The GHOST and Charlie Dusenberry
Chapter Three: Present Day and another Spring

PG. 9 TGACD R. ZEIS

“Aaaaa Chooo!”

It’s always three times. He always sneezed three times. Charlie Dusenberry reached for his third tissue confident the latest allergy attack was over. Spring always meant allergy attacks. Charlie never went to a doctor about his condition because usually over the counter meds could keep his sneezing and watery eyes under control. But, what a pain! Spring was NOT his favorite time of year.

“God bless you.”

Charlie looked up from his desk that was situated in the front of the sixth-grade class. Little Gretchen Anderson was smiling at him from the front row desk. Gretchen, a freckle-faced, red-headed 11-year-old, felt it was her duty in life to say “God bless you” every time her teacher sneezed.

“Thank you, Gretchen.”

And, as always, Gretchen responded with “You’re welcome Mr. Dusenberry.”

“Kiss ass…”

The rather loud comment, which was followed by several giggles, came from the back of the classroom. Charlie knew who, without a doubt, who was the source of the comment.

“Zeph, come up here!”

12-year-old Zephen Clinton Yarnell sat straight up in his seat and turned on his best-shocked expression he could conjure up.

“That wasn’t me, Mr. Dusenberry!”

“Of course it wasn’t you, Zeph,” Charlie said in a sarcastic voice. “And the moon is made of cheese, democrats are not liberal, the South won the Civil War, and the New York Yankees never won a World Series!”

“The Yankees suck, “smiled Zeph which elicited more laughter from the class.

“Get up here Zeph…now!” There was no humor or sarcasm in Charlie’s voice this time.

PG. 10 TGACD R. ZEIS

Zephen Clinton Yarnell pulled his five-foot-ten, 200-pound bulk out of his chair making sure to knock books off his desk and screech the desk’s legs on the floor. In other words, make as much noise as possible.

More laughter erupted.

As ‘ol Zeph made his way slowly up the aisle to the front of the class, Charlie Dusenberry marveled how every school had a Zeph in it. Heck, when he was in elementary school he had his own form of Zeph. Back then his name was Larry Brown. Both were bigger than the average kid. Both dressed sloppily and both had that “attitude.” Why was it, some kids felt they had to impose their will on other smaller kids and be as defiant as possible to teachers? Charlie knew deep down that these bullies’ attitudes may be the result of problems at home. And it may, in part, be because of their size. Earlier in life, they may have been the victims of ridicule. Children can be awfully cruel to each other. Still, with all that in mind, Charlie wished that Grande Forkes Elementary in Grande Forkes, Texas, didn’t have a Zeph.

Glaciers moved faster than Zeph. Charlie may have missed a birthday (he was nearing his 50th) by the time ’ol Zeph made it to his desk.

“Mr. Yarnell, I have good news and bad news for you today.”

“Mr. Dusenberry, I didn’t say a thing. It was someone else.” More giggling from the class.

’Ol Zeph must have thought Charlie was as dumb as a tree stump.

“What do you want to hear first, Mr. Yarnell? The good news or the bad news?

Zeph was about to protest again, but a raised hand, palm outward cut him off at the pass.

“I guess I’ll hear the good news first,” Zeph said none too politely.

“Well, Mr. Yarnell, the good news is I won’t be all alone after school today while I grade papers. You’ll be here to keep me company.”

“That’s good news?” whined Zeph.

There were more snickers from Zeph’s classmates.

“Oh, Mr. Yarnell, that IS the good news. Because the bad news is you may have to stay tomorrow too. I hate being alone.” Charlie delivered that piece of news with a broad smile.

Zeph was staring at his teacher like he’d just heard a proclamation banning Twinkies country-wide.

PG. 11 TGACD R. ZEIS

“What do you mean I might have to stay tomorrow too?”

Gotcha! Mused Charlie.

“Well, Mr. Yarnell,” Charlie started,” you can get out of tomorrow night’s predicament with the proper apologies.”

“But, I….” Zeph was cut short again by the upraised palm.

“If you give me and Miss Anderson real sincere apologies, I’ll cancel tomorrow night’s afterschool get-together. If you refuse-or you don’t impress me with your sincerity, you’ll get to be my afterschool buddy for two straight days!” With that, Charlie leaned back in his chair and flashed his best-and most sincere- smile at his student.

No longer the master of his world, Zeph stood at his teacher’s desk like a constipated steam engine. You knew it was going to blow, but you just didn’t know when. Zeph kept shifting his hard stare from his teacher to Gretchen to the snickering class. Just when everyone thought steam would actually blow from his ears, the young man spoke.

“I’m sorry.”

Charlie leaned forward in his chair. “What did you say, Mr. Yarnell?”

“I’m sorry,” This was a bit louder.

“Mr. Yarnell, are you saying you’re sorry for disrupting my class and using foul language?”

“Yes.”

Smiling, Charlie said, “Apology accepted.”

Head down, Zeph turned to return to his seat but was stopped short by the hand again.

“Wait, Mr. Yarnell. You still owe an apology to Miss Anderson.”

With that, Gretchen sat straight up in her seat and flashed a million-dollar smile at Zeph.

With an expression like he had just swallowed some toxic waste, Zeph turned to Gretchen. “I’m sorry.”

“Apology accepted,” Gretchen said with an even bigger smile.

“You may take your seat young man. And I look forward to seeing you at three o’clock,” added Charlie.

PG. 12 TGACD R. ZEIS

As his student retreated back to his seat, Charlie thought about the outcome of this latest battle. It was sad he had to think about his social studies-slash-history class as a war zone. Things were a lot different than when he went to school. He wondered what Gus, his father, would think of what he was doing now.

His dad was a stickler for good grades and report card day sometimes was not a fun day at the Dusenberry home. The definitions of “good” and “bad” differed between parents and children. Charlie’s definition of “good” was a report card with no “D’s” or “F’s” on it. His father’s definitions of “good” and “bad” had a much higher standard.

“Why not more A’s and B’s, Charlie?” his dad would ask.

“I’m trying, Dad. But look, I’m passing everything!” Charlie would plead.

His father would shake his head sadly and say for the umpteenth time, “Charlie, you need really good grades to get a scholarship for college. I won’t be able to send you.”

It was the old guilt trip, Dad worked very hard as an electrician, but money was tight for a family of five in those days. Mom had told Charlie that money wasn’t always so tight. But when Dad left playing pro baseball because of an injury, he had to change careers and it set the family back considerably. So, on report card day, Charlie would look sad, his father would sigh, and then he would sign the dreaded document and Charlie could breathe easy for the next eight to nine weeks until the next report card came out.

Sitting at his desk in front of a class, Charlie thought how ironic it was that now HE was the one giving out the grades. Was Zeph going through what he once did with his father? Maybe. Things would have been a lot easier for Charlie if he’d been an athlete, especially in baseball. Baseball took some time from studying, so grades could have been a little lower and his father more tolerant. Maybe. Besides, you could get a scholarship from baseball…if you were any good at it.

No such luck for Charlie Dusenberry. While his dad was a pro, Charlie could hardly stand playing little league. That failure was not so much a failure of talent, but a failure to love the game like his dad.

AAaaaaa Choo! Another allergy attack was on its way.

“God bless you,” offered Gretchen.

“Thank you, Gretchen.” Two more sneezes followed on cue.

Charlie Dusenberry faced another spring day without much enthusiasm.

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