A Real Gem
White collar shirts, striped navy ties and burgundy blazers filled the school cafeteria. The lunchroom tables were in an uproar thanks to Negan Jeffries' black-haired, velcro buzz cut sporting little spawn, Lucien. As always, he was stirring the pot with his lackies, Spencer Monroe and Jaxson Cole. The hormone and antibiotic free chicken and quinoa meal was as colorless as the group of young men to whom it was served, though their faces were red from laughter.
"Do you call her mammy?" A random kid chimed in just to be noticed by the most popular boys in school.
"You sound stupid right now. She doesn't even look like a mammy," the shortest of the trio said. With his grey eyes, sprinkle of brown freckles and thick disheveled golden mop, Jax, always added a depraved sexual element to any harassment being doled out.
He usually got the biggest laughs from the spectators who stood around watching him and his friends bully whomever they chose for the day.
"Those big black lips would be perfect pressed up against my cock," the little turd said and closed his eyes, bobbing his open hand over his crotch to simulate a sex act.
Carl had managed to fly under their radar as the new kid at the prestigious private school, Woodbury Academy. But, since it became public knowledge that Michonne and his father were together, the recipient of their animosity had been the small town sheriff's son.
He didn't want to be there, but his mother insisted and Philip greased the wheels to facilitate the transfer despite Carl's pleas to stay with his friends in public school. So he protested the only way he could- with an unpleasant attitude and antisocial behavior.
The sheriff's son sat alone at the next table, staring into his untouched food tray.
"You should bring her to my next party," Lucien suggested with an evil grin as he gulped a Gatorade. "She can twerk on a pole for change."
Another boy further down the table corrected with glee, "No. Black hoes dance for EBT cards!"
The cafeteria erupted in laughter and a few boys started banging on the table and stomping out a trap music beat for Jax to do his best video vixen imitation.
"I shot the sheriff..." Jax sang to the tune of the Bob Marley classic in an irksome falsetto, "...then I banged his step-mommy."
Spencer pushed his fingers through his cropped brown curls. "You can't pay for this school with an EBT card, baby sheriff." The boy was obsessed with status and money. His mother was the mayor and his father was the city's top developer.
The kid believed his father's rhetoric that there were two kinds of people in the world: People who chase money and people who make money. Money-makers were the only ones that mattered.
Again, to the pounding beat of fists on table tops, Jax belted out, "I shot the sheriff..."
"You'll have to go back to that ghetto public school once your dad gets fired," Lucien said with a condescending nonchalance.
"...then I banged his step-mommy."
Carl had had enough. He shot out of his seat, his chest heaving in fury. "Come and make me leave now, you piece of shit!"
Lucien scooped a spoonful from his plate and responded coolly, "Nah, baby sheriff. At the moment, I'm having too much fun." He took aim and catapulted the contents to the next table where Carl stood, fuming. The warm casserole mixture splattered across the outnumbered boy's cheek.
Immediately Carl picked up his entire metal food tray and swung it squarely into his bully's face. Spencer stood up and charged Carl, shoving him backwards over his seat. Lucien's nose trickled red through the mess on his face as he wiped the mush away. Jax looked on with wide eyes while the other bystanders egged on the fray.
Carl quickly made it to his feet just before Lucien could kick him while he was down. Returning Spencer's move, Carl bulldozed the mayor's son. He landed flat on his back, on top of the table. Young Grimes kept his head down while he landed a succession of blows to the pinned boy's ribs.
"You fuckin' redneck," Lucien shouted as he stole a wallop to Carl's head, stunning him and freeing Spencer in the process.
The clang of food trays and overturning chairs brought the two feeble cafeteria attendants racing over on geriatric legs. Mr. Simpson's wisps of white hair were whirled in disarray when he grabbed Carl by the arm to bring him to heel and the boy knocked him to the floor.
The math teacher cried out in pain when he landed awkwardly on his arm. His clipped nose dramaticized the whole ordeal even further. The escalating free-for-all was effectively quelled when the crowd of boys saw his mustache darkened with red.
In all the commotion, what Carl thought was a blow defending himself against his classmates, ended up putting Mr. Simpson in a sling for a fractured ulna.
"You boys stop it now," Mr. Simpson gave a muffled shout, one hand holding his nose. A few remorseful students and the other adult present helped him from the floor as he held his hurt arm close to his body. With circumstances deteriorating so seriously, everyone cast denouncing eyes upon Carl, as if the whole thing started and ended with him.
"Let's go, Grimes." A security guard jerked Carl away. "You're a real gem aren't ya," he quipped sarcastically as other members of the staff corralled the rest of the students and began to clean up the mess left behind.
XXX
Carl sat dejected and slumped in the visitor's chair facing Dean David Tobin's desk. The young Grimes shirt was stained and his hair looked like a bird's nest. Lori sat to his left nervously keeping herself occupied with a search for lip balm in the bottom of her purse.
Rick sat to his right, elbows resting on his knees, in anticipation of an explanation of what disciplinary action would be taken against his son. He couldn't imagine the kind-hearted little boy he had raised would've instigated a fight.
Lately, though, adolescence was making his sweet boy disagreeable in a way that he couldn't have inherited from either of his parents. Rick narrowed his eyes at his son, bracing himself to lose a little face, but held his tongue until he got the full story.
"Mr. Grimes and Mrs. Blake, I appreciate you both coming so quickly and taking this as seriously as we do here at Woodbury," the school's dean, Dr. Tobin said.
"I'll be frank, the only reason why your son has the opportunity to be here at all is because of a favor to the governor. I don't know Philip Blake personally, but he is a friend of Lucien Jeffries' father and the mayor. Mr. Jeffries and Governor Blake want this to be resolved without too many complications. But it's hard to look over an assault on a staff member."
"Assault," Lori questioned, looking up from her bag.
"Yes, Mrs. Blake. School policy regards this incident as an assault. Mr. Simpson has a fractured bone in his arm and while he isn't pressing any criminal charges, our institution does not take such matters lightly."
Carl rolled his eyes. "I told you a million times, I didn't mean to hit him."
Rick interrupted his son, "What about the other boys? The boy that hit my son in the face with his food. That's assault too."
Indifferent, Dr. Tobin countered, "That young man has been dealt with. But I think we all can agree, a soiled shirt is not the same as a broken bone."
Rick tensed angrily. Frustrated he was unable to champion him the way he wanted, he looked at his son. Carl looked defeated and Lori looked tired. "So what's his punishment," Sheriff Grimes asked with a sneer.
"A week's suspension."
Lori rolled her eyes and dropped her face in the palm of her hand. "Great," she groaned. Raising her head, she looked at Rick disappointedly.
He leaned forward and dropped his eyes to the brim of his sheriff's hat as he turned it restlessly between his fingers.
Lori turned her attention to Carl. She demanded quietly, "How could you be so ungrateful? Do you understand how much this school costs Philip every month? How many strings he pulled to get you here?"
"I never asked him to," Carl mumbled back into his chest. "I hate it here."
"You're not in a position to complain about the opportunities you've been given. Philip has put you on a path to one of the top firms on Wall Street. You need this school. All you have to do is show up and behave and let Philip's name do the rest for you. You'll be a millionaire before other kids your age finish college. Isn't that what you want?"
"No. That's what you want."
Dr. Tobin interjected, "Carl, I know a brand new environment takes time to get used to, but…"
"Seems to me the problem ain't the stress of a new environment," Rick pointed out, discarding any civility. "There's no reason this situation should've turned physical if the staff here would've taken some kind of action against these bullies. That's the problem. The staff, these entitled little shits and their fuckin' parents!"
"Nice language, Rick," Lori hid her face, ashamed. She eyed the dean apologetically.
"Well, feel free to jump in any time to defend our son here, Lori."
Dr. Tobin spoke up, "Our students' parents are some of the wealthiest people in the state and our teachers are dedicated to the children in their care. And I think it's very hypocritical of you, Sheriff Grimes, to imply any different given the fact that the children under your jurisdiction are being gunned down by the police you oversee."
The anger drained from Rick's face, replaced by a look of stunned realization. Lori grimaced at how that comment must have stung her ex-husband's pride. Rick stood up and Carl braced himself in his chair nervously.
Concerned by the looks on the other parties' faces, the dean's heart began to race. Tobin shakily got to his feet, thinking if the sheriff laid into him like Carl went at his schoolmates, he'd better be standing up.
Then he remembered that the gunbelt of Rick's uniform was carrying a gun- just like it was made to. Tobin cleared his throat and quickly sat down with his hands flat on his desk.
His mouth went dry and his voice was decidedly more timid when he said, "Sheriff, I meant no disrespect. It's my hope that your son's time here is a success, as I'm sure it is yours. I'll have a talk with the staff to see how we can better assist Carl in adjusting." Tobin smiled politely.
Rick nodded in acceptance even as his nostrils flared and the tendons in his arms flexed. He grabbed his jacket off the chair. "Let's go, son." Father and son left without another word.
Lori replicated the dean's awkward smile. "Well, so much for first impressions," she said with a nervous titter. "Rick really is a good dad. He's just a natural protector but he's under a lot of stress right now…"
"I can imagine so. But realistically, Mrs. Blake, if he's going to pursue such a high profile relationship, especially now, there's going to be some difficulties for him and your son."
"Well, I wouldn't be too concerned with that. Let's be realistic. That's bound to fizzle out. It's infatuation at best. In the meantime," Lori raised an optimistic brow, "instead of notifying Philip and I, would you mind reaching out to Sheriff Grimes with any concerns that may come up with Carl… I think it'll do Rick good to focus on the more important things in his life. Don't you agree?"
XXX
While Carl went collecting homework assignments from all his teachers for his week's absence, Rick stood outside the old school to cool off. Above him the American flag rolled in waves on the wind. Leaning against the stair rail, he closed his eyes and invoked Michonne's sweet smile and touch.
He wondered how she was doing.
Is she tapping those lips of hers with the tip of her index finger like she does when she's not sure how to word things? When she's scared," he hummed out a private chuckle, "she wrings her hands. She's so brave. Hopefully, Hershel is doing all the talking... Hopefully, he's making her laugh with that unique brand of southern charm and chivalry. She took to him so easily. Thank God. Still, I know it wasn't easy for her to…
"Rick," Lori broke into his meditations, the skinny heels of her boots stomping across the concrete. He looked up and saw the determined expression on her face and sighed through a deep breath.
Rick was ready. He came at her before she could close the distance between them. "Is this what a little power does to people, Lori? Are you really that addicted to status and the name Philip Blake that you would hang your own son out to dry like that?"
"I'm trying to do what's best for him Rick. I'm trying! He's not gonna grow up and work some job that'll let him go on a whim. Some underappreciated hick town cop. He's not gonna have to worry about getting shot or shooting somebody. He's going to be important and respected by important and respected people."
Rick just looked at her speechless. "You know, you sound just like your mother." He scoffed, knowing the comparison would cut her deep.
"When she said that's the kind of life she wanted for you, you told her whether I made the majors or not, you were stickin' with me. Now, you're standin' here, in your fancy suede boots regurgitatin' Kathy's words to me… about our son," his voice piercing on a low register for emphasis on who she was hurting.
"Rick, this isn't about me and you. This is about…"
"Trust me. I know that, Lori. There is no me and you. This is just about you. About you pushin' Carl for your own greed and selfish ideas." Rick was so frustrated, he could barely keep his focus. "He needs to be back in therapy. That kid needs more help than either of us can give him. You pretendin' that that ain't the truth is only hurtin' him more."
"Oh come on, Rick. We dragged him to those sessions for a month after we told him about the divorce. He was just a little down in the dumps and it wasn't anything that some good old fresh air and fun couldn't cure," Lori insisted what she always had. Her tone was sarcastic. "He's not some troubled kid who cries all the time and needs help with sorting through his 'feelings'."
Rick's mind boggled at her shallow way of thinking. He drawled on a humorless laugh, "Jesus…"
"I'm his mother. I know what he needs. The court thinks so, too."
"No," Rick raised his voice over hers, "The judges belong to Philip and you used my drinkin' against me."
"Not me, Rick. That was his lawyers. I said in court that you were probably better..."
"Yeah, very convincin'. You know, I wouldn't take another drink if someone put a gun to my head!"
"Well…" Lori sounded apologetic, "It's hard to find a judge that isn't loyal to Philip. I told you not to press the issue of custody. Just like I'm telling you not to dig yourself a whole with this woman."
"Don't."
"I know you won't listen. So I'm not gonna try." She rolled her eyes. "I'm changing the subject. I think you'll like what I have to say for once."
She paused a beat, waiting for him to inquire with some enthusiasm. Rick just gave her a vicious side eye and waited for her to explain. Giving up hope for any reaction from him, she continued,
"I think Carl should stay with you during his suspension."
Rick's initial blank expression morphed into one of exasperation and ire. He shook his head. "A few weeks ago you threatened to stop him from coming over at all and now you… What the hell's your angle here, Lori?"
"Angle?" Lori did a pitiful job of playing shocked and offended. She waited for Rick to question her further, but he just stood there with those blue eyes of his doing an excellent job of conveying his annoyance.
She hated when he turned to stone. She wanted him to argue, press her, simply engage her in some meaningful way. He didn't.
She figured once his new girlfriend got a taste of his cold shoulder, especially while she's in mourning, their relationship would fizzle just as quickly as it started. Pulling her heavy cashmere coat on tighter, she sucked her teeth and answered him.
"There's no angle, Rick. I suggested that because you said there could be trouble. I was the one who told you that you were overreacting and I was right. Nothing happened at the funeral, did it?"
Rick held his tongue about that. Lori shoved her hands into her pockets and squeezed her shoulders together for warmth. She brought out a pack of cigarettes, pulled one from the pack with her teeth and lit the end with a long drag.
"Look." She blew out smoke. "Carl is not a fan of my husband and I'm sure you can guess that after this Philip will be none too pleased with him either. Something has gotten into that son of yours and it's like a full time job keeping him and Philip from barking at each other like a pair of dogs. It's not good for my ulcer."
She continued, trying to take the attention off herself, "I'd think you'd be happy."
"About your ulcer," he asked sarcastically with a sniff. This time Lori was much more convincingly shocked and offended. Stepping around her to stand upwind of her smoke, Rick looked back into the building hoping to see his son coming down the long corridor.
"Oh, you mean about Carl," he played the fool. "I am." He spied his son moping their way and was happy to wrap up this conversation. He started to walk away from Lori.
"And Rick… I don't think it's a good idea for you to have any adult sleepovers while he's there."
He stopped in his tracks and turned to face her. Her audacity tightening his jaw, he dared her to say it again, "What?" His posture changed entirely and the look he gave her conveyed the idea that a better idea would be for her to keep her good ideas to herself.
"Nothing. Forget it." She shook her head. "I know he's in good hands," she said, pounding her feet quickly to her car.
XXX
Michonne reached for the porcelain tea cup and saucer being handed to her. She sat nervously on the Queen Anne couch and offered a thankful smile to the white haired man who turned to make his way back to his chair.
"I thought Rick was gonna come with you? I mean it's good that you're here regardless, but..."
"Actually, he had to go to Carl's school… again. I think it was kinda serious. He had to meet with the dean this time."
Herschel winced, feeling sorry for Rick's trouble but he looked on the bright side of things. "Well, at least you didn't reschedule."
Michonne smiled guiltily, "I wanted to, but Rick encouraged me to come without him. He said I've been doing all the work… he thinks I'm so brave…" Michonne scoffed at that estimation.
"I think so too."
"It's only because of him."
"Why do you say that?"
"I want to do the work so I can be there for him too. Everyone has moved on but there are still certain people who think they can benefit politically by making an example out of him and his department. They want to take the job he loves away from him. So that's hanging over his head. He used to talk to Deputy Walsh about problems at work, but now…" Michonne shrugged sadly, too affected to finish the sentence.
"I think he won't tell me much because he doesn't want me to feel like it's my fault. And dealing with Carl is no picnic for him either." She was like a faucet, pouring out everything weighing on her mind. "Of course, Carl hates me and his dad is just at his wit's end because he didn't raise his son to be that way. Sometimes Rick goes out and stays for hours. He doesn't tell me what he's doing and I feel like it isn't my place to ask."
"He just really needs someone in his corner right now." Michonne pushed a cleansing exhale from her lips over the complicated nature of it all, then she smiled. "But even with all that, he looks at me and I know he loves me so much and I love him. This thing we have is so special, I can't risk sabotaging it with my grief."
"Well, I really don't see that happening Michonne," Herschel said with certainty. "Like Rick says, you've been doing the work. You're sharing here with me and in your support group. You're reaching out to help others in grief and making friends. And I know Rick appreciates your supporting him the way you do." He paused and gave her a moment to think about how well she was doing. "Speaking of friends, is Sasha..."
Knowing the question, Michonne answered quickly, "No. Haven't heard from her much since the funeral. I thought we were going to go back to how it used to be between us. But she's different now. When I do see her she seems... strange. Even her brother hasn't seen much of her. He says he barely recognizes her. She's deep into Raj's rhetoric now, calls herself a "soldier of the tenets"."
Michonne shrugged. "But this is what she does, she shuts down. My only connection to her is Tyreese right now. He's trying to help us bridge the gap but…" she sipped her tea, "Sasha is Sasha. I'm here if she wants to reach out."
Herschel nodded, pleased with her progress. When she first started coming, being deserted by her best friend and parents filled her eyes with tears. Now she could say,
"Same with my parents. My mom has been calling just to check on me and say hello. We had lunch a few times. But my father… If he wants to keep pretending I don't exist," she said firmly, "he can."
Herschel swiped at his white beard and agreed, "He certainly can, if he chooses. You have choices too."
"I know. Like you said, there is no closure to losing my son, but I can create a new world for myself and fill it with good things. Rick tells me 'conquer evil with the good'. So I'm doing that. I understand my father wanted more for me in life, but I made the choice to be a mother and I don't regret it."
"And he has to make the choice to be a father. It's not just about paternity," Hershel added.
Michonne smiled, understanding exactly what he meant. Little Judith didn't have a drop of Rick's blood in her veins, still she called him almost everyday. He listened to her happily and his smile wore on long after they would hang up.
Her mere existence was a constant reminder of one of the worst chapters in his life. But it didn't matter. Regardless of how she came to be, she was a bright spot in his life. It takes a uniquely positive perspective to see things like that, she'd learned.
Michonne leaned back into the cushions of the sofa, feeling the tension in her muscles relax. She always felt nervous stepping into Dr. Green's office, but in no time, he'd reassure her with his kindness and encouragement that she was in a judgement-free space.
Hershel was doing penance. He never would have thought his time embroiled in the slaughter of Vietnam could be used to help anybody. Definitely not a young, black, college educated single mother.
But his battles with PTSD had stolen his family before PTSD was a thing. He knew what it was like to lose a child because of the violence of this world. He used that to help Michonne heal from the loss of her murdered son.
He also knew what the United States military could turn a man, a father, into. He knew the control that came with commanding a platoon of men was hard to let go. He helped her understand her hard-boiled father and with that understanding she was unshackling herself from his expectations of her.
But most amazing of all, he was helping her invest fully in a brand new romance with the white sheriff of a redneck town. The life-long connection Hershel developed with his brothers in arms after their first day of basic training was not unlike the relationship between Rick and Michonne.
The two of them bunkering down together and dressing each other's emotional wounds, taking turns keeping watch and fighting back any and all threats to the world they were building could bind them together in an unbreakable way if they let it.
"So tell me more about your interactions with Carl?"
"Besides him rolling his eyes when I enter the room, there are no interactions between me and Carl. I feel so much like an intruder when he's there. But still, I'm glad his mom decided not to keep him away from Rick."
"Carl might be the trickiest part of this whole equation."
"He just might be," she said on a deep bolstering breath. "The scary part is... and this will sound terrible, but... I look at him and sometimes…" she lowered her voice, "I'm glad the only Andre I'll ever know is the sweet, helpful little guy who always wanted hugs and kisses. You know?"
"That ain't terrible at all. I think at some point every parent wishes they could shrink their rebellious teen back down to before they could talk."
Hershel thought about his Beth and how she could hurt him with the simplest flippant comment. Granted, she was navigating adolescence while living with a shell-shocked soldier. Still, those years in the Green household were like P.O.W. torture.
Michonne smiled at him and raised a wishful brow. "If I could get him to talk to me at all, that would definitely be progress."
"Well, don't push him. Just try to make him feel safe." Hershel smiled as Michonne brought her cup to her lips again. "Sometimes a cup of tea works like a charm."
XXX
"This is bullshit!" Carl shrugged his book bag on his back, snatched up his duffle bag and slammed the car door. Rick scowled as he watched his son stomp up his walkway and push angrily into the house. Michonne's eyes went from Carl to his frustrated father.
Placing her hand on his, she stopped him from going after the boy with a reprimand. She softly reassured him, "He'll be okay, Rick." Her smile was warm but he could see the worry in her eyes and he didn't like it. "He's not happy at that new school. You said so yourself. Maybe this break will be good for him."
Rick exhaled deeply, allowing her to ease his mind for the moment. He could only imagine the fallout that would ensue if she wasn't there to stop them from butting heads. He looked into her dazzling brown eyes and realized for the thousandth time that she was truly a rare gem in the mire of his life.
He and Carl were so alike, it scared him at times. They both hated injustice. The only difference between them was that Rick had lived long enough to know that injustice encompasses a broad frame, whereas Carl seemed to think that all the unfairness in the world only happened to him.
"He's mad at the world right now. We can't take it personal."
"Yeah, baby. I know… and I get it. But that much anger is dangerous," Rick stressed. "Do you know how many guys I have to arrest because they can't control their anger? And his…"
Rick bit down on his bottom lip, trying to keep the f-bomb from exploding. "His mother… Lori doesn't like to hear anything that clouds her 'perfect little world'," he threw up air quotes. "I tried to tell her, but she never wanted to admit that he needed counseling after everything that happened between us. She turned him against the idea too."
"I'm sure it would be hard for her to admit that what she did hurt him so much. Doctor Green says that's a mother's worst fear. Our urge to protect is so strong, feeling like we are to blame for our children's suffering sometimes pushes us to extremes."
"Livin' in a world of make believe is quite an extreme."
"Well, Doctor Greene says I was holding on to my guilt about Andre. That was my extreme. Ignoring the problem altogether is another. But she can't ignore what happened today."
"You don't know Lori." Rick scoffed. "That's why she asked me to take him now. Because him getting suspended from school doesn't fit into the image of the governor's mansion."
Michonne frowned, shocked by the obvious truth of that statement. "Damn, Rick. That's fucked up."
Equally caught off guard by her quickly developing pottymouth, they exchanged poorly hidden grins. They were trading places, it seemed, when it came to bad language. Michonne's introduction of a swear jar into the house had curtailed Rick's cursing significantly, but weeks of his bad influence had already rubbed off on her.
Clearing her throat, she glossed over her four letter word before he could comment. "Maybe I can talk to him. Tell him how much therapy has helped me. Tell him how great Doctor Green is."
"That's mighty brave of you."
"He reminds me of Tyreese at that age. When their daddy left, he had that same permanent pout. He used to talk to me about his feelings."
"Be my guest." Rick extended his arm in the direction of the temperamental teen. He tugged one of her locs and joked, "Just make sure you hit that swear jar on the way."
Michonne rolled her eyes, but she was satisfied if her slip of the tongue could lighten his mood. They walked into the house and Carl passed them on the way to his room carrying a snack. They could hear the music screaming from his ear pods. He wouldn't even look their way.
Michonne pulled a handful of change from her coat pocket. As she counted out a dollar, she second guessed her ability to make a connection with Carl, especially with everything going on. But with everything going on, she reasoned, we can't just ignore him either.
She dropped the coins in the jar and sighed. Fuck, she said inwardly. Reaching back into her pocket, she counted out more change.