by John Coy
“I know.” He looks down.
“I’m sorry.”
Dad doesn’t respond and we sit without saying anything. Then I remember what I wanted to know. “What was his name?”
“Luke.” Dad whispers it like a prayer.
“What was he like?”
“He was a good little guy. Dark hair, smiley.” Dad’s face softens. “Not a day goes by that I don’t think of him.”
It must have been so difficult. I try to picture Dad and Luke together.
“You know, when I was young, I always considered myself lucky,” Dad says. “I was lucky in cards, lucky in sports, lucky in life. When Luke died, I never considered myself lucky again.”
Dad pauses. “I was one room away and I didn’t know what was happening. In my own house. I didn’t do anything.”
We sit in silence. Was losing Luke part of the reason Dad’s been so hard on me? Did he see me as the replacement? Dad holds his hands together and spins his thumbs. His fingernails are short, like mine. He must bite his nails, too.
“Dad, where’s Luke buried?”
“In the Veteran’s Cemetery, by the airport in the Cities.”
“Why there?”
“Your mother and I didn’t have much money. We didn’t know what to do. A friend said, ‘You’ve been in the navy. You can have him buried at the Veteran’s Cemetery.’ I’m not sure about it now, though.”
“Why?”
“No other family’s there. The grave is one white marker among thousands.”
“I’d like to see it.”
“Yeah, we’ll do that.”
This isn’t the type of conversation either of us is used to.
“Thanks, Dad.”
“Yeah.”
I know enough not to do something stupid like give him a hug.
Saturday morning when I call Drew, I recognize Stephen’s voice.
“Hi, Stephen. It’s Miles.”
“Hey, Miles.”
“How about those Patriots on Monday night?”
“Yeah. What a game. Drew and I were there. The place was going crazy,” Stephen says. “I hear you guys had a big win last night, too.”
“Yeah, we pulled off the upset.”
“Congratulations. Here’s Drew. He’s dying to hear the details.”
“Hi, Miles. You guys knocked off Lincoln.” I’m surprised Drew’s still following our games. “I’ve got it here. ‘Miles Manning flew in to block the extra point for the Eagle victory.’ You’re the star, Miles.”
“Not quite.”
“What do you mean?”
“I was supposed to be safety on that play. Instead, I went for the block. Coach says he won’t play me the rest of the year.”
“But you made the play to win the game. That must count for something?”
“You’d think so.” Talking about it won’t change Stahl’s decision, though. That’s done. Then I remember why I called. “Drew, thank you.”
“For what?”
“Mom and Dad told me about Luke.”
“Ahhh.” Drew pauses. “I’m glad, Miles.”
“Me, too, but it takes some getting used to.”
“Of course, but now you know. You’ve got something to work with.”
“Yeah. Thanks, Drew.”
“You’re welcome, Miles. Say hi to everyone.”
Out in the backyard, Martha and Mom drag pine branches to the bonfire. Dad collects brush all year and gets a burning permit in October. He throws the branches in and sparks fly. He loves watching things burn. “Nice of you to finally join us,” he says.
I ignore it and haul some branches from the pile behind the garage.
“I just talked with Drew,” I say. “He says hi to everyone.”
“I like Drew,” Martha says.
“How’s he doing?” Mom takes off her gloves.
“Good,” I say, though I forgot to ask. “He sounds good.”
“How’s Stephen?”
“He’s good, too.”
Dad pokes at the fire with a stick. He doesn’t say anything. Sometimes that’s a step forward. Sometimes not saying anything says plenty.
Martha and I go behind the garage for another load. We pull out dried cornstalks and squash vines. Hard to believe we got so much food from these dried-out plants.
“Mom and Dad told me about Luke.” Martha looks up from yanking a vine.
“They told you together?”
“Yes, this morning. Dad said he and Mom wanted to talk to me. I knew it was important. They told me about Luke dying. Mom was crying. It’s so sad, isn’t it?”
“Yeah. I wonder what he’d be like.” I try to imagine Luke now. He’d be two years older than me. “He’d be in college.”
“He’d be the oldest,” Martha says. “It helps to have an older brother.”
I imagine shooting hoops with Luke. I imagine him protecting me. I’d have had somebody to talk to about Dad, somebody to help me figure him out.
Martha and I haul our load. Luke feels more like a brother, not just the baby who died.
At the fire, Dad wraps his arm around Mom’s shoulder. Both their eyes are red.
“That’s good,” Dad says as Martha and I throw plants on the fire. They crackle and fizz and burst into flames.
My favorite time of the year is the warm-up after the first frost. Some people call it Indian summer, but that doesn’t make sense; Indians know their seasons. It’s not as if they’d have a different summer.
Lucia and I walk along the west side of the river. A brown and black striped caterpillar creeps across the path.
“A woolly bear.” Lucia bends down. “Feel it.” She sets it in my hand.
It’s not that soft. More bristly, like a brush. “When we were little, we thought you could predict how cold the winter would be by the woolly bear’s coat.”
“I still believe that,” Lucia says.
“You do?”
“Yes. I like the idea that some animals know what’s coming, that they can prepare.”
I set the woolly bear on the other side of the path. Across the way, the Hahawakpa joins the Clearwater. The Hahawakpa is browner and stays separate from the Clearwater before they come together.
I tell Lucia about the game: getting to play with Sam, running into Goatee, blocking the kick, the joy of the victory. Then Stahl getting angry and telling me I won’t play again this year.
“Wow,” Lucia says.
“I’m glad I went for the block. I’d do it again. Even if Stahl says it’s wrong.”
“Yes.” Lucia nods. “Yes.”
I tell her about Dad saying I made a smart play and how much that means. I tell her how we all talked about Luke.
“Oh, Miles,” she says.
As we walk north, the signs of people lessen. I think about next year. Who will be head coach, Sepolski or Stahl? Will Jonesy and Stillwell recover completely? How will Zach and I get along? Will things change with Dad?
“Look.” Lucia stops. A fox and three kits bound in a meadow. They have gray backs and red ears and necks. The kits jump and tug at one another. They look like a cross between cats and dogs as they arch their backs and slink low to the ground.
“It’s rare to see foxes in the middle of the day,” Lucia says. “Aren’t they beautiful?”
“Yeah, beautiful.” Like you, I think as the foxes catch our scent and dart into the bushes.
“Let’s take this path.” Lucia chooses a gravel trail that changes to dirt, then to grass as it narrows to a single track. “It’s a deer trail. I’ve seen them down here in the morning.”
The path opens on to a clearing on the bank of the river. Grass has been matted down. On the opposite side, the burnt brown oak leaves—the last to go—flutter on branches. Gnawed trees and piles of wood chips show that beavers have been busy. I take off my sweatshirt and tie it around my waist.
One of the things I like about Lucia is how easy it is to be quiet with her. Some people have to talk all the time; she�
��s not like that.
A creek trickles into the river, making its own small confluence. The river is lined with these. Some are large like the Hahawakpa. Most are small. Most don’t even have names. All come together to form the river.
Lucia grabs my hand and points. A bald eagle glides above the water. I feel Lucia’s warmth as we stand side by side. A dive, a stretch of claws, a snatch of fish.
“That’s a good sign,” Lucia says.
“Yes.” Then I can’t help myself. “Did you know, though, that eagles are major scavengers, that they eat roadkill and steal fish from ospreys?”
“Where did you hear that?” Lucia tilts her head back.
“I’ve been doing research. If I’m going to hang out with you, I’ve got to keep up on things.”
Lucia laughs. “You’re doing fine, Miles. Just fine.”
I look into her eyes. They’re clearer than the water, and deeper. Time slows like the present will last forever. This is exactly where I should be.
I lean forward and kiss Lucia.
Fine, just fine.
acknowledgments
Thanks to my teammates: Tim Bakken, Anamika Bhatnagar, Ian Byrne, Andrea Cascardi, James Coy, Mary Coy, Catherine Friend, John Kremer, David LaRochelle, Janet Lawson, Sophie Lenarz-Coy, Fiona McCrae, Patrick McCrae, John Moret, Jody Peterson-Lodge, Jon Quale, Colin Quinn, Cindy Rogers, Phyllis Root, Liz Szabla, Jane Resh Thomas, and the football players at Memorial High School.
Thanks to my coaches: Tom Partlow, Dick Tornowske, Phil Birkel, Ken Ripp, and Pat McGinnis.
Thanks to everyone at the Anderson Center for Interdisciplinary Studies for the gift of time and place.
Thanks to Tom Feelings for his remarkable book The Middle Passage.
And thanks to Dick Coy, Number 51, who taught me all he knew about football and emphasized that there was so much more.
about the author
John Coy grew up playing backyard football and was a defensive back on his high school team. He has written numerous award-winning picture books, including Night Driving, winner of the Marion Vannett Ridgway Memorial Award for outstanding debut picture book and a New York Times Best Illustrated Book of the Year; Strong to the Hoop, an ALA Notable Book; and, most recently, Around the World, an NBA Read to Achieve selection. John has also been a librettist for the Minnesota Orchestra and a visiting writer at schools across the country. He lives in Minnesota and loves to travel. This is his first novel.
Contact John Coy at www.johncoy.com.
an interview with John Coy
Q. You’re known as an author of picture books. What led you to writing a novel?
A. The seed for Crackback was planted when I was working on the picture book Strong to the Hoop. Liz Szabla, the editor, said that the language and action in Strong to the Hoop convinced her that I had a novel in me and that she would like to see it when I wrote it. The topic that grabbed me was high school football.
Q. What are the challenges of writing for teens?
A. The major challenge is being clear about what is the same and what is different from when I was a teen. Many of the emotions, the fears, the alienation, and the struggle for acceptance are similar. But the pressures on teens from parents and peers, the messages from the larger culture, and the media images they are surrounded with are different. As an author it’s important for me to be with teens, to listen to them, and ask questions. It’s also important for me to show them my work and ask what I’m missing and what I’ve gotten wrong.
Q. What led you to the idea for Crackback?
A. When I was a teen, I loved football. I loved smashing into people. Football was the one place that hitting somebody was not only okay, it was prized. In Crackback, I wanted to convey that physical love of the game. I wanted to convey how much of Miles’s identity comes from football and what happens when that is taken away.
Q. When did you start playing football?
A. When I was a boy I played football every day in the fall. Usually with neighborhood kids in the back yard, but if nobody else was around I would play by myself. I would make up games using the names of professional players and go from being the quarterback to the wide receiver as I threw the ball in the air and then raced to catch it.
When I played organized football I played defensive end, quarterback, and tight end. By the time I got to high school I had to switch to defensive back because I was not big enough to play up front. Over the years, I broke a wrist, a finger, and an ankle. Football is where I learned about toughness, dedication, and pain.
Q. How does football define Miles Manning? Did it play a role in defining you as well?
A. At the beginning of Crackback, Miles Manning is football, and football is Miles Manning. His sense of self is defined through football. I think it is impossible to over-emphasize how large a part of identification sports can be for many teens. When this is taken away, the crisis of identity is fundamental.
Football was an enormous part of my identity. It connected me to something larger and made me part of the school in a way I had not been before. Football was a ticket into groups and places I had not been invited before.
Q. What research did you do for this book?
A. I talked with high school students about football, school, jobs, and life. I interviewed football players about pressures to perform, weight lifting, and steroid use. I attended football practices, weight training, film sessions, and games. Coaches and players were welcoming and willing to answer my questions, no matter how unusual. I enjoyed being back on the football field on Friday nights and had moments of wishing I could be in the middle of the play.
I also asked football players about favorite numbers and plays that haunted them. Most players had one of each.
Q. How has high school football changed since you played?
A. One change is that teens believe adults have no idea how much high school football has changed. Acknowledging this gap is an essential step in understanding what some of the changes have been.
One main difference is the pressure to be bigger, stronger, faster. Weight lifting is much more intense, and year-round training and specialization have increased. Players have far greater access to supplements, pills, and steroids and have many more decisions to make about what they will and won’t take to be better football players.
Another change is the high school game is more sophisticated than when I played. The plays, formations, and terminology are more complex and the quality of coaching is generally more advanced.
One change I was worried about was the speeches coaches give to fire up players. I remember these as being pretty bad, and I was worried that the coaches now all gave great, thoughtful speeches. Teens were more than willing to tell me that they still heard plenty of bad speeches and were able to help me with the speeches Coach Stahl gives in Crackback.
Q. The library is an important place for Miles in the book—why?
A. For Miles, the library is a refuge from home. He goes there to get away from his dad and to read what he wants without anybody commenting on it. The library also has all kinds of sports magazines and papers for him. And it’s free.
Later in the book, the library becomes even more important because that is where Lucia is. Miles comes to find her and sees how the new information he gains there expands his sense of who he is.
The library is that type of place for many people.
Q. What were your favorite books as a teen?
A. I was one of those sports-playing boys who stopped reading fiction in my teens. I liked to read when I was younger, but as a teen, I increasingly read magazines, the sports section of the paper, and nonfiction. I only read fiction if it was assigned for a class and much of what was assigned didn’t seem very interesting.
Part of the problem was there was not as much interesting teen reading as there is now. Part of the problem was that the teachers doing the selecting picked books that did not seem relevant or connected to my interests. And part of the problem was that l
ike many boys I stopped reading fiction for pleasure. Because I was one of these boys, it makes it easy for me to empathize with teens who do not read outside of school. Crackback is a book I would have liked as a teen. I hope it will draw a wide range of readers.
Q. Do you have a favorite football number?
A. Of course. Twenty-three.
Turn the page for a sneak peek at John Coy’s new novel, Rebound, coming soon…
“Have a seat, Bergie.” Coach Kloss points to the chair in his cramped office. He’s a short, solid guy, who looks more like a wrestler than a basketball coach.
Liam Bergstrom folds his thin, six foot, four inch, frame and looks puzzled. What did he do now?
“Relax.” Coach smiles. “You look like you’re expecting to get cut.”
Liam unclenches his hands and rests them on his jeans. He exhales a deep breath and his shoulders fall.
“As you know, Tyler Jensrud broke his leg in two places yesterday,” Coach says. “Unfortunately, his senior season is over. Coach Grokowsky reports you’ve been doing good work on junior varsity. We don’t normally play sophomores, but we need help. I’m officially calling you up to Horizon High School varsity.”
Liam’s eyes widen. Varsity—the magic word that’s floated in the distance. All the work of summer camps and traveling teams for that ultimate goal.
“We’re not bringing you up to sit on the bench and look pretty. You’re not that pretty.” Coach grins. “Without Jens, we’re small up front. We need you to come off the bench and rebound.”
“Yes, Coach.” Liam’s ready to leap for a rebound right now.
“Be in the locker room by six. We’ll have your new uniform ready.”
“Thanks.” Liam reaches out to shake Coach’s hand. “Thank you.”
“Welcome to varsity, Bergie. We’re counting on you.”
Liam races down the hall to the old part of the school and peeks into a classroom to check the time. He adds seven hours for France. It’s late, but Mackenzie might still be up. She’ll be so excited. He spins his combination, opens his locker, and grabs his phone.