three quarters way up the hill.

Joe then made the command decision to just concentrate on getting to Rich and helping him. He walked through the current with cautious stability the ten to fifteen feet to Rich, never losing his balance. Rich was still hanging on in his awkward position.

Joe got his attention right away.

Rich, where are you hurt?

My head, my shoulder, my hip.

Can you feel or move where you hurt?

I feel pain…that’s all.

But can you move your shoulder?

Joe stabilized himself around Rich so neither would lose balance.

I don’t know…

Rich, before I move you, I need to know so I don’t grab it and hurt you more Joe explained firmly. Try for me.

Okay…

Rich moved his right arm below where his shoulder was hurting. He let out a loud half scream and moan.

Okay Rich…it’s movable. That’s a good sign. Maybe you’re just cut, maybe you separated it.

All I know is it hurts! Rich whined.

Yes, we both know that. What about your hip? Can you move your leg? Joe asked again with directness. Try for me.

Rich moved his right leg, which had been tangled up below the water’s surface. He lost his balance and fell into Joe.

Whooooa… he screamed.

I got you Joe screamed back. I got you!

Joe held onto his friend and started slowly back to the side where they entered the water. Within a couple of minutes Rich got to land and crawled back onto the rocky terrain.

Joe had a different idea.

Instead of managing himself back up onto solid ground, he turned and went after Rich’s bike that was about a hundred and fifty feet downstream.

Rich watched as he lay on the rocks with cuts and swelling surrounding some of the bruised areas he sported.

Gregg was still trying to make it down the hill.

Joe was about halfway to Rich’s bike when he abruptly lost his footing and disappeared.

Rich didn’t notice. Gregg was just getting to him and the two started talking about Rich’s boo boos. Rich looked back towards Joe and didn’t see him. He proceeded to go nuts. After realizing why Rich suddenly went nuts, Gregg joined him quickly.

Joe was gone.

Stiver Drain wasn’t very wide, and averaged between three and four feet deep. Normally, there wasn’t much of a rolling current, and no one could explain what the boys had come across there. After all, this was their first time walking their bikes along the drain.

Rich wasn’t moving very well as he tried to get up in desperation to locate Joe. Gregg still appeared to have panicked himself out of any reality. Neither were much help in locating Joe.

A minute went by. The only thing the boys could see was the handle bars of Rich’s bike sticking up out of the water.

Rich finally got to his feet, dirt and ground clinging to his soaking wet body and clothes. He started limping down the shore line with reckless abandon. His green t-shirt was slightly torn in the shoulder and was darkened with blood that has spilled from his body. His face and arm also sported open cuts and gashes with blood seeping from them. His jeans were just heavy with the water it carried from his unexpected swim. While there was no noticeable blood, the limp was very noticeable.

Gregg followed as both boys searched feverishly for any sign of Joe. They walked right by the only signs of Joe that he left on the ground before he jumped in after Rich…a key chain with one key on it, what looked like a dollar and a quarter in change, and three small individually wrapped jawbreakers.

Joe? Joe? the boys continually screamed.

Joe? Joe? Where the hell are you? Rich wailed.

Another minute went by and Joe was still nowhere to be found. The boys continued to panic. They also continued down the shore getting closer to the submerged bicycle.

A strong dark shadow had cast over them as a large thick cloud rolled by the position of the sun. It had the boys looking up briefly.

Shit, I still don’t see him… Rich cried. Joe? Joe?

Come on God, we gotta find him! Gregg yelled as he looked up at the covered sun.

Joe? Joe? Rich repeated.

About two and a half minutes had gone by when the boys finally noticed that something was peeking up through the water, clinging to Rich’s bike. The boys couldn’t make the object out, and continued their cries out to Joe.

The only movements in that area were the waves of the water as they went by the bike and the object that had caught itself on it.

Rich limped as close as he could get to the bike from the shore. He still couldn’t make out the object that was with it, but with a sudden rush, put the pain he was feeling behind him and re-entered the water in hopes that Joe was the object tangled up in the bike.

Gregg stood there in disbelief.

Rich, where are you going?

To get Joe. We have to find Joe. That might be him caught in the bike.

Rich, get back here. It’s not safe…

I’ve got to find him. He saved me!

Rich! Don’t leave me here… Gregg yelled scared.

Too late, Rich was already over halfway to the bike in water that was shoulder high. The currents were there, though not as strong as they were where he originally fell in.

As he got closer to the bike, he recognized Joe.

Gregg, get in here and help me! It’s Joe! He’s bleeding…

Gregg still stood there silently like a frozen statue.

Gregg…I need your help! Joe’s bleeding and it looks like he’s not moving! GREGG!

Rich got to Joe and noticed the bleeding from the top of his head. It was flowing with regularity.

Joe was not moving but just floating in the water. It appeared as though he had cut his head during his panic when he got snagged by the bike as he was fighting the current that was taking him downstream.

Rich didn’t wait for Gregg to come help. He scooped up Joe in his arms and began to move back toward Gregg and the shore. Rich was so focused on Joe that he didn’t notice his own injuries as he fought through the cross current.

Within thirty seconds, Joe was laid down on the dirt and rocks on the side of the drain.

Gregg, I’ll stay with Joe, You get into town and get help…anyone!

Gregg stood there frozen.

GREGG!

Rich got up, grabbed Gregg by the arms and shook him until he focused on Rich.

GREGG!

Gregg blinked and focused on Rich.

Gregg, get on your bike…get to town…get help…NOW!

Gregg ran over to his bike, hopped on, and pedaled strongly past Rich and Joe toward Clifford Road.

Chapter 4

One month and three days passed before Joe heard the sounds of the heart equipment he was hooked up to. As he awoke from a prolonged sleep, he smiled at the strong smells emulating from a Treve’s Pizza from nearby Marlette. Actually, the pizza came from up the block a ways.

Joe, on the other hand, was a patient waking up in Marlette Hospital. His parents Jean and Jim were by his bedside as he awoke, sharing the pizza after yet another long day there next to him. They never gave up hope for Joe, following the miraculous recovery of his from Stiver Drain.

The rescue was something that could have easily been on a television show. By the time rescue help came to the aid of Joe and Rich, Joe had slipped away. However, with strong perseverance, the EMT’s were able to bring Joe back…at least in heartbeat. Thirty four days later, he opened his eyes in reacting to a Treve’s Pizza. Truly miraculous, he would tell people later in life.

Thanks to the aroma of pizza, Joe opened his eyes. Three days later, he was able to take a bite of one. Between the two benchmarks of recovery, Joe was able to move his extremities. That alone delighted everyone who had stood by his side over those thirty four days, nurses and doctors alike.

Word got around town like a wildfire. A writer from the Marlette Leader even came out on that special day of awakening to chat with Jim and Jean about what was termed a medical miracle. And three days later as Joe was chomping on his first solid food in over a month, hope was still running high that Joe would speak his first words. It appeared as though his motor skills were coming back to normal in those three days thus far, but his speaking skills were non existent.

The miracle was fairly obvious to anyone who knew the story. Upon not breathing for several minutes, not only was Joe feared dead, but after his revival, the thought was serious brain damage if he woke up at all.

Jean and Jim basically gave up on everything at their house and in their lives to be by Joe’s bedside for those thirty four days. Jim gave up on the basketball court that was started with the two of them. Jean gave up on some scrapbooks she was putting together of old family pictures. Both of those projects paled heavily in comparison to what their Joe was going through. An only child, he was not just a big part of their lives, but their whole lives.

They held prayer vigils from his tiny hospital room with anyone who poked their head in to check on him. At times those impromptu vigils would last a couple of hours…and at times they would last a few minutes.

But all in all, both Jean and Jim never lost faith in that Joe would one day wake up. There was not even a flicker of lost hope.

**********

Following the munching on some Treve’s pizza that day, Joe’s doctors gave him a thorough physical examination. Obviously all was not at one hundred percent after thirty seven days now in a hospital bed. Joe had lost quite a bit of weight with his inability to eat solid foods. Some of his muscle tone had gone to flab as well. Doctors knew that when Joe woke up that there would be challenges to get him physically fit again…they were just begging for the chance to do that.

Moreover though, they were much more concerned with the challenges ahead with mental facilities and whether they would respond after not breathing for so long on that fateful day. Yet the doctors wanted that challenge as well in the worst way.

This day, as the physical examination bore out, it looked like Joe could get back to normal in a few weeks of physical rehab. The mental concerns proved to be just that…concerns.

Joe was still not talking, and his facial mannerisms showed the strain of trying to comprehend what doctors, nurses and even his parents were communicating to him.

As days grew forward, Joe’s physical issues were overcome.

Meanwhile, there were two specialists called in to help deal with the mental issues. For inasmuch as Joe could see and understand with his eyes, it simply didn’t translate to his mind. While Joe could smell and identify that he liked those smells, he couldn’t necessarily understand anyone communicating with him about them, nor could he communicate back. It simply appeared as though his inner wiring for communications was shorted out.

Both specialists went over batteries of tests with Joe. Those test results left both specialists scratching their heads. Neither had administered tests like that with the results they got back. They couldn’t explain it to Jean and Jim. Moreover, they couldn’t explain it to Joe himself.

What were those results? Joe passed all the tests given when it came to brainwaves and knowledge. His recognition skills were perfect. He was at or beyond the learning levels of thirteen year olds. The doctors termed it ‘above average’.

Yet, the actual physical skills of speaking were not present in Joe. He knew what he wanted to communicate. And he tried to communicate. However, there was no voice, no speech, no whispers, and no sign or body language.

His Mom gave him a pen to write, yet he couldn’t. Joe looked the pen over, and with the help of his mother, put it between his fingers. He set it to the paper, but could not form any letters, nor could draw with it.

After a while, the patience that Joe had in dealing with this challenge began to fade. Soon after the fading was over, it frustrated Joe to no end. He began dropping, then throwing pens and pencils every time that he tried to use them.

The specialists were perplexed as to just why he couldn’t coordinate himself to use them. What was even more of a concern was that Joe was starting to show raw emotion in a much stronger form than he did in the past. Before the incident at Stiver Drain, he really didn’t show any intensity in emotion, no lack of patience and no competitive skills.

Now though, Joe appeared to become frustrated much too easily. The throwing of objects was uncharacteristic of him, and the way he started breaking pencils concerned his parents.

The specialists tried to teach him English from the very basics all over again, thinking that much like a computer, it had simply been deleted out of his system. That approach didn’t work. Fact is, it took all of two lesson plans to figure out that it wouldn’t work. They could see it in Joe’s impatient and bulging eyes.

CT-scans were ordered as well as more tests. All were negative.

Each following day as Joe became physically stronger, he became more frustrated with his inability to communicate, read and write. He understood what doctors wanted. He understood his parents’ requests. And he did everything that was expected of him, except read and write, and communicate.

Following forty days in the hospital, Joe was released with an explicit set of instructions that included physical therapy as well as medical therapy as well. The specialists continued to see him on a daily basis, as both tried to make breakthroughs with Joe. Some days it was for an hour, while others it was a bit longer.

Again, the frustrating part of this challenge for the specialists was that they had a thirteen year old who was physically a thirteen year old, and mentally a thirteen year old. There was no question that Joe had the intelligence.

**********

The summer ended with nothing new to report…well almost nothing. Joe was allowed to hang out with friends for the most part, but at times didn’t appreciate how cruel kids could be. There were a few occasions that kids made fun of the fact that he couldn’t talk.

And with kids thinking just like kids, there were a few times when kids thought his inability to talk was directly linked to his hearing or his ability to understand. This led to some times where frustration came out, and Joe’s sudden ability to want to protect himself through physical fighting.

His first experience with that occurred midway through the summer when a classmate named Billy poked fun at him while with Gregg and Rich. They were sitting at and standing around a picnic table at the park on a beautiful summer day. It was mid afternoon; the sun was high and hot. The kids were just hanging around talking. As Billy poked more and more insulting jokes at Joe, he pushed one time too many.

Joe began to get the frustration look on his face and was close to exploding, when Rich warned his buddy to stop the jokes.

Billy, you better stop. None of that is funny Rich said.

What? Like he can hear me… Billy replied.

Billy pushed a little harder with a demeaning joke.

Dude, I’m telling you, none of that crap is funny.

Come on, he doesn’t understand what I’m saying… defended Billy, who was laughing.

Billy looked over at Joe and made a silly face. Joe just sat there looking at him. Joe’s face was reddened in the cheeks.

See? I told you… said Billy.

Stop the shit NOW Billy…last warning Rich stated firmly.

Not only was Joe about to explode, but Rich was about to lose his temper as well.

I don’t understand what your problem is Rich, he can’t talk. What’s he gonna do about it?

Rich got up and took an aggressive stand toward Billy. Billy was bigger than Rich by about five inches and thirty pounds. Although he wasn’t generally considered a bully, all indications at the moment pointed that way.

Billy laughed at Rich as he got up and assumed that stance.

Come on Rich, like you’re gonna do something about it? Billy egged on. What ya wanna do?

Before anyone moved or said another thing, Joe quietly got up from his seated position on the picnic table. He took the two steps needed to get to Billy. In one swift movement without anyone thinking or moving, he cocked his right arm and drove a fisted punch into the middle of Billy’s face, splitting his nose into three pieces.

Blood spurted out like a sprinkler hose.

Billy fell directly to the ground.

Gregg, Rich and Joe stood there frozen for a long moment. They couldn’t believe what had just happened.

Joe turned away and began crying and shaking. He didn’t know how to act. This was his first time losing all control of his temper. And this was the first time he ever did anything like hitting someone. His crying and shaking were pretty intense.

Rich leaned over Billy, who was conscious and bleeding.

Guess you’ll learn not to pick on him anymore…dumb ass.

Billy was in shock as tears flowed with the blood.

Gregg just stood there frozen, much like he did at Stiver Drain the day of incident with Rich and Joe.

That episode triggered more tests, especially for Joe’s head. Not only did he see the two specialists five days a week, but now he had to begin seeing a therapist as well, to figure out his aggressive tendencies and what could be done about them.