Lime Creek

by Joe Henry

  He still had the ball under him and two opponents on top of him and he couldn’t breathe. He tried to say something but nothing came out and when they finally got off him he still couldn’t breathe. He could sneak a little air in through his teeth but that was about all because it felt like he had a knife stuck in his side, and when he tried to inhale it seemed to go into him even further. They got him taken off the field and then to the hospital where they saw on the films that he’d broken two ribs on his right side. The same two, the doctor said, that he could see had been broken sometime before.

  Jerry D’Angelo, the equipment manager and Carl the trainer’s assistant, went with him and brought his clothesbag too and so after they x-rayed him and showed him the fractures they let him take a shower before taping him up. He sneezed while he was drying himself and went down on one knee clutching the edge of the table that set against the wall and holding on to it until he could finally unclench his teeth. He still couldn’t really get a good breath of air but the taping somehow helped, and so after he was sufficiently bound up he could breathe again almost normally.

  He wanted to go back to the game and was there for the last few minutes. The field was all covered with snow and they had kids on both sidelines with big janitor’s brooms pushing it toward the benches so you could see where the yard-lines came up to the little yellow markers that had the yardage numbers on them. They won by six points and Whitney got the game-ball. He was all over the field and they later heard that he’d broken the state record for the most tackles in one game. He also picked up a blocked kick in the fourth quarter and took it into the endzone, losing his feet and sliding on his stomach for the last five yards he said before three of the other team jumped on top of him like he was a pile of leaves or a snowbank or something.

  Luke was still in the hospital and so he missed Whitney’s touchdown. When he did return, without his pads but with the heavy windbreaker over him and still wearing his helmet to keep the snow off, Whitney put his hand on Luke’s shoulder and shook his head when Luke told him it was those same two ribs that he’d broken a couple of years before. But even worse was that he wouldn’t be able to play in their last two games. And so that was that. Whitney gave him the trophy ball later when they were getting ready to get on the bus, but Luke shook his head and said, All I did was break some ribs. Whitney said, You and me both know that that ain’t quite all of it, but you can hold on to it for Pa then. And so Whitney took Luke’s equipment bag for him and Luke carried the ball.

  The folks from the other school had gotten together a bunch of food in cartons that were already stacked up on the bus when they came out of the lockerroom. They’d invited them to stay with their families for the night until the storm passed but a couple of state troopers who were down on the field had told the coach and Darrell their busdriver that once they left the flat open country where the game was it sounded like it was beginning to lighten up and so they should be OK if they were still determined to go.

  It was wild on the bus with the players and coaches and cheerleaders all laughing and talking at the top of their voices and eating at the same time. And Denny Reid, the head coach, coming up and down the aisle and sitting for a minute in any temporarily vacant seat to say something to whoever happened to be sitting next to him. Luke kept trying to find a way to position himself that would maybe back off the pain in his side some, but when the coach approached Whitney got up so he could sit down.

  There was still some of that hardness from the disagreement the coach and the two boys had had the year before, but that was water under the bridge and as good as the team was doing this year the three of them were bound and without anything actually being said that personal feelings weren’t going to get in the way of what they wanted to accomplish. Which was the state championship. Which was after Thanksgiving. And for which a little mountain town from the western part of the state, like Lewiston, had never contended. Until now.

  And too, whatever else that had come up between them there had always been an abiding respect for who each of them were, the Davis boys on one side and the coach on the other. He was a good coach and they were good players and whatever choices they’d had to make between their responsibilities to their family’s ranch and the team, whether the coach disagreed with them or not, had never once called into question the indisputable fact that they had been two of the better kids that he’d ever had—hardnosed and unflinching and with that natural athleticism that had jumped out at him the first time he ever saw them. And he admired them too however grudgingly and knew when they moved on that as much as he ever allowed himself such a luxury, he would miss them. He knew too that he would probably never let them know, but he knew it would be so.

  He had two blankets with him that he placed next to Luke who was partially turned in his seat with his arms crossed on his chest. The coach had a water-bottle too and a little tin of pills that he held out when he sat down. Aspirin, he says. Carl says to take a couple now and then two more in three or four hours when these start to wear off. Luke turns and takes the water and two of the pills and says, Thanks Coach. Then he gathers up the blankets and begins to wedge them between himself and the wall of the bus. The coach gets up and touches his arm and says, If it gets bad come up front and get Carl. Hear? Thanks Coach, Luke says again, and then rests back as the coach moves on to his next charge.

  Gets bad? Luke presses off the lights over his and Whitney’s seats and readjusts the blankets until he finds a position that seems to bother him least and then closes his eyes. Whitney never did come back and so Luke halflies and half-sits with part of his outside leg resting against the edge of the adjoining seat. Eventually it got quiet and most of the bus was dark. There was a light on a few rows ahead where someone was reading and then all the way up front where the coach and the trainer sat in the first row.

  Maybe he fell asleep or maybe he was still awake, he couldn’t remember, but a hand passed behind his shoulder and touched his neck and she whispered against his jaw, was he warm enough. The blanket that he’d had about him had fallen away and when he turned from the window so he was sitting upright he was more in Whitney’s seat than in his own. She hushed him before he spoke, getting past his bent knees and bringing another blanket with her so she could lean against the wall and the window where he had originally positioned himself. When she was finally settled she put her arm around his shoulders drawing him into her so the blanket she had brought draped around both of them. He eased himself against her with the side of his face at the top of her chest and his folded hands in her lap with her other hand lain over them. Her arm that was around him seemed to fold him in as he rested against her so he somehow felt small even though he could feel the bulk of his shoulder as she held it.

  There was a time when the bus jumped and then came down hard as if they had flown across a pothole or something in the road. And his hand had clutched her arm as it had the table edge in the hospital room when he went down on his knee, until the thing that felt like a knife in his side finally subsided, and then lapsing back in the darkness and slowly burning itself out letting him rest his hand down again with his other hand that she still held. Her fingers that had dug into his shoulder as if she would replace what hurt him with the catlike tenacity of her grip when he groaned and grabbed her arm, loosened at last and she hushed him again and brought that hand away and with it stroked his neck and then kissed him there. When she fell asleep still holding him like that her lips still rested on his skin.

  They never even made it back to the state highway, which had been closed anyway because of blowing and drifting snow, and they could see how bad it was in the flashing lights of the troopers’ patrol car that was parked at the bottom of the exit. They all sat upright and watched out the windows. Sometime earlier she had returned to her seat and Whitney was beside him once again. The whole bus was awake and the noise of voices grew back gradually almost to the level of where it had left off after they had finished eating. Even at a crawl the bus
slid sideways for several feet before coming to a stop. One of the troopers walked up to Darrell’s window while the other one continued to wave vehicles away from the blocked-off entrance ramp.

  The overhead lights came back on and the coach stood up and took a few steps toward the center of the bus and called out that they’d have to find someplace to stay. The bus was moving again and the coach went back and sat down as they proceeded toward what appeared to be a bright cloud down on the ground and up ahead that was actually the lights of the next town diffused by the heavy curtain of the falling snow. It wasn’t but about ten-thirty on Saturday night and it had taken them nearly four hours to travel less than eighty-five miles and they still hadn’t even really begun their journey home, which needed the barricaded westbound highway to get them to the other side of the state.

  They pulled into a gas-station directly off the road. There’d already been more than two feet of snow since that afternoon and it was still coming down and blowing so hard that the little cash-and-carry store on the far side of the lot was nearly invisible from the two pump islands where they parked.

  Three or four of the players sprang up from their seats and started down the aisle but the coach motioned them back, saying, Let’s find someplace to stay and then we’ll all get off together. He turned and went back up front and then got down off the bus himself and went across to a lone phone-booth that stood bleakly against a wall of tall hedges all piled up with snow. And then a few minutes later he came back under Darrell’s window presumably for more pocket-change. When he got back on the bus and they were moving again, they soon turned onto a long strip that was all motels and fast-food shops, and a cheer went up in the bus.

  The first place they came to had two parallel rows of little log cabins set back from the road and as they pulled up in front the neon “Vacancy” sign went dark. Each one-room cabin was just big enough to fit a bed and a chair, and most of the ones in back were unoccupied. There was a coffee-shop on the other side and beyond it a more modern U-shaped motel with upper and lower levels, and between both places they were able to find enough accommodation for everyone, two people to a room.

  Luke waited on the bus for everyone to get off and must have fallen asleep again until Whitney came and woke him. Carl was waiting outside. He wore a sweatshirt under his overcoat with a hood that came out of the collar so he seemed to resemble one of those monks or mountain lamas with the snow building up on his cowl and shoulders. As Luke stepped down Carl reached his gloved hand out but Luke held on to the open door while Whitney grasped his other arm. Carl told them his room-number in the other motel and said that if Luke had any problems during the night to come and get him. They both thanked him and Carl went off.

  Luke couldn’t really put any weight on his one leg that had gotten turned under him when he landed with the other two players on top of him. Jesus, Whiskey, Whitney says. He still has his arm through Whitney’s and when he steps on that side he leans heavily against him. My knee got all swoll, Luke says, and then he laughs and looks up at his brother. Whitney’s teeth even smile through the snow as he shakes his head and says, You’re a fucking mess. He can feel Whitney hold up under his arm whenever he goes to step on his bad side. Tell me about it, he says.

  Ever since that day two years ago when he went off by himself and somehow ended up over in Whiskey Basin which was a long ways away and then showed up at dawn the next morning with a busted hand and broken ribs but still trailing four cows and calves in front of his mare, Whitney always calls him “Whiskey” whenever just plain ol’ Luke won’t do.

  As they go down the line of cabins to the one that’s assigned to them they pass several of the team coming toward them and headed for the diner. Luke, Whitney, they say. Percy stops as Luke goes by with his head down watching the placement of his feet, and then Percy says to Whitney, Wanna nother hand? Whitney shakes his head and says, Thanks but we’re OK.

  Inside there’s a big bed and a lamp on the nighttable beside it. Both their bags are on the floor with the football on top of Luke’s, and there’s a gas space-heater framed into the wall in the corner with blue and yellow flames rising upward between white ceramic cones. It’s nice and warm. Home sweet home, Whitney says. He lets Luke sit in the one chair and goes into the little bathroom and then comes back with a towel that he drapes over Luke’s head which is covered with melting snow. Luke bends to his boots and tries to get the first one in his hands but winces and sits back. Whitney is still standing over him and he says, Want some help? Luke shakes his head. I’ll get’er, he says and looks up. Go’n eat.

  Want me to bring you something? Whitney says. Luke shakes his head again. Whitney kneels down and takes Luke’s boot in his hands. Hold on, he says. Luke grasps the arms of the chair and the boot comes away. Then they do the same with the other one. Whitney stands back up and says, You want some help getting undressed? Luke shakes his head. I’ll be alright, he says. Thanks. You go’n eat. Whitney stands there for another moment and then steps by him with his hand on the doorknob. Last call? Luke shakes his head and Whitney opens the door and passes outside. The wind has come up hard and a swirl of flakes blows into the room as he closes the door behind him. Luke sits for another moment and then pushes himself upright. All he wants to do is lie down. He dries his head and hangs the towel on the door.

  He sits on the bed and turns off the lamp and in the close darkness the flames in the grate seem bluer and almost golden as they play on his face and rise up the wall like the ghostly silhouettes of leaves flowing upward and then across the low ceiling too. He undresses slowly but his whole torso from just below his chest to his hips is bound in stiff white adhesive that feels under his hands as unsupple and precarious as an eggshell. When he finally turns to lie down, the shocking point of the blade that’s under the taping seems to jab even deeper into him, and so exasperated he places the pillows behind him and gradually inches lower and lower until he is almost all the way onto his back. He didn’t know when he fell asleep but Whitney hadn’t returned. He dreamt that for some reason he needed to move and was instantly struck awake as if a spear had wounded him in the side and then been withdrawn lessening and lessening until he could begin to breathe again.

  Somehow he had come to be on the side that wasn’t hurt with a pillow propped under him. The heater had been turned down so the peaks of the flames were diminished along with the light that they produced although the phantom leaves still climbed slowly up the wall. And as if he were still dreaming but with his eyes open he sees her hand on the blanket and then feels her arm under where his head lies with her face against his shoulder and her bare legs warm and wrapped around his. She didn’t say anything at all while he slowly tried to turn himself, but it was like moving something awkward and unwieldy because he had to constantly mind the axis of the knife-point that was fixed inside him so as not to disturb its precious balance.

  Finally he had come far enough so he could see her eyes watching him, with his hand against her stomach under the grey team t-shirt that was all she wore. He didn’t say anything either and they lay like that with their mouths together. Quickening. And then his hand rose to her breasts so sharp and hard as to wound the soft flesh of his palm by the very magnitude of their delicacy, their hard risen nipples almost seeming to catch in his skin. And the shadowy leaves still rushing upward but pounding and pounding as if some heartlike furnace now drove them. Up. He lay against her risen against the flesh of her thigh a blind wishing yearning thing vulnerable and unprotected and for her to take or turn away.

  And then when she would let him be or make him go with her bent knee upraised and inward leaning and steadfast enough in its closed posture so she needn’t say or do anything else to stay him, something all the way down in the well of the muscle or more truly in the hunger of the soul something seemed to release and let go and so fearful and guarded no more and all yeasaying and without even a whisper all of her said come inside me where it is safe and warm come inside me where it is warm
and safe inside me, and so scalding melting fusing he was all at once lost to the cold and lost to the dark and lost to the blade of pain the fear of grief, the i-am that stands alone and apart suddenly amazed become we-two we-too and then the be-in-me.

  Because however the psyche would hide behind its almost unbearable fragility, the soul is like a flower opening inviting, the soul is like a sun freeing the tightly closed bud to finally blossom. And so the warmth would ultimately best the cold not in duration perhaps for only the cold is everlasting, but for having been. Because love however temporal however fleeting would scar forever the iron cosmos of ice and darkness and make it forever after vulnerable and so forever after wary too because however improbable however long it takes it still could come again. The light that for having been still is. The absence growing even more powerful than the presence. And so out of the cold the chance that the warmth could come again. And love. And so maybe even love.

  He watched her face until she opened her eyes watching him while she touched the bright hard taping that was wound about him as if it was a strange exotic skin that she sought to know. He rested his weight on his elbows and knees but with the core of him still up against her still yearning and for her to do with what she wished. As insistent and relentless as youth waiting and waiting and as certain as youth is too, unfolding evolving and so sloughing off childhood forever like that first skin one was born and then grew in until writhing free at last one finds oneself already clothed in a new skin, still marked with all those early scars and imperfections of course, but after that first one like a shell that had become too confining has already been cast aside. And even though the child lives on aged and maybe even hidden away all the way into death, one’s childhood is gone. Irretrievably.