No More No Name

by Tim Tingle

  “Yeah, Mom,” said Harold. “That’s what I was worrying about. Dad?”

  His dad just shrugged his shoulders and rolled his eyes. “Nothing I can do, kid,” his face said.

  And that’s how it often is, when we “children” do something to make our parents proud. All the celebrating is with their friends, not ours, and on their turf. But I wasn’t complaining. I knew Mom and Dad would be waiting for me in the parking lot.

  We hadn’t planned it. I just knew it. And Dad would be at the wheel of his pickup truck, making some joke about the last time he waited for me in the high school parking lot.

  “Hey, Bobby,” he said as I approached his truck. “Remember the last time I waited for you after a game? You decided you’d rather go swimming than spend time with your dad!”

  Wow. That was pushing the line. Even for Dad.

  Hoke, so I did take a dive, if you wanna call it that.

  That night when I left the game, I saw Dad, who had just been thrown out of the gym for showing up drunk. He was standing by the roadside, near Lake Thunderbird. He was waving his arms at me, with the coolest father-friendly look ever. Like he was asking for me to forgive him.

  So I did. I let go of the steering wheel, and the car I was driving smashed through the fence and dove into the lake.

  “Yeah, Dad. I remember.” I smiled and jumped in the truck beside Mom. “Don’t have long. The team is meeting for pizza, and you can’t come. But let’s go out for something quick. That hoke?”

  “Guess so, Bobby,” said Dad. “Hon,” he said to Mom, “can you find me some Kleenex? I’m about to cry. Dearest little Bobby is too proud to hang out with his sweet mother and lovingly tender old man. Whimper, whimper.”

  I reached over Mom and patted Dad on the shoulder.

  “Aww, shucks, Dad,” I said. “Forget my friends and Coach Robison and the pizza. Let’s you and I go have a few beers. Mom can tag along if she wants.”

  “Bobby!” Mom said with a stern look. “That’s going a little far, don’t you think?”

  “Yeah, Bobby,” agreed Dad. “Whimper, whimper. Where’s my Kleenex?”

  I was having the best time ever with the parents, but it only lasted four minutes tops. Two blocks from the parking lot we passed by a patrol car with its lights flashing. It had pulled over a car full of teenage girls. They sat quietly in the car, too terrified to move.

  But leaning against the car, hollering and waving her arms, was Heather.

  CHAPTER 15

  Panthers Celebrate

  Dad circled the patrol cars and drove slowly by, three blocks to the nearest hamburger stand.

  “Cokes and ice cream?” he asked, pulling into the lot.

  “Sure,” I said. Mom had not spoken since the incident.

  “It’ll be hoke, Mom,” I said. “There’s not a lot we can do.”

  “I know, Bobby,” Mom said. “I’m just thinking about her poor mother.”

  “And I’m hoping Lloyd’s dad drives the other way,” Dad said. “Don’t want him involved in this.”

  “Why can’t a basketball game ever be just a basketball game?” I asked. “What a way to celebrate.”

  “Because life doesn’t work that way, son. Just ask your mom.”

  Dad walked around the truck as I hopped out. He waited for me to move aside, then reached for Mom’s hand to help her step from his truck. He then hurried to the hamburger stand to hold the door open for Mom.

  I smiled and shook my head, realizing that Dad was performing for me, demonstrating the gentleman he had become. It was all in good fun.

  But the look on Mom’s face was one of sheer joy. On one level this was all a big joke. But on another level, I was watching the rebirth of the man I knew as my father.

  “Yakoke,” I whispered, looking to the sky. “Thank you.”

  I ordered a root beer float, and Dad and Mom each had a soda and a scoop of ice cream. Dad went for chocolate and Mom strawberry. We soon took our seats and dove in.

  “Ummm hmmm,” said Dad.

  “You played so well, Bobby,” said Mom, wiping ice cream from her lips and reaching for my hand.

  Suddenly a siren sounded and a cop car sped by, weaving in and out of Main Street weekend traffic.

  “I know where’s he’s headed,” Dad said. “I saw Blanton speed by as I pulled into the parking lot. He’s got himself in trouble.”

  He stood up and motioned for us to follow. Mom hesitated.

  “Buck,” she said, “there’s nothing you can do. Not now.”

  “You don’t understand, hon,” Dad said. “This might involve Blanton, Lloyd’s dad. I have to make sure he keeps his head. He might be drinking, and I’ve got to stop him.”

  Mom grabbed Dad by the wrist, and he turned to face her.

  “Please, Buck,” she said. “You can go to the police station. Later. But you cannot get involved in a street brawl. Not now.”

  I could not believe what was happening. In the old days—not that long ago—Dad would have flung her arm aside and pushed her. Hard. He would have cursed at her and left us both.

  This was a new trial. A new challenge for Dad.

  Please, Dad. Please.

  Dad took two steps back and plopped on the bench at our table. He buried his head in his hands. “Oh my,” he muttered. “Of course you’re right. I could end up in jail along with him.”

  He looked up, and tears filled his eyes. “How in Hades did you ever stay with me?”

  “You know the answer to that,” Mom said, and kissed him on the forehead.

  “I can step outside,” I said.

  Mom and Dad turned to me—as if they were seeing me for the first time. As if they just now remembered I was here.

  “Uhh, sorry,” I said. “I don’t want to be in the way.”

  Dad laughed first. Mom soon joined him, and Dad spread his arms wide and pulled us all together. My mind went back to that miracle night in the hospital, when Dad promised he would never drink again.

  On one condition. If I came back alive.

  We must have been quite a sight—two parents hugging a teenager in a hamburger stand on a Friday night. Too weird for words. The manager tapped Dad on the shoulder.

  “Excuse me, sir,” he said. “Can I help you?”

  “No thanks. We’re doing fine,” Dad said.

  “Better than fine,” added Mom.

  We looked back and forth at each other, flipping our eyes from side to side—almost as if we were on the same page. After a nice round of laughter, we slurped and smacked and ice-creamed our way to three bellies full.

  I had to fight a constant thought as I ate. This was a very strange night. I felt as if I had more in common with my parents—my parents!—than I did with my friends.

  Hoke. That’s not true. Johnny and Lloyd and Faye and I saw things from the same side of the mountain. We were close. But this much also was true. For the first time in my life, my mom and dad were not trying to drag me down into the pothole of their lives.

  Nope. No more potholes. No more backyard holes. No more No Name.

  We soon hopped in the car, and I reminded Dad to drop me off at the pizza place. “The team’s waiting on me, I’m sure, Dad.”

  “Oh yeah, Bobby. They’re all staring at the pizza on their plates. Nobody would even think of taking a bite till hero Bobby arrives.”

  “You got it, Dad,” I said. Kinda fun in a way, jive talkin’ with the old man.

  Dad drove a little more carefully than usual, and I knew he was still thinking about the evening. Cops. Fights in the bleachers. Jail for some, school expulsion for others.

  As he turned into the parking lot of the pizza kitchen, he said, “Bobby, wait just a minute. I want to visit some more with you and your mom. Not tonight. You need to celebrate with your Panther buds. But maybe we can have a family picnic tomorrow afternoon. That possible?”

  Mom turned her head slowly, with wide eyes and a sly grin on her lips. “A family picnic?” she asked. “I like t
hat idea. You’re serious, right?”

  “Sounds good to me too, Dad. But don’t stay up past your bedtime.”

  “And just when is my bedtime?” Dad asked.

  “That’s up to Mom.”

  “And your mom is still trying to figure out how to raise two boys,” Mom said.

  “Grown-up boys,” I said.

  “Yeah,” Dad said. “Well, why don’t you get your grown-up hiney out of my truck and give your mom and me some grown-up time together?”

  “Sure, Pops,” I said, hopping out of the truck. I joined my teammates for pizza, finally, as Mr. and Mrs. Byington headed home.

  “Hope you like pepperoni,” Johnny said as I pulled up a chair.

  “Hey, Bobby!”

  “You been downtown, Bobby? Firing away!”

  “No! Bobby’s been practicing the head bounce!”

  Happy times, happy greetings.

  Everyone sat at a long table in a far corner of the restaurant. Since we’d won the game, a blowout, we had earned the right to be loud. Respectfully loud. Coach Robison, after all, sat at the head of the table.

  At ten o’clock sharp, Coach stood up and announced, “Hoke, boys. We’ve got a noon run-through, to get ready for Monday’s game. You can expect the south side Tulsa bunch to be a little tougher than tonight’s opponent. Just a quick hour, noon to one. See you tomorrow, and nobody be late!”

  “Coach, do we pick up our own tab?” I asked. “Uh, and I’m not joking. I got here late.”

  “The Panthers Booster Club is paying for tonight’s pizza, boys. So let ’em know you appreciate it if your folks are members.”

  I climbed in Johnny’s car for the short trip home.

  “You see Faye after the game?” he asked.

  “No, but something tells me I might have an underground date when I get home.”

  “Good thinking,” Johnny said. “Give me a call and let me know how it goes.”

  “If I don’t call tonight, I will in the morning.”

  “Need a ride to practice?”

  “Yeah. Thanks, Johnny. And nice game. I’m still reeling about our new play. Lloyd oughta be feeling good about now.”

  Johnny said nothing. He waited for me to realize how foolish “Lloyd oughta be feeling good about now” sounded.

  “Oh man,” I said, after a moment of silence. “How quickly we forget. Did anything come up at the pizza place?”

  “No, we all treated Lloyd like you said. Like he’d made the play of the game. Which I guess he did.”

  “How serious are he and Heather?”

  “I’m sure he’s on his way to her house now,” Johnny said.

  “I’m not so sure about that.”

  “Why? What’s up?”

  “Lloyd’s dad might be in jail about now. Dad saw him speed by the hamburger place, where we were. And a few minutes later, a cop car drove by, lights flaring and sirens blaring.”

  “Wow. What else can go wrong this evening?” Johnny said. “This reminds me of a Shakespeare play.”

  “Which play?” I asked.

  “How am I to know?” said Johnny. “But something from one of his tragedies has to fit.”

  “You are one crazy Cherokee, Johnny. And FOS.”

  “FOS? No way.”

  “Uh-huh. Way. Funny Only Sometimes. What did you think FOS meant?”

  CHAPTER 16

  Popcorn in the Hair

  Johnny dropped me off at the house. The lights were still on in the living room, and Mom and Dad were watching the late-night news.

  “Bobby,” Dad said as I entered the house, “your mom and I decided to wait till morning before we call anybody about tonight. We’re too tired to stay up late worrying about something we can’t do anything about. Make sense?”

  “Sure does, Dad. Makes a lot of sense. And just so you know, I’m still in the dark. Nobody talked about it at the pizza place. We celebrated the win, and even Lloyd faked it. He’s the one I’m worried about.”

  “Me too, son,” Mom said. “I hope he’s strong enough to survive.”

  “He’s got lots of help, at least from his basketball friends. And Coach Robison too.”

  “You have one smart man at the end of your bench, Bobby,” said Dad.

  “And two cool folks back home. You two are the best. Hoke, bedtime for Bobby. I’ve got practice from noon to one tomorrow.”

  “And after practice?” Dad asked.

  “Picnic with my Choctaw elders. Achukma! Good!”

  I was glad Mom and Dad chose not to get involved in whatever was going on with Heather and Lloyd’s dad. I’m certain they were praying about it. It’s not that they didn’t care. They understood that real caring often comes the morning after.

  That is often the case when alcohol is involved. You pick up the pieces the morning after.

  But I couldn’t help myself. I had to talk to Faye. I rang her number and she answered right away.

  “Thank you so much for calling,” she said. “Bobby, please believe me. I did nothing to get Heather in trouble.”

  “You don’t have to convince me, Faye. I never thought that.”

  “Well, everybody else blames me,” she said, and I could hear her fighting back the tears.

  “Want to talk about it?”

  “Bobby, I sat behind your mom and dad at the game. We talked some. We cheered when the Panthers scored. Everything was going so well.”

  “You want to tell me what happened?” I asked. “If you don’t want to talk about it, I understand.”

  “Just give me a minute.”

  “You’ve got two minutes, and I’ll call you right back. That hoke?”

  “Sure,” she said, and we hung up.

  I stepped to the living room, where Mom was watching TV. Dad was nodding and falling asleep on the sofa.

  “Dad?” I said, and he jerked awake.

  “What? You hoke Bobby?”

  “Everything’s hoke,” I said. “But I need a favor. Can I spend some time in my underground room? Faye needs to talk.”

  They looked at each other in silence.

  “Yes,” Dad said. Mom nodded her agreement.

  I walked to the back patio and called Faye. In four minutes she slipped through the back gate and joined me. I held the door open and she climbed in.

  “Popcorn?” she asked, pulling a bag from her pocket.

  “Popcorn! Are you kidding?” I asked. When I was living in my underground room to hide from my dad, Faye had gotten me a microwave and rigged it up with a long extension cord plugged into an outlet on her patio, with leaves glued on the cord as camouflage. It was still there, just as she had set it up.

  “Nope,” she said. “I didn’t get to enjoy my popcorn at the game. Heather knocked it out of my hands. She smashed it from the bottom up with her fist, so I had extra-buttered popcorn in my hair.”

  “I’m sorry, Faye.” I said, feeling awful. “You’re a quiet girl. You never get in anybody’s face about anything. Why would Heather treat you this way?”

  “Let’s talk about that later,” Faye said, with a determined smile—that’s right, a smile—on her face. “Right now I need some popcorn.”

  She tossed the bag in the microwave and hit the button. Soon our underground hideaway was filled with the buttery, salty smell and the rat-a-tat sounds of popping corn.

  “You sure you don’t have a little Choctaw blood in you, Faye?”

  “You mean because I’m being funny instead of crying?”

  “That’s what I mean.”

  “Well, if you want to know the truth,” she said, puffing her cheeks and whooshing a huge breath of air, “I already cried my little eyes out. No more. Not tonight.”

  I let it go at that for a while. She took the bulging bag of popcorn from the microwave and ripped open the top, setting it between us.

  “Count to ten real slow, and I’ll be right back,” I said, pushing the door aside and crawling out. I left the door open, since my underground home was no longer a sec
ret.

  When I returned with two chilled cans of grape soda, Faye was slowly counting to ten. She blew a “sev-un” into the night air. “You made it,” she said.

  We ate, drank, and did our best to be merry.

  “Whenever you’re ready to talk,” I finally said. “But can I hold you first?” Faye nodded and pointed above us to the door. I tugged it over our heads, giving us the privacy she wanted.

  Faye rolled my way and buried her face in my chest. I wrapped my arms around her. I could feel the pain building up, and I whispered, “I am here for you, Faye. That will never change.”

  For the first time since I met her, Faye completely let herself go, shaking and sobbing and clinging to me. We held each other tight and rocked sideways.

  When the shaking stopped and the sobbing grew quiet, I ran my fingers softly over her cheeks. “We are together,” I whispered. “And who could ask for more? You live next door—what are the chances?”

  Faye made a funny, wide-eyed face as she glanced up at me, and I planted a kiss on her lips.

  “What a crazy world we live in,” she said. “So can I tell you what happened?”

  “Please do,” I said. “You know I would much rather talk about Heather than hold and kiss my sweet next-door neighbor.”

  “Good,” she said, “then we’re in agreement.”

  We laughed and kissed and held each other tight again. With her face still buried in my chest she stammered, “Are you ready to listen?”

  “I’m ready, Faye. I need to know everything that happened if I’m gonna help Lloyd deal with this.”

  “That’s the weirdest thing about the evening,” Faye said. “You know I’m not into sports. I’m learning because of you, Bobby. But back in North Carolina, I only went to basketball games because my friends were playing. I never even tried to understand the game.”

  “It’s pretty simple,” I said. “Ball bounces off the rim or ball scores. That’s when it falls through the round metal hoop. You know, the hoop attached to the glass square.”

  “I think I’ll go get more popcorn,” she said, in a voice thick with sarcasm.

  “Sorry, Faye,” I said. “I’ll listen.”

  “Good. So when Lloyd scored and was playing so well, I started cheering for him, along with the cheerleaders and everybody else in the stands.”