In the Shadows of the City

By James Lincoln Jewell

In Shadows of the City is a coming-of-age story of hope and redemption in a fractured society. Jack Wallace is a young man wrestling with the reality of faith, race, and the societal divide he witnesses every day. The trials of his life are unrelenting and his misguided anger often gets the best of him as he stumbles through life’s many obstacles. At the threshold of adulthood, he tries to pull himself out of the shadows of his mistakes. He knows he can break away from his path of self-destruction — but will he?

• Language: English
• Publisher: BookBaby
• Release date: Jul 17, 2017
• ISBN: 9781513622262

Book preview

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Book 1: Innocence

Chapter 1

Outside the snow accumulated steadily against the old single-pane windows, which stretched from floor to ceiling. From the mezzanine level of the dorm entrance, a grand view of the falling snowflakes had a calming effect on Jack. He sat staring into the swirling white currents of snowflakes as he kicked his feet up onto the empty chair next to him and put his book down on the small, round table to rest his eyes. It was a bittersweet moment. He felt solitude, something he had not felt in a long time, and he welcomed it. Not yet far removed from the treacherous environment so familiar to him, he felt a sense of comfort in this foreign, lonely place. Yet he still couldn’t trust it; he didn’t know how to.

Just weeks ago he had buried his best friend. Twenty-two years of life ended in a moment. He felt responsible. He felt he could have done more. For years a black hole had seemed to engulf his entire life, and to this very moment, he had been scraping and clawing to pull himself out. Now he stood at the precipice and could feel the roar of the dark abyss calling for him, pulling him back as though he stood at the edge of a giant waterfall, inches from being pulled over. He hoped he had what it would take to finally leave it all behind and never look back.

This was his one chance, and as he sat staring out the window of the dorm entrance, he knew one thing: He was not going to be a victim. Now, he knew that every inch of ground he made moving forward was impacted by only one thing—his own determination and effort. And for the first time in many years, he had hope. He knew that he had to keep fighting—and that he could fight longer and harder than anyone.

It was his first night in the dorm, and he felt a little unsettled. He took it all in as he made his way to his room. It was such a strange place to him, with everyone leaving their doors open in the hall and coming and going from each other’s rooms constantly. He could hear commotions of all sorts going on clear down the hall. It was as foreign to him as being in another country. Yet it was different, and he longed so much for something different, something to take his mind away from home, away from heartache.

He shut the door behind him, shrugged off his heavy black Carhartt coat, and draped it over the back of the chair. He’d left the TV on, and the local news was playing: events at the library, a random accident on the highway, and a new county ordinance were the main headlines. As each newscast played, he found it strange that all of the stories were just regular news accounts. No politics, no crime, just stories. The countryside is quite a different place, he thought.

As dusk settled in, the loneliness of night weighed heavily upon Jack once again. His bed stood in a corner against the cinderblock walls. He sat on it, took off his shoes, and climbed in beneath the covers. He felt the cold radiating from the off-white walls and touched the dimples as though they would tell him something, perhaps spell it out in braille. He felt sadness overwhelming him, and like many nights before, he began to think about his friends. He had left so many people behind, so many people he would never see again. He wished for just one moment that he could see his friends, the few he’d ever had, that they could just one more time be together again. His heart began to ache with such a tremendous pain that he could not bear it. He clenched his teeth and wrung his hands until he could not feel his fingers.

Jack had exhausted himself, both physically and mentally, from the whole process of moving away from home to all of the endless paperwork that had to be completed or tracked down to the countless other details that had needed taking care of. He could feel the exhaustion taking its toll on him as he lay there, eyelids slowly closing, his anxiety and anger fighting his body’s instinct to sleep.

Tears welled in his eyes as he thought of one thing: Why? Why had he fought all this time? Why had he been put through—and why had he put himself through—so much? Just to start over at the beginning. He felt he was starting his climb all over again, even though he had barely survived the climb to the last summit. He put his pillow over his face and screamed into it at the top of his lungs with exhausted desperation, Why!

No answer came—just deafening silence as his mind drifted off into the dark infinity.

Chapter 2

15 Years Earlier

It was an unsettling hot August day. A slight breeze made its way down the steep incline of Glenwood Drive, blowing lightly through the almost-white whims of hair on the scrawny boy standing at the bottom of the street. The whisper of air offered him only the least of comforts from the sweltering heat. Jack, at that moment, was concentrating toward a bend in the road where the rest of the street disappeared. The heat rising from the road contorted its appearance, and the street seemed to melt away before his eyes. He began to daydream, his pale blue eyes aimlessly staring off into the distance.

Jack was very young and still unmolested by the frivolous wants that consume the thoughts of men both rich and poor. He looked at the world in a unique manner, a child’s perspective. Not yet influenced by the perversities of the day, he had a clear perception of how we as a people should be treated—a perspective mostly derived from the lessons he learned weekly in Sunday school. It is a travesty that this view of the world offered by children is a simplistic one that is destined not to last.

What is it exactly that causes us to change our innocent way of thinking as a child? Why is it that some of us no longer dream about changing the world? That we no longer think we possess the answers to ridding the plagues on our society?

Perhaps it begins with the end of innocence. Children change as the world begins to make its impression on their young minds. We are all destined to one day cross that threshold of life that somehow changes our way of thinking. We might not abandon our previous beliefs and morals completely, depending on what kind of impression life makes on us, but in some ways, our values are altered entirely. Soon, unbeknownst to him, Jack would also succumb to this end of innocence.

Suddenly a figure emerged from the bend in the road where Jack had directed his attention, causing him to break from his daydreaming. The blacktop surface was blistering hot, creating a mirage-like illusion on the surface beneath the feet of the walking child, now a recognizable figure.

A smile spread across Jack’s face. He had been waiting for about ten minutes now, an eternity at his age. It was the only person he could have been expecting, his only friend, Henry. Neither of them could remember a time in their lives when they did not know one another. They grew up in the church together, and their mothers had held vacation Bible school at their homes together in the summer since before Jack and Henry were born.

Henry’s complexion was a dark mahogany tone. He had curly black hair, dark brown eyes, and a build much larger than Jack’s. Physically they were at complete opposite ends of the spectrum. Mentally they were one and the same. Their interests were so closely intertwined that they could practically read each other’s minds. They spent almost every day together when the opportunity presented itself. For years they had fed off each other’s interests, encouraging one another’s physical, mental, and artistic abilities. Though their resources were somewhat limited, they had learned to make the best of every opportunity that presented itself.

It was nearing the end of summer, the time of year when every child begins to count the number of days left until school resumes with bitter anxiety. To a child the first day of class seems to be the first day of a lifelong punishment of hard labor. Perhaps if they could understand the alternatives to education, they would realize school is the best thing for them.

Jack and Henry had spent most of the summer exploring each other’s backyards. One of their favorite pastimes was digging holes in their backyards looking for precious gems, gold, and other things they were never going to find, but at least the idea captivated their minds for countless hours. They did discover that their yards were teeming with small veins of coal, and they filled bucket after bucket in hopes of making a small fortune, not realizing the meager potential of their labor. That was until their parents made them aware of their displeasure at having their yards dug up in return for buckets of black rocks.

With their hopes of becoming young entrepreneurs dashed and their usual summer activities having lost all excitement, they found themselves trying their hand at new things they thought would be fun. Whenever a child is bored with everyday activities, they soon invent new ways to stimulate their interests. Unfortunately this usually results in getting into some sort of mischief, whether they know that their endeavors will lead to negative outcomes or not. Perhaps that is the origin behind the old phrase Idle hands are the devil’s tools.

The best of their ideas was a result of combining two of their favorite pastimes: baseball and throwing stones. Since it wasn’t too exciting playing baseball with two people, and throwing rocks at the trees in the woods also had its limitations, they thought it was a rather good concept to combine the two by playing home-run derby with stones and Wiffle ball bats. The objective of the game was quite simple: Hit a rock from the neighbor’s driveway over Henry’s house situated across the street and hopefully over the tree line into the woods and score a home run.

After a rather uneventful day of exploring Jack’s backyard, they decided it would be a lot more fun if they were enjoying their favorite sport. They shot down the street toward home field: Henry’s house. The sun sat low in the sky, and the day hung on them like the smell of soiled clothing. They reached Henry’s driveway in full stride and continued to his backyard. There were plenty of rocks to be scraped up from the ground and sifted from the dry, cracked earth. Their bats of choice were large, red, Flintstone club–type bats that gave off a THOOOM sound when they struck a rock.

They each would take five swings at a time. Each swing that was not a homerun was considered an out. Jack stood with the neighbor’s house to his back and the wind to his face. The dark orange sun shone in his eyes from just above the tree line, making him squint. The dirt and perspiration ran down his face in stripes of brown. Henry stood across the street with a fist full of stones in one hand and a single stone in the other. His dry fingers grasped the rock, and he lofted it lightly toward Jack.

With one magnificent swing of the bat, Jack sent the stone whizzing through the air. The smashing sound it made when it hit the front window of Henry’s house horrified the two youngsters. All the laughter and excitement from that point ceased. Jack’s heart sank to his stomach, and a knot began to form in his throat so large he wondered if he might choke. Henry’s mother appeared at the window wailing like a banshee. She fixed her gaze on the boys, and her voice resounded through the children’s ears as she called Henry in for interrogation.

Jack stood there astounded at what had just taken place. A short moment later, Henry’s mother poked her head out the window again. Go home, Jack, she said. Your parents are expecting you.

Jack skulked, slowly making his way up the street, which he now wished were miles long, anything to avoid the chastisement that awaited him. He was beside himself. How could he have made such a dim-witted decision? Hitting rocks with baseball bats over people’s houses? His parents would surely have his hide for this one.

When he arrived home, his parents greeted him with a torrent of How could you have done it? and You weren’t raised to do stuff like that! He knew what the inevitable outcome of all this commotion was. He would soon be the recipient of a blazing crack on the ass with the paddle his father kept to commemorate such impish occasions. Of course Jack could foresee this outcome in two ways: by the distasteful stare his father cast in his direction and of course the phrase uttered by all religious men before inflicting pain on their children’s backsides: Now this is going to hurt me more than it hurts you.

After his barrage of reprimands, a swift blow to his backside, dinner, and a warm bath, Jack was retired to bed early to think about the repercussions of his negligent acts. Such thoughts were ensured by the fact that there was still an hour or more before the sun would disappear over the horizon. Jack lay there thinking for quite some time, not knowing how to feel about the situation. It was the first time he had been in any real trouble with his parents. The closest he had been previously was when he’d accidentally pulled his mother’s cucumber plants from the ground thinking they were just weeds in the garden, and even then he was not punished. As a matter of fact, he had felt more anxiety over the situation than she had.

This would be the end to summer fun for Jack and his young comrade, and maybe the end of their innocent days. They were at that age when they fully understood the profoundness of crime and punishment. More than just right and wrong, they now navigated a complex set of rules where one could be held accountable for actions even if they had not meant to do wrong in the first place. It was no longer acceptable to claim that you didn’t know or understand these rules.

Jack was grounded by his parents for the few weeks left before school. The two boys would have to resume their adventures once classes had commenced again.

Chapter 3

School resumed on time despite the numerous prayers Jack made pleading for divine intervention or some other means to postpone the commencement of second-grade classes. It wasn’t that he disliked learning; it was that he was a shy boy. Having to meet new teachers and classmates was more unsettling to him than the workload ahead. His one consolation was that he was no longer on punishment and would now be able to resume his usual daily activities.

He was so caught up in school and the excitement of being able to play outside again that he didn’t even notice that a new family had moved into the house next door. The place couldn’t have been vacant long; he didn’t recall seeing anyone move in or out of it. He only learned about his new neighbors when his parents talked about them at the dinner table one night.

The next Saturday began as most others. Jack and Henry set out to accomplish all they could before the lunchtime hunger pain became too much to bear. After Henry’s mom made them a few sandwiches, they were at it again, playing a few more games of basketball before exploring beyond the tree line behind Henry’s house and down the steep embankment deep into the woods. There they pretended to explore the jungle and the wildlife that lived therein. That lasted until about six, when Jack had to be home for supper.

Jack made his way up the street, past the nine houses that separated his property from Henry’s. As he stepped onto his driveway, he noticed a set of short, stubby legs protruding from beneath his father’s work van parked in front of the house. They appeared to belong to a child. Jack approached cautiously, letting an inch or so of the body reveal itself with each step. Finally he could make out the young man and saw that he was amusing himself with something as he lay there. Jack called to him, Hey, watcha doin’?

The startled boy replied cautiously, Just drawin’ a picture.

Jack looked down at the etchings scribbled on the paper and the strange pebbled appearance influenced by the asphalt beneath the page. On the ground?

Yeah.

But ain’t it hard to draw on the ground like that? With all those bumps and stuff?

Why does it matter?

Jack shrugged. It don’t, I guess. What’s your name anyways?

The boy smiled. Mitch. I just moved into this house right here, he said, pointing. What’s your name?

Jack. This is my house right behind us.

The two boys seemed to hit it off as natural as anyone could, carrying on a pointless conversation as though they knew each other. Mitch stood up and brushed himself clean of the specks of dirt and asphalt clinging to his facade. He was about even in height with Jack but a lot pudgier, especially in the face. His hair was light brown and sat on top of his head in one massive, curly puff. Mitch was noticeably darker in complexion than Jack but nowhere near as dark as Henry.

While still brushing his chest clean, Mitch looked up and asked, You wanna come check out some of my toys? They’re all out on my back porch.

Sure, if your parents don’t mind, Jack replied curiously. He was used to having to ask for permission to play in someone’s backyard, and with their toys and such.

Mitch had not even thought of having to ask permission to invite someone over to play, and he thought about Jack’s remark with amusement as he escorted his new acquaintance to his backyard.

Jack followed him up the small hill in his front yard and around the side to the back porch. There, amassed in a pile in the middle of the porch, lay a small treasure trove of figurines, matchbox cars, army men, vehicles, and every toy known to boykind. Jack stood there in awe, unable to make up his mind as to what he wanted to go after the most.