ElevenSeventeen: Middle School, A Storm is Gathering

By Philip J. Mack

Seven teenagers become a group of friends who wouldn't normally hang out together but found common ground and loved each other for it. These "Mysfits" must learn to depend on each other though their teenage years in the 1980s while battling the politics of high-school, race issues, and a mystery that literally threatens their lives. Relationships are built and bonds are formed and broken, while the faith of all is tested throughout the story.
Some would say the ages between 11 and 17 are the most formative of a person's life. This would be true even if a guy didn't have to deal with bullies, bigots, and girls. Navigating high school in the 1980s wasn't easy for Phil, but with God's help and the support of his rather eclectic group of friends, the unbelievable became survivable and triumphant. Life can be hard, but there aren't many things that can stop the overwhelmingly persistent naivete of a teenager or two.
Book one of this two-book series focuses on the senselessly complex world of middle school. The relationships, emotions, music, and malls of the eighties provide the wonderfully rich, vibrantly blank canvas onto which the teenage years of Phil and his friends are painted. A kid who thought he had it all together learns he didn't. A kid who thought he had it all together learns he didn't have to.

• Language: English
• Publisher: BookBaby
• Release date: Sep 26, 2023
• ISBN: 9798350910414

Book preview

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Book 1

© 2022 Philip Joseph Mack

All Rights Reserved

Print ISBN: 979-8-35091-040-7

eBook ISBN: 979-8-35091-041-4

To God:

You have been, are, and will be the Hero on every page of my life!

To my Wife:

Thank you for putting up with all the late nights and bouts with writer’s block!

You are the BEST gift in the world and I thank God for you!

Any similarity to people, living or deceased, or events, real or imagined, is coincidental.

Kyrie Eleison

Contents

Chapter 0: Acknowledgments

Chapter 1: Muse

Chapter 2: Archaeology

Chapter 3: Salutations

Chapter 4: Anthropology

Chapter 5: Mysfits

Chapter 6: Anomalistic

Chapter 7: Allantide

Chapter 8: Close Encounters

Chapter 9: Rhythm and Blues

Chapter 10: The Politics of Dancing - Re-Flex

Chapter 11: One Night in Baltimore

Chapter 12: Drink Me - Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland

Chapter 13: More Answers, More Questions

Chapter 14: Every Little Thing She Does is Magic - The Police

Chapter 15: Cruel Summer - Bananarama

Chapter 0:

Acknowledgments

First, a disclaimer…

Any similarity to living or deceased people or events, real or imagined, is coincidental. Basically, it’s like this: If you weren’t involved in any of this stuff then I don’t know you and it’s not about you. If you were involved and I do know you, I’m just telling my side of the story in the manner I feel is best.

To all those Mysfits out there:

Keep being your unbelievably cool selves!

To you know who you really are:

I wanted to take a moment to address you. We have not seen each other since that night when we were seventeen and I’d like to think that we’ve moved on. Congratulations on your career. Given the fact that your resources both financial and legal are vast to say the least, please consider the following. I have never mentioned you until this writing and even now I have done so in the abstract and with respect. Also, the experiences we shared are just that, shared. I have the same rights to them as you do. I have merely written my perspective. Should you wish to do the same, please do so… it is after all, your right.

Chapter 1:

Muse

The sun was sitting just above the treetops to the west. Its warm rays were spread out in lines across the large porch as they strained through the banister poles onto the grayish weather-resistant paint floor. It had been a perfect day, a wonderful Friday afternoon at home with my family. It had been an unusual day in that for November in Maryland, 83 degrees is an anomaly. Promise, my five-year-old was playing on the porch, an afro-puff on either side of her head. Her hair was parted perfectly down the middle which spoke to her mother’s meticulous care in making sure our child was always presentable. I couldn’t help but get lost in the moment, thinking of what it was like to be five, and thinking of what it meant to be a father.

Promise, dressed rather smartly in a dark blue denim suit of sorts and tennis shoes, hopped up into my lap and smiled. We shared a special understanding, she and I. With a smile or a wink, we could communicate a simple, uncomplicated love. A love so basic yet so profound; the paradox that is the parent’s heart. I knew she felt safe. Her eyes examined my face, softly moving back and forth as if examining some painting of a grand landscape. Soft giggles as I made faces at her. Let’s face it, this little manipulator had me wrapped around her little finger and even at 5 years she knew it all too well. I was doomed… and I wanted to be.

Promise glanced about. She followed a bird until it landed on the banister. She smiled at it and if I could see through her eyes, I would surely be able to see it smile back at her. My right arm was wrapped around her and she fixed her gaze on my high school class ring just as a ray of sunshine shown through the faux ruby set atop the large silver and black Towson Christian Academy ring. She paused for a moment and ran her fingers across the stone. Pretty. she said with that sense of wonder only a child can supply. My wife, Tempest, emerged from the house with a pitcher of southern sweet tea and cups. She sat next to us on the swinging white bench from which we’d seen many good times since building the house a year ago. What’s pretty, baby? she asked with that softness mothers reserve for their children. This diamond. she replied. Ruby, baby, it’s a ruby. Tempest said. Your daddy and his friends met each other in high school and that means a lot to them. Except for them, you didn’t really like that school too much, did you dear?

Not really but… you know, they were some of the best days of my life… and the worst.

I know, that’s what you keep saying. You’ll tell me the whole story one of these days I guess.

We’d been waiting for my best friend Gene Tucker and his wife to arrive. They and their son were coming over for dinner, something we make a point of doing at least once a month. Out of the corner of my eye I caught his black SUV as it turned onto my driveway. I watched with anticipation as it slowly crept up the long driveway and came to a stop in front of the garage. This feeling… This feeling takes me back to when we used to hang out when we were teenagers – the anticipation of good times and cherished memories.

Gene stepped out wearing his usual black t-shirt, showing off his obvious athleticism. Khaki slacks and black Nikes rounded out his outfit. For as long as I’ve known him, Gene has always dressed well. He let his son, Ethan, out of the back and approached the house. Uncle Gene! Ethan! my daughter exclaimed as she dropped from my lap, bounded down the steps, and wrapped her arms around the six-year-old who was equally happy to see her.

I crossed the porch to the top of the steps to assume a position of judgmental dominance as I said condemningly, Late, I see…

Oh, come on, you know it takes a few extra minutes now that you guys moved out here to Daniels.

Yeah, I guess. Come here!

I put out my hand and we went through our special handshake that ends in an embrace. I loved this man like he was my own brother.

Just us tonight, short-staffed at the hospital.

I understand. No problem, we’ll see her next time. Gene’s wife is a head-nurse and when they get short-staffed, which happens all too often if you ask me, she has to go to work.

Aww, I was hoping to get some girl time. Tempest said as she gave Gene a hug.

She wanted that too, believe me.

Daddy’s ring… Daddy’s ring! the five-year old blurted when she saw Gene’s class ring.

This one’s mine but you know…

Mommy said it means something. she interrupted.

Just then Ethan tagged Promise and the two kids were running around in the front yard. Without a word, the three of us got lost in the show that was our children carelessly and effortlessly enjoying themselves. Their laughter comprised a melody the likes of which sets men to dream, to dare to become better men if only to keep the laughter going.

Leave it to my stomach to break the mood. Was that your stomach? Tempest asked. Yeah, I guess it wants some of that mac and cheese you made.

Well, let’s go to the deck, I’ve already set the table. Tempest suggested.

Gene agreed and we called the kids and started into the house. We’d just received the last bits of furniture that finally made this house feel like a home rather than an empty shell devoid of any sense of life or relationship.

I love it! Gene commented. This place has really come along!

Yeah, we couldn’t make up our minds on furniture until this month. Things just fell into place. Tempest replied.

I’m so glad writing is working out for you, Joe. That book deal was a real blessing. Gene said.

Thank you. You know I’m not quitting my day job. I’m still a geek at heart.

Me too. Once a geek always a geek I guess. Gene opined.

The picnic table on the deck was adorned with the clichéic red and white checker pattern tablecloth. A spread of food ranging from fried chicken to macaroni and cheese to salad was laid out on the table. The back of the house overlooks a wooded preserve and the full orb of the setting sun was visible through the screens that kept the deck bug-free in the Summer. A couple of large plants, products of my wife’s gardening hobby sat in the corners. The children found their places and giggled among themselves over some secret amusement they shared. Let’s ask the blessing. I said. I gave thanks to God for all present and absent and for all that He’d done and continues to do. After that we dug in.

During the feast Tempest commented on the weather and how unusual it was for a November day in Maryland to be so mild and that she had to take advantage of it and have dinner outside. It’s supposed to be nice all weekend and Promise and I were talking about going to the Inner Harbor. You guys could come too, Gene, it would be fun. Thought we could sit on Federal Hill and have a picnic or something. she said as she continued to eat. Gene and I both grunted in agreement as we stared into our respective plates. For a moment, our eyes met and then we looked down again. Both of us displayed a little nervous fidgeting.

I know you so well Mr. Mack, spill it… Tempest said sternly, the gentle hint of her southern accent becoming more pronounced.

I glanced at Gene who surreptitiously shook his head to say, No. Um, it’s just that the Harbor you know, been there, done that, touristy and all... My words trailed off as I glanced back at Gene hoping to get some nod of approval – I got none.

After all this group has been through, you two keep your secrets? Tempest, annoyed, asked.

Shrugging at Gene as if to say, What do you want me to do? I said, You know Gene and I have known each other for a long time, over thirty years now. We’ve been through some stuff and some of it we just don’t talk about.

Gene gave me an incredulous look and interjected, We’ve just got history is all… and history should stay in the past. He was looking at me as he said that last part and I knew it was a polite shut up!

"I see, well if it’s that important I guess I should back off." Tempest said.

Exactly! Gene exclaimed. Oh, I didn’t mean… I mean, could you? Um please?

Don’t worry, I get it. Tempest flatly replied.

Can we have dessert, Mommy? the little girl with the manipulative look asked.

Sure, baby. said the adult with the sarcastic glances at Gene and me.

None for me please, I’ve got to save up for Thanksgiving. Gene said.

None for you, you need to eat better. my food warden decreed, looking at me.

May Gene and I be excused to the office? I asked.

Sure, leave the wife in the dark and keep secrets. Tempest said with a wry smile on her face denoting the return of the playful nature on the list of things about her that led me to fall in love.

Thank you, baby! To the chorus of two children exclaiming Ewwww we kissed.

Gene and I went into the house as she said, Run along and play nice now.

In stark contrast to the rest of the house, my office is intentionally spartan so as to decrease distraction when I’m writing. My wife would say that I’m attention deficit. I disagree, I just need to focus when I need to focus. A burgundy couch lines the far wall while a small flat panel television sits atop an entertainment unit that I made years ago – the only distraction I will allow at times. Three monitors, a keyboard, and mouse decorate my desk along with a picture of my family and another of three high school aged kids showing off their class rings by holding out their fists toward the camera.

Next Friday is the seventeenth you know. I stated.

I guess that’s why I’m a little on edge. he responded.

Look, Gene, maybe she’s right. Maybe it has been long enough.

The statute of limitations never expires on stuff like that. he quipped.

I know, but why don’t you let me write about it?

You’re kidding right! I mean if you let that story fly… All I’m saying is I spent hours in interrogation; you spent four yourself. Do you really think we won’t land right back there if what happened that night came out? he argued.

I sat on the edge of the couch and looked up at him. This might help us resolve some of that for ourselves. It could be cathartic. I offered.

You mean to get Tempest off your back. You know I’m good with keeping it to ourselves… obviously. Gene stated.

Tempest has nothing to do with this. I know you’re good with it like it is but we, because of our pact, have never spoken with anyone about that night, not even our wives. Without that night we’re not the men we are now and you know it. I fixed my gaze right on him, right into his eyes and said, We need this.

It can’t be done without messing up, so no! he quipped.

There it was, profanity. He’d gotten MUCH better over the years but when he gets agitated a few of them will slip out. That’s how I knew I had him on the ropes.

What if I told the truth about that night but couched it in some fiction and obscured the facts so that no one would ever be able to tell exactly what happened? That way we get the closure we need and nothing gets stirred up. I volunteered.

Why write the book at all? I mean if talking about it is all we need to do?

"Good question. I think we need to get the story off our collective chest and besides it would give us something to offer the curious when asked. Also, I’ll just say it, I need another book idea and I think this is a good one. Ghostwriting has been good for me but they’re not my stories. Depending on the contract, ghostwriters can’t even talk about what they wrote or seek any credit at all. The thought of giving voice to somebody else’s stories was appealing for a while but now… well, it’s time to tell my own, you know?"

He stared off into space for a minute and returned to earth with, OK, say I was onboard – not that I am, how would something like this work?

Well, because this is based on real events, I would need to interview you. Since we want to muddy the waters a bit so that we don’t stir up stuff, we would need to decide what goes in, what stays out, and what needs to be altered.

He looked at me. I could see in his face that he agreed on some level. I even dared to anticipate his agreeing to the idea. Just then he said, I’ll think about it. and nodded his head one time quickly. There it was, the end of the conversation. I knew with that nod that no other evidence was to be allowed in this court. It was up to the jury now and I just had to wait. Sure enough the topic shifted to football and Baltimore’s schedule.

The next day was brutal because I couldn’t sleep that night since my mind was spinning over how the story of our secret could come to life and whether or not Gene would give me his consent to write it. Breakfast that morning consisted of grits, eggs and bacon. I rather enjoyed the fact that my southern bride was in full effect. Tempest said, So when are we going down to the Harbor! This was followed with a squealing Yay! from the little lady with the key to my heart. How could I resist? The truth is that I wanted to resist because of all the memories that place stirred up. So, a few hours later we loaded up Tempest’s SUV and headed up I-95. There is a point on I-95 north between mile markers 50 and 51 where the city of Baltimore is displayed before you like a feature in a pop-up storybook. Seeing the city in that way caused my mind to race through the many memories about which I wanted to write.

The weather was gorgeous which was why we had to contend with the literal bazillion people who each woke up that morning and chirped Let’s go to the Harbor. to their spouses. Eventually, after circling the Harbor and the put my kid through college expensive parking lots like a bird of prey, we found a rather decent parking space just off of Pratt Street.

We spent the day going through the Pratt and Light Street Pavilions and looking at boats all while navigating the throngs of like-minded Marylanders trying to enjoy an unscheduled Spring day. I was pretty much able to avoid thoughts of the past by experiencing the things we saw through the eyes of my daughter as if the world was new. That was working well until my wife said, Let’s go sit on Federal Hill. Oh Joy! I thought to myself sarcastically. Federal Hill was specifically where I did not want to be but my wife was taking me there as if she knew where to go. On the walk over there I kept thinking about how much I really did need to bring closure to that night. I would have to find another way if Gene was not willing.

The sun was setting on the city. The view was simply dazzling just as I remembered. It had been years since I last sat atop Federal Hill overlooking Baltimore. We sat there for an hour enjoying Promise’s wonderment while the sun’s rays became increasingly orange as they fell on the skyscrapers. That was just the right time to be there in the afternoon. So many memories flooded my head as I recounted the times I’d been there when I was younger – especially that last time.

We packed ourselves up and began the long trek to the car. It was an hour or so before we made it back to the car having stopped to observe a number of street performances. I suppose the juggler beguiled my daughter the most as her eyes lit up with glee when he juggled the balls of fire. I knew I was supposed to be in that moment with them but my mind was still on Federal Hill and how I just had to write the story. I’ve had this feeling before and there is no other way to explain it other than to say it is the closest I could feel to being nine months pregnant. You have this thing with a life of its own inside of you and you simply must let it out.

Later that night, after putting Promise to bed, Tempest and I sat up in the bed to talk and pray as we do as often as we get the chance. What is it, baby? she inquired.

What do you mean? Nothing’s wrong.

"I know you, remember? It’s like the Princess and the Pea with you, I can tell when the slightest thing is wrong and you’ve been weird all day. Time to come clean." she stated.

Yeah, come clean. I echoed. It’s this baby. I said while pointing to the class ring on my right hand.

What, that – whatever it is – you and Gene are carrying around? she blurted.

"Yeah, Gene is considering letting me write about it. The more I think about it, the more I need to write about it."

I get that. she insisted, but what does that have to with you’re being all weird today? I don’t understand how your process works. she admitted, but I am trying.

I told her that I appreciated her willingness to learn and reminded her that I was trying my best to honor Gene’s request to keep things under wraps although I was finding it difficult right then.

I love you and that works for me. she concluded.

I love you too.

I reached to turn off the light just as the phone rang. It took a moment for the caller ID to display Gene Tucker in the window.

Hello? I answered. Hi Gene, what’s… oh really, well… that’s great! Can I see you tomorrow? OK then, goodnight. I put down the receiver.

What was that all about? Tempest asked.

Gene said they were sitting up apparently having the same conversation as us.

And… she prodded.

He’s in.

Chapter 2:

Archaeology

The next morning, we got up for Church. Unfortunately for my wife and daughter, it was my turn to make breakfast. My wife jumped in after I burned some eggs and sausage while producing what could be best described as hockey pucks rather than biscuits from the oven. She salvaged what she could and served what we had. A child’s face is one of the purest reflections of the truth we will ever see in a person. I did not need the expression on her face to know how bad I’d messed up.

Sorry about breakfast this morning. I apologized, It’s just that I’m distracted, preoccupied with this story and all.

I understand. I know you get this way. Tempest assured.

I’ll have my act together for lunch. I’m sure that’ll be better.

I know it will be better. I’m not letting you in the kitchen until your mind is back on earth. she wore the half-joking expression I knew all too well as she dumped the hockey pucks.

Where is Daddy’s mind? the cute kid inquired.

I don’t know baby but he’s gonna find it real soon, OK? she said as she hugged Promise.

Only the wasted food bothered me. I knew my family was in my corner and that was all I needed from them in that moment.

So, are you inviting Gene over here or are you going over there?

It would be best if we talked here in my office.

Yea! Ethan! exclaimed the little girl with sunshine for a smile.

Disappointing the kid, my wife said, No, baby, Uncle Gene and Daddy have work to do.

Awww…

As soon as we got back from Church, I went down to my office to prepare. I’d called Gene after the service ended. He told me to expect him around one. This was the perfect Sunday for this because Baltimore had a bye week. Football is one of my guilty pleasures; I wanted to use a purple theme in Promise’s room but someone else prevailed making brighter colors the order of the day.

Joe, do you need snacks or anything?

I think I’ll run out and get a pizza, if that’s OK.

Fine by me, I haven’t started lunch yet.

I called the number for the nearest Pizza Baltimore, a cheap pizza franchise in the area, and ordered an extra-large "Baltimorioni". This was our favorite, a twice-baked pizza with two types of cheese and twice the pepperoni. We used to get pizza from them and wile the night away playing video games. I played a playlist of our favorite music from those years and walked over to the mini-fridge to retrieve two bottles of Peach Vanilla Mystic. There were only six left when I opened the fridge. We only drank these on special occasions, the last being when Promise was born. These have been discontinued for well over a decade. I’m a nostalgic person and I thought all of this would help us recall facts and nuances we may have lost over the years.

Gene showed up sometime around one as promised. I could tell he was somewhat skeptical even though he was willing to give it a try. We exchanged pleasantries as we walked down the steps.

How is this going to work? he asked as we stopped at the door to my office.

I think this will be the first of several sessions. I’ve prepared some basic questions; they will be like seeds and hopefully detailed conversations will grow from them. All of this will be recorded and will serve as my notes from which I’ll try to build the story. Each of the questions should help us dig deeper and hopefully we’ll find what we’re looking for.

"That sounds OK, but what if I, or we get to a point where we don’t want to continue?" he questioned.

"This is the story