“Nope, I can walk just fine.” He gazed directly into the old man’s eyes which startled him a little. He looked at the hems on his jean legs, which rose a good two inches above his ankles.
“Yup, you’ve grown a lot taller,” Tom remarked. “You’re as tall as I am. It’s hard to believe, and I don’t doubt that in a month or two you’ll need a razor. You and the boys are all out-of-control—sort of scary.” He smiled as he gently tapped the boy on the back with his hand. “What time will you be back?
“Oh, around 4:00 I expect,” Micah replied and then left.
He walked up the alley to the back gate of Willow Wood and stepped into the oasis nestled within the fence, turning on the hose to water the garden. It was time to harvest the vegetables again. Micah sat on the retaining wall looking at the green of the peas and beans, the yellow squash, and the red tomatoes. It was beautiful, and he wished his pop were home to see it. But he was hundreds of miles away in the flatlands of Kansas. He twisted his head around and looked into the backyard. Last year at this time, Raggéd was running around and making figure eights as he flew from one apricot tree to another. Part of him died with his dog; something happy and carefree left him; he thought maybe it was gone forever. Micah turned and glared at the vegetables while remembering the playful ways of his ginger colored mongrel until he heard the gate unlatch. He looked over his shoulder and saw Millie dressed for shopping, soaring over her youngest son who now stood at the bottom of the wall. Millie walked down the steps to hug Micah, who was a head taller than his mother.
“I couldn’t imagine what man was standing in the garden,” she said, “until I saw you watering, even then I thought for a moment you were Greg. You look like your brother. My God Micah, what happened to you?” Millie hugged her son, and she felt his muscles through her embrace. They sat at the picnic table that stood between the peach trees. “Your garden is beautiful. Bill will be proud. What have you been doing with all of the produce?”
“I’ve been selling it at Sutton’s Market. I made some good money, but I told them that for the rest of the season the vegetables are yours. You want them don’t you?” Micah reached and plucked a ripe tomato and started eating it.
“Of course, it bothered me not having anything put-up for winter.” There was quiet for a minute. “Your father will be coming home at the end of the month. He finished the job early so he’ll be home sooner than expected. Does that make you happy?”
Micah shrugged his shoulders, “Sure, but is he happy? I haven’t heard from him since May. I didn’t hear from you either.” He let his anger show.
“Well,” his mother began, “I suppose your fingers were broken since you didn’t write or phone.” Millie showed her own irritation. Micah looked at her and started laughing and then she joined him.
They had a wonderful day, mother and son; and on the way home, Micah asked Mille to stop by St. John’s. “This is my school. This is where I’ll be going after Labor Day. You okay with that?”
“If you’re happy, I’m happy.” She looked deeply at him before continuing. “Mr. Dorsey has been good for you. It hurt when we signed those papers giving him guardianship. But now I realize that it was for the best. He loves you as much as me and your dad. God does things in awkward ways. He’s a mystery.”
Micah did not respond but looked toward the chapel where he saw Monsignor Mathias step out the door. Micah waved and hollered his name, and the priest turned and started walking toward them.
“Monsignor this is my mother, Millie Sherwood,” Micah introduced the two.
The Monsignor leaned into the car and shook the lady’s hand. “I am very glad to meet you, Mrs. Sherwood, and very excited that your son and his friends are coming to St. John’s in September. All of the boys are smart and competitive. They will be an asset to the school, I am certain.”
“Let’s have this conversation at the end of the year and then we’ll see how you feel,” she grinned.
“I like challenges,” the priest patted Millie’s hand.
After a few moments of chatter, the two returned to the Dorsey barn, and Micah lugged all of the new clothes and school supplies into his bedroom. As he passed the mirror on his dresser, he saw only his reflection smiling back at him. Cory said that he was an amalgamation and took on the essence of any person that he was around—a chameleon. “Then who am I really? Do I even exist?” This disturbed Micah, but then he stepped back, “It is what it is. I am what I am,” and he joined Tom Dorsey in the house.
Mrs. Petit had given birth the previous night to a brother for Dane, who was at home tending to the farm animals while his father spent time at the hospital with his wife. Tandy was in Wheeler, and Cory went camping with his parents. This weekend Mr. Dorsey and he would be alone.
As the two sat at the table ready to eat their supper, the phone rang. It was Coach Britt asking Micah to come to the school the next day for some kind of sports orientation; Mr. Dorsey had already signed the releases for participation, but for some reason the school office failed to notify the boys of the meeting. Micah returned to the table excited.
Things were good, especially since the old maroon Dodge belonging to Harry had disappeared. Perhaps Micah’s little threat-display spooked the foreman. “Naw,” the boy thought. Harry was too insane to stop his pursuit. At best, his absence was a temporary reprieve.
Micah walked into the gym at St. John’s the next day. There were boys standing in lines, but before he could join them, Coach Britt intercepted him.
“Sherwood, this way,” and Coach led him to his office. “Take a seat.” As Micah settled into a chair, the man continued speaking. “You have a good trip to Norway?” He did not wait for an answer. “Football, you ready to play a team sport?”
Micah thought for a moment. “I’ve never thought about it. I’m not much of a football guy. I know the basics, but I don’t even own a football. I don’t think I’d be very good.”
“You’d be great. Track is a springtime sport, and I don’t see you happy in a PE class. Go out for football. You can be the team-manager if you don’t make it. How is that?” He again did not give Micah time to answer. “Now the question is which grade. I’ve looked at your schedule, and you’re taking 9th grade classes. Ninth Grade is considered high school at St. John’s, and your physique points that direction too. So get in the high school line and I’ll see you in a couple of minutes.”
Micah joined the other boys where he spotted Kevin Derocher. The two exchanged greetings, and Kevin introduced him to his friends. Soon Coach was in the gym making an announcement.
“This year we have a physician onsite to conduct your physicals. You will see the doctor three men at a time. When you complete your exam, go to the showers for your locker assignment and to pick-up your jerseys and equipment. After that, take a seat in the bleachers for a team meeting. Are there any questions?” No one responded. “Okay, the first three boys in the bottom row go,” and he pointed toward Kevin, Micah and another boy.
Micah followed the other boys into the weight room, where he saw Dr. Reeves, who smiled. “Gentlemen, strip, and that includes underwear; stow your clothes on the bench and get in line for the physical.” They complied. The school nurse did all of the measurements, and then they stood waiting for the exam. When it was Micah’s turn, Dr. Reeves motioned for him to come in. “Well Bucky, I know all about you, so just a couple of questions. Any depression or anger issues?”
“Once in a while I guess,” Micah responded. “It’s not any worse than before.”
“Any more seizures?”
“No sir, zilch.” Micah smiled.
“Let’s take a look at your height and weight.” The doctor studied his chart. “You’re like an 18 year old, and you’re strong. Your muscles are well toned. It is obvious that you’re a country boy; what are you doing, lifting bales of hay for exercise? What grade are you in?”
“I’m taking 9th grade classes.”
“And you’re 11 years old. There has never
been anything normal about you, Bucky. Your growth rate is weird, your genetics are weird, and you’re just a totally weird cowboy.” The doctor was grinning as he spoke. Are you happy?”
“Most of the time. Yeah, I’m very happy.” Micah thought about everything the doctor had said and responded further. “I am weird, but I like myself, and that’s what’s really important, isn’t it?” Finally Micah recognized himself to be the person he always wanted to be.
“Yeap, that’s what’s important, and to be able to say that, well, you’ve realized something most men never do. “Be proud of it, Buck. Now get out of here, your fit as a fiddle.”
Micah dressed and went into the showers where a young boy was sitting at a desk with a clipboard. “Name?”
“Sherwood.”
He looked toward the bottom of the list and reached over and grabbed a packet with the number 108 written on it. “This is your locker number and combination with some other crap. Pick up your jerseys and equipment around the corner.” The kid pointed toward a dressing area.
Micah had to strip again and then try on pants, pads, helmet, jersey and cleats. Once he was sized, they handed him three different jerseys: one green with gold numbers; one gold with green numbers; and a training jersey, black with white numbers. He was number 27.
Micah picked up and carried the equipment to his locker next to the showers. He stowed everything away and went to the bleachers. He sat next to Kevin.
“What position do you play?” Kevin asked.
Micah wasn’t sure what to say. “I guess I’ll try out for quarter back.”
Kevin looked at him queerly. “That’s my position. Fine, competition is good. Regardless who gets it, we stay friends, right?”
“Brothers!” Micah responded and instantly thought of Guy and regretted what he had said.
“Brothers forever,” Kevin smiled and punched Micah on the shoulder.
Micah looked into Kevin, and Guy’s death was still raw and painful for the boy, but not crippling like it had been for Mrs. Derocher. The football players appeared accepting of him, and he was comfortable with them. The only thing that concerned him was his ignorance, but his inner self was setting up a plan on how to get on top of the game and be competitive enough to make the team. Micah smiled. The Coach was well aware of his drive and knew that ‘team manager’ meant being second best, and second best is never acceptable.
Coach Britt came to the center of the basketball court. “Gentlemen, you don’t know me and I don’t know you. We start with a tabula rasa, a blank slate. Any position that you held in the past you may not hold this year. You need to prove yourself, and you do that by showing me that you have what it takes to win. Winning is good; winning is what we do, and I expect you to always give your best. Remember, I am successful only if you are, and I am going to drive you and push you and by the end of the season, you will all be better men.”
“We will have our first practice next Monday from 10:00 till 2:00. You will be on the field in your training jersey, shorts, cleats and ready for work exactly at 10:00. Training will be on Mondays, Wednesdays, Friday’s and some Saturdays. If you have a problem with this schedule, come and see me. That’s all I have to say, so see you next week.”
Micah left the bleachers and went to Coach’s office. “Sir, I have ranch work to do, and I may not have a way to get here. I promise I’ll try to make it, but I’m not sure I will. Mr. Dorsey will be out of town.”
I’ll come and get you, but you need to get your ride worked out. You’re at the Dorsey place on the creek?”
“No, I’m at the new house off of Hillcrest and Eastern, the big brick house in the middle of the wheat field. You’ll see it on top of the hill, you can’t miss it.”
“Fine, I’ll pick you up at 9:15 sharp. Be ready.”
Micah walked to the front of the school, and Mr. Dorsey was in his truck waiting. “I guess I’m playing football,” Micah grinned.
“I expected that,” Tom returned the grin. “Look at you. Why wouldn’t the coach want you to play? But I don’t remember you ever being interested in football.”
“I wasn’t, but now I am, I guess. Can we go get a football? I need to practice. I’ve got a lot to do between now and Monday. He said that if I don’t make the team, I could be the manager. I’ve got to make the team.”
“The failure thing again,” Mr. Dorsey studied the boy. “If you don’t make the team, you’re a failure. You know that’s not true. No one can be good at everything.”
“I know. We’ve had this conversation before, a couple of times. It’s not easy for me. I’ve got to do my best, and right now I would fail horribly.”
“I got you a football this morning, and a basketball and hoop. That’s how it goes. If you play one sport, you play all sports. That’s the way it was when I was a kid, and it hasn’t changed.” Micah smiled as he headed to his room. “Don’t forget, two hours until boxing practice.”
Micah got an old tire and set it up in the corral. He threw the football from 15 feet away, and it went through the tire’s center. He was a good pitcher in baseball, so he mentally stepped into that role. He started running and throwing, tossing hard and fast and hitting the mark more often than not. He remembered what his dad had told him: to envision that the ball was already where you wanted it to be before throwing, that hitting the mark was as much of a mind game as a physical game, and if you thought too hard about it, you would fail.
As he practiced, Beau passed by riding his new bike. Micah yelled and the boy stopped and scrambled over. “Want to practice with me?” Micah asked.
“Sure,” and Beau went out for a pass. Micah threw the ball in a slight arc to his neighbor, who caught it and threw it back. The next hour they spent running, catching and hitting targets.
“I got boxing practice,” he spoke to Beau. “Come and watch if you want, and maybe tomorrow we can practice some more.
He played football with the neighborhood boys all weekend, and by mid-day Sunday, Micah felt a little more comfortable with the sport and his own capabilities. But Sunday was a busy day other than play, and the afternoon was mostly dedicated to moving the horses from the old barn to the big barn at the new house. The work was finished by sundown except for relocating Puckers, and Micah would retrieve him later. He sat with Cory, Tandy and Dane in the foreman’s office listening to Henry’s final instructions.
They mostly completed everything during July, so all the boys had to do was make sure the cattle were fed, watered and safe. The only real work left was to change out an old water tank with a new one in the northern pasture (and that would only take a few hours); so it looked like the coming week would be easy.
Then it was Mr. Dorsey’s turn to give instructions. “Okay boys, you will not drive that old pickup on public roads, understand? I have a load of salt lick blocks coming Thursday morning. Store them in the byre in the middle pasture. Micah, since you do odd jobs on Tuesdays, Dane’s dad said it was okay for you to drive across his property to get to Willow Wood. Make sure that your spare’s loaded into the truck and not flat; close each gate after you pass through. The only problem you might have will be crossing the railroad tracks. Make sure that there is not a train coming and don’t get helter-skelter in between the rails or you’ll never get out. Do you know what I’m talking about?”
“Yes sir, I’ve run along the trail so I know the area. I might stay the night at Willow Wood on Tuesday. Can I just park the truck in the pasture?”
“That’s fine.” He paused for a moment. “I trust you boys. I trust that you won’t burn down the place or throw a wild party.” He smiled. “Micah has the keys to everything and the phone numbers to reach me in Paducah, and I’ll call and check-in with you every evening.” Tom reached into his pocket and pulled out a roll of $10 bills. “Micah, here’s some cash in case you have an emergency. Call Mr. Petit if there’s a problem. Call him before you call me. And there is plenty of food already prepared in the house. If you run out, just call Millie
.”
“We’re gonna leave now and try to get halfway to Paducah before stopping. Please be careful.” He gave each boy a big hug. Tom was like a grandfather to all of them, and they loved him.
Tandy was going to Paducah with his brother, and Dane had to return home to do morning chores while his father split his time between the ranch and his wife in the hospital. Tonight Cory and Micah would be alone.
Henry’s room at the new place was about the same as the bedroom at the old barn, just fresher and it sat next to the middle outside door and across from the ranch office. Micah had brought his football, and he and Cory stood in the barnyard tossing it back and forth.
“Why are you so intense? It’s just a game for God’s sake.” Cory shouted to his friend.
“That’s how we’re different. I take a challenge and don’t run from it like you. You’re so afraid of disappointment that you won’t even try,” and Micah threw the ball as hard as he could. Cory caught it and immediately slammed it back at Micah, who grabbed it in the fold of his arm then took a couple of steps forward and sent it flying at blistering speed. This competition went on for a while; one boy receiving the ball and then aiming at the other and sending it like a torpedo across the stable; all the while the two competitors were slowly moving toward each other until they were barely a yard apart.
They stood studying one another until Micah took a few steps forward and gently pushed Cory, who dropped the football and jumped at his friend, sending both of them into the dirt. The two scuffled for a moment then layback laughing.
“You’re an ass,” Cory pronounced.
Willow Wood Road: Lavender and Sage Page 35
