Ironman by Chris Crutcher Read Free Book Online Page A

life, though, is that little button you push just before you say “Rest well,” to end it for any caller who gets too stupid or belligerent for even your tolerance level. I would have called in, but by four-thirty in the morning “Larry King Live” isn’t live anymore; it’s repeated from yesterday. If I could have called, I’d have asked if you thought those rights of expression were for everybody, and I’m betting you would have said yes. Then Iwould have told you I’m a seventeen-year-old high-school kid and asked if you thought the Constitution held up for me, too. I’m kind of glad I couldn’t really get to you, because I’m afraid you might have said what most adults say: that teenagers aren’t quite done yet, that we’re impulsive and adults intervene because we aren’t ready to manage our lives. But in my four-thirty A.M . fantasy you gave a different answer that lent weight to my powerful need to express a thing or two to guys like Redmond and my dad. Who knows, maybe you would.
    Thought I’d bring you up to date on the Nak Pack, because what’s been going on the last few days messes with my head. After Mr. Nak told Joey to invite a skunk into the family fold, I figured the best way through was to be polite and keep my mouth shut. Then, about three or four months down the road, I would just tell Mr. Nak I never seem to get mad anymore, could he please tell Redmond I’m cured, and that would be that. But I don’t think it’s going to be that easy. See, Mr. Nak’ll be talking about how anger comes creeping up, hoping you’re not paying attention so it can trick you into something really embarrassing or degrading, and before you know it he’s got you thinking about your life, or worse, talking about it. He keeps asking what seem like harmless questions, and it almost seems safe toanswer them. Next thing you know you’re ready to say something you thought you’d never tell anybody.
    The other day he gave us this hypothetical problem. He said, “Okay, close your eyes an’ pertend you’re five years old.” (Excuse the grammar and spelling here, Lar, but in case you haven’t noticed, I write it the way Mr. Nak says it. Maybe it’s a sign of prejudice, but listening to this long tall cowboy talk, coming out of a five-and-a-half-foot-tall Asian guy, is a kick.) Anyway, Shuja put up a stink when Mr. Nak said that, because in his world you close your eyes for nobody . What Hudgie sees when he closes his eyes can only be imagined, because the minicam in that guy’s head is operated from a remote control long, long ago on a planet far, far away. So Mr. Nak said just do our best an’ if things got too uncomfortable, it was okay to peek. He finally got us zeroed in on ourselves at our first day in kindergarten. Shuja felt obligated to tell us who-all’s ass he had to kick just to start off even, because there’s bigots everywhere, even in kindergarten, but Mr. Nak just nodded and went on. “Now imagine the person you been trustin’ all your life, your momma or your daddy or whoever, has told you from the git-go that this color”—and he pointed to his green shirt—“is red. For five years nobody told you nothin’ different about green an’ red, so you start out your first dayin school thinkin’ this”—and he pointed to his shirt again—“is red.”
    Shuja laughed out loud and said, “Oooh, you gonna be scrappin’ with all them homeboys tellin’ you different than what your daddy tol’ you,” and I figured that was probably the point, and I peeked and saw Mr. Nak smile.
    Then he said, “Let’s drive our Jeep a bit farther down that rocky road. Let’s say that same person you grew up with, who told you green was red, also told you that when you cross the street you best be lookin’ out for all the forks and