Spud

by Patricia Orvis

  Fingering the guitar pick still on the chain around my neck, I feel like Spud is there, somehow, in the air, and I feel a lot calmer. I fold the paper, sigh, put it on my floor and collapse back onto my bed, in my very warm room. The thunder and lightning are still at war outside, the rain pelting my window. The best conditions for a nice snooze.

  Chapter 17

  Four dark days of pouring down rain. As the saying goes, it’s been raining like cats and dogs. Some time ago, I read what that meant, but now I forget. Guess it’s not at the top of my list of things to remember. So, torrential bursts of pelting rain, loads of deafening thunder that shakes the house, sporadic flashes of lightning, some intense enough to replicate the Fourth of July fireworks shows, day and night. We get a real soaking and a bit of relief from sky-high temperatures. Now, the air feels more around seventy, and it’s so refreshing. The trees and grass and flowers are eating it up. Well, drinking it up. Mostly, I’ve stayed in my room, thinking a lot from my relaxing bed, as I listen to the storms.

  Mike’s family wanted a private family funeral, but the public was invited to stop at the wake. It was closed casket, so we didn’t see him, but I couldn’t stay long. It’s not that I had any other plans, of course, as Mike’s wake was extremely important to me, but I just couldn’t bear too much of another one of these things. I took in the pictures of Mike through the years, those displays that are always present at a wake, just like at Spud’s. I took in the music, that low-key elevator type.

  I briefly talked to some classmates, but really, I remained in a daze. I was sweltering in my black pants and white polo shirt, and my forehead dripped with sweat, my hair matted. Even though the place was air-conditioned, it was a suffocating experience. Hard to take in any air. The flowers were colorful and plentiful, and the whispers and tears over the tragedy were hushed and heart-breaking. An experience I did not want to prolong. It was nuts, unnecessary, never should have happened.

  Mike’s dad, being the big cop in town, has a lot of support and the whole town obviously knows of the family’s suffering. Maybe, now, they’ll do something about bridge jumping. And underage drinking. Is this what it takes? The cop’s own son taken by these poor choices available?

  Deena was surrounded by family and was talking a lot to Mike’s parents, so I didn’t want to interrupt anything there. They all had enough on their plates. The wake was horrible, in the sense it shouldn’t have happened. I don’t ever want to go to another one, but I’m sure I’ll have to someday, unfortunately.

  On another note, I’ve briefly talked to Deena since that horrible morning after her party, but I am trying to give her space and healing with her family. She’s not much in the mood for chatting, and I totally understand. I’m not in the mood either.

  After a few days of wall-staring and tennis ball tossing in my stuffy bedroom, I’ve finally moved onto entertainment by television and have taken advantage of the VCR to lighten my mood with The Mighty Ducks and a recording of one of my favorite past Sox games. I have to come to terms with the fact that Mike made a really irrational choice, alcohol induced, and he needed some help. It was nobody’s fault, really, just a very tragic event. It took so much heavy thinking and solitary brooding to get over Spud, well, to at least accept Spud’s accident, that I can’t fall backwards again.

  Zoë knocks on my door. Wonder what she’s been doing this past week.

  “Yeah?”

  “Jack?” she pops her head in. “What ya doing?”

  “Nada.”

  “Want to play a game of Monopoly or something?” A hopeful tone to her voice. I haven’t looked at her to see her expression.

  “Not really.”

  “Umm, well, okay.” And she leaves.

  Wait. Maybe I should. I haven’t connected yet, in a normal brother-sister way with Zoë since, well, before Spud’s death. We need to fix this. I don’t know if a game of money and power is the answer, but it might be a step. I hop up off my bed and open the door. Zoë is at the hall closet, straightening towels and sheets. She needs a break, too.

  “You know what, Zoë, why don’t we play Monopoly? It’s been awhile, and with the rain, we can’t go outside or anything. You want me to set it up in my room, on the floor?”

  The look on her face is priceless. Surprise, smile, cheer.

  “Okay, sure, sounds fun.” She closes the closet curtains and faces me. She’s got on track shorts and a tee shirt, in the mode to clean, again. “Why don’t you start to set up, and I’ll run down and grab us a couple Cokes. You want anything to eat?”

  “Nah, the pop is great. Thanks.” I head back into my room to drag the game from under my bed, as Zoë zips down the stairs, an energy in her step I haven’t seen or heard in a while. It, too, is as refreshing as the rain. Speaking of, I have my windows open, a fresh breeze coming in to keep it cool.

  “I’ll trade you your ‘Get Out of Jail Free’ card for a hundred bucks.” I offer, sitting cross-legged on the floor on the opposite side of the Monopoly board from Zoë.

  “Okay,” she says too quickly. Then, “Wait! No, Jack, you dork. I’m not falling for that. It only costs fifty to get out of jail, anyway. I don’t care if I lost a turn. You’re so not going to trick me.” We’re both laughing. Had to try.

  “Sweet! Park Place, finally!” I chime when my Man with the Horse playing piece lands on my prized property. Eagerly, I fork over the cash to Zoë the banker. She hates when I always monopolize the Park Place and Boardwalk properties. Every time she lands on them, I almost clean out her cash in rental fees. In addition, I love to own the railroads. Great money-makers. Zoë is so cheesy and always buys low cost properties like Marvin Gardens and makes hardly any money off them. Haha.

  “Oooh! Look at that, Jack!” she gloats. “I’m buying it!” She’s landed on Boardwalk. No, no, no! Everyone knows you have to own all the colors of a set before you can put on the houses and hotels and really make money. I have to have Boardwalk from her. It’s always my ultimate goal to own it.

  “Hundred dollars if you’ll give me Boardwalk, instead,” I offer, desperate to keep her from buying the place..

  “What? Not a deal, Jack. You’ll place all those hotels on them, and then if I land there, I’ll owe you way more than a hundred. You give me all your railroads, your utilities, and your Illinois Avenue, and then we’ll have a fair trade.” She’s a toughie. Learned over the years.

  “What? That’s rough, Zoë. All that just for one property from you?”

  “Your choice. How bad you want it?” she taunts, waving the Boardwalk card in the air.

  “Deal, then.” Grudgingly, I finish my Coke and hand over all four railroads, plus the other requested properties, but feel redeemed when holding the sweet, prized Boardwalk in my hands. Time to monopolize. You can’t get to “Go” without a trip over Boardwalk and Park Place. I love this game! Show me the money!

  After several rounds through the board, alternating with us both catching a rerun of Family Ties on my old TV set several inches from where we’ve been playing the game on my floor, it happens.

  “Ahh! Nooo!!!” Zoë wails, laughing and slapping her head silly-like. “Why me?” She’s landed on my precious Boardwalk.

  “That’ll be,” I tease, rubbing my chi
n to stretch out my proposal, looking all professional-like, “four thousand dollars!”

  “What?” She’s gaping at me.

  Yup!” I show her the proof.

  “Argh! Well, you win… I can’t afford all that.”

  “I’ll give you a loan,” I offer, but that’s a running joke we have in this game. It usually ends like this, me taking all her money and us realizing we’ve been playing for two hours.

  “Nah, I’ll just cut my losses. Give you all my stuff, all my money. Again. Good, game, Jack. Thanks for it. I needed the break,” she says, and then we officially do the last deal where she has to give me everything she’s bought and all the cash she’s lined up on her side of the board. Together, we count out all her money as I take it, then the value of the properties she gives me.

  My little character, that I always use, the Man with the Horse, has won again. Not a match to Zoë’s little thimble playing piece on the board. I take that, too, as a show of winning.

  “Haha,” she teases, and she doesn’t know that I like to watch Family Ties when we play, because money-obsessed Alex, played by Michael J. Fox, is a total inspiration in this money-focused board game. A little secret. Then again, maybe she feels the same way. I always win at this game, and if I’m losing, I try to end the game before it’s time to declare a winner. You know, a phone call or something. Didn’t have to this time, and besides, when we play Scrabble, it’s Zoë who always wins.

  “Yeah, thanks, was fun.” We start to organize the money and fold the board to get the game put away.

  Just then, Mom pops her head in, smiling and sweet as usual. “Dinner, kids, come on down for some,” she raises her eyes, knowing what she’ll say will please us, “tacos! Oh, Monopoly. Who won?” She looks us both in the eyes. I think she already knows what’s about to be said.

  “Ooh, tacos! Sounds awesome,” Zoë and I agree.

  “And I won!” Zoë lies. Whoever loses any game we play always claims to win when Mom asks. Tennis, Mario, Monopoly, doesn’t matter. Loser claims victory.

  “Whatever. Me. Of course. Wiped her out, Mom. Don’t let her take a career that deals with banking. She’ll so sink.” I tease, waving a wad of fake cash at her.

  “All right, well, good job anyway. So, dinner when you’re done here,” and Mom heads back downstairs.

  “Funny, Jack.” She mutters, smiling. We finish our clean up and head down to dinner.

  Boy this day is turning out to be pretty decent after all. My favorite game, favorite dinner. I hope it lasts.

  I kind of overdo it on this meal, taking in a good six yummy tacos, stuffed with hamburger, cheese, and tomatoes (no lettuce and salsa and all that for me. I like a basic taco), but it feels good. Nice, filling meal. Now, with tonight’s World Wrestling Federation show and a phone call from Deena, who’s doing so much better, I’m ready to sleep like I haven’t in weeks.

  Chapter 18

  I figure it’s about time to visit Spud, especially since my head’s a little clearer, and he’s been up in this cemetery alone, well, I guess, since the whole burial. I’ve thought so much of him and the accident, but now it’s about him, not me. I gotta talk to him, and this is the best place, I think. So, Dad dropped me off while he takes a ride to get an oil change and said he’ll be back in half an hour to get me. I’m very grateful for this, as Spud’s buried in Marseilles, and there’s no other way to get here without Dad bringing me. Too far to walk. And I’m grateful for the privacy.

  I don’t know what to say at first, as I’m kneeling on the grass in front of the headstone, or how this is even suppose to take place, but Spud deserves my company. He was my best buddy when some of the preps didn’t give me a chance. Was there for all those milestones: birthdays, first drink, first kiss (though Penny Partak is not a girl I’m proud to admit smooching). He was the one who taught me a couple strings on the guitar. Had my back against the adults at a family party when someone left the door open at Ned’s when the heat was on last winter. Gave me his favorite White Sox collection of baseball cards for my birthday last year. Sat next to me on the rickety Shockwave at Six Flags. The prized guitar pick necklace, which I’m fingering now. The memories.

  The headstone is simple:

  Daniel “Spud” Jacob Cooper

  March 5, 1981 – July 14, 1995

  A fun-loving country son, brother, and friend, who will be missed always. Rest in Peace, our love…

  His mom was always really attached to the whole country thing, with the farm and all, and I guess his dad, too, with the band and all. And Spud, I’m thinking of his cowboy boots, guitar, and the pick. I made sure to tuck one of his in the heart pocket of his shirt when I passed by his coffin. The one he kept with the guitar at my place.

  So, kneeling on the grass in front of the memorial, on top of where I perceive his body must be lying, I’m a little freaked, but accepting. The view is not too shabby, oak trees to the rear of the stone, a gravel road leading far up the way to the head of the cemetery. He’s got a prime spot. Peaceful.

  It’s pretty hot again, and I’m tempted to take off my shirt, as most days have prompted this summer, but I can’t. Wouldn’t be proper. Well, here goes.

  “Spud, man, I miss you so much. I can’t believe you’re really gone. I’m so sorry that I wasn’t right there to get you out of the water. Why, man? Why did you have to jump again? You knew how dangerous… No, that’s not gonna make a difference.

  “I miss you. I gotta thank you, though. You’ve been such a great friend. I don’t think anyone could come close. I want to try to learn the guitar for you; I’ll read up on it. You left yours at my place, and your pops said to just keep it there. So maybe…

  “Everyone misses you. So much. I never even realized…. What an impact. And Mike and Deena split. Then Mike, man he did the same thing. But on purpose. It’s been a rough ride. It’s crazy, but I feel like it’s all going to get better. It has to.

  “And Deena. She’s awesome. I’ll let you know how that goes. You were always the one who the girls just swooned over. I remember how you always said, ‘Life’s a dance, Jackson, lots of ‘em. Got to have lots of different dances, now, so you’ll know the right one to pick when it matters.’

  “You’d never get attached to just one girl. Always had a new fling, a new ‘dance’ to trot. Lots of energy. I don’t think I’m quite that outgoing, at least with the girls. I’d rather have many different dances with one girl, instead of lots of girls. But we’re young. We were young. You know what I mean. Thanks for showing me how to act around gals, though, treat ’em right, hold the door, say nice things. You’re a gentleman, and I hope I can be as great. A legend you were, are. Damn, this is hard to say the right way. But Deena seems so right. I’ll keep ya posted.

  “Anyway, Spud, please, I hope you’re at peace. Safe, content. I hope it didn’t hurt too much, that you didn’t suffer, that you’re enjoying all the country music and guitars and girls in Heaven. I don’t know what to say. I just had to stop by. Sorry I didn’t sooner, but I couldn’t accept it, man. It was all too unreal, still is, actually, but it’s also real. How does this happen?”

  Too young! He never got to drive, to go to prom, to… No. Stop this, Jackson. You can’t keep backtracking with these sorts of thoughts. Move fo
rward right now. Forward.

  “Okay, you know, this is a start. I’m so sorry. I’ll try again soon, man. I love you, Spud. Rest man, rest.”

  Chapter 19

  Freezing! Cannot feel my toes, and it’s like we’re engulfed in an avalanche! Gotta be like twenty degrees, and I can actually see my breath. It’s silly, but it’s awesome. In the winter, we hate that it’s so cold you can see your breath, but right now it’s so welcome! What a giddy feeling, and I am seriously thinking of moving into this movie theater.

  Dad gave me a small bit of cash to go do something to entertain myself, get out of the house for a while, have some fun, and so I asked Deena if she’d like to catch a film, occupy our minds for a bit, and her parents have dropped us off at the movies in Ottawa. Personally, I was hoping to catch the highly reviewed Apollo 13 with Tom Hanks, but being the gentleman and putting her first, I suggested Clueless, if Deena would be into it. And she was. Of course, she was. I should have known.

  Absolutely thrilled, she had said. She loves Alicia Silverstone, she had gushed. Has been so antsy to see this film, she had screeched (into my poor ear on the phone). The total epitome of her film seeing, she had gushed again. Has to see this film, she had screeched once more. Into my ear. You get the picture. Girls. Typical.

  So, we’re sitting in the frigid air conditioning at the Roxy Cinema waiting for Clueless to start. Nobody better ever say I’m not a compromiser.

  In the back of the theater, I take Deena’s hand. The trailers for other films are starting as we wait for our feature. She coughs, and I offer her a sip of the Coke we got to share.