Page 53 of Surviving the Merge
“There’s five of us that make up The Misfits,” Max explained as we made our way down Wilton Drive. “It’s really just an excuse to get together, have some drinks, and unwind after a long week. Each of us takes turns hosting. Old Man Jack?whom you’ll meet today—has a firepit in his backyard, so it’s more of a bonfire when we’re over there. When the rest of us host, we sit in a circle with a bucket in the middle. It’s used for symbolism. Nothing actually goes in there.
“We go around, and everyone sheds their burdens. No judgments, no interruptions. You can talk about anything. How your boss pissed you off, the kids breaking curfew, how the Trail Blazers are a poor excuse for a basketball team.” He took his eyes off the road to smile at me. “Nothing is off-limits. After your turn, you say ‘thoughts’ if you’re looking for feedback or ‘next’ if you’re not.
“I’m hosting this Friday. I’ll try and have my pit set up by then. The bucket is pretty sad.”
I had to look away quickly. “I went to school here,” I said, as we were about to ride past Chadwick High.
“Did you?” He slowed to a stop in front.
I answered with a nod. My thoughts drifted back to those years. “None of the other high schools I attended worked out. I felt the most welcomed here.” I raised my hand to open the door but then remembered we had somewhere to be. I indicated for Max to keep driving.
“A lot of our kids come from Chadwick,” Max said. “Some from the junior high school over on Delbrook. We also have a few drifters come in, but our rule is everyone needs to be attending school. If they’re not, we help to get them enrolled. We accept them all.”
“Principal Stuart had a zero-tolerance policy for hate.” I sat back in my seat and fixed my eyes on him. “You talk about the center as if it’s personal to you.” I went back to staring out my window.
“Principal Stuart—as you call him—is my uncle.”
“What?” I whisper-shouted, twisting around. With my back against the passenger door and my left leg bent onto the seat, Max had my full attention. “Was he married to Mrs. Larson? No, that can’t be right. He didn’t live with her. I would’ve noticed.”
“They were siblings. My grandparents had three kids: Aunt Lula—Mrs. Larson—Uncle Gregory, and my mother. I started visiting several years ago when my aunt became sick. My uncle asked for my help in building the center. One thing led to another, and I ended up opening a branch of the business down here when it became obvious that I was planning to stay. So yeah, you could say it’s personal.”
“Mr. Stuart's first name is Gregory?” I had many questions, but that ended up making the cut.
“Yes.” He laughed. “Here we are.”
Putting the truck in park and getting out, Max opened the back door for Pluto. “This is incredible,” I said in awe as I got out and slowly closed the door. I stood rooted to the spot, taking in the two-story facility. Pluto loped ahead, barking, and Max came around to stand next to me.
“How were you able to make something this size look like a cabin in the woods?”
“It wasn’t easy,” Max said. “Come on, let’s go inside.”
The rustic aesthetic was at odds with the architectural landscape of Chadwick, causing the building to stand out like a sore thumb, but it worked. The fact that there wasn’t anything surrounding it helped. A secret hideaway. What I suspected these kids needed.
“The landscaping is amazing,” I said, taking time to check out the wildflowers surrounding the front.
“That would be Old Man Jack’s doing. We have a huge vegetable garden and a greenhouse out back that he started. The kids help with both.”
We jogged up the wooden steps and entered through the oversized oak door. The inside looked much like a school. Long, narrow corridors with wood trim around doorways. Everyone signed in at the reception area as soon as they entered. Behind the large circular desk were state-of-the-art security monitors. The footage on the screens flicked back and forth between the rooms and halls.
Max caught me looking around for the cameras and leaned close to my ear. “You’ll never find them.”
“Is that a challenge?”
Leaning back palms up, he said, “Hey, I just don’t want you wasting your time.” He was amused. “We have the cameras to keep the kids safe, but we don’t want them feeling like they're in a prison, so we took pains to ensure that while they know they’re here, they don’tknowthey’re here. The bathrooms, changing rooms, and counselor offices are off-limits, though.”
My tour included several art rooms, a pottery studio, a chef’s kitchen for cooking classes, a video game room, a room for board and card games, a billiards room, a computer lab, a huge pantry, and the nursing clinic, where the kids could be treated and learn the ins and outs of working in the medical field. Every room equipped to offer recreation and class instruction. So if you were gaming, you were also going to learn how the game was created from inception to end.
Max glanced at his watch. “There’s also a fitness gym, a basketball court, and dormitory-style rooms where kids can come during operating hours to sleep.” He voice dropped. “You’d be surprised how many of them come here just to sleep.”
We stopped in an auditorium where the town-hall meetings were held. Max informed me that about once a month, they’d have a speaker come in to share their stories of adversity and how they overcame it. Or how they’re overcoming it.
“We do allow parents to come in but only as a contributor of some sort. We help with job placement—parents and the older kids—and we allow the kids to take food home from the pantry and the garden. We teach them how to cook their own meals here too.”
“How can you afford to do all this?” I asked in stunned amazement.
“We run it like a nonprofit organization. We get funding from the state and private donations as well. We’re holding our first fundraiser at the end of the summer.”
He led me to the garden and greenhouse, and I paused on the threshold. Kids of varying ages were hard at work. Pulling carrots, potatoes, and other varieties of veggies and fruits.
