Update/Chapters 1 + 2 + Journal Entry #1

A.V.A. why aren't you posting more?

Because I'm editing like crazy!

Note to the readers, Journal entries, while being posted here for you to see, will be shifted to the back of the book upon release. They're extra, and not something I'm directly placing within the text. It interrupts the flow and pacing of the story too much. I'll still include them in these postings, but be aware it won't be the same in the book.

Changes: Lots. Also keep in mind, these are my personal changes, not what the copyeditor is going to do. May look even more different when it come out.

Enjoy!

Chapter 1: A Dream and a Fear

With a sigh, Walker said, “Because I said so.”

The abrasive teenager briefly scowled at his teacher before controlling himself. Apparently, this was one of those days where he’d have to have a teachable moment. Looking at the clock, he figured it wasn't too much of an issue as he could just shuffle the body paragraph breakdown to make time.

The boy continued, “I’m just saying, that doesn’t make sense Mr. Reed. Essays aren’t emails, and emails aren’t essays. They’re two completely different things.” He looked at his friends near him for support. Seeing one give him a thumbs up, Raul shifted a little higher than his usual slouched posture and gestured at the class. “This whole place is worthless. The majority of what I need to know is in auto. I’m gonna be a mechanic anyways, not some college shit who thinks they’re better than everyone else.”

Walker paused for a moment to get a handle on himself, wondering if the college remark was a dig at him. Pulling an empty desk forward, one of the few in his thirty-student class, he flipped it around to sit facing the class. “It’s pretty simple, Raul. Do you want to be a basic mechanic all your life?”

“Of course not.”

“So what, supervisor.?”

Raul thought it over for a minute before saying, “Nah, man, I’m gonna start my own business”.

Walker threw a finger in the air, “Aha! You wanna be a business owner and maybe even a manager. That means you have to learn how to manage employees, including writing up reports on them and giving feedback. You’ve also gotta deal with suppliers, expansion opportunities, and loads of stuff. It all ties back to essays. They’re critical thinking outlets.”

A new voice spoke up, “That’s too much work, man.”

Walker looked at the speaker. The kid was always on his phone and didn’t do anything in class. Anytime one of his colleagues had tried to speak with his parents, they’d either hang up the phone or bitch them out for being a “shitty teacher.” Honestly, he didn’t know why he stayed in this job.

Oh, that’s right, he needed money.

“Nicholas…”

“Nick” he cut him off. “You don’t even fucking know what I like to be called.”

Walker instantly replied by rote, “Language please.”

“Fuck language. Raul’s right, this is bullshit. You’re just an overly paid babysitter.” He looked over at Raul for backup but instead found his potential supporter had already slouched back into his seat and was staring at the paper in front of him.

Smart kid, Walker thought to himself. He needed to get back in control before things spiraled.

“Nick, I’m sorry I didn’t say your name the way you prefer it.”

“Fuck your sorry bitch.”

Walker did a mental check. Rather than blow up, which he really wanted to do at that moment, maybe even taking Nicholas with him, he calmly stood up and walked over to his phone.

A voice quickly answered, “Hello, Mr. Reed. How can I help you?”

“Yes, I need an administrator here please, non-emergency.”

“We’ll send one in a few minutes,” the distant voice promised before abruptly hanging up.

The tall man walked back over and stood near the desk he’d previously sat at. Smiling at the class, Walker let them know he was going to wait a few minutes and for them to think about what they wanted to say in their emails. It’s a basic assignment for an English class. Write the teacher a professional email with a beginning, middle, and end that asks questions about a job they want to do in the future. Simple stuff that goes with his particular brand of teaching….practicality. If it’s not useful, do your best to not teach it. Thus, the current kerfluffle.

He didn’t fully disagree with Raul and Nicholas. A lot of what he was forced to teach was outdated and stupid. They, being his supervisors and the thirty other bosses he reported to, had a strict curriculum. The student body of Walker's school was eighty percent Latino, but he was still forced to teach novels written by people who didn’t look, think, or write like them. The students couldn't relate to their brand of culture, and no matter how well-written the material was, it just didn’t connect in the way it needed to. Thank god he doesn’t have to teach Moby Dick anymore. American classic though it was, good lord did it drag.

It was only 10:14 in the morning. Moments like this would happen throughout the day, and while he normally wouldn’t call an administrator for this, it was a recurring problem with Nicholas.

And Walker was done.

A light knock at the locked door informed him one of the principals had arrived. Through a small window set into a rusted door frame, he could see the tight hair bob and pasty countenance of Mrs. Wilson…which, if history tells the tale, meant Nicholas would get a pass and just sit in her office for the rest of the period. He’d see him again tomorrow. And the day after. And the day after that. Requests for transferring students to other classes were ignored more often than not. One student had assaulted a teacher and walked back into that same teacher’s classroom three days later.

A second sigh came out of Walker as he opened the door and stepped out, leaving it cracked so he wouldn’t have to unlock it again.

“What do you need, Mr. Reed,” Mrs. Wilson asked in her best fake-cheery voice.

“I need Nicholas back there spoken to by an administrator. I’ve asked a few times for him to be transferred to another class or credit recovery, but nothing’s changed."

Mrs. Wilson appeared to think it over for a moment before saying, “Did you go to that professional development last weekend on dealing with difficult children? It was enlightening.”

“No,” he replied. “I was busy with moving.”

“Oh, that’s right,” she stated in a sympathetic voice, her facial muscles bringing a false smile to her face. “You did say you couldn’t make it because of a personal issue.”

A personal issue like the love of his life leaving him and a drunken evening in the dark.

Walker got back on topic. “Do you mind pulling him out for at least the rest of the period? This is an important part of my lesson plan.”

She nodded slowly, “Sure, but you’ll have to think over how you want to manage him tomorrow.”

Walker couldn't stop his teeth from grinding.

They walked in together, and that’s when they noticed the papers all over the ground, torn into tiny pieces. Unlike a lot of newer teachers, Walker preferred to handwrite all of his lessons, a forgotten reason always lingering in the back of his mind. He still kept them grouped into one thick notebook full of neon-colored Post-it notes. He’d built that notebook over the past year and hadn’t thought to make a copy or digitize it, as he was always real careful about making sure it was in the drawer just below the desk. That way he knew right where it was at all times.

But there was a problem, as it appeared Nicholas wasn’t always staring at his phone after all. The culprit stood just behind Walker’s black desk without fear of retribution.

“Hard to fucking teach without your instructions, ain’t it bitch” he said with a heavy grin leaning off of his face.

Mrs. Wilson looked at the papers, not understanding their significance. “This’ll clean right up,” she said with aplomb before asking Nicholas to follow her. She didn’t notice Walker staring at his hard work slashed into pieces on the floor. The combination of neon colors, the plain white paper he preferred to work off of, and dried ink snapped something in his mind.

“What the fuck did you do,” his quiet voice said, drifting over the crowded classroom. Walker lifted his eyes from the floor and zeroed in on Nicholas.

“Mr. Reed!” Mrs. Wilson said in a sharp voice, “You can’t speak that-”

“No,” Walker said as he interrupted her, his vacant eyes looking back at the papers again. 

Mrs. Wilson suddenly developed a sixth sense, knowing this was an important moment. Finally doing her job, she gently tugged on Walker’s arm, leading him from the classroom and over to the teacher’s lounge. He never lifted his eyes from the ground as she began to harangue him about his language in front of the students. 

But Walker wasn’t listening. He was done listening. He was done with helicopter parents screaming at him for barely earned Bs. He was done with apathetic teenagers staring at girls’ asses instead of listening. They always knew to ignore his lessons right when he taught them the things they most needed to know. Things they had to know before entering the working world. 

Not like those same girls were any better. 

He was done with low pay, twelve-hour days, and bullshit professional development sessions taught by people who hadn’t been in a classroom for years. Walker Reed was ready for a change.

His eyes finally traveled up and found the lounge’s walls. Mrs. Wilson was talking about him apologizing to Nicholas and the class, and that he would figure it out. But he knew he wasn’t going to do that. There was only so much pushing and prodding a man could take. 

His eyes landed on one of the posters covering the wall. It was something every school he’d been to had. “Motivational” posters that were anything but. The basic “hang in there, baby” post of the cat that had been around since long ago. A meme someone had printed out about how editing wasn’t like proofreading. The kind of humor only an English teacher would enjoy. But the last one his eyes found was the one that finally pushed him over the edge. 

“Teaching is a calling.” He said in a quiet voice. 

“What was that, Mr. Reed?” Mrs. Wilson said, “Are you ready to apologize to the class now?”

“Do you know what a calling is, Mrs. Wilson? No?” Walker stepped up to the poster. It held a smiling young woman, perfectly dressed, as a group of students raised their hands in front of her. “This is not reality. This is fucking bullshit.” He tore it from the wall, watching the now cornerless paper drift as it fell, its motion synonymous with his life right now. 

“A calling is something you’re meant to do, meant to be. I thought that’s what it was for me,” He gave a bitter laugh, “Something that I connected with, deep down. But that’s not here, is it? That’s not THESE kids.”

“Mr. Reed,” Mrs. Wilson replied as she changed tactics, “If you had attended the training this last weekend-”

“I couldn’t fucking do that, Mrs. Wilson…Kathy!” He snarled her name out, his emotions getting the better of him. “Because of my,” Walker made air quotes, “Personal Issue. But you don’t give a shit about that. Neither does Nicholas or anyone else here. You care about results. Test scores.” Another air quote, “Attendance.” Unknown to him, his voice raised in volume, “That’s what’s wrong with this goddamn education system. You all care about your ratings. How the state views you, and not the kids.”

Mrs. Wilson put a hand on his shoulder in an attempt to calm him down, but it was too late. She was talking, but Walker couldn’t hear her anymore.

“Parents don’t parent anymore, so kids no longer feel the need to be kids. No, they’re going to talk down to me,” Up another register, “they’re going to fuck around in class,” all of the classrooms around the lounge had gone quiet, and a few teachers started to stick their heads out to listen in, “and they don’t give a flying fuck about English or any other skills that will make them look and act like adults growing up. No, it’s all done. Everything is absolutely FUCKED.” 

He turned around, looking at the other posters on the wall. With more than a bit of mania, Walker Reed started to tear every poster off of the wall and throw them to the ground. He didn’t do it with joy, or happiness. He didn’t even do it with anger. Walker Reed did it because he couldn’t stand to look at the false images they represented. Of a “calling.” Of kids giving a shit or admins doing their job. 

While he was doing this, Mrs. Wilson had called the school resource officers to the building. They arrived just as the last paper drifted to the ground. To their eyes, a large man in a nice purple suit stood in the center of a recently fallen paper tornado, his shoulders heaving not from exhaustion but from barely controlled rage.  

One of them spoke into a radio on their shoulder while the other was speaking with Mrs. Wilson. Walker turned around and found both men with their arms crossed, “Fucking great.”

“Mr. Reed, it’s time to go.” Said the man on the left. He was the same one who smiled at Walker daily as he parked what felt like a mile away and walked into the school. He wasn’t smiling now. 

“We can’t have you cursing around the kids.”

“Like you’ve never heard them curse before, Sean.”

The officer shook his head, “Can’t have you do this, Walker. It’s time to go.”

When it didn’t look like he was going to move, they stepped forward and tried to gently grab his arms, but Walker was 6’3 and around 250 pounds. He’d move when he wanted to move. Initially, he pulled back on them, causing them to put more muscle into the action. But eventually, he just went limp, his rage spent on the sad pieces of paper littering the ground rather than the kids in the school. 

Security gets him through the door and all the classes throughout the building have stopped. It’s hard to teach when someone is screaming obscenities fifty feet away. Mrs. Wilson is speaking quietly into her radio as they pull him away. The exit is not far form his classroom. 

Looking in, he spies Nicholas, a shit-eating grin plastered across his face as security gives him a light nudge to keep moving. But Walker isn’t through. He slips out of security's arms and runs to the doorway, only to stop and smile in Nicholas’s direction one more time before saying, “It’s all fuck the teachers right. The ones who work hard to make sure you have a safe place where you can be informed. Where you can learn what the future has entailed for you.” Walker gave a feral smile in return, “Ask yourself this Nicholas. Why am I smiling as I look at your future? Why does what you become make me happy?”

He turns to security and tells them he’s ready to go.

In the end, he didn’t make them put him on administrative leave as is the usual line. He looked at the principal, informed her of his immediate resignation, and walked out to his crappy, rust-blue Dodge Durango. The highway is empty, and things are looking up.

It’s now 10:35 a.m.

Journal Entry #1

This is a Journal.

Across time, journals have been used for so many different purposes. 

Write down your thoughts, spread your ideas, then close the lid and never let anyone see them. 

Yep, Journals are great for the insane and closeted. Or just those who have trouble expressing themselves vocally. 

I fall into the later third option. 

You see, I have Dysgraphia, so many people won’t be able to read this. It’s a bullshit disease that is particularly impactful on handwriting and anything that has to do with steady hand control. Sometimes, I just write words that aren’t even in my head; they appear on this page, and I have to go back and fix it. It’s bullshit. It’s also likely genetic, but I won’t have kids, so that’s a-ok.

Why start writing a journal? My girl left me. She fucking blipped out. I had a breakdown, called a psychiatrist friend of mine, and she suggested I start this shit. I don’t know who I’m writing to, but I'm assuming you know me, or you just found this on a random corpse who wears a lot of dark shades.

These are my thoughts and feelings. Feelings have friends, but can a thought be lonely? Ask my students as they seem to have so few. I don't remember having friendly feelings. I know I have them, but I can’t seem to remember where they went. Everything is pastel. My highs are always straining for the middle bar of excitement, and my lows are deep and well-entrenched. I don’t remember the last time I felt true joy, with the exception of surfing on a nice clean wave with no one else near me.

This world sucks. Everything feels like a race, and everyone is so in-tune with social media and trying to outperform each other that contentment is seen as a disease of the past few generations.

Is that what I did wrong? Was I too content? Is that why she left?

I’m gonna shrug it all off by tomorrow, I’m sure. It’s another day at work, another lesson to give. Hopefully, my students understand something in my teaching.

I Hope.

Chapter 2: Downtown

There was an itch on Walker’s soul as he hit the 101 highway.

Smooth green road signs passed by his windows, telling him he was going places, but he knew it was a lie.

Walker couldn’t stop thinking of what he’d done. Was it a mistake? Or the beginning of something new. Something better. There come moments where you feel righteous fury, that you’re in the right, only to come down after the rage is expended and find just how horrible you had acted. Maybe there were regrets buried within him.

But if there were, they’d already dropped to the bottom, never to be seen again. 

The road signs continued to pass by.

In a spare moment, he looked at the small notebook sitting next to him. The cover showed the oh-so originally titled “Journal.” He’d just written in it the night before, in his usual stupid style, as he didn’t have anyone to talk to.

His oldest friend, Matt, always said he was too co-dependent in his relationships. The moment he had one, everything else disappeared, and his world tilted on the words of whoever he happened to be with at that time. He hadn’t called Matt in years, and calling him out of the blue right when he and Valerie broke up felt….wrong. Like he was using him. Who only wanted phone calls when you’re having a bad time? That’s not what friends deserve. 

“High and Lows,” He muttered to himself, driving down the highway without thinking.

He thought Matt might’ve had a kid recently….but he had no memory of calling to congratulate him. No, now wasn’t the time to call his old friend. Better to let that sit for a minute.

Wrapping up his thoughts, he came to the reality that he had no one to lean on, no one to call, no job to go to, and his gas tank was running low. Good thing he had made plenty of money as a teacher in California right? He hadn’t checked his bank account in a while but he was sure there were only a few hundred dollars in there.

Paycheck to Paycheck was the life, man. Maybe he could ask Nicholas for notes on how to be an adult in a few years.

What a crock of shit.

He saw his turn and eased over to the exit lane.

Walker wasn’t entirely sure where he was going, but he figured he’d know when he got there. The car and its’ despondent driver made a few turns and wound up in downtown Santa Barbara. Adobe buildings set in a Spanish Colonial Revival style scrolled past. Bright flags hanging from light poles filled his vision as people smiled and spoke to one another while his rusty car drove past.

He had to fight away any tears from forming. He hadn’t known why he was driving here until those flags appeared.

Valerie loved going downtown. Not to shop, as neither of them could really afford the lavish merchandise that sprang up here in the last ten years, but just to walk around and enjoy the area.

A random memory forced its way into his mind, “Walker, you should see what the old Sears building is going to be. I can’t believe they’re tearing down an SB monument like that. Where will people-” He pushed it away.

She was like that. See a dog in the street; feel the need to rescue it. See a homeless man who for all you know is mentally aware and chooses that life, then try to get him into a shelter. That’s just the kind of person she is. Was.

They’d closed down State Street, the main road downtown, during the COVID-19 pandemic, so he had to find a reasonably priced parking garage and hop out. Walker made a mental reminder to quickly get to a gas station as soon as he left, or he’d have to do the walk of shame that everyone claims they’ve never done but just about everyone has.

Stepping out of the garage and onto the thoroughfare, he was surrounded by people going about their lives. His life wasn’t their problem, and he was determined to keep the standardized sad and lost look off of his face. He headed into a few stores, looked at one in particular with fantastic oceanic paintings, and just moseyed along without the burden of thoughts.

Walker knew it wasn’t healthy, that he…wasn’t healthy. He was smart enough to understand that right now, at this very moment, he was trying to relive some semblance of the life he had lived with Valerie. He’d exploded their relationship, he’d blown up his job, and now he was a step off of homelessness as he walked the rich streets of his hometown. He should find some cardboard and a sharpie while he could still afford it.

I’m fucked He thought to himself, only the bitterness never came. It was just a pure statement of reality.

He walked past where the Borders used to be, a fleeting memory of a time he would go inside and longingly peruse the shelves. He always liked to look at all of the books before picking the “just right” one. Barnes and Noble sat kitty-corner to it, each trying to put the other out of business, with B & N winning the final battle. Of course, the introduction of the Nook and Kindle had upset bookstores worldwide, but people still liked the physicality of stepping through the doors and finding a newly chopped-up tree to turn.

That’s when he noticed he’d been carrying his Journal with him everywhere. He had no memories of taking it out of his trusty Durango.

Walker looked over the grey camo splashed cover and thought for a moment of tossing it in a nearby trashcan. He started to head to one on the corner to do just that when a man in a green army jacket holding a tin can walked up to him. He had no idea where the man had come from, as he hadn’t seen him standing there when he’d scanned the area just a moment ago. Walker could smell his unwashed body before he’d even reached six feet of where he was standing.

“Spare some change, young fellow,” the old man said with his striped-bumble bee teeth.

Without thinking, Walker headed over while reaching into his wallet and pulling out a twenty. He slipped it into the nearly empty can, noting a few one-dollar bills poking out. He also noticed the ones that were showing themselves had been taped there by the man holding the can. Smart. Some people would shy away from being the first to help, thinking something was wrong with the homeless man, but if it looked like some cash was already in it, they’d be less hesitant.

He was happy to help. It’s what Valerie would’ve done. He just wished that hadn’t been his last bit of cash.

“Thank you kindly,” he said before heading back to his territory near the street. Walker nodded and looked at his journal again.

“Say, what’ve you got there?” interrupted the homeless man again, pointing one dirty nail at the notebook in his hand.

“Just a simple notebook filled with the deranged thoughts of a madman,” Walker replied.

“Hah, and here I thought I was the only madman left in this absolute paradise,” countered the homeless man with a slight grin that didn’t seem like it was meant to be there. “You don’t know how lucky you are.”

“Yeah,” Walker replied with a false smile in return, “Definitely lucky.”

“Names John Reed, pleasure to meet you.”

“Same. Walker Reed, funnily enough. Maybe we’re related.”

John shook his head and sighed. “No, son, I ain’t got no family left, or I’d not be like this. You know, looking at you.” He said, scanning Walker up and down. “You’ve been through something. Recently, it seems to me. Don’t think I’ve seen many people aimlessly walking around, carrying journals, and staring at trash cans. Most people come here with friends and loved ones or to work.” He scratched the underside of his chin. “What brings you here?”

He’s nosy as shit

“Why do you want to know” Walker asked in a, he felt, not-unfriendly tone of voice.

“Just passing the time,” he said with a shrug, “Got lots of time nowadays.”

With a mental laugh, Walker thought things couldn’t get any worse, may as well give this a go.

“OK, John.” He grabbed a seat near a strangely leafed tree and looked at the sky to collect his thoughts for a moment. With a shake of his head and a grimace, he said, “My life has never been worse. I went from having a smoking hot girlfriend and almost fiancee to unemployed, single, and soon to be broke.”

“How can someone be an almost fiancee.”

“Don’t interrupt John. You asked for it, and I’m giving it. This world is shit. I figured after Valerie, the almost fiancee, and I got out of the military, we’d be fine. We’d both worked hard and got our bachelor's degrees while still serving. We were happy. I was happy….”

He trailed off for a moment. John didn’t say anything and just looked at him.

Walker wasn’t sure what to say next. “So yeah, this world is shit. I was a teacher until ten something this morning. I was going to propose until late Sunday night. And just a few minutes ago, I had twenty dollars in my wallet. Now I’ve got nothing but…I guess this journal, a shitty car, and a half-assed set up in an apartment I can’t go back to as everything isn’t fully packed, and she doesn’t want to be near me.” A flash of fire hit his gut. “She’s moving in with Todd.”

“A Todd, huh?” John said quietly, not giving a smile this time.

“Yeah, a Todd. So I guess you could say I have a lot of open opportunities”, Walker said with bitterness.

“So you really think this world is shit?” John asked quietly, an unseen darkness casting itself across his face.

“I do. I fought a people who didn’t even have clean water, for reasons I still don’t know. Then, I wanted to help the world by becoming a teacher, and instead, I screamed and threw a hissy fit at everyone because my students didn’t have anyone teach them that their behavior wasn’t appropriate. Hell, my behavior wasn’t appropriate either,” Walker ran a hand through his hair, “I lost my almost fiancee because….well fuck I still don’t really know. Forgive me for asking. But you’re homeless, right? This isn’t just some scam?”

“I’m homeless in a literal sense, Mr. Reed.” John replied in a deeper tone of voice, not that Walker noticed as he was so wrapped up in his own problems, ”My home is no longer...reachable”.

Without thinking it over, Walker replied, “That’s rough man.”

John smiled a little. The kind of smile you only see on a person's face before something unexpected happens. It was jilted and wrong. As if the muscles in his face were fighting each other for dominance, rather than working together. Walker was still too self-absorbed to take note of it.

“So what would you do, Walker? How would you change the world? Even better, if you had to build a world from scratch, what would you do?”

“Build a world from scratch?

“Indeed. If you had the opportunity to build a world from the very beginning. No history, no religions, no culture, nothing but you and your thoughts, your dreams. What would you do?”

“This is a weird thought process, man,” Walker replied, a little upset about being pulled out of his introspection. He thought it over for a moment, “I guess I’d want it to be like all the books I’ve read. I became an English teacher for a lot of reasons, but the first one is I love to read. Especially fantasy. The guts and glory. The rescued princess and valiant heroes. A world where anything can happen. Where equality of opportunity isn’t just something that’s used to attract genius immigrants. An entire…place, where people can be recognized for their merits, and not where they were born or who they were born to.”

John helped, “A world where an out-of-work teacher and veteran can alter his path maybe, and take on the idea of who he really is?”

“Hah, wouldn’t that be fun?” He said as he looked down at his worn dress shoes. There was a scuff on the front he’d never dealt with. Not like it matters much now.

He didn’t see it, but John nodded and pulled an ordinary stick out of his belt. In a different tone of voice, he said, “Deal.”

Walker didn’t notice the change of tone as he looked at the concrete under his feet. Only the concrete began to blur, or maybe his eyes were; he wasn’t sure. As his eyes continued to betray him, likely from his manic mood all day, he felt something. Like he was floating. Only, there was something wrong. 

A great rumbling could be heard, louder than anything he’d ever experienced. Louder than the bombs of the war or the tears of the students he was forced to fail. A shattering sound blasted out, and after what seemed an eternity, but couldn’t have been more than a few seconds, the world reasserted itself. Walker fell softly onto his ass from a height he had no reason to be at, and his eyes came back into focus.

That isn’t right, he thought to himself What was that? And why am I sitting on grass? Wait...His ears picked up what his mind couldn’t process. There was nothing. No sounds of cars nor people talking. 

What?

“Welcome, Walker,” said a deep voice right in front of him. Walker looked up and noticed that Santa Barbara was gone, and in its place were the night sky and a million stars. Standing only a few feet away was a tall, powerfully built man wearing dark green robes and holding a pitch-black staff. The man spread his arms wide as he looked at him with a sad smile on his face.

“Welcome to your world”.