The Playmaker Project

by Daniel Peterson

  Back in the players' lounge, his future stars were still finding their footing.

  "Dude, how do I do a step-over again?" asked Charlie to no one in particular.

  "Two fingers, swipe right, left, then right again," said Toshi, demonstrating with a wave of his arm.

  "Sweet! Aaaand, I just megged you," said Charlie as he rolled the virtual ball through the legs of Benny's defender.

  "Yeah, but you still missed the shot. Just like outside," said Benny with a quick glance at Charlie in time to see the pillow launched at his head.

  Peter took up a position next to Aleks on the opposite couch, leaving enough space to avoid the flying hand and elbow gestures. The game was meant to be played standing. But after the grueling, physical practices they endured twice a day, the boys had mastered the moves in various positions of repose.

  "You guys looked good out there this morning," said Peter.

  "Always," said Aleks, not returning the compliment.

  "You OK with midfield?" said Peter.

  "It works. I can score from there."

  Peter flicked the virtual ball over to Aleks on the game screen.

  "Show me," said Peter.

  With three deft hand motions, Aleks sidestepped two defenders then laced a shot into the upper left corner of the holographic goal. The floating display turned green to signal the jersey color of the scoring team.

  "Not bad," said Peter with a nod of his head.

  Aleks stepped back from the display.

  "Borg, stop doing this," said Aleks loud enough for everyone to hear.

  Peter turned and gave a confused look.

  "Stop pretending to make friends. You and I are here for different reasons, and it won't be for long. So, just stick to soccer," said Aleks.

  Pavel looked over at Aleks, then at Peter with no expression.

  "I'm here to get better and make the senior team. What's your reason?" said Peter.

  "None of your damn business. Just drop the brotherly love shit," said Aleks as he walked away.

  "He's just mad that he has to go back to his shithole country when he gets cut," said Benny with a mischievous grin.

  Aleks stopped, turning slowly to face Benny. Peter inched forward. Pavel stood up.

  "Come here, Gilbert," said Aleks, pointing to the floor in front of him.

  Peter rose from the couch and walked over to Aleks.

  "C'mon man, he didn't mean that," said Peter.

  With a one-handed shove, Aleks pushed Peter aside and repeated his request.

  "Get over here, Gilbert, now."

  The others looked at each other nervously, not sure how this would go down. The immediate altercation was Aleks versus Benny, but maybe Pavel and Peter would jump in to defend their friends.

  "OK, Ruchkin, what's up?" said Benny as he strode confidently towards Aleks.

  "No one speaks about my country that way. Take it back," said Aleks through his clenched teeth.

  "Yeah, right. Just chill out," said Benny, standing in front of Aleks but giving up about four inches in height.

  With his arms relaxed at his side, Aleks maintained a solemn, but intent stare at Benny. Within arm's length of each other, the first move would prove to be the downfall. Benny leaned forward to put his weight into a two-handed shove. With a flash of his right hand, Aleks grasped the outside of Benny's left wrist, forcing it across his chest. His left hand flashed over his right to grab the scruff of Benny's Kotka warm-up jacket at the base of his neck. Aleks twisted Benny's left thumb in a circle to point to the ceiling behind his back while spinning him towards the glass wall behind them. With two steps, Aleks drove Benny into the wall, bending Benny's thumb in an unnatural direction until he yelped in pain.

  Peter lunged at Aleks. Pavel jumped on Peter. Peter swung his right elbow back at Pavel's face, sending him sprawling backward. Aleks turned to confront Peter only to see a right fist cocked and flying at him. It caught Aleks directly on the left side of his nose. The punch sounded like firecrackers as Alek's cheekbone shattered. Red blood from the Russian spewed onto the blue Kotka carpet.

  But Peter wasn't finished. Amidst a rage that he would later not remember, he began a series of pummeling blows to Aleks' head and ribcage even after they both fell to the floor. Pavel recovered to jump back on Peter while Benny grabbed Pavel. The rest of the team jumped in and separated the two combatants. Peter's eyes flared with anger as he screamed obscenities, spitting at Aleks as they dragged him away.

  "Enough!" yelled Stuart, bursting through the door into the lounge. "It's over!"

  He stood between them with arms outstretched. Aleks lay on the floor, holding his hands to his face while Peter continued to flay and kick, trying to wriggle free from his teammates.

  "Borg, did you hear me?! I said, knock it off!" said Stuart staring into Peter's wild eyes. "Get him out of here."

  Harry and Toshi each took one of Peter's arms, attempting to push him through the door, but he dug in his heels, not wanting to leave. Benny came up from behind and wrapped his arms around him.

  "Dude, it's over, let's go," Benny whispered in Peter's ear. "C'mon man, chill."

  Stuart grabbed a first aid kit from the cabinet behind the couch. He pulled out the large gauze pads and flattened them onto Aleks' face.

  "Here, hold this right there," he said. "We need to get you over to medical to get that closed up."

  With one hand, Stuart dialed the on-duty nurse. He lifted Aleks to his feet, propping him up as they walked towards the door.

  "Don't worry about the blood. We'll get someone else to clean this up," said Stuart, scanning the players staring in disbelief at the fight scene. "Gilbert, you OK?"

  "Yeah, just my thumb," said Benny.

  "Watch him," said Stuart, nodding at Peter, who was pacing at the other end of the room. "Everyone else goes to bed. Borg, we'll talk about this in the morning."

  16

  Eddie walked up the gravel driveway leading from the grain bins to his boyhood home. Parking by the shop gave him a minute or two to enjoy the farmyard. He also liked to sneak up on his Mom through the back door. But Barney, the aging but always sentinel golden retriever, stole the element of surprise with his barked announcement of Eddie's arrival. Barney's gait towards him these days was more of a quick walk than the full-out sprint that used to greet him coming off of the school bus. The dog’s energetic tail wag was still there, even with the graying around his eyes and a few extra pounds on his ribs, happy that his old running friend had returned. Eddie bent down to scratch his ears and give him a hug.

  "Hey Barney, ol' pal, how's life?" said Eddie.

  Barney replied by circling Eddie, sniffing and wagging, then rolling on his back for the inevitable belly rub. Standing up to brush the gravel off his knees, Eddie continued to the house, looking up to see his Mom on the top step, smiling while wiping her hands with a dishtowel. She was as tall as Eddie, still trim despite turning 60 this year. Her deep blue eyes were a gift of her Swedish mother, while her proud Norwegian nose came from her father, which she passed down to her only son.

  "There's just no way to sneak up on you with Barney here," said Eddie as he reached out for a hug.

  "That's why he's here. But I'm pretty sure he'd wag his tail for a burglar too," she said, returning the embrace.

  "Is Pops home?" asked Eddie.

  "Well, the sun is still up, so what do you think?"

  "At the garage. I should have known."

  Eddie opened the screen door and followed his Mom into the house that the Carlson family had built 119 years before. There was always something changed inside, a piece of art, a redecorated room, a change in furniture, that Eddie made a habit of finding.

  "New curtains?" he asked, looking at the pair with white with blue flowers that hung over the kitchen sink.

  "Eddie, those have been there for ten years," said his Mom.

  "Hmm, something's different in here," said Eddie.

  She glanced over to the corner.

&n
bsp; "The bookcase? That's been here since I was little," said Eddie.

  "Not in that color."

  "Ahh, you've been painting again," said Eddie.

  "Always something. Keeps me busy. How are you?"

  Eddie pulled out a chair at the oak table that had also been in the same place for most of his life. His mom joined him with her full coffee mug, inscribed with "My Teacher Is A+," an odd compliment from one of her former English-as-a-second-language students.

  "I'm doing well, just got done packing up my desk for the summer and thought I would procrastinate over here for a while before heading home," said Eddie.

  "Coffee?" she asked.

  "No, thank you. Already had my gallon of caffeine today," said Eddie.

  "Bad day?" she asked, pointing to her head.

  "Yeah, the usual. But don't worry, nothing new."

  She tilted her head and raised an eyebrow at her son.

  "Really, Mom, all good. So, how's your version 2.0 life coming along? Are you bored yet?" said Eddie.

  After twenty-five years at Jefferson Elementary School, Jean Carlson Alonso had finally walked away from the daily battle of a teacher's life.

  "Well, I'll let you know in the Fall when it's time to go back to school, and I'm sitting here. It hasn't really sunk in that I'm done, other than talking to people in town," she said.

  Eddie noticed the stack of cards and small gifts piled next to the door.

  "Those haven't moved much since your last day," said Eddie.

  "Yes, I've been meaning to get to those. Every time I start, I get teary-eyed, so I stop. I need to write thank-you notes to all the kids.

  Eddie walked to the sink for a glass of water.

  "Everything planted?" he asked, looking out the window at the fields just beyond the yard.

  "As far as I know. I convinced your dad to only put in half a section this year. Without the animals, we don't need the extra grain anymore," she said.

  "I don't know why you need any of it. Just more work for Pops," said Eddie. "And you."

  "Well, he can't let a field stand empty, especially one that we own."

  "How's business at the shop?"

  "Booming. He hired another restorer, a paint specialist, I think."

  "Can he cut back his hours yet?"

  "I tried asking, but you know your dad, that's a live minefield," she said. "Let me see, I believe his reply was, 'I'll retire when I'm dead.'"

  "If he keeps up this pace, I'm afraid that won't be long," said Eddie.

  "Edward, please, don't say that," she said with a stern look. "At least he has your uncle there helping him."

  Alonso Motors was celebrating its twentieth anniversary in July, an impressive milestone for any small business in St. Cloud, but particularly one owned and operated by a first-generation Mexican-American. Determined not to live his life in the sugar beet fields like his immigrant parents, young Jorge paid his way through tech school. He worked nights as an apprentice before opening his own tiny garage on the west end of town. While Jean's father was sorry to see his best worker leave the farm, he was also Jorge's first customer.

  "Remind me again when the big day is?" she asked, retrieving a tray of vegetables from the refrigerator.

  "Two weeks from Saturday. You know that, Mom, it's on your calendar," said Eddie pointing at the wall.

  "Oh, you’re right," she said, smiling.

  Eddie plucked a carrot off the tray and looked around.

  "Need something?"

  "Yeah, something unhealthy to dip this in," said Eddie

  "That defeats the whole purpose of eating a carrot," she said.

  Eddie retrieved a jar of chunky peanut butter from the cupboard. She frowned.

  "Are you and Pops still coming to the ceremony?" asked Eddie.

  "We wouldn't miss it! We are so proud of you, Eddie. To think our son will be getting a master’s degree. You've worked so hard for this."

  "It's been a grind, but it's done. All part of the plan," said Eddie.

  "When do you hear from Minnesota about the Ph.D. program?"

  "Soon, I hope."

  Eddie's phone buzzed in his back pocket. Looking at the caller ID, he smiled and excused himself to step out into the backyard to take the call.

  "I'd say hello in Finnish, but I have no idea," said Eddie walking into the sunshine.

  "Hey, Coach, it's Benny."

  "Yes, Benny, I saw your name."

  "Oh yeah, right."

  "What's goin' on, man? How's FC Kotka treating you?" asked Eddie rubbing Barney on his head.

  "Um, pretty cool. Lots of stuff going on. Playing a lot. So, yeah," said Benny.

  "How's Pete? I heard he had a little trouble the other day," said Eddie.

  "Where'd you hear that?"

  "His Mom. She called me this morning. Is he feeling better?"

  "Not right now," said Benny in a flat tone.

  "What's up?"

  "Well, he got in a fight last night with one of the other guys here. I was mouthing off to someone, and Pete stepped into the middle of it," said Benny.

  "Like a real fight? That's not like Pete."

  "Like I think he broke this guy's face. Coach, I've never seen him do that before."

  Eddie walked over to the swing under the cottonwood tree to sit in the shade.

  "Did Pete get hurt?"

  "That's the thing, Coach, he didn't have a scratch on him. He flattened this guy. And if we hadn't pulled him off, he wouldn't have stopped," said Benny. "It was some weird shit to watch."

  Eddie remembered what Karen had told him the other morning, "He just wasn't himself." Peter Borg only had two yellow cards in four years of high school soccer, neither for rough play.

  "That is weird. So, what's going on now. Did Coach Pennington dole out any disciplinary actions?" asked Eddie.

  "Not yet, but I'm guessing he will. We have this tournament coming up next week in Sweden, so I hope he can still go. He's playing great, better than ever," said Benny.

  Eddie started connecting dots between his two conversations that day about Peter.

  "So, what's up with this neurosurgeon? What is she doing with you guys?"

  "Like this sleep study shit and stuff. I don't really know, but she's always around and usually talking to the owner guy."

  "Victor Niemi."

  "Yeah, that's him. They're always together on the sideline or up in his office above the field."

  "Ben, I think Pete will be fine. Maybe he's just a little stressed right now," said Eddie looking up into the blue sky.

  "No, I don't think so, Coach. I've known the guy since third grade. He's never acted like this," said Benny. "Sorry, I just needed to talk to someone. I don't know what to do."

  "No worries, man, that's why I'm here."

  "Actually," said Benny, pausing for a moment. "I really wish you were here."

  Eddie felt a hot breeze swirl through the yard. He searched for words to soothe Benny.

  "I'd love to see you guys too. I just don't know if that would be a good idea," said Eddie.

  There was silence on the other end.

  "Well, I thought I'd give it a shot," said Benny, his voice trailing off. "Thanks for listening."

  "You bet, man. And say hi to Peter for me."

  Benny ended the call without replying.

  Eddie set the phone down next to him on the swing. Barney looked up and wagged his tail.

  "What do you think, Barn? I can't go over there. They don't need me. It's just some stuff they have to work through, on their own," he said to his four-legged friend. Barney stood up, still panting, hoping for a back scratch. "I'll assume you agree with me."

  When Eddie walked back into the house, his Mom was playing a Billy Joel favorite on the old, upright piano adorned with framed photos of her only son. She looked up but continued to play.

  "Who was that?" she asked.

  "Benny Gilbert, one of my former students whose playing over in Finland now with Peter Borg," said Eddie.<
br />
  "Oh, that's right, you told me about them. The Borgs are such a wonderful family. Everything OK?"

  "Sounds like soccer is going well."

  "But?" she said in her monotone Mom voice that meant she was multi-tasking.

  "But apparently Peter is struggling a bit mentally. His Mom called this morning. He's had some issues with dizziness and nausea. And Benny just told me he got in a fight."

  Jean stopped playing the piano and looked at Eddie.

  "That doesn't sound good," she said.

  "No, but they're over there now. It's not my issue," said Eddie.

  "Is that what you told him? That you don't care about them anymore?" said Jean with a furrowed brow.

  "Mom, I care about them. But what am I going to do about it?"

  "Exactly. What are you going to do about it?" said Jean, waiting for an answer that didn't come. "Eddie, throughout my thirty years of teaching, there were countless kids who faced tough issues outside the classroom. When I was your age, I told myself the same thing, 'what can I do about it? But you do what you can to help each of them.”

  "OK, but Peter hasn't misbehaved in his entire life."

  "Which should tell you something, right? He needs you to help him."

  Eddie wanted to come back quickly with a counter-argument, but the intent stare from his Mom's blue eyes stopped him.

  "You're a good man, Eddie Alonso. Do the right thing. I love you."

  “I love you too, Mom.” He bent down to kiss his Mom on the cheek.

  As Eddie headed towards his truck, he found Barney sleeping in the long grass next to the granary. Bending down, he pulled three carrots from his coat pocket and offered them with an open hand. Barney sniffed, then looked up quizzically at Eddie.

  "Yeah, sorry buddy, I couldn't bring the peanut butter out here."

  He set the carrots down and rubbed Barney's ears, then climbed into his Jeep. He beeped the horn and waved back to his Mom, who was now standing in the doorway, smiling. Home would always be home, as long as she was there.