Club

Emily watched the young man as he sat down across the table from her. If he had said anything, she hadn’t heard it over the noise and the muzak of the diner. He took off what looked like a high school varsity jacket and set it on the bench seat next to him. The effect was that he appeared to suddenly shrink; the jacket was a lot bigger than he was underneath. He and the jacket looked like they might weigh about the same amount. He adjusted the mirror sunglasses on his pale, freckled nose as he turned to face her.

“Hi, Daniel? or Dan?”

“Dan’s good,” he said shortly.

“I’m Emily. Thanks for meeting with me, Dan. Do you want something to drink?”

“Yeah, that’d be good.” Emily could feel Daniel watching her behind his sunglasses as she looked around for a waiter. She waved the nearest, a pretty young women, toward them. Daniel looked over the tops of his sunglasses at the waitress and gave her a smirk.

“Hi there.”

The waitress just waited silently, a small, cold smile frozen in place.

“Could I get a coffee? Black.”

“Of course.”

The younger woman’s eyes seemed to flicker toward the packets of sugar and creamer cups in the plastic holder at the end of the table, but her hard little smile didn’t falter as she tucked her pad and paper away again before speeding off. Daniel’s gaze trailed after her for a moment before returning to Emily. His face stiffened again.

“So, you wanna know about the day Brian Cutler was killed?”

“Yeah, anything at all would be a big help, Dan.”

Daniel looked unimpressed.

“I thought the police already closed the case.”

“They have; I think I mentioned it when we talked over the phone, I’m looking into this for a private client, not the police.”

“You said before you were a reporter?”

“Basically, yeah.”

“So you’re going to write a story about this?”

“Well, not necessarily.”

Daniel looked slightly disappointed, so she added, “But it’s a possibility.”

“So why are you investigating this? Are you, like, a private eye or something?”

“Something like that.” Emily shrugged. She was still wondering what exactly her role in this would be. Daniel just watched her, arms crossed.

“Dan, I’m not trying to reopen the case against you. It was clearly dropped for a reason. I just want to get a sense of what actually happened.”

“Yeah. So, you talked to them? ‘Cause I already told them everything I know.”

“The police? Yes, but I want to hear your story from you. Not filtered through them, if you know what I mean.”

“Yeah.” He gave a bitter little laugh and sat back in his seat. “Those fuckheads know how to filter. Especially if it’s something a brother said.”

His un-ironic use of the word did not escape her.

“That’s why it’s important for me to go to the source. Do you mind if I take notes?” Emily pulled a spiral notebook and pen out of her bag and held them up.

“Yeah, that’s fine.” His eyes lingered on them for a moment. “But like I said, I already told ‘em everything. There’s not really anything else. I know people are still saying stuff about me, but the cell tower records show I wasn’t anywhere near Meadowview Park.”

“Yeah, I know. But still, could you just walk me through your day?”

“Yeah. I went to class in the morning, and then I had lunch in the basement of the Union, then I went to work for the afternoon. After that, I was just chillin’ at home. You know, watching TV or whatever.”

“Was it normal for you to be at home on a Friday night?”

“Yeah. No,” Daniel’s shoulders pulled up slightly. “I mean, it was still early, so I might have gone out later. Anyway, I got a text from Miguel Diaz, saying Brian Cutler was going to be buying pot in Meadowview Park at seven. That’s the first text on the cell record.” Daniel paused, watching to see Emily’s reaction.

“Did you text Miguel back?” Emily asked.

“Well, yeah, but his text was to a group chat we had going on, so I texted back in the chat, too”

“And this was a particular group?”

Daniel cocked an eyebrow.

“I see you have heard this story already.”

Emily shrugged, keeping her pencil on the page.

“I just want to make sure I’ve got it right,” she said.

“Yeah, it was the chat for the Cut Cutler Club. I know the name sounds bad after what happened, but it wasn’t anything like that. It was just a group of friends. Originally it was called the Cut Cutler Club because we were trying to keep Cutler from being elected student body president, back in April. The chat was like that, too—we started it for the campaign.”

“Fair enough. Were you very involved in the Richaerd University student government?”

“No, just last spring before the main election, mainly. And a little again lately, I guess.”

“And the Cut Cutler Club was separate from the Richaerd Forward campaign?”

“Well, more or less. We were basically on the same side, but Forward’s candidate, Mindy, didn’t want to be associated with anything negative toward Cutler, so it was mainly people not technically in Forward working, like, on the outside.”

Emily could imagine a hardworking college girl, the head of a student government party, being wary of making a powerful enemy.

“I see. So it was like an unofficial campaign club.”

“Yeah, exactly. I mean, the name was Cut Cutler; obviously it was never official.”

“What kind of negative things did you guys do? Besides the name.”

Daniel opened his mouth to reply, then paused and shook his head.

“Ok, I mean, look, a brown candidate, especially a chick, isn’t going to beat a rich white kid like Brian Cutler by out-debating him. And, like, it’s not like we did  anything bad. We just, like, told people he smoked weed, like, he wasn’t so far above everyone else, and pointed out how racist his campaign was, stuff like that. Just the truth.”

“So both of those things are true?”

Daniel’s face twisted into a grimace.

“I mean, he didn’t come right out and say anything, but, you know, he was all about ‘safeguarding the U’ and ‘preserving tradition’ and everything. Which basically means keeping Richaerd rich and white.”

The waitress returned with Daniel’s coffee.

“Hey, thanks.” Daniel made a valiant and obvious effort to catch the young woman’s eye, but she set down the cup without a word and glided away. He gave up and reached for a sugar packet. Emily pressed on.

“Ok, so the Cut Cutler Club was opposing Brian Cutler’s election in April. And then in November, Miguel sends a message to the club’s group text, including you.”

“Right, well, obviously we lost the election, so since then the club is basically just a social group.” Daniel took a long sip of his coffee, hiding his face. “We just hang out and stuff. Like, the chat is just for chatting, basically. We don’t really do anything to do with Cutler. Like, just as friends.”

“Do you guys hang out pretty regularly?”

“I—Yeah, I guess.” He hesitated. “Anyway, most people in the club aren’t actually in Richaerd Forward, like I said.”

Emily noted the change in subject.

“But this time it actually was about Brian Cutler. About him buying weed.”

“Yeah, Miguel heard that Cutler was about to go out and meet his dealer at Meadowview. He thought maybe we could get him busted.”

“Right, that makes sense, but I thought the club wasn’t about Brian Cutler anymore?”

“Yeah, well, it wasn’t, but maybe you heard about Proposition One.”

It was impossible not to have, after the press surrounding the murder. The icing on the tragic cake of Brian Cutler’s potential cut short, before he could see his efforts realized, or the proof that he was just another stone-hearted rich white man on the rise, depending on who told the story.

“A lot of people are saying it’s basically just a way to keep out undocumented immigrants, she said.

“Yeah, it’s basically new rules to require more documentation for admission. The referendum, to vote on it, was that Wednesday.” Daniel sullenly sipped his coffee. “Like I said, Cutler was all about keeping things for the rich white crowd.”

“So, what,  this would be a way to discredit him before the referendum?”

“Yeah. He’s always going on about the shady elements threatening Richaerd, so if we could show that he was happy to have them around when they had weed to sell him…” Daniel trailed off.

“Yeah. Do you know where Miguel heard about where Brian would be?”

“He said he heard from Brian’s dealer. Guy named Orlando, I think.” Daniel frowned and scratched his chin. The patchy beginnings of an orange beard bristled. “But, I dunno, he might have heard it from someone else, I guess.”

“Who do you think might tell him something like that?”

“I dunno. But during the election Miguel was sorta like the Club’s leader. So someone mighta told him if it was about Cutler.”

Miguel’s photo had been in the news, too. He was handsome and had a look of confidence, even when his possible involvement in a murder was being publicly discussed. It was easy to imagine a breathless co-ed running to tell him something he might want to hear.

“Right. When you texted back, to the group, what did you say?” Emily asked.

“That I thought we should do it. I mean, call the police or whatever. I looked it up online, there’s an anonymous tip line.”

“And did Miguel respond?”

“Rafael did first.”

“Another member of the club?”

“Yeah,” Daniel said. “He’s really into student gov and opposing Prop One and everything. But he said not to do it, ‘cause it might get Orlando busted, too.”

“Did Rafael know or buy from Orlando?”

“I dunno. I never met Orlando. He could’ve, though.”

“Right,” said Emily. “So did you reply to that?”

“No. At first I thought Rafael was right, so I just left it. But then I was thinking, and it was still before seven, so I thought I’d give it a shot. So I called the tip line. That’s on the cell record, too. And I said that there was a kid smoking pot, not buying, in the north parking lot of Meadowview in a black Porsche.”

Daniel looked at Emily expectantly.

“Brian was in a black Porsche?”

“Yeah,” Daniel said, impatient. “I mean, maybe. Probably. Everyone knows he drives that car. Loves to flaunt his money, I guess. So anyway, I figured that way they’d only go after that car and leave Orlando alone, right?”

“Right, I see, you kept it very specific to avoid the problem.”

This seemed to satisfy him.

“But Dan, you didn’t think the cops might show up while the deal was going on?”

Daniel stared back for a moment, mouth open.

“No, I guess not.” He shrugged. “I dunno. I just figured he’d be smoking it there. It’s a good place to smoke; there usually aren’t many cars there, and it’s kind of hard to see from the road.”

“You weren’t worried about Miguel or Rafael getting mad?”

“No, I wasn’t,” Daniel rolled his eyes. “What’s gonna happen? Either the cops show up and Cutler’s gone already, or they show up and bust his ass and I tell them about it later.”

“Were they upset that you made the call?”

“No, we didn’t talk the rest of the night.” He paused, then added, less certainly, “And, I dunno, I guess we didn’t really talk about it after that very much. I guess at the time I figured I’d wait and see.”

“But how would you even find out what happened?”

Daniel stared back, puzzled.

“I dunno. Word gets around. Or Orlando might see it or something. I guess I didn’t really think about that.”

Emily sighed.

“Ok. So what happened after you called the tip line?”

“Nothing. I was just hanging out at home until the police showed up. After they found the body and traced the call or whatever.”

“When was that?”

“A little later, like, eight or so.”

“Right… Ok.” Emily glanced down her notes, then set the pad and pen on the table. “Can you think of anything else that day, or before, or after, that might be related to what happened?”

“No, not really. I mean, like I said, the club didn’t really have anything to do with Cutler, for the most part. I never even thought about him.”

“You don’t think it’s suspicious that he was killed just days before the referendum on a controversial proposal he was leading?”

Daniel scowled at her.

“No.” His voice was edged with anger. “Look, I’m not saying the proposition wasn’t a big deal, but killing a dude? No. Who would do that?”

Emily sighed.

“Yeah, just thought I’d ask. Is there any chance I could see the texts from that night?”

“No, they’re gone.”  The energy drained from his tone. “Once you leave the chat, if the other people are still in it, you can’t see it anymore. I think the cops got it from Miguel or Rafael or someone.”

“They checked your phone?”

“Of course they did. I just told them exactly what happened, so they wanted to see the texts. But I didn’t have them, so they had to get them somewhere else.”

“So you’d already left the chat before the police checked your phone?”

“Yeah.” Daniel turned his eyes downward to look at his cup, now almost empty.

Huh.

“Any reason?”

“No, I just, I was just done talking or whatever.”

“It just strikes me as odd that you left this chat when you were still waiting to find out what happened.”

“Well, I mean I had everyone’s numbers saved; I could send ‘em another text if I wanted. So, anyway you might wanna ask them if you want the exact texts.”

There seemed little point in pressing it.

“Ok. Could you tell Miguel or Rafael, or anyone else in the club, that I’d like to talk to them, by any chance?”

Daniel continued to study the remains of his coffee. His eyes remained there as he said,

“I don’t know. I can give you their numbers, if you want.”

“Sure, that’d be a big help.”

Daniel got out his phone read her two numbers. Emily jotted them into her notebook.

“Ok…” Daniel said, “I should probably get going soon. You need anything else?”

“I’ll let you know if I think of anything. Thanks a lot, Dan.”

“Yeah, no problem.”

Daniel put on his giant jacket again and stood up.

“Alright then.”

“Thanks again.” Emily gave him a little wave as he turned and walked toward the door.

His story matched the one she’d heard before perfectly. Still, there were several things that nagged. There was something odd about the way he talked about the club. And why suddenly exit a chat he’d apparently been in for at least eight months?

Emily glanced down at her notes and the two phone numbers scrawled in the corner. Next up, Miguel and Rafael.

Wheel

“Gina, slow down! I can’t keep up!”

Gina always ran really fast when she was excited to show me something. I guess that surge of adrenaline gave her an extra boost. Maybe if I knew why she was so excited, I could run a little faster too.

“It’s just over there! Come on!

“It’s too rocky! I’m gonna fall! Wait up!”

She wasn’t going to wait up. She was ahead of me by at least thirty feet. I could barely see her moving through the trees. What could be so amazing all the way out here, anyway?

After a few more minutes, I lost total sight of Gina. I knew the general direction she was going, though, so I just kept running. It was the middle of the day and we weren’t too far from home. If worst came to worst, I could just turn around and wait for her at home.

And she did say “it’s just over there,” so it couldn’t be too much farther. I decided to walk the rest of the way. I was practically hyperventilating and I didn’t even know what for. I’d catch my breath and cool off a bit.

The trees started thinning out and I saw a clearing in the forest up ahead. Gina was standing in the middle of the clearing on some rocks.

“This is it‽ A clearing and some rocks‽” Now I was a little pissed off. All that running just to see some rocks in a clearing? What a bunch of bull crap.

“Look down,” Gina said as she pointed in a circle.

I just saw a bunch of tall grass. I moved closer to get a better look.

Looking at it again, the grass seemed to be growing a bit unevenly. When I got to the edge of the clearing, I saw a big stone with tall grass growing all around it, almost hiding it from view. Next to that big stone, there was another one that was also almost completely hidden by the grass. I looked all around the clearing and it looked like there must be stones laid out in a big circle.

“Come here. You can see it better from the center.”

I walked over to Gina and as I did, I noticed a row of stones leading up to the center. When I got there, I noticed there were rows of stones all around the circle pointing to the center.

“What the heck is this?”

“I have no idea. I just found it this morning. Isn’t it awesome, though”

It was pretty awesome. It was also pretty eerie. This was obviously made by humans and abandoned long ago. But who made it, and why? And why did they leave it?

“I think I should tell my mom about this.”

“Don’t do that, Carla! She probably won’t let us play here if you tell her. She’ll say it’s dangerous or it’s too far into the woods.”

Gina’s mom was a drunk and never had time to look after Gina. That’s why Gina was always out exploring the woods. She really liked it out here in the clean air. And there wasn’t anybody to tell her she couldn’t go. My mom, on the other hand, was strict as all hell. If she knew I was out here with Gina, she’d blow her top. But still, it seemed like this place might be important in some way. I didn’t feel like it should be kept a secret. Maybe somebody else knew what it was.

“You can’t tell her. You have to promise.”

“I don’t know… What if someone could tell us what this is? Don’t you wanna know?”

“Yeah… But we don’t have to tell anybody where it is. And we could try to find out on our own first.”

“But how?”

“I have an idea.”

Wheels

I remember using the word “heartbreak” to describe how I felt late in the night of the ending ceremony of my study abroad program in Tokyo. It had been a wonderful night of fun and friends and celebration. But now that night and so many other things were ending.

I was in love with everything about where I was. With the friends I’d made, with the scenery, the smells, the sounds, the constant discoveries, and with the part of myself I had found there. Stories of personal growth through studying abroad are perhaps cliché, but I had transformed. From no sense of direction to enabled and passionate. I was terrified of losing all and any of this. I’d chosen a full school year study abroad program because I imagined it would give me enough time to put down deep roots and have a more meaningful experience. I had been right about that. But now it was time to uproot.

When I went to Japan for the first time, to begin my study abroad, it wasn’t quite easy, but it wasn’t that hard. A lot of people asked me if I was nervous or scared, but I wasn’t. At least, not in the way I thought they meant.

Was I nervous about being able to communicate? No, I thought I spoke enough Japanese. Culture shock? No, I’m adaptable. Interested in the challenge, even. What about missing friends and family? Closer. I’d never been one to get homesick, and it was 2009, for goodness sake: We have Skype. But I was realizing as it drew near time to go that I would miss my own junior year at Michigan. Over the past two years, Michigan had been a miraculous place for me. I felt more comfortable and at home there perhaps than I ever had anywhere. I’d had some of the best friendships I’d ever experienced. I wrote in my Livejournal at the time, “Craaaaaap, I’m going to miss UofM so much. I occasionally almost think maybe study abroad is more for people who don’t love being at their home university quite as much as I do.”

Nonetheless, I was, on the sum of it, excited. It would be worth it. And I would be back in just eleven months, and then there would be at least an entire year more of Michigan and whatever lay beyond that. I would be able to step back into this world I loved. It wasn’t quite easy, but I knew I wanted to go.

And in any case, the gears were already in motion. Studying abroad in that program isn’t something you fall into; it was a process that had begun, concretely, with paperwork and personal statements and recommendation letters more than a year before. By the time I started to prematurely long for Michigan, I was already awaited by people I would soon meet in person in Tokyo and had told everyone I knew in Michigan that I was going. In the end, all I had to do was ride on that momentum. It wasn’t that hard.

The program’s ending ceremony was on a Friday in mid-July. The first participant to leave Tokyo went the next day. Classes at Michigan, for which I was registered, didn’t start until September, so I extended my stay as long as I thought I could, until the middle of August.

In the month between I saw one international friend after another leave. Joonwoo, who threw me a birthday party, and Bastien, who most understood and shared my passion toward Japanese, and Mina, my jogging and gossip partner. And as they went, their ,and my, Japanese friends stayed behind. Miwa, who was always ready to go for a drink, and Takao, who was always ready with a laugh, and Hana, who fiercely cheered for me and my unusual goals. And so many others. I had the strong feeling that I would never see most of these people again.

I knew that I wanted to come back to Japan, to make sure we would meet again, but I didn’t know how or if that would happen. Leaving felt so final. Everywhere I went, I tried to really, deliberately look at things, to drink them in and consider them in a concrete way and memorize them. To hold onto anything I could, hoping it would help me hold onto the things I had gained there—perspective, confidence, knowledge, love.

And then it was mid-August and I was in a cab, on my way to the bus stop where the airport bus would arrive. The taxi had picked me up right inside the Mitaka dorm complex that I had just checked out of. The driver was friendly and tried to make conversation, but I couldn’t help but resent the cab itself. Once it carried me out through the dorm’s front gate, I’d probably never go back in. Then I was on the bus. Narita is quite a ways from Mitaka, so I had plenty of time to think.

Leaving felt so wrong. Why am I on this bus that’s speeding out of Tokyo? Tokyo feels like the place I should be. This bus is going the wrong way. Desperate, I kept on trying to see things very concretely, to absorb the details of every little thing in the little time remaining. I tried to really be aware of the scenery passing by and the road and bus moving over it. I felt like I had to stay, but the wheels of the bus kept turning, and I was stuck inside.

I thought one more time about how I might stay there. Could I just not go home, like the ex-pat professor I knew? He had been scheduled for just a one-year stay in Tokyo some forty years ago and never left. But I didn’t have a plan. Whereas in Michigan there was an enrollment and housing and friends and family all ready and waiting, and just one more year until a degree, with which I was expected to graduate on time. These wheels were already moving. I’d put them in motion. How could I stop them?

In the end, it was my own feet that stepped onto that bus. It was my own feet that stepped onto the plane that rolled down the runway in Chiba and then down another runway outside Detroit. But the whole way, it felt like I was being carried away.