Bridgeworld

by Travis McBee

  Will broke eye contact and began to walk up the side walk again. Inside his head was a torrent of thoughts He was staring right at me like he was waiting on me. Maybe he just noticed you staring. No something’s wrong about that guy. You don’t know that. Will glanced to his left and saw to his horror that the man was now mirroring his progress on the side walk on the other side of the street. He’s following me!

  Will increased his pace until his feet beat a quick staccato on the concrete of the side walk. He ventured a glance again to his left. The Stranger had quickened his paste and was still directly opposite of him. Okay, yep he’s following me.

  Will was now thoroughly terrified. His heart beat faster and faster until he feared it would just seize up. At the corner of the next street he turned to the right and kept walking quickly down the new street. He glanced behind him and saw that the man hadn’t crossed after him and was continuing across the intersection in the direction he had been heading. Maybe not you paranoid psycho you. Will slowed his pace down back to a normal pace and quietly laughed at his stupidity.

  He had almost forgotten about the man until he head the soft crunch of leaves drift across the street. He turned his head to see The Stranger again mirroring his progress on the opposite side of the street.

  The fear that welled up in Will was so powerful that he very nearly broke into tears in the middle of the street. He somehow managed to maintain his composure and didn’t change his speed in the slightest. I know I can outrun that guy if he tries anything he assured himself.

  He was now heading into downtown where there was actually a fair bit of traffic with holiday shoppers scampering about. He was approaching a traffic light that had been sitting on red for a few minutes by the look of the cars stacked up on either side.

  He glanced again at The Stranger, seeing that he was still there. As he came even to the intersection the light turned green letting loose the flood of cars that it had held back. The blur of color of the cars driving by would make it impossible to cross the street so Will did the logical thing, he turned right at the intersection, so The Stranger would have to cross the street to follow him, and he ran.

  Will had never run so fast in his life. His feet moved so fast he couldn’t feel them touch the ground anymore. He had actually obtained a speed of movement he wasn’t entirely sure he could control. His arms flailed around at his side trying to maintain balance as his feet seemed to coordinate themselves. He turned another corner and belted down a side street and he ran, he ran until his lungs burned for air.

  He didn’t know where he had run to when finally he staggered to a stop. He hadn’t run far but he had run a long way. He had turned corners at such a high rate that he had been simply making circles around the town. He leaned on his knees and began to suck air in great gulps that chilled his throat until it burned.

  When he finally looked up from gasping for air he found himself standing on the opposite side of the street from his house. He hadn’t meant to go there and he laughed in appreciation of the short walk home as best he could. Before he crossed the street towards his house he glanced around in all directions and a smile twitched onto his face as he found no sign of The Stranger and his blood red tie. He stepped into the empty street and a pale wheezing chuckle escaped him as he crossed it.

  Chapter Two

  The Worst Day Ever

  The sun peeked it’s terrible little rays over the dark mahogany beam that held the drapes over Will’s window, they bounced off the dust free plastic blade of the ceiling fan to be slanted to their final destination by the glass of water that stood half-full on the night stand. Those terrible little rays of sunlight finally made themselves at home over the still dormant eyelids of Will himself. They acted like a lighthouse to guide Will home from the land of his dreams and he groaned and blinked his eyes sourly at the rude wake up call. He checked the red luminescent digits of his alarm clock and moaned once again, this time with exponentially more miserly and anger. Seven o’clock, way too early to awake on the first day of winter break. Remembering that it was winter break was Will’s first mistake of the young day. It was Saturday, the day of the big game. The second this thought poked it’s head up from his subconscious the possibility of simply rolling over and going back to sleep disintegrated into more pieces than a jar of glitter left in the care of a toddler.

  Will didn’t give in immediately to the prospect of rising early. He fought bravely to return to the warm comforting embrace of sleep, but no matter how many times he rolled over or punched his pillow into new shapes he stayed awake. The rumblings of his stomach finally dragged him out from under his covers and he staggered towards the kitchen, after a brief stop in the restroom, yawning the entire way. The house was bright from the sun that poured light in through the plethora of windows, it seemed pure to Will since it was unaccompanied by the dirty yellow light that was cast by the light bulbs that hung from the ceiling. The house was silent except for the gentle snores that resonated from his parent’s room informing him that his parents (or at least his dad) were still asleep.

  He walked into the immaculate kitchen and was greeted by the gleam of stainless steel. The kitchen was brand new; his father had given it to his mom for their anniversary earlier that fall. The installation man had commented on how extravagant the kitchen was, and he hadn’t been mistaken. Every last piece of equipment, from the stainless steel gas range to the shiny new toaster oven, was top of the line. His mother loved to cook and was always the chef of choice for the monthly neighborhood dinners, some of the neighbors were so bold as to tell her to forget practicing law and that she should open up her own restaurant. That comment was both a jibe at her lack of law skills and a compliment to her surplus of culinary talent. She was an incredibly positive woman, however, and jibes never found their mark leaving her to beam at the compliments.

  Will meandered over to the mammoth refrigerator and pulled open its great gate of a door. He peered inside at the wide variety of food. Vegetables, milk, eggs, and pitchers of sweet drinks all fought for shelf space but none of them drew his attention. What did draw his attention was the cake that was covertly hidden behind a jug of milk. It was a simple chocolate cake, Will’s favorite kind, which his mother had made for them two nights ago. Will was fortunate to have one of those mothers who actually did bake and not only on special occasions. His friends would smolder with envy whenever they would come over and see the baked good utopia that Will called home.

  He sliced off a hearty slice of the moist, dark, treat and sat down at the table situated in the nook that they called the breakfast area. He ate without interest not really enjoying the cake, his thoughts had drifted into the near future and the prospect of the game that night. He wasn’t really nervous, not yet at least, but whenever he thought of the game a strange leaping sensation would fill him making him cling to his chair for fear of ending up on the ceiling. It was the most important moment in his life thus far and he wanted to make it count. If he won the game, he would win the job, and become what most teenage boys dream of, the starting quarterback and hero of their high school. Will had never been a jealous or selfish person but he wanted to win this game for himself as much as anything. It was an easy image to envision; He stood in the center of the field, his jersey still dirty from the game, the entire school would circle around him cheering, and even some of the students from Central would come and celebrate their future hero. He would bask in their laudation and then next year he would lead the varsity team to an undefeated season and the state championship, the first one in Pleasant Valley history.

  Will’s thoughts diverged down this dangerously selfish road studded with pot holes of trophies, popularity, and fame and he became so self-absorbed that he didn’t notice the large shadow that crept over the table, the shadow of a man. It oozed over the polished surface like oil spilt into water. It came to rest as the person who cast it stood directly behind Will, the caster of the shadow raised his hand and the shadow of Will and the newcomer m
erged as the hand descended towards the daydreaming boy.

  Will was about to raise his third straight state championship trophy when a large hand jerked him back to reality via his shoulder. Will yelped with fright as his dream world crashed down before him and he found himself, once again, in the kitchen. On his shoulder was the powerful grip of an adult man. His mind instantly returned to The Stranger who had pursued him around town the day before and his heart trilled in his chest.

  “I would hardly call that a good pregame meal son,” The gentle voice of his father said quietly over his head.

  Will’s heart slowed down to a manageable frequency and the sweat that had broken on his skin disappeared nearly as quickly as it had come.

  “I was hungry and that’s all there was to eat,” he replied quietly to his father

  His dad looked at the plate with a smear of chocolate icing still adorning it. He wore the grave look that most kids associate with a stern scolding. Steven Haynes, however, rarely scolded his son so Will was not alarmed by the look, nor should he have been.

  “I don’t suppose you left your old man a piece did you?” He laughed causing his skinny shoulders to quake gently beneath the red pajama tops that his Barbara forced him to wear.

  Will returned the laugh, nearly as genuinely as his father had sent the first one, and assured his father there was indeed some cake remaining. Steven Haynes went to the refrigerator and returned with two large helpings of cake and placed one down in front of Will who looked at it questioningly.

  “Well I don’t want to eat cake alone,” Will’s father laughed, “What would your mother say if she came in here and saw only me eating cake? This way I can say you put me up to it!”

  As he concluded his statement he leaned his head back and laughed mightily before forking another piece of heaven into his mouth. He chewed softly without the moist gush gush sound that accompanied many men when they ate. He noticed the stressed look on Will’s face and correctly diagnosed it as nerves over the game, what he could not see was Will’s secret selfish motives although he knew the prizes that awaited his son. He fought a brief battle in his mind on whether to talk to him about the game, but in the end he decided to enjoy the time of peace with his son, after all he didn’t know how many more he would get.

  When Will’s mother came into the kitchen fifteen minutes later she spotted the father and son duo taking the final bites out of the chocolate cake she had so lovingly prepared. They did not resemble each other like some fathers and sons; Will had blonde hair and mysterious silver eyes while his father’s hair was black and his eyes were sour apple green. He was tall like his father but was already filling into his height with a thick coating of athletic muscle whereas Steven had remained slim since the day he was born. The physical differences did not take away how similar they truly were however, it would be near to impossible not to identify the sarcastic sense of humor that they both shared or the incredible intelligence that they both possessed. When she spotted them together her already warm and soft heart increased a few degrees in temperature and would have rivaled a kitten hugging a panda in softness.

  “I see my boys decided to help themselves to some cake,” her voiced rang out resonating around the otherwise silent kitchen.

  Will and his father turned around and looked at her. On both of their faces sat a smile so identical that there was no doubt about Will’s paternity. The smile was an amused grin laughing about getting caught and also showed that they expected no retribution for their transgressions. Well she would have to cause that little part of the smile to falter a little.

  “Well since you two have already eaten I will be back in a bit,” she grabbed her keys which hung on a hook over the whiteboard that they used for grocery lists, notes to each other, and a medium of exchanging jokes. She began walking towards the front door and had gone no farther than a few paces when she heard the sudden scraping noises of chairs on the hardwood floor.

  “Mom! Where you going?” Will’s frantic voice called out to her retreating back.

  She turned slowly erasing the mischievous smile that had formed at her sons words of panic. He was standing there next to his dad, almost matching him in height. Once again they shared identical expressions, but this one wasn’t a smile. The expressions on their faces told perfectly the emotion that was going on inside, that of panic, confusion, and fear. It was not a critical fear like that of death but of another fear, one almost as substantial to the male psyche, fear of lost food.

  “Well I’m going down to McDonald’s to grab a biscuit,” she replied in such a cavalier voice that in that moment of acting, she deserved an Oscar.

  The desired effect was immediate in its arrival. Steven Haynes’ mouth opened slightly and his eyes bulged, while the younger Haynes took a step forward, his mouth also open but his eyes opened even wider in surprise.

  “Wh-What about breakfast?” Will asked her, confusion laced with every word that left his mouth.

  Steven nodded his head in agreement to the question his son had posed and stared at his wife in disbelief, she had never just gone out to eat and left them hungry, not in seventeen years of marriage and fourteen of motherhood.

  Barbara smiled menacingly, a smile that did not belong on her face even if it was disingenuous. , “You both have proven that you’re more than capable of providing for yourselves. Surely you don’t need me to cook?” She said the final part with enough sarcasm to sink a ship.

  She had planned on taking her little joke as far as she could but the faces of her husband and son had never before been put into the situation that they found themselves in. Utter shock was written in every line of their faces and in between those lines lay an obvious valley of fear mingled with just a hint of guilt. The sight was just too much to take and her thin lips parted and let loose an avalanche of blazing laughter that cascaded down the mountain of fear that her words had brought to the men of her life.

  None of them knew where the hysteria started from, perhaps it was Barbara who had successfully hoodwinked the people she loved more than anything else, or it might have been Will whose emotions were going so crazy that a bout of incessant laughter would seem a natural resort, and it could have been Steven Haynes who had somehow not seen through the ploy that a woman he had known his entire life had set. It doesn’t matter who started it though, all that matters is that for the next five minutes the house of the Haynes’ was engulfed with a raucous laughter that came dangerously close to the line of lunacy. They laughed until they cried, wiped their eyes, and laughed some more. When they finally managed to settle the guffawing to mere hiccups of giggles Barbara made breakfast for her boys and they all ate together talking about everything in the world except the most pressing point of interest which didn’t matter, they all knew about the game after all.

  * * *

  Will stared into the depths of his locker. Inside was the clean red and gold trimmed jersey of the South Valley Vipers. It was solid red with trimmings of silver along the sleeves and neck. Silver numbers emblazoned on the front and back told the world that here was number fifteen and the name above it written out in the same immaculate silver as the numbers proclaimed number fifteen to be Haynes. The jersey was brand new, the older one that he had worn during the rest of the season hung in a tattered mess behind it paying homage to the battles that Will had fought and won. Beneath the jersey sat the helmet that would shelter him from the outside world. When he slid that red dome of the gridiron over his head he would immerse himself in concentration, hard work, leadership, and the insatiable desire to win at all costs. The helmet was also new; none of the scratches of his past games lay on its pure red surface or stood out against the silver streak that bisected it into two hemispheres.

  Above his head he could hear the raucous voices of what seemed to be the entire five thousand residents of Pleasant Valley. If he had exited the short tunnel that led from the locker room to the field and found the entire populous crammed into the high school stadium where he p
layed it would not surprise him. Pleasant Valley was the stereo typical southern town when it came to football. If there was a game, everyone and their grandma would be there. This game was no different, even for a middle school game. It might have even been more important than any game the six and four Pleasant Valley High Pythons had played that year. The South-Central Battle, as the game had been called for years, was always crowded and this year was special because of the quarterback battle that would take place on its stage. The imminent dual had been advertised for months and it had nearly turned into a town dividing issue as people took sides. Will could hardly walk down the street in the past few weeks without someone mentioning the game to him.

  Outside one of the bands blossomed into a fight song and the crowd took new fervor from it and their shouting redoubled in intensity. Just then the door slammed open and in stormed their fearless leader, or their leader who pretended to be fearless. Coach Hinge was probably not one of a kind; his short grizzled gray beard adorned a face that showed about as much emotion for his athletes as a cow shows a field of grass. If someone that didn’t know him saw him walking down a street they would have identified him as an ex-army drill sergeant and their guess wouldn’t be far off. He was possessed by a terrible temper that would boil forth at any provocation and was as indiscriminate for a target as a nuclear warhead. His hair sat on his head in a neat white flattop that stretched his resemblance to an ex soldier to the limit. Will wasn’t entirely sure he hadn’t been in the army because of the simple fact that Coach Hinge didn’t talk about anything but winning. When Will had first met him he had made the mistake of misclassifying the man as inspirational. His long rant about winning being all that mattered made Will believe that the man was encouraging. Half way through their first practice he found the man was just plain mean. He would yell and throw things at the players, sometimes he would throw players at the players. Throughout their undefeated season Coach Hinge would offer no words of encouragement and almost as rare were actual strategies for the game at hand. Midway through the season Will had realized why the man had lost his job coaching the high school team nearly a decade before; the man was a terrible coach.