Offside (11 page)

“
You may my glories and my state depose, But not my griefs; still am I king of those.”

As the clock approached midnight, the king of all my own griefs began to demand attention. I fought it as hard as I could and eventually just closed my eyes and refused to look at the clock again.

I had no idea what time it was when I finally drifted off.

I woke up, wide-eyed and staring at the ceiling.

September twenty-third.

I sat up and wrapped my hands around my knees. I could feel it coming just like it did every year, and there was nothing I could do to stop it. The images were always crystal clear, just like every day since, but in sharper focus because of the number of times I had watched it all play out in my head. I closed my eyes and just tried to wait it out.

I woke up and pranced down the stairs in my pajamas to watch cartoons in the living room. Mom was making pancakes, and Dad was reading the paper. When she called me over for breakfast, I noticed my pancake had fourteen blueberries in it, and Dad’s only had twelve. Mom got them at the farmer’s market, and they were big and juicy and fresh. The maple syrup was in a ten-ounce glass bottle.

My game was early that day, so as soon as breakfast was over, we all piled in the car. I was already dressed for the game—cleats and shin guards and jersey—and I was bouncing the ball on my knee in the backseat.

We got to the field, and I started looking around the back seat, but I couldn’t find my gloves. I remembered they were on the bench near the front door. I left them there after practicing with Dad in the back yard the night before.

“
How can you forget your damn gloves, Thomas?” Dad snapped. “You’re a keeper, for God’s sake.”

“
They didn’t get back in my bag,” I said. “I thought they were in there.”

“
You have to check these things!” Dad growled as he shook his head.

“
Don’t yell at him, Lou,” Mom scolded. “I’ll go back and get them. We’re only five minutes from home, and there’s plenty of time before the game.”

And so she left.

And we waited.

And waited.

And waited.

The coach called us to the center of the field. We all shook hands, and the ref blew the whistle, so I started the game without gloves.

When I stopped the ball, I had to rub my hands on my legs to get rid of the sting. That’s what I was doing when I heard Dad’s phone go off. At about the same time, Sheriff Skye showed up on the edge of the field. He headed for Dad.

The game went on, but I lost focus as the sheriff went up to him and put his hand on Dad’s shoulder.

The ball went into the net behind me as I watched Dad jump out of his folding chair and start running back to the parking lot. Sheriff Skye went over to talk to my coach and then the ref before the whistle was blown to start play again. Coach called me over to the sideline and said I needed to go with the police officer. While in the cruiser on the way to the hospital, Sheriff Skye told me about the wreck.

I put on a button down shirt with a pair of dark colored Dockers. I pulled my black tie out of the closet and in front of the bathroom mirror, I tied it in a full Windsor knot. I pulled a warm sweater on over my shirt in case it was cold outside. After I was dressed, I headed past Dad—who was passed out on the couch—and slipped outside. Back behind the garage, I picked up the pot of bright yellow mums.

Gripping the key to the Jeep, I slowly turned it, and the car started smoothly. I made sure the mums weren’t going to tip over on the floor of the passenger seat and started heading down the drive. It didn’t take long to get there—it wasn’t that big of a town—and the city cemetery was on the same side of town as our house.

I pulled into the parking lot and got out of the car, carrying my potted mums and a small hand shovel. I walked through the trees and around a couple of large stone monuments. There was a little mausoleum in the center of the cemetery, and I walked to the left of that. Near the edge of the path, there was a large, rectangular stone of mauve-colored marble.

Francis Malone

Beloved Wife and Mother

Getting down on my knees in the damp grass, I used the little shovel to dig a hole big enough for the mums, pulled the flowers out of their plastic pot, and planted them in the ground next to the headstone. Leaning back on my knees, I took a deep breath as I ran my hands through my hair. I shifted a little and dropped my ass down next to her headstone and then pulled my knees up close to my chest.

“Hi, Mom,” I said softly. “I, um…I brought you some flowers. They were on sale.”

I cleared my throat and wrapped my arms around my legs.

“I’m sorry for what I did,” I whispered. “I’m still keeping my promise, though. I’ll never forget anything again—I swear it. I haven’t forgotten anything since that day, Mom. Nothing.”

For a while I just sat, reliving the day over and over again…the ride to the hospital, sitting in the waiting room for hours before someone comes to take me back to another room where I sit for hours again. Dad finally coming in, freaking out, taking me to the room where she is—hooked up to a dozen noisy machines that are the only things keeping her alive. Saying goodbye. Being taken away by the nurse who tries to give me coloring books to occupy myself while Dad is switching off the machines. Going home. The look in Dad’s eyes as he hits me over and over again. Knowing it was my fault. Knowing I deserve all of it.

He told everyone I was too torn up to come to the funeral. He didn’t want them to see the bruises.

It started raining, of course, but I only barely noticed.

“School’s pretty good this year,” I said to the slab of marble beside me. “The team is doing well. Oh, yeah—Real Messini is actually checking me out, too. That made Dad happy.”

I reached over and yanked one of the mums off the plant. My fingers slowly shredded the petals from the flower. The rain poured down a little harder, plastering my hair to my forehead. I needed a haircut.

“I’m taking a couple of AP classes. Shakespeare is one of them, which I thought you would like. Biology, too. There’s a girl in there…a new girl. She’s from Minnesota. It’s Sheriff Skye’s daughter. She, um…she’s really…interesting. I think I kind of like her, you know? Not like the other girls…but I never told you about them. I don’t think you’d really approve, you know? Well, no you don’t, but anyway…”

I took a deep breath and wiped some of the rain from my face.

“I think I really like her,” I continued. “She’s just different. She’s smart—I can tell that, even though we only have one class together. The thing is—I kind of pissed her off. She heard me saying some stuff…it wasn’t very nice stuff…and now she won’t talk to me. I don’t know what to do.”

I reached out and ran my finger over and over the letter “F” carved into the marble.

“I wish you were here so you could tell me what I should do. I’ve never really had to…well, to do anything to get a girl to like me. I don’t know how to do that. I’m not really sure what there is to like. She said I was a jerk…but she danced with me at the city banquet. She’s so pretty, and she smells good.”

I closed my eyes and leaned my head against my knees. My clothes were soaked through, and there was a breeze that was sending a chill through me. I leaned over and placed the side of my face against her headstone. I could feel the indentation of her name against my cheek. When I opened my eyes again, my vision was all blurred from pressing against the stone.

“I miss you,” I whispered. “Dad misses you, too. I know he doesn’t come here and tell you that, but he really does. I helped him tie his bowtie again this year. He’s afraid of being alone when I’m gone. I told him to come with me, but I don’t think he really wants to. I just remind him of you, and it hurts him too much to have me around and to know it’s all my fault. He’s stuck. He doesn’t want me around, but he doesn’t want me gone, either.”

I closed my eyes again, trying not to think…not to remember.

It didn’t work.

I listened to the rain.

I listened to my heartbeat.

I listened to the bass, choking sounds as I tried to breathe deeply.

At some point, the rain stopped.

I blocked out the sounds altogether, and listened to the sounds inside my head—the sounds of the machine that was keeping her body alive even though she was already gone. I listened to my Dad’s screaming and the steady thump of his fists on my body.

“Thomas?”

I didn’t move.

“Thomas?” This time, the sound was accompanied by a soft touch against my hand. I opened my eyes to long, muscular legs encased in red running shoes. I licked my lips and thought about how I might respond, but I didn’t know what to say.

“Come on, Thomas.”

The first hand was joined by another, and they started to work together to pull me up by my arm. I obliged, pushing myself first to my knees and then to my feet. As my eyes managed to focus a little more, I saw Nicole at my side, wrapping her arm around my waist and leading me away.

“Rumple?”

“Yes?”

I sighed and leaned my head on top of hers. She kept her arm around me as we walked toward my car.

“Give me your keys,” she said.

“Why?”

“I really don’t think you should be driving.”

I tried to process the information.

“You want to drive my Jeep?”

“I think that would be best, yes.”

“It’s a stick.”

She turned her head to look up at me and raised her eyebrows.

“I can drive a stick.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah.”

I reached into my sodden pocket and pulled out my keychain. She took the keys from my hand and clicked the fob a couple of times before opening the passenger door and pushing me inside. I looked around a bit—I’d never seen my car from this angle before. It was strange to see someone else getting into the driver’s seat and turning the key.

“What’s your address, Thomas?”

“Not going home.”

“You should go home.”

“No,” I replied.

“Where is your dad?”

“He’s home.”

“You should be with him.”

“No…it’s too soon.” I looked over to her. My eyes hurt, but I tried to keep them open anyway. “I can’t go home yet.”

She sat there and looked at me a minute and then huffed a breath through her nose.

“Do you want to come back to my place?”

I began to focus again as I realized just what she was saying, and more importantly, the fact that she was speaking to me at all. I could only nod in response, afraid any actual words would remind her that I was a jerk.

She turned her head to look out the back window as she shifted into gear and headed out of the cemetery while Shakespeare echoed through my head.

“
In the course of justice, none of us should see salvation: we do pray for mercy.”

I knew what was happening as Nicole pulled me from my car and led me up to the front door of her house, but I was still in a daze. Undoubtedly, I would remember it all later with crystal clarity, but while it was happening, everything was sort of a blur.