When Two Worlds Collide

All Cyrus Clayton ever wanted was a safe home for his family. Cy and his younger brother Chad had grown up in one of the rougher parts of the city where everyone had bars on the windows to keep the burglars out. To get to school they had to walk past alleys with rodents rustling in the trash and the acrid smell of pollution wafting over the street. The neighborhood was infested also with street gangs and drug dealers who hung out on corners trying to ply their wares to unsuspecting children. Nights were pierced by screaming sirens and gunfire.

Their dad Thadeus worked two jobs, and their mom Maribel took in seamstress work to help make ends meet and scrape together whatever they could save in hopes of someday escaping to a better life. Thad told the boys, “I’ll get you out of this hell hole or die trying!”

As it turned out he did just that. One night while working the late shift at the Quik Stop over on Radcliffe Street, he was shot and killed by some junkie who needed some money for his next score.

Being the oldest son, Cy quit school and went to work at the paper mill to help Maribel pay the bills. Determined to pursue Thad’s dream of escape, he studied late into the night after a grueling day in the mill to earn his G.E.D. Then he signed up for evening classes at the local technical college, where he learned to operate construction equipment. After getting his certification, he applied for a job with the state Department of Transportation, which paid a lot more than the paper mill.

Every day he came home from the mill and eagerly asked his mom, “Did we get anything from the D.O.T. today? Any phone calls?”

She would respond, “No calls today.”

“Any mail?”

“A couple of bills is all.”

After dinner he would sit in the easy chair in the living room to read the newspaper but was unable to concentrate. He would stand and go to the window and stare out for a few minutes. Then he would run his fingers through his jet black hair and ask, “Why haven’t we heard from them? I was at the top of my class. I know I’m qualified!”

Maribel, trying to calm him, would say, “Have patience, Son. They probably have a lot of applications to review before making a decision.”

Then Cy would sit back down and turn on the television, flipping from channel to channel until finally giving up and going to bed.

This restless anticipation went on for two weeks before the Human Resources manager for the D.O.T. finally called and offered him a job operating a road grader. After the man explained the starting salary, location of the job and hours, Cy’s heart was pounding with excitement, and he said in a near shout, “Yes!!”

Working long hours in the hot sun on dusty roadbeds, he came home weary every night, took a long hot shower to wash the grimy sweat from his muscular frame, and ate a solid meal of Maribel’s fried chicken, okra and apple pie before turning in for a good night’s sleep. The long hours were tiring, but he felt it was worth it because they finally had some spare money to put into savings after paying the bills and he saw progress toward his goal.

One day, on the way home from work, he stopped at the supermarket to pick up some salad fixings for Maribel. The checkout clerk was a young woman with warm brown eyes, wavy shoulder-length raven hair and a slender build. Her soft voice had a musical quality that grabbed his attention as she greeted him and then gave him the total charge for his purchase.

Over the next few weeks, Cy found an excuse to stop at the store almost every day and always went through that one checkout station, even if there were shorter lines at others. They exchanged pleasantries, and he tried to strike up a conversation. She responded with an appealing grace but was pressed to keep her line moving. One day he mentioned watching the Academy Awards the night before and asked her what she thought of the film that won the award.

She responded, “I haven’t seen it yet, but I’ve heard that it’s great.”

Jumping at the opportunity, Cy said, “It’s playing at the Cinemax on Friday night. Would you like to go?”

“Sure. I haven’t had a chance to get out much since we moved to town a couple of months ago. By the way, my name is Chantel Simmons.”

“I’m Cy Clayton. 7:30 okay?”

“Great. I’ll see you then.”

After the movie they went for a walk in the park near her home. The world of Chantel Simmons was much different from Cyrus Clayton’s world. You could take a walk at night without the fear of getting caught in the crossfire of some drive-by shooting. In spite of the different backgrounds, they felt a connection and started spending a lot of time together, going to the lake or amusement park on weekends and the movies or just sitting and talking in the evenings. Cy found Chantel invading his dreams while he slept.

Their friendship blossomed into love. One night during a walk in the moonlight, they stopped to sit on a bench. Cy dropped down on one knee in front of her and said, “Chantel, I love you and want to spend the rest of my life with you. Will you marry me?”

With a blush on her cheek and a tear in her eye, she said, “Yes!” After a long embrace, they sat together with her head on his broad shoulder and made their plans.

They lived in a small apartment until the first baby, Joseph, arrived. Since Chantel had been living with her parents before the wedding, she had been able to save most of her earnings, and Cy had worked his way up to project foreman. By pooling their savings, they were able to put a down payment on a nice three bedroom ranch-style house in a middle-class neighborhood. It wasn’t far in distance from where Cy grew up, but it was worlds away as far as quality of life was concerned. The neighborhoods were separated by a small patch of woods, a weedy strip of land cleared for power lines, a drainage ditch, and a six-foot hedge of shrubbery.

The house was large enough to accommodate a growing family and had a patio and a spacious yard. The neighbors were friendly and frequently helped each other with the yard work. Chantel planted beds of geraniums, marigold and dianthus, which added color to the neatly trimmed lawn.

The Clayton family attended the First Baptist Church and participated in church programs focused on helping troubled children and the needy. Cy appreciated his good fortune in finally achieving his escape from the repressive environment of his youth and wanted to help others to do the same.

As the years passed, little Joey was followed by Katherine and then Andrew. Joey was growing up to be a spitting image of his dad with jet black hair and an athletic frame. While excelling scholastically, he was also captain of the baseball and football teams. Katie had her mother’s musical voice and sang in the church choir as well as playing in the soccer league. Little Andy was a precocious youngster who was determined to follow in his big brother’s footsteps.

One Saturday afternoon, Cy was on the patio getting the grill ready for a barbecue while Chantel was in the kitchen preparing the burgers for cooking and potato salad. Young Andy was ferrying supplies from the kitchen to the patio as Cy started up the grill.

They heard a commotion beyond the hedges at the back of the yard and then a popping sound. Andy crumbled to the ground. Cy yelled out, “Andy!” and ran to him.

Chantel came running through the back door. When she saw Cy kneeling over Andy’s limp body on the ground, she screamed, “My baby! No! No! Not my baby!”

Joey, who had been washing Chantel’s SUV in the driveway, came around the corner of the house in response to the outburst. Cy shouted, “Quick, Son, call 911,” as he tried to stop the bleeding.

The EMS medics arrived and administered first aid as they put Andy on a gurney and loaded him into the ambulance. But it was all for naught. The doctor pronounced little Andy dead on arrival at the hospital.

Cy trembled and had trouble maintaining his composure as he explained to police officers what had happened. Between sobs, Chantel wiped the tears from her puffy eyes and implored them, “Please find the monster who killed my baby!” They assured her that they would do everything in their power to bring the killer to justice.

Among the reports of crime received at the police station that day was one of an armed robbery in a neighborhood not far from the Claytons’ home. Derek Parker, a 16 year-old teenager reported that he had been shopping for shoes and was walking home along a footpath through the power line right of way when he was accosted by a young man with a gun. The robber had fired the gun to intimidate him before taking his new shoes and running away. Derek told the police that the robber had thrown the weapon into a clogged drainage ditch covered with green slime beside the footpath as he ran from the scene. He described the robber to the police sketch artist, and a bulletin was issued showing the artist’s rendition of the robber’s face.

The police drained the polluted drainage ditch along the footpath where the robbery occurred. Among the empty beer cans, broken wine bottles and other flotsam they found a gun similar to the one described by the robbery victim. The serial number on the gun was traced to a Felix Farnsworth, who lived in the crime-ridden neighborhood where Cyrus Clayton had lived as a youngster. Ballistic testing identified the weapon as the gun that had fired the bullet that killed Andrew Clayton. Mr. Farnsworth didn’t match the description on the police bulletin, and he told police detectives he had been at work at the time of the robbery. He said he kept the weapon as protection against home invasion. The detectives interviewed his surly 16 year-old son, who had no alibi for the time of the robbery and matched the sketch on the police bulletin. After Derek Parker picked him out of a lineup, he was charged with armed robbery and manslaughter. He was tried, convicted, and sentenced to 25 years in prison.

Now, as the Claytons mourn the death of their son, Felix Farnsworth grieves over his son whose life was consumed by the social malignancy Cyrus Clayton had worked so hard to escape.