Making Waves

by Cassandra King

  “That was part of it. Tim—could we, I mean, do you want to sit down so we can talk?” His dark hair now caught the gleam of the moonlight, too, but his face was still shadowy.

  “No. I’m fine.” I could barely hear Tim now.

  “Are you, Tim? Really?” Taylor took a step toward him, but then he stopped.

  Tim shrugged his shoulders. “I’m alive, ain’t I?”

  Suddenly Taylor turned from Tim, like he couldn’t stand to look at him anymore. His face was clear in the moonlight, and I was surprised at the torment I saw there.

  “Oh, God, Tim! Shit, man—I wish it had been me instead of you—I’d give anything if it had been!” Taylor’s voice, that I’d always thought to be so snooty, was in pure agony.

  I could see Tim shake his head, still standing there with his hand in his pocket.

  “Don’t say that, Taylor.” He seemed embarrassed by Taylor’s outburst. I couldn’t see his face but could tell by the way he hung his head.

  There was the flash of a match as Taylor lit a cigarette. “There’s one thing you’ve got to understand,” Taylor said as the smoke from the cigarette floated around them. “I swear to God I didn’t realize how bad off you were until I saw you the other day—I swear it!”

  This time it was Tim who shuffled around and then looked out over the field. “Would it have made any difference if you had?”

  Taylor seemed startled, and he threw his cigarette down. He couldn’t have taken more than two drags off it. What I heard from him next was so cruel I almost came out of the shadows after him—Taylor laughed.

  “Well, I’ll be damned, Tim! You haven’t changed after all.” He lit another cigarette. I never knew he was such a chain-smoker. “One of the things I always liked about you, Tim, was your honesty. No bullshit, no melodrama like me. Just plain old Tim Sullivan.”

  I’d forgotten Taylor’s crazy way of speaking and the way he used long words. I never was able to figure out what he was talking about half the time, which always made me feel stupid around him.

  “Let’s sit down,” Taylor said again, and this time they walked over to the bleachers. I could see both of them plainer now, and they were closer by. I stayed in the shadows so they couldn’t see me.

  Taylor took a deep drag of his cigarette and leaned toward Tim. “How well you’ve always known me! And you’re right—it probably wouldn’t have made any difference, Tim. I went crazy anyway, just thinking of what I’d done to you, how I had ruined your life.”

  Tim thought on that a minute. “I did wonder why I never heard from you.”

  “Hell, man, you know why! I’m not strong like you are—I never have been. If I’d gone through what you did, I’d probably have offed myself. I thought about it, anyway. But I bet you never let that kind of thinking get to you.”

  Taylor leaned back and smoked his cigarette, but his face was still twisted with pain.

  “It’s okay now. For a while, they thought I’d lose my leg. Anything would be better than that,” Tim said. “And my arm is lame and still bothers me a lot, but I can use my hand.”

  Taylor turned to Tim suddenly, and his face looked real angry. “I wish to God you’d stop being so damned noble about it—you’re going to make me puke!” he yelled. “I left you to die, you lost the scholarship and you’ll never play football again. You’re a cripple for life, and you say it’s okay? What’s wrong with you, Tim—did you have brain damage, too?”

  I could have easily killed Taylor Dupree right then. Tim just sat there like the fool he is. I could’ve killed him, too. He should beat the crap out of Taylor while he has the chance, I thought. To my surprise, it was almost like Taylor wanted him to.

  “I thought you’d beat the shit out of me when you got here tonight,” Taylor said furiously.

  “That might have made you feel better, Taylor. But it wouldn’t change anything, would it?” Tim said.

  For a minute, it looked like Tim would have to anyway. To my horror, Taylor reached over and hit Tim on the shoulder.

  “Come on, Tim. You say you can still use your arm—let’s see you do it.”

  Tim pulled away from him. “Lay off the crap, Taylor.”

  Taylor shoved him this time, trying to pick a fight. “Come on, man—show me your stuff, like you use to.”

  Taylor jumped down from the bleachers and ran out on the field, holding out his arms to catch an imaginary pass. I swear to God he must be drunk or crazy.

  “Come on, quarterback. Throw me a pass,” Taylor said. “You got a famous throwing arm, all the scouts in the stands are watching—throw me a pass!”

  The fool pretended like he caught a pass and then he ran back to Tim. “Which scholarship offer will you take, Mr. Big Shit? They all want you—Notre Dame, Michigan, USC—all of them.”

  Tim looked disgusted finally. “Shut up, Taylor.”

  Taylor held out his hand like he held a microphone. He was crazy as hell; I always knew it.

  “Oh, please give me an interview, Mr. Big Shit. Tell your fans why you are still in this shitty little town instead of quarterbacking Tulane. Tell us what happened to ruin all your plans—to ruin your whole life!”

  Taylor pretended to hold the microphone so that Tim could talk into it, and Tim knocked his hand away.

  “Come on, Taylor. Crap.”

  Suddenly it was like all the fight went out of Taylor. He sank down on the bleachers, right in front of Tim, and put his head in his hands. I couldn’t believe my eyes—he was crying. His shoulders shook and his voice came out in hoarse sobs, like those of a little boy.

  “I never meant for this to happen, Tim. I wish to God I could make it up to you.”

  Tim put his head down in his hands, too, but he only rubbed his forehead wearily before turning back to look at Taylor.

  “You can’t change things once they happen, Taylor. I wish it hadn’t happened either, but that don’t change it. I really wish you could put it behind you, like I’ve had to.”

  Taylor fumbled in his jeans pocket and took out his handkerchief and wiped his eyes. “Shit,” he said, his voice soft. “I didn’t mean to break down like that, Tim. Not with all you’ve been through.”

  Tim shrugged. “Ain’t nothing wrong with crying, Taylor. I’ve done plenty of it myself.”

  “God, I wish I had a drink. Let’s go somewhere and get a beer, Tim.” Taylor was wiping his eyes on his sleeves. To my surprise, Tim smiled.

  “One good thing—we could if we wanted to,” Tim said. “I never could go anywhere and have a drink with you—I was always in training.” That was for sure. Tim was such a prized athlete Coach made him train year-round.

  “Yeah.” Taylor nodded. “And you were the only one who never broke training. I only remember one time. Do you remember that night?”

  “Oh, yeah. I won’t ever forget that night—I’ve never been that sick in my life,” Tim said.

  I knew exactly what they were talking about—one of my worse memories. Tim and I almost broke up because I caught him coming out of Taylor’s house the day after the championship game, so hungover he was pathetic. I’d been frantic with worry about him, and he had spent the night with Taylor. I knew for sure Taylor got him drunk, too, though Tim made up some story about Pleese Davis. But I knew Taylor was jealous Tim had been with me instead of him on the most important night of Tim’s life. No, I’d never forget that, either.

  Tim smiled again and looked over at Taylor. “Hey, you remember that dog me and you and Cat found when we were kids—the one that had been hit by a car or something?”

  Taylor looked up at him surprised.

  “Yeah, I sure do. Cat killed the damn thing pouring whiskey down his throat, trying to revive him. What on earth made you think about that?”

  Tim shrugged. “I don’t know. Now that you’re back, I got to thinking about Cat. Do you miss her?”

  “Oh, God, yes. I miss her—and you. Both of you, so damn bad these past two years.” Taylor ran his hand through his long, thick hai
r. He seemed to have himself under control now. “Tim? Can I ask you something?”

  Tim nodded, and Taylor went on. “Are you going to take that scholarship of Miss Maudie’s?”

  Tim looked at him puzzled. “Who—oh, I guess Sarah Williams told you about that, huh?”

  “Yeah. And I saw the sign you drew, too. Man, it is really good! I’d forgotten how much talent you have. But you could always do anything you wanted to.”

  Tim shrugged. “I always liked to draw, but I quit once football got so important in my life. Funny thing is, they started me back in the hospital, in rehab. When I was learning to use my right hand again. I’ve been doing some drawing ever since.”

  “I hope you’ll take that scholarship, Tim. You could drive over to the university, not even have to move anywhere. Hey—maybe me and you could ride together. I’m planning on transferring there myself.”

  “No kidding? That’ll be great. It’s something to think about,” Tim said.

  Taylor ran his hand through his hair again, but even from where I stood, I could tell that he was more relaxed. I relaxed, too. I saw now that I may have been wrong to try and keep Tim and Taylor apart like I had. If I wanted Tim to get over the whole thing completely, he needed this chance to see Taylor and talk with him. Bad as I hated to admit it, it probably was the only thing that could help Tim put it all behind him. And in doing so, put Taylor and their friendship behind him, too. They had probably grown away from each other during these last two years. I knew for sure that Tim would never feel the same about Taylor and let him influence him like he had in the past. How mistaken I had been!

  Tim even teased Taylor some, now that they were both more relaxed with each other.

  “Man, I’ve been hearing all sorts of things about you and Sarah Williams,” Tim said. “She’s something else, ain’t she? I hope Donnette’ll look that good at her age.”

  Taylor laughed, shaking his head.

  “All that stuff is not true—unfortunately for me. Ellis and Sonny spread that crap. Oh, I admit, I’ve got a tremendous crush on her and would give anything if there was any way …” His voice trailed off, and he shook his head again. “She’s helped me more than I can ever tell you, Tim. She’s one hell of a woman.”

  Taylor glanced over at Tim and then continued, saying, “How does Donnette feel about you taking that scholarship of Miss Maudie’s?” My ears perked up at that question.

  Tim shrugged. “I don’t really know yet. We ain’t talked that much about it. Ever since you called me, I’ve been thinking so much about these past two years that I haven’t thought about the scholarship, tell you the truth.” Tim studied Taylor before going on. “Donnette’s been through too much with me lately, Taylor. I don’t know how I would have made it without her being with me. So I definitely will not take that scholarship unless she wants me to.”

  “But if she wants you to, will you?”

  Tim looked out over the field, then nodded. “Yeah. I just might do it. I never thought I’d have another chance like this. Especially in art. It blows my mind. I’m kind of excited about it.”

  I was glad they couldn’t see me standing there in the dark by that smelly old locker room, because tears were rolling down my cheeks and I was smiling like a damn idiot. For the first time in two years, I felt relief. After all the pain and suffering we’d been through, it really was over now.

  I started to step out of the shadows and go over to them, but I decided instead to slip back home and wait for Tim instead. Let him tell me all about this. I could hear him and Taylor’s voices as they spoke softly, and I heard Tim chuckle over something Taylor said. I could cut behind them and they wouldn’t see me.

  I put my shoes back on, then slipped quietly behind the locker room. A huge blue devil was painted on the side, looking silly in the white moonlight. I cut behind the tall bleachers where Tim and Taylor had sat a few minutes ago. They were now standing like they were about to leave, too, so I hurried. I was almost past them when Taylor said something that froze me in my tracks.

  “Tim. You never told Donnette the truth about what happened that night, did you?”

  At first I thought that I couldn’t move, that I was paralyzed. I could see them plain as day through the bleachers, facing each other. Holding my breath, I crept closer to them and knelt down behind a post.

  “No. I’d never tell anybody that, Taylor.”

  I’d never heard Tim’s voice sound so strange before.

  “Tim—I think we might need to talk about it now. I think I finally understand it,” Taylor said.

  I didn’t know what in the hell was going on, what they were talking about. They must have been drinking that night. Or maybe doing drugs. I always felt like there was something wrong about the whole thing. I heard that strange, choked voice of Tim’s again.

  “Look, Taylor. I think it’s best never to mention it again.”

  “I had awful nightmares, Tim. I lived it over and over.” Taylor could barely be heard now. Whatever it was, it was killing him.

  “Me, too. That’s why we don’t need to talk about it, Taylor. We both know we were—crazy that night.”

  “Oh, shit, Tim! If only it were that simple. But now I understand more about the confusion I felt then. I’ve had my brain probed by enough shrinks; I should know more. And Sarah’s really helped me, too.”

  Tim looked at Taylor, shocked. “You didn’t tell her!”

  “I never told anyone else, Tim, I swear to God. But she’s helped me work on my feelings and the ambivalence I experienced then.”

  Bound for Taylor to start using them big words again and talking his crazy talk. I crept even closer when I saw the tortured expression on his face, though. Suddenly Taylor reached over and took ahold of Tim’s arm.

  “See? I can relate to you now, touch you, as a friend, without that other hell—”

  Tim jerked away from him.

  “Taylor, goddamn you—SHUT UP! We were both messed up in the head then—I know that. It didn’t mean anything, to either of us.”

  “It meant something to you. You wrecked the car because of it,” Taylor said.

  Tim was driving! That couldn’t be right. I didn’t believe this. Taylor cleared it up with his next statement.

  “When you grabbed the steering wheel like you did, that’s what caused me to lose control of the car,” he said.

  “Oh, Jesus Christ,” was all Tim could say. “I remember now.”

  “So don’t tell me that it didn’t mean anything, Tim. There was too much between us back then, man. I’ve never been so close to anyone, not even Cat—I’ve never had such strong feelings before. We didn’t know how to handle them, did we? Neither one of us.”

  Taylor’s voice broke and he turned away violently. “Oh, God—I was so confused then—” He was crying again.

  The look that came over Tim’s face as he looked down at Taylor like to have broke my heart in two. I knew then what I’d always known about Tim, that he was too good for this world. I watched in disbelief as he reached out with that broken, useless arm of his toward Taylor. Lifting with his left hand, he put that arm around his shoulders, just like I’d seen him do so many times with his brother Tommy. With their heads bent together, he spoke so quietly that I couldn’t hear what he said, but I could tell that the gentleness of his words was easing Taylor’s awful torment by the look that came over his face. Then Taylor, still crying like a baby, reached out for Tim.

  Suddenly I couldn’t watch anymore. I ran away from that dark stadium and those two figures huddled together in the moonlight as fast as I could.

  It was not until the next day that I knew what must be done. I had pretended to be asleep when Tim came in because I had to think it through, plan it all out. I was too upset to even think at first; my feet were swollen and my head was throbbing. I was totally exhausted and spent.

  Tim was gone to work by the time I got up the next morning—I was so tired that it was easy for me to pretend to be asleep so I didn’
t have to face him. Then when he came home for lunch, I fixed us a bologna sandwich and we talked about Tommy and the football game. I hadn’t said a thing to him about last night, and he hadn’t mentioned it to me, either.

  But he was definitely different—as though an awful burden had been lifted from his shoulders. Thank God, he finished his sandwich quickly and left; he’d said that Coach was waiting for him at the school. We were going to the ballgame later.

  I watched out the window as he went to his truck and I saw he wasn’t limping as bad. I’d do anything on earth to keep him that way—anything. When I saw Tim reach out to Taylor, I realized someone like Tim deserves a better life than he could have hanging around a lumber mill or a football field, that it was up to me to make sure he got it. Whatever it took. I watched as Tim drove away in his pickup.

  Soon as Tim was gone, I went to the shop and called my afternoon customers, canceling their appointments. I could only hope that they’d reschedule them instead of going elsewhere, for I had at least fifty dollars’ worth of work coming in that afternoon. Oh, well. That really didn’t matter as much as what I had to do.

  I went back into the kitchen after I’d canceled all my customers. Still thinking of my plan, I reached for the phone book and made the calls before I changed my mind. My first call was to Ellis, for I had to be sure that she could promise me things would work out with her sister, Glenda, that I could count on it. Then, with trembling fingers, I made the other call.

  Two rings and an answer. It was him.

  “It’s Donnette—I was hoping that you’d be there,” I said, breathlessly. I couldn’t chicken out now. “I need to see you right away. Come over to my Aunt Essie’s old house. That’s where we live now. Come in the back door, to the kitchen.”

  I went quickly to the front bedroom, combed my hair and put on fresh lipstick. On the dresser was the drawing Tim did for the sign. Making Waves. That was what I had to do. I took the drawing back to the kitchen with me and sat down at the kitchen table to wait for him.