Cracking the Bell

by Geoff Herbach

  “I miss her, too,” Mom whispered.

  “But Hannah’s not all. I miss Grandpa. I miss Christmas and Dad’s Hanukkah menorah being out with the Christmas tree, which we never put up anymore, anyway. I miss Aunt Melinda coming down. I miss all of us sitting in a room together and nobody paying attention to me because I’m on the floor messing around with my football cards, and there’s food around and everybody is laughing and Grandpa is telling stories about weird cases he’s been on and . . .”

  “Oh, Isaiah,” Mom said.

  “I wasn’t a criminal when I was a little kid, you know? I was just so jumpy.”

  “Kids are jumpy,” Dad said. “We never thought of you as a criminal.”

  “I don’t know. I liked to dig in the dirt and mess up couch cushions and I spilled shit and made all these messes all the time, Mom, but I wasn’t a criminal.”

  “I know, Isaiah,” Mom said. “I know.”

  “I was just goofy and I just wanted to do my thing and there were all these people around the house talking and laughing and I felt . . . I felt like the world was this really good place.”

  I swallowed hard. Nobody said a word.

  “But then Grandpa was killed. And then Hannah. Grandpa and Hannah. Grandpa and Hannah. This sounds stupid, but I don’t know a lot of things that I can trust, okay? I don’t know what I can totally count on, right? But I know I can one hundred percent count on death. It’s real. It happens. And it can happen any place, at any time. And that scares the shit out of me and it makes me so sad, because I don’t even know what it is, except it takes people away. And the absence of those people proves the world is breakable, that it isn’t this really good place, that it can all be taken away and it will be, because . . . we all know it will be. What am I supposed to do with that information? Everything is going away and we don’t know when.”

  I looked at Mom and Dad.

  “At first, I turned to you guys because I thought you’d show me what to do. Here’s what I got: I watched Mom scream at Dad. I watched Dad stop talking except when the pressure from Mom was too much and he went back into his office and broke things.”

  “That only happened once, Isaiah,” Dad said.

  “Once was enough, I guess. When I went and did stupid things after Hannah died, did you ever think maybe I was just pulling a kid version of what the adults in my life were doing? I couldn’t deal with the pressure of all the death. I destroyed shit. I made death a living thing. You guys have spent years making death a living thing, okay?

  “Even you, Grandma. Aunt Melinda won’t visit because you’re mean to her. And Mom is mean to Dad and Dad is mean to Mom. If adults act so shitty all the time, of course I’m going to think the world is a terrible place. Kids like me and Grace just get taught it again and again, don’t we? The world is terrible, filled with nastiness and bad people and then you get the gift of death as a reward! I mean, why shouldn’t I burn down Christmas trees or break windows at a seed store . . . ?”

  “What now? What seed store?” Grandma Gin said.

  I didn’t pause to answer her question. I revved up. Words tumbled out fast.

  “Why wouldn’t I go to a shithole redneck bar and beat up assholes who are trying to drunk drive? At least my motivation for that is to keep innocent people safe. Hell, there should be a whole football team of dudes like me driving around, stopping assholes from harming the innocent. Where’s that team? I want to be on that team.

  “The great thing about football is none of that living or death shit matters. The great thing about football is it requires you to prepare for nastiness on the field. It will be violent, okay? It will be so hard. It will totally hurt. You have to use your head and your heart to get through a game with any kind of success. It hurts! But you’ll do it with teammates, who might make fun of you sometimes, but who will have your back if they’re worth anything. They will fight for you. They will celebrate you when you do great stuff. They will hug you when you mess up and tell you to get back out there and go.

  “I can trust death and I can trust my teammates on the football field.

  “But I know, I know. It’s flawed. It’s not the perfect game because what it does to your body is real. That head thing. My bell. I get it rung. I really did it last week. I understand there’s a good reason why I shouldn’t play. I really do. If I didn’t actually believe you, Mom, believe I’d be better off in some ways without it, I might be fine. I’d figure out a way to get around you on this. Hell, I turn eighteen on Tuesday. I mean, I probably can play without your permission if I want to. I definitely can play in college. Keep playing this sport I love, this sport that makes my life make sense. But I know. What if I’m killing myself? What if I’m doing it for a hyped-up kids’ game? Maybe I can only trust in death, not my teammates in the long run, because playing football will kill me.”

  Everyone stared. That made me mad.

  “You know who I absolutely can’t trust to have my back? You guys. You, Mom and Dad. You, Grandma. What I’ve learned since our people died is that you all have your own backs. Dad moved into that shitty little apartment, which means I can’t stay with him even if I want to. Mom will move me around like a puppet to please her own needs for security, goddamn anything I might want to do with my life. Grandma will shut the door right in your face if you happen to disagree with her on something. Ask Aunt Melinda how that feels.”

  The three of them stared at me without speaking. Grandma didn’t show any emotion, but Dad and Mom looked like they might break. I wanted them to break.

  I nodded. Swallowed hard. “Since Grandpa and Hannah, you’re all in it for you. You’re all crying victims instead of teammates. What am I going to do if I don’t have football now? How will I be protected? Who will protect me? You think I’m going to count on you guys for shit?”

  “Stop, Isaiah,” Mom said. “It’s time to stop.”

  “Don’t like what you’re hearing?” I spat.

  “It’s not that,” Dad said. “It’s all a surprise, though. Have you been holding all this in for a long time?”

  “How many years has Hannah been dead?” I shouted.

  “Calm down, Isaiah,” Grandma said.

  “Isaiah?” Grace said quietly, “You do know your dad and grandma have been looking after me for the last year. Really, Gin’s been looking after me for lots of years. And she had like half the state police out there looking for you today, too, you know? Isn’t that having your back? They’re not as bad as all that.”

  Dad sat up straight and said, “I got that shitty little apartment so I could afford to keep paying half the mortgage on this house, Isaiah. I didn’t want you to have more disruption in your life, even if your mom and I couldn’t work out our problems. No way did I ever take happiness in being away from you,” Dad said. “Any time you want to stay over, you come over. You can sleep on the bed. I’ll sleep on the couch, okay?”

  Mom held her hand over her mouth. Her eyes were watery, bloodshot. Her cheeks were fired red. “I think you make some good points, though, Isaiah. I really do,” she said in a near whisper. “I think maybe we should talk about it some more in the morning. I think I need to rest a little.”

  CHAPTER 33

  OCTOBER 7: BACK TO 3 A.M.

  I sat awake on Grandpa John’s recliner in Grandma Gin’s silent house. When Mom went to bed and Dad left, I couldn’t stand it over in our house. After fifteen minutes of pacing in my room, I’d grabbed my green notebook, a pen, and walked across the backyard. I knocked on the front door and asked Grandma if I could stay there.

  “As long as you stay away from Grace,” she said.

  “I will.”

  “Good. No more messing her up, boy. If she ever leaves in the middle of a shift again, I’ll fire her and she won’t be welcome to stay here, either.”

  “She won’t screw up without me inspiring her.”

  Grandma gave me a blanket for the couch in the TV room. Then she said, “You got your head up your ass, you know it? Can
’t see what’s around you.”

  “Thanks,” I said.

  “Good night,” she said.

  But I still couldn’t sleep. The couch, which I’ve napped on a thousand times, felt like it was made of rock. I turned on the lights, grabbed my notebook, moved to Grandpa’s recliner, and intended on writing. But instead I just sat there, looking around.

  I felt like such a jerk, such a selfish loser.

  The TV room is filled with all that Packers stuff. In a lot of ways, this room is like Joey Derossi’s barn, except Joey has lost everybody and has to do the work of organizing the objects and values and memories of that world himself. I still had people. I had a team, really. I had a family, even if it was broken.

  Joey thought he had me, didn’t he?

  A few hours earlier, I’d gone on a tirade about how I couldn’t trust anybody. But how could anybody trust me? I let Joey Derossi down. I damaged his treasures without thinking. And why? Because he wanted my dad to know I was safe and wasn’t willing to hide me from the police.

  What kind of person would Joey be if he didn’t respond to Dad’s message? What kind of person would he be if he fought off the cops to help me get away?

  A bad one. The kind I wouldn’t trust. But I could only register my own needs.

  What kind of person would ask so much of a friend?

  A bad one. The kind who shouldn’t be trusted.

  For good measure, I broke his grandpa’s stereo.

  And what was that bullshit I’d spouted about my teammates, about how I could count on them? Maybe it was true, but they couldn’t count on me. Yeah, on the field, when I was in top form, I had their backs. But as soon as I was injured (and injury is part of the sport), how did I behave? I lied to them, skipped practices, skipped out on the traditional pregame meal. What kind of teammate behaves like that?

  A bad one. The kind who shouldn’t be trusted.

  I looked down into my lap. This green notebook of mine. I think it did help me figure stuff out. I think it helped me process shit about Hannah and my life and how I got here. But here I am. Senior year of high school. I would be eighteen in two days. Maybe I’d play football again? Maybe not? No matter what, football wasn’t a long-term solution. I had a history of concussions. I’d googled. It seemed likely that multiple concussions lead to brain disorders later in life. Did I want that, really? Was this kids’ game worth that? Logically, no. Logically, I’d have to stop. Logically, it would have to be soon, even if I disobeyed Mom. I wouldn’t be able to practice football forever and what did I have then? The opposite of practice. My actual, terrible life. What did this green notebook filled with reasons why I played football have to give me now?

  Bullshit. Nothing. It contained the ghost town, the dead, the crooked gravestones on the barren hill . . .

  But I can’t live in the opposite of practice, I thought.

  I had to move forward. I had to move into the future.

  I closed Grandpa’s recliner, climbed out, and made my way up the stairs, into the kitchen. There, I dug through a drawer and found a box of matches. Then I went into the garage and found Grandpa’s kindling bag (nothing he used had been removed from the garage). I pulled it out the back door of the garage and dragged it across the yard to the fire pit, which hadn’t been used in over five years.

  I smelled cigarette smoke. I turned. Grace stood there on the deck.

  “You’re such a busy dude,” she said.

  “Why are you awake?” I asked.

  “Well, for one, your mom screamed at me because I drove you out to Boulder Tap and your grandma threatened to fire me. Oh, and did I mention the cops questioned me about an assault I was allegedly involved with? Hard to sleep after a day like that.”

  I exhaled hard, looked down at the ground beneath me. “I’m sorry, Grace. I don’t know what I’m doing. I mean . . .” I looked up. “I’m going to stop. I’m getting it under control. I won’t get you in trouble ever again. I promise.”

  Grace dragged on her cigarette, then blew smoke into the air. She shook her head and said quietly, “Great. Thanks.”

  “Seriously. I really, really like you. I won’t ever stop liking you and I won’t ever put you in danger because of my shit again.”

  “It’s okay, okay? We’ve sort of grown up together. There are ups and downs, right?”

  “Right. I mean . . .” The words hung in my mouth for a second. I almost didn’t say them. But I was so tired of not saying things for so long. They leaped out fast. “You’re my family. I love you. I do. I mean right now. I really love you.”

  A smile spread across Grace’s face. “I love you, too, Isaiah,” she said.

  “Like how? Like a sister?” I asked.

  She laughed. “What are you doing out here at three a.m., anyway?”

  I showed her my green notebook. “I’m going to start a fire. Burn this thing.”

  “That sounds like a really dumb idea,” she said.

  “It’s a symbolic act. The past is over.”

  “That’s a fact.”

  “And I have to let go of it. So, I’m going to burn the bastard.”

  The screen door behind Grace slid open. Grandma Gin stomped out onto the deck.

  “I can hear you two, you know?” she said.

  “Sorry,” Grace said. “I came out here by myself. I didn’t mean to . . .”

  “Isaiah, what the hell are you doing with that kindling bag?”

  “I’m going to make a fire?” I said in the form of a question.

  “The hell you are. You’re not burning anything. Grace, put out that damn cigarette. Both of you get in here right now.”

  A couple of minutes later Grace and I sat on stools at the end of the kitchen counter. Grandma Gin put the teapot on to boil so we could have hot chocolate.

  “So, no one can sleep, is that right?” she asked.

  “I can’t,” I said.

  “I never can,” Grace said.

  “I know that. I hear you thrashing around every night you’re here.”

  “Sorry,” Grace said.

  “I don’t sleep much, myself, anymore. But you young people.” She shook her head. “You should be sleeping like babies. I didn’t carry around the weight of the world when I was your age. I just wanted my own money and a good-looking man. Nothing more.”

  “You were lucky,” I said.

  “How’s that?” Grandma asked.

  “Because your life was simple,” Grace said. “It was easy.”

  “Like when I was your age and my new husband decided the only fair thing to do was to drop out of college, lose his education deferment, and go fight in Vietnam?” Grandma asked. “Can’t let the burdens of citizenship fall solely on poor Black kids from Milwaukee, he said, because that ain’t right.”

  “It isn’t right,” I said.

  “I know that. I supported him, even if I thought Vietnam was a piss-poor excuse for going to war. And I’ll tell you, it broke my heart for him to go.”

  “How did you deal?” Grace asked.

  “I dropped out of school, too, put my head down, went to work, saved money so he’d have something good to come home to if he didn’t get killed.”

  “And you slept okay?” I asked.

  “Like the baby I was,” Grandma answered.

  She poured hot water over the chocolate powder in mugs. She stirred, then brought the mugs over to us.

  “Now our girl Grace, she has a real problem. She’s been living in that house too long and there’s a bad man that keeps coming back inside. Old Mama Deb can’t see the animal he is. Grace can’t have a normal day’s work if the creeper comes knocking at her door every night. Two solutions to that. Pretty simple. Either you call the cops and get that creeper put away where he belongs. Or, if you can’t bring yourself to do that, you get the hell out and you start making your own life. The reason Grace is here right now ain’t got nothing to do with you, Isaiah, got it? She’s here because I’m letting her stay here until she’s on even gr
ound and ready to move forward with her life away from that creeper.”

  “I know. I understand,” I said.

  “But you, kid? What’s your trouble? That Grandpa John got killed? That Hannah died? What you’re dealing with there is called life. Life and death go hand in hand. I could go at any time. So could your mom and dad. So could you. So? What are you going to do about it?”

  “That’s what I’m trying to figure out.”

  “What’s there to figure? All the good options are right here in front of you and no creeper is coming into your room at night making trouble. What’s the damn problem?”

  “I don’t know. If I’m not a football player, then I’m a loser,” I said.

  “So be a football player.”

  “I have concussions. I should probably quit now. Mom wants me to quit and she’s probably right.”

  “If you have to quit, use what you learned from playing, and go get to work on something else.”

  I sipped my hot chocolate. It burned my tongue. “That’s what Joey Derossi was saying tonight.”

  “Oh ho ho,” Grandma Gin laughed. “That kid, huh?”

  “He’s the best,” I said. “He’s great.”

  “He really is a good guy,” Grace said.

  “Ha. Okay, then. I’ll take your word for it,” Grandma Gin said.

  “I don’t know what to do if not football, though.”

  Grandma shook her head at me, laughed a little. “How about this, Isaiah? You ever hear someone say something like this? ‘There should be a team of football players who go out and protect the innocent from those big, awful jerks who do terrible things!’ Sound familiar? Maybe you said that tonight?”

  “Yeah. Thanks for making fun of me,” I said.

  “Well, what the hell do you think your grandpa John was? He was a cop, you know? And he was the kind of cop we need more than ever. Tough as nails with a big, fair heart. He treated everybody well—better than I would have—believed even the worst son of a bitch deserved equal treatment under the law. Why, you might say he was part of a team that went out and protected the innocent. You ever think of that?”