Class of ’98: Village of Adams, NY

Remember when Charlie P. quit football his junior year? He got a job as a taxi driver instead.

 

Did we ever ask Kryzniak why he lived alone during high school? He had that apartment on Church Street. We used to go over there. He kept a loaf of Wonder Bread in the refrigerator.

 

I heard Justin C. owns Two Brothers Pizza.

 

I can’t stop thinking about Julie V.’s big, bright smile. We sat next to each other in Computer Math. Once she told me about the time her ex-boyfriend knocked on her bedroom window in the middle of the night. Her smile was so big it squeezed tears out the corners of her eyes.

 

Spencer P. told me his big brother was schizo. He said it as if it wouldn’t ever happen to me.

 

Tony F. knocked on my door and asked if I wanted to play basketball. He said he saw me play at the school court and thought it would be a good idea to be on the same team.

 

Katie A. asked me if I would be willing to have her sit on my shoulders so she could see the daredevil Robbie Knievel break the motorcycle jumping record. Everyone in the Village of Adams was gathered in the Fuccillo Auto Mall parking lot.

 

I’ve probably been thinking about Julie V. because she died the other day. Today I’m writing in the year 2019. Over twenty years ago I graduated high school.

 

I heard that Kryzniak moved to Asheville and became a wizard. I thought they meant hermit or recluse or woodsman. But they repeated the word, wizard.

 

Fuller called me the other day and asked if I recall the trail through the woods behind St. Cecilia’s Church.

 

Charlie P. got a tattoo of Marvin the Martian on his back. In the eighth grade I found him in the bathroom leaning against the wall holding a thermos. He told me to take a sip of his peppermint schnapps.

 

After we saw Robbie Knievel break his father’s record, Katie A. told me the problem with me was that I was too nice. She didn’t want a guy to be too nice even if the guy was me.

 

Kryzniak tore his ACL and never got surgery to repair it. He had to walk around with a severed ligament, always wondering when his knee was going to buckle.

 

I called Brian E. to reconnect. It had been so many years, and I was in Denver for the week. He said great. I said great. And then he proceeded to sell me on his latest business proposition. Instead of meeting me the following day as planned, he sent me a text saying, sorry something came up but so good to hear your voice!

 

Once during football practice I called Brian E. a pussy.

 

Jonas and Lester were brothers. If they caught Fuller and me walking by their house, they’d walk off their rotting porch steps and demand all the money from our pockets. Often I had dimes and nickels.

 

One gloomy day Fuller bought a sub sandwich from Jrecks. When it was time to pay, he pulled out a Ziploc bag full of pennies. But when he opened the bag, four hundred pennies fell on the floor.

 

But to get to the trail behind St. Cecilia’s Church we’d have to walk past Jonas and Lester’s house.

 

Julie V. parted her curly hair in the center. Often she wore black flowy pants.

 

Fuller broke down both the first and second basketball teams of all time that played on the school court. First team would be Fuller, me, Justin C., Bruyns, and Reardon. Second team would be Brian E., Bub, Tiner, Timmy, and Bobby O.

 

I’ve asked Fuller and Bruyns if they’ve heard from Reardon. They tell me he’s alone in Rochester. If I ever do talk to Reardon again, I’ll ask him to play catch like in the old days when he was the pitcher and I was the catcher.

 

The trail behind St. Cecilia’s Church led to a sanctuary where there were always coolers of beer and plenty of cigarettes and a perpetual bonfire burning in the center. The fire warmed us. The cigarette smoke mixed with the real smoke. The beer cheered our young hearts.

 

We never saw Lester nor Jonas in the sanctuary. They probably didn’t know it was there all along. So close to home.

 

Remember when Luke D. died on Fuller Road?

 

Fuller Road also took other classmates including Jeremy V. and Angie B. and a guy named Sam and more recently some other teens I never knew.

 

Jason R. died from wrapping a noose around his neck, but he tells me all the time that it was murder.

 

Reardon would drive us in his Thunderbird on Fuller Road to see what would happen. But nothing ever happened to us. We stayed alive every time.

 

What Spencer P. didn’t know about his schizo brother was that his schizo brother had certain access to the world of the dead. That’s the thing about people like him. We hear things and see things no one else can hear or see.

 

Jason R. was murdered. Rather he tells me he was murdered. But dead folks lie all the time so really who knows the truth.

 

Luke D. died, but that doesn’t stop him from encouraging me. He says, “JP, keep going!” He says, “JP, don’t ever give up!”

 

Jeremy V. died on Fuller Road too but that doesn’t stop him from sitting in the backseat of my 2000 Camry. He looks out the window silently staring at the moon.

 

Maybe Angie B. was lost in the afterlife? For some time, I couldn’t speak for her, since she didn’t tell me anything. Until recently.

 

Jason R. sits shotgun. He talks incessantly, just like he did when he was alive. “You have to find my killers,” he says. “They killed my mom and brother too.”

 

According to Harry Potter, a wizard is similar to a witch. Legend has it that Kryzniak forages in the mountains plucking shrooms and wild herbs and various edible shrubbery. Once when we were playing basketball, he fell on the court clutching his knee.

 

Julie V. had a small role in a play. She danced on stage to the song “Me and Julio Down By the Schoolyard.”

 

Fuller punched Hollenbeck in the eye. I can’t remember why.

 

After Jason R. told me he didn’t commit suicide, I searched the internet for articles concerning his death. But his death was pre-internet and all I came across was a memorial page with flowers and hearts falling down the screen.

 

Michelle H. told me her phone number was like dialing a cross: last four digits—2846.

 

In the tenth grade I called Michelle H. and told her the good news. “I’m going to be a marine!” I thought this might impress her. But she said, “JP, don’t do that.” I said, “Why not?” She said, “Because that life sucks.”

 

Julie V. is very happy. She has great cheer, always clapping and laughing and kissing my cheeks.

 

I didn’t even know Watertown had taxis until I saw Charlie P. driving an old lady down Coffeen Street.

 

Justin C. once told me he was paddling a canoe down the Sandy Creek when all of a sudden it flipped. He said he thought he was another dead boy in the river. But the canoe flipped back upright for no explicable reason.

 

I searched the internet for Jason R.’s mother and brother. Turns out Jason wasn’t lying. They were murdered in 2010 in Philadelphia.

 

Michelle H. invited me over to her house. I walked there all by myself. Her dad said, “Come in.” I said, “Okay.” He said, “She’s on the deck out back.” I said, “Thanks.”

 

My younger sister told me recently that she tattooed something on Julie V.’s leg. This was before the time of her death, of course.

 

Michelle H. was out on her back deck, sunbathing. I walked toward her but I got caught by a force much greater than I that wouldn’t allow me to go past the threshold.

 

Travis D. has four children and a wife. I saw his family picture right there on the internet. It made me feel very good and strange. There he was standing with his family. The same blond hair and same smile and same style. He was way over there and I was way over here.

 

I didn’t know the screen door was closed. I was too focused on Michelle H. sunbathing on the deck. She was lying on her stomach with her bikini straps untied. How could I have known about the closed screen door? I thought I was caught forever in some sort of universe trap. But it wasn’t the universe, it was a screen door.

 

Jason R. is adamant about his demise. He won’t let up. He doesn’t stop talking. I mostly don’t mind his company.

 

Dan B. went up to me in the high school hallway with a murderous glare. And then he had his hands around my neck. I was really scared. So scared I couldn’t move or fight or scream or cry. I was frozen.

 

I asked one of his friends why Dan B. choked me in the hallway. He said, “Because you’re Jewish and he hates you.” I said, “But I’m not Jewish.” He said, “Oh.” And then he walked away.

 

Chaufty hit five cows with his ’82 Mustang. I asked him if it was really five cows. He looked up in concentration and then said, “Yeah, about five. Maybe more.”

 

My little sister threw a banana peel out on the front lawn. My father said, “Why did you do that?” She said, “It will biodegrade, someday.”

 

Bats would sneak into our house. Sometimes we’d find them sleeping upside down in a closet or from a doorjamb.

 

Mark P. once told me he only liked to eat the tops of bagels.

 

Kate P.’s boyfriend told her I shake hands like a dead fish. Ever since then I have committed to go in firm and true and with valor.

 

One day during lunch we heard a crash. Plates must have fallen and crashed all over. Someone’s lunch was making a mess of the cafeteria floor. A few moments later Carroll sat next to me holding an empty tray. I said, “What happened?” He said, “I have nothing to eat.”

 

When I cleaned cars at the Fuccillo Auto Mall, Brandon V. handed me a razor blade and said, “Hey, would you please pop this stye in my eye? It’s killing me.”

 

When he was alive Jeremy V. told my little sister she should soak her hair in cold water. “It will make your hair shiny.”

 

When he was alive Luke D. fought Fuller at a party behind St. Cecilia’s Church. I believe head-butts were involved.

 

When she was alive Angie B. drove her car into the big mud puddle that was there in front of me. I was wet and dirty for the remainder of the day.

 

When he was alive Jason R. beat me in one-on-one at the school court. If he didn’t die so soon, I’m certain he would have made Fuller’s first team.

 

Sara Z. reached down to grab a snake by its tail. But the snake must not have liked her. It snapped back and bit her hand. I recall wondering if I should do something. Maybe lick her wound. Maybe get bit too so we’d always have that in common.

 

After PE I had art. Jen L. sat next to me. I promise I showered after PE, but the shower only seemed to amplify the sweat on my skin. Jen L. confirmed this by wiping my arm and sniffing.

 

I wish I picked up the snake that bit Sara Z.

 

Amber A. always said, “Hi John-Paul,” when she passed me in the hallway. I remember how my name sounded then.

 

Angie B. and Jeremy V. were best friends. But they had another best friend. A third friend. Her name was Julie. Not Julie V. A different Julie. This Julie was not in the car with her friends on Fuller Road the night of the accident.

 

Brian E. and I made a get-well card for Reardon. He was in the hospital for nearly dying on the soccer field. I didn’t think it was possible for anyone to die on a soccer field. But one way a person can die is from a ruptured spleen. I know that now.

 

The card was full of drawings and memories. One drawing was of Reardon’s Thunderbird blowing smoke out the exhaust.

 

H. Newman was an art student too. We sat together all the time. When we weren’t talking, we were drawing.

 

During our modern dance performance, I held up my partner by her upper inner thigh and just below her rib cage. This was the proper way to execute the lift.

 

There were other lifts too. One was called the fly lift. If you’ve seen Dirty Dancing, you know what the fly lift looks like. It was the showstopper, what everyone came to see.

 

One day Kate P. returned to school from somewhere far away with her hair in a bazillion tiny braids and little colored beads at the ends. When she shook her head or jumped up and down her hair made little clatters of joy.

 

During eighth-grade lunch Justin C. divided the boys into two groups. One side was the Socs. And the other was called the Greasers.

 

I went in with truth and vigor when I saw Dingman. By this point I wanted the universe and all its citizens to know how far I’d come in regards to the handshake. He said, “JP, I broke my hand last week. Please let go.”

 

Barney was making fun of Cooper in the gymnasium. Cooper didn’t have all his fingers, and some of his skin had pig skin grafted on. Meningitis nearly killed Cooper when he was a little kid. But he was alive on this day to be made fun of and then to fight back with a one-two combination to Barney’s right eye.

 

Punches can be beautiful if delivered right.

 

Joe broke his neck during a football game. After the play he walked to the ambulance and said, “I broke my neck.” The EMT said, “What?” Joe said, “I broke my neck.”

 

The other Julie was so lonely after the deaths of her best friends. She was so lonely it made it difficult for us to look at her. That’s how lonely people can be.

 

Julie V. keeps telling me stuff. She says, “JP, we love to watch you. We love to see what you will do.”

 

The bats were not treated kindly in our house. My father would use his Wilson tennis racket to swat them against a wall or the window or an antique. If you capture a bat and then set it free it’ll circle back around to your place. Maybe to your room at night.

 

Recently Kryzniak met up at one of Fuller’s concerts in Asheville. Fuller tells me Kryzniak has a peculiar twinkle in his eye and that he’s sporting long hair and a beard. Nothing was mentioned about a pointy hat with golden stars or a wand of any kind.

 

I’ve heard wizards can grow just about anything in their gardens.

 

Every so often Fuller would show up to church with his grandmother. I’d see him sitting in the back listening to the sermon. We’d never talk afterward. We seemed to pretend he wasn’t there.

 

My big sister worked at Rod’s Big M throughout high school. You can find all kinds of entertainment at Rod’s Big M including movies like The Terminator, Ace Ventura, and Forrest Gump.

 

Richardson liked to quote Ace Ventura whenever possible. Once he turned his backside to my mother and began talking out his butt.

 

I decided to walk the twenty miles back home after working my late shift at the YMCA. Richardson’s stepmom picked me up. Richardson sat shotgun. After a few silent moments on the drive he asked, “JP, what the fuck were you thinking walking twenty miles in the middle of the night?” I said, “I felt like it.”

 

Jessica Q. escaped her possessive boyfriend one night. We gave her beer and a card game. After her second drink her cheeks regained some color and we got her laughing again, like she used to.

 

Coach LaDuke, our PE teacher, advised me to get Ramsey in a headlock. I did for the entirety of the submission competition, which only took three minutes. When the whistle blew I released him. Ramsey came up for air revealing a thousand burst blood vessels in his face.

 

The next class was math. The teacher said, “Hey man. What happened to your face?”

 

Mr. Dryden told me to read a poem and tell everyone what the poem meant. Midway through my interpretation I found him at his desk shaking his head and rubbing his temples.

 

Chris M. wore a red and white striped shirt. It was very tight fitting like spandex. On his head he wore a wizard’s hat with a red ball at the point. In the weight room he flexed in the mirror and constantly referred to himself as Gay Waldo.

 

Michelle H. once told me her favorite time of day and night was 11:11.

 

When he was alive Luke D. played football. I always tried to take him out hoping to give him a concussion or a tackle so severe he’d be afraid of me forever. But Luke D. was too strong. He now enjoys laughing at me. He likes to kid.

 

Mcfadden’s favorite football team was the 49ers. The woods across from his house were known as Middle Earth.

 

Once we woke up in Middle Earth to unseen coty dogs. Some folks don’t know about these unique north country creatures. If you mate a coyote with a regular dog, you get a coty dog. Coty dogs were yelping hysterically. But we couldn’t see them. We could only hear them. Rick was there. Ewan was there too.

 

A few years ago I was trying to stay alive so I went on a hike. The trail was full of fog and mist. Halfway up I met an owl. The owl wasn’t bothered by my presence. It stood still staring at me with a human face and human eyes.

 

Owl encounters mean different things to different cultures. The only good omen I’ve found comes from an Inuit tribe.

 

The only time I recall dressing up like a girl was when we decided to wear cheerleading uniforms for the high school girls’ basketball game. Rumor has it Beth T.’s mom said I had nice legs.

 

Lauren A. had a party in a liquor store that her mom owned. During the party the song “Bullet with Butterfly Wings” by the Smashing Pumpkins came on. Tiner knew every word and proved it by singing along.

 

If you go to the cemetery you’ll find familiar names with beginning and end dates. I walk through cemeteries whenever I find the time. There’s a small stone in Dixon, California that says:

 

                        charles p.
                        age about 40 yrs.

 

Julie V. believes Jason R. was murdered. I guess I do, too.

 

When I sip peppermint schnapps, I think of Charlie P. and wonder if he’s alive. If so, does he still drive a taxi?

 

My graduating class isn’t old, yet. Forty isn’t so bad. The ones that died are really young, forever young. We’re getting older but they have retained their youthful styles.

 

They’ve even kept their names.

 

I heard it said that the dead get new bodies. Like spirit bodies or something. But all I see are the physical traits they had when they were alive:

 

Angie B.’s hair is wild and dark. She likes to sneak up behind me and belt out her loud laugh. I don’t mind.

 

Jeremy V. is tall and slim and looks out at the moon like James Dean.

 

Luke D. kept his biceps and goofy grin.

 

Jason R. sports the same thin mustache.

 

And Julie V. still has that tattoo my sister scrawled on her only a few months before her death:

 

                        she made broken look beautiful

 

Sometimes those words drift off Julie V. and rise to break up a cloud or blow leaves off a tree with the wind. Don’t worry, when those words get tired they settle back on her body as if returning from a hard-fought journey.

 

I boxed Justin C. in a dream. We wore large heavy red mitts. We swung big loping punches. Middle-aged punches.

 

Occasionally I’ll get text messages from my friends: Fuller, Carroll, Mcfadden, and Rick. We’re all still alive and well. Their names light up my screen and go ding! The older we get the less we text. But when I receive one it gives me the same feeling as when I happen to look above to find a fallen star splitting the night’s sky.

 


JP Vallières is from the Village of Adams. He is the author of the novel, The Ketchup Factory. He lives with Kimmy and their four sons in northern Idaho.