by Tim Tharp
Then I seen it, that little old gold loving cup, setting way off in the corner gathering dust. It wasn't no more than four inches high, and the lettering on front read OUTSTANDING TEAMWORK. I liked that. Teamwork. Not team spirit, not Rah, rah, we're the best and everyone else is a loser. Not feeling big by looking at other folks like they was small. That's the easiest thing in the world to get tempted into, siding up with the better-than-everyones. I bet even a weed would call hisself a daisy if he could get away with it.
Teamwork, though, that's different. Everybody together, sweating from doing push-ups and running laps, scrimmaging and hitting the sleds, drill after drill, one guy backing up the other guy, going full bore right up till the last whistle and then jogging, all wore out, up the hill to the locker room. And everybody taking turns drinking. Working and working and working, then getting that drink—and it tastes sweeter than blackberry wine.
Trying. Hard. Helping each other to do better and better, and then running out on game day together and seeing what come of it.
There wasn't any putting into words everything that meant to me. It was about more than football, even, something that could last on past senior season. Suddenly, I wished Sara was there. She'd understand. She had a way of listening that was like she knew what you meant behind the words you said.
That's the thing. If you don't got someone to listen and really understand, then it's like that deal about the tree falling in the forest and whuther it makes a noise even when no one's around to hear it. That's how I felt, anyways. There was so much I thought about that I never could tell anybody, and maybe it wasn't real in the first place if no one was around to understand it.
But Sara wasn't waiting outside the window. Misty was and she wanted her a trophy, not the meaning behind one.
Girls. They're a sight, ain't they?
Here I had one of them made me forget who I was, and the other one made me feel like who I really ought to be. I didn't know which was worse.
Now I was back to being confused all over. The smell of Misty's perfume come back to me and clouded up my head, even though she wasn't nowheres close. I started thinking maybe she would understand. Not as quick as Sara, but maybe if I just took this one little Outstanding Teamwork trophy out to her and explained about them ghosts in the hall and the low water fountains and short desks, she'd get it. She'd look up at me with them shiny blue eyes, soaking in everything I was telling her, thinking it was the deepest thing she ever heard, her little heart banging in her chest from what she was starting to feel for me.
And there I was. Hypnotized again.
The picture of how it'd be floated right up in front of me. I'd set down in one of them swings, and she'd straddle my lap and we'd kiss a long, head-turning kiss like they do on TV. Then, without me even having to ask, she'd stretch her arms up, and I'd pull that fuzzy pink sweater off over her head and unfasten her bra, and she'd undo the pearly buttons down the front of my shirt.
She'd say even with all them boys she dated from other towns, she hadn't never gone all the way, and I'd say I hadn't neither. I was just waiting for the right girl, I'd say, and then we'd have a first time like no one else ever had. It wouldn't be anything like what the other guys talked about when we cruised the streets in Citronella. Them and their converted basements. Next time they brought that up, all I'd have to do is nod and say, “Boys, you ain't got no more idea what you're talking about than a Sunday-school teacher knows how to cuss a good blue streak.”
The trophy case didn't have nothing but a silver clasp lock to hold the sliding doors shut, so it wasn't no big deal to just pull out my house key and pry that little old thing off there in about a second flat. There was a fair damsel outside waiting, and if she wanted her a trophy, then a gallant knight like me durn sure had to get her one.
Still, I hated to break up that town of trophies, even if I wasn't taking nothing but a dusty four-incher that none of the kids was likely to miss. There was just a kind of spell about it I didn't want to snap. So I rearranged a couple of the bigger ones and clamped that lock back on and stood back and checked it over. I swear, fifteen state troopers couldn't have told the difference if you gave them a search warrant and police dog.
When I got back to the open window, I couldn't see Misty nowhere. “Hey,” I whispered. “Misty? You out there? Wait'll you see what I got you.”
But I still didn't see her when I landed down on the ground outside. She wasn't at the swings neither. I was standing there looking every which way when a giggle come tinkling down from somewhere. “Misty?” I said.
There she was, setting up on the slide on the other side of the monkey bars. “Where's my trophy?” she said.
“Right here.” I held it up high, real proud of choosing the one on teamwork like I done.
She slid back down to the ground and dusted the seat of her britches off. “It's kind of little,” she said.
“Wait'll you read what it says on the front,” I told her.
She took the handle between her finger and thumb, holding it out kind of like she thought it might drip something nasty off on her. “Outstanding teamwork,” she said. “Well, I guess that's better than worst teamwork.”
“See,” I said, “it's like a town full of trophies in there, and there's these little water fountains and desks and—”
“Come on,” she cut in. “Let's get going. I want to get out to the festival before it's too late.”
“Too late for what?” I asked.
“Just too late.” She turned and headed on up the slope towards the parking lot.
When we got back to Citronella, Blaine and Rachel was setting about as far apart as they could. Blaine wasn't wearing his letter jacket now, and both of them's hair was messed up. They looked a little sweaty too, for how cool it was out.
“It's about time you two got back,” Blaine said as we climbed inside.
“What's the matter with y'all?” Misty said, sliding over and leaning against the door.
“Nothing,” Rachel said. “Except I guess Blaine forgot Knights was supposed to be gentlemen.”
“Hey,” Blaine said. “That's only when we got our letter jackets on. It wasn't my fault you skinned mine off me.”
Misty laughed at that one. “That sounds like my kind of gentleman,” she said. Then she launched off on the topic of what schools had the prettiest letter jackets, and that turned into something about pants. I didn't listen to all she talked about, but there sure wasn't nothing in there about my trophy or teamwork or how it was to look for the meaning behind things.
Later on, we was cruising down Main, heading for the festival, and I noticed the trophy laying on the floorboard with the paper cups and beer cans and other trash. I wished I'd never even taken it out of the case then. I wanted to snatch it up and head back over to Malcolm Hickey and put it right back in with the other trophies where it belonged. But no one else was about to understand that, so I kept quiet and left it where it lay.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Over at Leonard Biggins Park, Wild West Days was in full swing. They had the same old carnival out there they always had with its sorry little merry-go-round and rickety Ferris wheel. On the north side, where we come in, the usual red, white, and blue refreshment stands was selling their pop and cotton candy and corn dogs and them huge brown turkey legs wrapped up in greasy paper napkins. Someone said one booth had fried Oreo cookies.
What that stuff had to do with the Wild West, I never did know. It's kind of hard to picture the Doolin gang riding around robbing trains and eating cotton candy and corn dogs and taking turns at the Ferris wheel. There was a big crowd out, though, and I don't guess they gave a day-old donut what any of it had to do with how wild the West was.
Blaine and Rachel and Misty walked ahead, and I trailed back a little, swiveling my head this way and the other, on the lookout for Sara. It was a weird deal. I wanted to run into her and I didn't want to run into her at the same time. On the one hand, I always liked seeing her, but on the
other, I was still supposed to be with Misty. Even if she didn't seem to much care whuther I tagged along or dropped down a hole, I figured I was obligated to her for the time being, anyways. How I'd explain that to Sara, I didn't know, but I was too big to hide, and something about her turned me too honest to lie, so I was going to have to explain somehow.
On the far side of the park, a good-size crowd done gathered round for the musical entertainment they had up on a bandstand in front of the pavilion. Some was cocked back in lawn chairs, but most was sprawled out on blankets or straight on the grass. We parked ourselves on an empty patch of ground at the back, and I set on the end of the row so I could keep on the lookout for Sara. Still wasn't no sign of her, and I got to thinking maybe her and her family already come and went. That probably would've been the lucky thing, but it was a disappointment to think about anyways.
A local country band was onstage. They was kind of old and so was their songs, but I didn't mind. Misty didn't make no secret out of how bored she was, though. We hadn't watched them ten minutes when she stretched out her arms and yawned and said she had to go visit the little girls' room. The porta-potties was on the other side of a line of oaks, and I watched her head off that way just to make sure she was all right. The way she swang that little butt of hers back and forth, she was sure worth watching for other reasons too, but I wasn't about to let my hormones get out of control over her no more now.
While I was looking off after her, I seen something I didn't notice before—an empty wheelchair parked on the grass way on the other side of the crowd. Sure enough, Mr. and Mrs. Reynolds was stretched out on a blanket in front of it, along with Sara's little sister, Lisa. Sara wasn't with them, but there was enough of an open spot left on that blanket that you could bet she'd been there sometime.
Now this don't make a bit of sense, but just the idea that Sara seen me come strolling along with Misty hit me about like a rusty hammer right in the chest bone. Wasn't no good reason for me to feel guilty like that. Me and Sara never even went out on a real date. We sure wasn't boyfriend and girlfriend. But somehow that didn't matter. I had to go find her and explain. That's how it was with Sara. I was always wanting to explain something to her, even when I didn't know exactly what it was.
She wasn't nowhere near the edges of the crowd or the line of oak trees or over by the Ferris wheel or merry-go-round, but just as I turned around the corner of the turkey-leg booth, I about run smack into her and her giant cup full of pop.
I stepped back and asked her if I made her spill any, and she looked down and said maybe just a little.
“Here,” I said, reaching back for my wallet. “Let me get you another one.”
“That's all right.” She took a suck on her straw. “There's still plenty left.”
So there we was, standing about a foot apart, and, course, everything I thought I'd explain to her flew right out of my mind, leaving my head about as empty as a birdhouse on a cold December day.
“Sure is a nice night out,” she said.
And I didn't come back with nothing but, “Sure is.”
I looked off down the row of refreshment stands, hoping maybe I'd see something down there worth talking about.
“Did you get out in time to see the bluegrass band?” she asked.
“Naw. I just been out here a little while.” I was pretty sure saying I instead of we didn't exactly count as an official lie.
“They were a lot better than these guys playing now.” She waved in the direction of where the band was. A different group was up now, younger with newer songs. “I can't stand this Top 40 stuff on the radio these days. My dad says it's like the polyester of country music.”
I laughed. “I never thought of it like that. That's a good one.”
She took another drag off her straw. “So,” she said. “I guess you're out here with Misty Koonce?”
Just like that. She sure didn't beat around the bush none.
“Uh, yeah,” I said. “But we're not going out, like dating or anything like that. I mean, it is a date, but it's just a fix-up kind of deal.” I felt about like I was heading down a curvy road to nowhere, the way I was rambling around. “Does that even make any sense at all?”
“Sure,” she said. “You're out, but you're not going out. You're on a date, but you're not dating dating.” She cracked into a big grin, and we both got to laughing at how it sounded.
“Anyways,” I said, “it was Blaine's idea. He got Rachel to set it up.”
“You sure do hang around with Blaine a lot, don't you?”
“Yep,” I said, kind of rocking back on my heels a little. I was always proud of being Blaine's best friend. “Me and old Blaine, we're about like brothers.”
“Really?” She looked me square in the eye like she was sizing something up. “What makes you think that?”
That got me rocking back forward again. “What do you mean? That's what everyone says.”
“But outside of playing football, y'all don't seem that much alike. I mean, for one thing, I wouldn't even think of trying to talk to Blaine about the things I could talk to you about. I don't even think he'd hear a word I was saying. You know?”
“Yeah, I know. He don't always listen real good. But you just gotta get to know him. We talk about a buncha stuff.” I wanted Sara to like Blaine, same as I wanted him to like her. But standing there looking into them brown eyes, I could see she knew how it was. She knew I had a whole tangled woods worth of thoughts in me that my best buddy didn't have the first idea about.
She looked down and fiddled with the straw in her cup for a second, then looked me back in the eye. “I bet you don't talk to him about how you like to take walks in the country and watch the sun come up.”
“No,” I said. “I guess you're about the only one I talked to about that.”
She gave that just a little bitty breath of a smile and said, “Well, you know what, the first time I saw you in eighth grade, when you came walking into math class, I could tell there was more to you than meets the eye.”
“Yeah?” I rubbed my hand across the top of my head the way I do. “I guess I never was much to look at.”
“I don't know about that.” She looked away down the row of refreshment stands like maybe she didn't want me to see how big her smile had got now.
Right there, I felt like stepping over and hugging her. Wrapping her right up in my arms and telling her everything I ever wanted to say to anyone. Probably scare her so bad she'd run home and lock the door for a week. Take out one of them stalker-restraining orders on me. Or maybe not. Maybe she'd have hugged me back and said, “Go on and tell it. Tell it all.”
Course, I wasn't about to find out, not right then. Officially, I was still out on a date with Misty, and besides, I just didn't do things like that. But I figured I wouldn't be breaking no date rules if I at least said something about how I was thinking of taking me a good long walk out in the woods with a picnic lunch and wouldn't mind some company when I did.
“So,” I started off. “I was thinking, you ever go out around Lake Hawkshaw much?”
“Oh, sure. We go out there and have picnics all the time.”
“Well.” I kind of shifted back and forth from one foot to the other. “They got a trail out there that leads through the woods and all the way up to these real great cliffs looking out over the lake. You ever hike up there any?”
“No,” she said. “We don't do much hiking. My dad and all.”
“That's right. I guess that was dumb.”
“That's okay.” She reached over and touched my arm real light just to show she didn't take no offense. “I'd like to hike up there. I bet it's beautiful in the fall.”
“It sure is. You'd really like it.” The only thing I had left to say was how about we both go out there together, but all the sudden, a hand clamped down on my arm and yanked me around the other direction.
It was Blaine, and he looked mad. “What are you doing over here?”
I started to explain,
but he didn't let me get a half of it out. “You know what's been happening while you was piddling around?” He didn't wait for me to answer that one neither. “C'mere and take a look.”
He dragged me over about five yards so we could see past the corn-dog booth. At first, I didn't see what he was talking about, but then he pointed out this big oak way across the way, and there they was, three big boys and one little one all ganged around Misty Koonce.
“So what?” I said. For a second there, I guess I done forgot Misty was supposed to be my date.
It's guaranteed old Blaine didn't forget, though. His eyes flamed up hotter than a couple of Bunsen burners. “I'll tell you so what,” he said. “Take a look at them red letter jackets over there. Okalah boys. Trying to snake your date right out from under you.”
“Looks to me like they're just talking,” I said. Truth be told, I wouldn't have minded if Misty did hook up with someone else. That way I wouldn't feel bad over how much I was enjoying talking to Sara when I was supposed to be on a date with another girl. Let Misty traipse off with them boys to Tucumcari, New Mexico, or anywheres else they wanted. I'd just stay here and hang with Sara till they folded the refreshment booths up and tore the Ferris wheel down. That'd be fine by me.
Course, Blaine didn't see it that way. He got going on how them Okalah characters was not only disrespecting me but the whole Knights team and the town of Kennisaw to boot. “You might let people walk all over you like that,” he said. “But I ain't gonna let 'em get away with it.”
You should've heard him. He was so full up with righteousness he might as well have been behind a high pulpit with one of them shiny blue robes on. Me, I didn't care so much if they did snake Misty off, but I had to admit them boys was showing some pretty hefty disrespect for us Kennisaw folk. Blaine had that pegged one hundred percent. Here I was, out on a date with Misty Koonce in her pink sweater, and these boys roll into our town, bent on hauling her off with them. For all they knew, I could've been in love with her too. Flat-out, jelly-legged, perfume-hypnotized, trophy-stealing in love. And they didn't care no more than if I was nothing but a little old ant trying to haul a bread crumb up a slick hill.