The Field (10 page)

“Coal gasification does represent an improvement over traditional coal-fired power plants,” Cole is directing his comments to me and Renee, since Will is still sitting with his back to us, his posture rigid, inviting no conversation. “But it still has issues.”

“Right. Haven't we been going over this in class for the past two days?” I ask, annoyed. I'm not ready to let him off the hook for what happened with Will.

“Well, yes, we have.” Cole is unperturbed. “But the whole process of trying to move away from burning fossil fuels to clean energy sources is really interesting from an economic standpoint. I mean, coal gasification does produce lower CO
₂
emissions, but the fact remains that carbon dioxide contributes to global warming. And it's still pollution. The problem is that there is such a huge infrastructure of industry dedicated to coal mining, production and burning. It's just easier to call coal gasification ‘clean coal,' than to focus on truly clean, renewable energy sources.”

“What are you, like a spokesman for clean energy or something? You sound like a freaking commercial.”

Renee hurriedly intervenes to head off an argument between us. “In some European countries, I think they are capturing the CO
₂
emissions from coal gasification and pumping it into deep underground caverns, so no CO
₂
is released into the atmosphere.”

I take a deep breath to calm down. Sometimes Cole is just too much. “Yeah, I've heard about that. The problem is we don't really know what happens when we bury CO
₂
emissions. Remember that village in Africa where the entire community was suffocated by CO
₂
gas that escaped from underground into the air? It pushed out all the oxygen and the town suffocated before
they even knew what was happening. We don't even know if the CO
₂
pumped underground will stay there,” I say emphatically. I'm trying to keep my voice dispassionate, but I find this all so frustrating. We should be focused on clean, renewable energy, not ‘clean coal.'

Audrey, a girl sitting across the aisle from us, chimes in. “But, the emissions from coal gasification are way cleaner than in regular coal plants. Less acid rain and smog, too. At least it's a step in the right direction.”

“Yeah, wasn't that in the chapter we read last night?” I say sarcastically. Renee elbows me in the ribs. She's right, I don't need to be a jerk about this. I just don't get why we would settle for something that is almost right when there are other options that are totally right.

“What about coal mining? I mean, we've all seen the coal miners on TV who've been trapped in underground mines, and mountain-top mining has a really negative environmental impact,” the girl sitting next to Audrey says.

“Yeah, that's totally true,” Audrey says. “Just like the oil spill in the Gulf of Mexico and the one in Alaska back in the'80s. It's a huge price to pay for energy.”

I can't really comment on the benefits of coal gasification, because it feels to me like that saying my Mamaw sometimes uses: ‘putting lipstick on a pig.' It doesn't change the fact that it still creates pollution and global warming. So I look out the window at the passing corn and soybean fields. The cornstalks are standing over six feet high in the fields, waiting to be harvested. Every now and then there's a farm house surrounded with trees and the ubiquitous barn, sometimes red, more often white. Away from the city, on the flat farmland, the sky is an overarching dome, stretching from one horizon to the other. Today there are
big, cottony cumulus clouds moving ponderously toward the east and rising like mountains high into the sky. In the seat in front of me, Will is glowering out the window, but I don't imagine he's appreciating the pastoral scene.

What does he think about his dad working at the Eagle River plant? The foreman position is pretty prestigious, and when Will's dad got the job, his family was really psyched about it. But what about now? Now that we've learned that ‘clean coal' is just a clever marketing name? And how is Will going to act around his Dad while the class is at the plant? Even Mr. Ogle knows that Will's dad is the foreman.

In the distance, I see white smoke billowing into the sky. The smokestacks of the plant loom over the horizon above the cornfields. The white clouds spewing out of the stacks don't look much different than the innocuous clouds floating through the sky, but I know they are.

The school bus pulls into the parking lot of the plant and comes to a stop by the front entrance. Will still hasn't said anything since blowing up at Cole, and he has a thunderous look on his face. I just hope he can keep it together enough around his dad so he doesn't lose it again. I have an uneasy feeling about this, so when we all start filing off the bus, I let Cole and Renee go ahead and motion for Will to get in line in front of me. At first he doesn't get up, but then he just shrugs and moves into the aisle between me and Renee.

When we're all standing on the blazing hot asphalt parking lot, a woman with a clipboard and a high chirpy voice—not Will's dad, thankfully—calls us over to her and says that she will be our guide on the tour through the plant.

For the next hour we weave through the maze of the plant following the path of the coal gasification process. It's pretty interesting
from an engineering and scientific standpoint, I guess, but I can't really concentrate. I've got this weird feeling of foreboding, and the longer we're in the plant, the more distracting it gets. I keep looking at Will and expecting his dad to appear at any minute, but Will is acting pretty cool and his dad is nowhere in sight. Still, I feel like I need to stick close to him in case there's a confrontation or something.

Finally, we're back outside at the side of the plant where the trucks tip their loads of coal into the processing area. Our chirpy guide is saying, “There's a picnic area along the shore of the Eagle River where you will have your bag lunches, and Mr. Asplunth, the plant foreman, will come out while you're eating and answer any of your questions.”

Shit. I look over at Will, whose face has hardened again. The prickly feeling intensifies and, instinctively, my muscles tense, ready. Miss Chirpy continues now with an even bigger smile on her face. “I understand that one of you is Will Asplunth, the foreman's son? Will, would you like to come inside and visit with your dad?” She looks at us happily, searching for Will.

All the students turn to look for Will as well. Standing beside me, he says through clenched teeth, “No, thanks. I'm going to eat on the bus.” He turns abruptly and starts jogging across the unloading area towards the parking lot.

No! Stop!
It explodes into my brain and before I can think I'm lunging towards Will and grabbing him by the arm; yanking him back towards me. I sense more than see out of the corner of my eye, the dump truck coming fast around the corner barreling towards us. I've pulled him so hard that his momentum brings him crashing into me and we hit the ground, scraping and bruising ourselves on the asphalt and landing in a tangle of arms and legs. The dump truck, going much slower now, makes a wide turn
around our group and passes harmlessly by where Will and I lay on the ground.

“What the hell?” Will says, angrily, shoving me away from him and clambering to his feet. “What was that for? I can't believe you actually threw me to the ground.”

“That dump truck, I thought it was going to hit you,” I stammer out. I
knew
it was going to hit him and I just reacted. But it didn't even come close.

“What are you, like Superman or something?” he says sarcastically. “It was nowhere near me.”

“I'm sorry. I thought it was. I guess I was wrong.” I can't believe this. I was trying to save him from getting hit by a truck and I'm
apologizing
. I feel like a complete idiot. The entire class is staring at Will and me. He's glaring down at me, and I'm still on the ground, blood dripping onto the asphalt from where the skin is scraped off my arm.

Will takes a deep breath and lets out a whoosh of air. “It's cool man. Sorry for yelling at you.” He extends his hand towards me to help me up. “Just don't pull that shit on me again, okay?” He gives a half-hearted laugh.

Mr. Ogle comes over to see if we're okay and find out what's going on. Then our guide takes the class over to the grassy area by the river for lunch and goes off in search of a first aid kit. I sit down in the shade under a tree, and Renee comes over to sit beside me. She puts her hand on my wrist below a spot on my arm where most of the skin is scraped off.

“Are you okay?” she asks, her eyes wide with concern. “What happened?”
What did just happen?
My goalkeeper instincts kicked in when I thought Will was in danger, but how did I know that? The truck didn't come anywhere near him. I had an uneasy feeling
all day, and then the sudden flash of
danger!
Had I been wrong?

“I don't know. I guess I thought the dump truck was going to hit Will and I pulled him out of the way. I didn't think, I just reacted.” I lean my head back against the tree.

“Why did you think it was going to hit him?” It's a reasonable question, but do I have a reasonable answer? If anyone would believe me, it would be Renee, so I decide to tell her the truth.

“It just flashed into my head when he started to jog across the parking lot. I didn't even see the truck at first. I just
knew
he was in danger.” I shake my head and shrug. “But I guess I was wrong.”

“Maybe,” she says. “Or maybe you really did save him.”

Just then, the tour guide arrives with first aid supplies and kneels next to me. “Here's some antibiotic ointment and bandages.” And then to Mr. Ogle, who is standing nearby, she says, “I'm so sorry, but Mr. Asplunth had to take a very important phone call and won't be able to talk with everyone.”

“Figures. Mr. Unreliable,” says Will, who's sitting a few feet away, which surprises me since he was so actively wanting to avoid his dad earlier. I guess nothing his dad does at this point would be good in Will's eyes. I'm actually relieved that we won't be having any confrontations. I've had enough excitement for one day.

A
T PRACTICE THAT
afternoon, Will and I have to see the trainers to have our ‘injuries' checked out and to see if we're okay to practice. There is no way we're going to let a few scrapes and bruises stop us from practicing. We have a game on Friday and we both want to be in the starting lineup, so we downplay how
sore we are. I'm still in competition for the starting spot with Brett, and I don't want to give him any advantage. Even though it hurts like hell every time I make a save, I go through the whole practice anyway, through gritted teeth. That's what ibuprofen is for.

On the way home with Will, I figure this is as good a time as any to see if he wants to talk about his dad. He didn't say much during the rest of the field trip or on the bus ride home except to give me grief, along with everyone else, about throwing him to the ground. I just tried to blow it off and make a joke out of the whole thing.

After we get into Will's car and he turns on some music, he leans his head back in the seat, closes his eyes and lets out a sigh. “What a helluva day. I'm glad that's over.”

“Yeah, me too. So things are pretty bad with your dad?” I venture.

“They're non-existent. He just took off. I haven't seen him except at the soccer game—not that he hasn't been calling and texting me. I just don't want to talk to him. My mom's a mess and my little sister just keeps asking when he's coming home. I feel like I have to try to hold it together for everyone.” He covers his face with his hands and pushes his fingers into his hair. “Whatever,” he says, blowing air through his pursed lips, and then a moment later he says, “Dammit!” and pounds his hands on the steering wheel.

“I saw him in town about a week ago. He was coming out of a restaurant with someone—a younger woman. I didn't actually see anything, but it just felt off, not right, you know?”

“It's probably this woman he works with. He swears that he's not having an affair, but I bet he is. Why the hell didn't you tell me?” He turns on me accusingly.

“I don't know. I wasn't really even sure there was anything to tell. I didn't know what was going on with him at home.”

“Yeah, well, next time you see something like that, tell me, will you?” he says angrily and slams the steering wheel again.

“Sure, no problem.”

“You and Renee seem to be pretty tight these days. Is that helping you get in good with Dr. Auberge?” he says with an edge to his voice.

Now it's my turn to be pissed. “What the hell is that supposed to mean? Are you suggesting that I'm using Renee for the internship? That's pretty low.”

“No.” He leans back against the seat again and blows air through his mouth. “No, I know you're not using her. Sorry, man. My brain's rattled these days.” He gives me a rueful smile. “Forget it.”

I don't say anything because I'm still pretty hacked off. My hands are clenched in my lap, and I have to consciously relax my shoulders and flex my hands. People say shit like that when they're angry because there's a grain of truth to it. Part of Will must actually believe I would do that.

“Has Coach Swenson said anything to you and Brett about who's starting on Friday?” Maybe I'm just imagining it, since this is something we normally talk about, but his asking me now feels like another slam. I look to see if I can tell from his expression, but he's started the car and is looking over his shoulder to back out of the parking space. I decide to just let it go.

“Nope. We're both still hoping to start. He may wait until right before the game like last time, which is crap.”

“You should be starting. You're better in the clutch than Brett. He gets rattled when the pressure is on, but that's when you're on fire.”