Unrecognized Destiny

UNRECOGNIZED DESTINY

By Earl James

As he trudged down 3^rd Street toward his home, sixteen-year-old JT Schuler slowed his pace to enjoy the early evening sky. Dusk’s fleeting light turned the early spring sky into a dazzling violet hue. He allowed himself a few seconds to appreciate its beauty. Then he turned back to the task at hand—preparing to deliver today’s bad news to his stepfather.

JT headed up the porch stairs to the entrance of the only home he’d ever known. Entering through the low gate that hung on one hinge, his shorter left leg lagging as usual, he opened the front door and could hear his stepfather in the kitchen. The door let out a slow, torturous creak as if it were expressing the same trepidations he felt at that moment.

“That you, boy?” his stepfather asked.

“Yes, sir.”

His stepfather entered the room, the same scowl on his face that JT imagined he displayed emerging from his mother’s womb.

“What’d you bring me? How much did you make today?”

JT stared at the carpet, slowly raised his head to make eye contact with the man, and said, “Weren’t nothing out there today. I couldn’t—”

“Dammit! You gotta find yourself some work, boy. I’m not housing you forever. When I was sixteen, I was on my own, payin’ my own way. I had nobody helpin’ me.”

JT listened quietly. He’d heard it all before.

“I’ll look harder tomorrow. I’m sorry,” JT said.

“Sorry pays no bills,” his stepfather yelled. “You’re good for nothin’. I want you outa here by summer. Got it?”

JT nodded his head and went upstairs to his room, skipping dinner. He removed his thick glasses, laid back, and covered up with the heavy quilt to warm him against the spring cold.

He didn’t feel sorry for himself. He was tired of feeling that way. He was sixteen with one leg shorter than the other and poor eyesight, forcing him to wear unsightly glasses just to read or see close up. No one would hire him. Walking around in the District today trying to make some money seemed pointless. The few day jobs he’d been able to land were short-term, and when they came up again, they rarely hired him back. Still, hope stirred in him every day.

JT closed his eyes for a few moments and hummed that new tune he loved so much. He reflected on happier times eight years ago. His mother was sick, and he knew she was dying. She tucked him into bed on one of her last nights, and she told him how much she loved him. Then, she told him about her dream.

With words so soft and pleasing to his ears, he knew he would never forget them. In fact, he had repeated them to himself every day since then. She said, “Johnny, I had a dream last night. I dreamed you were special. You were important. I dreamed you would achieve something miraculous—something monumental—something that had the power to change the world. I don’t know what it was, but I saw angels singing, smiling, and pointing at you, saying that you were the instrument of destiny. Johnny, I want you to believe in yourself like I believe in you. Someday, you’ll do something so special it will make the history books.”

When she finished, John Thomas Schuler saw tears rolling out of her eyes and felt them on his face after she bent over and kissed him on the forehead. She whispered goodnight and left his room. They never spoke alone again.

In the morning, JT rose, washed up, donned the same clothes as yesterday, and went in search of any dock jobs. As he walked, he repeated the words to himself as he always did. But I saw the angels singing, smiling, and pointing at you…

Every day was the same. It was as if those words were filled with magic, buoying his spirits and inspiring him to believe as she did. He lifted his head high even as he limped toward the docks. Today…Friday, might be the day. The day that might make me important, make me special.

A thin smile escaped his lips, and again, he hummed his favorite tune.

By nine that morning, all the dock jobs were taken and he was left standing alone. Undeterred, he headed back into downtown to see what else he might find. As he walked, he caught himself cursing his left leg for his noticeable limp. It seemed certain to him that he was passed over far too many times because of his perceived weakness. He remembered the Doc saying, “Really? You want to blame your left leg for being shorter than your right? Maybe it’s the right leg that is the villain here, growing longer than normal.” He chuckled to himself as he realized the doctor could be right. As he stumbled for a response, the doctor added another thought, “Perhaps you shouldn’t blame either. I think what you need to do is be thankful you have two legs and quit looking around for excuses to fail. Get over yourself!”

JT knew the doctor was right. His mother had told him the same thing many times. Life is what you make of it. Don’t let a little impairment get in your way. She would say that when he was down and her soft voice always cheered him up. Now that she was gone, he had to make himself remember. So he did.

As he headed into town, he gravitated toward the E Street Café, where Ellen Teller worked. Ellen was a year behind him in school, but he was enamored of her and imagined on more than one occasion that he could win her heart someday.

JT purposely slowed as he walked by, stopping for a moment to pretend to read the sign in the window. He gazed longingly at her as she worked the counter, filling a customer’s coffee cup while acknowledging another’s hand wave for help. He wished he could stop in for a cup of coffee himself and maybe chat a bit with her, but he had no money for frivolity like that. He pushed himself to move on.

As it neared one o’clock, JT walked down another avenue in search of work, silently asking himself how he could appear more capable to employers. He knew he had to be a bit bolder, more assertive. As he imagined the new, improved JT, a man emerged from a set of double doors and posted a sign on a board on the front of the building.

The words caught his eyes. HELP WANTED, it announced in bright red letters. Work crew laborer-Apply inside, it said. The man returned through the same doors, and the newly emboldened JT knew what he had to do. He removed his glasses, folding them carefully and placing them in his pocket. He ran his hand through his wavy black hair, pushing it back to make it neater. Standing on the tip of his left foot, he straightened himself out and pulled the sign down from the board. He pulled one of the double doors open, doing his best to dramatically minimize his limp, and entered.

It was then that he realized the business was a little theater, and his heart pounded faster. He recognized the man who had posted the notice outside and walked purposely toward him, holding the help-wanted sign high in the air to get his attention.

“Sir, I’m the one you’re looking for. I can do whatever you need,” JT called out with as much conviction as he could muster. Walking on his left tiptoes was hard to do for any length of time, so when the man approached him, he stopped and waited.

“What’s your name, son?”

“I’m John. John Schuler. But everyone calls me JT. I’m a good worker.”

“I’m John Ford, the owner,” he said and held out his hand.

JT responded with his and a firm grip.

John looked him over and asked, “Ever done any painting?”

“Lots of times,” JT lied.

“When can you start?”

“This very minute.”

John smiled broadly. “Son, that was the only answer that was going to get you this job. Come with me. I’ll show you what I need done.”

John walked him around to the right side of the building, pointing out the stage and the scene construction, the back door to the alley, and introduced him to Jake the carpenter, and to Stagehands Jim and Ned. Arriving at a stairway to the basement, he opened the door and said, “These stairs need to be varnished. Follow me down.”

At the bottom of the stairs was a brush and an unopened can of varnish. John pried it open and said, “I need you to paint these old stairs to preserve them a bit longer. Here’s the tough part—you have to paint the bottom step first and then work your way up. There’s no way out of the basement. So, stand on the second stair, bend over, and paint the first step. Then move up one and do it again. When you get to the top, just exit and close the door. We’ll do the landing some other day. Don’t do the railings yet. We’ll do those later. Might take you a few hours, so don’t rush. Do a good job.”

“Yes, sir, I can do it.”

John nodded. As he ascended the stairs, he said, “JT, we got plenty of work for young men who are go-getters. Let’s see how you do on this job and then we’ll see about more.”

Again, JT called out, “Yes, sir!”

At the top, John closed the door and caught his brother as he passed by. “James, I got a new kid varnishing the stairs. Make sure this door stays closed so the smell doesn’t float through the whole theater.”

His brother nodded and replied, “I’ll check on it now and then. Hard to get rid of that smell once it gets in the building.”

JT labored steadily away. His glasses were mostly for reading and close-up work, but he kept them off in case they came to check on him. When he passed the halfway mark on the stairway, he felt himself getting a bit queasy from the noxious fumes. He turned and walked up to the top and opened the door. Then he went back to the task, still smiling over having a job in show business.

Nearly an hour later, he reached the landing and took a moment to gaze back at his efforts. Seeing no one nearby, put his glasses back on and stole a better look at his work. Immediately, he was horrified to see multiple spots that he missed, mostly on the top six steps when he was trying to speed up and finish. Considering his options, he decided to leave his glasses on and work his way down the stairs carefully to repaint the areas he missed. He tried to put one foot on the lower bar of the railing as he balanced on his other foot, but often, he needed to plant both feet on the stair above to fix his mistakes. As he rose backward, he repainted the earlier missed spots as well as his newly placed footprints, covering them up as best he could.

In fifteen minutes, JT was done and since no one had come around to check on him, he decided to do more than requested. Doing the landing, too, is more than they expect from me, and that’ll show John what a go-getter I am. I might be full-time by tomorrow.

JT removed his glasses, returning them to his pocket. He positioned himself outside the door and got down on his knees to paint the landing. It was flat and easy, and he did a fine job on it, carefully, almost painstakingly, painting the sides and corners so that no varnish got on the walls. He finished and stood up to view his handiwork.

John and James stood on the stage, watching the crew hoist the third-scene background to the top of the rafters. Tonight’s play was the final one for this acting troop, and they expected a full house this evening.

“So, after they hoist up the second scene, move the front scene into position. Laura and the crew want to do one last rehearsal. Then we’ll…we’ll—” John stopped midsentence. He sniffed the air. Once. Twice. “Shit!” he cried, heading to the right toward the basement stairs.

Arriving seconds later, he saw the new kid standing in front of the stairway, door wide open, surveying his work. “What are you doing? That door needs to be shut!”

JT turned suddenly, eyes wide. “I was—I just finished and—”

“I told you to keep it closed, you fool.”

John looked down and saw the landing finished. “No, you idiot, I said don’t do the landing. The fumes are going all through the building, and we have a show in four hours.” He turned to his brother and ordered, “James, get the front double doors open so we can air this place out.”

His brother raced off in the opposite direction.

John looked at JT, trying hard to disguise his anger.

“Sir, I’m sorry. I thought—”

“It doesn’t matter. Go backstage quick. We have some cement blocks back there. Pick up two and take them up to the front doors. Use them to prop the doors open.”

“Yes, sir. I’m…I’m sorry about all this, I—”

“Just go!” John yelled at him.

Hustling as best he could without limping, JT reached backstage and spotted the ten-pound cement blocks. He stacked one on top of the other and bent over to pick them up. When he tried to reposition his feet, his right foot stuck to the floor, causing him to yank it hard to break the varnished connection. Knowing he had to hurry, he picked up the two unwieldy blocks and attempted to move quickly across the stage toward the front doors. As he passed a grunting stagehand pulling on a rope, his left foot became stuck, and he stumbled forward into the stagehand. His blocks fell out of his arms, and the stagehand fell down beside him, losing his hold on the ropes.

Immediately, JT heard several screams as the right corner of scene two’s background came swinging downward to the stage in a swift arc, smashing into hundreds of pieces and colliding with some other background that had been moved up into its path. In seconds, the remnants lay on the stage, shattered into large and small pieces, splinters scattered everywhere.

John and James ran back to the stage, their jaws dropping as they viewed the wreckage. The stagehand rose, dusted himself off, and, addressing his bosses, said, “It wasn’t my fault! The new kid tripped and fell into me.”

John pressed his eyes closed and hung his shaking head.

JT came forward. “I’m sorry. I’m really sorry. I didn’t mean—”

John just stared at him. “You’re fired, kid. Get out of here. Don’t ever let me see your face again.”

Knowing there was no repairing this disaster and no hope of being paid, JT nodded. With his feet sticking everywhere, he walked past them and headed outside.

John turned to his brother. “We’ll have to close. No grand finale.” After a momentary silence, he added, “We’ll need to notify our important guests. That’s your job. I’ll start cleaning up.”

Eyes wide, James replied, “They won’t be happy. His wife wants to see this show.”

“I know…that’s why I’m sending you.”

James nodded and left.

JT began the long, lonely walk home. He needed to get home and clean his shoes, the only pair he had.

Inadvertently, he walked past the E Street Café as they were closing up for the day. Ellen stepped out along with two others. JT turned his head away. Bitterly, he remembered his fantasy of telling Ellen about his full-time job in show business. He imagined he would tell her about mingling with the cast and make his role sound important. Now, he dismissed the thought quickly and tried to pick up his pace.

As he headed back toward Third Street, he attempted to put this latest job disaster behind him. He was tired of feeling sorry for himself and wanted to feel the kind of hope that his mother had instilled in him.

As he passed a jewelry store, he put his glasses back on to read a sign in the window. It said, SALES ASSISTANT NEEDED. He smiled, knowing he’d return tomorrow to start his new job search. He looked through the windows and spied a calendar on the wall. It was Friday, April 14^th.

He continued on 3^rd Street, thinking to himself, I’m just going to forget everything that happened today. No one else will remember April 14^th. I won’t either. Just remember what mother said. I’m destined to do something great. She saw angels in heaven singing and pointing to me, smiling because I had done something great. Something historic. I can’t wait for that day. Someday, John Thomas Schuler will be a name they all remember.  Ellen will know what I did. Maybe I can win her heart yet.

He started to hum his new favorite tune again. He’d heard a band playing it a few months ago, and everyone loved it. He hummed, and his heart filled with new-found hope. Two men rode by him, splashing mud everywhere. After they passed, he resolved that today was a fine day and nothing, not even some mud, could change that. He decided to sing the song. After all, my name is in it so I might as well share it with everyone.

He took a deep breath, smiled, and began to sing, “When Johnny comes marching home again, Hoorah, Hoorah.”

And the angels sang.