Tangerine

by Edward Bloor

  I had finished reading all of the articles in the front section by the time Dad walked into the great room. He still had the phone in his hand, and he had forgotten to turn it off. I could tell by his face that he had already been told the basic facts. I handed over the front section without comment, and looked to see what there was in the sports section.

  Dad sat down in a heap on the floor. He finally turned off the phone, and he started to read. But the phone rang again immediately. He listened impatiently, then said, "I have no idea. I haven't even had a chance to read the paper yet." He hung up again and held the paper in front of him with both hands, like he was grabbing some guy by the lapels.

  I left him alone and examined the front page of the sports section. The left side had a column written by Mr. Donnelly, with the strange title "Thoughts on an Imaginary Porcelain Plate." I almost didn't read it, thinking he had written the column before all of this Antoine Thomas stuff had happened. But I was wrong. Here is the entire column:

  Not too many people know this.

  For twenty years I held the Tangerine County record for the most passing yards in a single game. How I got that record had as much to do with the weather conditions as it did with my talent as a quarterback, but I didn't care. The record was mine, and I was proud of it.

  On the night when I set my record, Tangerine High was playing Suwannee High during a violent thunderstorm. By all rights the game should have been called off, but no one in authority had enough sense to do that. As the lightning flashed and the thunder cracked, I, the unsung quarterback of an unsung team, rose up out of that mud not once, but twice, to achieve football immortality.

  Twice we were pinned on our own five-yard line, and twice I dropped back, slipping and sliding, and heaved the ball. Twice a receiver ran under that heave and kept on running, 95 yards into the end zone. In two plays, I had passed for 190 yards. In the rest of the game, I would pass for only 37 more, but the damage had been done. The old record had been shattered. The new record was mine. It went into the record book this way: "Most passing yards in a single game, 227, William F. Donnelly, Tangerine High."

  I have actually seen this record book at meetings of the Tangerine County Sports Commission. It's an old red book. And yes, I have looked up my name. That name, written by hand in a fat old book, is it. It's all you get. There is no trophy, no plaque, no certificate, no plate. You get that one handwritten line plus the knowledge, inside of you, that you hold the record.

  Well, that wasn't enough for me. I needed something more splendid, something that I could picture in my mind. So whenever I thought about the record, which was often, I imagined a fine porcelain plate. It was a large white plate, encircled with fourteen-karat gold edging. A plate that you would display proudly on the back wall of a trophy case. A plate that gleamed at visitors and invited comment. But it was also a fragile plate, one that would last only until fate smiled on some other quarterback rising up out of some other mud puddle.

  Miraculously, my plate hung intact for twenty years. When it was broken, when my record finally fell, it had nothing to do with a lucky heave or a slippery surface.

  Antoine Thomas of Lake Windsor High School broke my record midway through his sophomore season. He broke it on a sunny Saturday up at Lake Windsor High, playing against my old school. In that game, he threw for 250 yards and 5 touchdowns.

  But that was just the beginning. Antoine Thomas would break my record six more times. (Actually, after the first time, he was breaking his own records.) He would go on to rewrite that old red record book in dozens of single-game, single-season, and career categories, becoming the most dominant player of his, or any other, generation.

  Now all that has changed.

  The Tangerine County Sports Commission has ruled that Antoine Thomas was not legally eligible to play for Lake Windsor High School. Therefore the records that he broke were not legally broken.

  Do you realize what this means?

  The Tangerine County Sports Commission has gathered up the shards of my porcelain plate, Krazy-Glued them together, and handed it back to me.

  I'm looking at it right now. I guess they meant well, but they did a lousy job. I can see the cracks, like the lines of age on a face. I can see the globs of glue, like tears that will not fall. I can see chips and missing flakes in the gold edging where the circle has been broken.

  Thanks, Tangerine County Sports Commission, but no thanks. I'm not putting this thing back in my trophy case. I wouldn't even put this thing out in a garage sale. This is nothing to be proud of.

  Antoine Thomas holds the record for the most passing yards in a single game. Antoine Thomas is the greatest quarterback in the history of Tangerine County.

  Everybody knows that.

  I was glad that Mr. Donnelly had put in one good word for Antoine, because it was clear that no one else was going to. The phone kept ringing.

  A strategy was emerging from the calls that Dad received and made. They were going to blame Antoine, and Antoine alone. The families, the coaches, the teachers, the fans were all denying that they even dimly suspected that anyone was breaking any rule at any time.

  Give me a break. After I heard Dad telling an assistant coach that he, too, was "shocked by the news," I couldn't take it anymore. I said, "Dad, have you ever seen any of the Lake Windsor High football guys out running?"

  He looked as if he was surprised that I was there. "What?"

  "Have you ever seen any of the Lake Windsor High football guys out running? Like, along the roads?"

  "Yeah, sure. Why?"

  "Have you ever seen them riding tenspeeds, or shooting hoops, or playing tennis?"

  "Yeah."

  "Have you ever seen them driving their cars?"

  "Yes."

  "OK. Now, have you ever seen Antoine Thomas doing any of those things? Have you ever seen Antoine out running or biking or driving anywhere around here?"

  Dad looked at me curiously, but he still didn't get it. He answered, "No. I can't say I have."

  "Have you seen him at the supermarket? Or at a pump at the gas station? Or getting some fries at McD's?"

  Dad was nodding his head now, but he wasn't agreeing with me. He was getting annoyed. "What is this about?"

  "I guess it's about your eyesight, Dad. Your eyesight, and Coach Warner's, and Mr. Bridges's, and everybody else's who's 'shocked' today. Because I've seen lots of those Lake Windsor guys in lots of places. Everywhere we go, in fact. But I've never seen Antoine Thomas. I've never seen him anywhere except at the football stadium. That's because he doesn't live around here, Dad. He lives in Tangerine. Everybody knows that."

  Dad looked down. He knew that I was right. He knew the truth. The phone rang again, but he didn't answer it.

  Sunday, December 3, later

  With everything else fighting for room in my head, I must confess that Mom and Dad's "important meeting" didn't seem very important to me. That's why it took me by surprise.

  As I came downstairs I heard Mom's voice, tense and upset. "I want this thing to be over with, completely finished, everyone gone, by the time my parents get here."

  Dad was just as tense. "What? And you think I don't? I don't want them butting in on this."

  They were setting up the great room, setting it up as if for a homeowners' meeting. They arranged ten chairs facing the fireplace for the "guests" and another ten chairs off to the side, by the kitchen. These chairs, as it turned out, were for the "families"—two families—the Fishers and the Bauers.

  As the guests arrived, they were handed sheets of paper by Dad. I took one for myself and read it. It was a list of items, items that had been stolen from houses in Lake Windsor Downs, as compiled by the Tangerine County Sheriff's Department. There were notations like "Rolex watch, $900, recovered" and "Pearls, antique, $500, not recovered."

  By one o'clock all of the guests had been seated. I knew who most of them were. They were from Joey's street, the street where all of the houses had been tented. That's wha
t they all had in common. The white Tudor, the gray Lancaster, the yellow Stuart—today they were all the same. Today they were all the Blue Tents.

  The chairs off to the side were occupied by Mom, Dad, Arthur Bauer, Sr., Mrs. Bauer (who I had never seen before), and Paige Bauer. Arthur Bauer, Sr., looked angry; the rest of them looked sick at heart. Arthur Bauer, Jr., had joined Erik out on the patio, where the two of them were slouching silently. Mom and Dad had set out a pair of chairs for them next to their families, but they weren't sitting in them. I wasn't sitting in my family chair, either. I chose a place on the couch, next to the coffee table.

  Mom stood up to open the meeting. But before she spoke, she turned and looked outside at Erik. Then she walked into the kitchen, opened the patio door, and said, in a trembling voice, "Erik, would you come in here, please?"

  Neither Erik nor Arthur moved.

  Mom waited them out, in front of everyone. Silence filled the great room like an embarrassing smell. Finally, Mom repeated, "Erik, would you come in here, please?"

  Arthur Bauer, Sr., leaned around the corner and barked, "Arthur! Get in here!"

  First Arthur, then Erik, staggered to their feet and moved slowly inside to the empty chairs next to their families. When they sat down there was a low gasp as the guests looked upon their horrible faces. Erik's nose was blood red and swollen. His eyes were mere slits and rimmed with black, like a raccoon's. Believe it or not, Arthur looked worse. Arthur's face was covered with purple bumps and red cuts. His lips were cracked and swollen, too. He looked out of place among humans, like an ogre in a storybook.

  Mom picked up her notebook, opened it, and started to speak in an even, formal voice. "On behalf of the Bauer family and the Fisher family, I want to thank you for coming. It is my duty to inform all of you of the following." She looked down at her notes and read: "On November twenty-second, I made a shocking discovery. While out at our storage bin, searching for boxes of winter clothing, I found a gym bag that did not belong there. When I opened this gym bag, I found a U.S. Army gas mask, a pair of rubber gloves, and a plastic supermarket bag filled with diamond earrings, watches, gold rings, and many other types of precious jewelry."

  This time there was a loud gasp from the audience, including me.

  "That afternoon I spoke with Sergeant Edwards of the Tangerine County Sheriff's Department. You probably know his name. Sergeant Edwards confirmed that the items in the gym bag matched the descriptions of the items that were stolen from your homes while they were tented."

  Mom closed the notebook and made eye contact with the guests. "It didn't take a genius to figure out the rest. These items were stolen by Erik Fisher and Arthur Bauer. They have admitted as much. They have had no choice but to admit it. Arthur used the gas mask to enter the tented homes. Then he stole items from those homes while Erik kept watch outside."

  She pulled out a copy of the sheet that each guest had been given. "We have recovered some of the items already. My husband will tell you more about that. Erik and Arthur gave some of your things away, and we are working on getting them back." Mom nodded at Paige. "Paige Bauer has already returned the items that were given to her. Her friend Tina Turreton, who agreed to come here today but who obviously has not shown up, has already returned what was given to her. They have also provided us with names of other Lake Windsor High School students who received stolen items from Erik and Arthur. We have contacted the parents of all of those students and are confident that we will be able to get back those stolen items." Mom stared blankly at the guests for a minute, then said, "My husband has more to say to you."

  Dad stood up as Mom sat down. He picked up where she left off. "That's right. Sergeant Edwards is the Tangerine County officer in charge of all of your cases. He has allowed us, and by 'us' I mean the Fishers and the Bauers, to approach all of you with a plan to make restitution. That is, Erik and Arthur will make full restitution to all of you for all of your stolen property. If any item cannot be recovered and returned, Mr. Bauer and I will guarantee its full value to you in cash." Dad held up his copy of the list of stolen items. "You can see what we have already recovered. Those items could be released to you as early as tomorrow. If we can get all of you to agree to this restitution plan, and it has to be unanimous agreement, then the Sheriff's Department will not pursue further charges against Erik and Arthur."

  I felt sorry for Dad at that moment. He just couldn't give up. He had too much invested in the Erik Fisher Football Dream, and he just couldn't give up. I wanted to say, Look at Erik's face, Dad. That's what he really looks like. But I kept quiet.

  The phone rang, so I leaned over the coffee table and grabbed the portable. It was Joey, and he was practically screaming into the receiver. "The sheriff's deputies are at Arthur Bauer's house! They're sitting in a car out front."

  "Oh yeah?"

  "Yeah. They stopped me on my bike. They asked me if I knew where he was."

  "I know where he is."

  "Yeah? Where?"

  "He's right here."

  "Whoa! Can I tell them?"

  "Yeah. Why not?"

  Joey slammed down the phone.

  Arthur Bauer, Sr. was speaking now. He was angry. "I've talked to my son about this. He has admitted his wrongdoing, he has said he is sorry, and he has made full disclosure of the facts. The question today is, Do you want to prosecute these two dumb kids and possibly ruin their lives? Or do you want them to make full restitution to you, like men, and get on with their lives? Do you want to give them a second chance or not?"

  I searched the faces of the people from the blue tents. Their jaws were set. Their eyes were focused on the ugly faces of Erik and Arthur. The Blue Tents clearly felt no pity for those two thieves sitting in their chairs, staring at the floor—voiceless, useless, lifeless—like a pair of mannequins in a Dumpster.

  One man spoke up against Mr. Bauer. He said, "Don't go blaming me for ruining your kid's life. I didn't ask your kid to break into my house."

  Mr. Bauer answered coldly, "No, of course you didn't."

  The man turned to the others and continued. "Why should they escape all punishment for their crimes? That's not justice. What if the cops had nabbed two kids from Tangerine for robbing our houses? They'd be in jail now."

  Mr. Bauer waved the list at him. "Yeah. And you'd never see your property again. If this gets into the court system, you might never get your things back."

  The man shouted, "What is this? Blackmail? If I don't agree, I don't get my stuff back?" He looked at the others. "We're getting robbed all over again."

  Mr. Bauer was furious, but controlled. "Yeah, well, maybe you're the one person in the world who never did anything wrong in his life. Maybe you were born perfect. Maybe you were never a dumb kid once."

  The man didn't back down. "I'll tell you what I never did. I never broke into an old lady's bedroom, and ransacked through her underwear drawer, and stole her pearl necklace that was handed down to her by her own grandmother, and then gave it to my girlfriend like I was a big man or something. I never did that. And I don't know anybody else who did, either. Your kid, and that other kid, are in a class all by themselves."

  Mr. Bauer didn't reply. He was so angry that he walked back to his seat and sat down, leaving no speaker at all in front of the meeting.

  Dad got up again, looked at them all, and asked simply, "Do you accept our plan for making restitution or not?"

  What choice did they have? In the end the Blue Tent people accepted the plan, reluctantly. They agreed, reluctantly, to give Erik and Arthur that second chance. The second chance you get when your parents can guarantee full restitution. The second chance you get when you can kick a fifty-yard field goal.

  The meeting broke up quickly. Mr. Bauer led his family directly to the door. The other guests started to file out, solemnly, silently. But then they stopped in their tracks. Something was blocking their passage. I hurried over to the side window and looked out.

  The first thing that I saw was Joey. He was
straddling his bike out on the sidewalk. He was squinting in the sun. I looked to his left, and there they were! Two sheriff's deputies—one thin with blond hair; the other big and muscular, with a black mustache. Joey pointed out Arthur Bauer, and the two deputies started toward him. Arthur and his father stopped still, right in front of my window, while the rest of the guests and the families squeezed out onto the driveway. The big deputy asked, "Are you Arthur Bauer?"

  Arthur nodded meekly. The deputy said, "Extend both hands, please, Mr. Bauer." Arthur did, and the deputy calmly clicked a pair of handcuffs onto his wrists. His partner circled Arthur and started to pat him down, looking for a weapon.

  I hurried to the door and pushed my way through. The big deputy was reading Arthur his rights: "Arthur Bauer, you are under arrest in connection with the murder of Luis Cruz. You have the right to remain silent..."

  Arthur's father was paralyzed, in a state of shock. But when he heard the charge, he yelled out, "Wait a minute! Arthur, is that the guy you told me about? The guy at football practice?"

  Arthur, terrified, nodded his head rapidly. His father continued, "Listen, officer. This is not right. This is a mistake. Arthur told me all about this guy, back when this first happened." The deputy, whose name tag said SGT. ROJAS, started walking with his prisoner, not listening.

  "Arthur told me about a guy who showed up at football practice looking for a fight. He didn't belong up there. He was just looking for trouble. Am I right, Arthur?" Arthur continued to nod. "He came up to Arthur and took a swing at him, so Arthur hit him back. One time. Am I right?" Arthur nodded. "And that was the end of it. The guy came up there looking for a fight, and he found one. The guy didn't even belong up there."