Marvin Was Right: Part One
Carl bobbed and weaved his head as he walked through the crowded hall. His locker was just ahead and from a distance he could make out pages of some sort taped to the metal door. As he got closer, he noticed kids snickering and staring at him.
The images were of half naked Instagram models- squatting to twerk, legs wide open in provocative poses- only their faces had been digitally photoshopped with Michonne's face. Someone talented had taken their time and resources to exploit a woman that was only known because of her public tragedy, just to get a few laughs.
Before, Carl would have been offended on his own behalf. But now that he knew Michonne a little better, the part of him that was Rick Grimes felt duty bound to see justice come to these heartless bullies.
He ripped the pictures down, balled them up and marched to the trash can with a stiff arm and clenched fist. He was silent though, even as Lucien, Spencer and Jax sputtered out their wicked laughter.
For the second time that day, Michonne's face greeted him. Instead of skin tight club wear and cleavage like the earlier prank, she wore a simple pair of black jeans and a cream-colored turtleneck. Half her hair up in a ponytail, the rest cascading over her shoulders.
She was a simple woman. Not some caricature of society like his tormentors imagined her. Beautiful with a bare face and smile.
Sedoku and a cup of lemon ginger tea were her go to's in the morning. A highlighter and a stack of books about forgiveness, healing and growth kept her company when his dad was at work. Carl had overheard her say that she was determined to come out of this storm stronger. Most days of the week she went to some kind of support group or a session with Hershel.
Carl gave some thought to how brave and strong she was to open up about her grief to others, instead of knocking off a bottle of wine like his mom did after an argument with Philip. He wondered how he would be received by others if he revealed how his bullies, including his mother and Philip, made him feel inside. But he was nowhere near being brave enough for that yet.
Carl tossed Michonne a "hey" crafted to sound aloof, but really he was eager to hear her ask,
"How was your day?"
Not that he would tell her. Still it was vastly more warm than his mother's regular after school greeting, 'help your sister with her homework, then do your own'.
"Fine," he lied and pulled a soda from the fridge. Striving to be as nonchalant as possible, he avoided eye contact behind a swig of his soft drink after he returned the question to her.
Despite his careless pretense, Michonne could gather that he was making an effort. She smiled at him over her book. He couldn't see the warmth in her smile but he could hear the comforting quality of her voice. "Everything's fine. Good news. Your dad will be home any minute."
"Why?"
"He wants to spend a little time with you. I think you guys are going hunting." Michonne didn't call attention to the way the boy's face lit up. "A little father and son quality time."
Carl's smile diminished somewhat. "You're not coming?"
"Nope. It's just you two."
"You can come if you want. You ever been hunting?"
A brief memory of her childhood sprang up in her mind. Her daddy's strong hands and terse voice. The smell of dead leaves and the distinct taste of blood on her tongue. She quickly buried that moment under her present life.
"Guns make me nervous," she answered with a downturned mouth. "Besides, if I tag along, I can't have dinner ready when you come back. I'm making chicken alfredo. How does that sound?"
They exchanged knowing looks. Chicken alfredo was his favorite. The prospect of quality time with his dad and Michonne's cooking made Carl feel like his terrible day could be salvageable. But he kept his gratitude quiet and responded with a shrug of his shoulders.
"I'll be in the shed pulling out the gear."
Michonne watched the boy head out towards the back yard. Each gave the other a sweet parting glance through the kitchen's sliding glass door. A perfect metaphor for the barrier between them.
It was one that could be easily pushed aside. A little courage and trust was all they needed. But at least now they could see the person on the other side much more clearly.
Carl pulled a large plastic bin from under the garden shed's table. He inspected the zipped compartments and pockets of the stuffed duffle inside it, making sure everything was ready. He tried to stay focused but his thoughts kept reverting back to the public humiliation he'd suffered that day.
A rogue sob escaped him. Thinking of his mother's reaction to his tears had she been there, he tried to suppress the anger and hurt bubbling up in his throat. He thought to himself, There's never any punishment for bad behavior.
Even his tactless outbursts toward Michonne had been met with kindness and understanding. Remembering the disappointed look on her face every time he ignored her or snapped at her released a torrent from his eyes. She didn't deserve any of that from him.
He wanted to go in and apologize. Tell her how important she was to their home. How comforting it was to hear her voice and smell her scent. He wanted to tell her that everything his dad was doing for her was right and that she should be protected at all costs.
He wanted to tell her but he couldn't. Carl felt ashamed that when his classmates used Michonne to get to him, he took the insults personally instead of recognizing that she was the one they were disrespecting.
He should've been more like his father. A protector. Someone who stood up for what's right.
Carl moved toward the rifle safe next. The tall metal box in the corner of the shed. He stared for a moment at the guns inside it's shatter-proof glass. Before he could tie his shoes, his daddy taught him how to load a gun and how to shoot.
And Rick always taught his son that life is sacred. That being in control of anything that could take a life required a person to give the proper respect. Whether they were hunting, building a bonfire, cutting cake or in a canoe on the lake, thoughtful consideration was always stressed by the safety-conscious sheriff.
The guns inside that safe were for feeding and protecting the family, Carl knew. The more he thought about it, the more he realized that family now included Michonne. The more he thought about it, the more he came to the conclusion that penance for his ignorant attitude toward her could rightly be paid by punishing those who would never repent like he had.
Soon enough father and son were headed out on foot into the acres of woods near their home.
"Dad?"
"Yeah, bud?"
"Michonne is nice. I know I've been kind of a jerk to her.. And to you."
Through the bare tree tops above them, the setting sun beamed across both of their faces. Rick, surprised and elated. Carl, reflective and determined. "I'm gonna make it up to her."
This was the son Rick knew. The brown-haired cherub that used to do chores without being asked. The sweetheart of a kid who hid Lori's inedible casserole in a napkin by his plate and still thanked her for dinner before bed. Rick looked at his boy and wrestled with a sigh of relief, hoping that the son he raised was coming back to him.
"I'm sure she'll appreciate it, son."
"I know you haven't been proud of me lately, dad. I know I let you down…"
Rick put a comforting arm around his boy. "It's okay, Carl. Your life has changed a lot. Takes time to adjust."
"I always try to be brave like you. But I don't think you passed that part of yourself on to me." Carl's voice strained with disappointment.
"Don't say that, Carl. It takes courage to say you were wrong. And even more courage to make wrongs right. But we can conquer evil with the good, son. That's in all of us."
Carl was doubtful. Maybe evil needed to be met with something equally ugly. If doing something wrong for love meant stopping hate, couldn't that be a win for the good side?
Criminals carry guns and so do cops, Carl reasoned. The good guys and the bad guys have the same weapons. No matter how we conquer evil, once it's gone, the only thing left is good.
….
The next morning Carl woke up more exhausted than usual from hiking through the woods with his father. He snoozed his alarm for five more minutes, but didn't wake up again for nearly thirty. It was finally Michonne's tapping at his door that made him realize he'd overslept.
She paused her cheerful humming to inquire, "Carl? You up?" A groggy sounding half word was his answer. Michonne opened the door and found him sitting up rubbing his eyes. "You're going to be late."
"I know. I'll never make the bus in time."
"Don't worry. I'll drop you off on my way to Hershel's." She left him to get ready and went right back to the melody stuck in her head.
The nostalgic beat of Marvin Gaye's Inner City Blues (Make Me Wanna Holler) had been gratuitously scatting over her lips all morning. The song from the early 70's rebuked the economic disparities of the ghetto.
Growing up middle class, Michonne never worried about where her next meal was coming from. But growing up black, shopping with her mother in middle class stores alongside blond middle class families, made it plain that Marvin was right. Her race always got an extra helping of hang ups, let downs, bad breaks and setbacks.
The lyrics she sang were not about a happy subject. But still it made Michonne smile and took her back to childhood sleepovers at her best friend's. Thanks to Sasha's mom, the weekend soundtrack always featured the Prince of Motown.
And this particular morning, Michonne's thoughts featured Sasha. It was odd to her that she couldn't get her estranged friend off her mind.
She took Hershel's advice to be thankful for the good times in her past because, back then, it was the little things. And it always will be the little things, he'd told her.
Like the guaranteed morning call from Rick sending her good day vibes and love.
"Mornin', sweetheart." His gravelly voice brought the sun out in her world and reminded her of the playful sex they rushed to get in before he had to leave.
"Hey."
"Everything okay?"
"Yeah. Carl overslept but I'm going to take him in a bit."
"Thank you, Michonne." Rick wanted to say more in gratitude for what she was to their lives, but there were no words big and bright enough. "Maggie says you're gonna start volunteering at the women's shelter."
"Yeah." Michonne smiled with a bit of trepidation. "At the daycare while the mother's are at work." She had a few jitters when it came to going out in the community to help. She didn't quite know what to expect. But Maggie told her how much good she could do and she decided to give it a try.
She decided to give something else a try. Andre would draw pictures for her and put them in her work bag or coat pockets to find. Those little pieces of scrap paper seemed to always come at the right time because she would always find them when she was having a really bad day.
She knew for Carl, every day at his new school was hard on him. So as she stood at the kitchen island talking to Rick she was doodling a stick-figure 'Carl' inside a lopsided heart on the refrigerator pad. She scribbled a message: 'To make your day sweeter' and taped it to a Big Kat bar from her secret stash.
"Babe, I'm so proud of you." Rick was so happy to watch her grow and seek out paths to her own happiness, it filled his chest with a warm vibration.
Michonne smiled, basking in her partner's praise as she opened up Carl's bookbag. She moved some things around inside to find a spot to place the candy and note. What she saw made her jump back in shock and a gasp stole the air from her lungs.
His father's hand gun, wedged between his notebooks.
She could hear Rick's warm happy voice come through the phone, but it was drowned out by the smoking revolutions screeching through her mind. Worry and sadness made her shake. She had no time to come up with a plan of action because just then Carl entered the kitchen.
"Rick, baby. I've got to go. I'll call you back in a bit. I love you. Bye." Michonne rushed off the phone. And stood there holding her thumping heart.
"Okay. I'm ready." Carl dragged himself across the kitchen and plopped himself into a chair at the breakfast table. He looked up to see Michonne's face, stunned and still. "What?" Completely oblivious, an awkward half chuckle was followed with another curious, "What?"
And now, for the first time since she lost her baby, she pleaded with something or someone unseen to help her. Not just the typical 'Oh, God' that comes on a reflex. Michonne beseeched the creator of the child in front of her. She asked for an endowment of wisdom to snatch him out of the fires it seemed he couldn't keep from starting for himself.
Even as her intestines quaked with the ferocity of her plea, it was not lost on her that she never did this for her own flesh and blood. She always relied on her own power. The solitary counsel of her own limited experience. Always self-satisfied that the boy she was raising was extraordinary. And that she had done it on her own.
It made the loss of him even heavier, because she had done that alone as well. Until Rick somehow inserted himself under that yoke. Maybe it was a societal sponsored grooming that deluded her into even considering some invisible force. But she couldn't deny that, looking into the face that so resembled her newfound love, she needed God to be real and attentive right now.
"Carl," she began with a swallow. "What are you going to do?"
He finally grasped the heaviness of her composure. He panicked. Immediately, he remembered what was in the bag and shot to snatch it from her hands.
In the middle of the night, Carl had a change of heart.
His plan was to get up early and put the weapon back before school. But without the torment of his conscience pricking him, he slept too soundly. Now, the main person he wanted to protect was looking at him with a pained expression for answers he didn't want to give.
"Carl, what are you going to do?"
"Nothing! I swear… nothing."
"You're taking a gun to school?"
"No!"
"You have a gun in your backpack…"
"I know! I was! I was… but last night I couldn't sleep. I changed my mind." Carl's voice went soft as tears began to flow. "I couldn't do it. I knew it wasn't right."
"Why would you even…"
He cut her off, anger mixing with confusion and pain. "Because they deserve it! Some people only want to hurt other people! Some people deserve to be shut up forever! The world doesn't need them!"
"But what about you, Carl?" Michonne asked tenderly. She approached him slowly, but not in fear. Reaching up to the boy who stood a few inches taller, she cupped his red cheeks in her hands. "The world needs you. Your mom, your dad. Hurting yourself can't heal the world."
"I know. I'm sorry you found that, but I don't know what else to do. No one understands. Dad doesn't know what it's like. Everybody loves him. My mom doesn't want to hear me complain."
"I told you before, Carl, you can talk to me. Trust me, I know what it's like not fitting in."
"No. I can't. You have your own problems. You don't need to worry about some kid that's not even…" he trailed off, "I'm not your problem!" Carl turned away from her, humiliated in her presence.
Gently, she turned him back to face her. He wouldn't look at her, though. His eyes downcast, his posture rigid. Michonne didn't want to overstep, but this child needed more than a hug. She wasn't his mother. She had no authority there. But she was sure Rick wouldn't object to what she had in mind.
She'd suggested this to Carl before and he'd rudely shot it down. But what if this moment gained her a little more leeway with the boy? She had to try. And hopefully when she explained everything to Rick, this day would have a happy ending.
"No, Carl. You're not my problem." Her face broke into a sympathetic smile. "But, I hope you know I'm your friend." He was silent. "Would you do me a favor? Let's forget Woodbury for the day. Would you come with me to see Hershel? Just this once." She quickly attached a promise. "If you don't feel better afterward, I won't suggest it again. What do you think? Would that be okay?"
She watched his face twitch, mulling it over. He started shaking his head. Carl didn't think it would help. But he'd come so close to letting her down, to letting down his dad. He'd wanted a way to say he was sorry...
He fell into Michonne's embrace as he nodded. "Okay. I'll go."