Читать книгу A World Without You - A. S. Peterson - Страница 8

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Ten minutes later, Scott walked through his familiar neighborhood of older homes. The everyday sight of a few well-maintained houses went unnoticed as did the houses with peeling paint, broken shingles, and shabby lawn care. His concentration was on the girl and his late arrival for the football game with his friends.

Derek despised when the guys were late. Even though his best friend was a jerk, Scott tried his best to avoid conflicts with Derek as he did with most people, except his mom. With her, conflicts were constant, 24-7.

Scott crossed Fourth Street and entered McCarthy Park where his nine friends gathered every weekday during the summer. He studied the two teams on the line of scrimmage. Derek’s team consisted of Brett, Lance, and Jess. They were standing in a spread formation and were wearing shirts. Matt’s team consisted of Karl, Randy, Adam, and Troy. They were set up in a three-two defense and were shirtless.

Lance, their tall hefty center, snapped the ball to Derek who faked a handoff to Brett, a solid guard, sending the defense to the left. Derek dropped back, throwing a quick slant right to Jess who caught the ball and was immediately tackled by Randy.

Watching Derek toss the ball, Scott grinned. His athletic friend was a versatile quarterback with a strong throwing arm. Derek didn’t wind up. He just brought the ball up behind the ear and threw, copying his favorite legendary quarterback, Joe Namath.

While growing up, Derek’s dad was relentless about teaching his two sons the rules and techniques of the game. Even now, Derek constantly practiced his fake-and-pass moves. Six days of the week, rain or shine, Derek woke up on demand at five thirty in the morning to practice for three hours. His dad set up tires and built tall obstacles in their backyard to increase Derek’s accuracy. Derek was told to throw over the obstacles, aiming for the tire opening. His throwing accuracy and speed were incredible; and every year, he improved.

If Derek failed to throw three consecutive passes through the swinging tire, his dad would react impatiently. Once Scott witnessed Derek’s dad angrily pick up three different footballs, throwing each one easily through the tire. Then Mr. Paulson turned to Derek, jammed his finger into his son’s chest, and bellowed, “I nailed my target because I’m not thinking about the romp I had with my wife last night or my eldest son who’s pining over some girl who threw him away like yesterday’s newspaper or my youngest son who thinks he’s better than his old man. The only thing on my mind is the ball, that target, and nailing those passes. Don’t miss another target. In this game, there’s always someone waiting to take your place.”

After witnessing events like that one, Scott felt grateful his dad had a more casual attitude about football.

Scott cruised through the grass, scrutinizing his comrades who usually dressed in faded jeans and T-shirts, except for Matt who owned nothing but newer clothes. Years ago, Scott had learned to have patience when dealing with these guys. Some days, when he played football, Scott felt as if he was on a battlefield. His friends were quick-tempered, competitive, but each made an effort to live by one basic rule: stay away from the girl the other one liked. When abiding by that one simple rule, they usually got along fairly well. Scott scowled. Derek sure didn’t live by that rule.

As Scott approached his friends, his one true rival, Randy, noticed him first. Randy narrowed his eyes, swiped his reddish-brown hair off his forehead, and growled his usual irritating comment. “Nerd, you’re here.”

Derek glowered. “Shut your damn mouth, Randy.” Derek eyed Scott and gave an annoyed expression. “You’re late.”

Scott shrugged. As always, his friend took football way too seriously. As Scott joined Derek’s team, they huddled for the next play. Preoccupied by the morning’s event, Scott stared at Derek who called the next play but Scott’s thoughts were on the girl in the park, wondering about her name and remembering the feel of her touch. He missed Derek’s entire play call. The next thing he knew, he was taking his wide receiver position and sprinting forward after the snap. Great, Scott thought, now I’m really going to irritate Derek. Running deep, he instinctively ran a comeback as the ball sailed past him. Scott groaned silently. He should have run a square out.

After years of playing football with Derek, the two of them clicked. Their precision and accuracy was skillfully executed for the majority of the plays. When Scott wasn’t in the right place at the right time, Derek had no patience for imperfect performance.

At the line of scrimmage, Derek creased his forehead and glared. He walked up to Scott, speaking only to him. “Where’s your damn brain?” When Scott raised his brows, Derek added. “Get your mind into this game and quit thinking about some girl.”

Anytime Scott wasn’t engaged in the game, Derek automatically thought his lack of concentration was because of a girl. As much as Scott didn’t want to admit it, Derek was usually right. His friend knew him too damn well. Scott gave his typical comment which always annoyed his friend. “Relax, I’ll get the next one.”

While the game continued, Scott’s adrenaline started flowing. As a wide receiver, he had the qualities: speed, athletic agility, and great hands, but most importantly, concentration when he wasn’t thinking about a girl. Scott pushed the morning’s event to the back of his mind and spent the rest of the game concentrating on catching Derek’s passes. The passes where Scott didn’t break his stride or the ones that flew through Randy’s hands to his—left Scott with the fantastic feeling of why he played this game. After catching one of those passes, he’d run back to his friend, and he’d slap him on his back. “Great pass!”

Derek would grin. “Let’s do it again.”

An hour later, Derek’s team had a seven-point lead. On the last drive of the game, Derek called the flea flicker, his favorite play. He handed the ball off to Jess who ran left, turned, and pitched it back to Derek who passed it downfield to Scott’s waiting hands.

During this play, Matt’s team played man-to-man defense and Randy sprinted at top speed beside Scott. Thrusting his hands forward, Randy contacted the side of Scott’s neck, tackled him roughly, and threw him to the ground.

Scott hit the earth, feeling as if he had crashed into a brick wall. He gasped for the air that had been knocked out of him. Randy’s additional weight added to the pain. His rival snarled in his ear, “This is my favorite part of the game, nerd.”

Breathless, Scott was unable to answer. His mind wandered to the girl in the park. This was how he felt when she smiled at him.

As Randy jumped to his feet, Scott rolled onto his side, inhaling as his breath slowly returned to normal.

Karl, his conscientious friend, said, “Dude, grab my hand. I’ll help you up.”

As Scott was being pulled up, Derek cussed out Randy. Scott grinned slightly. Derek was a man of the game and despised illegal hits which produced injuries. His friend was in constant battle with Randy who pushed the limits.

As Derek’s face flushed with anger, he forcefully shoved Randy who was looking quite pleased with himself. Derek yelled, “Illegal use of the hands!”

Matt, the peacemaker, stepped between Derek and Randy, but Derek simply thrust Matt out of his way with one arm and then hit his chest. “It’s my turn,” he growled, glaring at Randy who hesitated, obviously working through the idea of another fight. Seeing his hesitation, Derek added, “If Scott can’t play this season neither will you. I guarantee it.”

Randy’s face tightened into a scowl. All the guys knew Randy constantly punched his boxing bags and practiced his fighting moves and was becoming a fearless fighter. Even after all of this practicing, Derek could still take Randy down but it was never an easy task. For that reason, Derek rarely goaded him.

Randy shoved his hands into his pockets, turned, and left the park without a word.

The guys watched him leave. Brett, their unintelligent friend, said, “Chicken.” He faced the guys. “What a wimp.”

“Why didn’t you call Randy that when he could hear you? Maybe you’re the wimp,” Karl chided.

Brett puffed out his chest and stepped forward. “I can beat you up.”

Karl shook his head. “What are you? Two years old?”

Brett made a fist. “Let me punch you. Then you’ll know I’m not two years old.”

Derek growled impatiently, “Knock it off, you two.”

Five minutes later, Derek and Scott walked down Third Street making their way home. Derek tossed the football into the air and caught it. He asked, “Why were you late?”

“Went for a walk.”

“Where?”

“Around.”

Derek asked sarcastically, “Did you go looking for your missing part?”

Scott looked sideways at Derek. All his life, Scott felt like a part of himself was missing, like an arm or a leg. It was such an odd sensation that he ignored it; but wherever he went or whatever he did, the feeling remained. What was even stranger was the time he went to Disneyland during the summer before sixth grade, it was the first time he felt like a whole person. Why Disneyland? He had always wondered if he went back, would he feel complete again? He never told anyone about these bizarre sensations. Who would believe him? Two years ago, he did mention to Derek that he felt like a piece of him was missing. He never thought Derek would use that information against him.

Scott kicked at a rock, regretting that decision. He replied, “Yeah, I found it. Now I have a third arm.”

Derek laughed. “Yeah, well, next time, don’t go looking for your missing part when there’s a football game.”

Scott didn’t respond. Football was his friend’s passion. Beside girls, winning was Derek’s desire. Being second best was never good enough; Derek had to be first. For that reason, Derek always insisted they were on the same team. After becoming friends in third grade, the two of them began playing team sports. Few boys their age equaled their agility and athleticism.

At the corner of Oak Avenue and Third Street, Scott stopped before parting ways with Derek. His friend’s good looks, neatly cut dark-brown hair, and charm always grabbed the girls’ attention, but his temper was nothing to trifle with. Scott knew his next statement would trigger his friend’s impatience. “I won’t be playing football this Thursday.”

Derek creased his brows, studying Scott who tried to appear nonchalant, but that only proved to Derek that Scott was hiding something. “Why not?”

“Busy.”

“Yeah, well, don’t make it a habit.”

A few minutes later, Scott crossed his carefully tended front lawn and entered his turn-of-the-century one-story white house. He walked through the recently vacuumed living room, smelling of wood cleaner. He continued to the back of the house, passed the hallway leading to the bedrooms, and moved toward the tidy kitchen, dining area, and small family room.

He strolled into the dining area and smiled at his two-year-old sister. “Scottie!” Megan squealed. She raised her arms into the air, wanting Scott to lift her out of the high chair. He released the strap buckle.

“How’s my little Megan doing?” he asked, pulling her out and twirling her around. She giggled, grabbed a handful of his hair and yanked it. “Ouch,” Scott said and released her grip. “Megan, you keep pulling my hair.”

His mother laughed as she brought his grilled cheese sandwiches to the table. “If it wasn’t so long, she wouldn’t be able to grab it.”

Scott glanced at his mom’s blond shoulder-length hair. “She pulls your hair and I don’t see you rushing out to get it cut.”

His mom furrowed her brows, irritated by his remark. “Don’t get smart. Besides, that’s not the point.” Placing the sandwich roughly on the table, she added, “Eat your lunch, and if you get smart again, you’re grounded.”

At 5:15 that evening, Scott was in his bedroom when he heard his dad enter the house. His dad had once told him coming home from work was his most enjoyable time of day, especially if he came home to a peaceful environment. Through his bedroom door, Scott heard Megan squeal as she demanded affection from him. He could picture his dad picking up Megan, tossing her into the air, and catching her. Then he’d walk into the kitchen to see Scott’s mom. Even after fifteen years of marriage, his dad was always happy to see her. They’d kiss. After that, his dad would raise his brows and say some wacky comment like, “You look good.”

If Scott’s mom was in a decent mood, she’d reply, “You look better.”

His dad would add, “You look the best.” Then his parents would laugh as if they had some private joke. The entire scene was weird, but Scott was just glad his parents loved each other.

Scott left his bedroom and met up with his dad when he was walking into their small family room. After a pat on the back, his dad asked, “How was your day?”

Having to listen to his mom pester him several times today about his hair, Scott complained, “Mom keeps nagging me about my hair.”

His dad frowned, giving him the look that said, “Why are you two constantly at each other?” As his dad sat on his tan reclining chair in the family room, he stated firmly, “Let it go, Scott.”

Whenever his dad spoke this directly, it was best to take his advice. Scott sat on the sofa and wisely changed the subject to football, ignoring the frustration his mom always managed to ignite.

After eating supper, Scott usually relaxed with his parents and his sister in the family room where his dad would entertain Megan, then read the newspaper, and finally researched any one of the American wars. The strategies the generals used to win, the politics involved, and the soldiers’ sacrifices kept his dad reading for hours. To obtain the soldiers’ eyewitness input, his dad visited the VFW. After many hours of sitting with World War II, Korean, and Vietnam veterans, they shared their stories with him. Although his dad worked at the town’s toy factory, he still found time to repair the veterans’ cars free of charge which was his way of showing his enormous respect for their sacrifice to the country.

His mom, on the other hand, worked on her scrapbooking. All of her photo albums were up-to-date. Scott had three complete photo albums, and currently, his mom was working on Megan’s.

On this particular evening, Scott rested in his bedroom. After trying to read for nearly thirty minutes, he groaned, climbed off his bed, and placed his astrology book on the top shelf of his bookcase alongside his fix-it yourself, car repair, and gardening books. Scott grabbed his racquetball out of his desk drawer. He laid down on his bed, threw the ball against the wall above the closet doors, and thought about his mom’s changing moods.

Her moods could go from demanding to sadness to depression all in one day. Sometimes one look at her only son would bring tears to her eyes. In fifth grade, he asked his mom what he had done to make her cry. To his despair, she burst into tears, hugging him so tightly he couldn’t breathe. Later that evening, his dad came into his bedroom and explained how his mom’s crying had nothing to do with him. Scott nodded as if he believed his dad’s statement, but he didn’t.

Then last year on Megan’s first birthday, he strolled to the kitchen late that night for a drink of water. He stopped halfway. His parents were in the kitchen having a discussion. His mom’s words remain embedded in his memory. “Megan is such a sweetheart. She doesn’t even know how much she has filled the empty space inside my heart. She makes me so happy.” After hearing her comment, Scott returned to his room, no longer thirsty.

Scott threw the ball against the wall harder than usual and reminded himself, at least Megan makes his mom happy.