Hometown Favorite: A Novel

by BILL BARTON

  Dewayne looked at Jake. He had never seen him angry before. Never. He had seen him in a myriad of emotional states, but never angry. This was not the last memory he wanted to have of his friend.

  "What should I do?" Dewayne whispered.

  "You need to figure it out. I can't tell you." Jake took his plate and glass, left the last will and testament of Dewayne Jobe resting on the table, and walked away.

  Dewayne went back to the heavens. It was vast, populated with stars, planets, and galaxies, all above him, all floating in unfathomable space, all silent. Where would the comfort come from? Where could he deposit his fear, doubt, and anger and be able to inhale that deep-breath peace that surpasses all understanding?

  The touch came with the coolness of fingers caressing his cheek. When he opened his eyes, the vision of Rosella almost made him leap out of his chair like someone healed. She placed a finger on his lips.

  "I was hoping I would see you before your operation tomorrow," she said. "Jake thought I should try again maybe. I hope you're not angry. You don't have to do anything or say anything. I just wanted you to know I was here if you needed anything, but I would leave if you wanted me to:"

  Dewayne lowered his head and said nothing. She opened her purse and pulled out the divorce papers she had brought Dewayne back in Houston when he was at his lowest point. She held them up to the light of the candle and flipped over to the last page.

  "Jake gave this to me. You never did sign it," she said, and he shook his bowed head. He did not raise it until he caught a whiff of something burning. He looked up to see Rosella holding the top of the divorce document and the bottom third turning to ash. He saw the blank space on the last page where his signature was to have been written give way to the conflagration. He saw Rosella's name and the name of the law firm and the California notary stamp turn black in the intense heat.

  When the fire consumed half the document, she rose from the table, walked over to the balcony, and held the flaming papers over the edge. The cremated particles of official divorcement flew into the air, rising into the silent heavens he had been staring into just moments before. When the papers were near incineration, she released them, and the remaining flames dropped from sight, disintegrating into the atmosphere.

  Dewayne pushed his body out of the wheelchair and balanced himself by placing his hand on the table. Rosella started to come to him, but he stopped her by raising his other hand. She waited as he maneuvered through the tables and chairs on his slow way to join her. When he got to the balcony, he looked over the edge, and on the ground, six stories below he saw an exhausted flame flicker out.

  "I cant pretend any of what happened to us did not happen;' she said. "We have horrors that will always be remembered. I've shamed myself with you in ways I never imagined I could do. We can't recover what we've lost, but there's no scorecard. My loss is equal to yours, and I don't want to keep on losing. I want to hold on to something I loved once with all my heart, something I hope I could love again, and maybe, in time, could love me back"

  Dewayne looked down over the balcony, then back into the sky. He caught the faint scent of burnt ember.

  "I'm broken;" he said. "All this dreadfulness has broken me. I have to turn it over. I have to turn everything over to God, Someone whose trust is in doubt, but I don't know what else to do. Whatever happens after tomorrow, I've got to lay it down. I'm not trying to make any deals with God. I just want to be ready to meet him"

  He motioned for her hand and reached into the pocket of his robe, pulling out his mother's engagement ring, and placed it in her palm, then folded her fingers over it. "I've been holding on to Mama's ring for good luck. It's been in short supply. Would you hold on to it for safekeeping?"

  Dewayne watched as the nurse wrapped his blue teddy bear in protective plastic before reentering the operating room and setting it on top of one of the monitors.

  "It'll be here when you wake up;" she said, and Dewayne nodded his approval.

  His body was scrubbed and disinfected with some foulsmelling stuff that reminded him of the locker room, and he began to imagine his teammates and coaches ... the stadium, the fans, and the noise such a throng could produce ... the smell of the grass on the field ... his running plays ... the quarterback calling the signals ... the team spread across the scrimmage line ... his legs carrying him at superhuman speed ... the ball sailing overhead and his hands stretched out to receive it ... Colby Stewart bowing in veneration as he ran past him into the end zone ... the operating theater being on the fifty-yard line and a stadium full of people hushed and watching. He imagined his mother, his son, Bruce and Sabrina watching ... Rosella, Jake, and Detective Hathaway pacing in his hospital room. Just before the orderly had wheeled him away, Rosella kissed him. He imagined the kiss, the moisture, the warmth. He imagined the "I love you" he had heard her say as he rode the gurney out the door.

  He imagined her words on a continual loop before he imagined himself in peaceful sleep.

  "Dewayne, heads-up;' Jake said.

  Dewayne sat in the recliner in the living room. He twisted his head from watching the Stars' first game of the season to the direction of the voice coming from the kitchen. He caught sight of the missile flying in his direction just as Rosella came around the corner carrying a bowl of popcorn. She gasped and almost dropped the bowl when she saw what Jake had done.

  Without thought, without hesitation, and although without his former speed, Dewayne's left hand rose in the air and stopped the ball in midflight. The nose of the ball smacked into the palm of his hand, and Dewayne caught it off the bounce, juggled it, but still held on. He had had several of those catches in his football career. He stared at the ball in his hands. He smelled the pigskin. He rubbed his fingertips over the pebbly texture of the orb. He smelled it again. He tossed the ball in the air above his head and caught it. He smelled it again. He tossed the ball from hand to hand and smelled it again. He tossed it back to Jake and returned to watching the game without saying a word.

  Seconds later, eyes still focused on the game, he raised his hand in the air and snapped his fingers. Jake hurled the ball again, and this time the catch was one-handed, no juggle, no bobble. He had not looked at the ball. He tucked the pass into his side opposite the teddy bear.

  "You're ready for a press conference;" Jake said. "I'm calling Memphis."

  The first operation had gone better than expected, and instead of waiting several weeks for the second phase, Dr. Macy pushed up the time frame to burn out remaining cancerous cells around the edges that might have escaped the primary heat blast.

  Between the two operations, the reorganized family of three had focused their efforts on rebuilding Dewayne's strength and putting some weight on him. His appetite had begun to return, and though he could not eat big meals, he ate three or four small meals a day.

  Once released after the first surgery, Jake and Rosella drove him back to Memphis every other day to monitor his condition. This process was exhausting but preferable to staying in the hospital, and for Dewayne, being out in the world even on this limited basis was a boost to his well-being. After the second operation, Dr. Macy told him he could have ten days off before the next visit.

  "Jake, are you sure he's ready to talk to reporters?" Rosella asked.

  "Doctors need a CAT scan. I've just had my proof."

  Dewayne never took his eyes off the television, and when the Stars scored their first touchdown, he flung the teddy bear in the air while tightening his hold on the football and tucking it deeper into his side.

  Dr. Macy spent the first part of the press conference giving a detailed description of the operations performed on Dewayne's tumor, ending with the announcement that the CAT scans taken that morning showed no signs of cancerous cells in the affected area. It was premature to say Dewayne was cancer free. He would undergo scheduled examinations for an extended period. Medical history, medical miracle, medical advancement were terms Dr. Macy used in describing the success of this opera
tion, and given Dewayne's age and physical condition prior to the onset of the tumor, Dr. Macy predicted he should be able to resume a normal life in a short period of time.

  "Does it mean he can play football again?" one reporter blurted out.

  "We have done our job in giving Mr. Jobe his opportunity to play football or anything else he wants to do," Dr. Macy said. "It's up to him to decide."

  When Dr. Macy sat down, the room erupted with questions for Dewayne. The media had come from all over the country, and not just the usual suspects from the world of sports. Reporters who covered other areas of interest from the medical, financial, political, and entertainment fields were present, eager to make headlines for their readers.

  Dewayne cast his eyes over the room in search of Winston Garfield for the Springdale Leader. Amidst the waving arms, the flashing camera lights, and the shouted demands for Dewayne's attention, the gray-haired gentleman sat in the back smiling at Springdale's favorite son. He did not need to ask a question. He did not even have his hand raised. When Dewayne found him, he smiled and nodded his head in Garfield's direction. Mr. Garfield stood and waited for Dewayne to acknowledge him.

  "Mr. Garfield, thank you for coming," Dewayne said. "What's your question?"

  "Mr. Jobe, you have been through a great ordeal in recent months," Mr. Garfield said. "You seem to be coming out on the other side. As a survivor, what are your thoughts?"

  Dewayne looked at Dr. Macy. He looked at Rosella and Jake standing by the door. He lowered his head, reached inside his sport coat, and removed the teddy bear. He set it on the edge of the table in front of him but did not let go of it. He looked again at Rosella. Her smile helped him release this prized possession.

  "It was my son's. It goes everywhere with me. It reminds me of my loss. I never want to forget all that I have lost. A little over a month ago I came in to see Dr. Macy in a wheelchair. I was a broken man. Today I was able to walk into the hospital under my own power, on my own two legs, but the truth is, I'm still a broken man. In some ways, I guess I'll always be broken. I cannot fathom the mysteries of God. They are deeper ... deeper than the grave that cradles my son. Could I blame God? Yes. Could I reject him? Yes. Could I curse him and die? Yes. There were times when dying would have been the easiest thing to do. But I'm still here.

  "Before this time I thought I was powerful, but human power is nothing. I cannot give you an explanation as to what I have survived. No account would do it justice. And I don't have a tangible or logical answer about why. I will never know why. I'm not sure I want to know. I do know were it not for Detective John Hathaway, my friend Jake Hopper, Dr. Macy and his team, and my wife, Rosella, I would never have made it. But beyond the support of these people, there was something that held on to me, something that carried me, something that would not let me go when I was at my lowest point, begging for my life to be over. I don't know what else to call it but a hope that God would not abandon me, a hope that even though I longed to die, I should still trust in him. What I have survived, I wish on no one, and I don't know why I'm still here, but I am. I choose to live, to live the best I can, holding on to my hope in God"

  Except for the resonance of dozens of human beings shifting their bodies in a cramped room, there was no other sound. No camera lights flashing, no conversing, no verbal claims for Dewayne's notice. Mr. Garfield remained standing.

  "A follow-up question, Mr. Jobe, if I may," Mr. Garfield said, and Dewayne nodded his permission. "If Dr. Macy says you can play football again, is it possible you might return to the game?"

  Dewayne chuckled, causing a slight tremor in his body. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, the smell of the football Jake had passed to him in the living room still a poignant memory. He opened his eyes and studied his hands, watching his long fingers contract and release, then he focused his attention on Winston Garfield.

  "With God all things are possible"

  "What's the first thing you're going to do when you leave here?" another reporter shouted, unwilling to wait for Dewayne's acknowledgment.

  "Go visit the grave of my son"

  Franklin and Joella remained at the car while Dewayne and Rosella walked through the cemetery toward the graves of Sabrina, Bruce, and Robert Dewayne Jobe III. The ride from the airport had been solemn. When they got out of the car at the cemetery, Franklin and Joella exited with them. They poured their hearts out to Dewayne and Rosella, begging Dewayne's forgiveness for thinking him a monster. Three grandchildren had unexpectedly come into their lives, and just as the bonds were forming and they were solidifying their roles as grandparents, life cruelly took those children from them. As for Bonita, they had no idea where she was. Once she learned what had happened, she disappeared, and no amount of searching had brought her back to them. It was just the four of them left. This was the last of their family, and they would do anything they could to preserve it.

  Rosella laid the bouquet of flowers at the base of the headstone. "Robert Dewayne Jobe III. Resting in God's hands"

  "I'm trying to remember the last time I held him in my arms;" Dewayne said. "And I can't. I can't."

  He had not cried so hard since the day in the glass booth when Rosella hurled the rings at him and fled the room. Everything came back. Everything flowed through him. He felt himself the conduit for all the sorrow of the world, for his world lay shattered and buried at his feet. Exhaustion and anguish brought him to his knees, and Rosella knelt beside him. Franklin and Joella turned their backs to the scene, unable to watch their son-inlaw's grief, their own grief still too raw to absorb another's.

  He apologized. Repeatedly, he apologized to the children. Over and over again, he asked for their forgiveness. Over and over again, he pleaded for strength just to inhale. Over and over again, he swore he would never forget them; he would carry their memories with him until he joined them. Over and over again, he begged for the mercy he felt had been so elusive.

  When he had spent himself, Rosella helped him to his feet. They looked at the three headstones, the representations of their shared loss, and the empty vessel that was Dewayne Jobe began to fill up.

  "Rosella, have you got my mother's engagement ring?" he asked.

  "It never leaves my side," she said, opening her purse and retrieving it from a zippered side pocket. She placed it in his hand, and Dewayne turned her hand over and slipped the ring onto her finger.

  "I pledge to you before God and Jesus and all the angels and my mama and these precious children I will remain true to you till my last day on this earth. Somehow, we'll start over. Somehow, we'll go on. And we'll do it together."

  They held on to each other as though they were the last two people on earth, a new Adam and a new Eve, fresh from the Tree of Knowledge, made stronger through weakness, covered in mercy's clothes, and facing together a new threshold.

  Rosella carried the picnic basket into the vacant bleachers and sat down to watch Jake put Dewayne through his morning paces of stretching, passing drills, and wind sprints, and this after an hour of strength and conditioning in the Springdale Tigers' weight room. Jake had worked out a training schedule with the new head coach of the Tigers that would not conflict with the team's use of the weight room or field. While the team was in classes all the facilities were available. Since Dewayne had not made public his intentions about his future, they wanted to keep away from any media attention, and the high school provided safe sanctuary. There was no reason to build expectation only to crash in disappointment. He had endured enough public humiliation without the media reporting on the failures to bounce back. It would be better to discover what he could do without national scrutiny.

  Dr. Macy had made it clear it would take years before the medical profession would pronounce Dewayne cancer free, but in the meantime, the focus was to overcome the physical limitations of getting back into shape. Once Dewayne and Rosella returned from Los Angeles with the Caldwell blessing of support for any direction they chose to take, Dewayne called Coach Gyra for his approva
l. He told Dewayne his locker was empty and waiting, but the team doctors would make the final decision as to whether or not he could go back onto the field. Dewayne only wanted the chance to earn his place on the team, and Gyra promised to give him every opportunity. The next day the retraining of Dewayne Jobe began.

  Rosella recognized the swagger of the tall African-American man coming onto the field, wearing sunglasses and cap, and approaching from out of the sun as Jake threw Dewayne some short route passes. Jake did not have the arm to go much beyond twenty-five yards, and Dewayne had not yet built the stamina to venture much farther.

  Rosella almost blurted out his name but covered her mouth to allow whatever would happen to happen. Here was pro football's leading passer just five games into the season walking toward his old high school coach. When Jake released his last pass, Sly stepped beside him and whispered for him to tell Dewayne to go for it.

  "Go straight for the end zone. I think I've got the arm today," Jake shouted.

  The look of shock on Jake's face made Rosella wonder how he'd even managed to speak.

  Dewayne released Jake's last pass while still jogging, and without looking back or questioning Jake's command, his legs kicked in and he started running full bore for the end zone. The feeling was so exhilarating he did not care if Jake might have overstated the potency of his arm. He was enjoying the speed too much to care. Over the last weeks, his body had been steadily building in strength, weight, dexterity, and agility, and the thrill of traveling at such velocity was pure pleasure. He had wondered if he ever might feel this sensation again.