Divisible by Zero - A Serial Novel (1)
Deborah frowned and muttered, “Aw, shit,” under her breath. She waved her hand towards the customer service desk as she began to peel off her apron. Toni looked up questioningly then walked out from behind the service counter and approached Deborah’s register.
“Whazzup?” Toni asked. She was a tough girl, head shaved around the ears, the rest a tall, stiff shock of gnarly black on top. Deborah liked Toni a lot. They had a lot in common, despite the whole black and white thing. They were both from the wrong sides of different tracks. At first they’d clashed – after all, Deborah had expected to get the assistant manager job when Julie quit – but the company had brought Toni in from another store. They’d quickly sorted it out, with Toni taking the lead. She was sharp – very perceptive and she really understood people. Deborah admitted to herself and ultimately to Toni that she’d wanted the manager money, but she hadn’t really wanted the manager job. Because of Zeke, of course. There was no way she could have worked the hours Toni worked, not with everything going on with Zeke all the time.
Now, three months on, Toni called Deborah “WT” and Deborah called her “NB”… White Trash and Nigga Bitch – but only in private between the two of them. It had started with a beer after closing one night at the Big Horse – the beer that turned into a puking ten beers and a brutal hangover by the time they were done. Through giggles and tears and blurred, disjointed life stories, they’d bonded. Most of the other girls disliked and feared Toni. Sad to say it was mainly because she was the only black woman in the whole store, and maybe in the whole town. The other reason was Toni was a ballbuster. She worked her ass off and she expected everyone else to, too. And if you didn’t, you’d hear about it right away. Deborah knew she was going to hear about it now. Friends was friends, but work was work.
“I gotta go to the school.”
Toni scowled. Deborah shook her head. “I’m sorry. It’s Zeke.”
“Yeah it is,” Toni snorted. “That boy’s gonna kill you. Go on. Clock out. I don’t have any other shifts this week. You’re gonna lose the hours.”
Deborah nodded. She felt her phone buzz in the back pocket of her jeans. The school. As she walked towards the exit she pulled it out to answer it. It wasn’t the school number she was expecting, but she answered anyway. “Hello?”
“Mrs. Carson?”
“Yes.” It must be the school, she thought. They insisted on calling her Mrs. Carson even though it wasn’t her name. She’d never married Kenny Carson, Zeke’s dad.
“It’s… this is Jeannie Powell at Dearborn Elementary.”
“Yes. Hi.” Jeannie Powell was a new teacher. Another one to train, Deborah thought. Another one to get used to her son.
“First off, there’s nothing to worry about. I know sometimes people get worried when the school calls. I’m calling to talk to you about Zeke. Are you someplace you can talk?”
“I’m heading over there now,” Deborah said wearily.
“Oh, okay. That will be fine. Just go to the office – “
She couldn’t help but be snappish. “I know the drill, Ms. Powell. Unfortunately.” Ms. Powell didn’t respond. Deborah sighed and said more gently, “I’m sorry. I get called a lot. You must have seen the file on Zeke.”
“It’s nothing… bad… I’m sorry. It’s… I don’t know what – I’ll see you when you get here.”
“Okay. That’s all fine. I will be there in about 10 minutes.”
Deborah’s friend Linda had loaned her an old pick-up because Deborah’s car was in the shop again. Her car would be there for a while. Bob Smiley who ran the shop was sort of her boyfriend. He had to get parts and he’d work on it when he had time. He would charge her some, but probably a lot less than he should. They went out to the Big Horse with the gang once in a while and she’d kissed him once or twice and let him squeeze her tits in the car on the way home. That was it. He was a good guy, and had his own business, but he wasn’t her type. There wasn’t a “her type” in Newburg as far as she’d seen. To be honest, she didn’t know what her type was. She figured she’d know it when she met it – just probably not in this town. Someplace else. She wanted to move, but Zeke’s dad was dick about it, and – to be honest again – she didn’t have any place to go. It just was what it was, and it was about getting through the day, right?
Linda’s loaner was practically a monster truck, all jacked up with big tires. It wasn’t inspected, but no one in town would give her any trouble. The cops knew her, and knew it was no big deal. Half the cars on the road in Newburg were uninspected. She wasn’t drinking and driving and she wasn’t driving around smoking pot and running into people. An expired sticker wasn’t hurting anyone. The truck fired up – it was loud – there was definitely a hole in the muffler. She mashed it into gear… the clutch was going, too… and headed out of the parking lot towards school. What now? She wondered.
Last September at the beginning of third grade it had been English. What they called Language Arts. Clowning around in class, speaking and spelling everything wrong, and insisting it was right – making everyone laugh and imitate the way he did it. That’d been Mr. Humphrey. He was gone, thank god. One of her friends had told her he’d been asked to leave because he was secretly gay, and there were pictures of him with his boyfriend in Aspen on the internet. The administration wasn’t comfortable with gay people, even though everyone said the Principal was a dyke. Hypocritical assholes.
Deborah didn’t care if he was gay or not gay or a priest or liked goats. He’d had no sense of humor, was his problem. Zeke hadn’t been clowning around. He wasn’t a clown, and he didn’t want to disrupt anything. The teacher hadn’t listened to what Zeke was telling him, trying to explain that he was just trying to show them how English was going to be later. “They should learn the way it’s going to be, not the way it was.”
Then in March, just after they got back from February vacation, it had been History or whatever they called it these days. Social Studies, Humanities. Something. They were studying something about someone. Zeke had just pointed out – politely, because Zeke was always polite - that whoever it was hadn’t ever really said what they were saying he said. In fact, Zeke explained, whoever it was hadn’t ever existed, he’d been made up a hundred years later by someone else. “Your history is like that. Mostly what people think should have happened and wished had happened, not what really happened.”
Then just before Christmas break this year, it’d been Math. They still called it Math. Zeke had finished a test in five or ten minutes while everyone else took 30 minutes or more. 100%. Instead of being happy for the kid – he was always awesome at math – they’d accused him of cheating, of looking in the teacher’s book or in his desk. Zeke had been a little upset that time. “Most of it is actually wrong. It’s just that’s how you all see it right now in the way you look at it. I thought you’d rather see your answers. I will take longer next time if you want.” Zeke didn’t cheat. He didn’t need to. She’d ripped them all a new one that time. Sure he was… different… but he was no cheater! And if he got the answers right this time, can’t you just be happy for him and say good job for once?
Now what? she wondered as she pulled into the school parking lot. She parked in a reserved spot – let them tow her – near the front door. They had a cop at the school now – what a goddamn fucked up world when you had to have a cop standing guard over an elementary school. He looked her over as she approached the door, glancing pointedly back to where she’d parked. She just walked past him. He wasn’t local. He didn’t know her and she didn’t want to know him.
At the office she said, “Hi, Penny – Ms. Powell this time.” She plopped down on the chair next to the door. The secretary was sort of a friend. She shopped at the store, and always said hi. She was nice enough, but she knew everyone’s business, and liked to talk about everyone’s business. She was one of those small town women everyone wanted to make sure they were friends with because of it. She never said anything mean, and she never said a bad word about anyone. But, she’d say things like, “I ran into so and so at such and such a place with so and so. I didn’t even know they knew each other. Now what’s his wife’s name? I can’t remember. I wonder if they were buying his wife a present at that lingerie shop.”
Keep your enemies closer kind of thing, Deborah thought. She wondered who’d said that. She giggled. Probably no one said it. She’d ask Zeke if that was a real saying or a made up one. Penny said, “Oh, I didn’t see he was in trouble… is everything okay?”
“She just wanted me to come down for a conference. She said everything was fine.”
“Oh, well that’s good to hear. Such a sweetheart, Zeke. Everyone loves him despite everything, you know.”
Deborah felt blood rushing to her face, but she smiled – maybe it looked like a snarl. “That’s nice to hear, Penny. He’s a good kid.” Thanks for the fucking sideways love, honey, is what she thought.
“Yes, yes. I’ll just call her now.”
“Thanks, Penny.”
Ms. Powell came into the office and Deborah stood. They’d met earlier in the year at one of the normal parent teacher nights. She was young and pretty in a really all natural way. Deborah couldn’t see any hint of makeup and her roots were the same bright blonde as the rest of her hair. She was what Toni would call “Stepford White”, which was some sort of insult. Ms. Powell extended her hand and Deborah shook it reflexively. “Thanks so much for coming down, Mrs. Carson,” she said.
“Hi. No problem. I’m not Mrs. Carson, though. It’s no big deal.”
Penny piped in, “Oh, Ms. Powell, her name is Kiechel. She doesn’t have the same name as Zeke’s father.” Not, Zeke’s illegitimate, and they never got married. But might as well say it. Not that anyone should care these days. It wasn’t the 1950s anymore.
“My apologies, Ms. Kiechel. You know, I should know that.”
“Not a big deal.” Deborah wasn’t going to let her off the hook. Let her feel a little bad.
Ms. Powell nodded and smiled uncomfortably. “Let’s go into the conference room, okay?”
“Sure.”
They walked past Penny’s desk into a small, glassed in room. Deborah had been there before. She hated it. Like a fishbowl. There was Penny right out there watching, able to see everyone’s expression. The teacher walked around the table and pulled the blinds as she glided past the glass. She said, “I can leave these open if you’d prefer. I just hate having people walk by and look in. Makes me feel like I’m on display.”
Deborah nodded, reluctantly warming to the woman. “No, I agree. I hate this room for that reason.” She sat down. “Where is Zeke?”
“He’s at gym class right now. Everything is fine, Ms…”
“Kiechle. Just call me Deborah.”
“Well, I hope you’ll call me Jeannie.”
“Okay. Sure.”
“So, there’s no problem. But… I needed to talk to you about something.”
Deborah nodded nervously. Here it comes. The teacher continued to stand. She paced away, her back to Deborah. She was obviously agitated. “You know, Zeke said you’d be on your way here before I called you. He said you’d know to come.”
Deborah froze. She waited. Why would he say that? He knew better. “Well, you know, I don’t like to talk about Zeke without him here. I don’t like to talk about anyone behind their back. Even a 10 year old. Kind of a rule.”
Ms. Powell turned around. Her smooth, fair face was pale, and a deep furrow was splitting her forehead. “He said you’d say that, too, but that I should talk to you on my own. He said you and I should get to know each other. He said we should be friends… that you needed a friend like me. What… what do you suppose he means by all that?”
Deborah shook her head, feeling sick. What the hell, Zeke? What the hell? The young teacher continued. “He said you’d be upset with him. Are you?”
“Listen, go get him. I – I don’t like this. Sounds like a… It’s not right.” Deborah stood up and backed towards the door.
“Zeke is the most incredible person – not kid, person – I have ever met in my life… Deborah.”
Deborah dropped back down in the chair. Her hands were shaking. She hid them under the conference table. “What happened?” she squeaked, barely able to get the words out.
The teacher sat down on the edge of the table, looking frankly at Deborah. Her eyes were steady frosty blue. “Zeke is special.”
“He’s not! He’s a good kid. You just have to – have to get to know him. He’s smart!”
Ms. Powell reached over and gently squeezed Deborah’s shoulder, continuing to hold the mother’s eyes with her own. “Oh, I know. I know. Have you ever had him tested, Deborah? He’s very, very smart.”
“Listen, Ms. Powell – leave the kid alone. There’s nothing wrong with him and there’s nothing… don’t… don’t do this to him!” She thrust up and slapped the other woman’s hand away. “Go get him now. I’m taking him out of this fucking place right fucking now!”
Ms. Powell regarded her, unruffled by the outburst. Deborah moaned and sat down, putting her head in her hands. She started to cry. “Get him, please. Please.”
“He’s on his way. I gave him a note to be dismissed from gym. He said he’d be here at… right now.”
The conference room door opened and Zeke padded in, closing the door softly behind him. He put his arms around his mother’s shoulders and kissed her hair. “It’s okay, Mom. It’s okay. This is the one I’ve been waiting for.”
