September brought fall much quicker than anyone had expected. Just a few weeks earlier, the temperatures were at record highs. Now, suddenly, the crisp temperatures of a fall evening were being accented by the intensity of an Oklahoma wind, combining into a bitter sharpness that became the forerunner of the coming winter. Generally, fall brought to mind thoughts of cool nights, bonfires, apple cider, and pumpkins, but it seemed we had momentarily skipped that wonderful season. Even in the grandstands, the wind forced its way up under the protection of blankets and coats, leaving shivering fans with red, numbed noses.
The lights glowing against the moisture droplets in the air surrounded everything with a hazy halo. Out on the field, the cold wet grass left dampness on all of the players, adding more misery to the price of victory. Their wet and nearly numb hands had become the source of recurring errors, dropping the ball frequently.
My relationship with Henry had changed nearly as quickly as the weather. It seemed one minute we were merely good friends, and the next we were a couple in love. I was anyway. Although he hadn’t yet proclaimed his love for me, it was just a matter of time, and then we would be on a path that would forever change my life. That night, however, my heart ached for him, and his teammates. I knew he had to be miserable out there on that field, because earlier in the day he had told me how much he regretted having to play under those conditions.
“There isn’t much worse than playing football in cold weather, Abby. Your hands get numb and you start making mistakes, like dropping the ball. And it hurts so much worse to get hit when it’s cold. I don’t know why. I guess it’s because your muscles are stiff and tense. Your body moves with the hit when it’s warm, but when it’s cold it’s just a thud. I love football, but I’m not looking forward to this one at all.”
“Well, then why are you playing?”
“Why am I playing? I’ve got to play. I’m part of the team.”
“Can’t you tell the coach you don’t feel good or something?”
“You don’t get it. I want to play football. I want to win. I just think it’ll be a lot tougher, and not nearly as enjoyable.”
“Well, why can’t they call the game off, Henry?”
“You don’t call off a game because it’s cold. It’s got to be a lot worse than that. Besides, we don’t want them to call it off.”
He was right. I didn’t get it.
“Why spend two hours playing out in the cold, if you’re going to hate every minute of it?”
“Because, we want to win. Hopefully it’ll be even harder for Higgins. Down there in Texas it gets cool even later than it does here.”
He thought for a minute.
“No, if it was just the rain, we’d all be excited. Everyone likes to play football in the rain, if it isn’t too cold. You get to slide around all over the field. Now that’s fun.”
As I sat there in the stands, one thing was clear: there was no way they could be having much fun right then. They were cold, and they were wet, and they were behind. The score was only seven to three, and they still had the next half to go, but being behind in this weather had to be depressing.
Surprisingly, most of the fans were still there, weathering out the cold along with them. A few of the less dedicated had left shortly after the end of the first quarter, but there were still plenty of people there to show them support. At half time, some of them wandered off to their cars to warm up, but almost all of them came back when the game started again.
Even though he was only a freshman, Henry was on the first string. He was always pretty good at football; he was never as fast or as fearless as J.B., but he was good. He carried the ball a lot of the time, and he’d had a good year, but he wasn’t doing so great that night. I don’t know if it was the effects of the weather, or if it simply wasn’t his night to shine, but it seemed he couldn’t get a break.
I sat beside J.B. in the grandstands. We were both in the pep band. It was so cold the valves on our trumpets kept sticking. That made us mess up the songs and Mr. Riley, the band instructor, looked aggravated the first couple of times. When he realized we weren’t doing it on purpose, he relaxed about it a little. In fact, one time I saw him laugh.
J.B. and I shared a blanket when we weren’t playing our instruments. I had on my dad’s heavy wool coat and the blanket, but I was still cold. As the wind gusts increased, all of us began to huddle together. The flag high upon the pole at the north end of the field was whipping so fiercely in the wind we could hear the popping noise it made all the way up into the grand stands. Finally, when it was so cold my teeth were chattering, Mr. Riley said we could go home if we were too cold.
I kept thinking about those poor guys on the field, and how Henry had told me it hurt so bad to get hit when it was cold. There was simply no way I could leave with him out there representing our school. J.B. stayed as well and a few of the others, but most of the band high tailed it as soon as they knew they weren’t going to get in trouble for leaving.
When the second half started the wind seemed to grow even more furious. Its bitterness cut like a knife. However, the boys on the field didn’t seem to notice. I don’t know what Coach Allen said to them in the locker room, but they were a different team the second half. They scored two touchdowns in the third quarter and one in the fourth, while holding the Coyotes to their original seven points. Henry scored two of the touchdowns, beginning at mid-field on both of them. It was like they had been totally regenerated. The crowd came back to life and it seemed to help shake the cold.
When the game was over, J.B. and I went down to wait by the locker room. We were able to get out of the wind a little by standing around the corner. The steam from the showers rolled out of the doorway and trailed out into the wind. It took a while for them to start making their way out and, of course, Henry was one of the last to come out. He stood with several of the guys on the team, slapping each other on the back and spreading congratulations. Their faces were red and chapped by the wind, but they were so excited it didn’t seem to bother them. From where we stood, he hadn’t seen us. I called out his name to get his attention and they all turned to look.
Henry smiled and came over to me. He bent his head down and kissed me. The other guys started whistling and cat calling, but he waved them off.
“Hey, Abby Lynn. Wasn’t that great? We sure gave it back to them, didn’t we?”
“You sure did. You played a good game, Henry. Aren’t you freezing?”
Smiling again, he shook his head.
“No, it’s like I don’t feel it right now.”
“Well, I am. Could we go somewhere and warm up?”
From behind him I heard one of the guys call out.
“Hey, Henry. Are you coming?”
He looked at me a little embarrassed and his voice took a quieter tone.
“Um, the guys were going down to the Commercial to kind of celebrate. I thought I’d go with them.”
I felt the heat making its way into my cheeks, despite the cold. I had waited all of that time, for him. I endured the cold, for him. Now he wanted to run off with a bunch of guys he had been playing in the cold with for the last two hours. I couldn’t believe it. But then I looked at those eyes and I couldn’t stay mad. I don’t know why.
“You understand, don’t you? It’s just one night. I’ll come over tomorrow, first thing. J.B. will walk you home, won’t you J.B.?”
“Yeah, sure, Henry. I’ll be glad to walk you home, Abby Lynn.”
The guys called to him again, this time on their way to Steve’s car.
“Bus is leaving, Lover Boy.”
“Oh, okay. You better not forget to come by in the morning though.”
He bent over and kissed me again. Then he ran to catch up with the other guys, looking over his shoulder a time or two.
J.B. and I began the walk home in the other direction. We walked along in silence for the first few blocks. Then J.B. cleared his throat.
“I thought, by the look on your fa
ce, you were gonna haul off and deck him.”
I took a few more steps.
“I guess I was pretty mad at first. I was cold and I’d been waiting for him the whole game, but then I realized I was being foolish. Why shouldn’t he be able to go celebrate with the guys? I’m not his momma. I can’t tell him what to do.”
Again, silence. Beyond the sound of the wind whistling through the trees, we could hear the occasional shouts and horn honking of celebration in the distance.
“Well, all I can say is he’s sure lucky you’re so forgiving.”
I looked at J.B. and shrugged my shoulders.
“It’s just one night.”
Whispers in the Wind Page 9