Miles Lincoln: A Sample from the Novel

Miles Lincoln was a tall man, a rather tall man. He stood 6’10 but most people guessed him to be around 7’0 ft.  He did not mind this misconception, he actually quite enjoyed it.  When one is tall or larger than most one tends to get confidence; they build a conception that they are superior to others.  If you wanted to find this conception in its abundance, you did not have to look further than Miles Lincoln. Miles had been a star basketball player, had attended North Carolina and played for a brief time in the NBA.  Though most of his time had been spent in a folded chair to hear him talk about it, it was like he had won a MVP award.  He bragged about going up against the great Dwight Howard.  Apparently he had blocked him but who knows. Miles had always loved basketball but the thing he loved more was teaching.

            While at North Carolina, between the parties and national championship, Miles had been able to obtain a degree in education and gotten certified as a teacher.  When he had taught summer school all of the kids had idolized him; gathered around him like he was some sort of god.  Miles might have told everyone else that he did it for the kids, for the joy in teaching them live lessons but really it was his ego that superseded all of that bullshit.  When he was teaching he felt like the kids where getting the best teaching provided; which was by him.  Whenever he stepped into the classroom he knew he would change someone’s live; that’s how much confidence existed in Miles rather large head.  This is the exact attitude that attracted the Thinker schools to recruit Miles to represent them.

            Miles was teaching in his home town of Odessa, Texas when he had heard of a new school coming to the area.  Miles had loved the idea of the Thinkers, the best and brightest leading the way, showing others the light at the end of the tunnel. He, himself, thought he was capable of being one, of showing the way.  When he saw the job announcement that they were looking for people to help out in any way he immediately jumped on the opportunity to show these “thinkers” that he belonged with them. Miles set up an appointment and the school was quite impressed with his appearance and drive.  Miles, though, would not be given a teaching job but would find his true calling in selling and recruiting for the school. Miles was not in the classroom, not “changing lives” but he was the face of the school, the representative.  This was enough to satisfy his ego.  The way he looked at it, these Thinker teachers would not have a job if it wasn’t for him.  He was hoping on this trip to make the teachers even more grateful for having him around.

            Patrick Smith, the boys name, the file really spoke wonders of him. He had produced greatly in the test but to Miles that meant nothing.  That’s way they did the test and then sent him in.  A face to face meeting, in Miles opinion, superseded any test.  He had been doing this job for 5 years now, and he knew when he saw a Thinker.  Even at a young age you could tell.  They would often keep to themselves, seeming to be in another place but at the same time they would be right there, looking at you.  Yes, that look, that was the main thing.

            Miles could clearly recall a recruiting trip to one Marcus Deeds, an 8 year old subject in Richmond, Virginia.  Miles had gone to the house, had coffee with the mother, talked shop with the father and had then felt a strange numb feeling on the top of his back.  Upon turning around his eyes had met with Marcus’s.  These eyes were bright green, and did not blink in the 10 seconds that Miles stared at them.  These were eyes that seemed to look into the depths of Miles’s soul; dissecting his life as intricately as a skilled surgeon. Marcus Deeds found out more about Miles in those 10 seconds then Miles’ parents ever knew.  These eyes were built for reading, for taking in everything. Marcus was now a thriving 12 year old at the Thinker school in Richmond, all thanks to Mr. Lincoln.

As he stepped out of the taxi in front of the modest house of the Smiths, he remembered the look, and hoped to get the same from young Patrick.

Knock, Knock.

“Hello, Mr. Smith I assume. My name is Miles Lincoln I represent the Thinkers,” Miles said looking down at the short man.

“Oh, hello, I wasn’t expecting you so early but it’s all good. Come in, Come in,” Mr. Smith said, studying Miles up and down.

He sure wasn’t expecting to answer the door and find a giant standing there, but life is full of surprises.  Miles Lincoln? He recognized the name from somewhere, some sport hero he thought.  Seemed a nice man but Mr. Smith knew that he was just being exposed to the cover and would have to read the book before judging Miles Lincoln.

“Would you like anything to drink Mr. Lincoln, maybe some coffee?” Mr. Smith said, as Miles crouched down to enter the house through the door.

“I would love some water with ice if you got it,” Miles said standing but having to crouch quick to avoid the fan. He figured he would just remain bent at the upper back to avoid any other hazards.  The position looked uncomfortable but Miles had gotten used to it over the years. Besides, this position gave him a better view of the whole house.

The living room was modestly arranged, with two couches and a television set up in the ideal central location of the room.  There were many military pictures; soldiers of past generations. This family had had many a soldiers but from looking at the elder Smith Miles could tell that he intended to be the last in the line. His eyes showed too much content and longing; not for himself but possibly for his son.

“My father was in Iraqi. Terrible mess that turned out to be don’t you think Mr. Smith,” Miles said turning his head to Mr. Smith, who was standing at the sink.

“Well, that’s where I happened to see my first action, Mr. Lincoln. I was serving my country sir and that’s all I’ll say about that. Here’s your water,” Mr. Smith said, quite sternly.

Miles knew that answer; that was the answer his father always gave him when he had discussed the politics of the war. As a soldier his father never complained, never discussed policies or such.  Miles had always pestered him but never got an answer. At the time Miles had perceived his dad to be hard headed and not much of an intellectual. As Miles got older he respected his dad for his stance because it had propelled Miles to strive to be original; to be special.  Mr. Smith, it seemed, with considering to put his son in a Thinker school was trying to branch out as well; something Miles’s father never did.

“Thank you, Mr. Smith.  Is there any place where we can talk before I see Patrick?” Miles asked, sipping the water.

“Why would you need to see Patrick? I thought all the tests were done,” Mr. Smith said, sounding agitated.

“Yes, all the tests are done sir. I would just like to see the boy and get a feel for him. I know the school inside and out Mr. Smith. I know who will succeed and who will fail. I know the best teachers and the worst teachers. I am a representative and I represent the school and the school’s interests. The school’s interests are, of course, to teach young people to become Thinkers but in order to first do this we must have adequate students to teach. The tests are a portion of finding out if the student is adequate. Do you want to know what the other portion is?”

“I am assuming it has something to do with this visit,” Mr. Smith said, liking the confidence exerted by the man.

“Correct. You see I am the eyes and ears of the school. I observe and take in the students that are being evaluated for enrollment and I conclude. These conclusions I make will make or break your child’s chances of being officially accepted into the school. I say this now so you are fully aware of the visit. Now, where can we talk?” Miles said, smiling.

“Right in the kitchen, at that table should be good. That’s where I meet and talk with my friends and associates. You are one of those aren’t you Mr. Lincoln?”

“Yes. Since I am than why don’t you call me Miles, Mr. Smith.”

“Okay, Miles,” Mr. Smith said leading the way to the kitchen table.

Mr. Smith sat down, looking at the peculiar site of a 7 foot man squeezing into the small kitchen table chair. This man reminded him of some of the hot gun recruits that came in. Mr. Smith liked those recruits but what he liked even more was breaking them and then building them up, making them more confident than ever. With Miles, though, it seemed that it would be impossible to make his confidence higher. This was a good and bad thing Mr. Smith thought.

“Well,” Miles said.”Let’s start with questions from you, about the school, the teachers, etc,” he said, shifting back and forth trying to get comfortable in the chair.

“What kind of education will my son be getting? I am not really familiar with the Thinker curriculum, actually I don’t think anyone is,” Mr. Smith said, interested.

“The basic curriculum starts with the skills anyone would need to survive in this world, Mr. Smith. Math, the social studies, English, basically the same things taught in a public school.  The only difference being that it is all at an accelerated rate. The basics of all subjects, in Patrick’s case, would be all taught to him by the time he turns 13. We deal with exceptional students so thus we can have this accelerated rate of teaching,” Miles said, crossing his legs and finding a comfortable position.

“What if the students can’t keep up, I guess they fall behind. Do you compensate for that?”

“In the earlier stages of teaching we can compensate for slowness. This is only because we have found, in studies, that there is a transition period for some students; being away from home and all that causes them to become lax and feel out of place.  We expect this period to last between 6 or 8 months. By then we found that the children start to take in their situation and make the most of it. 

If one of the children were to fall behind in his or her 4^th year at the school we would watch the situation closely for around 2 months. If there is no improvement within this time period we take it upon ourselves to reevaluate the student.  There is really no room for stragglers at this school.  That is way it is a Thinker school, Mr. Smith. Only the best come in but only the better of the best come out. That’s a little phrase I carry around with me. I like it but if you read in to it too much then it really doesn’t make any sense,” Miles said, laughing.

“So, if my son were to fall behind he would be kicked out, is that what you’re saying?” Mr. Smith said.

“He would be reevaluated sir; reevaluated.”

Reevaluated, wow, this guy really did think he was the shit, Mr. Smith thought.

“What are the costs like, to attend the school?”

“Well, sir, that is the great part. It is free, completely free. You see, what we do there is, we build for the world’s future; the worlds. We teach with the sole purpose of changing the world, for the better, through our students.  Our services are for the world, not for any profit or individual gain. Throw away the pep talk and, well, we are government funded,” Miles said smiling.

“It seems like since you are government funded, some money would be going away from the public schooling system.”

“Yes, I suppose. But, of the schools where do you think it would be better spent? With thousands of children who might succeed or fail or with a select few who’s only option after coming out of our school is succeeding?”

“Well, I like to think that every child can succeed with the proper chance.  Just because one child does well on one test doesn’t mean that they should be given any less of an opportunity,” Mr. Smith said, thinking back to the damn SATs.

“Yes, Mr. Smith, if only it could work like that. America is the place of second chances, but that’s only if you really mess up. If one has one bad test day , like let’s say in taking the SATs, they will face the consequences the rest of their life. But, in these situations, when all the cards are on the table is when great people, smart people step up to the challenge.  If you can’t step up then you must step down,” Miles said, sipping on his water.

“Survival of the fittest or a slow wending out of people, kind of like something I would do with a new batch of recruits. It seems to work with recruits but with children? My son is only five. I guess what I am trying to say is, how can we sit here and say that my son can succeed and survive when he can so easily be turned away at the first sign of failure?” Mr. Smith said, tearing up in the eyes.

“We cannot Mr. Smith, the only thing we can tell is…,” Miles said pausing, as he saw a head peak around the couch that was in the adjacent living room.

The eyes read right through him, analyzing all of Miles’s life in five seconds. Miles had seen the same eyes in other kids but these eyes, these were very original. The boy’s green eyes were the only eyes that Miles had seen power in.  This boy was hiding so much, holding so much power behind those eyes and he didn’t even know it.  This power, though, was it good? Miles was overwhelmed by it; taken aback; his chest filling up like he had just held his breath under water. Miles had seen power in the wrong hands, power used not for the good of humanity but for individual gain.  This boy was innocent, had no idea of his potential. What if this potential was unleashed? Would it serve a greater good or would it make this world an even worse place?

“With education at this school, no one can fail…blah…blah…blah,” Miles’s interviewer had said when he had gone to become a part of the Thinker organization. For the first time since Miles had taken the job he began to feel that this school, might bring out parts of this child that should not be brought out. But, this boy could offer so much, could help so many people Miles thought. Just because he rubs you the wrong way, well, it doesn’t mean anything.  For the first time, Miles began to question his importance, his value; for the first time Miles did not feel in control.  The boy, his damn eyes, were controlling him, making him unsure of himself.

“There he is, my boy. Patrick why don’t you come on over and say hello to Miles,” Mr. Smith said, ushering Patrick over.

Patrick was quite taken aback by the giant that was sitting next to his father.  Patrick thought that this man should go back up the beanstalk. But, like all things Patrick had not encountered before, he was drawn to the giant, to meet him; he wanted to understand. Patrick walked over, making sure to look the giant straight in the face, not taking his eyes off of him, just to show he wasn’t intimidated by him. “Stand tall,” his dad always told him.

“Hello, Patrick. It is very good to finally put a face with all of the talk. There has been a lot of talk about you, my boy,” Miles said, eyes watering up a little.

“You’re a big man, really big,” Patrick said, staring into Miles’s eyes.

“Yes, I have heard that before. I like being this big actually, maybe one day you will be.”

“Maybe,” Mr. Smith said, “but I highly doubt it. The tallest person to come from my family was only around six feet tall,” Mr. Smith said, smiling.

“What about his mother’s side?”

“Mom isn’t here anymore, she left to go help people. She’ll be back though, that’s what dad says,” Patrick said, smiling thinking of his mother.

“Yes she will, yes she will Patrick,” Mr. Smith said, holding back tears and trying to hold back memories of a bad past.

“Oh I am sure she will,” Miles said gazing at Mr. Smith.

It was that kind of gaze that Mr. Smith knew, the kind that said, “I’ve got you made suka.” Miles knew about Mrs. Smith, knew what had happened three years ago; on Christmas Eve out of all the days.  It had been tough, so tough that Mr. Smith still couldn’t come to terms with it and thus was lying to Patrick. He was trying to warp reality to hide the demons of the past. He figured if you lied enough it would all eventually turn to truth.  

“Yes, well Miles would you like to talk to Patrick a little while, one on one of course?” Mr. Smith said trying to change the subject.

“Yes, eventually but I would like to talk to the both of you together first.  I like to see that the parent and child are on the same page, that there are no secrets, no information that both do not know,” Miles said, smiling.

That bastard, Mr. Smith thought. Who is he to judge what he should or should not tell his child? Patrick did not need to know the hardships of life, what pain a woman could cause, not now. Or did he? Mr. Smith had often voiced his dissatisfaction in the sheltered youth; the kind of kid that thought that the world was a gentle place not a place that would eat your life up. These kinds of people had to be shown that life and this world is tough, that things don’t always go your way. By telling his son a lie, Mr. Smith was really sheltering his son and making himself a hypocrite. The people that he criticized he had now become. He would have to tell his son, if he were to go to this school he would have to tell him. If he didn’t it might hurt their relationship the rest of their life.

He wanted the best for his son, he wanted to give him the world. Mr. Smith, though, would not be able to show his son the evils and let downs of the world for a long time.