Takedown

by Matt Christopher

  Why did I feel so good all of a sudden? Why, when I’d met Clint only a few months ago, did it now seem as if I’d known him all my life? He was friendly, sympathetic, and understanding — attributes a kid would expect in his father. Except my father had never shown me those attributes.

  I felt a lump come to my throat and took a deep breath. “Okay,” I replied. “I’ll call you Friday night.”

  “Great!”

  We were driving up to the curb in front of my house when I saw the red taillights of our car wink out in the garage. Had Mom and Carl just arrived home? They should’ve been home at least half an hour ago. Why were they so late?

  The lights were on in the house, so I assumed that Dad was up, probably still doing bookwork or watching television.

  I got out of Clint’s car just as Mom and Carl came out of the garage. Carl was carrying a sack of groceries. He glanced briefly at us, then turned to pull down the garage door.

  Mom stood there like a statue, staring.

  “Hi,” I said.

  “Hi,” she murmured.

  “Hello!” Clint called out. Then, “Good night!” and I turned in time to see him wave.

  “Good night,” I called back.

  I noticed then that his muffler was loud and clangy, and that the glass of the right taillight was broken. Through the rear window of the jalopy I could see him still waving, and I waved back, feeling good inside. Even Dad had never shown such interest in me in all my life.

  I turned and started to head for the house when I saw that Mom was still standing there, watching the jalopy disappear down the darkened street. She had a long, drawn look on her face. A worried look.

  “Who was that?” she asked.

  “Clint Wagner, the assistant referee,” I said.

  “Where’d he pick you up?”

  I paused and thought hard before I answered her. I hated to admit that I’d been in another fight with the Octopus. For all I knew she’d look up Max’s address, go there, and have a verbal fight with his parents. Like me, she had guts.

  Just the same I had to come clean. She’d probably find out about it eventually. I cleared my throat and told her about the fight, and about Clint Wagner coming to my rescue.

  Mom’s anger flared. “Another fight? What am I raising, a hood? Are you going to be a replica of your father and get into a fight every-time you go out on the street?”

  “It wasn’t like that, Mom,” I said, hoping I could make her understand. “I didn’t start it. Those guys did.”

  “Sure! It’s always the same excuse! The other guys always start it! It’s never you! Your father used to say the same thing! You’re just like him! You’re both bums!”

  She whirled and stormed toward the house.

  I was sick. I figured now a fishing trip with Clint was out of the question. I might as well not even ask for permission. I might as well just call up Clint and tell him I couldn’t go.

  That night I couldn’t sleep a wink, thinking about the fight with Max and what Mom had said to me.

  “You’re just like him! You’re both bums!”

  What a lousy thing to say.

  But I wondered: Will I really end up like my father?

  7

  “I don’t think wrestling’s for him, Mom,” Carl said at the breakfast table the next morning. “I’m afraid that one of these days he’s gonna get hurt, and get hurt bad. Look what happened last night. The Squasher really squashed him.”

  “What?” I stared at him. He was sitting across from me, pouring cereal into his bowl. “You must be talking about some other match, man. He didn’t pin me, did he? And he only beat me by a few points.”

  “Two more and it would’ve been a major decision,” Carl said. “And four points instead of three.”

  “But it wasn’t a major decision, and it wasn’tfour points!” I stormed. “So stop blowing off, okay?”

  “Okay, okay,” Dad said sharply. “Stop this silly bickering. Eat your breakfast, Carl, and get ready for the bus. That goes for you, too, Sean.”

  My heart thumped against my ribs as I tried to eat my breakfast and avoid Carl’s eyes. When was he going to stop badgering me?

  In a minute Dad wiped his mouth with a napkin, excused himself, and kissed Mom. “See you guys later,” he said, as he grabbed his jacket and left. Being maintenance manager of Paul’s Motorcycle and Bike Shop had him leaving the house first every morning. This ritual went on six days a week, Monday through Saturday. Sometimes I wondered which he loved the most, Mom and us kids — Carl, anyway — or his job.

  I stalled finishing my breakfast on purpose. I wanted to talk to Mom. Alone.

  I still had a piece of toast left when Carl finished. “Better get a move on, guy,” he said as he wiped his mouth and pushed away from the table. “The bus is due here any minute.”

  “Go ahead,” I said. “I’ll be out in a sec.”

  He pulled on his jacket, grabbed up his books, gave Mom a quick peck on the cheek, and left.

  “You’d better hurry up, Sean,” Mom advised, sitting at the table with a cup of coffee in her hand. “Your brother’s right. The bus is due any minute.”

  I looked at her, my stomach tightening up into a knot. Her hair was bunched on top of her head in a messy-looking bun and her face was pale. But she was calmer than she’d been last night.

  “Mom,” I said, and paused. A lump caught in my throat.

  “Yes? What is it?”

  I swallowed the lump. “I — I’m sorry. About the fight and all.”

  Mom sighed. “I’m sorry, too, for the things I said. It’s just that I worry about what will become of you. You’re so like your father.”

  “Well, he must’ve had some good points, or you wouldn’t have married him in the first place, right?” I said gently. I was nervous. I didn’t think I’d ever be nervous talking to my own mother, but I was. Still, I wanted to know more about my real father.

  She shrugged and took a sip of her coffee. “I’ve told you about him. What else is there to say?”

  I could sense she wasn’t keen about continuing this conversation. Maybe I was wasting time. I started to get out of my chair.

  “He was a decent, good-looking guy when we first met and started dating,” she said, and I sat back down. “Then, after we got married, something happened. He changed, became almost a different person. He grew a mustache, then a beard. I didn’t object to that. But then he began drinking… more.”

  “That’s when he got into fights, too?”

  She nodded. “You know the rest,” she said.

  I had a tough time asking my next question. “Did he want me?”

  She glanced at me for a second, then looked away. “He loved you very much,” she said, “but he knew it was best that you stay with me. We had no argument about that.”

  “Did he ever send you any money?”

  “Alimony payments, you mean?” She shook her head. “No. Oh, he was willing to, all right. But I refused. I was so angry with him I didn’t want a thing to do with him… ever. I wanted him completely out of my life.”

  “You didn’t want him to see me?”

  She looked at me. “That’s right, Sean. I was afraid that if he did, he might change his mind. He might want to take you from me.”

  “What did he do then? Where did he go?”

  “He quit his job and joined one of the armed forces — the army or the navy — I’m not sure which.”

  Just then there was a yell from outside. It was Carl.

  “The bus is here,” I said. I got up, kissed Mom on the cheek, and grabbed my jacket. “Thanks, Mom,” I said. “See you tonight.”

  I rushed out the door just as the bus was pulling up to the curb.

  “Don’t tell me you took all this time finishing up that toast,” Carl grunted.

  “Okay, I won’t,” I said.

  The door of the bus opened and we got on. He sat down beside another kid, and I sat a few rows farther back. I was glad we didn’t sit
together. He might start asking me questions about why I wasn’t out sooner. I couldn’t tell him what I was talking about with Mom. I would’ve had to make up some story.

  When 3:30 rolled around I, and all the other wrestlers, headed for the locker room. We put on our uniforms and headgear and went out on the mats. I saw both coaches, Joe Doran and Chad Collins, standing with their arms crossed, probably discussing strategy for our upcoming meet next week. I didn’t know who our varsity was up against, but we JV’s were wrestling guys from Gardner Junior High. They were good, but not great. At least that was what we’d heard through the grapevine.

  “Okay, you guys!” Coach Doran yelled out. “Spend some time on the weights! Then we’ll team up for some wrestling practice!”

  We worked out for about ten minutes, then a whistle shrieked and Coach Doran ordered the varsity to one side of the gym and the junior varsity to the other side. For a moment Coach Collins studied us like an army master sergeant. Our eyes met, and for a second I thought he was going to call on me.

  “Rick,” he then said to the kid next to me. “Step out here.”

  Rick stepped forward, and he and Coach Collins got onto the mat. Rick was a tall, weed-thin kid with arms that looked like long hot dogs, but his size would fool you if you didn’t know him. He wrestled in the ninety-eight-pound class and was one of the best.

  “I think we need some practice on the half nelson and the leg trap,” the coach said. “Most of you guys still don’t seem to have gotten the hang of it. Now, keep a close watch on what we do and what I say.”

  We watched like hawks as he showed us how to apply the half nelson, a move I liked and used whenever I got the opportunity. He worked his far arm under Rick’s shoulder. You can work your inside arm under your opponent’s near shoulder, too, depending on the situation. The coach moved his outside hand under Rick’s armpit and around the top of his neck, brought Rick’s arm up and his head down, and put pressure on Rick’s shoulder. Then he grabbed Rick’s chin with the hand that was around his neck, spread his legs to give him leverage, lay on Rick’s chest, and got a pin.

  “See how it works?” the coach said, grinning up at us.

  We nodded like a bunch of puppets.

  Next he showed us the leg trap. Again he had Rick lie on his stomach on the mat and he got on top of Rick, putting his right forearm against Rick’s neck and pulling Rick’s right leg up with his right knee. It was a good hold, but it took a lot of practice. And that’s what we all did when he finished showing us the holds on Rick. We paired off — Bull chose me before I had a chance to pick out anyone else — and we worked on the half nelson first. I got down on the mat and he lay on me. Needless to say, I was glad when we switched positions!

  We worked on the move and hold three times, then practiced the leg trap three times.

  “I like that!” Bull exclaimed as we climbed to our feet, both of us hot, sweaty, and panting. “Let’s go through ’em again!”

  “Like heck!” I said. “If anybody ought to be called the Squasher, it’s you!”

  He grinned. “Yea-a-h!” he said.

  “Okay. We’re going to get into the real meat of things now,” Coach Collins said. “A two-minute workout with an opponent other than the guy you practiced with. Dave, you and Smitty get together. Bull, you and Moe. Sean, you and Bud.”

  Bud and I were in the same weight class. We got on different mats and, when Coach Collins blew the whistle, we went at it. Bud was about two inches taller than me, but in no time at all I grabbed his right leg, floored him, and applied the first hold the coach had us practice: the half nelson. It worked, and I got off him, feeling pretty good.

  “Hey! Nice work, Sean!” Coach Collins said, coming over to me. “You pulled off the half like an old pro!”

  I shrugged. “I think Bud was tired,” I said.

  “Not any more tired than you,” the coach said.

  He tapped me on the head and walked away, still smiling. I felt like an Olympic champ.

  The half nelson and the leg trap — a couple of good moves I might be able to use when the I Octopus and I clashed.

  I felt eager and ready to go. If I didn’t change old kid brother Carl’s opinion about my wrestling in my next meet, I’d never change it.

  I couldn’t wait.

  8

  During supper that night, I made up my mind to ask Mom and Dad if I could go fishing with Clint on Saturday. I had apologized, after all, and it would be a chance for me to try something new and get to know Clint better.

  When I finally brought it up they both looked at me as if I’d asked for a thousand dollars.

  “It’s no big deal,” I said. “And I’ll be out of your hair for a couple of hours.”

  I didn’t know how long we’d be fishing, but a couple of hours seemed long enough.

  “But what do you know about the man?” Mom asked in the same tone she always used when she had doubts about my intentions.

  “Mom! How much do I have to know?” I exclaimed. “He works at Wolcott’s Hardware Store! And he’s the assistant referee at school! Everybody thinks he’s a great guy!”

  That didn’t seem to impress her.

  “Why did he ask you to go fishing with him?” she pressed.

  “He’s taken an interest in my wrestling,” I said. “I think that’s what he’d like to talk about while we’re out there.”

  Carl scoffed. “The guy thinks my brother has po-ten-tial,” he said, smiling as he filled his mouth with a forkful of black-eyed peas.

  “Maybe he does,” Mom said. “But I still don’t like the idea.”

  “I’m fourteen,” I said, getting an uncomfortable feeling in my stomach. It wasn’t the food. I loved fried chicken, potatoes, and black-eyed peas. It was a knot, getting tighter every minute. “I think you and Dad should trust me by now.”

  “We do trust you, Sean,” Mom said calmly, “but only, I’m sorry to say, up to a point.”

  “What d’you mean?”

  “I mean that you’ve betrayed that trust more than once by getting into fights when I’ve warned you not to time and time again. No, I think as punishment I won’t let you go fishing. Maybe the next time you feel like slamming your fists into somebody just because they’ve gotten under your skin you’ll remember, and control yourself.”

  “Mom!” I cried, flabbergasted at her decision.

  “That’s it!” she said, raising a hand to stop me from saying another word. “That’s my answer. No fishing. And that’s final.”

  I was so angry I wanted to yell at her, “Mom, I hate you!” but the words wouldn’t come out.

  I couldn’t eat another morsel. I shoved back my chair and headed upstairs. I could feel Mom’s, Dad’s, and Carl’s eyes riveted on my back, and I thought Mom or Dad would order me to return to the table. But neither did, and I went on to my room.

  Mom didn’t understand me, that’s all there was to it. She wasn’t fair inflicting such a severe punishment on me. I didn’t deserve it. I’d never fished in my life, and now that I finally had the opportunity to do it, she refused to grant it to me. It was more than a punishment. It was downright mean.

  Lying there on my bed, with my hands crossed behind my head, I made a decision. I’d go against Mom’s order.

  I’d go fishing anyway.

  That night, after the rest of the family had gone to bed, I crept downstairs and called Clint. I told him I’d go fishing with him in the morning and would meet him at nine o’clock at the front entrance of the mall.

  “I could pick you up at your house,” he suggested.

  “No,” I said. “I’ve got to pick up something. I’ll meet you there. Okay?”

  “Okay,” he said.

  I hung up, feeling guilty, but at the same time feeling kind of thrilled, too. I was going fishing for the first time in my life, with someone — maybe the only person in the world — who really cared about me.

  Clint had two fishing poles and a can of worms in the back seat of his jalo
py when he picked me up the next morning. He said he had dug up the worms earlier in the back yard of the apartment complex where he lived.

  It took us about ten minutes to get to a small lake surrounded by a cluster of woods, a playground, and a park. It wasn’t far from Mount Villa College. Mom and Dad had brought us here several times for picnics, but never to fish.

  Clint brought out the poles, a can of worms, and a stringer on which to put the fish if we caught any, and we walked out on a dock that stuck out into the lake about twenty feet or so. He showed me how to bait a hook with a wet, squirming worm, then how to reel out the line. After he baited his hook and heaved out his line, we sat on the edge of the dock and waited for the fish to bite.

  I still felt guilty. My excuse to Mom this morning had been that I was going to the mall for a while. It was something I often did, so she wouldn’t be curious.

  Lying to her bothered me, but I felt she wasn’t fair. I wasn’t going to let her or anybody else push me around. Maybe I was just like my father.

  I brushed aside my thoughts and concentrated on fishing. I was enjoying every bit of it and hoped I’d catch one or two before we were finished. But I was curious about Clint, too. In a way, Mom was right. I didn’t know any more about him than what he did for a living.

  After ten minutes or so of not getting even a nibble, I asked him if he was married.

  “I was married a long time ago,” he replied. “But I’m not anymore.”

  “Oh. I’m sorry,” I said.

  Did he mean he was divorced, or a widower? I was afraid to ask.

  I also hesitated before asking my next question, but I finally did. “Do you have any kids?”

  “No. Can’t say that I do.” He glanced at me and smiled. “I always wanted to have a son. Not that I would have minded having a daughter, you understand. But I guess I wanted a boy because I could wrestle with him. I’ve always liked wrestling. Was a champ in the navy.”

  I stared at him. “You were in the navy?”