by Bruce Ingram
After Mary’s comments, I won’t call it advice because it wasn’t worth anything, I texted Paige and asked if I could call her and she texted back, yes, that she was still awake. I called and told Paige about my evening and the plans for Saturday night, and my whole boring relationship with Paul, and she was very sympathetic about my situation. She said that maybe I should break up with Paul, or maybe I should give him a chance to change and ask him to not be so bossy and let me make some decisions about what we should do on dates, or at least run some dating plans by me before making a decision. Her advice was sincere, but I’m not sure I want to spend time “fixing” Paul; we just have nothing in common. I started to call Mia, but I figured she was in bed already (she still doesn’t have a cell phone so I can’t text her), so I decided to call her Saturday morning.
I called Mia about 9, and she said she didn’t have much time to talk because she was getting ready to meet Luke for their first date. And I could hear the excitement in her voice and once again, I felt a twinge of jealousy toward her, which made me feel awful about myself for being jealous of her and Luke—and also awful about being stuck in a mind-numbing relationship. Mia already knows about how I feel about Paul’s and my relationship, so I went straight to the point and asked her if I should break up with him. Mia said that her mom always tells her to “Follow your heart.” Then she added that if I were miserable in the relationship, it was unfair to both Paul and me to continue it.
Right then and there, I decided to end it with Paul. I told Mia how much I valued her friendship and to have a great time with Luke—and I meant it. And I told her I would text Paul to call me when he got up. He called around noon and started raving about the great football games on that night and after he did that for about five minutes, I said I had something to say. He said “What was it?” and I said that I was breaking up with him, that—and I decided to take the high road—that we didn’t have much in common (I easily could have said nothing in common) and he needed to be with a girl who shared his interests. I figured he would argue with me about breaking up with him and try to talk me out of it, but he got short and snippy with me, and all he said was “Fine, I’ve got tons of girls hitting on me all the time,” and he hung up and that was that.
Chapter Eleven: Marcus
When I got home from school Friday, Dad said he had gone online to check the school’s Parent Portal and he saw that all my grade averages for the first week were an A except for a high B in English. He said that was “very satisfactory” and a “good start” and how would I like to have “a guy’s night out” at the football game. He said I could drive to get some more of my hours in, but that once we got to the game, I could go sit with my friends and then we could meet up afterwards and I could have the experience of driving some at night, which I haven’t done yet. At first, I thought that it would be great to go hang out with some of my buds, but then I thought most of my friends are on the football team and I’m still trying to take it slow with Kylee, and, well, maybe it would be good to spend some time with Dad and talk football while we were watching the game. I said I would rather sit with him, and I could tell that he was pleased that I said that.
Driving wise, everything went fine on the way to the game, except for a couple of times I saw Dad gritting his teeth and pressing his right foot into the floor board when I went over the speed limit by about five mph. Everybody goes five mph over all the time… what was the big deal! I started to say something like that, but since I’ve been trying to show more maturity—and to especially show my parents that I’m more mature—I decided to keep my mouth shut. I hate to admit that one of my biggest problems last year was not being able to just keep my mouth shut. I’m starting to learn that I can avoid a whole lot of problems later by not saying the first thing that pops into my head.
When we got to the game, Dad and I went up high in the stands so we could get a good seat. It was really hard not being out on the football field Friday night and catching touchdown passes from Caleb during a home game, but Dad knows a whole lot about football so I thought I’d pick his brain about plays and receiver routes and that type of thing. In the first quarter, Paul got flagged for holding, and I started complaining about the poor officiating and Dad said that it wasn’t Paul or the officials at blame. He said that Nathan, the guy who is temporarily taking over my wide receiver spot, couldn’t shake free from the cornerback, which resulted in Paul having to block his man for so long that he got flagged. The very next play, Caleb got sacked. I had had my eyes locked on Nathan and the corner the entire time, and Nathan never got any separation whatsoever his whole route.
I started complaining about how Nathan was running his routes, that even though he was a freshman, he should be doing a better job. Then Dad got up in my face and said that was one more thing I needed to stop doing - criticizing my teammates. That when I wasn’t happy about their performance I should keep my mouth shut. Plus, he said, Nathan was the third receiver, not one of the two regular starters, and if I hadn’t messed up by cheating in history class, then Nathan wouldn’t have been put in the position of having to play against a first team cornerback, instead he would be trying to shake free from the nickel back when playing on sure passing downs.
Then Dad said something that really stung. “How would you feel right now,” he said, “if you heard some of the players blaming you for hurting the team’s offensive performance because you were suspended.”
Dad was right, and once again, I learned another lesson about the virtue of keeping my mouth shut. I then tried to get in good with Dad again by saying that I was glad he hadn’t contacted Coach Dell when I got suspended from the team for two games and didn’t try to talk him out of it, and what Dad said next really surprised me.
“But I did contact him,” he said. “I told him I approved of him suspending you 100 percent and then I thanked him for trying to help make you a better person.”
This gave me something else to think about. I thought we would do better after the first quarter, because we were playing a team that we had beaten by two touchdowns last year. Instead things got worse. I noticed that Caleb stopped looking Nathan’s way at all, which made the other team start to double team Jonathan, the other wide receiver, every time we were in an obvious passing play. And because the passing game fell apart, the linebackers started playing close to the line of scrimmage which resulted in our running game never getting started.
By the end of the first quarter, we were down 7-0 and by halftime, it was 10 to nothing. The final score was 10-6; we only crossed midfield three times the whole game. Dad didn’t have to state the obvious. We lost to an inferior team because I had messed up in school—the loss was all my fault. I’m going to have to make it up to the guys and coaching staff when I get back. There’s still time for me to put together some good receiving numbers and impress college scouts.
The drive home did not go well. When I first started to pull out of the stadium parking lot and onto the highway, it seemed like the car lights coming toward me were going 100 mph. So I hit the brakes and then some idiot behind me honked his horn and Dad yelled that I had “stopped in the middle of the road” and to either pull over or go forward or do something immediately. Then I panicked and started to pull over to the right but I had hit the left turn signal and the guy behind me really laid into his horn, and I slammed on the brakes again. I was so shaken up that I almost asked Dad to drive home.
Then Dad said to relax, look around and see if it was clear in both directions, then pull out onto the highway. I did look around and things were clear, so out I went. I drove, like, 10 mph below the speed limit all the way home, and, boy, was I glad to pull into our driveway.
Chapter Twelve: Mia
Saturday, when I met Luke for our date, I could tell as soon as I saw him that something was wrong. I didn’t find out until we got to where we were going to hike, the national forest, (I thought he was taking me there) that he broke down and told me that his mom has cancer. I comfort
ed him as best as I could and told him he should go live with his granddaddy on weekends, which is what he thought he would try to do. We were holding each other, and I was trying so hard to make him feel that I cared about him, and then he looked at me, and I looked at him, and we kissed for the first time. It was so natural and beautiful…and wonderful. I care about him, and I know he knows that and he cares about me.
Luke then told me that we were going to not dwell on his mom’s health and his dad’s drinking and this was our day, and we were going to enjoy being together and being out in the outdoors. So we took off hiking up a mountain. Luke kept chattering the whole time, identifying species of birds by the sounds they were making, telling me what trees we were walking under and what their nuts or berries looked like and whether they were edible, and several times he saw wild animal poop or tracks on the ground, and he told me which animals had left it behind—he called the animal sign spoor. All this from a boy who got a D in biology last year. He told me that he had learned most of this stuff from field guides on birds, mammals, and trees that his granddaddy had given him for Christmas over the years.
Luke is a lot smarter than most people believe. I think because he doesn’t wear eye catching clothes is one reason; another is because it wasn’t until the second semester last year that he started talking a little in class and answering questions. Then another thing caught my attention; he was wearing the same shirt he wore on Friday, and I thought back about what he usually wears, and it’s the same three or four shirts to school every week. Is that all he has? I bet it is. Of course, my sisters wear all my old clothes; they rarely get anything new, so I’m lucky that Mama sometimes sews me a new blouse.
We had hiked up the mountain for about a half hour and Luke stopped and told me he had to get his bearings. He walked another 10 yards or so, then we went off the trail and into a cove (he called it a hollow) and there were all these wild blackberries. He said, “Here’s our dessert.” He whipped out a plastic bag and told me to help him pick and while we were doing so, Luke talked about what a healthy food blackberries are and how high they are in Vitamin C. When we were done picking, we hiked for another half hour and we came to this rock outcropping looking down into the valley, and he said we had “reached our destination.”
I spread out a blanket to make a sort of picnic table and got out the arroz con pollo and deviled eggs and put the food on paper plates and also sliced some carrots and tomatoes from our garden. Meanwhile, Luke scooped out some blackberries with sugar and put that on the plates. It was all so special and sweet and romantic. I had brought two servings of arroz con pollo for him because I know he hasn’t been getting enough to eat, and Luke ate every bit of what I served him, which made me feel really happy and satisfied with myself. He kept saying over and over how good it was. And he knows now that I can cook, too, which is important to me.
I had never eaten wild berries before, but I trusted him… that he knew what we were gathering was safe to eat. The blackberries were a little tart, but they tasted really good and Luke said some people like to eat them in pies and cobblers. So I asked him if we could stop on the way down the mountain and visit the blackberry patch again and pick some more, and, if we could, I would bake a pie for him. He was all over that suggestion, and I told him I would make one on Sunday and bring him a slice for first period every day next week. He was really excited about that.
I feel so safe and secure every time I am with Luke. He treats me with respect. We were way out in the middle of nowhere, and I wasn’t afraid because he was with me. On the way down the mountain, we held hands almost the entire way, and we just talked about everything. I told him I was really thinking about becoming a doctor, and he told me that I would be great at that and he encouraged me to try to be one. I asked him what he thought he might want to do, and he said he was still unsure.
I told him I thought he would make a great high school biology teacher, and he laughed really hard at my suggestion. But then he got quiet for a while, and I could tell that he was thinking about that. “You know,” he said, “that might not be a bad idea.”
When we got back to our bikes, I was so hoping that he would kiss me again and he took me in his arms and hugged me and gave me another kiss and simply said, “Thank you for having confidence in me.”
That moment and that day was one of nicest times of my whole life. We rode our bikes together for about two miles then split up. I met him again at 5 that afternoon at one of our clients for him to mow and trim and for me to babysit. All we had time to do was wave at each other before we both had to get to work, but it was a joy just to see him for that little bit.
A Month Later
Chapter Thirteen: Luke
When I got home from school Monday and from having spent the weekend at Granddaddy’s house, Dad was sprawled out drunk in his easy chair in front of the TV. There were his two best friends nearby: Mr. Bud and Mr. Jack. Mr. Bud comes in a can and Mr. Jack comes in a bottle in case you aren’t acquainted with these fine gentlemen. That’s normal these days, but what wasn’t normal was that there was a strange woman in the house—a nurse. The woman could tell I was confused, and she said her name was Ms. Richards or Richardson or something (I don’t know) and she was with hospice. I had heard the word before and I knew it has something to do with somebody taking care of somebody who is going to die before too long. It was then that I was glad to have figured out last month that Mom has cancer, so that I’ve been able to slowly get used to the idea that she’s not going to be around forever, but I had no idea that I was going to lose her this soon.
It was about this time that Dad came out of his drunken stupor, saw me, and growled that I “need to get started right now with vacuuming and washing the new car” he had bought earlier that day. He was so angry that I shouldn’t have disagreed with him, but I had to tell him I had to be down the street in 15 minutes to mow two lawns before dark and then I would be back and take care of his car after dark, which is when I usually work on them and he knows that. I turned my back to him to talk to the nurse; I wanted to ask her how Mom was doing.
While I had my back turned, Dad came at me from behind and jerked me around and slapped me hard in the face, yelling, “No, you’re going to do it right now!” I went sprawling into the sofa, right in front of the nurse, and I looked up and saw this horrified look on her face, and she started to say something, but I think she was too scared of Dad to say anything.
From down on the floor, I said, “Yes sir, right now, I’m starting,” and he acted like he was going to hit me again, but, instead, he slumped back into his chair. I headed out the door, (without talking to the nurse) but I didn’t go to our garage… I went to get my bike to ride down the street. My first thought was just to get a little distance between Dad and me, but then I calmed down a little and decided he was probably too drunk to remember the whole thing. And I had to mow those lawns because I couldn’t be cutting grass in somebody’s backyard after 10:00, but I could be working on a car in the garage after dark. Dad would hopefully be gone somewhere by the time I got home or maybe he would have even gone to the plant to work third shift since he usually leaves around 8:30. Then I came up with the idea that since the two houses weren’t that far away, I would walk to them, do my work, and sort of sneak through people’s backyards on the way home and when I got near here, figure out if he had left for work yet by whether his car was still here or not.
It was a good plan because by the time I got home, Dad was gone and so was the nurse, and I finished up the new car (it wasn’t really a new car, it was just another one of Dad’s “bargain” clunkers) a little after 10:30. Then it was time for dinner and Geometry and Spanish I homework, and the fridge was its usual empty self, but I found a can of peaches and another of corn in the pantry and had myself a feast… yeah, right.
I’ve got an F in Geometry (better known as Geometry for Dummies), which is no surprise, so I decided not to do my math homework. It would have taken who knows how long to hav
e figured out what I was supposed to have done, and then I would have done it wrong anyway. I’ve got a C in Spanish, thanks to Mia’s help, and I’ve been learning the vocabulary words really easily but the grammar and pronunciation rules are impossible to learn and boring as all get out. I finished the Spanish homework around 11:30 and went to bed.
The next morning I woke up around 4:00 with this fear that maybe Dad hadn’t been too drunk to remember that I had disobeyed him the day before, and what if he were angry about the washing and vacuuming that I had done—as he often is. He’s never hit me that hard before, but he’s never had a dying wife before and he hasn’t been drinking this hard in a long, long time. So I got up, got two energy bars, one for breakfast and the other for lunch, and decided I had better go over that car one more time and see if I had missed anything. It was about 5:15 when I finished eating and going back over the car and all that, and Dad leaves work at 5 and he usually comes straight home because there aren’t any car lots or bars open then.
I decided to head for school so I could avoid him altogether that morning, and if I walked instead of ran, I would get there around 6:45 and the doors open at 7:00. There’s always some kids hanging around the school doors at 7:00. Do their parents drop them off that early because the kids need some tutoring or the parent has to get to work early? Or are those kids like me… running from somebody or trying to avoid somebody and they’ve got nowhere else to go. I don’t want to know if there are other kids like me. I can’t take much more of this.
