Bells Above Greens (8 page)

“Gameday rush, folks,” he said.  “Heaven sent.”

Emery was pinching the top bun of his, peeking under.  “Medium rare?”

“Well done all around.  Mark down your beers?”

“Sure thing, Higgs,” Emery said.  He handed Higgins a scribbled on napkin. “Need some help back there?”

“Not from you.  Customers like to be able to taste their food.”

Emery shrugged and bit into his sandwich while the girls picked the onions and pickles from theirs.  We had another beer and the girls had Cokes.  My head was loosening up.  The lights turned on overhead.  It was almost a shock how dark it had become without them. 

“So that’s what I’ve been eating,” Emery said in the new light, a theatrical surprise on his face.  Claire nudged him with her elbow.

“You’re funny.”

“Wait until you get him on the ice,” I said.  I felt a kick under the table. 

“I have skates,” Liv said with big eyes.  “We’ll have to go.  All of us.”

Emery gave me a fool’s grin across the table, his cheeks bloated with sandwich.  When I looked at Liv a sharp twinkle gripped the corner of my eye, reflected light from a glass frame on the wall just behind and above her head, and pulled my face toward it.  I looked away.

“So, where are you from?” I asked Claire.

“Detroit.  Born and raised.”

“How does one get here from there?”

“Take the highway southwest until you see the Golden Dome.”

“Isn’t that so?  Midwesterners are summer bugs congregating to the golden light.  I meant what saved you from walking among the apes who call themselves the Michigan Wolverines?”

“Watch yourself,” she said with a smile, pointing a butter knife at me.  “My father was one of those apes.”

I held my hands up.  “Just keeping the rivalry alive.”

“It’s a wonderful rivalry.  My mother was a Fighting Irish and my father was a Wolverine.  I always sided with my father when I was a girl.  He gave me a Michigan sweatshirt that I wore until the sleeves came up to my elbows.”

“And here you are,” Liv said.

“And here I am.  I guess mother won.”

“Mothers always win.”

“Not mine,” Emery said.  “Dad won all the arguments in our house.”

“Your dad is sweet,” Claire told him.  “He makes the same faces as you.”

“You mean I make the same faces as him.  I’ll wear his expressions and be him for Halloween.”

“And every other day after that for the rest of your life,” I said.  Emery laughed at the joke.  He did have the same laugh as his father.

“What about you, Sam?” Claire asked me.  “Why did you come here?”

“I liked the sports here.”

“So much that he left poor Liv in the stands,” Emery said to the girls.  Liv leaned her head against my shoulder the way a puppy does to cheer you up.

“You’re quite the athlete yourself,” Claire said to me.  “At the pep rally.”

“Ah, he went easy on me.” 

Liv brought her head up and looked at me.  I must have made a face that showed disinterest or embarrassment because she hid her curiosity and did not ask questions.

“No he didn’t,” Emery said.  “He was looking to take your head off.”

“He was going half-speed.  And he slipped.”

“It must be a rush to be on the field,” Liv said.

I wiped my hands in my napkin.  “Let’s find out.”

We finished eating and I ushered Liv out of the booth and positioned myself to keep her attention off Peter’s jersey.  Emery filled two plastic water cups with Guinness to go and we paid Higgins on our way out.  The streets were dark and the leaves crunched under our feet.  Small groups of students were out, walking to Saturday night parties, the streetlamps playing yellow on their faces and frozen breath like ghostheads.

“You aren’t going to break in, are you?” Liv asked.

“No.  Not breaking anything.”

“I bet it’s fantastic at night.”

I tipped up my plastic beer and saw blue and red lights through the bottom.  A cruiser pulled up next to us at the curb and a cop leaned across to the window.

“Going to a party?”

“Yessir.”

“What’s that you’re drinking?”

“Apple cider,” Emery said.

The cop looked at us for a moment and we stared back like idiots.  He stepped out and crossed over to us.  The girls stood behind us on the sidewalk with their shivering hands tucked under the most innocent looking faces they could manage.  Emery fumbled his cup into the grass.

“You’re a clumsy one, ain’t ya?”

“Yes sir.”

He looked at me.  He was young in the streetlight, looking out from under his police cap with his head back.  He had pimples on his chin.

“What about you?  Cider?”

“No sir.”

“Well, it’s not smart to have an open container of alcohol on the walks here.”

“No sir, I never was one for smarts.”  I shook my head at my own words.

The cop looked us over.  “Got an ID?”

“Yes sir.”  I stepped forward and set my cup on his cruiser hood.

“Damnit, get that cup off my hood.”

“Yes sir.”

“Unless you want a free ride in the back.”

“No sir.  I’ll pass on the offer.”

I shook my head again and groped singlehandedly in my wallet for my ID while the cop seemed to grow in stature with each second. 

“Now see here, officer,” Liv stepped forward.  “I’m freezing my tail off out here while you’re wasting time.”

The cop and I both stood motionless, looking at her.  She stepped in front of me, catching the young cop off guard.

“Just a minute, ma’am -”

“It’s only getting colder out here and you’re scraping the streets for drunkards,” Liv said, keeping her voice level and reasoning.  “Well, take a good look at him.  Does he seem drunk to you?”

He stammered.  “Well, no ma’am but -”

“And take a look at any of us.  Do we fit the bill?”

“I don’t think so ma’am, I just -”

“Having a few drinks is not a crime.  Is it, officer?”

“Technically, ma’am, you shouldn’t have -”

“Why are you calling me ma’am?  Do I look old to you?”

“Not at all, ma’am.  Not at all, miss.”

She was smiling now.  “You’re doing a wonderful job, officer.  How boring your job would be if everyone followed the details.  But there’s no harm in taking a little drink of Apple Cider now and again is there?”

The officer cleared his throat.  Somehow, an ashamed look came over his face.

“We’re on our way home,” Liv said.  “Was there anything more you needed from us?”

He stood there and tried several times to say something before anything came out.  He pointed to the cup in my hand. 

“I’m sorry, miss.  It’s my job to…”

Then Liv turned abruptly with her elbow cocked outward, catching my wrist purposely, which made me fumble the beer all over my shoes.  The cop looked down at it for a moment and then raised his head back again.

“Well.”  He tipped his hat up from his eyebrows.

“Yes sir?” I said, waiting for him to take me away in a burlap sack.

“You folks have a nice night.”

He stepped off the curb and slowly climbed into his cruiser and drove away.

“That’s one way out of a ticket,” I said.  “It’s a little daring to get wordy with police, isn’t it?”

Liv still had a sure smile on her lips.  “Their job is to serve and protect.  How dull our world would be if there were laws against where you can have a beer.”

“But, there are,” I said.

She winked at me.  “Well who’s going to follow them?  Follow the rules just enough to stay out of jail and not hurt anyone. 
That’s
an interesting world.”

I looked over my shoulder.  “Apple cider, Emery?”

“It seemed smart at the time.  I was thinking on my feet.”

We walked across the dark shaded grass, the gray sky above spread a globe of pale light.  Notre Dame Stadium stood black upon the grass like some kind of ancient coliseum unearthed, the stadium lights reflecting glassy winks overhead.

“Wait,” Liv said.  She was hiding a mischievous smile.  “There are guards.”

“Guarding what?” I said.  “Besides, you can talk our way out of it.  You could probably get them to give us a tour.”

Emery held his hands fingerlocked at his knees and I stepped up, grabbing the top of the chain link fence and wrestling my way over the top. 

“You’re about as quiet as the marching band.”

I dropped over the other side and my footfalls echoed against the back of the stands.  I ran to the ticket entrance and opened the door from the inside.  Emery and Claire ducked in and ran ahead, disappearing into the darkness under the stands, flashing along the side through the corrugation of nightlight and shadow, their laughs following behind them.

Liv was huddling herself in her own arms, looking about, and I took her hand and ran through the first tunnel in the stands, the field appearing gray and silent below us, the empty circle of stands still alive with soundless cheers.

We ran down the aisle of stairs to the field, our footsteps slapping in the silence, the sweet smell of cold grass growing stronger.  I jumped over the field rail and the grass muffled my landing far below.  Liv leaned over, a figure against the silver matte seating, a great navy circle encasing the mighty ND in golden paint behind her.

“You want me to jump like an army invasion?”

“Don’t think about it,” I said.  “I’ll catch you.”

“What if you drop me?”

“I won’t.”

She walked along behind the rail toward a concrete staircase.  She stood there and looked at it, pondering it as if it was an equation.  Then she put her legs over the rail with a smile and jumped, her skirts flying high.  I caught her in a cradle, a small child boiling with crazy notions, an excited gasp still catching up, falling into her lungs from the rails. 

Hand in hand we ran over the short grass to the fifty-yard line, the night warmed by adrenaline, the white yard markers floating under our feet.  I held my arms wide and fell backward on the Fighting Irish mascot at centerfield.

“I’ve never seen the stadium like this,” Liv said.  “It’s magnificent.”

“Just think of all the games played here.  All the power and glory on this grass.  Knute Rockne.  The Four Horsemen.” 

I thought of Peter.  The way he used to charge from the tunnel to the fifty at full speed, screaming his head off and waving his arms.  The way he would slap their shoulderpads to pump them up before the games.  He was a born leader.

Liv circled on her feet to view the stadium, her eyes were wet with wonder.  She lowered herself to sit and placed her head near mine, her hair spilling under her head, our feet pointing off to the separate goalposts.  We made grass-angels and watched the fingers of clouds cross over the moon.

“So this is how they feel.  It feels like a dream.”

“This times a thousand,” I said.  “Imagine not an empty seat in the house, and every one of them cheering just for you.”

We swept the stadium with our eyes, traveling over every seat, soaring from above with winged arms, taking it all in for a breathless moment, then collapsed into ourselves where we lay.

“Sam?”

“Yes?”

“Why did you leave the first game?”

I propped my head up with my outside hand, not wanting to tell her that seeing the players on the field and hearing the shouts of the crowd for the first time again had brought about memories that stirred roughly inside me.

“I don’t know.  I felt sick.”

“Was it the stadium hotdogs?”

I laughed.  “No.”

“What then?  One minute you were beside me and the next you were gone.”

“I just felt sick suddenly.  I didn’t want you to feel like you had to miss the game for me, so I left.”

She turned her head and looked at me, our eyes on opposite ends of our faces.  Under the moonlight the wetness in her overwhelmed eyes still glistened and her perfume passed me over. 

“You are a shy boy.”

“Maybe.”

“You have secrets.”

“They’re not secrets.”

“Then tell me.”

I looked at the sky.  “Maybe I will.”

She folded her hands over herself and crossed her ankles.  “Will your parents like me?”

“I don’t know.  They died in a car accident and I don’t remember them.”

She whispered a gasp and when I looked she had her eyes closed. 

“Don’t worry.  I said I don’t remember them.  I don’t remember it happening.”

“How horrible.”

“My aunt raised us.”

“Us?”

“My brother.”

She propped up on her elbow.  “You do have secrets.  I didn’t know you had a brother.”

“You never asked.  Do you have a sister?”

“Yes.”

I nodded to her and gave her a wink.  “Your secret’s safe with me.”

“Don’t joke.  She’s ten.  How old is your brother?”

“Oh, he’s twenty-two.”

“An older brother.  So close in age.  Did he go to school here?”

“Yes.”

“What’s he like?”

“He’s like me, but better at everything that I’m good at.  I always looked up to him.”

She began to pick at the grass in thought.  “Will he like me?”

“Almost definitely.”

“What else are you hiding?  You didn’t tell me about the pep rally.”

“Tell you what?”

“Claire said you were an athlete at the pep rally.”

“Yeah.  Just games.”  I shrugged my shoulder.

When she had a handful of grass blades she held her fist over my face and let them fall as singles.  “You do have secrets.  But you’re exciting.”

I blew the grass from over my mouth.  My eyes were closed, shut by green bars.  She leaned over me and kissed me gently on the cheek, and I blinked her into view. The clouds were gone behind her, making her head look like a cut-out against the starlight, her hair hanging just over my face.  I went halfway and she met me there with gentle lips. 

Chapter Ten

Thin, crystal veins crept onto sidewalks from frosted grass edges, and the lawns of dormant gray toothpicks were broken with footsteps. 

The fatboy rides his miniature bicycle across the soundless school grounds, his eyes are slits in his round red face, and his freckles stand out as if freshly pocked upon his skin.  He draws a thin double line of hissing black in the ice behind him, his tires are intentionally short of full inflation.  He sits upright with his arms outstretched, tiny wheels to roll his large body, a scarf to hide his double chin and to filter the half-spoken joy that he carols to himself.