I was nervous as I walked the street to Paul's house. If I knew why there was tension, I probably wouldn't have been so high strung. I was a fixer and I couldn't fix this because I didn't know what was broke. It was never like this before. When I first joined Yevo, Paul and I were close. He was excited for our partnership, and together, we dreamed up a vision for the mission.
At some point in the last year, everything changed.
Paul was full of contempt the moment he opened the door for me. I knew I was in for another frustrating meeting. He didn't offer coffee or water like he used to, he simply led me to the kitchen table and sat down.
I always thought he was an attractive man. He wasn't tall, maybe five-seven. He was the manager of a lumber yard. He every bit the man's man you'd expect and arrogant to boot. Now that he was being an ass, I started to notice other things, like, his nose wasn't all that great and he walked like he was trying to keep a turd from dropping.
If he had the power to fire me, I'd have been out a last year. Luckily, I was employed by Yevo and, although Paul's family had sustained the non-profit since the eighties and were key supporters, they couldn't do anything besides drive me insane.
"How's the fundraising going? Camp is less than a month away."
Ignoring his condescending tone, I pulled out my iPad and, with a few touches, I had the financials for all one-hundred-thirteen kids who were signed up.
"Great," I answered. "We finished the last fundraiser. They raised a bit more than we planned."
I scrolled through the spreadsheet which showed a breakdown of all the kids, which fundraisers they participated in, how much they earned, what their balance was, and if they earned a scholarship, that was listed also.
"How's the fundraising on your part?" I asked. Last fall we had created a camp budget. It specified how much I needed to fundraise, how much we wanted the kids to fundraise, and how much the committee would raise. Camp is quite the production and costs around one-hundred-thousand dollars total. Paul wanted me to come up short and I hadn't.
"We're almost there," he said. "We're doing one last push. I'm not worried."
He might not be worried but he was annoyed that I'd surpassed my goal when they hadn't even reached theirs. We talked more about camp and put together bullet points for the next committee meeting. He even asked if I could talk to Sam Masey about giving some money. Macey was an old friend of mine, literally, he was in his nineties. He had more money than anyone else I knew. When I told him that Sam had already been generous, and that I didn't want to push for more, he lectured me on not being a team player.
I wasn't a violent guy but something about Paul's behavior made me want to deck him in the face. I was fed up with his pointed statements and dismissive behavior.
"Nash." Paul's voice was laced with annoyance. "I noticed we don't have as many kids going to camp as we wanted. What happened there?"
"We couldn't get the spots," I pointed out. "There's other schools going and the camp has limited numbers. You know this, Paul. We addressed this months ago."
"It's just disappointing is all. It feels like you're slipping a bit. It might be time to evaluate where your priorities are. If you weren't so busy planning time away from Lincoln, we might have more kids going."
I stared at him, unbelievingly. My whole life was Yevo. I lived and breathed for the kids. I volunteered at the school so I could understand them and be in their lives. I attended almost every school event, sporting event, and judged competitions for them. I drove them around, spent countless weekends on adventures with them, raised money, and put myself out there every day, for them, for Yevo.
For the kids.
Since I became the director, the numbers have exploded. Eight kids went to camp the year before I came on. Eight. Now there was one-hundred-thirteen. That number was unheard of considering the size of our school.
"If there's a problem with my job performance I'd be happy to discuss it with the rest of the Committee present. If this is all, I'll see my way out." I was fuming. I grabbed my tablet and left before he could say anything else to cut me down. Something had soured him and I literally had no clue what it could be.
****
I was practically exploding when I entered the house, slamming the front door behind me. I paced around and then started cleaning things that didn't need cleaning. That's what I did when I was angry, I cleaned. More like slammed things around in frustration while I stewed. I was in my head for so long I almost missed the game.
I didn't want to miss the playoff game but I was so angry I was shaking. I figured that if I didn't want to be a pissy asshole then I needed to run off my frustration.
It was amazing. I made it to the ballfield in record time. I think my anger metabolized into some sort of unbridled energy. I ran faster and harder than I ever had and I still felt like I had energy to spare as I walked the final distance to the bleachers.
Running had done its job; I was feeling better.
I was buying a bottle of water from the small parent run concession when I heard my name being yelled.
"Cushman!"
I found a group of fifteen kids waving me over. The bleachers were full but they made room as I climbed to the top.
"What's up Ninja Nash?" David greeted, making everyone laugh.
Ninja Nash was supposed to be a one-time character I used during a special edition club for night games. The character and the skit were a huge hit and since I had worn my running clothes to save money, Ninja Nash never died.
It always surprised me that parents never wanted to spend time with their kids because they have better things to do only to turn around and complain that their kids don't want anything to do with them. There were times that they drove me insane but otherwise I really enjoyed our times together. I thought they were hilarious and surprisingly insightful.
I sat with everyone for a while and talked about nothing and everything until I saw Tim, a friend of mine. I excused myself to say hi. We didn't hang out often but we'd been friends for years and I enjoyed his company.
"So, this is what teenagers have done to your fashion, huh? Very Tiger Beat of you," he teased my spandex running outfit.
"Tiger Beat?" I asked, surprised he remembered the popular teen bop magazine from middle school. "What would you know about Tiger Beat?"
"I know they always had a blonde boy-band on the cover."
"Yeah? You remember all the covers that had blonde boy-bands on the cover?" I raised a brow, genuinely humored by his response.
"Shut up. I just meant that you're blonde." He rolled his eyes but his cheeks pinked. "Your hair looks good by the way," he reached out and pulled at the blonde hair that was sticking out every which way because of my elastic headband.
Tim was never good at jokes, but he sure found himself funny. He made a few more lame jokes that didn't come close to actually insulting me before Ryan and a few other guys, including his brother Logan, joined us. They come straight from work. Ryan wore a ball cap and tattered sweatshirt with his company logo. His boots and jeans were in the same terrible shape.
Logan was cleaner than his brother, who was covered in concrete dust, but dirty enough to have that hot construction guy thing going on.
