The Freak Pt 01 Of 05

This story is fictional, but parts of it are autobiographical. I did briefly live in Chester Heights, a small unincorporated area in southern Westchester County, NY, but I did not attend Tuckahoe High School. My parents moved into the community after I had graduated from a nearby high school and I learned of it from my younger siblings. I used tiny Tuckahoe in this story because I liked the concept of David vs. Goliath. I did grow up in the era described here so that alone should tell you that I'm in my seventies. I did meet a beautiful young woman named Barbara during my senior year, but she was my best friend's girlfriend. I met the woman I married when I first went to work. We're still together more than fifty years later.

There is plenty of sex in this story, but it is all embedded in the story. If you're looking for one sex scene after another you need to look elsewhere. As with all my stories, all sexual activity is between consenting people who are eighteen or older. Also, this is a long story—132 pages—so I've broken it into five parts. I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it. Sr. Longo.

PROLOGUE

My legal name is John... John Joseph French, but nobody who knows me—not even a single teacher--calls me by my legal name. My family calls me Jack or J.J. All my friends call me Freak. It's not an insult. It's a term of endearment. After all, how many people do you know who celebrate two birthdays? I have my original one—November 12, 1942--and I have my "Re-birthday"—March 27, 1951. It was the day I almost died. It was the day I was reborn. It was the day my life changed forever.

* * * * *

December, 1960

My story doesn't start here, but this is where I've decided to begin—in church. It was the first week in December and a surprise blizzard had dumped almost ten inches of wet sloppy snow overnight. Luckily, I had a 4-wheel drive Jeep with big knobby tires that were great for snow or for driving on the beach, something I did occasionally in the summer at my parents' bungalow on Long Island. It was slow going over the eight miles from my home to St. Catharine's, but I still arrived in plenty of time to get a seat on the end of the pew.

I had been there maybe fifteen minutes when I stood for the start of the Mass. I couldn't help but notice the striking young woman standing just behind me along the wall. Looking down I could see from the puddles at her feet that her shoes were soaked through. She had walked a long way in the snow. I'm a gentleman so I exited the row and pointed her to my seat. "Thank you," she whispered with a smile.

I tried to pay attention to the priest, but, truthfully, I found the girl much more interesting. As I concentrated on her I realized that this was her lucky day, but I had to be in the right place at the right time. Just before the service ended, I walked quickly to the stairs at the main entrance where I pulled two carefully folded objects from my coat pocket. They were Korkers—rubber soles that strap to one's special shoes or boots with numerous sharp metal studs that give incredible traction on the slickest surfaces. Once they were in place I stepped to the icy sidewalk and waited.

It was some five minutes before she appeared with the throng of worshipers who signaled that Mass had ended. I stepped in closely behind her, grabbing her firmly under her arms even before her shoes slipped on a small patch of ice and she fell backwards. Had I not been here she would have landed on her back, smashing the rear of her skull onto the sharp-edged concrete below. She would have died from a brain hemorrhage long before any emergency services would be able to reach her. Instead, I helped her to her feet and suggested she take my arm.

"I noticed your shoes were wet in church. Once you came out into the freezing temperature those wet soles turned to ice. You're lucky I'm an observant person. You might have been badly hurt." We had walked almost half a block before I spoke again. "How far do you have to walk?"

"Just to the other side of Lincoln Avenue."

"Okay... that's more than a mile. I think I'd better give you a ride. You'll be a lot safer in my Jeep than on these sidewalks. I'm sure that a lot of them aren't shoveled yet."

"You're right. I wish I'd worn my boots, but I was almost halfway here when I realized how wet my feet were becoming. I would have been really late if I had returned to my home. I don't know you. I don't even know your name."

"I'll tell you everything at the diner. I'm sure you're hungry. You received communion so you haven't eaten anything since last night. I'll give you a dime so you can phone your family as soon as we arrive. Incidentally, if I hadn't caught you when you fell you would have hit your head on the concrete and died. I'll explain how I know that, too. Okay, there's my Jeep—that green monstrosity at the corner. I don't think you'll be able to get in on the other side because of the snow, so... ." I bent over, lifted her legs with my left arm and placed her gently onto the passenger seat.

I was in my seat when I pointed to the shoulder/lap belt. "You might want to use the seatbelt. They'll be mandatory in another twenty years. It will protect you if we have an accident. I'm a safe and careful driver, but I can't account for others, especially in snow and ice." I pulled the Jeep out, driving slowly and turning right at the corner. Three minutes later I pulled into the diner's parking lot. We had just stepped into the restaurant when the waitress directed us to a booth.

"Here's the dime I promised you, but before you go, I want to show you something. Are you having coffee?" I continued when she nodded. "Then you'll probably want some sugar." I held my hand on the table and a second later the sugar dispenser slid into it.

"How... how did you do that?"

"Make your call. I'll explain everything while we wait for our breakfast... or lunch if you prefer." She was shaking her head in dismay as she walked to the phone booth. I watched her dial and speak briefly before returning to the seat facing me. She sat quietly as I began my tale.

"It happened while I was on vacation with my family in Florida. I was in third grade and playing hide and seek with my two cousins and my two sisters. I was "it" and had my head resting against a palm tree while I counted to 100. A storm blew in from the ocean; lightning struck the tree running through my brain and down my arm to my elbow." I opened my collar and turned around so she could see the inch-wide burn scar. "That runs all the way to my elbow. It used to be on top of my head, too, but I took care of it so I'd at least look normal."

"But, you're not, are you?"

"No, I am definitely not." The waitress gave us menus and we ordered omelets with coffee for her and hot chocolate for me. "I woke up a day later in the hospital. I'm sure you've heard that opposite charges attract and like charges repel. Well, for a split fraction of a second that tree and I had incredible negative charges. Being lighter and not stuck in the ground I was repelled—forty feet, I was told—into the side of a pickup truck.

"When I woke up, I still had my eyes closed and when I tried to figure out what was wrong with me, I got the shock of my life. Starting at my head I could essentially 'see' inside my body. I actually saw the two cracked ribs, broken bone in my forearm, and broken shin in addition to a load of bruises and cuts on my head, body, and legs. Once I knew that I wondered if I could also make my body and bones heal faster than they would normally."

"I'll bet you could."

"Yeah, I could and I did. I've read recently that human beings only use about ten percent of their brain's capacity. I should have been killed, but instead, something happened when I was struck that changed my brain. I had a high IQ before, but I've been tested more than a dozen times since and my score is always off the chart. Of course, that alone is no sure sign of success. That takes a lot more like motivation and willingness to work hard.

"Oh... I'm so sorry. I just realized that I never introduced myself--I'm John... John Joseph French, but please call me Jack. I live in Chester Heights... know where that is?" I continued when she nodded. "I go to Tuckahoe High School. I'm a senior there, just turned eighteen three weeks ago."

Her name was Barbara... Barbara Millard She was an orphan—her parents killed in an auto accident when she was three—and she had lived with the same foster parents, the Gleason's, ever since. She was also eighteen—roughly a month older than me and a senior at a Catholic girls' school run by the Archdiocese of New York in nearby Yonkers.

"Okay, there's a lot more to tell so I'd better get back to it. I had been in the hospital about three weeks. My dad had driven my sisters back to New York while my mom stayed in Florida with me. That was when I told the doctor that I was completely healed and I wanted the casts removed. Of course, he scoffed so I suggested a deal. If he would have my ribs x-rayed and they weren't healed I'd stay in the casts. But if they were healed I wanted x-rays of my arm and leg. You already know what happened. I was completely healed although the doctor was mystified. I couldn't tell him how it had occurred. He would never have believed me.

"I love to read the newspaper, especially the sports section. I noticed almost immediately that certain teams seemed to jump off the page. Then my parents told us that they were going to Yonkers Raceway on Friday night. They did that at least once a year with their group of friends. Monday night I looked at the newspaper's racing form and five of the horse names stood out. The following day I checked and they all had won."

"You could make a fortune with that."

"Yeah," I chuckled, "my thinking exactly." I paused while our eggs and sides of bacon were served. "On Wednesday night I gave my father a sealed envelope and asked him to sign his name across the seals then I put it onto the refrigerator door. The following afternoon I brought in the racing results and opened the envelope in my parents' presence. They were shocked that all of my predictions were correct. Then I gave them my predictions for Friday when they were going to the track along with two dollars from my allowance and directions for placing two bets for me.

"The first was a horse in the third race with high odds. It went off at 18 to 1 and paid $38.20. The second bet was a parlay—the entire thirty-eight bucks--on the Perfecta in the ninth race where the odds would be roughly 4500 to 1. I also gave them three other races in between. I explained that I did this so they would trust my predictions. I know my dad; he'd go to the track and not bet for me, telling me he forgot if I didn't prove that I knew what I was doing. I thought it was funny at the time that I couldn't see the results of every race and that's never changed. I can usually see five or six out of the total. The same is true with baseball or football schedules.

"Long story short, everyone bet on my choices, but fortunately not so much as to create suspicion. My mom and dad and all of their friends bet ten bucks on the perfecta, winning almost $46,000 and I won almost four times as much. I took half knowing that my parents would have to pay income tax on their winnings and placed $10,000 into a bank account for college then invested the rest through a friend's father who is a stockbroker."

"Did that work with stocks, too?" My smile answered the question for her.

"Needless to say, my parents went to the track more often and my personal money has grown into a fortune. My friend's father no longer charges for my purchases and sales, but he does use the information with his other clients so he makes plenty that way. Then again, so do all of the brokers at Merrill Lynch. I actually have a contract that they have to make my trades first--before releasing the information to the other brokers.

"When all this happened, I was a tall skinny and bookish kid, but I loved sports even though I was terrible so I wondered if I could make myself into an athlete. For me the obvious place to do that was the public library where I could learn all about the traits and skills that great athletes have. I was able to make myself strong, fast, and quick. I love basketball so I became ambidextrous and grew my hands and feet and body to what I thought would be perfect for playing and I developed excellent depth perception. Then one day I found a set of New York State law books in the library's research section. That's where I learned that eighth graders could play high school sports with the principal's permission. I was in sixth grade then so I had time to gradually improve my body and my skills. I can dribble, shoot, and even write with both hands. I can run like the wind and jump like you wouldn't believe."

"I think I would believe even though what you've told me is unbelievable."

"Everyone in school thought I was crazy for trying out in eighth grade, but I made the team. Our first games were on a Friday night—junior varsity at six and varsity at eight. I didn't start the JV game, but I went in midway through the second quarter and played very well so the coach told me that he wanted me to suit up for the varsity game. I had to throw my sweaty uniform back on and run out to the gym to tell my parents.

"I did get to play when our first two centers got into foul trouble and again, I played well, but we lost the game. The following Tuesday I played more and we won. The next day I was promoted to first team. I've been there ever since and we never lost again, winning four straight state championships."

"Did you win any awards? Is that what they're called?"

I smiled. "Yeah... 'awards' is good. I made second team all-league in eighth, first team all-league and all-county ever since and last year I was All-State and All-American, too. I'm sorry, I've monopolized the conversation."

"Don't apologize. It's been fascinating. You probably should have been killed, but you weren't and what's happened to you has been a miracle."

"I guess it has. Are you in any school activities?"

Barbara laughed. "I have a bunch of nuns for teachers. What do you think? Besides, I have to take three buses just to get to school. That takes me more than an hour each way. I ride the red bus to Chester Heights then the blue bus to Bronxville and then transfer again to Yonkers."

"I can empathize. My dad told me I could try out for sports, but I'd have to walk home every day. It's about three and a half miles and after running my butt off for two hours it's a long walk, especially in the winter when it's dark and cold. Sometimes I walked across the Siwanoy Golf Course and the parkway. It's shorter that way, but last year I got my senior license and now I can drive which is good because I play football and baseball, too, and the baseball field is down in the Village of Tuckahoe. There's a bus back to school, but it takes almost half an hour to get there."

"You know, I've never even been to a high school game of any kind."

"Would you like to come with me Friday night? It's going to be a big game. Tuckahoe is a really small school and we're going to play New Rochelle. My mom went there and she told me that they had more than 3,000 students then. I think they still have that or more. They'll be a real challenge. They want to break our win streak. It's up to 105 now—a state record."

"I'd love to go. What time?"

"I'd have to pick you up at about 5:45 so have a bite to eat first. I'll take you out for pizza after if you like."

"That sounds great. What should I wear?"

"Jeans or slacks and a blouse, but nothing too heavy because the gym is always jammed and it gets hot." She nodded her agreement and we rose from the booth. I paid the bill, tipped the waitress and led Barbara back to my Jeep. I drove her around the block where she showed me to the entrance to her apartment. She lived on the second floor above a number of retail stores—a far cry from where I lived in a big house on a big lot on a quiet street.

* * * * *

I phoned Barbara on Wednesday evening as we had agreed. She had read about our Tuesday game against Concordia, a Lutheran private school only about two miles from mine. We destroyed them, 96-40. We had an outstanding group of seniors. Any one of the five of us could score double figures at any time and we all did in this game and we also had two skilled subs with good experience. I'd had 40 and I only played three quarters. Our point guard, Tony, had twenty-two assists, but there was nothing unusual about that.

We spoke for almost an hour and I did get to speak briefly with her foster mother, Mrs. Gleason, who told me that Barbara was really looking forward to our date on Friday. I was looking forward to it, too. Most girls were dwarfed by my six feet six inch, two-hundred and twenty-pound frame and Barbara was no exception. I estimated her height at five feet nine inches and she was slender with medium-sized breasts and shapely hips. Her face was absolutely beautiful in my opinion—perfectly oval and symmetrical with sparkling blue eyes and a small nose—nicely framed by shoulder-length lustrous reddish-brown hair. I was sure that I had a good hundred pounds on her. Looking back, I was sure I'd fallen in love at first sight.

The weather was cold and clear Friday night when I rang the bell at her apartment. An elderly woman I correctly assumed was Mrs. Gleason opened the door on the second floor. She greeted me warmly and smiled when I gave her the bouquet of flowers, I had bought for her. I was met by Mr. Gleason just inside the living room where he thanked me for stopping Barbara from falling. "I'm a bank guard now so I don't make a lot of money and Barbara doesn't have great health insurance from Social Services so any kind of injury would have been a burden on us. Of course, her welfare always comes first." I realized then that Barbara hadn't told them much about our lengthy conversation.

She appeared from a door across the living room and I could tell she was shocked by my attire. I was wearing a blue sports jacket with a white button-down shirt and a blue and gold striped tie with charcoal gray slacks and cordovan loafers. I laughed as she approached. "You're probably wondering why I'm all dressed up when I told you to dress casually. I have to dress up for games. It's a team rule, but I have some casual clothes in my car." We said good night to the Gleason's and walked quickly down the stairs to the street where I led her not to my Jeep, but to my '61 Olds Starfire convertible.

"Where's the Jeep? You have two cars?"

"Yeah, I rent a garage a couple of blocks from my home and keep one of my cars there. The Jeep is great in bad weather, but the ride is really harsh and the heater stinks." I held the door for her then sat behind the wheel and started the Olds' powerful V8 engine. Two minutes later we were on the parkway on our way to my school.

"I need to warn you... well, maybe not warn you, but I do need to tell you what will happen when we get there. The gym will be packed; it always is. The school is old—built in the early 1930's—and the gym is small. They probably violate every fire regulation ever created by packing people in at every game. They even have a TV camera that broadcasts to the cafeteria just downstairs to accommodate all of the people. I'll introduce you to my family—my mom and dad and my two youngest sisters. I have three, all younger than me, but Angela who's in tenth grade is a cheerleader. Mom and Dad are saving a seat for you. There are four men who always sit behind them. They'll get up when we walk in so I can lie down and meditate. I clear my mind of everything and go into a kind of trance until the end of the third quarter of the JV game when I wake up and go into the locker room to dress for the game. I always hug and kiss my mom and dad and my sisters and I'll do the same with you if that's okay. I've asked my mom to speak with you once I'm in the locker room."