San Jose, California, February 16, 1:02 p.m. PST.
I was so late. I ran to the gym, my bag banging against my leg. Ugh, I was so late!
I pulled the doors open and almost ran over my best friend, Ian Henderson. We grew up together in our cozy little California suburb. We have been through everything together.
Ian is White, which of course got us teased with that oldie but goodie. “Hey, you guys are like Ebony and Ivory!”
“There you are!” he half-shouted at me. “I’ve been texting you. Why didn’t you answer me?”
“Dude, I forgot my Global. I totally overslept. I got here as fast as I could. I had to ride my bike because my parents weren’t at home,” I said as we walked into the gym. We came to a junction.
“Okay. Okay, just get in the locker room and get changed; you’re up next,” Ian broke off and jogged into the competition area of the gym.
I knew I had a little bit of time, but I ran anyway. Coach would not be happy; I was so late.
I came into the locker room half expecting him to be standing there staring at me with disapproval, but he was not there. I changed rapidly and went out to the main area and found Coach.
So here I was, I made it to the county finals and was likely going to the state competition. Coach Adrian was standing near the mat, watching for me. He waved me over when he saw me come into the gym. When I got there, he said, “Nice of you to join us. Did you get lost?”
“No, Sir,” I answered, slightly out of breath.
I did not add I had to ride my bike because my parents just left me at home, to go who knew where.
“I’ve got a surprise for you, Scip,” he said, pointing up into the bleachers. There were my parents waving and smiling at me. I felt my heart leap in my chest, and I got nervous. I did not want to lose in front of them. Just then, the announcer called my name:
“Scipio Harelson!”
“Don’t worry,” Adrian said. “Just go out there and do your best. Keep moving; target don’t be a target,” he was looking at me with coach eyes. The intensity level was off the charts.
“Yes, Sir.” My head bobbed in understanding as I put in my mouthpiece and fastened on my head, hand, and footgear. I knew I had size on the guy, but I still felt small walking onto the big mat. My confidence returned when I actually stood on the big blue cushions.
I took that first step up to the line, and my head felt like it was going to explode. I felt like the entire crowd in the gymnasium was screaming in my head. I blinked my eyes, shook my head, and focused on the match. It stopped just as suddenly as it started.
I stepped to the line, the referee bowed us in, and the match started.
My opponent came at me like a whirlwind, striking and kicking as fast as he could. At first, all I could do was move back. Then something strange happened. I could see his next move, I could see him set up the kick, but I could also see where it was going to land. I was confused by what I was seeing. When I saw my own face, my feet tangled, and I fell. The referee stopped the match and awarded points because I took a glancing front kick. Because I fell, it looked worse than it genuinely was.
I went back to the line, and the referee started the match again. He came at me with a roundhouse followed by a vicious wheel kick. It was an excellent combination, but I saw him do it. Well, I felt him prepare each strike. It felt alien and familiar at the same time.
I sidestepped the roundhouse and swept his foot out from under him, just as he gave a tiny hop to set up the wheel kick.
He crashed to his back, feet flailing in the air.
The surprise on his face was apparent. Just then, that screaming headache came back, and the world went red then black.
I could hear screams coming from far away as worried voices gathered around me.
I tried to open my eyes, but someone had decided to shine a laser into them. I squeezed my eyelids closed to avoid the light and pain.
All I could do was grit my teeth and moan. I tried to raise my hands to my face, but they would not move. That is when the panic crept in. I did not know what was happening; at first, I thought my opponent had hit me, broken my neck, and paralyzed me. But I couldn’t remember the blow. My breathing increased as the panic dug its horrible claws into me. I tried to listen to the people around me- trying to hear what they were saying but there was too much voice overlap.
Then it happened again. The world made a nauseating turn and I could see myself from the outside. A tsunami of panic rushed over and through me. Was I dead and floating away? I was not getting any higher, and I was looking at other people bent over me. Wait. What? I saw myself. Then I was looking at my parents. After that the world dropped into a half-spin, and the paramedics rushed over to me. Wait, not me, someone close to me. I could see myself lying on my back, but then I was backing away, making room for the EMTs. I was close again, next to one of the EMTs.
This all happened so fast. I didn’t have time to think and figure out what was happening. The pain was there again as one of the EMTs shined a bright light in my eyes. That pain was too much; I retreated into the darkness and silence.
San Jose, California, February 16, 1:32 p.m. PST
One second, Ian Henderson had been about to watch his best friend win an easy match, and the next, he was running down the bleacher steps in a full-blown panic.
He was the third person to get to him. Scipio’s dad was already there, but he hadn’t touched his son; his hands were just hovering over him like he wanted desperately to fix him but was stopped because he didn’t know what was wrong. Ian had seen that Scipio wasn’t hit; he just spurted blood from his nose and fell back. Having sparred with him many times, Ian knew his friend’s moves like the back of his own hand, yet he could not beat Scipio. Ian instantly knew this was something worse. Adrian was kneeling there as well, and he straightened Scipio’s limp body; it seemed like he thought Scip had been hit, or he at least was acting like it. Blood covered the lower half of Scipio’s face.
Ian and Scipio had been friends since they were in third grade. He could remember how they met, clear as day. He hoped this wouldn’t be the last day they knew each other.
San Jose, California, May 25, nine years ago, 9:45 a.m. PST.
Ian was a normal young Caucasian male, a cute tow-headed boy with bright blue eyes. The young man had no idea that anyone else’s world was anything less than his own. He had the best parents; they weren’t too strict and were pretty relaxed about most things. He was a pretty good kid, too; he liked to make his dad laugh and get hugs from his mom.
Ian was so happy about his birthday; he was about to turn eight years old, only two years away from double digits. He was also excited to invite his friends to his house.
Ian’s birthday was in early May, so he was usually one of the younger students in his class and the smallest. On this day, his size did him no favors. The three boys were much bigger than Ian. He had seen them around the school; they were all fourth graders and, for some reason, were demanding they be invited to his party. He hadn’t known their names at the time, but he would learn them over the school year. The leader and meanest was Tim; Ian remembered thinking it was an old-fashioned name like a grandpa’s name.
Hey, Grandpa Tim! He had thought.
The instigator was named Mal. Ian couldn’t remember what it was short for.
The Peanut Gallery of the group was named Gunner. Ian’s Mema said the Peanut Gallery was full of people who always had something to say, especially if it was mean.
The boys had chased him way out into the grass field. The closest Campus Supervisor was too far away to help before they hurt him.
Ian’s mom told him that he could only invite four because this was his first party with friends. He had his heart set on asking Jessica for sure. The other three were his buddies, Ben, Mike, and Howie. So, he couldn’t invite them even if he wanted to.
“C’mon, Ian Bean, let us come to your party. We wanna see what you get for your birthday,” Tim said. The other two boys started chanting Ian Bean. They were trying to rhyme Ian with Bean. It wasn’t working.
The three boys closed around him, and his back was against the fence. He tried to yell for help, but his throat was dry from running from these bullies.
“I can’t,” was all he could croak out.
“Wrong answer, bitch!” The word stung Ian: he had never heard that word in real life. Sure, he heard it in a movie, but never from an actual person, especially not directed at him.
Then, to add salt to the wound, the foul-mouthed boy punched him in the stomach. It seemed to happen in slow motion for Ian. His bright blue eyes widened at the foul word, and then he saw the boy’s right-hand ball into a fist.
It was shaped like a box. Ian wondered if that is why they called boxing, boxing.
Then the fist was rammed into his stomach, and all the air in his lungs disappeared. Ian’s legs folded at once. He reached out to grab anything as he fell.
You broke my spine; the least you can do is catch me, Ian thought as he fell.
The other boys were laughing hysterically.
“I think you punched a fart out of him,” Gunner said.
They laughed harder.
“Kick him in the stomach; maybe he’ll shit himself,” Mal said.
Ian was still trying to catch his breath from the punch in the stomach and couldn’t ball himself up. He saw Tim’s foot pull back to kick him. Again, it was in slow motion, but he vanished. Sunlight replaced the space Tim’s body had been filling.
Ian heard a quick scream and an “Oof!” in the distance.
He then heard a grunt and a growl; then Mal disappeared too. He heard a sickening wet crunching, and Mal’s scream intensified.
Ian tried to look up, but the sun was in his eyes. All he could see was a tall black silhouette pushing Gunner to the ground. Then a two-toned brown hand was offered to him. Ian reached up and grabbed it. He was pulled to his feet easily and looked at his rescuer clearly for the first time.
He was a dark-skinned boy with big golden-brown eyes and a bright, white, wide, toothy grin.
“Are you alright?” Ian’s rescuer’s voice was light and cheerful. “Thank you,” was all Ian could wheeze out.
Suddenly, there was a whistle from the Campus Supervisor, but the dark-skinned boy tried to ignore it. Ian saw his eyes dart in the direction of the whistle, though.
“Are you okay?” he asked again.
“Yeah,” Ian was getting his wind back.
Ian secretly thought when he was out in the wide world of school, he was indeed on his own, and that thought laid a seed of terror that was rushing to sprout during this encounter. Then this guy showed up and stamped that terrible seed out by stopping these bullies.
“Good. I saw those guys chasing you, and I came to see if you were okay. Why were they beating you up?” Ian’s eyes filled with tears as an idea sprang into his mind.
“What’s your name?” Ian asked in a rush, ignoring his savior’s question.
The Campus Supervisor had arrived and was yelling at the brown-skinned boy; she grabbed his arm. The other three boys were on the ground, and Mal was crying hysterically.
“Skipio Harelson, what in God’s name did you do to these poor boys?” the Campus Supervisor asked. Her face was flushed, and she was out of breath. Ian raised his hand and waved it frantically at the adult.
“What is it, Ian? Did Skipio try to beat you up too?” she gave Skipio’s arm a rough shake.
“No, no, no, no,” Ian’s words spilled out. “He was helping me! Th…these boys were trying to make me invite them to my party, but I didn’t want to because they’re mean. That one hit me and knocked me down.” Ian had said waggling his finger at the large brown-haired boy. “Then, then this guy, Skipio, came and saved me.”
The Campus Supervisor looked around and saw Mal’s broken arm.
“Oh, my goodness! You broke this boy’s arm!” she screamed at Skipio, letting go of him and rushing to Mal’s aid.
The Campus Supervisor turned to Skipio and spoke to him in a way Ian had never heard before.
“Get your bl... behind to the principal’s office, now!”
There was so much venom in her voice.
Ian figured it was Skipio’s first day because he had never seen him before, but if it was his first day, why was she talking to him like she hated him? The look on the Campus Supervisor’s face frightened Ian, and he decided he would try to repay Skipio for saving him.
“I can take him, Mrs. Rogers,” Ian offered.
“Okay, you be careful, Ian; I’ll have someone there waiting for you.” She comforted Mal and then called on her walkie-talkie to get someone to meet up with them. Mal’s arm was bent at an acute angle just above his wrist.
Ian and Skipio started walking to the office.
“My name is Scipio, not Skipio,” he said, “Like a sip of water.”
“Oh… okay, my name is Ian; nice to meet you, Scipio.” Ian’s mom would have been so proud of his manners, “Thanks again for saving me back there,” Ian felt like he was in a movie, and the hero of the story had just swooped in to save his life.
“No problem. I don’t like to see people get bullied. I guess this isn’t the best foot forward like my mom wanted me to do.”
“You made a good impression on me. Hey, want to come to my birthday party this Saturday?” he said, completing his idea from earlier.
“Sure! If I’m not grounded. I didn’t mean to break that boy’s arm. It looked pretty bad.”
“Hey, I got your back; I’ll be your witness,” Ian said, placing his tiny hand on Scipio’s shoulder.
San Jose, California, February 16, present, 1:02 p.m. PST
Ian placed his hand on Mr. Harelson’s shoulder as the big man stood up. Mrs. Harelson made it to the mat and pushed her way through the crowd. Scipio’s mom was a force to be reckoned with on a good day.
“Get away from him!” she shouted, and the small crowd of officials that had formed simultaneously took three steps back. She did not move Adrian away but maneuvered to the other side of Scipio.
Before she touched him, Adrian said, “I don’t know what happened, but he’s breathing. They’ll put him into a neck restraint.” Freakishly as he spoke, one of the EMTs produced a neck brace, Beverly Harelson did not move.
Paul Harelson gently pulled her to her feet and helped her step aside. “Bev, let them work.”
To Ian, it was the gentlest use of force he had ever seen. Beverly buried her face in Paul’s chest when she couldn’t see Scipio anymore. Ian was still watching over his friend; he did not let the crowd push him away. They secured his head and shoulders and carefully rolled him onto the backboard. Then they lifted him and put him on the gurney that was standing nearby. The EMTs rolled Scipio to the ambulance and put him in. Ian stood with the Harelsons watching them work.
“Come on, guys, let’s get to the car,” Paul said.
The end of the story floated to the surface of Ian’s memory as they raced to the hospital.
Scipio got suspended for three days, but he was invited to come to Ian’s birthday party. Scipio told him his parents said it’s never wrong to do what is right. They only lived a couple of blocks from each other, and their parents were cordial to each other at first and eventually became friends. It wasn’t long until the boys were having sleepovers and finally were inseparable as they cemented their friendship.
Ian heard people around town calling them Ebony and Ivory, but Scipio always seemed to miss them saying it. He accepted that Ian had heard it, but he would just shrug and say, “Oh man, I didn’t hear them; I must have been lost in thought.” Scipio was a good guy.
Please let him be okay, Ian prayed.
Interlude 1
I knew I was dreaming; I had to be. I was high above a lush, fertile land. Everything was green and alive. I could feel my body moving perfectly; my arms, my legs, and my pounding heart felt like worlds colliding over and over. There was singing all around me, and through me, however, I could not understand the words. I turned to look up and was surprised to see the night sky filled with so many stars I could not make out familiar constellations. How was this possible? The ground was so bright and clear that I couldn’t even see shadows.
The singing continued: a fervent sound coursing through me. It was everywhere, but it also had an origin. I flew to it; my curiosity peaked to bursting. The thread of sound led me to a small grove of trees, the likes of which I had never seen. Trunks thick with age and radiant wisdom that I could taste. What was happening to me?
In this copse of ancient trees was a group of naked humanoids covered in coarse black fur. Their deep-set eyes turned up to me as I descended to them. As I maneuvered my body to land on my feet, I caught a glimpse of what was most certainly not my feet or legs. They were covered in the same black hair as the group of hominids I was floating down to. My feet seemed to have their own opposable thumbs. I recoiled violently at the sight of them and jerked myself awake.