Light Up L.A., Mr. Hinkley - FOREWARD

Los Angeles, California. March, 1981528Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡf8GV6brDpL
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Eyes closed, Richard Baillie yawned, stretched his arms wide, and wished he could have stayed in bed for another hour. He opened his eyes and groaned as he realized he had to get up and go to school. He got dressed, grabbed his bag, and trudged out the door. He was determined to make the most of the day, even though it had already gotten off to a sluggish start. Behind him the radio droned pleasantly, and the blender whirred his breakfast shake of milk, eggs, wheat germ, honey, and juice. He smiled at the thought of the nutritious meal waiting for him. He was determined to make the most of the day, and the energy from his shake would give him the strength to do so.

".....six twenty-eight on this bright, beautiful morning, folks. The sun is shining and the birds are chirping, a perfect start to the day. The temperature is a balmy seventy-five degrees, with a light breeze coming in from the east. It's going to be a great day. Weatherman predicts a high in the 80s and a low around 50. For those on the freeways, watch out for flying debris. Enjoy the sunshine and be sure to wear suntan lotion if you'll be outside. Have a wonderful day! Reports of an overturned 18-wheeler....."

Richard looked out of the kitchen window, feeling groggy and tired. He had stayed up late the night before, watching a movie. He had not been able to get to sleep until the early hours of the morning. He dreaded the long day ahead of him. He could see a brown film covering the hills across the valley. He knew it was smog, caused by the factories near the city. He sighed, feeling overwhelmed. He wished he had been able to get some rest the night before and he wondered how he would make it through the day. He breathed in and felt the air sting his lungs. He wished he could do something to improve the air quality around him, but he knew he was powerless to do so. He steeled himself, determined to make it through the day, no matter how difficult it may be. He put on a brave face and set out for the day. He reminded himself of the bigger picture and the goal he was working towards. He resolved to take things one step at a time and trust that things would work out. With newfound courage, he began his day. He shook his head, knowing he had to take action. As he scratched his leg just below his maroon running shorts, he noticed how the wind was pulling at the Catalina cherry bushes along the driveway. He took a deep breath, realizing that he was capable of anything. He smiled, feeling the warmth of the sun on his skin, and headed off to begin his day. The gusts were so strong that they were bending the pine tree in the Del Carlo's yard next door. He stepped out of his house and began walking, feeling a strong sense of determination in his heart. He knew that he could do anything he set his mind to and he was ready to start his journey.

Larkin insisted that they tackle a grueling 10-mile route today, conquering the challenging hills ahead. They hiked for hours, pushing themselves to keep going. By the end of the journey, they had reached the summit, feeling proud of their accomplishment. With an unwavering gaze, he challenged them to resist any urge to whine or protest. They accepted his challenge and proceeded to tackle the even more grueling route he had prepared for the next day. He was determined to push them to their limits, and he was sure they would meet his expectations. "You know, this will greatly enhance your endurance," he declared. With a satisfied smile, he watched as they made their way down the mountain. He knew he had done his job, and it was now up to them to continue to push themselves. He had given them the tools to reach the summit, now it was time for them to take the next step. His eyes gleamed with determination as he continued, "I have no doubt that on Thursday, you're gonna whoop San Marino. Right?"

"Right!" the team had echoed in unison. The team was unanimous in their agreement and ready to move forward with the plan. They all felt confident that it was the right path to take. They were eager to start executing the strategy and make it a success.

At least he wouldn't sweat. He had made the decision to stay inside all day and he was content with it. The air conditioning was cool and he was able to relax with no worries. He was happy to have the day off and enjoy the comfort of his home. The wind was dry and scorching, blowing fiercely from the desert, pushing away the smog towards the ocean. Running those initial 5 miles would be a breeze. He changed into his running clothes and laced up his shoes. He stepped outside and welcomed the heat of the sun. He began his run, feeling the heat on his skin and the wind on his face .The forceful gusts of wind would propel him forward effortlessly. But the return journey? That was an entirely different story. The way back was a struggle, as the wind had turned against him. He pushed through the wind, using every bit of energy he had left. After what felt like an eternity, he finally arrived back at his doorstep, exhausted but proud of himself. It would feel like dragging heavy weights behind him, especially with all that dusty air obstructing his breath. Not to mention the incessant itching and occasional nosebleeds caused by the swirling particles.

Turning off the blender in a hurry, he took off the cover and raised the container to his mouth. He took a big gulp of the shake and felt the texture of the fruits and vegetables he had blended together. He savored the taste as he closed his eyes and sighed. With both hands firmly gripping it, he tilted his head back just like his brother Washington used to do, and eagerly drank every drop. He smiled and opened his eyes, feeling energized and ready to start his day. He put the container in the sink and thanked the memory of his brother for teaching him this ritual.

".....the government continues to deny knowledge of a possible theft of weapons-grade plutonium from the Bettis Atomic Power Laboratory in West Mifflin, Pennsylvania. The Department of Energy has refused to comment on the matter, citing "national security concerns," despite the fact that the laboratory has been closed since January. Rumors of the theft have circulated for weeks, but no conclusive evidence has been found. One of President Reagan's national security advisors....."

With a quick and fluid motion, he effortlessly adjusted the dial using just one hand.

"....Ignoring a midnight deadline, negotiators in the air traffic controller talks searched early today for a way to avert a strike that could ground half the nation's commercial flights later in the day...."

He made a disgusted face and changed the channel again. He muttered something under his breath and then slumped back into the couch with a sigh. He shook his head and grabbed the remote, scrolling through the channels in search of something interesting to watch. Ugh, the news is just so dull! It's always about one person killing another or endless talk of taxes and wasted money. He just wanted something to take his mind off of the world and relax for a while. He quickly gave up. Nothing on the radio seemed worth listening to. Boring! But honestly, what can he really do about any of it? If he dwelled too much on all the yucky things in the world, he'd drive himself crazy. Plus, there are already enough things going on at home and school that he can't control.

He stumbled upon a different station that instantly captivated his attention. Intrigued by the announcer's soothing presence, he carefully placed the blender bowl in the sink and allowed his imagination to wander. A gentle curiosity washed over him as he wondered what this enigmatic lady might look like. Was she adorned with cascading waves of golden hair or perhaps possessed eyes as enchanting as emerald jewels? His mind danced with possibilities, painting vivid pictures of her appearance based solely on the allure of her voice. "K-X-L-A," she sang in that sultry, warm voice he liked so much in Stacey. "Los An-ge-lus."

"Oh no!" he exclaimed, cursing under his breath as Ossie's car horn blared angrily. He had specifically asked his buddy not to do that. It had the annoying habit of waking up his parents and putting them in a bad mood. "You should've been out there waiting for him, so he wouldn't disturb the entire neighborhood," his mom scolded earlier. Yeah, she was right. But now it was too late, even for a quick trip to the bathroom.

In a rush, he hurried back to his bedroom, determined to find his day pack. As he scanned the room, he spotted his jeans lying at the foot of the bed. Not too far away, the Government text lay abandoned on the floor next to a worn-out notebook covered in Stacey's name. Washington always mocked him for his messy habits, calling him a pig. Richard would often counter with a playful jab about Washington's obsessive cleanliness and speculated that he must have had strict toilet training. This ongoing banter between them never seemed to end.

The loud blaring of the horn filled the air once more, its sound stretching out longer and becoming even more urgent.

"Damn," he muttered under his breath. He quickly crammed his books into his backpack, making sure not to forget anything, and bolted from the room.

"Richard!"

"Yeah, what?" He leaned his head into the doorway of his brother's room. "What? I'm late."

Sitting up in bed, propped on one elbow, Washington shot him an intense glare. "Can't you keep it down?"

"Turd!"

"Nerd!" he heard yelled after him.

"Same to you," he mumbled as he raced down the stairs.528Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡkGgxFeROEb
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"We're gonna be late," Ossie excitedly shouted out as Richard hopped into the car. "Larkin's gonna have our hides." With a screech of tires, he zoomed down the driveway.

Couldn't get up. Studied till after two for that dumb math test, and I still don't feel ready."

"You never feel prepared. Then you always get a hundred. Hey, how's the knee doing?"

He sighed and shrugged his shoulders. The pain stung, but he found a way to endure it. "I'm supposed to go easy on it for a few days but fat chance with Larkin on my case." He turned to look at his friend. "You going to the sock-hop tonight?"

"I dunno."

"Washington's going. With Stacey."

"Figures."

It really stung when Washington swooped in and snatched Stacey away just when Richard finally got up the nerve to ask her out. It wasn't fair! He spotted her first, and he was the one who struck up a conversation when she moved onto their street. And just like that, Washington took her from him. Ugh, it hurt so him much.

"She's beautiful," he'd told Washington.

"With those railroad tracks? Your taste is in your feet."

And when he'd included Stacey in their hikes, Washington would ask, "Why'd you invite that airhead along?"

But things had changed since then. Stacey became so attached to Washington that nothing could tear them apart now. And honestly, who could blame her? Who would actually fawn over a guy like him? He was only 16 but he looked more like a prepubescent child of 12. With his scrawny frame and barely-there chin hairs, he was hardly the most appealing guy around. His shoulders and rear end were practically identical in size! It was no wonder nobody would look twice at him.

"So?" Ossie repeated, pulling into the high school's parking lot just next to the gym. "You going?"

Larkin's Legion, also known as the track-team, marched out of the gym in unison, their warm-up exercises resembling Nazi-style goose-stepping. Richard quickly snatched his backpack from the car and forcefully slammed the door shut behind him. "I hate going alone. I get all nervous and sweaty and say such dumb things."

Ossie fell in beside him. "At least you talk. Me? I go blank."

"So let's go together. We'll have each other to talk to." Richard stiffened as Larkin came out of the gym.

"Hey, you apes!" the coach shouted. "Get your fingers outta your asses! Outside warming up in one minute or you can add two miles to the ten!"

Richard hurriedly ran towards his locker, feeling the anxiety well up inside him. His trembling fingers struggled to open the lock, taking two attempts before he finally succeeded. Whenever Larkin or anyone else got angry with him, he would always become so nervous. He would have casually walked over to his locker as if time was no concern at all.528Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡTqaDyO2Emi
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"When're you picking up Stacey?" Richard stood in front of the mirror in Washington's room, gazing at his reflection and pondering whether he should trim the sparse hairs on his chin or leave them be. A question floated through his mind – would cutting his hair more often make it grow faster?

"Right after dinner." Washington gently raised the arm of his player turntable, carefully placing the stylus down. The majestic melody of Beethoven's Ninth Symphony embraced the room, filling it with a captivating aura. With a touch of excitement, he increased the volume to fully immerse himself in the experience.

Sometimes Richard wondered if Washington really needed to have the music blaring so loudly, or if he simply wanted everyone to know that he had a refined taste in classical melodies. He picked up his guitar and slumped against the bed on the floor. Strumming chords, he tuned out the noise.

"Get the hell out of here if you're going to play that now!" Washington turned on him abruptly. "Go on, get out!"

"The trouble with you, Wash, is you can't concentrate on more'n one thing at a time. Weak brain." Richard tapped his head with a finger and grinned. The only time Washington noticed him was when he did something irritating. "Mom's calling. You get a hearing problem?"

Washington turned down the volume, frowning.

"Washington? Do you hear me?" their mother called. "Come on down. I need you to cut up the roast. Washington?"

"Why doesn't she ever need you?" Washington exclaimed in frustration. He hastily stuck his head out of the door to inform her that he would be there shortly. With deliberate care, he took his time removing the record from the player, gently sliding it back into its protective sleeve, and returning it to its designated spot on the shelf. Richard observed this with curiosity as he strummed his guitar. A pang of disappointment struck him as he wondered why Mom hadn't called him to carve the roast. It seemed like she hardly ever trusted him with any of the more enjoyable tasks. Setting aside the guitar, Richard made up his mind to investigate what was happening downstairs.

Mom greeted them with a warm smile on her face. Richard could tell right away that she must be behind on the laundry again, because she was wearing Washington's T-shirt, which was way too big for her. Her paint-splattered jeans and sneakers completed her casual look. The shirt said: "No Nukes Is Good Nukes."

"Sharpen the carving knife first, Washington." She nodded at the roast and bent to find the carving board. "And slice it thin."

"I can do it!" Richard darted around his brother and grabbed for the knife, but Washington stopped his hand.

"No way! You'd probably slice off a finger."

"Mom!"

His mother hesitated, then said, "You set the table for us, honey. Dad's due home any minute now."

"I'm just as good at carving as he is!"

"Richard, please."

"Setting the table is girl's work!"

"Richard!"

He yanked at the silverware drawer, and everything fell to the floor.

Washington stifled a laugh.

His mother sighed, gave him an annoyed scowl, and bent to help pick up the pieces.

Hating himself for such clumsiness, he tried a joke. "Teenage boys grow so fast, they're not very well coordinated."

Washington snorted and whisked the knife back and forth over the sharpening tool, eyes on Richard.

"Well, it's true! Okay, so I made it up, but it's probably true." When his mother looked doubtful, he added, "Anytime you need a useful fact, just ask me. I make 'em up to suit any occasion."

His mother shook her head and giggled. Washington's face broke into a reluctant grin. It would be all right.

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"So, how's my family doing?" his father asked at dinner, helping himself to a slice of beef. He nodded to each of them. "How's school going?"

"Hard," his mother answered first. "I've got two papers to finish by next week and an exam to study for. This roast is going to be the last good meal you'll have a for a while. After this, it's cold cuts."

"What about you, Washington? You get that chemistry test grade yet?"

"I did okay, I guess. B minus."

Richard shot a quick look at his brother, Washington. The poor guy had been so anxious the night before the big test that he ended up puking his guts out. It was kind of amusing in a way because no matter how confident he seemed on the surface; his stomach always spilled the beans. But shh, don't tell anyone outside of the family about this embarrassing secret.

"And you, Rich? How'd the math test go?" his dad asked.

He'd gotten a 97 but wasn't about to brag about it, not now, after Washington's news, so he said, "Pretty good. And how was your tiddlywink game today, Dad?"

It was a running joke in their family from their childhood days that their dad's only job was playing tiddlywinks at work. Little did Richard know, his father actually spent his days sitting at a desk, solving enormous equations that made any math Richard knew seem like child's play. To Richard's amazement, these solutions were crucial in helping engineers construct incredible things, such as A-bombs. It truly dawned on him how much intelligence and expertise his father possessed.

"You know," his mother mused before his father could answer, "we talked about the mess the world's in in poli. sci. class today. I said that if women were running the world there'd be no wars, no crime, no terrorism. I think I'm going to run for public office when I get my degree."

"Hah!" Washington said. "Last week you were ready to run off to Africa to study pygmies."

"And the week before you were going to be a social worker," his dad said.

"Mom? What are you going to be when you grow up?"

"It's not funny, you guys. We've now got 47 wars going on in the world today, and you're making jokes. And then there's that plutonium theft the government is trying hard to say never happened!"

"Ma? When're you going to do another wash? I'm out of socks. I'm out of everything," Washington complained.

"I've got socks," Richard said.

"You?! Not on your life! Yours are so gross, I'm surprised they don't get up and slither away."

"Boy! Try to start an intelligent conversation around here!" His mother shook her head then turned to Washington. "If you need clean clothes that badly, you know what you do? You go into the utility room, and there's this rectangular white object. It's called a washing machine. And you take...."

"Okay, okay. Will do!" Washington rolled his eyes to the sky.

"You look pretty sharp to me," Richard said, looking his brother over. Washington's dark good looks and manly build made anything he wore look good.

"I do?"

"Yup. The girls'll be all over you. You'll have to fight 'em off with a samurai sword. And Stacey...."

"Richard!" his mother warned.

He reacted by sitting up very properly, hands clasped. "Yes, ma'am."

"Let's get these dishes cleared. You guys have a dance to go to, and you're not going to leave me with all the work. Up!"

Richard jumped to his feet. "First a hoo." He pounced on his mother as she started out of the room, dishes in hand.

"Richard, no!"

"Just one." He grabbed her from behind and squeezed so that her breath came out in a whoosh, making a hoo sound. He squeezed again.

"Richard, leave me alone!"

Every time Richard hooed his mother, she laughed, so he did it again. But she wasn't laughing now. She turned around and cried, "Stop it! Don't make an ass of yourself! Enough is enough!"

"Okay, okay." Feeling hurt, he stepped back and grabbed a few plates before making his way into the kitchen. A pang of sadness lingered in his heart as he noticed an unsettling glance exchanged between Washington and his parents. It was as if they were sharing something secretive, leaving him out like an outsider.

When were they finally going to acknowledge his worth, like they did with Washington?

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