“When are you bringing me out to the Garrison? You’ve had Chute out there like twelve times. Me? I’ve been there once.” He put one finger in my face to make his point. “You like her better than me or something?”
“Infinitely.”
“My feelings are hurt.”
I pushed his hand away. “Every time I ask you to come out you got something planned.” I stared at Janette for a long second. “Who’s fault is that?”
She nodded in agreement. Streeter said, “All right, well, I got a life. Sue me.”
“Maybe I could schedule you to come out in a few days, before I leave on a trip.”
“Two days?” He rubbed his chin and glanced at Janette. “Yeaaaaah, I can’t do that.”
“You’re hilarious, you know that?”
“How about this? I project into your office through virtualmode, you can show how the whole molding technology works. You don’t need permission for that.”
“I’ll see.”
Virtualmode club members grabbed Streeter and Janette followed. He pointed at me as if to say do it. I nodded but they were already discussing the next meeting, taking down the banner and boxing up the gear while the kids screamed for more action from the monsters. By the time I reached an entrance to the stadium, the corridor was mostly empty. Two minutes before the ceremony began.
Raining Roses
Eight-thousand seats in that stadium. All filled.
Lightners floated above the stadium spotlighting the crowd that cheered when their images appeared over the field in three-dimensional detail. Holographic fireworks streaked harmlessly from one side to the other, like a battle of green, blue and red fizzling missiles. Hundreds of shiny lookit orbs hovered around, their red eyelights circling their shiny softball-sized bodies, scanning and directing the crowd. I made my way near the front, stood along the railing just above the field.
Security guards were along the perimeter. There were some real important people on the stage in center field, including the governor, mayor and all the members of the county school board. The rest of the stage was occupied by coaches and parents. There in front, sitting with a blanket over his lap in a wheelchair, was Chute’s father, Mr. Thomas, who was paralyzed in the car accident that took his wife’s life. Behind him was Chute’s older sister, Angela, her hands on his shoulders.
A bone-rattling explosion shook the seats, and then the sky lit up. Fog oozed from the tunnel at the end of the field, smoky tendrils crawling over the grass. Synthesized music hammered out a beat. The head coach emerged from the thick cloud and the crowd erupted.
He reached center stage and shook hands. And then the first player stepped from the smoke, hands in the air, dancing in a circle, whooping the crowd to another level of fanatical frenzy. Another tagger emerged, hopping up and down, swinging his arms. The announcer’s voice barely registered above the excitement. The third player out broke rank and raced for the wall where fans leaned over with outstretched hands. The next one out followed until several of them were running along the perimeter shaking hands and signing shirts and programs. The crowd rushed down the aisles to get a piece of the action.
Two students pushed by me, booing. They threw poppers at the players, laughing with the squeal of gear-induced euphoria. Their energy tasted sulfuric, their synapses burning from the small patches they hid behind their ears that kept the dopamine production on high. They started to throw another round of poppers.
“Turn yourselves into security.” I barely spoke above the noise, but they didn’t need to hear the words. They felt them. “Report you are using illegal gear and need help.”
Their complexions became pasty. They were frozen in mid-throw, absorbing what I just imprinted on their minds. They accepted my thoughts as their own, felt the compulsion to turn themselves over to the authorities. The command wouldn’t last long, soon it would fade and they would resume control of their being, but it would last long enough to get them out of the way.
“AND, FINALLY!” the announcer shouted, “SOUTH CAROLINA’S MOST VALUABLE PLAYER…”
The crowd drowned his final word out, shouting a name that had been called hundreds of times during the tagghet season.
CHHHHUUUUUUUUUUUTTTTTE!
Chute stepped out of the tunnel. My chest melted, seeing her step into the spotlight. The crowd began throwing stuff onto the field. My instinct was to stop them, but then I realized… roses. They were throwing roses. Some had stems, others threw just the flowers that perished in a flutter of petals that looked like a pink cloud falling onto the green grass. She raised her hands to catch them.
We would be together, for the rest of our lives, that much I knew because, from time to time, I had a vision. We’re old. My hair is thin, but still white. Streeter is short, round and bald. Wrinkles soften Chute’s face and her red hair is more of a rust color and sprayed with strands of gray. I’m holding her right hand. In her left, she holds a rose. We’re in a wasteland of dead trees, their silvery-gray branches barren. Weeds brush against our knees until we reach an enormous stump worn and chiseled by the weather. Chute kneels and places the rose on the stump. We stand in silence. She lays her head on my shoulder.
It feels like we’re paying tribute to someone, but I don’t know who. All I know is that it’s a solid vision. As solid as they get.
We’ll be together, to the end.
Chute reached the steps leading up to the stage and the coach handed her a long stemmed rose. It was the students that started the rose ritual, throwing them like hockey fans threw hats on the ice after a hat trick. It started with any old flower, but when Chute was quoted on the news that roses were her favorite, it was roses the rest of the season. Whenever she scored, it rained red.
Her teammates pulled her onstage. Together, the whole team raised their arms. The crowd went berserk. It was several minutes before there was any control. In fact, no one could hear what the coach was saying. When he was finished, he turned it over to the other very special people. They handed out awards to various players. They each got to say something, shouting out to their friends and families and pretty much whatever came to mind. I could barely hear them.
Chute was the last up, blushing as the crowd ramped up again, tossing more roses, turning the field more red than green. She held her father’s hand and tried to speak but choked on her emotions, which only riled up the crowd more. When she finally spoke, and the crowd settled, she sincerely thanked everyone for coming, it meant so much. She held up the MVP award – a glittering globe – and the crowd responded.
“I hope this empowers girls everywhere. NOTHING IS IMPOSSIBLE!”
She wiped her face and kissed her father’s cheek and hugged her sister. She thanked her mother and wished she could see her now.
Best ceremony ever.
It was almost midnight.
I waited at the back entrance, watching the team leave. Chute was the last out. She was escorted by a security guard to my car in front of the school. I opened her door, thanked the man and went around to my side and when I got in we met in the middle, hugging tight. I loved the way she smelled. “I knew you were there,” she said. “It was like I could feel you, you know.”
I know.
The last of the crowd was being ushered out of the parking lot by security. I took the wheel and drove down the empty road littered with programs and cups.
“Can you believe it?” Chute pounded the dash, shaking her head and screaming. “I’m going home with this! Can you freaking believe it?” She displayed the globe award on the tips of her fingers. The surface was clear and polished, but it was milky and opaque in the center, like it contained a galaxy. “Socket, I don’t know if you know this.” She eyeballed me, deadpan. “But I could be the best tagger of all time.”
I laughed. “Where was that humility at the ceremony? I mean, all you did was thank everyone and hoped to inspire every girl to wear a sportsbra.”
“Let’s see if I go pro.” She waved her hand around the globe. �
��Oh, mighty award that looks like a crystal ball, please tell me where I’ll be in ten years.”
Asking for the future made me cringe. I’d had enough of that. She chanted some mumbo-jumbo, fogged the glass with her breath and rubbed it on her shirt. She pressed it against her ear like a seashell.
“Socket! Guess what?”
“You win every tagghet award known to mankind?”
“No.” She leaned close. “You’re going to stop at a red light.”
I eased up to the stoplight, already red. “Wow. That thing really does work.”
“And now you’re going to turn left.”
“Um, your house is straight.”
Her hand crawled across my chest. “But the park is that way.”
“It’s midnight, Chute.”
“Oh my.” She feigned surprise. “That means… we’re going to turn into pumpkins any second. Promise me, Socket, they won’t make me into a pie? Promise me!”
“But your dad is expecting us.”
She nibbled on my earlobe, her breath in my ear. “I told him we were stopping at a party.”
“He trusts me to get you home.”
“Oh, you’ll get me home.”
The light turned green.
“Your dad,” I said. “He has a baseball bat, you know.”
“I just want to see the park,” she whispered. “Is that so bad?”
“But you’ve seen the park.”
Her tongue was hot. Shivers ran down my spine. “Not tonight.”
The blinker flashed on the dashboard. I turned left.
Proof
It was 12:50 when we got to Chute’s neighborhood. She was looking in the mirror on the sun visor, fixing her hair. Her house was in a cul-de-sac, a single-story ranch with white siding. The lights were bright in the bay window to the right of the door. Her father was at the kitchen table. He looked up when my headlights flashed across the house. I turned the lights off.
“We’re here.”
“I look like I’ve been wrestling.”
“It’d be good if you didn’t.”
“Give me a second, then.”
“Your dad’s watching.”
“Let him watch. We’re not doing anything.”
Mr. Thomas sipped from a can, staring out the window. I tapped on the steering wheel, counting the seconds. Chute flipped the visor back. “All done. How do I look?”
The dashboard glow softly lit her face. Sometimes I forgot time when I looked at her. She was beautiful. Most would agree, but it was different for me. Her face moved me, deeply. Her smile. The way her eyes crinkled in the corners. Her energy swirled sweetly, vibrating somewhere inside me.
“What?” she said. “Do I still look like the Hulk?”
“No.” I turned the car off. “Let’s go in.”
The doors slammed in the quiet night. We hooked our fingers as we walked up the concrete ramp. Chute pushed open the front door.
“There she is!” Mr. Thomas’s voice boomed from inside the house. “There’s my Annie-darling!”
Chute ran through the house. Her dad wheeled in from the kitchen. She kissed him on the cheek then walked behind him and wrapped her arms around his neck. Annie was her birth name, but her father was the only one that called her that.
“You letting the mosquitoes inside to breed, boy?” Mr. Thomas shouted. “Get in here and shut the door!”
I closed the door and came inside. Mr. Thomas held out his thick hand and shook mine and then Angela came running into the front room screaming. Chute laced her fingers with her sister and they both screeched. Mr. Thomas covered his ears muttering, “Jesus Christ’s holy shit,” and went to the kitchen for another beer. Can, not bottle. Mr. Thomas always said bottles were for girls.
The girls embraced, still screaming like ten year olds, bouncing up and down. He took a swig of Budweiser and watched his daughters celebrate. He flinched when they hit the high notes, but it never wiped the smile off his face. Angela was a cheerleader in high school, doing one of her old cheers, kicking her leg up high and shaking her hands. “A-W-E-S-O-M-E! Awesome. Awesome. To-tally!”
Chute imitated her, but was laughing too hard to keep up. Mr. Thomas’s laugh boomed over the top of them. “You see that, Socket? They’re taunting me with their perfectly working legs.”
“Oh, stop it, Daddy,” Angela said, not breaking stride.
Mr. Thomas put his beer on the table and wheeled over to the girls. He expertly leaned back and pulled a wheelie, moving in time to the dance. The girls kicked out like Russian dancers while Mr. Thomas wheeled back and forth. The cheer broke down when the girls fell down laughing.
“Let’s see that award, girl!” Mr. Thomas shouted.
The girls lay on the floor, catching their breath. Mr. Thomas waited at the table. The globe was by the front door, so I fetched it. He muttered thank you. And then the energy changed.
He gazed into the globe like there was something inside, oblivious to the ruckus on the other side of the kitchen. His eyes glassed up. Mr. Thomas was not the type to get misty, but the water in his eyes reflected the kitchen light. He held the globe close to his nose. His breath was choppy.
Angela leaped up when she saw the award, leaned over her father, hands on his shoulders, looking into it much the same way. Chute sat next to them. Suddenly, the house was very still. Mr. Thomas’s lips started to move, but they didn’t say anything. Angela felt him quiver, hooked her arm around his neck.
“Mom would be so proud, Chute,” she said.
Mr. Thomas took Chute’s hand. She laid her head on his shoulder. Angela wrapped her arms around them. Their energy intermingled, merging with deep sweet hues, connecting at a very real, essential level. All barriers stripped away.
Angela nodded at me. I hesitated. Mr. Thomas cleared his throat. “Get over here, boy.”
Chute held out her hand. I took it, joined them at the table, felt the family essence weave into my being, their hearts beating through my arm next to my own pulse. I was five the last time I felt something like that, just before my father died.
We gripped each other tightly, staring at the globe. But it wasn’t the award we were looking at. We weren’t admiring its beauty or fame. It was a symbol of Mr. Thomas’s family, represented how grown up they were. There was a time he was convinced he would never live to see it, but there he was. There they all were, wrapped tightly at the table.
Chute was a young woman. And here was something to hold, something to prove it.
Something her mother would be proud of.
“Don’t close the door!” Angela shouted. “Dad said he’d get his bat.”
Chute fell back on her bed, arms out. “Listen to her,” she said. “She used to sneak out of the house all the time, and now she’s telling me when I can close my door.”
“You sneak out all the time,” I said.
She rolled on her side, buried her face in the pillow, said something about the greatest day of her life. She used to have posters of celebrities and bands on her wall. They were replaced by a shelf full of trophies. She’d have to clear some space for the globe.
The only thing that remained the same was the picture over her headboard of the three of us. We were on the curb in front of Streeter’s house. It was our first day taking the school bus. We were seven, had our bookbags strapped on our shoulders. Chute was in the middle, arms around us.
“I can’t sleep,” she said into the pillow. “Will you stay the night?”
“Right.”
“You can sleep on the couch.”
“I told you your father had a bat. If he finds me on the couch in the morning, he’ll use it.”
She lifted her head. “You can hide, then knock on the door like you came over for breakfast.”
She’s serious. “Look, I’d love to see you all day and night, but I can’t. Not tonight.”
“The world can wait.” Still serious.
“I’ve got some things to do, and there’s a trip.”
“Where are you going?”
I grabbed a tagghet puck from her dresser, inspected the scuff marks. “Somewhere far away, but it won’t take long.”
“Well, I guess I’ll have to get used to you being on the road, once I’m Mrs. Greeny.” Her laughter muffled into the pillow. “It’s not easy being the wife of a superhero, you know.”
“I’ll bring you to the Preserve when I get back. I’ve got some kids that would love you to teach them some tagghet moves.”
“Really, really?”
“Promise, promise.”
She rolled over, closed her eyes and hummed. Her sleepy imagination flashed with images of trees and grimmets. “Could you do that energy thing?” She tapped her forehead. “I’m not tired.”
I sat on the bed and touched her forehead. My essence mingled with hers and our experiences merged. A closeness. Oneness. Something that reminded us we were never alone.
She was softly snoring within a minute. I stopped at her doorway and glanced at the picture of the three of us again. It seemed like just the other day. I leaned closer. The details were smudged in the background, like there was a figure using back-reflecting gear to appear invisible. Then again, it could just be the printer smudging up.
I had a gut feeling that wasn’t it.
To Reign
The roads were empty and slick from a light rain, reflecting the street lights. I turned the music off and cruised down the Interstate. I didn’t miss leaving South Carolina, but I hated leaving Chute. Someday, I could bring her with me. But then what? Are we going to play house inside Garrison Mountain? I was still so torn about my two lives. Somehow they were going to merge. Maybe one day I could retire and find peace and quiet and a normal life when the world was saved.
I took my exit after crossing the Cooper River bridge, the blinker flashing—
The figure steps forward, reveals the strands of wet hair over her face. Red hair. Chute lifts the knife, her face twisted with anger. Then she leaps, swinging the weapon down at me, lightning flashing off its edge.
Socket 3 - The Legend of Socket Greeny Page 4
