“You’re so beautiful, girl,” her gram said as she appeared in the kitchen for final approval. “You look so much like your momma.” As she stretched to kiss her grandchild on the cheek, Shauna noted the tears in the old woman’s eyes, rolling down the wrinkled black cheek. “Oh, baby girl, you’re gonna do just fine. Things happen for a reason, and this is happening because you’ve earned it.”
“I know, I know, I just want it to be over with. Gram, I wish I could just get a little peek at the future, see if I get through college. It seems like such an impossible thing for me to even have a chance at getting a college degree.”
“Shauna Lynn Toonis, the only wish you need is that God never gives up on you. And you better hope you never forsake Jesus’ love. That’s all you need, girl, just your faith. You don’t need no wishes, just prayer. Now you get along, me and Carl Alan got things planned for today. Don’t we, boy?”
The child was sitting on the old yellow couch, stuffing a home-made oatmeal cookie into his mouth, two more in his other hand, ignoring his mom and gram, his eyes watching Scoobie Doo on the old black and white television with the rabbit-ear antennae affixed to the back.
“Give me a kiss, monster,” Shauna said, bending down and pecking the child on the top of his head. “You be good for gram, you hear,” she said softly. “I love you.”
“Uh-huh,” he murmured, his eyes never leaving the screen.
“I’ll be home late; I’m gonna stop at the library and wait for Gretta to get off work, then get a coke or something. I’ll call you right away and let you know what happened at the interview. I love you, gram.” She leaned forward and hugged her grandmother, making sure not to mess her makeup.
Shauna walked out the front door, got into her red, eight-year-old Honda, and pulled away from the house, driving down the narrow street, on her way to discover her destiny.
4
“I don’t know about you, but I’m probably gonna get some tonight.” The comment came from a tall, well-built blonde boy, his ice-blue eyes flashing with their normal mischievous glint, the kid trying unsuccessfully to keep the smile off his face, working on his serious look, biting his tongue. He was half dressed, standing in front of the dresser mirror, his upper body muscular, the chest and biceps tight, distinct, green veins crisscrossing the muscles. The bedroom was tastefully decorated although unmistakable the home of an athlete. Posters of Paul Pierce, Dustin Johnson, and Peyton Manning covered one wall while a bikini covered Brooklyn Decker adorned another. A plastic Nerf basketball hoop hung from the closet door. Several high school team photos were framed and displayed prominently above the brass and ivory headboard of the bed.
His statement brought a hoot from across the room, a dark complexioned, brown-haired boy the source of the laughter. “Andy, my greatest friend and fellow virgin of record, do you have any idea how many times you’ve said that over the past eighteen years?” the brown haired boy asked. “You wouldn’t know what to do with it if it were offered up on a platter.”
The blonde was smiling, wondering to himself how many times the two had carried on this same conversation. He had a fleeting thought that this was possibly the last one they would ever have. A brief sense of melancholy, maybe heartache was there and gone before he had time to recognize it.
“I’ve lost count. How many?” Andy chuckled, forcing the mood back to where it needed to be, pulling a blue Polo shirt over his head, tucking it into his khaki slacks, zipping his fly and shaking his hair back into place. He bent and tied his black Nike mid-cut basketball shoes. His blue eyes, the ones that in the tenth grade Joyce Berber had said she could get lost in, had their familiar glint, waiting for the anticipated punch line, playing the straight man in this familiar comedy routine.
“If I remember correctly, your hormones kicked in at the beginning of the seventh grade, coinciding with the breasts growth of one Susie Hall. Since that great and monumental occasion, this topic has dominated almost every single conversation we’ve conducted. Every Friday and Saturday night times six years comes out to roughly 4400 times you’ve sworn you were gonna get some. But hey, who’s counting.”
The laughter started again, this time from both of the young men, the pair that the sports editor of the Radford Daily News had labeled “the Golden Boys.” They ended the joke sprawled side-by-side on the king-size bed, both staring at the ceiling, wondering for the thousandth time if they had made all the right decisions for their futures, the future that was starting way too soon.
“The odds of two athletes like Rod Littleton and Andy Webster being in the same town at the same time is astronomical. These golden boys have raw ability, natural talent mixed with absolute determination, all thrown in with a noble amount of modesty that oozes out of their every pore. Those odds wouldn’t even be listed in Vegas, a city where they bet on everything.”
Jerry Nardiello, the News’ sports editor, had written the line about the two in the Sunday morning edition following the state football championship in November. Both boys were outwardly embarrassed at the praise; both cut the article out and added it to their rather extensive scrapbooks.
“Do you think, because seriously, I do, that we’re the only two virgins left in town?” Andy asked, only half-serious. He got up from the bed, picked up his wallet from the dresser and stuck it into the back pocket of his slacks. He looked around the room to see if he had forgotten anything, checked the mirror one last time, running his fingers through the blonde hair. Satisfied, he flicked off the light and walked out into the hallway, followed by Rod.
Rod was wearing soft-blue Dockers slacks, a gray button-down short-sleeved shirt, and deck shoes without socks. He stopped in the hallway and looked at Andy thoughtfully, shaking his head and speaking seriously. “We haven’t had to worry about AIDS, getting some babe knocked up, messing with each other’s girls, none of the crap that the other guys worry about. I think we did the right thing.”
“Yeah, I know we did, but sometimes when I listen to some of the other guys talking, you know…”
“Right, like I believe half the crap they say in the locker room. We stuck to our guns, and that’s something we both should be proud of,” Rod said, shoving his best friend down the hallway. The boys took the steps two at a time down the circular stairway, passed through the formal living room and out the front door. They hadn’t taken five steps toward the car when the front door opened and a high pitched voice called after them.
“Andy, Rod, your mama told me to tell you not to be late. And drive careful.” The voice belonged to the Webster’s long time housekeeper, Alberta Nicholson. To Andy, she was much more than a cook. The large black woman had taken over the principle rearing of the boy when his mother had become involved in community charities’ and her many other activities. Alberta had done just fine, Andy thought, and he was going to miss her when he left for college. Both he and Rod loved the woman with all their hearts.
“On the way, Berta. We’ll be careful…see ya,” he called back, both boys waving at the woman.
The boys walked across the manicured lawn side by side looking like something out of a painting, perhaps a Rockwell canvas, clean cut young men, beautiful colonial home, and all good with the world. The evening was perfect, a clear blue sky, hot but not uncomfortable with a nice breeze sweeping in from the north. It would have been a great night for a baseball game, Rod thought, walking to his new car. It was on nights like this he regretted not playing Legion ball this summer.
They leaned on the black car parked on the street in front of the house, in no hurry to join the party at the club.
”What time are we supposed to be there?” Andy asked.
“Seven I think. Who all’s gonna be there?” Rod answered.
Andy shook his head. “Don’t have a clue, but knowing my mom, everybody in Radford. We have to make an appearance, eat something, smile at all the old ladies and then we can duck out the side door. This is their last chance to show us off. It’s insane. Last night my mom cried f
or hours, both her and Berta, like I’m never gonna come home again. I feel a little guilty for not picking a college a little closer to home.”
A Volvo sedan drove by, the driver honking the horn as it passed. Both boys waved at a friend from school.
“I know, it’s the same at my house,” Rod answered. “Every time my dad talks to anyone, he’s bragging about me getting a full ride to Indiana, how I’m gonna be a stud at IU. But when it’s just the two of us together, he reminds me that if I ever want, I can always transfer a little closer to home. I feel sorry for them, Andy. If Tony was here, they wouldn’t be taking my leaving so hard. He could have, you know, filled that void. Mom and I had a long talk the other night. She’s trying to be brave. I found her in Tony’s room again, sitting there in the dark. God, Andy, I’m scared that I’m doing the wrong thing, leaving her like this. I don’t think she’s ready to be left alone. Man, why did Tony have to die, if he was here everything would be so fricking different. We could leave for college, and he could take all the heat, be the next Golden Boy, and everybody would be happy. I don’t know if my mom is strong enough without us here.”
Andy thought for a moment before replying. “Your mom talked to me the other night. I wasn’t supposed to tell you, but I’ve never kept anything from you. We had a long talk, and she said that whatever happened, she wanted you to get your degree and be happy. She promised me she was okay, that the bad times were in the past. I think she’ll be okay, man. Every time I come back to town, I’ll stop by and visit with her. She told me that both of us have to quit worrying about her and start worrying about our futures. So, partner, I think that’s exactly what we need to do. Okay?”
“Yeah, I guess,” Rod answered. “But I don’t think I’ll ever stop worrying. She acts so tough to everybody else, but I think you and me are the only ones who realize how fragile she is. I don’t even think dad knows how much she still hurts. High school was good for them; it took their minds off Tony and focused on us. I think they’re going to miss high school more than we are. Anyway, tonight’s their night, and whatever we do, let’s make sure they have a good time. You know, bask in the glow of our adoring fans.” He was smiling, the sarcasm directed at the attention they received in town, trying to break the somber mood. “It might be fun, especially if there are some babes there. Did they invite Mrs. Betone?”
As always, the mention of Zeke Betone’s mother aroused the boy’s hormones and lightened the mood. The best looking mother at school was never far from either of their carnal imagery.
“Man, I hope so.” Andy said. “She would make me reconsider my abstinence vow. But don’t mention that to Father Needham, he might make us sit through some more of those VD films he showed us in the ninth grade. Those were brutal. You think we’re the only ones that stuck to the vow?”
Rod thought for a moment. “Maybe Jody, I think it’s a good bet she’s still a virgin. She’d beat the crap out of any guy who’d look at her with impure thoughts. I’d bet twenty bucks I was the last guy who kissed her, and that was back in the seventh grade. But Zeke’s mom, she is way too good looking to be a mother. Especially Zeke Betone’s mother.”
“Screw Zeke. If Tony was here, Zeke wouldn’t be a pimple on Tony’s ass as far as football is concerned,” Andy answered.
The thought of his brother brought forth the familiar demons that always lurked right beneath the surface of Rod’s subconscious, never far away. The two friends didn’t like the heir apparent to the Tower football legacy, resenting the boy for being a transfer from the public school in town, Mailer High, but more so because they both knew that Tony would have been the up and coming star had he lived.
“Zeke should have stayed at Mailer, much more his speed…thugs, illiterates, and dopers,” Rod said.
Andy shook his head, knowing when to keep his mouth shut, although he wouldn’t wish Mailer High on anyone, not even Zeke Betone. Opening the car door, he slid into the seat and waited for Rod to drive them to their going away party.
The two boys had been together since kindergarten, had been best friends since the first day of the year. That was the day Rodney Littleton couldn’t get his jacket unzipped, had stood there crying quietly, the humiliation threatening to destroy his fragile, six-year-old psyche.
Andy Webster had been the only child who had not laughed at him, had quietly crossed the room and helped him undo the zipper, the simple act establishing a friendship that had survived both tragedy and triumph in each of their lives.
They had spent nine years together at St. Luke elementary, graduating four years ago from the eighth grade. High school created a unique situation for the Catholic kids of Radford. The girls left St. Luke for the all-girls St. Margaret Academy, the boys to attend the male-only Bishop Tower. The last four years of school had been spent segregated from their childhood friends, at least during school hours. Neither boy would have had it any other way. High school had been a wonderful mixture of striving for better grades and honing their considerable athletic skills without the distraction and drama of female classmates.
For Andy, who was an only child, Rodney had been the brother he had never had, a best friend, trusted confidant, and constant companion. Folks in Radford seldom saw one of the boys without the other.
It was a little different for Rod, who had a brother two years younger. Tony was the spitting image of his older brother, a good looking and younger version of Rod. The summer before Rod and Andy’s sophomore year, the boy had been caddying at the country club, and on the way home had cut across several fields and decided to take a dip alone in a farm pond. Later that evening, while walking home from the same club, Rod and Andy had passed by the pond, discovered Tony’s clothes, and tried unsuccessfully to find Tony. Rod had dived time and time again, searching for his brother, stopping only when the sheriff had arrived and called for a doctor to sedate the boy. Professional divers from the Radford rescue squad had finally hooked Tony’s body several hours later in 12 feet of water. It was a tragedy that came perilously close to destroying one half of the Golden Boys.
Rod had carried the guilt with him since that day, blaming himself for not being with his brother to prevent the accident. Without the strength and support of Andy, Rod knew he and his mother would never have made it through the experience with their sanity intact. It was Andy who had forced the sports issue, who developed the athletic regimen that had taken up all of their spare time, time he would have spent letting Tony’s death eat his insides away. Andy had pressured Rod, cajoled him, embarrassed him into driving himself beyond normal limits, always with the enticement of being the best, but subconsciously wanting nothing more than to see his friend happy, free of the demons of the dead boy.
In addition to preserving Rod’s sanity, the hard work had paid off in spades. Both boys had been widely recruited in three sports; college coaches amazed that this much talent was accompanied by nearly perfect grades. For three years, the friends had talked about spending their college years together and attempting to take a university sports program to new heights, continuing the Golden Boy legacy on a larger scale, in front of thousands of fanatical college fans.
Halfway through their junior year, it dawned on each boy they they were interested in vastly different goals, each one leaning toward a school that specialized in their individual interest. Andy had made several recruiting trips to different football powerhouses around the country before shocking those close to him by announcing that he would accept an appointment to attend the Naval Academy and play football as a Midshipman. It took precisely 48 hours for his choice to become public knowledge, local politicians scrambling to be the nominator of one of the popular Golden Boys. Andy was headed to Annapolis, and hopefully a career as a naval aviator.
Rodney, meanwhile, had developed an interest in medicine. He had worked the summer between his junior and senior year at the local hospital as a volunteer aide. While there, he came under the scrutiny of a pathologist, who, by the end of the summer, had swayed the you
ngster to the possibility of a career in medicine. After weighing his options, Rod had decided that Harvard was the logical choice for furthering his education. Unfortunately, the Ivy League does not offer athletic scholarships, nor the big-time sport program the boy was determined to be involved in. Rod’s next best option was to accept the football scholarship offered by Indiana University, a Big Ten school renowned for its pre-med undergrad program. A bachelor’s degree from Indiana, along with good grades would go a long way toward acceptance to Harvard Medical School.
Finally, after their choices were made and paperwork signed the boys were able to reflect on their decisions. They would be several hundred miles apart during college, an emotional blow to each of the boys. The excitement of recruiting, campus visits and career planning and job fairs had ended with their signatures firmly affixed to the national letters-of-intent to Indiana University and the Naval Academy. There followed several weeks of doubt, each attempting to talk the other, and themselves, out of their futures. When they realized how foolish they were acting, the boys laughed at themselves, swore everlasting friendship, and went about the business of finishing high school.
Andy was graduated valedictorian of the 2010 senior class of Bishop Tower High School. Rod was .35 percent of one point short of being the salutatorian. In his graduation address to the class of ’10 and their families, Andy spoke of the future away from their lifelong friends, how difficult it was to leave the security of home, and how the world was counting on the class of ’10 as the next generation of leaders.
Nobody who heard the speech had any doubt who Andy felt would be those future leaders. The boy was assuring the audience, letting them know that things were going to be just fine. No problem, he seemed to be saying. Just leave it to us.
5
Emily Littleton was rushing, trying to get the last of her work done around her office, not wanting to be anything more than fashionably late for her son’s going-away-to-college bash at the country club.
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