Collateral Damage

by Patrick Jones

  Ty dropped the crayon. “So I’m worried about leaving my dad alone to come here and color, okay?”

  “I wish I could leave my mom alone,” said Malayeka.

  Ty paused. “What do you mean?”

  “My mom never came back.”

  Ty swallowed. “You mean—”

  “She died. So, yeah, I’d give everything to be able to take care of her.”

  He watched as tears welled up in her eyes. “I’m sorry,” said Ty.

  “It’s alright. My family’s strong. I’m strong. What Mr. Gomez has taught me really helped.” She picked up the crayon and placed it in Ty’s hand. “Show me you’re strong.”

  Ty turned the page over. His father needing him was not as bad as not having his father alive. It was a scary thought.

  He leaned in with the crayon. In his mind, he pictured the assignment—“draw what you want your future to look like”—and started to sketch.

  After five minutes, he picked up another color and drew more. As he did, he forgot everything else—Coach, grades, girls, his father. He used another color, then another.

  After twenty minutes, he was working the edges of the paper when Malayeka reached out to touch his hand again. “Hey, you got lost in this, didn’t you?”

  Ty stopped. “I guess I did.”

  Mr. Gomez came over. “Very nice, Ty. You want to share your drawing with the group?”

  Ty stood up as Malayeka smiled. “This is how I see the future.” He turned the page over to show a large fist surrounded by blue and orange bolts of lightning.

  “And it means?” asked Mr. Gomez.

  Ty looked at Malayeka. “It means strength, being strong.”

  ***

  Malayeka and Ty strolled the long lobby of the Vet Center as they talked. “Your drawing was really good.”

  “Fists are a theme for my dad and me. But fists used for good, not for bad,” said Ty.

  “What do you mean, ‘for good?’” asked Malayeka.

  “It’s in every Bruce Lee movie. He has all this energy and potential, but he never uses his fists for bad reasons.”

  Malayeka stopped. “You’re kidding me. The ‘absorb what is useful’ guy, that Bruce Lee?”

  “How’d you know?”

  “It’s one of my favorite lines,” said Malayeka.

  “Mine, too.”

  The two smiled.

  Malayeka reached in her purse for pen and paper. She leaned against a window and wrote, then handed the paper to Ty.

  “I’d be disappointed if you didn’t call me.” She held Ty’s hand. “My ride’s out front, so I gotta go.”

  Ty stared at the ten perfect digits. More thunder. More lightning. Let it rain.

  14

  FEBRUARY 3 / TUESDAY, AFTER DINNER

  TYSHAWN’S HOUSE

  “What’s she like?” Ty’s dad asked. His dad always said “she.” Ty guessed he couldn’t remember Malayeka’s name.

  “She’s my age, she’s really pretty. Dresses nice,” said Ty as he cleared dishes from the living room. While someone might say the same about Shania, it was more than looks. Shania was a cheerleader; Malayeka was a leader.

  “She’s lucky, too, if she’s dating you.” It was like his dad had forgotten all about Shania. Sometimes, Ty wished he could, too.

  “It’s not like that. She just gave me her phone number. And I don’t even know where I stand with Shania.” Ty continued cleaning. The art therapy project and talk with Malayeka afterwards had given him new energy. “What do we do with this now?” he asked, holding the back of the empty wheelchair.

  “We’re donating it back. It’s going to someone who needs it, see?” With that, Ty’s father rose from the couch and eased into place behind the walker. Once steady, Ty’s father jumped in place three times.

  “Careful, Dad.” Ty held his hands out as though to catch his father’s fall. “Your physical therapist said no sudden movement.”

  “Don’t worry, Son. I got strength.” Ty’s father sat back down. “What are you gonna do about Shania?”

  Ty shrugged and reached into his pocket for his phone. No calls. In fact, she hadn’t called in three days. “Shania just wants so much from me right now.” He looked at her picture on his phone. “I think she wants a break. I know I need one.”

  Ty’s father laughed. “My son’s a player.”

  “I’m not a player, Dad. I just need to focus. Hey, I’ve got a few things I want to show you in the kitchen.”

  Ty’s father followed as Ty opened the freezer. “These are your meals for the week, all labeled and stored.”

  There was a look of surprise on his father’s face. “When did you have time to do this?”

  “I got up early and made spaghetti,” Ty said, pointing. “And in these tubs here, red beans and rice.”

  “My favorite!”

  Ty led his father to the microwave. “See this red tape here? That’s at the three-minute mark. Never ever go over three minutes, okay?”

  “Gotcha.”

  “And here,” Ty draped a belt with a cell phone holster around his father’s waist. “So you don’t lose your phone, I came up with this.”

  Ty’s father looked down at the belt. “Not too shabby.”

  The front door opened. It was Ty’s mom.

  “Honey.” Ty’s father lit up as he walked quickly to her—but his pace was too quick and he stumbled into a chair.

  Ty lunged forward to help. “Dad, you alright?”

  Ty’s mother didn’t move.

  Ty looked up at her. “He’s been walking for about two weeks.” He tried not to smile, to reward her when she hadn’t done anything. He was happy to see her, but he’d done all the heavy lifting.

  “So I missed my husband’s first steps.”

  Ty didn’t like her tone, couldn’t tell if she was really proud or being sarcastic.

  She gripped her keys, looked around the room, and sighed way too loud. “I thought one of you might call to keep me in the loop.”

  “I tried calling for like four days,” said Ty.

  “I was probably in meetings. We got the Chrysler contract, so I’ve been busy.”

  Ty’s father rolled into the chair and began massaging a hurt leg. “I think I tried calling, too, honey.” He laughed. “It’s on a note somewhere.”

  “I forgot the notes,” Ty’s mother laughed, more out of disgust than humor. “What’s the belt for?”

  “Ty made this so I won’t lose my phone. My phone rings whenever I need to take medication. He made meals for the week, too, all stacked in the freezer.”

  Her shoulders dropped. She looked at Ty. “The more you do for him, the less he does for himself.”

  Ty thought of Mr. Gomez and the support group. “But he’s got a brain injury, which means—”

  “Which means he has to exercise it more!” Ty’s mother reached for the strap on her purse. “I was gonna ask you guys to dinner, but I see things are taken care of. I’m heading back to work.”

  With that, she turned and left.

  After the door slammed, Ty and his father looked at one another.

  Ty’s father broke the silence. “Have you seen your mother lately?”

  Ty feared the intense encounter had somehow triggered more short-term memory loss. “Dad, she was just here!”

  “I know, I was just pulling your leg.” He adjusted himself in the seat. “It’ll take time. She’s used to Sergeant Denver Douglas, and I’m the furthest thing from a sergeant now.”

  Ty thought for a moment—about his grades, about Shania, about Coach Carlson, Rondell, and the rest of the team. He thought about his father—the meals, the medications, the doctor visits. His mom could turn it on and off, just walk in and out when she pleased. Ty wouldn’t walk out on his dad, but he knew he had to start making tough choices. Something had to give.

  15

  FEBRUARY 5 / THURSDAY AFTER SCHOOL

  WARREN HIGH SCHOOL GYM

  “Teflon, you sure about th
is?” Rondell asked. Ty and Rondell took turns shooting free throws before practice. In the few minutes he’d played in his last game, Ty missed three shots from the field, two from the line, and, he knew, his one chance of ever starting again.

  “I don’t have much of a choice,” Ty answered.

  On the way to practice, Ty told Rondell his plan to quit the team. He just needed one last practice with more time of his butt on the bench than his Jordans on the floor to make it real.

  “It’s not ’cause I took your minutes?” Rondell asked, sounding embarrassed.

  Ty bounced the ball several times before he shot. The ball fell short. “No.”

  “Look, guys look up to you, even if you’re not starting,” Rondell said. “I know it’s no fun to ride the bench. I did it for years.” He picked up the ball, set himself and shot. All net.

  “It’s just time.” Ty spared him the details.

  “You should re-think it.”

  Ty took the ball in his hands and studied it, just like he’d studied the patterns of the basement ceiling the night before. Unable to sleep, overwhelmed by stress and worry, he lay awake, listening to his dad’s wheelchair hum and roll across the floor.

  “I don’t get it. You’re like a hero around here,” Rondell whispered. “You got game, good grades, the hottest girl. Most guys here would kill just to have one of those.”

  Ty knew what he meant, but his version of what a hero looked like had changed. A hero was someone bound to a metal chair in January and walking baby steps by February.

  “Shoot the ball, Ty. You’re gonna miss anyway,” Arquavis shouted as he joined Ty and Rondell at the foul line. Arquavis laughed so loud, it hurt Ty’s ears as much as his pride.

  Ty bounced the ball just once and took aim. The ball sailed through the air. No backboard, no rim, no net. Nothing but wood floor as the ball fell inches short. Ty could tell that Arquavis wasn’t the only one mocking him, but Ty didn’t want to see his teammates laughing faces. Head down, hiding his eyes and studying the wood grain, he mumbled, “I’m done.”

  ***

  “I won’t allow it,” Coach Carlson said. Ty sat next to him on the bench as the other players practiced. He’d told Coach he was quitting, but Coach wasn’t having it.

  “Look, I just don’t want to play anymore.”

  “Don’t give me that. You’ve played your entire life. It’s in your blood.”

  Ty didn’t argue. Ball was his blood, his skin, and his bones. It held him together.

  “You don’t want to be a quitter,” Coach said. “That’s the worst thing in the world.”

  “I just can’t—”

  Coach cut him off. “Do you know what the word resilient means?”

  Ty thought he knew, but couldn’t stand to be wrong. “No,” he answered.

  “Resilient means you’re strong in hard times, that you bounce back from adversity.”

  Ty kept his head down. Sounds of his teammates shooting, dribbling, and laughing filled the gym. They were the sounds he wanted in his life, not the beeping of machines. “I guess.”

  “Ty . . . I can only imagine how much pressure you’re under, with school and your dad at home and all. This is the hardest test you’ll face in high school,” said Coach. He leaned in close and put an arm on Ty’s shoulder. “Show me—show yourself—you’re resilient.”

  Coach handed him a ball. “Look, you can control the ball even if you can’t get your hands around it. Life’s the same. You have it in you. Don’t let me down.”

  Ty bounced the ball against the hardwood. He loved that sound. He’d heard it most of his life and couldn’t imagine life without it. He felt like he’d let his mom down, or else she’d be at home. He’d let his dad down every day in some way. “Coach, I don’t know what to do.”

  16

  FEBRUARY 7 / THURSDAY, LATE AFTERNOON

  TYSHAWN’S HOUSE

  “You made the right call,” Rondell said. Even though he lived a few blocks away from Ty, he’d walked with him all the way home. “Trust me, wearing that uniform is an honor in itself.”

  Ty let Rondell do most of the talking, just like he’d let Rondell and Coach Carlson talk him out of quitting the team. It wasn’t that he felt strong, like Coach said, but that he felt too weak to stand up for himself. I gotta find me again, Ty thought.

  “What’s going on at your house?” Rondell asked as they rounded the corner. Ty’s father stood at the top of the ramp, a skateboard under each arm. In the driveway shoveling snow was Demonte, while Benj hacked away at ice in the gutters.

  “I told ’em if they want to play, they gotta pay,” Ty’s dad shouted over the racket.

  “You can tell he was in the Army,” Ty said to Rondell, laughing. “He likes giving orders.”

  “I better bounce before he’s got me building a snowman,” Rondell said as he walked off.

  “Demonte, what’s up?” He didn’t know Demonte or Benj that well. They took the bus together, jaw-jacked about nothing, and skated on his ramp, but that was about it. Ty just didn’t hang out with skaters much.

  “What’s it look like?” Demonte answered. “I’m doing your job!”

  “I can’t believe my dad made you two—”

  “Nah, we kinda volunteered,” Demonte said. “We’re used to it.” Ty knew that, like Benj, Rondell, and half the guys he knew, Demonte had no father at home. They’d become man of the house before they learned to shave.

  “’Sides, looks like you could use the help,” said Benj as he climbed off the ladder and walked to Ty and Demonte.

  “Thanks, guys,” Ty said.

  “Benj wants to help you with something else, I bet,” Demonte laughed.

  “With what?” Ty answered as his “to-do” list ran like movie credits in his mind.

  “Take out Shania,” Demonte cracked.

  Ty pretended to laugh. He pulled his phone from his pocket to look at all the calls from Shania. None, which was way worse than twenty of them.

  “So, what’s your dad’s story?” Benj asked.

  Ty held his phone in his hand, his finger hovering over Shania’s number. Ty looked at his phone, at the porch, and at the snow-free driveway. “He was on patrol . . .” Ty began.

  ***

  “You’re breaking up with me over the phone?” Ty asked Shania. After Benj and Demonte heard his dad’s story and paid their propers, Ty finally called Shania. Like she’d done the past week, she refused to answer until Ty left her a pleading voicemail. “Shania, seriously?”

  “I got plenty of guys who wanna get with me,” Shania said. “You’re like a ghost.”

  Ty had liked being called “Boo” more than a ghost. But he wasn’t sure what to say. “I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t cut it no more.”

  Ty lay back on his bed in the basement. Upstairs, he could hear his dad pushing the walker, moving from room to room.

  “I just got so much going on,” Ty said, rattling off his responsibilities.

  She cut him off. “I thought you were quitting the team.” It had been her idea.

  “I tried, but I couldn’t. Ball is my life.”

  “I thought I was your life. That’s what you’re supposed to say. You gotta be telling me, ‘Shania, you’re the most important thing in my life.’”

  Ty was silent.

  “So, that’s what I thought,” Shania said.

  “I need your help, Ty!” Ty’s dad yelled from the top of the stairs. He sounded frantic.

  “You got nothing to say?” Shania snapped. “Seems to me—”

  Ty ended the call and started up the stairs, feeling his burden a little lighter.

  17

  FEBRUARY / THURSDAY MORNING

  WARREN HIGH SCHOOL

  Ty stepped from his car in the school parking lot. Taking the bus saved on gas, but now that he was his dad’s main caregiver, he’d asked his mom for more gas money. She gave him a gas card instead, as though she didn’t trust him.

  Ty’s phone hummed in
his pocket during Mr. Murry’s class. In the middle of a class reading assignment, everyone around him could hear it buzzing.

  A minute later, his phone hummed again.

  “Man, you gonna get that phone, Ty?” asked Demonte. “It’s hard to concentrate.”

  Mr. Murry spoke from the desk. “What’s going on?”

  Ty reached into his pocket. “It’s my phone, Mr. M. Somebody’s trying—”

  “Ty, you know my rule about phones in class,” he said as he walked toward Ty.

  Ty punched the buttons. It was a voicemail message from a nurse at St. John’s Hospital. “Please reach us. It’s about your father.”

  Ty jumped from his seat. “Mr. M., it’s the hospital. Something’s wrong with my dad.”

  With that, he stuffed his books under his arms and headed for the door.

  “Check in with the office before you leave,” said Mr. Murry, but Ty was already out the door and heading down the hall, running faster than he’d ever run in his life.

  ***

  The woman behind the hospital information desk couldn’t move fast enough. “What was the name again?” she asked.

  “Denver. Denver Douglas,” Ty said quickly. He needed information, and he needed it fast.

  “I don’t have a listing for a Denver. That’s the last name, right?”

  “No—Douglas is the last name.”

  The woman adjusted her glasses as she looked at the screen. “Oh, I found him,” she wrote on a piece of paper. She looked up. “Are you over the age of eighteen?”

  “No, but I do everything for him—where is he? Can I see him?”

  The woman handed the note to Ty. “If you’ll have a seat in the lobby, I’ll have someone from social services come down and talk to you.”

  “How long is that gonna take?” Ty asked, trying not to shout.

  “Someone from social services will be right down. Just have a seat.”

  Ty was stumped. He was finally in the same building as his father, but he couldn’t see him and still didn’t know what was going on.

  He looked around the room. There were whole families, sitting, just like him, but no one alone. What was wrong with his father? What had happened?

  He reached for his phone and pushed a button.