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PART 49 All four kids were excited about the Friday-Saturday trip. Tom had a meet Wednesday, and he won his 2-mile by almost 40 seconds, while the team crushed the overmatched opponents 102-43. Ricky was originally not sure if he really wanted to go, because he usually spent much of his Saturdays going to see Jenny—the girl had that “library studying” excuse down pat, and she knew to give the explanation to a different teacher each week, so that no one would get suspicious. The two young love sweethearts would usually make arrangements by e-mail the previous Wednesday or Thursday. Ricky had explained to her all about the horrible events of a few weeks before, and Jenny was now all into her whole “poor baby, I’ll take care of you” thing. These Saturday outings in the town park usually got Ricky all excited for a couple days beforehand. The way that chick kissed, how she opened her mouth and her tongue would go in there with his and down below she’d pet the boy’s penis (but nicely and gently, through his pants), oooohhhh, it was all definitely more interesting for Ricky to think about than pre-algebra. And those tits!! Ricky jerked off twice (or even three times!) on Friday night or early Saturday so he wouldn’t be tempted to lose control and not be what Jenny called “a gentleman”. But for this particular Saturday, Ricky figured that something different would be fun, too. And after all, he and Rob had been pestering Father for weeks to take them out there. Hey, change is cool. Father delayed and procrastinated and thought about stuff all Tuesday and Wednesday. How to tell good old Conroy? He planned out his opening lines like an actor rehearsing a script. He was mad at himself a bit for being such a wimp and delaying, but Thursday afternoon, just after sports, he figured let’s go. I’ve got permission from someone more important than this guy. Let’s get this thing done, and hey, if God’s with me, I sure as hell shouldn’t be afraid of Jerry Conroy. I’ve barely talked to the guy for four months. Let’s do this thing. He found Mr. Conroy in his 2nd floor office in Bats. “Hi, Jerry, how you doing these days?” Father asked with fake cheerfulness. “Ray. What’s up, what do you want?” “Well, you know that fishing cabin that my parents own west of here?” Yeah right. As though he would have ever really told Mr. Conroy about the place. But it was all part of the plan. “Huh? I don’t know what you’re talking about.” “I never told you? Oh, OK. Well, we’ve had the place since back when I was a kid, back since when I was a student here. We used to head up there a lot on weekends, me, my friends, Coach P, other teachers, you know, just to fish, hike, enjoy the campfire, that kind of stuff. Anyway, I was talking to Coach,” (Father wanted to get Mr. Prszeczkopowski’s name into this as much as possible) “and we thought it would be fun for me to take a few of the kids out there for a Friday-Saturday overnight. Once in awhile it’s fun to do something different. He’s arranged with the kitchen to get some food for us, and we’ll be heading out Friday after classes and should be back by Saturday dinnertime. Roger Mayne’s going with me to help out. Here’s a list of the kids—Ricky Spann, Tom Klein, Rob Colby, and Kevin Ackerman. And here’s a map, yeah, we’ll be right here. Coach has Roger’s cell phone number. Hey, maybe next time you can join us! I can’t believe I’ve never told you about this place. Coach just asked me to make sure you knew who was going and when we’d be back.” Father had carefully practiced every word of this, speaking fast enough so he wouldn’t get interrupted, and all happy and matter-of-fact. He thought the line about inviting Mr. Conroy next time was funny. He smiled, paused, and waited for the expected reaction from the Residential Supervisor. “What exactly are you thinking about? You mind explaining to me what is going through your mind here?” said Jerry, his eyes narrowing to slits. Yeah, knew this was coming. Feign ignorance, play this clown like a violin. “I think everything’s clear. It’ll be tight, but I can fit everyone in my car, and Roger…” “Ray, don’t play dumb with me, I don’t have time and I’m not in the mood. How in Christ’s name do you think you should be alone in some remote place for over 24 hours with four innocent children? You know damn well what I’m talking about. You’re not stupid.” OK, this was expected too. Get the guy to lay his cards on the table, and debate him. I have the permission, I hold the aces here. “Mr. Conroy,” said Father much slower, “I don’t really like the use of our Lord’s name in that way, but let’s forget that for a moment. Are you accusing me of something? If you are, I want to know what it is. If not, well, I have some work to do before dinner.” “Look, asshole. I know exactly what you are. I don’t call you Father, because you don’t deserve that title. I’M a father to my son and daughter! YOU are a sick perverted child molester! You know it, I know it, and just about all the kids know it. I guess you have a few of them fooled, which is possible. They’re just children, and you’re smarter and more experienced than they are. How the hell you managed to fool Karl Prszeczkopowski, that’s way beyond me. But you think I don’t know what’s going on? You think I don’t know what you’re planning to do to those kids once you get them in an isolated place where no one can hear them scream? I don’t know about Roger, maybe he’s like you, maybe not. But you are a pervert, you are a criminal, and you belong in prison for the rest of your fucking life!! I just pray that somehow, some way, that you aren’t successful and that whatever kids you’re trying to rape can get away. I’d love to be in court when you’re sentenced and led away forever. There. You wanted to know? Is that specific enough for you?” Hmmmm, Father thought, yeah, the guy was plenty specific, all right. Now let’s do the pretend-condescension act. That’ll get him worked up! “Jerry, I can’t possibly imagine where you picked up these ideas, where this hate comes from. Do you think that anyone who treats kids kindly and gives them attention is automatically some sort of evil person? Is that the message we want to convey to our students, that no good person could possibly enjoy spending time with them? Look, I have a friend, a priest who serves Ripton and surrounding towns. His name is Father George Rennard. Maybe you’d like to talk to him privately one day, work through these feelings of yours. If you’d like, I’ll call him for you.” Father then moved his hand toward’s the other man’s shoulder, knowing full well what would happen next. “GET YOUR DIRTY HANDS AWAY FROM ME!!” said Jerry, violently knocking Father Ray’s arm aside. “Oh, you’re a goddamn smooth one, aren’t you? Oh, you have that silver tongue in your mouth, you know just what to say, just how to con people. You must be so proud of yourself, getting Karl and maybe even Headmaster on your side, making them think you’re just some kindly teacher doing nice things for the kids. You must be standing there all smug, oh yeah. And you know Karl’s a higher authority here than me, you know there’s nothing I can do, you planned this so good, didn’t you?” Jerry was right in Father Ray’s face, pointing a rigid finger inches from his nose, and Father Ray thought maybe the guy was about to hit him. Cool, no problem. He’s no bigger or stronger than me, and if Jerry wants to start a fight, bring it on. His problem, his loss of control. I’m all cool. Can’t hurt me. Jerry continued. “All right, you freak, you win this time. But like I said, I want to see the day when you go away to prison forever. You will go there, make no mistake. And though I’m usually not in favor of the death penalty, well, for someone like you, maybe it fits. I’ll do one thing, though, and you and all your well-chosen words can’t stop me from this. When you’re not around, I’ll talk to these kids beforehand, give them some advice so there’s a better chance they’ll come back safe, or better yet, not go at all.” “Well, Jerry, I’m sorry you feel as you do, and I’ll pray for you. And of course it’s a free country, and you’re a professional, you certainly have every right to talk to any of the students you want to. I guess it’s almost dinnertime, I’ll have to prepare my lessons during study hall. And here’s Father Rennard’s card, just in case you change your mind. God be with you,” Father Ray concluded, and walked out of the office fast, down the stairs and into the warm glow of late afternoon. His heart was hammering and he was scared, but he knew he’d played it cool, and done what had to be done. Yeah, it was a win. Yeah. On the way to the dining hall, he saw Rob, who ran up to him smiling. The kid tried to jump on his back but Father dodged and the kid fell on the ground laughing. He got up and Father put his hand the back of the boy’s neck, feeling the delicious texture of the boy’s just-shampooed reddish-brown hair in his fingers. Soothing, it was. The simple love of a child. Calmed and slowed the priest’s pounding heart. PART 50 After study hall Father visited Tom and Ricky’s room before they went to bed. Both boys were all crazy and couldn’t really calm down, thinking about all the fun they’d have starting tomorrow afternoon. “Hey, Father,” said Tom, “why don’t we blow off tomorrow’s classes and get an early start, we’ll have the whole day Friday and we won’t be in a hurry to gather up wood for the fire at night.” “Don’t even think about it, kid. Not even in your sick little young adolescent dreams. Not happening! Besides, you know how much Ricky loves math and English and natural science classes. He’d cry all day if he missed them.” “Uhhhh, Father,” interjected Ricky, “are you sure you haven’t been smoking weed or something in between your own classes? I love Jenny, hell with math and English and science!” “Oh yeah, Father, I just remembered something,” added Tom. “Mr. Conroy came in earlier to see us about the trip. He was all weird, telling us stuff about staying safe, and to make sure we knew where we were, and he even let me borrow his cellphone for the weekend til we get back. See? And then he started about calling 911 if anything bad happened, and made me write down his own number here. He kept talking about running away and ways to get help if anything made us feel uncomfortable. Father, seriously, he’s creepy. I don’t like that guy.” “Yeah,” said Ricky, “he’s all gross. I mean except for you raping and killing and cutting us up into small pieces, what could possibly happen? Anyway, I’m too big for you to mess with, so I don’t care. Do it to Tom or the 7th graders!” “Fuck you!” Tom shouted, throwing a pillow at Ricky. “Anyway, Mr. Mayne is way bigger and stronger than you, don’t come with that macho bullshit or we’ll both kick your ass, one of us at a time!” The boys laughed and started beating on each other. “Kids,” said Father in a singsong voice, “it’s past lights out time now, and you two are still way too rowdy. I want you guys to calm down now, get in bed, let’s all just chill here. We’re all going to have a great time tomorrow, and remember—we all meet the minute classes end at my car in the admin building parking lot. OK?” The kids climbed into bed and after a minute were finally calming down nicely. Father Ray turned out the lights and was about to leave when Ricky said softly, “Father? Thanks for inviting us. This is gonna be our best weekend ever.” That was definitely the idea. On the previous weekend, Father Ray had bought an extra-wide inflatable air mattress big enough to fit several kids. He’d driven out there and put it in the outer room, along with a couple extra-large blankets. The kids could sleep in the outer room, and there was an upper and lower bunk in the inner room for the adults. Father had also bought a few ordinary items from the general store in town, items that no one would think could be used for any strange or inappropriate purpose. But he had something really special in his mind, something he would plan to do for (or with, or to?) the kids at night when all was dark. Oh yeah. He’d need Mr. Mayne’s help, but he figured the guy would be into it. Everyone was all happy and crazy on the drive down, including the grownups. 27 hours with, in Tom’s immortal words, no rules, just outa control fun. They arrived, and everyone started exploring. It was Mr. Mayne’s and little Kevin’s first time there, so the other kids showed them everything. Father told the kids they could go down to the pond, but no swimming this afternoon because they’d soon have to gather wood and start getting dinner organized. He told them to all meet back at the cabin in a half hour. Everyone went down there except for Father, who enjoyed a few minutes of peace in his hammock. Strange, this place had been there for so many years, and there was really no way to lock the door. Yet it had never been vandalized, never had any stuff stolen. Well, there wasn’t really much to take. Just some rather ratty mattresses, some axes and a handsaw hidden under plastic underneath the place, and a few pots and pans. And the nice new hammock. Over the years, Father had sometimes seen evidence, like leftover disgusting trash, that people had been there to camp out, but never had the place been damaged. Father Ray giggled to himself, because though not many people knew about this place and it wasn’t visited often, he knew of a certain other guy who might, just might, stop by tonight! Have to let Roger know all about this possible visitor…rest for awhile, let Roger take care of the kids for a bit. Nice to have a friend to help out. Everyone came back up to the cabin a while later, and the kids started gathering wood for the dinner fire. They didn’t really need the axes and saw to break it up, but they enjoyed playing with them. The adults were supervising and getting the various foods laid out, cut up, and prepared. Father told Mr. Mayne about Tom’s little joke back in October about the murder and cannibalism. “Smart kid, that little Tom!” laughed the younger man, pronouncing the boy’s name “Tah-awm”. They both agreed, though, that there would be no shortage of other food tonight, and Roger felt that all four boys would probably make it back to school without anything so horrible happening. Ah well, Father thought to himself, that remains to be seen. At that moment, the fun and the peace were interrupted by the stupid noise of Roger’s cell phone. Father Ray had never owned one. He hated their noises, hated how they could intrude on anything, but supposed they did have their uses. After all, he wouldn’t have gotten to bring the kids on this trip if they hadn’t brought one. “Hello?” said Roger. “Ah, Coach, how you doing? Well, we’re hanging in heah, haven’t been eaten by beahrs or nuthin’. With some luck, there’s a good cha-ahnce we might just suhvyave. Thanks for all the food you got us from the kitchen. Hey, you want to talk to a couple of the kids? They’re somewheyah around heah, gathering wood. Hang on a second. HEY, ROB AND RICKY!! COME TALK TO COACH P ON THE PHONE FOR A MINUTE, WOULD YA?” While the boys were on the phone, he said to Father, “Hmmm. Guess they want to hear proof of life, don’t they? Just like in the movies!” The boys were all excited, telling Coach about the pond, about its water temperature and possible swimming tomorrow, about chopping things with the axes and what they’d have for dinner. And the kids said there would definitely be a serious late-night pyromania fire with marshmallows and stories to scare the other kids. Of course Rob and Ricky wouldn’t be scared, no way. Not them. Surely Tom and Kevin, though. Both boys laughed, gave the phone back to Mr. Mayne, and went back to getting the wood ready. Slowest things to cook would be the potatoes, so Father told the kids to wrap them in foil with the vegetables, and put them on the edge of the fire, keeping the fire low both to conserve wood and keep the veggies from getting overdone. This would take a while. The burgers and hotdogs could come later. Soon Father Ray found a moment when the kids weren’t listening, and he said to his friend, “Roger? I have an idea for later for something really fun we could do with these kids. Bet they’ve never had this kind of an experience before!! Interesting in helping me out? Oooohhh, we’ll have some fun with these little guys tonight!” Father couldn’t help saying all this with a mischievious, evil little grin. What the hell? thought Roger. He of course had the same “suspicions” about Ray that Father had about him, but well, this was getting a little freaky, but at the same time more than a little exciting. He couldn’t help getting more than a little horny. “Uhhh, Ray, what exactly do you have in mind?” The two men walked away from the fire so the kids couldn’t hear them. Father told Roger everything, including everything about the stuff he’d bought at the store. Just like Father thought, Roger got all excited (now Father had absolutely no doubt that the guy was a fellow pedo—no doubt at all now!), and with his size and strength (Mr. Mayne was 6 foot 2 and had been a very good high school and college baseball pitcher) he’d be perfect for this…..the men giggled like teenagers and spent almost a half hour planning every little detail of their evening’s pleasure. Oh yeah, it was gonna be something! Oh yeah. Us and the kids, all in the remote darkness of this spring night. Dinner was of course delicious. Stuff just tastes so much better when it’s cooked over an outdoor fire, with the sun going down and darkness closing in all around. No city or town lights anywhere to be seen, not another human to be heard for miles and miles. So cool, and as the food finally got eaten up, the boys became more mellow, more affectionate with their two teachers, snuggling up close to them in the fire’s light and warmth, with each boy attaching himself to one of the men, though sometimes they would switch teachers. Such a glorious evening this was, Father thought, and everything’s part of the plan. Father could feel Tom’s soft hair brushing up against the left side of his face, and Kevin’s longer blond hair on the right. One of his arms was around the shoulders of each kid. Those skinny shoulders were rising and falling as the kids softly breathed. Yeah, it’s time to get this whole thing started. “Boys,” said Father Ray to everyone, “we’re pretty much on our own out here tonight, right? I mean there’s no one else anywhere around, right?” PART 51 Everyone agreed that there was no one else around, it was just them and the darkness. “But you know,” said Father, “sometimes you can never quite be sure. Have you guys ever heard of Old Man Cropsy?” “Old Man Cropsy!” replied Mr. Mayne. “You think he could be this fah south?” “I know, it would be unusual. But remember, Mr. Mayne, that incident about four years ago on Springer Mountain?” “Never heard tell of that. He shoah does get around, mebbe he walks the Appalachian Trail end-to-end. He’s been to Katahdin, though that was bahck when I was a kid.” The kids were of course going crazy by now, all curious. Who’s Old Man Cropsy? What are you guys talking about? “Well,” said Father Ray, “it’s a long story. I think we’ll need a couple more of those big logs on the fire if I’m gonna get into this. You sure you boys aren’t too tired?” “NOOOOOOO, we want to hear everything!!” “Well, maybe I won’t tell exactly everything. I mean part of this is pretty gross and pretty nasty, I wouldn’t want you boys to be scared or anything, that wouldn’t be nice, would it?” “Don’t be stupid!!” snapped Rob, the veteran of New Hampshire summer camp. “You think you’re gonna scare me with some story? You think we’re babies or something? Come on, tell us everything. I’ll take care of these two little girls Kevin and Tom.” Made sense. These were all kids from wealthy, well-educated families. Not some backwoods superstitious rednecks. Ghosts and weird old guys no one’s ever heard of? Please. These kids weren’t about to be taken in by that kind of stuff. So Father started the tale. It was actually a pretty ordinary story, nothing special. Just about the escaped criminal Arthur Cropsy, who lived for years in the woods in a tiny cabin he’d made himself, where no one could find him, just him and his wife and his dog and their little boy Timmy. All cool, until careless children accidentally left the campfire burning, bla bla bla, and everyone but Old Man Cropsy died, and every two years he gets his revenge, bla bla bla, and somewhere in the Appalachians three little boys get, well, bla bla bla, and he has only one arm (well, that makes sense, as the other arm got pinned under a beam of the house and burned off), and one green glowing eye (well, since the other one got sizzled out of his face with an burning ember falling from the roof, the remaining one of course has to glow, like duhhh)….not all that great a story, really. No, the story wasn’t really that special. But the special thing on this night wasn’t the story, it was the storyteller. In the hands and through the voice of the master storyteller Father Ray, those boys’ minds were taken deep, deep, deep into the terror. The priest stretched out alllllll the details, from when Arthur was a teenager through that fateful night of the fire, and the terrible aftermath. 20 minutes, 40 minutes, an hour. Wow, thought Roger, how come I can’t get kids in my classes to pay attention like this? Ray is amazing! Yes, he was. Father Ray’s voice in the darkness had those boys under his control. He had a special part of the story where he talked about day trees and night trees. It was taken from a different short story, one written by the author Manly Wade Wellman, but fit perfectly here as well. As Father raised his eyes upwards to the trees and the night sky, it was like the boys’ eyes were on a string, connected to his, and they looked upwards, too. Do pedophiles manipulate little boys’ thoughts? Well, this one was doing quite a job of it. “Kids, they say there are day trees and there are night trees, and they’re not the same thing at all. The night trees can moan and cry in a spring or summer night’s breeze, and they can crowd all around a house they don’t like, shake the windows and rattle the roof, and boys, that’s the sort of night you better never set your foot outside!” As their eyes looked up into the blackness, looked at the scary night trees, the boys’ breathing became quicker, more urgent, and those eyes were wide circles as the story continued toward its inexorable conclusion. The nearby ground slippery with blood, each boy’s head chopped off and then placed neatly on top of his chest, the trademark axe blow through each kid’s forehead with a bit of brain hanging out, yeah, Father described everything. But Old Man Cropsy probably wasn’t around here tonight, he only appears once every OTHER year, and he could be anywhere in the Appalachian mountains, and of course most of the time he waits til summer to get his revenge on the three unsuspecting kids. Though it has been a warm spring, hasn’t it? Father Ray asked Mr. Mayne if this would be his revenge year, or his off year? Even or odd years? Mr. Mayne didn’t remember. “Well, kids,” concluded Father Ray, “I guess it’s about bedtime.” “Uhhhhh,” said Kevin, trying to sound ordinary, not scared, “Father, that story, it isn’t really true, is it?” Father knew this question was coming, and he and Mr. Mayne had their answer prepared. “Well, Kevin, I don’t know. I’ve never seen the guy, and I don’t know anyone who has. Some people think maybe it’s just a legend.” Tom, ever the logical and analytical one, said “But if it WAS true, the story would be in all the newspapers and the internet. Right?” The boy was trying to convince himself more than explain to anyone else, really. “Mebbe,” added Mr. Mayne, “but I’ll tell you this much, up nawahth, you don’t joke or lahff about Old Man Cropsy. The mountains hold a lot of secrets, deep secrets, you know, things that newspapers and internet never will be aware of. Things that will nevah see the light o’ day.” “Hmmmm,” replied Father, “But that’s the fun of it, isn’t it, kids? Not really knowing. OK guys, let’s go inside, you guys sleep well, and we’ll have a whole fun day tomorrow.” He put the kids on the big air mattress, and put blankets over them. It was crowded, but the kids snuggled close, hugging and nuzzling against each other closer than they normally would. Ricky on one end, Tom next to him, then Kevin, then Rob. They were talking softly and making little jokes to cover up the little tiny bit of fear they probably didn’t really have about the guy who probably wasn’t going to be visiting them this evening. No, what were the chances? But none of them would be going to sleep for quite some time… Later, much later in the silent night, there was a rhythmic sound coming from the woods, seemingly far away. Was it a chop-chop-chopping? And then was that the sound of someone running, leaves under his feet? The kids were only half-awake, but a few minutes later the sound seemed to be coming closer. “Father Ray?” shouted Tom, “are you up? Do you hear that?” “Oh, kids, please shut up,” groaned the priest. “Come on, it’s the middle of the night. Go to sleep.” They did, but a half-hour later, it was repeated, but louder and closer, and there was also some growling, grunting noise, and the kids were up with a start, and Kevin was trying desperately not to cry. “Father Ray? Mr. Mayne?” he wailed. “Something’s out there!” The other kids were whispering to themselves, and buried themselves deeper under the blankets. Father Ray and Mr. Mayne walked into the outer room and tried to calm down poor Kevin and the other less hysterical, but still very scared kids. “Have you guys been having nightmares? Come on, boys, there’s nothing out there, you’re just dreaming.” “Not all four of us!” cried Kevin. The teachers decided to stay with the kids for a few minutes, holding them in their arms and reassuring them until they finally dropped off to sleep again. All right, that’s all. No more. Deep, deep into that night, though, suddenly there was the sound of metal scraping on the screen window of the outer room. A violent blow shook the wooden structure, and instantly someone, someone huge, someone who couldn’t be clearly seen in the darkness, was inside and axe blows were barely missing the screaming boys as they ran out under the covers and screamed in terror. The figure had the green glowing eye, and was after them!!! Ricky and Rob felt liquid spattering onto their faces, whose blood is that? God, God, it’s happening!! The boys shrieked for their lives, begging for help. Tom tried to find the cell phone in his backpack, but the huge figure was in the way, and the boy could feel a metal thing digging into his back! He fell to the floor, and didn’t know if he was dying. The boys cried and yelled for help, but their teachers weren’t coming, they were already dead!!!! Then suddenly there was light. It was Father Ray, with two oil lanterns in his hand. “What’s wrong, boys? Can’t sleep?” he said. In the light, the boys could finally see the priest and Mr. Mayne, who had a green glow-in-the-dark Superball taped over his left eye, and was holding two axes with fluorescent red glow-in-the-dark blood on the blades (somehow all six people had forgotten that Old Man Cropsy had only one arm). He was wearing a black priest jacket that Father had brought along. It was too small for him, but made perfect camouflage in the night. He had some plastic packets of red food coloring dye sticking out of the jacket pocket. The boys were still crying and confused, but within seconds, their tears of terror began to turn into looks of wonderment, then bit by bit, into laughing and chattering. “Oh, both of you SUCK!!!” “Damn, I thought, I didn’t know, I wanted to think I was dreaming, but I couldn’t wake up!!” “OHHHH, you guys had Kevin so scared, look, he pissed all in his pants, gross!!” “I DID NOT!! WHERE??” “AAAHHHH, made you look!!” “Hell, you guys were screaming like idiots, I thought I’d just shut up and hide in the corner, hell, let him cut y’alls heads off, maybe he wouldn’t find me!” “I knew it was Mr. Mayne all along!!” “Oh, sure, right, then why were you yelling NOOO, DON’T KILL ME!! Yeah, you’re so tuff!” “All right, you guys, admit it, they had us going there!” “I was thinking maybe we could find a hole, crawl under the cabin somewhere!” Kevin was laughing, but still kind of scared, still not quite 100% sure what was up. He went up to Mr. Mayne and held onto him, touched the black jacket and his super-ball eye, just wanting to make sure he finally understood the whole joke. “Kids,” said Mr. Mayne, “up nawth, they sometimes say that Old Man Cropsy doesn’t like the smell of mahshmallows roastin’ over a smoky fyuh. Father, I think we still have three bags left. Kids, do you think it might be a good idea to get that fire going again and get some of those marshmallows cookin’ up nicely?” All four boys instantly agreed that would be a sensible precaution at this time. Finally, they were all OK, even Kevin knowing that it was just an act, just their teachers having fun with them. All the kids were crazy and hyper after their experience, getting even more so as the sugary food disappeared into their bellies. Ricky was the silliest and wildest. He snuck up beside his roommate Tom, and with a quick sharp violent blow, buried one of the axe blades in the side of Tom’s neck, yelling “AAAAAHHHHH!!!! DIE TOM, I’M OLD MAN CROPSY!!!!” Tom, for his part, cried out in surprise and pain, his neck stinging, as he fell over, feeling blood gushing from the open wound. One of Ricky’s positive characteristics was that he was a very, very considerate boy, and always thought of other people’s feelings. It wasn’t an act—he just always was that way, even as a much smaller kid. Just part of Ricky’s nature. In this case, he had been considerate enough of his best friend Tom to slip on the leather cover over the axe head before hitting Tom in the neck with it. That way Tom’s carotid artery was still intact, and all his blood really still inside him. Always a kind and thoughtful friend, Ricky was. Tom wasn’t feeling so caring and considerate at the moment. “I’LL KILL YOU!!” he yelled, whipping off the leather case and chasing Ricky around the campfire holding the naked axe blade above his head. “Yeah, if you can catch me first, track star!!” Tom tripped over a root and the axe went flying, with the wooden handle crashing into Kevin’s shin. “OWWWW!” the little kid shouted. Mr. Mayne figured that enough was enough, and he quickly grabbed Tom by the shirt collar. “Tom, I think we’ve hahd quite enough chopping of things for one night! How about all you boys just start to chill, please!” Bit by bit, the kids calmed themselves, ate up the last of the marshmallows, and began to stare at the beautiful fire. Rob came up behind Father Ray, wrapped his arms affectionately around the priest’s neck, and said softly, “Oh, Father, no kidding, you really got us good, didn’t you? That was so cool. You know, at summer camp they tell us ghost stories, like the one about Indian Chief Chocorua, but no way are they this good, no way, not even close, your story just kicked ass.” “Hey Father,” added Tom, “will you teach us the story so we remember? Next year, we can tell it to the new 7th graders, we’ll scare them so good, oh man, I can’t wait.” “Yeah,” interrupted Rob, “but all you guys listen! When we get back to school, nobody, I mean nobody, no bullshit, can know about all this!! If any of us tells, we won’t be able to surprise anyone next time! Gotta be our secret. OK? Kevin, Ricky, Tom?” The other kids agreed and finally, finally, this night was about over. The kids crawled back onto the air mattress and under the blankets, really, really, exhausted this time. Father Ray looked at his watch that he’d brought after all. 2:07. Wow. Oh, that was a fun night. He tucked the boys in, and was about ready to head back into the inner room and was looking forward to a long late morning’s sleep. But someone asked for a favor. “Father?” said Kevin. “I know Old Man Cropsy won’t be coming around tonight, but….but would it be OK if….Father, could you just stay with us down here for awhile?” “Yeah,” added Tom, “please? At least til we get to sleep?” “Sure, kids.” Father went into the inner room where Roger was already deeply asleep. He dragged the mattress off the bunk bed and moved it into the outer room, laying it sideways so he could stretch out near all four boys’ heads. He couldn’t see them, as all the lanterns were now off and the outside fire was out as well. He could tell by the rhythm of all four boys’ breathing when each one was finally making that transition from wakefulness to sleep. He didn’t really know if he should do what he did next. The kids might not have permitted it if they’d been awake. But he petted, stroked, lovingly fingered each boy’s hair, neck, ears, face, feeling their textures, smelling each boy’s different smell. Each boy in turn, each skin, sensing each breath. It took him about 10 minutes with each boy until he was ready to touch and stroke the next one. The two boys on the ends reacted not at all, being deep in their dream worlds. Kevin was sleeping too, but perhaps not as deeply, as once in semi-consciouness he reached up and took Father’s hand in his, gently, almost imperceptibly, rubbing the man’s fingers. Tom didn’t move at all, but made a barely audible, pleasurable “uuunnnhhhh” noise as Father Ray petted his face. Finally Father decided to head back into the inner room, as enough was enough. He softly laughed to himself for a moment. Mr. Conroy, what would that guy think if he saw what was happening tonight? Well, he didn’t and he won’t know. Ha ha, the kids’ parents probably wouldn’t have liked it much either! Two crazy guys scaring their kids half to death, chasing them around in the middle of the night with axes. Oh yeah. Oh well. The kids had fun, they love Roger and me, and the memories will stay. And there are still almost 16 hours to go out here. It’s all good, Lord. Thank You. PART 52 After the late night, no one seemed in too great a hurry to get moving in the morning. Very little sunlight usually made its way into the cabin, and the boys had the blankets well up over their heads to block out any daylight that dared try to intrude on their much-needed extra sleep. Eventually Father Ray was alive again, and asked Roger if he was ready to get the kids woken up and start the day. Roger made some sort of unintelligible grunting noise, but showed no other signs of life. Father’s watch said 9:26 AM. Late!! All right, come on, no more wasting daylight, let’s get these kids going. After he shook them around a bit, they opened their eyes and were in pretty good shape. No one’s head had been removed, no bits of brains were oozing out of any foreheads, all seemed fine. “Hi kids!” the priest greeted his young friends. “Did you guys sleep well? No one else came to visit you in the middle of the night?” “No,” Ricky answered, “that sick pig Tom kept farting half the night, scared Old Man Cropsy away. Damn!! He sure packs a lot of stink for a little kid!” “Wasn’t me!! It was Rob!! Nuclear explosions! Que puerco asqueroso, echando pedos a todos lados!” “Yeah, well,” answered Rob, “a guy’s gotta do what a guy’s gotta do. Hope the rest of you enjoyed them, they felt oooohhhhh, decent. Hey, Father, we’re going swimming today, right? Can we jump off the rope swing?” “If you think you can handle it. I dunno, you guys sure seemed like scared little wimps last night! Yeah, sure, the pond will be all ready for you after we have breakfast and clean up.” “Hey, Father, can I call Mr. Conroy on his cell phone he let me borrow? I wanna make him all jealous, tell him all about what he’s missing. Well, not everything, not the story, but you know.” Tom was of course by far the smartest kid in the group, and though he wasn’t aware of the specific details of Father Ray’s and Mr. Conroy’s hate for each other, he had a pretty good idea what was going on in general, what Mr. Conroy meant by “if anything makes you uncomfortable”. Yeah, he knew. But what made him uncomfortable wasn’t Father Ray’s affection, but people who weren’t as nice and acted only all official. He dialed the number he’d written down and started giggling, holding the phone close to Father Ray so both of them could hear. “Mr. Conroy? It’s me, Tom! Just wanted to call and say hi! What are you doing this weekend?....That’s all?......Oh, it’s so cool out here, we ate everything and we’re gonna go swimming and we made a big pyro fire last night. How come YOU never take us anywhere special? Or how ‘bout next time we all come out here, you come with Father Ray and us, too? We’ll all have sick fun!” Hearing the way Tom phrased this, Father Ray laughed just at the wrong time and some coffee went back up and out his nose. “Well, thanks for letting us come, Mr. Conroy. You wanna talk to Father Ray?” This caused the priest to temporarily abandon his normal nonviolent manner and punch the kid in the head as they both strained to hear above their laughing. “No? OK, well, here’s Kevin, he wants to say hi, too.” Tom gave the smaller kid the phone and hit Father Ray back, making a gross face at him and running away quickly. That was fun! Turns out only two of the kids could handle the terror of the rope swing. Ricky and Rob whooped and hollered, doing insane flips and dives as they swung and flew off the rope into the cold but swimmable water. Kevin and Tom both enjoyed swimming, but after analyzing the probabilities of survival vs. death from using the rope swing, they decided to just swim and splash. The two men watched the action from the comfort of a decent-sized inflatable rubber raft Father had brought, and which the kids had inflated with a foot-pump. Father watched both the kids and his friend Roger watching the kids. Ricky and Tom were dressed in very revealing speedos—Ricky had bought his recently as he said he wanted to get back into the sport of diving when it wasn’t basketball season. Unfortunately for the curious teachers, the other two kids were wearing knee-length shorts more typical of kids’ swimming attire. “Thaht Ricky’s a big boy for 8th grade, isn’t he?” said Mr. Mayne. Big in height, gigantic in another aspect, thought the young math teacher. “Oh yeah!” Father replied, studying the beauty in motion of the yelling, jumping big kid. Yeah, we’re the same height now, he thought, though he’ll be way above me soon. And damn, he sometimes wears shorts to bed these days so I don’t see him up close these days, but well, I can see he certainly is a BIG boy. Wow. That Jenny is one lucky young lady!! Hmmm, some of her night fantasies must be not that different from mine! And Tom, oh God have mercy, that kid is hot. Other folks probably wouldn’t think so, he’s so skinny and geeky. Well, too bad for them. Kevin, that little guy, he’s so cute in his way. And he’s overcome his homesickness so well, so much courage… Roger jumped into the water, swam over to the rope swing area and did an out of control Tarzan flip. Hmmm, could I have done that when I was his age? Well, I’m only 34 now, what am I complaining about? Ahhh, hang out in the boat, yeahhhhh, looks like the boat might be taking on some new passengers. The passengers were the two smaller kids, Kevin and Tom, who were wrestling for a spot in the boat, and Father decided to fight back with them, chucking them into the water if they dared try boarding the pirate ship. Rob and Ricky soon joined all this, and it was Father Ray basically in the middle of lots of squirming, writhing, laughing 12-14 year-old arms, legs, backs, butts, chests, genitals, hands, and various other parts. This could last awhile, no great hurry. What’s more fun, the priest asked himself, the glorious happy screaming and squirming and twisting and jumping of these hyperactive bodies, or the soft sweet feel and smell of them when they’re mellow or quietly affectionate or sleeping? Both have their merits….even though the two 7th graders are way overdressed for my tastes. Father decided to take a break, let the kids wrestle by themselves for awhile, and he swam back and forth a couple times across this pond that he’d known so well, for so many years, back to the time when he was these kids’ size, and he’d played just about the same way with his own father. Lots of memories, lots of fun, what a place this was, what a day this is. It was around 12:30 when everyone finally got cold, and people decided to change activities. Mr. Mayne was into fishing as much as the kids, and it looked like that would satisfy him, Ricky, and Rob for pretty much the whole afternoon. Tom said he wanted to go running, and then wanted to take a long nap in the hammock. The afternoon was very warm for April, and there were still several hours to go before they had to head back to campus. “Father?” said Kevin. “Fishing’s boring, and I can’t run miles and miles like Tom. Remember you said you’d take me hiking today, we could go across that other mountain and you’d show me the underground caves?” The simple but so nice love and companionship of a child. “Well, sounds like a plan. Roger, you think you can deal with these other guys if Kevin and I take a hike for an hour or two?” “I think I could just about mahnage thahat. You guys have fun, and Father Ray, don’t do anythin’ I wouldn’t do!!” “All right, Mr. Mayne, if you say so, I’ll keep that in mind. Kevin, you got your sneakers on? Let’s get outa here.” It wasn’t such a long hike, less than a mile each way. The caves were really just holes in the rocks, where you could squirm through on your belly and get dirty and be cut off from the daylight. Not big enough to be dangerous, but something to see. Kevin Ackerman was one of Father Ray’s favorite 7th graders. Almost all of those little guys were now 13, and growing fast into beautiful puberty, but Kevin was in some ways the baby of the group, one of the smallest kids in 7th grade, and would still be 12 until June. Like many of the 7th and 8th graders, one reason his parents had sent him to prep school was that there were serious marital problems at home, and it was very stressful for the kid. He had a lot of trouble with homesickness in the first few weeks, but had hung in and adapted. He was such a little guy, not even close to 5 feet tall now, and with such sparkling blond hair. He got along with other kids OK, but also ached for adult affection, which was of course Father Ray’s specialty. They walked slowly. No rush on this day. Sometimes Kevin would take the man’s hand in his, and sometime he’d ask to ride on top of Father Ray’s shoulders, when he’d survey all he could see of this ancient Appalachian forest. After the cave crawl, they decided to stop for a rest about halfway back to the cabin. Like Mr. Conroy had said at that December meeting, it WAS extremely rare for Father to be alone with a kid, but here was Kevin, and no one was around. Just birds, bees, flowers and the breeze. Father Ray sat on some moss and leaned back against a tree, while Kevin climbed into his lap and closed his eyes happily, his hair tickling the man’s nose and mouth. They didn’t talk at all, just took everything in. Father rubbed the little boy’s knee and lower thigh, and began thinking, well, Kevin loves you so much, he probably wouldn’t even mind if things got, well, if there was some exploring below his waist, inside those cotton shorts. But wasn’t this enough, his affection here and now, do you really need to touch down into those complicated problematic underwear zones? In a way it was frustrating for Father, so near and yet so far, but in a way these few stolen minutes, this pure love without the other stuff, were just as good, and were so rare. Could these minutes be enough joy to last through so many other weeks of routine work? In the midst of Father’s daydreams, Kevin was up again, all laughing, trying to climb a tree. Boys are like that, that’s life, sometimes mellow, sometimes wild. Can’t predict them. If you could, they wouldn’t be boys. A few minutes of the tree-climbing and they headed back to the cabin. Kevin headed down to the lake with Mr. Mayne and the others, leaving Father out back, carefully staring at the sleeping figure of Tom in the hammock. He’d hardly ever seen one of the boys sleeping in broad daylight like this. Tom was still a bit sweaty from his run, but the light breeze was drying him off. He had taken off his sleeveless shirt because of the heat, and had a towel behind his back so that the hammock strings wouldn’t dig into his skin. Hmmm, Father noticed, he’s wearing the same green running shorts and I think the same brand of red underwear that he was wearing last time he was lying in this hammock, way back around Halloween. But oh, my, how he’s grown. Still very skinny, his chest is flat like a little boy’s, but real stomach muscles now. Yeah, those are real, all defined. And how tall is he now, maybe 5 foot 3? Father remembered back to when he’d thought about Tom and Francois, how he’d noticed that mound inside his student’s running shorts. Same mound, but oh yeah, this time a lot bigger. Yet look under his arms, there are no pit hairs yet. And then Father saw something very different this time, and it now took all his strength to stay in control. Once or twice every few seconds, in the boy’s sleep, that mound would twitch, would strain upwards and just for a sacred instant change the shape of the green nylon around it. Just for that instant. All unconscious. Father climbed into the hammock with the boy, which woke him up. “Mmmmm, hi Father Ray. You guys got back from your hike? I’m so tired, we still have more time, don’t we? Mmmmm…..” Is it OK to hug him now? Let’s just see how his muscles react to mine if I get close, do they resist or soften, let’s see if he wants to be held. He does! Yeah, oh that’s nice. Damn, he smells funky, well, that’s part of being his age, oh, he’s beautiful. Father stroked Tom’s back and the boy snuggled much closer, full-body hug, yes, yes. Oh my, was that one of those penis twitches against my belly? And a moment later, oh maybe, no way, was that even a gentle hip thrust, just almost imperceptible? Oh God, was it? And another one, stronger this time…hold him closer, errrr, was that what I think it was? Like pushing against me, I love him. Hold him tight, yeah. Was it? Or didn’t it matter? They lay there together, in total peace, for close to two more hours. Tom slept, but Father Ray didn’t want to. How can I know when will be the next time I have him or someone else in my arms again? Maybe never. He’ll be in 9th grade next year, living not in Bats but in Humboldt Hall, and could be a whole different kid. Kid can’t promise to love you forever, you know. The kid can’t promise his affection in the future, can’t promise something that may not be his to give. Pet his hair some more, rub his spine, yeah, even pet the butt a little, that green nylon, yeah, feels good. But let’s not waste these fleeting minutes or hours sleeping. Drink in the love. We have to be back at school soon enough. Drink in the boy’s love, Ray, because you may not have it again. Just savor the now. PART 53 The Rebels were coming. The Rebels were coming. The entire team had known this since the beginning of the season, and they knew this meet would be a big one. Was happening Thursday. At our home track. The Sunday newspaper pointed to this meet as the week’s featured one in the north region. Could anyone stop the runaway train that was the Carsonville Rebels? Defending league champions from last year, loaded with talent this year, and maybe with a shot to do something serious at States. But St. Brendan’s was looking impressive, too. Both teams were coming into the meet undefeated, both at 5-0. St. Brendan’s record was a bit misleading, though, as except for the struggle with Kensington in that first tri-meet, the Cougars had defeated very weak opposition, teams that were tail-enders. And Carsonville had destroyed Kensington 94-51. Practice on Monday, Tuesday, and Wednesday had an edge to it. Coach P made everyone run hard, brutally hard on Monday, but eased off the next two days, making Tom just do a 4-mile chill and some smooth 200’s, and making most of other guys practice technical skills like starts, relay stick passes, and getting steps in the jumping events. A win in this meet would be the biggest track & field victory in seven years. The night before most meets, Coach asked his captain to work out the next day’s lineup together with him in the locker room office. A lot of people think coaching track & field is pretty easy. No strategy or anything, it’s an individual sport, just tell the kids to run, jump, and throw. Wrong. For example, deciding on the lineup before a big meet is a difficult undertaking where so many factors can come into play. Do we want to put some of our best men in the relays, meaning they won’t be able to run two individual events? Do we have ENOUGH quality runners so that we can afford to put a star in a relay, and his effort won’t be wasted? What if one of our pole-vaulters is also good in the 110-meter high hurdles? Often the hurdles go off just at the time the pole vault is reaching its final stages. Can the pole-vaulter regain his energy, wind, and concentration to come back and clear a big height after running the hurdles? Do we dare put three decent kids in one event, knowing that at least one of them will be unlikely to score, and is there another event that one of them might scoop up points in? And if the opponents have a superstar in one event, do we leave our number one guy out of that, not waste him, concede the opponent the first place, and hope our other guys can manage second and third? And how much rest will certain kids have in between events—can we have a kid run the 400 and then come back only three races later in the 200, or have an 800-meter guy come back for the 4 x 4 relay at the end? None of this is simple. Teddy Bear and Coach went over every event, every kid who could be a factor, every possibility, poring over Carsonville’s results, distances, and times in their first few meets. Coach said that he planned to “double” Tom for the first time, that is, use him in two races. See how he’d do coming down to the mile first, then later in the meet doing his regular 2-mile. “Uh, Coach,” said the huge young man, “I’m no expert in the distance runs, but are you sure you want Tom down in that mile tomorrow? Look, they have George Kingery, he went to States last year, and who’s this Sean Covington kid? I’ve never heard of him, but damn, he ran 4:42 last week on a cinder track, and they didn’t even put the other kids’ names, but it looks like they have two other guys under 4:50. And you know what they do to us in cross-country every year. Are you sure you want Tom messing with these people down in the mile? Does he have enough speed?” “Well, Teddy Bear, I thought about all that, but you know, they may not use all those kids together in the mile. No way we can know beforehand. If Tom can somehow grab a point or three in that event, hey, that could be golden. We gotta find a way to get this thing down to the last relay, need to squeeze everything. And also, well, I know Tom’s a little guy, but he’s got talent—we can’t baby him. He’s never run against anyone half-decent yet. Let’s see how he reacts, both physically and mentally, to this new challenge, see what he’s made of. And we’re gonna see what YOU’RE made of, too. See, big guy? I’ve got you in both relays! Yeah, that’s right, you in that 4 x 400. Have some fun!” “Me, Coach? The last relay? Maybe you noticed that I weigh damn near 260 pounds?” “You bet! The ‘Bama Crimson Tide isn’t in the habit of giving football scholarships to slow people! And you won’t be with our scrubs in that relay, we’re saving Randy, Jeff, and Jimmy for it. All I want out of you is a 58 flat. You give us that, I think the rest of the guys can combine to get us a 3:43, and that could just be enough to give us the win.” “58 flat?? Oh, that’s all? Maybe you forgot, Coach, last time I ran a quarter, I did 60.7, and was puking all night.” “Too many beers, that was your problem!” “Hey Coach, seriously, no bullshit, do we have a chance in hell tomorrow?” “Teddy, on paper, no way. You see what these Rebels are capable of, and realistically, they’re the better team. We both know that. But you also know that strange things can happen in track & field. Who knows, maybe a couple of their guys are hurt or sick or suspended, maybe someone screws up a relay pass, maybe someone else trips over a hurdle, maybe a few of our guys pull performances out of their asses, you know how things can get. A couple breaks go our way, anything can happen. We’ve got you, Vernon, Rex, Jimmy, those sophomore quarter-milers, little Tom, let’s just get after it and let it ride.” “Yeah, Coach, I’ve seen upsets happen both for us and against us. Hey, we’ll have some fun.” “Get some sleep, Teddy Bear. I really appreciate how good a captain you’ve been, how you’re really into track & field even though football’s your best sport. You’re a quality young man.” There was a bit of a history between the two schools. It was a very traditional and intense rivalry. The St. Brendan’s teams in all sports were thought of by most other schools as a bunch of spoiled pussy rich kids who couldn’t even figure out how to wipe their asses if they didn’t have servants to show them how. Buncha rich kids who didn’t even know what balls were. Hell, they had so much money they didn’t even need balls. Fucking assholes, think they’re all special king shit. Carsonville, on the other hand, though it was now a thriving small city of 20,000, had a reputation over the years as a hick town, populated by trailer trash kind of people, where family relationships were, shall we say, very close. People who couldn’t read or write, didn’t know how to do much besides chew tobacco, spit, and fuck their own grandmothers. Maybe drink some moonshine, if they didn’t confuse it with gasoline. Yee haw, looka the hicks from the sticks! In the fall, St. Brendan’s football team had their greatest victory over the Rebels, spoiling Carsonville’s homecoming game. Brendy’s was down by 6 points with under two minutes left, and didn’t have the ball. But on one historic play, Teddy Bear mashed the guts out of the ballcarrier, forcing a fumble that St. Brendan’s scooped up. The Cougars then drove 55 yards to score the winning touchdown with only 33 seconds left. Final score was 21-20. That loss knocked Carsonville out of any chance of going to regional playoffs. In the winter, in basketball, there was a bench-clearing brawl that included a lot of people from the stands. Was ugly enough to get police involved. Both schools had been sanctioned, and this partly led to league rule changes in all sports specifying penalties for taunting and unsportsmanlike verbal conduct. Track & field, of course, wasn’t a contact sport, but there would still be a lot of emotion. The art department had made a special gigantic poster to put up on the stadium scoreboard for this meet. It read 2005 CARSONVILLE HOMECUMMING. 21-20. GO COUGARS! So, on the day of the big meet, the Brendy’s team waited in the field house parking lot for the Rebels’ bus to arrive. They showed up, and Tom thought it strange that these guys were called the Rebels, because just about half their kids were black, including the one dressed in a pretty authentic General Robert E. Lee costume, complete with a white beard and a sword he was waving around. Even though Tom hated these Rebels with every muscle and bone and cell in his body, he had to admit that at least the costume was pretty cool. How come we don’t have someone dressed up as a cougar? Like with oversized claws and teeth and stuff. Both teams took the short walk up to the track, and though they knew they’d be in big trouble if there was a fight, there was some woofing. The Carsonville kids weren’t gentlemen at all. “Hey, you rich gay faggots think your shit don’t stink, why don’t we beat it out of you today, let’s find out!” “Your daddy’s money can’t buy you this meet today, can’t buy it, not today, not this time! You dealin’ with the Rebels! You got the Rebels in town!” “Who’s defending league champion here? Who’s league champion? Say the name, I wanna hear it, say the name!” The young men on the St. Brendan’s team were of course better-trained. Sportsmanship was an important lesson Coach P had always taught, and they weren’t about to sink to the level of these illiterate hick kids. The Cougars welcomed their opponents much more respectfully. “Hey, your father said your sister puts out!! Can I have her Saturday after you finish with her?” “Yo, Carsonville, if you can’t keep it in your pants, keep it in the family!!” “Hey, dumb shits, remember 21 to 20? Or can’t you count that high?” Tom was feeling intense and tough and brave, especially as he was kind of half-hidden behind Rex and two big javelin throwers. He yelled something that he thought was clever. “Hey, haven’t you guys heard? Civil War’s over, you surrendered, you lost!! Ignorant cocksuckers!!” he screamed. But when everyone got to the track, things just got ridiculous. The opponents put on a screaming loud boom box that played “Dixie” at about 130 decibels, and they trotted a warmup lap together, singing the tune. “Oh I wish I was in the land of cotton, old times there are not forgotten, look away, look away, look away, Dixieland. Oh in Dixieland where I was born in, early on one frosty mornin’, look away…….” Oh, man. This was NOT GOING TO STAND! NOT IN OUR SCHOOL, NOT ON OUR TRACK, NOT IN OUR HOUSE!! Who did these motherfuckers think they were? There was a lot more screaming of insults, and maybe half of the Cougars were about to take off after these guys, teach them some respect, until Teddy Bear made himself heard above the craziness. “HEY!!! Y’ALL SHUT UP AND LISTEN!! YEAH, THEY’RE PIECE OF SHIT TRAILER TRASH, BUT THEY’RE ALSO UNDEFEATED!! Let’s get our heads into this, let’s get ready, we’re gonna need everyone to come up big if we want this thing today! So enough of the talk, let’s circle up, let’s get stretched out. Come on!!” The guys obeyed their captain, and everything calmed down. After the circle stretching session, people dispersed to compete in or watch the field events. Tom was heading to the shot put area, but Mr. Milroy stopped him. “Hey, Tom, listen, we’re gonna do things a little differently with you this meet.” PART 54 “Huh? What do you mean, Mr. Milroy?” “Well, we need every point we can get if we want to even have a chance to get this meet down to the 4 x 4 relay, to have any chance of a win. You’re going to run two races today—first the mile, then the 2-mile. I know, we didn’t tell you about all this before, but well, let’s see how this thing goes. You know, you’ve been awesome for us so far, but you really haven’t been challenged much—you’ve never been up against good runners yet. I guess today’s the day.” “Well, I want us to win, but I’ve never trained for the mile, I’ve never really worked on running a pace quicker than 78, 79, or 80.” “Yeah, Tom, I know, and the mile is a whole different thing. In the 2-mile, you can find your pace, settle in, and know that you can probably take your time and easily pass the kids who go out too fast and aren’t in shape. But in the mile, you can’t just lay back—there’s not enough time to catch up if you lose contact. Tom, I want you to take your first lap out in 70 flat or 70.5. I know you’re not used to it, but I think you’re well-conditioned and tough enough. I think you can fight these guys, break up a possible Rebels sweep of the event.” “70??” Tom’s eyes and mouth were round circles. “Oh man, I don’t know if I’ve ever even practiced quarters like that. Well, all right, I’ll do what I can, but it’s pretty scary. Do they have decent milers?” “You’ll find out, kid, you’ll find out. Hey, the mile is the third race, so get loose quicker. As soon as you see people getting organized for the high hurdles, get yourself ready to go.” Oh wow. This was different. Bitch. Out in 70??? That’s not that much slower than a full sprint! But we can’t let them sweep the mile, Mr. Milroy is right, we have to keep this thing close. Gotta just give it everything for less than 5 minutes. And then, have enough left to get it done in the 2-mile later? All right, all right, let’s find out how the field events are going. Gotta do it today. I hate these Rebels!!! During the field events, there was much, much less taunting and preening by the guys on either team, as they were concentrating fully. Getting steps down precisely in the jumps, getting every ounce of your body aligned perfectly for a throw, and then the effort is over in a split second. Field events are almost as much about controlling nerves and emotion as they are about speed and strength. St. Brendan’s was hanging in as the early afternoon progressed. Teddy Bear won the shot put, he and Rex took 2nd and 3rd in the discus, and as expected, Jimmy and the other pole vaulters were dominating, with three of them easily over 10 feet and only one Rebel left in the event. Unfortuately the other jumping events were ugly, with Carsonville piling up 22 points to St. Brendan’s 5. Tom was nervous, but knew his team had good hurdlers and Burnin’ Vernon was untouchable in the 100. The time got closer and closer to that mile. Third running event. Before his other races, Tom was also nervous, but didn’t feel afraid like this. Before his others, he knew he had the training and knew his pace. Not today. This mile was a whole new world. St. Brendan’s recovered a few points in the first two running events, and Tom did his final warmup short sprints knowing the score even before it was announced by the scorekeeper kid through his portable microphone. Carsonville 44, St. Brendan’s 37. There would be two other St. Brendan’s runners in the mile, but Tom knew they were useless, would be lucky to break 5:30. No, it’s me or no one. If I get this win, the lead is down to 6, and we still have our 300-meter hurdlers, our quarter-milers, and Vernon to race again. Please, please, everything this race. Let it all hang out, deal with the 2-mile when it comes. All we have to do is get their lead under 5 points going into the last relay. As the times and places of the 100-meter runners were recorded, Tom kept trying to tell himself positive thoughts, but it was tough. He was so little and so scared. BANG! went the starter’s gun, and the mile was away. Oh fuck, these guys are fast. Knew they’d be. All right, all right, hang in, faster, damn, what’s a 70 pace? How fast do I have to go? Shit, this is crazy, I’m almost full speed, and they’re easily two seconds in front of me. Keep it going, breathe out, goddamn this is too fast! Three of those guys out there, I gotta beat ‘em all, breathe, think what happened at the tri-meet! Tom flew by the start-finish line and Mr. Milroy yelled his split. “69.8, Tom, you’re fine, looking good!! Stay up there, get to their shoulders! You’re OK!” But Tom knew he wasn’t OK. Not this time. In all his 2-miles, even if he was behind, he’d felt in control of things, felt like his pace was OK, like things might work out. But the small boy wasn’t used to this wild killer pace, and couldn’t exhale properly, couldn’t shake loose the tingling in his arms. The guys were getting farther and farther away, and it was only the second lap. Oh God, find something, where is it, fuck, remember the movie, the Scottish guy said it comes from within, come on, get back with these guys, we can’t let them stay out there!! Tom struggled and knew his form was off, knew his arms were moving around way too much, but he couldn’t help it. For awhile, he was catching up to the 3rd place runner. It wouldn’t be enough, only the win would be enough, but he fought himself, made it hurt. Just concentrate on the one guy, one at a time. But oxygen debt is oxygen debt. Tom was into an anaerobic state way too early in the race, and there was no way out. He was staggering, barely moving it seemed, and early in the last lap, yet another Rebel went around him like he was standing still. Went around him and ran far, far away. Far away into the distance like the others. Tom was almost crying, please just let it end. Oh no, no more. Just let it end, let me die. He eventually made it home, and crossed the finish line in a distant 5th place. He lay numb on the grass, trying to breathe. This time no one was all over him, no one screaming and pushing him around in congratulations. He could hear a few voices saying half-heartedly, “Good effort, kid.” “All right, way to get after it, good try.” But the boy knew that the meet was as good as over now. A 9-0 sweep for Carsonville, they’re beating us 53-37. Down 16 points. We’re not making up that kind of margin. Oh God. He heard Mr. Milroy’s voice above him, “4:58.7, Tom. All right, get set for that 2-mile.” 4:58.7. Ugly-ass 4:58.7. Shit-eating 4:58.7. The slowest 1600 meters that any human has ever run. Slower than any human, cat, dog, koala, turtle, any animal maybe. Tom got to his feet and was able to walk, though he didn’t have enough strength or breath left to really cry like he wanted to. Just kind of whimpered and sobbed a bit as his breath caught. Sucks, sucks, sucks, why did they put me in the mile, I don’t have that kind of speed. Hell with all this, we’re losing by 16, meet’s basically over, won’t make any difference if I’m in the 2-mile or not, just get me outa here. He walked slowly toward the field house to change and head back to Bats. Slowly, no hurry now. We lost. Tom thought he was walking alone, but he was clearly seen across the grass by Coach Prszeczkopowski. The old man didn’t miss much that went on during a meet. The 4 x 100 relay was also lost, and the team was now down by 21. Brendy’s passed the stick well, but was saving Vernon for the 200, and simply didn’t have the horses to stay in the race with the Carsonville sprinters. Teddy Bear, still a bit winded from running the second leg, came over to Coach’s side. “Hey, Teddy, good try, OK, you guys did what you could, 48.1 ain’t bad, but yeah, we knew this Carsonville team was a bitch. Hey, you see little Tom down there? Hmmm, walking away.” “Coach, I told you he wasn’t ready to mess with those guys in the mile.” “Yeah, but remember, I want to see what he’s made of. Looks like he thinks this meet is over, like it’s time to give up. Teddy, do you think you can get down there and do what you do best?” “Attitude adjustment and repair, Coach, that’s my specialty. Hell, it’s hard enough straightening out snot-faced freshmen, now we’ve got an 8th grader, ain’t this just special.” “That’s why you’re captain, big guy! And come on, the boy has to learn.” “All right, Coach, be back soon,” said the gigantic football player as he raced across the infield and down the hill to catch up to Tom. Damn little kids, why do I have to deal with them, isn’t that what teachers are for? All right, all right, let’s get it done. Attitude adjustment and repair, that’s a fact, that’s what I do best. PART 55 As Coach had said before, Teddy Bear, despite his huge size, was not slow. He caught up to Tom well before the small kid reached the field house, grabbed one of his tiny shoulders, and spun him around. “Hey kid, where the hell do you think you’re going? We got a track meet today, maybe you forgot? Home team, that’s us, has to set up the 300-meter hurdles, then later you’ve got a 2-mile to run.” “Doesn’t matter, we lost, we both know it. I sucked so bad, why did you guys put me in the mile? That was stupid, I don’t have the speed for that. Doesn’t matter if I run the dumbass 2-mile, we lost already, I’m outa here.” “You’re not outa anywhere! I don’t know who the fuck you think you are, something special, you walk away from a meet? Hell, if I ever tried that when I was little, I’d a got my ass whipped good. Now listen, you’re coming back up that hill with me, and you’re gonna do what you gotta do. You’re a Cougar, and Cougars don’t fucking quit!” Now Tom was mad. These days, when he was mad, instead of automatically changing his voice to Spanish, he more often switched to Southern. “Leave me alone! You can’t make me do anything!! I’ll do what I feel like, ain’t you or nobody gonna tell me jack shit!” “Oh sure, kid. Right.” Teddy Bear then picked up the little distance runner and put him under one of his arms like the kid was a football. Tom now had plenty of fight left in him, a lot more fight than he showed in that mile. He squirmed and punched the huge man, screaming that he was gonna tell Coach, gonna tell Headmaster, tell his father, no one was gonna make him do anything. He thought that someone would come and get him out of this jerk’s hold, but no one did. His ribs hurt a bit because Teddy Bear had such a tight grip on him, had the little boy’s whole torso in between his arm and his side. The big man had to squeeze hard so Tom couldn’t escape. “Tell the goddamn Queen of England if you feel like, punk, all’s I know is as long as you’re a Cougar, you belong to me, and no Cougar walks away. Never has, never will.” They arrived at the track, with Tom still in a futile struggle to break loose from Teddy Bear’s grip. “Hey Coach, look what I found for you. Sounds like this kid has a stubborn streak in him, maybe that’s why he’s good in the distances. Also sounds like he needs a big-time attitude overhaul. I’m thinking the price will be about $250, after the meet I’ll give you a written estimate. Coach, I can bill your MasterCard or I suppose I can take $225 if you pay me in cash.” “Sure, big guy, just send your bill to the administration office, sure, they’ll just get right on that, won’t they? Yeah, you go discuss it with them. Thanks, Teddy Bear, why don’t you leave the kid with me and I’ll take it from here?” Finally Teddy Bear put Tom down and Tom started screaming that no one had any right to touch him, his parents wouldn’t let anyone, he was gonna make sure everyone got in big trouble, no way was he gonna be child-abused, and started repeating his stupid whining about the mile and the score of the meet. Something different happened next. Coach Prszeczkopowski grabbed hold of his tiny bicep muscle, and squeezed hard. Really hard. No way was Tom going to get out of this. Now he was scared. He knew that Teddy Bear wasn’t really going to hurt him, but this was the first time in his life that an adult had ever touched him angrily, touched him in anything but an affectionate way. And Coach was never like this. Tom got quiet fast, and just glared at the old man. Coach’s long finger pointed right at the boy’s nose. “Tom, I’m going to give you a break because you’re so young. But you’re a smart kid, and there’s a lesson you’re gonna learn right now, and this is a lesson you damn sure won’t forget. No athlete on this team walks away from me, walks away from his captain, walks away from a meet.” Tom’s arm was hurting bad, and it felt a bit like when the doctor would take his blood pressure. “You came to me back in October and said you wanted to be on this team. Well, kid, you are. And once you are, you’re not turning back. Part of being on this team is that you do things that sometimes you don’t feel like. It’s how you learn to be an athlete, and how you learn to be a man! I don’t care if we’re down by 1 point, 21, or 31. I don’t give a hoot in hell if you ran 4:28, 4:58 or 5:38 in your mile. You’ll learn to keep going, and you’ll learn respect for this SPORT and this TEAM! Now right this minute, you’re going to head over to the backstretch and help the freshmen set up those hurdles. Then you’re going to start getting your legs loose for that 2-mile. Don’t even goddamn talk to me right now ‘cause you got NOTHING to say. Just do.” Coach let go of Tom’s arm, and Tom did what he was told. He didn’t really know what consequences there would be if he didn’t, but Coach’s “you’re going to” predictions turned out to be absolutely correct. No one said much to him as he placed a couple hurdles on the track, and it seemed that his tantrum hadn’t really been noticed by people on either team. No one seemed to care much. How come? Didn’t they even hear? When the hurdles were set, Tom trotted a lap of the infield grass. He could breathe all right, and his legs weren’t really stiff, though they felt awfully heavy. No snap, no quickness to them, no energy. But three more races and the 2-mile would be up. He sat down on the grass, began stretching, and watched the races. Brendy’s got first and second in the hurdles, but his friend Rick got destroyed in the 800, just like he did, not scoring a single point. Would Rick have to come back later in the 4 x 4 relay? Was that part of being of the team? Tom jogged around a bit more as the 200 meters was organized and run. Just do what you can, they can’t ask any more than that, he figured. After a few more minutes, they called the 2-milers to the line. Tom didn’t know it, but with the meet well in hand, Carsonville had taken three of their runners out of the 2-mile to rest their legs or had put them in other running events for variety. Only one of the Rebels who had smoked him in the mile was doubling in the 2. The gun went off, and though Tom’s legs were tired and heavy, he hung in with most of the opponents, and got around all but one of them on lap 5. He didn’t feel the same ferocious intensity or fight as he usually did, but he did keep his concentration and held onto second place. Three points, it was something, at least. His time of 10:39.2 wasn’t good, but wasn’t completely disgusting either. No one wanted to talk to him after the race, which was just as well. Tom didn’t feel like talking much, nothing to say. St. Brendan’s had lost, and it hadn’t even been close. Later that evening, Tom quietly did his homework and helped Ricky. Ricky was so good at knowing when his friend was in a sad mood, and didn’t want to be messed with or hear stupid jokes. Ricky knew that Tom felt losses in sports much more than he did, and kept things pretty quiet and peaceful. At least until the knock on the door. “Come on in, Father,” said the tall blond boy. “Thanks, kid, but I ain’t your daddy! Hey, Tom.” It was none other than Teddy Bear. Ricky stared at the giant and his mood switched instantly back to crazy again. “Tom, who’s your friend here? I thought mountain gorillas were pretty much extinct except in Africa, I think like in Congo! You got any bananas here, it must be hungry! Hey, big guy, can you say ‘ooga ooga’?” Ricky laughed and scratched under his armpits. Damn, Ricky’s never scared of anything or anyone!! Why can’t I be like that? “Tom, who the hell is this and what is his problem?” Tom grinned and for the first time since the meet felt a little happier, a little like laughing. “He’s Ricky. Remember, Teddy Bear, you and Coach were trying to teach me stuff today? Maybe Ricky needs a little lesson, too!” So Teddy Bear obliged, teaching Ricky to repeat the phrase “I will learn to respect upperclassmen, especially when they can kick my ass.” Sometimes there was an extra “OWWWW” or two in the middle of the sentence, like right after Ricky would “accidentally” add the words “ugly faggot” before the word “upperclassmen”, and Teddy Bear would squeeze his neck, punch his stomach, or twist a body part in an unnatural direction. It was part of the lesson. The big man of course knew exactly how far to go, and wouldn’t really hurt Ricky, but the whole scene made Tom laugh and scream. A talented teacher, was Teddy Bear. Finally Ricky was quiet, and Teddy Bear asked if he could please leave him alone with Tom for a little while. Ricky took his guitar and headed outside. He couldn’t resist making one more gorilla grunting noise on his way out the door, but this time Teddy Bear just laughed. “That was a hell of a day, Tom, wasn’t it?” Tom was thinking about crying, but held off. “Teddy Bear, I’m really sorry, I know, I acted like such a stupid idiot. Maybe I shouldn’t have had to run the mile, but it doesn’t matter, I know I’ve gotta do whatever it takes to try and score points for us. And you were just doing your job, being captain and all. I’m sorry.” Now a few tears started to come, and Tom’s nose started getting snotty. “But losing sucks so bad. I tried so hard, but I just couldn’t hold onto that 70 pace in that mile. And I guess we all tried, but this hurts. What was the final score?” “87-58. Yeah, it was ugly. But kid, here’s what you gotta learn. Sometimes, you’re going to lose. Happened today, and it’ll happen again.” Now Teddy Bear was a little more affectionate, leaning over the top bunk and petting Tom’s hair. “I know this stuff is just sports clichés, old stuff that people have said millions of times, Tom, but it’s all true. If you can’t learn how to lose, you’ll never really learn how to win. It’s all part of life, kid. I know you’re smart, and I know you’re a hell of a tough runner, but you gotta keep what you learned today in your head forever.” “But Teddy, you say that, but you’ve never lost or anything, not really. I mean in football, you’re strong enough to just kill anyone you feel like. No one’s ever stomped on you like those kids did to me today in that mile.” “WHAT??” the big guy laughed. “You think I’ve never had my ass kicked, never got knocked down, never got my bell rung? You think we’ve never lost a football game? Wrong, kid. And next year, when I play for ‘Bama, you think there aren’t guys 50 or 60 pounds bigger than me who are gonna push my face into the ground sometimes? Way wrong. Way it’s gonna be for me sometimes, and way it’s gonna be for you.” “Bigger than YOU? Damn. But yeah, I guess you’re right.” “Now after April vacation, we have three more dual meets, two more tri-meets, then League Individuals, then the Noga Championships. Long way to go. And I bet in some of those meets, you’ll have to double, just like you did today. So get used to it, and maybe you’ll have to do some more speedwork, get into those 69’s or 70’s so that pace doesn’t blow you away. Well, kid, guess that’s about it for me. Been a long day. Thanks for listening, and say goodnight for me to Ricky, too. I’m outa here.” A couple minutes later, Tom wandered outside, heading up to Riley’s where Ricky would probably be. Tom heard the guitar notes before he could see his friend. Yeah, there he was. What was that song, that classical piece, Bach? Yeah, that nice one. Forget track & field until tomorrow. PART 56 The kids would basically do the same routine for April vacation as they did for Christmas, that is, Ricky’s parents would bring Tom from school to Asheville, and then put him on the bus to Greensboro to stay with his abues. Tom’s mother knew that even though things were going well, and everything was happening as she hoped, she couldn’t see him yet. Not everything was quite sure, and she wanted to have Dad in America before they sprung the big surprise on their son. Together again. So Mrs. Klein headed to her sister’s in Texas for the week and a half. Patience, patience. Everything would work out in its own time. Tom stayed with Ricky’s family only one night this time. Ricky and his family had a lot of catching up to do, a lot of working things out. The boy still felt a little guilty about causing everyone so much trouble the last time they’d been together, so he decided to be extra nice and cheery this time. What helped was that there were so many good things happening, summer was coming, and a lot of cool stuff was going to happen. According to the measuring ceremony, Ricky was now exactly as tall as Dad, exact to the quarter-inch. However, he’d only put on three pounds since Christmas. Skinny as a rail. Well, Mom thought, we can fix that over these next few days. Stuff him til he explodes. And on the second night, when things were quiet after dinner, Dad told his son about some special plans for the summer. “Ricky, you know I’m going to have some time off this summer, probably about 12 days. I was thinking it might be fun for us to go somewhere, you and me, really see this great part of the world close-up. I was thinking and made a couple calls, maybe for part of the time we could go canoeing on the Nantahala for a few days? Or maybe hiking, too, maybe one of the smaller trails or parks that’s not the crowded Appalachian Trail or the Smokies. We could maybe combine them. Hey, I brought you this old, old movie they’ve put out on DVD, about a little canoe trip down that way. Ah, I think I first saw this movie when I was younger than you!! You’re gonna love it, let’s pop it in!” The movie was the beautiful old classic “Deliverance”, a thriller which started with the retarded kid playing “Dueling Banjos”, one of Ricky’s favorite tunes, and progressed into a story of some men on a canoe trip that had just a few misadventures, both on the river and with the colorful local folks. Arrows sticking through people’s chests, canoes flying over waterfalls, simulated homosexual rape, dead bodies twisted into grotesque positions floating upstream, downstream, lots of fun! Ricky loved it, and he and Dad laughed for hours. They both had a blast repeating some of the famous lines, though Dad’s attempt at a southern accent was pretty lame. “Yeah, Dad, we gotta do this thing! I can’t wait! Oh yeah, man, this is gonna be special! But are you sure we want to canoe in exactly the parts they filmed there? Some of the rapids look a little too intense for someone old like you!” “Well, I did some research, and there are plenty of areas that are safer. Maybe we could do this with a tour group, on our own, plenty of options. And maybe if you feel like it, you could invite Tom. You know, he’s always lived in big cities, I bet he’d love something like this.” “Yeah, maybe,” said Ricky, and he wanted to say something else, but didn’t know how it would come out, he didn’t want to sound all weird and faggy, but he did say it the best he could. “Maybe we could, Dad, but you know….I want to see Tom this summer, yeah, and maybe he could visit or I could go see him or whatever, but….” Ricky knew he would always be loyal to his best friend, but this was something different. “But maybe this would be more fun with just you and me, just something for us together, Dad. You know what I mean?” Ricky moved over on the couch so he was leaning on Dad, and let his father pet his hair and kiss his forehead. “Well, Ricky, we have plenty of time to think everything over. You know, we’ve been through some tough times as a family recently, and I want to have the good times with you, too. Hey, kid, I almost forgot. Preacher Cal called us a couple weeks ago. He was all excited, said he’s been talking to some people about you and he has a lot of possible plans for you this summer. Why don’t you ride my bike out that way Sunday, you can talk to him after church.” Bit by bit as the late evening wore on, Ricky tired, and was in and out of sleep as he leaned on his Dad. Dad studied every inch of his long tall son’s peaceful handsome face. Hmmm, the arms and legs are longer, but the face is the same. What a kid. A strange one, he is, but what a special one. My only one, now that Matthew is long gone. Dad wanted to say the three special words that he felt, three special words that are so simple, but for some reason can cause embarrassment to any teenager. So he waited until he thought Ricky was pretty much asleep until he said quietly in the kid’s ear, “I love you, Ricky. I love you so much.” Dad didn’t mention to his son a couple other conversations he’d had recently, once by e-mail and once by phone. The conversations were with Mr. Stone, who was naturally concerned about Ricky’s abysmal grades in classes. Mr. Stone had done some checking up, and found that there were summer school classes run by the Asheville public school system, remedial classes in math, reading comprehension, and writing skills. He suggested to Dad that it might be a good idea for Ricky to take some classes in the mornings so he could come back to school in 9th grade better able to handle the tough St. Brendan’s curriculum. The classes were Monday through Fridays, 8 AM to 11 AM, with very little homework, and just until August 9. Mr. Stone thought that Ricky could take the classes, but still have time for fun all summer. Dad and Mom talked it all over, made some inquiries themselves, and Dad then called Mr. Stone back from his office at the hospital. “Mr. Stone, I appreciate you going the extra mile for our son—I know St. Brendan’s is good at that type of thing. But we’ve thought it over, and I don’t think we want to go that route.” “Well, Mr. Spann, it’s of course your decision. But I have to tell you straight up, though we all think Ricky is a great kid and a positive influence in the community here, he’s definitely lost in classes. Have you had a chance to talk to your son, find out how he’d react to taking summer classes and getting caught up academically?” Dad laughed out loud over the phone. “Uhhhh, no disrespect, Mr. Stone, but I don’t have to talk to Ricky to know how he’d react. I can tell you right now how he’d react to the concept of summer school! No doubt about that one!” Mr. Stone said he understood, and after a bit more conversation, Dad summarized things. “Mr. Stone, I guess you know that it takes all kinds of people to make a world. I guess you know maybe better than I do, seeing so many hundreds of teenage kids, that each one is different. Well, by now we both know that Ricky is never going to be a National Merit Scholar. Can’t get blood from a stone, sir, can’t force what isn’t meant to be. He’s no academic genius, and that’s not going to change even if we make him go to summer school. But both my wife and I think that he’s grown tremendously from his experience at St. Brendan’s, he probably has the talent to pursue a musical career, and he’s happy there. So if it’s OK with you, we’ll just have him enter 9th grade with you as things are, and we’ll muddle through the best we can. Thanks again for everything.” Ricky did go up to see Preacher Cal and Gloria that Sunday, and the news blew him away. This Cal, he seemed to know anyone and everyone in town, and could do just about anything. First, Preacher mentioned that he knew the head of the receiving department at Wal-Mart, and this guy had heard Ricky play his instruments in front of the store the previous spring. The receiving boss had talked to another guy, and they wanted to offer Ricky a summer job!! Just to play and sing either outside the store or inside, maybe greet people, make tunes about certain products, whatever. The store manager thought that the kid and his music would be a novelty, something to put shoppers in better moods, something that might make them come back more often or stay longer. Something new and fun. He said they wanted him for four hours a day Wednesdays and Thursdays, longer on Fridays through Sundays, and they’d pay him an hourly wage. Ricky was to call the manager for a more formal interview and they’d work everything out. Job, serious money, Ricky was all tingling. But Cal had more news. He also knew someone who was in charge of this bluegrass music website, like a streaming radio show, and Preacher mentioned Ricky’s talent. They said they wanted to hear him play, and if it was what they liked, they wanted to record him and put him on the site. This was way too cool for words. “Cal, thanks so much, man. This is so weird, how do you know all these people, how do you know all this stuff?” “Well, kid,” Cal said in his deep thick southern drawl, “live as long as I have in this town, there’s not much a guy doesn’t know. Yeah, I put your name out there to quite a few people I know through work, church, other stuff. Look, I want you to have a full, busy, happy summer. Remember what we talked about back at your house? I want you to be off your ass, be part of this world. You’re a special kid, and you should be out there doing things. You’re the one with the talent, you know. I’m just putting you in contact with the folks, just setting stuff up. You and God will do the rest.” Yeah, it was going to be quite a summer. Ricky spent most of the rest of vacation either daydreaming about the summer ahead, jerking off twice a day, calling or messaging Jenny, or playing basketball at the downtown park. He still wasn’t as good as some of the other kids, especially the slick fast black ones, but he was improving, ten times better than he was during the fall season. He could now jump way over people and do serious damage inside. If I can just get a little stronger, push people around better, next year, me and Bobby….daammm. It was finally Friday, the Friday after Easter, and Mom had the day off work. Tom would be arriving Sunday, and the kids would be heading back to school Sunday afternoon. Mom decided that she would be the one to talk to him about one last idea, one really important thing. She knew that Ricky was again the kid she knew, though of course much bigger. He was the laugher, the sweetie, the clown, the everything. Lucky girl, that Jenny. Lucky mom, me. Maybe this thing would just top everything off. Let’s see how he reacts. “Ricky, this has been such a great vacation, and there’s one more thing maybe we could do this weekend if you really really want to.” She paused, gathering strength. Don’t want to make him mad, but sometimes stuff has to be said. “Ricky, do you think you’d like to go with us to the SPCA and we could pick out a dog tomorrow?” The boy looked at Mom and started breathing fast, and his face screwed up into a cry. He slumped down onto the couch, and buried his face in one of the little pillows. Mom was instantly mad at herself, oh no, why did I have to ruin everything? “It’s OK, Mom, it’s OK, no, I’m not mad, I’m OK,” Ricky sobbed. “But………Mom, not yet, not now. Please? You know, when Cal was here, he talked about part of the Bible, yeah, I know you’re not into all that, but he said there’s a place that says something like ‘For everything there’s a season, a time for every purpose.’ Mom, please, I just can’t now, there’ll be time, just like Cal and the Bible said.” Ricky’s tears had stopped, but his face was still all red and he was still sniffling. “Mom, can we get the new dog in the summer? Yeah, when I’ll be home and I’ll be ready, and it’ll be like, it’ll be like for the rest of the school year it’s one more thing I can look forward to, you know what I mean? Please?” “All right, Ricky, summer it is, then. Summer it is. Kid, now that you’re exactly six feet tall, are you too big to give your mother a serious hug and kiss?” “Of course I’m too big,” said Ricky’s voice. “Forget about it.” But the boy stood up, and his arms and shoulders and lips said something completely different. Mmmmmm…..Mom’s all right. Yeah…..it’s good. For the next two days, Ricky’s head was filled with hoops, Jenny, the job, radio music, the Nantahala River, new dog, Tom, hiking. Summer was stretching out in front of him like a long, long, endless unrolling carpet or something. Endless and coming soon. PART 57 The season continued, with more dual meets and more tri-meets. St. Brendan’s won a lot more than usual in recent years, and finished 11-2. Good, but not good enough to win the league championship, which was again taken by those much-hated, again undefeated Carsonville Rebels. But there were still a lot of triumphs, a lot of fun, a lot of laughs, a lot of hard work. Individually, Tom had won the 2-mile seven times, and taken second in the other three. He was nowhere near as successful in the mile, winning only once in five tries, though scoring at least a point in all the others except the Carsonville race. 56 points total. In the League Individual Championship Meet, Tom had been able to take a couple days easier training to get his legs sharp, and he wasn’t doubled in the mile, so he came up with his best time ever in the 2. He finished 4th in 10:11.3, a 7-second improvement on his previous personal best. It was easily good enough to qualify for the Noga Championships the following week. The boy was looking forward to Noga—it was kind of a reward for the top athletes (though he still didn’t think he counted as an “athlete”) in the region, and unless he qualified for States (which would be an extreme longshot), it would be the end of a long, long, eventful season. What Tom didn’t know was on the day of the Nogas, something else would happen to him besides a race. Something big. But as he relaxed and played with Ricky and Father Ray on Sunday afternoon, neither he nor anyone else knew what the following Saturday would have in store. That same Sunday evening after dinner, Coach Prszeczkopowski lay on the couch in his house, relaxing and looking through piles and piles of old papers with names and numbers on them. His wife always wondered why he was so obsessed with these documents—meet results going back all the way to the 1970’s. He had long ago put all the old results into the computer, but for some reason he loved to shuffle through the actual original papers, some of them now yellowing and growing brittle with age (just like him!). He could stare at the pages for hours, sometimes also looking over scrapbooks of ancient photographs. There was a comfort in his reminiscing. Numbers such as the scores of meets, like 79-66, numbers such as performances, say 1:59.6 in the 800 meters or 138’9” in the discus, brought back thoughts of the boys who’d achieved them, boys who were mostly now grown men. Many of the men had kept in touch with him—among the boys he’d previously coached were two current St. Brendan’s teachers, a couple CEO’s of companies, a United States Congressman, and so many others. Two of the kids on this year’s team, and several others in the last few years, had fathers who had been on Coach P’s teams way back when. For this year’s kids, their fathers’ marks and performances were better than their sons’ so far, but the sons were catching up fast…sophomores now. He reminisced and dreamed a lot these days, often even after Rose would tell him to come to bed. The stacks of papers were old friends. On this evening, Coach also had to prepare his speech for the Spring Sports Banquet. It was a big event held every year, where all the kids on the spring sports teams got dressed up in their green school blazers, got fed a gigantic pig-feast dinner, and coaches and athletes would make important, sometimes funny, sometimes emotional speeches about the season and about what the sport had meant to them. It was to be Coach P’s 32nd straight spring sports banquet. Wasn’t always easy coming up with new stuff to say, though this season had been special. He looked again through old season summaries, comparing this one to others. 13 kids qualified for Noga this year, close to half the team. That’s a hell of an accomplishment. And that little Tom Klein, wow, what the hell was up with that weirdo geek? Coach knew that no little kid had ever been that good, but he decided to look over some numbers, give him something specific to work with. 56 points, the kid had scored. Couldn’t be an 8th grade record, because we’ve never really had any 8th graders on the team before. But what was the freshman record, what was the most points any 9th grader had ever scored? He looked and looked. In 1994 a freshman boy had scored 25. That was the maximum. Wow. Rose nagged him again to turn out the lights and come to bed. The banquet wouldn’t be until Tuesday, there was still plenty of time to prepare stuff. Yeah, come to bed. Tom knew about the banquet, and it would be fun, but also knew that Monday and Tuesday would be brutal, savage, gut-wrenching training days of painful, painful speedwork. Coach would whip his little ass good. Noga meet would be the following Saturday, and the kids would practice lighter on Wednesday, and hardly at all Thursday and Friday so their legs could be fresh and frisky. Was there a chance he could qualify for States? Probably not. Only three men in each event qualified as individuals if their teams didn’t get in, and when Tom went online to see how his qualifying time compared to the other kids, he knew the chances were slim. His time of 10:11.3 had him seeded 16th out of 25 guys in the race. Of course, these guys weren’t just anyone, these were the top 2-milers in all of North Georgia, and naturally almost all of them were 11th or 12th graders. Nine of them were under ten minutes. OK. Well, let’s see what happens. Maybe some of those times are bullshit. Mr. Milroy had told him that some coaches lied and fudged times of their runners. And occasionally, runners who qualified were too busy with prom partying, and didn’t even go to the meet. A while before Sunday dinner time, Ricky had to do some stuff so Tom was left alone with Father Ray, and he told the priest all about the upcoming Noga meet, everything he knew. They walked up to the ampitheatre, and it was all quiet and nice. Tom was in an affectionate mood, and cuddled up close to his favorite teacher as they sat on the pine needles. Father didn’t have to do anything now to make the boy feel good except listen and hold him nice and tight, pet his hair. Pretty easy work, it takes so little to make this kid happy. And they even pay me for this, well not much, but hey, take what you can get! When Tom finally (hallelujah) shut up for a blessed minute, Father told him not to think so much about times and places and lap splits, just to think about laying it all out there, just putting every ounce of himself into it, and whatever the result was, it would be good enough. He praised the boy and made him feel special. Tom in a way didn’t want the school year to end. Summer would be cool, but he’d miss Ricky and Father Ray so much, and next year he’d be living in Humboldt Hall and wouldn’t see Father as much. That’s life, deal and adapt. Tuesday night was indeed the big banquet. Tom had no idea it was going to be so fancy. He sat in between Rick and big Bobby, and the whole team was crazy, beating on each other, chucking food all over, doing stupid shit, just acting their ages! Rick mentioned that after this huge dinner, there would be speeches. “Speeches? Like the coaches talk?” “Yeah, but not just them. Each coach always gives out two awards, Most Valuable Player and Rookie of the Year. Those kids have to go up front and talk, too. Goes in alphabetical order, so we’re last, after baseball, lacrosse, and tennis.” This got Tom thinking and made his mouth feel dry, despite his drinking another cup of water. Rookie of the year? Could that be me? Well, probably has to be, I mean I scored 56 points, but damn, this sucks, I can’t go up there in front of everyone. What am I supposed to say, no one told me if I was getting any kind of award or anything, but maybe no one ever tells anyone. I gotta think of something to say, but I always say stuff wrong, damn. Tom was very excited but very scared, in some way just like he was on that first day he’d seen the campus, so long ago with Mom and Dad. How come Ricky can’t make my speech for me, he’s not scared of anything, he loves it when everyone’s looking at him. Maybe they’ll give it to a 9th grader, who’s really in the high school section, not me. But our 9th graders basically suck. The kids inhaled huge pieces of chocolate cake and piles of cookies for dessert, and the speeches started. They were really well-thought out, mixing the funny stuff with the really serious. The kids who won the awards really put their hearts into it, were really really proud of themselves and their teams. And Coach P gave a long and brilliant tribute to the team’s MVP, Burnin’ Vernon James. Sprinter, long-jumper, javelin thrower, state finalist, National Merit Scholar, he had been on the team four years, had accumulated the third-most career points of anyone in the school’s history, and would be continuing his track career next year at James Madison University. Vernon spoke eloquently, and after lots of sincere applause the mike went back to Coach. “I guess there’s not a lot of suspense here in our award for Rookie of the Year. Back in October, I got a visit from one of the strangest, craziest little kids I think I’ve ever seen at this school, and I’ve seen a lot of them in my time! I thought this kid was maybe from Planet Psycho Ward or somewhere, certainly too off the wall to be one of us! He said that all he wanted to do was train like a crazy fool all winter long, and as long as there were no Kenyans or Ethiopians running, he was sure he was gonna win Founders’ Day! Oh yeah, no one else outside of East Africa was even gonna have a chance, he’d blow them all away!” People in the crowd laughed, and Tom kind of wanted to crawl under the long banquet table. “But this boy was a lot more than just stupid talk. This kid trained with the toughness and courage of a true Cougar, with the toughness and courage of a young man a lot older than 13. When track & field season arrived, he put all of himself out there on that track, week after week, race after race. I can’t ever remember ever even having an 8th grader on our team, and this one scored 56 points for us. In my 32 years coaching here, no NINTH grader has ever scored more than 25! With his talent and effort, this young man has earned the respect of every one of his teammates, of Coach Milroy and myself, and of the other competitors in our league. Our track & field Rookie of the Year, Tom Klein!” There was applause and screaming, and Bobby pushed Tom hard enough to knock him off his chair onto the floor. “Get up there, rodent shit, yeah!! Do it!! It’s you!!” Tom got up and walked around the long table up to the big front table where all the coaches were. Shit, what am I gonna say? He planned out his first couple sentences, and when he was about to talk, he had to stop so they could lower the microphone down. Naturally the thing made a godawful screeching reverb sound, which everyone of course laughed at. Oh, that’s wonderful. Will they shut up so I can at least say something? Took a minute, but they did. “Thank you, Coach P and Coach Milroy. Yeah, it’s been a long season, a great season. Eleven wins, it’s been special. You know, before this I’d never been on any sports team before. Everything was new for me. I was worried about a lot of stuff, but always, always, you guys, my teammates, made me feel welcome and part of the team. I want to especially thank our captain, Teddy Bear, for helping me in everything, and yeah, even for kicking my ass when I was a pussy after that first time I ran the mile!” Everyone laughed and clapped a couple minutes for the big guy, who stood up and waved. Tom had just a little bit more to say, but suddenly had the urge to cry. Fuck, NOT NOW!! “I guess really the last thing I want to say is that I’m so proud to be a Cougar. It means everything to me. Everything I have and everything I am. And remember, guys, this season isn’t over yet. We still have the Noga meet on Saturday, so let’s go down there and we’ll GET THAT THING!!” Everyone screamed, laughed, clapped, and pounded on the tables. As Tom walked away, a few kids threw stuff at him. “Yeah, what thing you gonna get with two inches?” “Way to go, Tom! You de man!” “Hey, why don’t you buy a fucking Barbie Doll, get her thing, best you’re gonna get! Hell of a season!!” Tom got back to the table, and the other track & field kids clapped some more for him, congratulated him, shook him around, punched him in the head, and mushed his face in a plate full of cake crumbs. Hmmmm, the sports banquet, tougher than a 2-mile race. But guess I’m as part of the team as I’m ever gonna get. PART 58 Tom’s parents would have loved to have seen that whole Sports Banquet ceremony. What a difference in their son! The change would have blown them away. What a different boy from when they’d last seen him, back when he was so scared of even talking to another kid. In fact, parents were invited to the Sports Banquet, and quite a few of them did actually make the trip to be there. The parents, though, were seated at their own tables, separated from their rowdy food-throwing sons. No, Tom’s parents weren’t there, but they were closer. Much closer than before, much closer than Tom knew. Two weeks before, Dad had flown up, up into the polluted sky above the city of Minsk, leaving there forever. A career of close to 30 years was over, but something new was about to start. Mom hadn’t told him that much about her progress in getting a place to live and all the other details. She wanted it to be mostly a surprise for him, just like later they’d surprise Tom. But right on time, she’d told him when stuff would be ready enough, when he could give notice to the State Department, and when he could finally, finally, come back to a place he could call home. Mom didn’t even tell him what state they’d be living in. On the planes, Dad closed his eyes and imagined. When he got to a land called America and saw his wife again, oh my God. More kissing and hugging than decent people should do, and that first night and early morning they even got indecent with each other three times! Three times, they both agreed that they hadn’t managed three times since well back in a previous century, wayyyy back in the Bill Clinton era. They stayed a couple days in Greensboro with Mom’s parents, and then started on the long drive with the new car toward their new home that Mom had picked out, furnished, fussed over, and grown to love. She told him not to expect everything perfect—there was a lot of work still to be done, and Dad would have to become an instant expert in things he’d never known how to do before, stuff like lawn work, fixing things, connecting things, handyman type things that would be a major challenge. Finally, finally, they rolled up to the house. Dad got out of the car, stretched, and could actually feel his blood pressure dropping, actually feel himself calming and sensing peace that he hadn’t felt for so, so long. A sweet ease on the heart. The house wasn’t fancy, nowhere near as elegant as they’d been used to, but it had land around it, had a forest and small river in back, and had one very special feature outside. Real estate ladies say that when you show a house to a woman, the woman knows within 15 seconds if she wants to live there. Decision’s made that fast. And when Mom saw that thing, that big beautiful treehouse in the front yard, where Tom and Dad could play all day and night, well, the place was sold. “You got a place with a treehouse!!” Dad screamed. He was now instantly transformed into a boy of Tom’s age, and he raced up to the thing, climbing the ladder and exploring every corner of it. “I always wanted a place with a treehouse!! How did you know? Maria, I think I’m gonna keep you!” There was still plenty of work to be done, stuff to be organized, and it would be awhile before they were ready to spring the whole surprise on Tom, to get together again. Dad called Headmaster and told him what was up, gave him their new address and phone number, and said that he’d be arriving at school sometime soon to see his son again. Headmaster was given instructions to say nothing to Tom. They’d all coordinate together when he could see and pick up his kid. Days flew by with more and more new experiences for both parents, but especially for Dad. On some warm evenings, he took walks up and down the country road they were on and introduced himself to neighbors. Neighbors in a neighborhood. Again, something he’d never really known for years and years. He felt sincere, warm handshakes from ordinary, regular people. Handshakes that weren’t part of diplomatic protocol, that weren’t staged or scripted, that weren’t for any reason other than welcome and friendship. Handshakes without an agenda. Conversation without a specific goal in mind. No more mind games, just friendship of real folks, of his own people, but the type of people he’d never really gotten to know. Though their house was in a somewhat rural area, a fairly large town was only four miles away. One day Dad decided to take a couple hours and perform a patriotic ceremony. He could have done this any time, there was no rush. It was something he’d never really had to do before, or at least for longer than he could remember, and he wanted to drag out and savor the process a bit. He found the town hall and registered to vote. And while he was in town, he went to the hardware store and bought the biggest American flag he could find, along with metal braces, screws, and tools to put the thing up. When he got home, he climbed up a stepladder, almost fell over, and tried to mount the flag to the side of the house, constantly dropping stuff like a klutz, constantly screwing up the whole process and making his wife laugh at him. But eventually it happened, and the red, white, and blue waved freely in the late afternoon breeze. No one would rip it up here, no one would spit on it, no one would burn or stomp on it. No one would glare at it or him with hate any more. No more, they were home now. Of course Dad didn’t forget to buy tons of not-entirely-legal firecrackers for a 4th of July blowout when Tom got home. Gotta make sure the kid doesn’t blow his hand off or something, but really, what are the chances? It’ll be all right. When they were back in North Carolina, the grandparents suggested that they go see Ricky’s family in Asheville. Those people had really been so helpful over both of Tom’s school vacations. The Kleins and Spanns had a nice Sunday together, until one crucial thing that Dad forgot. Something that got his ass kicked good. Something to perhaps change everything. Both families got to talking in detail, mostly about how their sons needed each other, and how everything was working out for both kids. But during the easy conversation, Mr. Spann mentioned the events beginning in late February, beginning with Tom’s accident. Oh shit, thought Tom’s Dad, I forgot, I forgot, should have told them not to bring it up, oh shit, this could be bad. “Accident?” Mrs. Klein asked. “What kind of accident?” She was looking curiously at Ricky’s parents and also furiously at her own husband. This was gonna get ugly. “Tom had…uh, you don’t know? Uh, maybe we’d better leave you folks alone for a few minutes, looks like you have some catching up to do,” said Mr. Spann, motioning to his wife to give these people some space. “ACCIDENT?” Mom screamed when they were outside. Screamed, pushed, hit, slapped. Lucky they were at someone else’s house, or she might have REALLY lost it. “You mind telling me what happened to my son? Maybe I should know when my son is almost dying? And maybe any other secrets you have, anything else maybe your wife might need to know? You think you’re gonna play some CIA spy with me? Don’t you ever!! Hijo de puta, si esto vuelve a pasar una vez mas…” Yeah, Mom was a crazy Latina bitch all right, and she’d go off when she damn well felt like it. Dad was busted and he knew it. He explained everything, and said that everything had been under control the whole time, and he just didn’t want to worry her, Tom was almost as good as new within a few days, etc. Not good enough. When arguments happen between man and woman, there’s only one winner, and it ain’t the guy. Mom wasn’t in the mood for hearing more explanation, and this wasn’t just an argument, it was getting toward the point where Mom was outa there, and ready to take Tom with her for good. She wasn’t letting up, and the “d” word came out of her mouth more than once. After absorbing about another half-hour of Mom’s mostly verbal, but some physical abuse, Dad got in a sentence. Pretty much the only thing he could say, but it was a brilliant line. “Maria, I did the best I could. Remember what the deal was, for better or worse? After all we’ve been through, 24 years, what are you gonna do, leave me?” Worked, kind of. Calmed the hysterical lady down enough to go back inside and talk to the Spanns again, and all the details got filled in. And a lot of details there were. Mom was able to make Dad promise that he’d never pull a secrecy act like that again. She still wasn’t happy, but sometimes people aren’t perfect, and you move on. After a couple more days, some more hammering, nailing, furniture moving, and installing things, there was only one more detail to be worked out. Dad called Headmaster and told him that they were ready to see Tom. All ready. For the first time in over eight months. “Well, Headmaster, what’s he like? Is he the same kid I remember or is he now pretty much a grown man?” “A little taller, like everyone, but I’ll let you and him figure out together if he’s still the same kid. Hey, I have an idea if it works out with your schedules.” “Schedules, John? What are those? I think I’ve forgotten. We don’t have those things anymore! Nah, schedules, blackberries, appointments, all that stuff, things in our distant past, at least for the time being. What’s up?” “Look, Tom has a big track meet this Saturday, the North Georgia Championships. Why don’t you come to school Friday, and I’d like you to meet two people who are really close to your son. I’ll set up meetings with Karl Prszeczkopowski, his coach, and with Father Ray Lemelin, who’s probably his favorite teacher. These guys really know Tom well, and since it’s exam preparation week, the class schedule is light—they’ll have lots of free time Friday to talk to you. And if you’d like, you can stay over at the school, or stay in Ripton, then head down to the meet and see him run. Tom is a pretty amazing distance runner, you know.” “We’ve heard some stories, but I guess we’ll have to see for ourselves. OK, all that sounds good, but please don’t tell Tom anything beforehand. We’ve planned all this out as a huge surprise, and I don’t want him to lose concentration on the race. Afterwards, we’ll spring everything on him. All right, Headmaster, see you Friday.” Friday. Three more days. And Saturday would be only four. PART 59 Friday was a typical hot June day, hotter than hell, but with a strong breeze to blow the sweat off people’s faces, and to make the tall pines and broad willows wave and dance. Mom and Dad were to meet with Father Ray in the early afternoon, and then later head down to Coach P’s house, where he’d invited them for dinner. They’d stay overnight in the admin building’s guest room, and see the big meet Saturday. Only a couple minutes after they arrived, while they were being directed to Father Ray’s office, they heard a loud, excited southern voice shouting their names. “Mr. and Mrs. Klein!! You’re here to see Tom? I’ll get him for you, be right back!” Mom managed to slow the big boy down and explain to him the whole surprise aspect, that they didn’t want to see Tom today, for Ricky to please say nothing. It took her a few minutes to get it through the kid’s head. While the conversation was going on, Dad just studied this blond kid he’d heard so much about by e-mail and from the boy’s parents, but really knew so little about for sure. Damn, what happened, this kid is huge! Taller than me! Could Tom be this size now? No way, but who knows? But when Dad looked at the blond kid more carefully, he noticed that a lot about the kid wasn’t that different from before. That handsome face, topped by that thick yellow hair, was still a child’s face, roundish and open. Ricky’s face didn’t have the slightest trace of hair growth yet, no sharp mid-teenage angles to jaw or cheekbones, no hardness at all. The kid’s smile was easy and natural, with no trace of adolescent self-consciousness, nothing guarded. Yeah, it’s still really the same kid, except for those long, long skinny legs that make him so tall. Dad spoke to the boy. “Ricky, I didn’t recognize you there for a minute, you’ve grown so much. Do you think I’ll recognize Tom or is he as big as you now?” “Nah, don’t worry, sir, you’ll know him. He’s still a little punk, same old same old. Are you back in America now for good? Gonna stay for just the summer?” More of Ricky’s curious questions came out seemingly all at once. “Oh, Ricky, there’s a lot to tell you, but we have some meetings now, and I think I’ll let Tom fill you in on everything after we see him tomorrow. But how about you, pal? Are you happy here at school? Things going well, and will you be back next year?” “Is Tom coming back? I want to know if he is. And he needs me cause I let him copy my homework, otherwise he’d get all D’s!” “Oh sure, kid, I’m sure you’re the reason he’s not flunking out, no doubt, right. Well, we have a lot to talk about with him tomorrow, Ricky. But I’m glad that you two are good friends, and again, please don’t tell Tom anything yet.” Ricky ran back down the hill towards Bats. Father Ray suggested that instead of talking in his stuffy office, that they take a nice long walk up to the ampitheatre. It would be shady and breezy. He didn’t have much to do that afternoon, really. Plan some review sessions, correct pre-exams, big deal. Let it all wait. As they walked out onto the trails, Father studied these folks carefully. Hard to really see a physical resemblance to Tom, other than that Dad was also skinny. I know their kid so well, but I don’t know these people. I’ve comforted their kid when he’s cried, I’ve tickled and wrestled with him so many times, I’ve listened to him blab on and on, yak yak yak, for how many hours on end, guess no one could really count. And that time, that time in the hammock after Old Man Cropsy night, did I molest their son? Did those delicious twitches of his dick or those affectionate body hugs count? Hmmm. Their kid loves me and I love him, but it’s something that these nice people can never know. Ways of the world, I guess. Mom talked a bit about the big life change they’d been through, and Father Ray filled them in on various aspects of Tom’s school year, but while Mom was listening and questioning intensely, Dad was just sitting or half-reclining, leaning back against the trunk of a tree, watching the wind-blown motions of the uncut tall grass and the trees on the other side of the clearing. Let Maria deal with the details. But after awhile, without really thinking, Dad interrupted the chat. “Father, this is a special place where you work. I wish I was the kid and could stay here. I thought that back in September, but even more now. Maybe I used to be richer or more famous or in some people’s view more important, but you have quite a situation here.” “Well, Mr. Klein, why don’t you then?” “Why don’t I what?” “Apply. We’re a private school, we don’t have the certification requirements of a public school, and there’s often turnover of teachers. With your background and experience, I bet there are lots of areas you could teach. I’m serious, why don’t you talk to Headmaster about it?” Idea? Interesting or just dumb? Dad reflected while Mom babbled on about something else, and then answered. “You know, Father, right now it’s too early for me. I need to take more time than just one summer to de-stress myself, to get used to this new life, and really, new country. And it might actually be kind of too close to Tom, might be cramping his style a bit with Dad always around. But you know, I’m going to take what you said and just file it away. Maybe I’ll change my mind, or maybe at a certain future time, anything could happen.” Another full hour passed with a mixture of light and heavy conversation. These are cool people, Father thought. I can see where Tom gets his intelligence and his goodness from. No doubt about it. But it’s kind of a pity that the year is almost over. Tom probably won’t be the same kid next year. No one is. Will there be more hugs, more jokes, more long talks? Also a pity that I can’t ask his parents these questions. That’s life, take the good with the bad. None of the three people seemed in any great rush to get up and head out into the hot sun, but eventually it was time. Father walked them down the hill, then about halfway down the shady dirt road to Coach’s house. Karl and Rose had prepared a little barbecue in the small backyard, and everyone ate in the screened-in porch, while the anger of the sun dissipated and a long, relaxing Georgia summer evening settled in. Mom and Dad listened to Coach’s explanations of Tom’s accomplishments in track & field, and how things would work tomorrow. Everything was planned. Mr. Milroy would ride down with them and direct them to the meet, which would be held on a college campus. In big championship meets, the 2-mile was always held first, to get it out of the way before the temperature reached its highest point, and so that any 2-milers coming back in the 4 x 400 or 4 x 800 relays later would have plenty of time to recover. Mr. Milroy would watch the race from high in the stands with the Kleins, who could then sneak down to surprise their kid. “You know, Karl,” said Dad, “this is really cool and interesting for us. Neither Maria nor I has ever had any real athletic talent. I played a bit of tennis in high school, but was nothing special. We knew Tom liked to run, but we had no remote idea he was this good. Never entered our minds.” “Well, I guess you can tell by looking at my face that I’ve been around for more than a few years. I’ve coached countless kids, and Tom’s one of the special ones. He’s got the physical talent with the endurance, and he’s got the mental toughness and stubbornness.” “Ah, well, the stubbornness,” Dad said with a little grin. “I guess we know which side of the family that comes from, right, darling? Por eso te quiero, sabes?” Was good for a laugh. Mom continued the conversation. “You know, though, I’ve read so much about kids Tom’s age and in some cases even younger who are prodigies at individual sports. I’m thinking about tennis, golf, skating, swimming, gymnastics, sports like that. Of course it’s mostly with girls, but I guess there are boys like that too. Sometimes when I hear about what those kids have to go through when they’re still children or young teenagers, how their lives are turned upside down because of the training they do, how they have to grow up differently from regular kids, just devoted to their sport, it seems really creepy. Just too much too soon. Does Tom have that kind of talent? What do you think his future is in running?” “He’s good, no doubt about it. But one of the beautiful things about this sport is that there’s really no need for a young athlete to give up a regular life. The training is usually no more than two hours a day, and there’s plenty of time to rest. I’ve heard horror stories from places like China where they isolate talented child athletes, send them to special schools and institutions, weird stuff. But this sport is different. It’s much less technical than others, and much more about conditioning and mental toughness. I can definitely see State Champion potential in this kid, and maybe, well, who knows how much more? But I gotta tell you one thing. Sometimes parents, I’m not saying you of course, but some parents kind of live their own athletic dreams through their kids. This talent Tom has must come out of him and him alone. Now it’s entirely possible that next year, next month, or next week, he’ll lose interest. Has happened before with other top runners. So I think we just have to enjoy tomorrow’s meet, and see where this thing takes him. Here, I want to show you something.” Coach showed Mom and Dad the program for tomorrow’s Noga Championships, with Tom’s name seeded 16th in his race. “Now you have to realize that Tom won’t win the race tomorrow. He’s won plenty of races this year, but in this one he’s not up against just one school with ordinary runners, he’s in tomorrow with the top 2-milers from all over North Georgia, the cream of the crop, and of course they’re 3-4 years older than him. But I’ll promise you one thing. Even from your hidden perch high up in the stands, you’re going to see your boy fight with everything he’s made of. He always has, every practice, every race. He’s gonna make you proud.” PART 60 Mr. Milroy was only too glad to travel down to the meet in a comfortable, air-conditioned car instead of a sweaty, crowded minibus. Dad wanted to know all about the sport of track & field, and he and the younger man talked on and on about it, about the different events, the scoring, the records, whatever. Dad was never much of a sports fan, but this was of course different, this was something his own son was part of. Dad didn’t have a runner’s sense of what all the numbers meant—he knew that Tom’s best time in the 2-mile (really the slightly shortened 3200 meters—the difference in runners’ times was about 3 seconds) was 10:11, but he didn’t have a sense of jus |