Short: Recruiting Brad, West Virginia
(This is a rough draft. When I complete the series, I’ll assemble them into one cohesive story.)
Then we were back into the bright, warm hallway of the second floor, down the switchback staircase, and out the front doors. I stretched my back and turned away from the school toward the train track and the river. Jonathan and Tom stood talking next to the white Dodge truck while David gave me more details of the roof repair. As we stood there, the gray clouds broke and slivers of sunlight nestled onto the mountain beyond the river. And yellow splotches dotted the ridge and chased each other slowly to the crest. Then Jonathan informed me of our plans for the evening. We’d eat dinner at Tom’s house then head to a high school football game.
Both the dinner and the game were full of heart and by standards of quality, mediocre. Dinner consisted of under cooked frozen pizza, while the evening downpour turned the game into a sloppy mess. Still, like a good guest, I smiled and expressed gratitude to the host when asked if I was “having fun.” Midway through the game and fully soaked, I decided I’d better get back to Charlotte. After saying my goodbyes to Tom and David, Jonathan walked me to my car to discuss next steps.
“When can you come up? The JMU group will be here that Friday night. It would be great if you could be here the Thursday before.”
“I’ll have to get the time off work, but it shouldn’t be an issue. Can I bring an assistant?”
“Who’d you have in mind?”
“Bradley Compton? Do you remember him?”
“Yeah. I remember him. He was in your class, right? What’s he up to?”
“He transferred to Queens,” I stammered before I continued. “Um..he’s not doing too great. I’d like him to get out of Charlotte. Coming up here with me could be good for him. And, I know he’ll work hard.”
“Ok. Yeah. I like him. Bring him up,” answered Jonathan. “He’ll be your responsibility. And he’s pro bono if he comes. I can’t afford to pay him for this trip. But tell him, if it works, I can pay him for December.”
“Solid. I’ll ask him.”
“Alright mate, see you in few weeks?” He asked.
“Yep. I’ll be here.”
And with next steps settled, I started back down Route 52 toward Bluefield and I-77.
***
A few days later, I met Brad for coffee near the Queens University campus. The shop on East Blvd was a renovated colonial revival with a wrap around porch. Fashionable for the mid-2000s, it was full of dark leather couches, hardwood floors, and baristas named Fox and Celeste. I ordered a black Americano and relaxed into a couch with a view of the street. Brad arrived five minutes later, his eyes wide in the dim afternoon light. He was dressed in old worn basketball shoes, khakis pants a size too large, a stained white three button pull over, and a Charlotte Hornets starter jacket from the early 90’s. His unshaved face and knotted blonde locks completed the look of a man unconcerned about his appearance. And he reeked of cannabis smoke, no doubt consumed mere minutes before our meeting.
“Hey man. What’s up?” he asked with a smile before giving me a quick bro hug. “Lemme get you a tea. I’m really into chia right now. So good for you. Do you wanna try one?” I declined and nodded to my still steaming mug. “How about a scone? The blueberry scone here is the best.” Again, I declined.
A moment later, Brad came back with his arms full of tea and water and various snacks. He sat down on the couch across from me and and settled into a bag of salt and vinegar kettle chips.
“How’s the semester going?” I asked.
“Oh, you know,” was all he said.
His intoxicated state annoyed and kept me silent. And the silence grew between us. Bradley stared down, suddenly aware of the offense. I drew a deep breath.
“Do you remember {Mr Jonathan}?” I finally asked.
Relieved at the question, he quickly answered, “Yep. Loved his class. Why?”
“He called me the other day to see if I wanted to join his new project.”
Brad sat at attention, his eyes now on me.
“What is it?”
“The project? Something between Habit For Humanity and the Red Cross.”
“How so?”
“They provide disaster relief and remodel homes.”
“Oh. That makes sense. Where?”
“West Virginia.”
At this, the THC took over, and Bradley began to giggle and snicker. And he was doubled over on the couch. His laughter diffused my anger and I laughed too.
“Why?” was all he could squeeze out between breaths.
“Because they need love too,” I replied, still laughing at my high friend who was laughing at me.
My soft yet stern reply sobered Bradley and he sat up on his right elbow, looking me in the eye.
Pressing my advantage, I quickly moved toward my ultimate goal, “Do you want to be my assistant? In the kitchen?”
My question drew him to a full sit, shoulders now square to me, his head up.
“Dude. I’d be honored,” he answered as soberly as possible.
