by KL Donn
“Gather around. I have a few announcements to make. We won our first match last weekend. Let’s keep that positive energy moving to this weekend. Who’s ready for another W?” I roar, pacing back and forth in front of them feeling like Braveheart doing a battle cry. The kids roar back at me, some just giggle but all are smiling. “I want you all to know I’m very proud of you and the effort you’ve put in to coming to practice, working hard, and playing well. So as a reward…drumroll please…” Mikael starts slapping his massive thighs as my percussion. “We’re going to have a pool party! Yaaaayyyyyyy!” I divide the fliers between everyone assisting me, and we pass them out, making sure each kid has one in their hands. They scream and laugh and run around like maniacs. Who doesn’t like to swim at this age?
“Parents,” I say loudly to get their attention, and they all look at me. It’s Saturday, July 4th. I know some of you probably already have holiday plans. I apologize for the late notice but with camp days, my Fire playing schedule and our own games, this is the only way I could squeeze it in. Please try to come and bring the siblings. This is a family affair. I have a swimming pool at my house, a hot tub, and a mini soccer field. We’ll grill out and eat and drink till we’re merry.” I try to look around and see if anyone isn’t happy about this unscheduled event, but they all seem to be smiling. Where’s Neenah? I don’t see her.
“Oh, I almost forgot. If anyone has a special diet or allergies, please let me know as soon as possible. I don’t want to stress anyone out while they’re having fun. That’s it. Enjoy the rest of your week. Get plenty of rest, and I’ll see you Saturday at our match.”
I watch Ian’s dad corral Ian and Dane after practice. His hands are filled with their bags and a dog on a leash. Where’s Neenah? Hmmm. Maybe she had an appointment or something. Dane takes the leash from him and commands the dog to walk. Impressive.
Will drives me around the field quickly to collect the skill cones and balls. “We’re getting faster at this, I think,” he teases me.
“Nope. I’ve got errands to run for the party. I’m just not dragging my ass around this field today. Especially when I have to be back in a few hours for practice.”
He drives me through the hallway to the locker room. As I step out of the golf cart, he calls out to me, “Ian, you might want to hang around in here a little longer. Looks like there’s an anti-protest going on to the protesters out front.”
My body swings around to face him. “What?”
“There are people out there supporting you and the Chicago Fire and what you’re doing here with the camp. It’s an anti-protest to the protesters,” he repeats.
“Where’d they come from?”
He shrugs his shoulders and gestures unknowingly with his arms. “Beats me, but the news picked up on them, so it’s a little crazy out there now. You might want to hang back a bit.”
“Oh, hell no. I want to see this.” I race into the locker room almost running into Mikael and change from my cleats into my gym shoes.
“What are you moving so quickly for? You got a hot date with a single mom?” he asks, following me back into the locker room.
“Will says there’s an anti-protest going on out front. I want to see it,” I say, looping my last string around and pulling it tight. I stand up and throw my bag over my shoulder. “It’s not every day you have two groups of people warring over you. Gotta go.” I pat his shoulder and run past him, not able to conceal the wide grin on my face.
When I drive up to the main entrance, I can’t believe what I’m seeing. News trucks line the street to the left and right again with reporters milling about. Some are on camera, while others are interviewing the protesters and anti-protesters live. There are about twenty people to the right of the main gate holding Chicago Fire and Legend support signs with various sayings. They still don’t outnumber the protesters, but they’re giving them a good run for their money.
Out of the corner of my eye, I catch a dog sitting still. A very pregnant woman steps back from the line, and I recognize her. She’s talking to Donnie and little Ian. Then Neenah comes into view. She bends down to pet the dog. Dane hands her the flyer, and she reads it.
“Well, I’ll be damned.”
24
Neenah
I wake up to the jingling noise of Apollo’s collar and his freshly clipped nails clickety-clacking down the wooden steps. Dane’s voice is softly in the background, “C’mon, boy. Let’s go pee.”
I chuckle, thinking back to the other day when he said that same phrase. I was making lunch when Apollo started whining at the door, so Dane put his walking leash on him and took him out to the backyard. When I checked on them a few minutes later, they were both peeing on the trunk of the maple tree. Boys. I giggle again out loud.
I stretch my body and twist out from underneath the covers. The entire time I’m getting dressed, I fight the urge to walk over and lift the blinds to my bedroom window that faces Ian’s house. It’s been difficult leaving the window covered, but it’s for the best. That way neither of us is tempted. Not that I wouldn’t love a friends with benefits relationship with him. I’d do it in a heartbeat if I didn’t have to worry about Dane becoming attached to him.
We’ve established a new daily routine these past few days with Apollo in the house, and Dane seems to be adjusting well to it. He accepts the responsibility that comes with having a pet, thanks in part to Emma explaining to Dane the importance of Apollo having a routine and structure. She’s been a godsend, answering all of my texts quickly. I keep praying the excitement of having a therapy dog won’t grow old or lose its appeal. Ever.
I slide my tank top over my shoulders and pull it down, tucking it into my jean skirt then slide into my gym shoes, tying them tightly. Apollo is going to need a longer walk this morning since it’s camp day, and I’m marching with the anti-protesters.
My favorite part of having Apollo so far is our afternoon walks. We take him out along Ginny Drive and beyond sometimes. It’s let us meet many of our neighbors in the process. While talking to them, I’m learning many of them also have kids on the spectrum. They offer advice about the best local schools and support groups as well.
I’ve never felt like I’ve ever belonged to a community, but I feel very welcome here.
Of course, the bonus to all of these walks is that we also talk about Ian. Everyone mentions him to me a time or ten, especially to explain his prowess of hiding from the media. I inform everyone about our anti-protest and several promise to join us.
They all love Ian and love to talk about Ian to anyone. Well, to anyone who isn’t the media. Yesterday, the elderly neighbor on the other side of Ian, Cora, told me that he donates a substantial amount of money every year to the neighborhood parties. With a smile, I recall our encounter.
“Oh, yes, dear. He donates his credit card for the food and games at our fall street festival, also known as ‘The Ginny from the block’ party.” She lifts a hand to her mouth and chuckles behind it. “He dubbed it that, and every time I hear it I smile. He’s so funny.”
“Yes, he’s very clever. Dane here is a fan of his, and we follow his Instagram: @I.An.Legend. It’s a play on words from the Will Smith movie I Am Legend.” I feel a little strange for explaining it, but I’m solidly sure she hasn’t seen it. She just smiles blissfully unaware at me again.
The cuckoo clock on her front porch chimes the time. How strange to have that outside, but to each his own. “Oh, that’s my cue to head inside. Ellen is about to come on.” She waves to me as she opens her front door.
I like Cora very much.
Shaking my head, I bounce downstairs and start making pancakes after checking on the boys, as I’ve started to call them. Dane is kicking his soccer ball around, barefoot and still in his pajamas, while Apollo lies on the carport watching.
“Five minutes for pancakes,” I holler to Dane.
While we’re eating, my phone rings. It’s Amy calling.
“Hello.”
“Hi, N
eenah. It’s Donnie. Guess who’s water broke?”
“Really?” I shriek with excitement. I can hear Amy breathing heavily in the background. “What can I do to help?”
“We’re just about to your street. Would you mind taking Ian to soccer? I can’t imagine he’d want to sit around the hospital with us for this miraculous event.”
“Absolutely,” I reply and snap my fingers at Dane. “Psst, Dane. Go open the front door. Ian is coming over.” For a brief second, he looks at the back door confused. “Little Ian from soccer camp.”
He and Apollo run off, and I hear the door creak on its hinges.
“Front door is open. Send him in. You know, on second thought, we’ll meet you out front.” I quickly head in that direction after grabbing my keys.
“We’re about a minute out. See you soon.”
I meet them at the curb and shuffle Ian out of the car, taking his bag from him while Donnie unloads signs from their trunk and hands those to the boys.
“Dane, take those signs out back and put them next to the Jeep. Then show Ian where to put his bag on the patio. We have to walk Apollo, so come right back out here.” I hand Ian his bag and help him sling it across his body before they run off.
Amy starts giving me a list of things to do at the protest. “And don’t forget. The Today Show is sending someone to interview me—well, you now—about our anti-protest. Do us prohhhhh,” she yelps and starts blowing out heavy breaths as another contraction seizes her belly tightly.
“I’ll handle everything. Don’t worry. Go bring that beautiful baby into the world,” I assure her, hugging Donnie and stepping back from the vehicle as they speed away.
I run and lock the front door just as the boys come running down the drive. I realize Dane still has his pajamas on, but somehow he’s located some shoes. I look up and down the street and don’t see anyone who’d judge me as a mom, so I go with it. I glance at my phone, 8:10 AM. It’s going to be a short walk anyway.
“C’mon boys. Let’s take Apollo on a speedy tour of Arlington Heights.”
“Okay, boys. I’m dropping you off here and will watch you until you get inside. Go straight to the field and put your cleats on.” I hand Apollo’s leash to Dane and squat down to talk to him directly. “Dane, sit Apollo somewhere on the field close to you but on the sidelines. Command him to wait before you walk away. Remember to do that, all right? When practice is over, please wait just inside those same doors for me. I’ll come inside to get you. I’m just going to be where I was last week after practice. I’m out front and very close. Do not, under any circumstances, come outside without me or one of the coaches. Okay?” I hold out my pinky for Dane to grab with his, and we shake on it when he nods. Then I push them toward the entrance doors.
I blow him a kiss when he looks back at me before entering the doors. He’s getting so big and much braver. Chicago is good for him. For us.
As I get closer to our little demonstration, I’m surprised to see a few of my neighbors are joining us. “Welcome,” I say, smiling and waving to them. We begin setting up, but before we start, I motion for everyone to gather around and make an announcement. “Hi Everyone. Amy’s water broke this morning, so it’s just us today while our fearless leader brings her little bundle of joy into this world. Let’s fight the good fight and chant all the supportive words we can today. We’ll wrap up around noon, as I have to go get our kids and high-tail it over to the hospital.” I start passing out signs to those who don’t have them, and we begin our trail of support along the sidewalks of Fulcrum Street.
I stop for a water break and am approached by a familiar face, but I can’t place how I know him. He speaks first as I’m downing my water. “Hi. I’m Kyle Partin, NBC News. I’m supposed to interview Amy, but I’m told she’s unavailable. They pointed to you as a backup.”
I swallow the water in my mouth hard, fighting the urge to spit it out. It’s freakin’ Kyle Partin. He broadcasts for the Premier League. I’ve seen him call matches umpteen thousand times watching with Dane. Ooh! I wish he were here.
“Yes, hello. I’m Neenah Wells.” I stretch my hand out and shake his. I’m hot and sweaty. I pray he doesn’t want to capture this on film. “Amy is off having a baby at the moment. Literally. Her water broke on the way here this morning.” A look of shock passes across his face, but he quickly recovers to jot down my name in his notebook.
“I wish her well then. Do you mind if I interview you?”
“I can give you a few minutes. I’m sure there are plenty of others here who’d like a say in what we’re doing.”
“Great. Thank you. Do you want to step over there in the shade? I know it’s hot.”
We move to speak in the shadow of a large grove of trees, and sure enough, within a few seconds a cameraman shows up and points his massive lens right at me. Sweat rolls in rivulets down my face from the heat and the nervous anxiety that just took root in my stomach.
We start off with some routine questions that I answer in short phrases, trying to limit my identity, but then we get into the heart of our little defiant stance.
“Why Ian Legend? Why the Chicago Fire?” He turns to the left and leaves more space open between us for the cameraman to record my response. I take a deep breath and begin.
“Ian Legend stood up for something he believes in, stopping violence against women. When most men would have ignored what was happening and walked away, Ian stepped in and said not today and no more. Some men of his caliber, meaning other professional athletes, are out there beating their wives and girlfriends while Ian is out here doing the exact opposite. Please understand we’re not condoning his beating of that man. That’s for the court to decide, and they have. He was ordered to perform community service working with young children. Violence against women AND children is universal. More often than not, socio-economic factors play into it. This demographic is living with it daily, and we need to stop it at that level before it grows with them to adulthood. The courts and Chicago Fire are giving Ian a second chance to be an example to young boys and girls and stop its growth. We’re here to praise and support them both. This is a win-win for our community and society as a whole.” I have no idea where my wordiness just came from, but I feel lighter now.
“So you don’t feel that his loss of paid endorsements is justified?”
“Those companies did what they felt was best for their interests, or their stockholders’ interests. It makes me sad that there haven’t been any announcements from those companies about taking that money and giving it to a battered women’s home or troubled youth program—something that would be serving their company better than re-distributing it amongst executives or finding another high-profile athlete to hoc their products. Too bad they aren’t out here serving the community in the capacity that Ian Legend and the Fire is. There are always two sides to a story, and we simply feel that Ian’s and the Chicago Fire’s story are not being told.”
A round of applause ignites from our group of demonstrators making me blush fire engine red, and it’s all captured on camera.
He motions to cut filming with his hand while I fan the heat from my face. “That’s a wrap, Mike. We got enough,” he says. He turns to me next, but before he can speak, I apologize.
“I’m so sorry. My mouth runs on overdrive sometimes. I didn’t mean to ruin your story.”
“No. On the contrary, you answered all of my questions while you were speaking. We’ll cut and paste it back together nicely with some shots of the protesters.”
“Okay. Well, thank you for your time. Feel free to talk to anyone else to round out your story.” I extend my hand, and he shakes it again before I start to walk away with my sign in hand.
“Wait, Neenah. Can we get a shot of you with your sign?”
“Umm, sure. Can you take it over there in the crowd?”
“Yes,” Mike says, and he follows me back to our picket line, setting up in the distance to film us in action.
Cars honk their horns as
we shake our signs at them. The one I’m holding says, “Domestic Violence: See it? Hear it? Be Legendary & do something about it!! @I.An.Legend.”
The news people hang around for another thirty minutes, talking briefly to some of the others in our band of Legend supporters. They also continue filming for what will probably be whittled down to a two-minute segment. They probably won’t even use anything of what I blabbered on about. I’m proud of NBC for shining a light on our little world improvement march.
In all of the excitement, I lose track of time. Before I know it, Dane is running up to me and hugging my legs while Apollo sits next to him. Little Ian is right behind him. Two sweaty little boys. “How did you—" I stop mid-sentence when I see Ian standing off to the left. His car is parked behind him in the lot.
He walks toward us slowly, looking tired and sad. “I let everyone go, and they were hanging around the front entrance. I didn’t see you or Donnie, so I figured you were out here.”
Before I can speak, the media and protesters take notice that Ian is close by. The crowd swells around us, and privacy is lost when the media bombards him with questions. I mouth a thank you to him and step away from the cameras.
I gather the boys’ bags and our signs then duck out of the spotlight to head home. I’m mentally exhausted.
25
Ian
I arrive to meet Todd for our monthly breakfast ten minutes early so he can’t bust my balls for being late like he did last month, or so I tell myself. We haven’t spoken on the phone—only in short, cryptic text messages. That’s mostly because he still hasn’t apologized to Neenah and Dane, and he’s still pushing Tia at me. I wouldn’t contract for PR services with her now for anything. She’s too close to Todd for that purpose.
