All Over Him

by Ronald L Donaghe

  “So, maybe you think you can do any better?”

  I shrugged. “Maybe.”

  That must have been a mistake, because the guy turned to the others. “Hey, brothers! Got a guy here who says he can play better than we can. I say we put him on the skins, since they’re losing.”

  By then everyone who had been playing had come up to us, and the skins quarterback stood back from the others. He was one of the body show-offs, but I thought he was a little too skinny. “Tell you what, guy,” he said to me. “We’ll let you play a few downs. Since we are losing, it won’t matter if you’re a fuck-up. What position would you like to play?

  “I used to be a receiver.”

  “Then run long,” he said.

  So I took off my sweatshirt and kind of shook the kinks out of my arms. It had been several years since I’d lifted weights for training, but still I was in better shape than most of the guys there, and I was probably the tallest, if not the heaviest. They were eyeing me, so I took off running, flat out in a straight line, then I cut right, turning my upper body for the oncoming ball. The quarterback threw a bad wobbling spinner, a little short and behind me, so I did another quick cut to the right and connected with it.

  A couple of guys whistled appreciatively, and a moment later we formed up to continue the game. The fat guy was opposite me in the defensive line, eyes intent on me, and I knew he was going to attempt to block my getaway. I also knew he was too slow to catch me. The problem was the guy facing him was a runt, so he probably wouldn’t even slow him down.

  When the snap came I headed straight at the fat guy, then cut right out of the line, ran at a left diagonal so I could keep my eye on the quarterback, then turned, just as the ball came my way. It was a neat tuck shot right into the crook of my arm, which meant I could spin around and run for the goal line without loosing my footing. I could hear the fat guy huffing on my heels like a locomotive, but in front of me the way was clear, so I sauntered forward, keeping the guy just out of reach, then sailed over the goal line.

  “Cover him!” one of the shirts called the next time we had the ball, and I was tickled that the defense had thrown all of its resources against me. This time I was surrounded and I went long, then kicked it back toward the quarterback. If he threw to me, it meant that we’d probably gain a few yards, but there was no way with all the coverage that I wouldn’t get ‘touched’ as soon as I caught the ball.

  And the quarterback threw to me. This time I caught it with the tips of my fingers and hauled it into my stomach, just as I was broad-sided by the fat guy. I hit the field and rolled automatically into a fetal position to protect the ball.

  As we were all getting back into position for the next play, I noticed that a couple of guys had come up to the game and were standing on the sidelines. They waved a couple of the guys on the field over to them, and so the game was suspended while they talked. One of the new guys gestured toward me, and from the look on his face, I could see that he was angry, though I was too far away to hear what he was saying as he pointed to me. Then, he flicked his wrist and placed the other one on his waist.

  It was an unmistakable gesture. Whoever the guy was, he had apparently recognized me as one of the gays on campus and he was telling the others.

  I probably should have just left at that point, but I didn’t. Instead, I waited on the field for the game to resume. But more of the guys went to the sidelines and soon enough, I was standing on the field by myself. So I just walked over to the group.

  “That right?” one of the skins was saying as I came within earshot. Then he spun around, frowning at me.

  “Is it true then?” he said, glaring.

  “What?” I asked, already knowing, because this close I recognized one of the new guys. I’d had him in a couple of classes and one of them was the English class from the first semester. He was one of the straight guys who freaked over the essay I’d read aloud to the class.

  “The faggot in a straight world, is what!” the guy said. “I can’t believe you guys let him play. If he touched you, you’re gonna have to cleanse yourselves.”

  “Makes me feel dirty, all right,” another guy said.

  “Me too!”

  “Yuck! Stinking faggot!”

  “You guys are ridiculous,” I said, standing my ground, clenching my abdominals in case one of them decided to take a swing.

  One of them did, except he came at me from the back and shoved me. I kept my balance well enough to haul him off his feet and land him on his butt. And then I tripped over him and crashed on my left shoulder. I recovered just in time to see a foot coming toward my face. I squat-jumped to my feet, catching the guy’s foot and shoving him backward.

  And then a few more of them closed in, and I just started swinging and elbowing my way out, catching a fist with my right eye and an elbow in my ribs. Then it was over as quickly as it started. I was heaving with the effort, but at least two of the other guys were bent double, and the fat guy’s nose was gushing. Oddly, just as he had in the beginning, the skins quarterback was standing off to the side. He was holding my shirt and tossed it to me when I passed by on my way off the practice field.

  “Hey, man,” he said. “I’m sorry. These guys are assholes.”

  Our eyes met. I saw apology there. “Don’t sweat it, man. I’m used to this.”

  * * *

  Uncle Sean and Hank were appropriately angry when I came home with the shiner. The kid, however, was fascinated. My ribs were a little tender too, but I laughed it off. “You think I look bad? You should’ve seen the other guy.”

  We were in the kitchen, where the light was brightest and they could get a good look and Hank could put an ice pack on my eye.

  “What happened, Will?” Uncle Sean asked several times. But I just said it was a simple fight.

  “You know...a misunderstanding during a football game. High tempers, bad losers. Something like that.”

  I don’t think either Uncle Sean or Hank were satisfied, and Hank looked a little green around the gills as he applied the ice pack. “I never have understood fighting,” he said, dabbing at my face, until I had to take the ice pack out of his hand and keep it pressed to my throbbing cheekbone.

  “Did a perberts not play nice?” Hanky-Hank asked with a serious look on his small face.

  The three of us adults laughed, and I was a little dismayed to see how he had kept that new word in his vocabulary, though it had become distorted to fit his understanding of the world.

  “No, we didn’t play nice,” I said, kneeling down and taking the pack away from my face. “See what happens when people don’t play fair?”

  He nodded, then touched my swelling cheek. I winced, but smiled. “So you’re never going to fight with other kids, are you?”

  He shook his head, then he gave me a hug. I winced again, but didn’t let on that he’d hurt me where I’d been elbowed in the ribs. I hoped nothing was cracked.

  Later, I took a hot shower and examined my side where the pain was the greatest. It hurt like hell, but I didn’t think it was more than a bruise, because I could take deep breaths without stabbing pains.

  In a way, it was just an old habit of the season. Football. Fights during and afterward. High emotions. And so I lay on my bed that evening wishing I could play the game again, but knew I wouldn’t get the chance—at least with those frats. What few plays I had been in that afternoon had felt good. And again, I thought of Lance and our days back on the farm and in high school, our eventual friendship with two of the guys that had given us the most grief about being gay—Dick Lamb and Casey Zumwalt. I thought mainly of Casey and wondered with a different sort of pang in my chest if he was surviving, if he would manage to get on with his life after the horrible tragedy and his part in it; and as I had often done, I thought about trying to find out about him.

  With Lance planning to stop in at the old farm on the way back to SF and with me planning to be with him, I kind of got excited thinking about looking up a few people
while we were in Animas, and of course we’d stop in at the Snow ranch and visit with May and Kelsey. A year is a long time. No telling how much everyone had changed. I knew I had, not only in what I knew, but how I felt about various things, the notions I had, what had become important in my life, what things were unimportant.

  All through high school, I had thought about living with Uncle Sean, first in San Francisco, then here in Austin. In fact, I carried through with that, because a year ago it was still important to me. But during that same year, as he got his life in order and found Hank, I knew only one thing was important to me now and that was getting back with Lance. Then it wouldn’t matter to me how insane life could be, because Lance and I would be going through it together, rather than separately.

  As I lay in bed that night thinking, I broke out into a cold sweat, so anxious was I for these final days to pass until he would be here. Any number of things could still happen that might prevent my seeing him, some of them far-fetched, of course, like him getting killed in a car accident, which I put out of my mind with a shiver as soon as it came up; but other fears were almost tangibly real. What if it turns out at the last minute that he can’t make the trip after all? At the moment, I couldn’t think of why he wouldn’t be able to, but he had asked me not to mention his trip to Mama and the girls, just in case something did prevent him from coming out.

  So I strove to get hold of my racing mind, to slow my breathing, and to reflect on the little incident with the frat boys. In the scheme of things it was so unimportant to me, it didn’t deserve an extra heartbeat of thought or emotion. Still, it was unexpected, more like something that could have happened back home in Hachita. People weren’t so different here, after all.

  * * *

  Day 32.

  Thanksgiving rolled around and of course Hank, Sean, the kid, and I went to Mama’s. I had talked to Lance the night before, double-checking on his trip and he was still planning to come.

  “Then can I tell Mama and the girls?”

  Lance didn’t answer right away, but I could hear him kind of chuckling in the background. “Yes, honey, I think it’s safe. And if you do, it means I’ll have to come no matter what.”

  I laughed too. “Oh, I get it. Seeing me isn’t enough reason to make sure you make it. But some of Mama’s home cooking is?”

  “Well,” he drawled, “now that you mention it, that was about the only reason I was planning to make the trip in the first place. You were just dessert.”

  “You want me with whipped cream?”

  So we deteriorated into silliness, and then into a hot session of describing what we were going to do with each other.

  So Thanksgiving.

  The drive through the country with smoke curling out of chimneys and the almost incense-like smells that such burning wood brought with it was intoxicating. As usual, the sky was partly overcast, but the sunlight that did break through every now and then gleamed on the curving pavement. It brightened the last of the green leaves in some of the more cold-tolerant trees and, every once in a while, came a glittering light-show of sunlight on water from the numerous times the road crossed a river, or ran along a creek.

  Then we crossed over the Barton Creek bridge and Mama’s house came into view, along with the barn and the curving driveway up to the house. Trinket was waiting for us on the front porch. A moment after we pulled to a stop, Rita and Mama came out to wave us in. Smoke was curling out of the chimney on Mama’s house too, and this close up the smells wafting on the crisp air were especially mouth-watering.

  We all hugged. Mama hugged little Hank, then with a kind of special gladness hugged Hank, kissing him on the cheek with bright eyes and hugged Uncle Sean and me. Then we all wandered into the house.

  It was warm and fragrant indoors, and I noticed that the piano was in a prominent place in the living room, and next to it was a table stacked with sheet music and music books. And on the floor was even more sheet music. I turned and whispered to Rita, “Does she practice as much as it looks like?”

  Rita smiled, but rolled her eyes. “No television, no radio, for hours, Will. But she’s really getting good. Who would’ve thought?”

  “Too bad daddy isn’t around to see her blossom.”

  To that statement Rita got a rather odd look on her face, though I know it wasn’t about daddy so much, because we all missed him. But it was something I’d have to ask her about later.

  We continued straight into the kitchen and sat at the table, and in no time, Mama had poured us coffee and Hanky-Hank and Trinket got hot chocolate. The kid had already commandeered Trinket and scooted his chair close to hers. She was delighted with the kid’s attention though. I had seen her kiss his cheek on the porch and his little hand go into hers. Maybe Hanky was the little sibling that Trinket never had, since she was the baby of the family.

  It was early yet, but my stomach growled at the smells coming from the oven, where the turkey stuffed with cornbread dressing was sizzling. On the counter were pies and homemade rolls and salads and dishes set out.

  “What time did you get up this morning, Mama? Looks like dinner’s almost ready.”

  Mama sat at the table, cradling a mug of coffee, her eyes bright, her hair newly done. In fact, her fingernails were painted and she was wearing lipstick. Even her cheeks were glowing, as if she kept getting younger by the month. She smiled at me. “Oh, I started the turkey cooking early, Will, but just about everything else we did last night.”

  I glanced at Rita, and she was smiling oddly. Our eyes met, and she flicked her eyes toward the living room. She meant for me to follow her, so while everyone was talking I got up and headed for the bathroom. Then when I came out Rita was sitting on the couch and I joined her.

  “So what’s with Mama?” I asked. “And with you? Something’s up, because when I said that about daddy, you looked funny.”

  Rita grinned at me. “I could make you squirm,” she said, almost laughing. “But you’ll find out a little later, even if I don’t say anything.”

  “What?” My curiosity was piqued. “She have a boyfriend or something?”

  “How did you guess?”

  “What! She does?”

  “A nice guy, Will. Trinket and I both like him. We haven’t said anything the last couple of times you and Sean were out here, but Hank’s met him, though nobody let on that Mama and Ernie were anything but friends.”

  “Ernie? Sounds like an old fart.” I was teasing, but Rita frowned.

  “I think he’s younger than Mama by about five years, if you want to know the truth.” She almost laughed again, and I could see she was happy for Mama.

  “And Trinket’s all right with this? How long have they been dating?”

  “About six or eight weeks. At first, Mama didn’t let on to me or Trinket, either, Will. I think she was kind of embarrassed. But Ernie was coming around too often for me not to get suspicious.”

  I didn’t know what to think, except that Rita and I had talked about Mama finding another husband, and I wasn’t against the idea at all. The only thing I did want to make sure of was that he was good for Mama and not out to take her for a ride, then get bored with her.

  So I asked her what Ernie did for a living and other details about him.

  But soon we headed back into the kitchen and joined into the conversation and Mama and Hank were working together to get everything set. It wasn’t odd that Hank would be the one pitching in, either, since he actually came out here more often than either Uncle Sean or I did, and at our house, it turned out that he liked to cook, but even more that he enjoyed being domestic and often had the kitchen at home cleaned and presentable before either I or Uncle Sean had even thought about doing the dishes.

  Around one o’clock, everything was out of the oven and the plates set on the table, extra chairs had been brought in and I noticed that Mama kept glancing out the kitchen window and messing with her hair. She didn’t look anxious. Rather a small smile played on her lips as she only half-heart
edly joined in the small talk as we got the salads and other dishes onto the table. Then I saw out the window myself as a car came down the driveway. It was a Buick and about five years old, as far as I could tell, as it loped up to the house.

  I have to admit that my mouth went dry, anticipating a look at Mama’s boyfriend. Not that I wasn’t happy for her, but it was rather a surprise. And I also was curious to know how he might take Uncle Sean and Hank or, for that matter, me. I had no way of knowing if Mama or Rita might have said anything to him about us.

  So I was stunned when Ernie got out of the car, momentarily bending back in to retrieve something, which a moment later I saw was a large flower arrangement. From my view, I could see that he was quite tall, with dark features, and when he stepped onto the porch, just before he disappeared from view, I saw that he was quite handsome.

  Then Mama disappeared from the kitchen and answered the front door. I stopped myself from following, because I figured they might kiss, and I wasn’t ready to see that. And when Mama and Ernie came into the kitchen, I could see that Mama was proud of Ernie. She introduced us to him, and said he lived on a neighboring farm.

  Later, when we were eating and the conversation turned to Ernie, he told us about his few small enterprises with the greenhouse in Dripping Springs, his hobby of raising exotic plants, and high points of his life. Details anyone would give when meeting other people. Later still, when we were too stuffed but agreeing to dessert and coffee, he told us about his wife who had passed away two years before and his grown children in college. A quick estimation told me if he was five years younger than Mama, he was forty seven. His hair was a dark brown with very little gray in it, which matched his eyes.

  In all, Ernie Dempsey was just an ordinary, middle-aged man with a history. Though I found him to be just about perfect for Mama.

  Trinket and Hanky-Hank disappeared up to her loft room, Hank and Uncle Sean insisted on cleaning the kitchen, and so Rita and I joined Ernie and Mama in the living room.

  Ernie lit a cigarette for Mama, but didn’t light one up himself. They sat together on the couch, and Rita and I took chairs on either side. I was closest to Ernie. He turned to me.