Here is the start of Chapter Six:
The Journey South
Chapter Six
December 14, 1979
Aberdeen, Washington
On Thursday, December thirteenth, Drake spent his last day at the high school as sophomore class president. His last official duty in that office was signing a letter of resignation. He had spent the better part of two days crafting that letter which began:
When in the course of human events it becomes necessary for one person to dissolve the political bands which have connected them to another people and relinquish the role of elected authority, it is prudent for that one person to do so in a proper and just way, guaranteeing the ongoing and continued success of the people in the absence of their duly elected official.
Drake had always been fascinated with American history and used classic references whenever he could, and this was a perfect opportunity for him. He delivered the resignation letter to Mr. Dawson’s classroom during seventh period. The cluttered classroom was a testament to a long tenured history teacher, roll-down maps clustered along the top of the green chalkboard, student-made posters dominated the available wall space, and a colorful timeline of American presidential portraits—from Washington to Carter—lined the wall above the row of windows that looked down on the cold courtyard below.
Drake stood at the doorway and paused as he looked into the vacant room. The upbeat rhythm of the Electric Light Orchestra filled the room.
You’re always talkin’ bout your crazy nights,
One of these days you’re gonna get it right.
Don’t bring me down, no no no no no, ewe-who,
I’ll tell you once more before I get off the floor,
Don’t bring me down.
Drake was sure he missed Mr. Dawson and began to walk to the teachers’ desk in the front of the room to drop-off the letter, the hardwood floor creaked underneath him as he approached the jumble of papers piled high upon the oaken desk. With a sudden turn, the high-backed red upholstered chair spun around revealing the startled Mr. Dawson.
Don’t bring me down, GROOOOOOSSSSS.
“Holy crap, Drake!” Mr. Dawson shouted after he spit a mouthful of coffee across his desk. The rapid motion and reaction of the teacher made Drake flinch backwards.
Don’t bring me down, GROOOOOOSSSSS.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Dawson,” Drake began.
“You shouldn’t sneak up on people,” Mr. Dawson replied, as he attempted to clean wet coffee off of the stacks of paper with the sleeve of his brown tweed sports jacket. The stains on his jacket sleeve indicated to Drake that he had used it before to clean coffee in such a manner.
Don’t bring me down, GROOOOOOSSSSS.
“I didn’t mean it,” Drake continued, as he approached the cluttered desk. “I didn’t know you were in here, I’m sorry Mr. Dawson.”
Don’t bring me down.
“Stop saying you’re sorry,” Mr. Dawson interjected. “You didn’t do it on purpose, and I asked you to come by and drop off your letter.”
You’re lookin’ good just like a snake in the grass,
One of these days you’re gonna break your glass.
“Drake?” questioned Mr. Dawson. “You do have your resignation letter, right?”
“Oh… yes sir… Mr. Dawson,” Drake stammered, as he held out the handwritten document. Mr. Dawson reached out and took the letter from him. “I’m sorry.”
Don’t bring me down, no no no no no no no no, ewe-who,
“You know, Drake,” Mr. Dawson replied, as he shook his head. “The only thing I’m sorry about is that you’re leaving. I’ve been impressed by how much you have blossomed this year. This school’s going to miss you.”
I’ll tell you once more before I get off the floor,
“Are you playing in the game tonight?” asked Mr. Dawson.
“Yeah,” Drake replied, as he thought about putting on his basketball uniform one last time.
“I’ve heard through the grapevine that Coach Harshman’s going to be here scouting the big kid from Timberline,” Mr. Dawson added. “If you have a good game, maybe he’ll put you on his list of recruits.”
Don’t bring me down.
“Yeah,” Drake said, as he turned and walked toward the open door, muttering under his breath. “Too bad I’m leaving.”
