Off Season: April
Matt bent over, tying his tennis shoe. He stood up, pulling at the string on his waistband. “Hey, Tim,” he began, putting the gym bag strap over his shoulder. “Tim,” Matt repeated, louder.
Looking up, slowly, Tim ran his hand through his damp hair, “Saracen?”
“Uh, yeah, um, I was wondering if I could catch a ride down to Jack’s,” Matt looked hopeful.
“Jumpin Jack Flash?” Smash broke in before Tim could answer. Grinning, Smash walked over to the boys, “Matty boy gonna to take the big leap and get some wheels. Our little boy is growin up, Riggs.”
Tim smirked, “Saracen, that guy’s stuff aint too good.”
Matt shot Smash a glare, “uh, it’s OK, Tim. I talked to my dad and he said Jack’d give me a good deal. One of his guys was a mechanic or something for him while they were home,” he assured him.
Tim shrugged and motioned for Matt to follow him. Reaching under the seat, he pulled out a can of beer. Holding the bag toward Matt, “want one?”
Shaking his head, Matt declined. On the drive to the car lot, Matt went through the things his dad had told him over their last teleconference. He looked through his notebook as Tim watched him with an amused look. “Thanks,” Matt said as Tim pulled the truck into the dusty lot. Riggins nodded. “I’ll call Landry if I can’t drive it off the lot,” Matt stepped out of the truck.
Riggins crushed the can, tossing it on the floorboard. Watching Matt shake hands with the slimier version of Buddy Garrity put his guard up. “Hey, Jack,” Tim called across the lot.
“Hey, there Tim,” Jack waved. “How’s the old man?”
Tim shrugged, “he’s good. Real good. I talked to him Sunday. Said he’d be in next week,” Tim looked down the dusty road, knowing his words were empty, much like many promises Walt spoke. “You treat my boy good or I’ll make sure he stops by to collect on that investment he gave you,” Tim warned the man. Tim remembered vividly the weekend Walt had leant his high school buddy more than half of his buy out from the oil company. Until then, the family had been relatively happy. Losing security, Tim’s mom had left for greener pastures and Billy never made it to Texas Tech.
“I’d like to see him,” Jack smiled, ignoring the undertone. He graduated with Tim’s father and had a scar on his cheek from selling his wife, Tim’s mother, her first car. It had taken her only half way to Laribee before breaking down with an eight year old Billy and baby Tim in the back. “Don’t worry, I’ll take good care of Matt,” Jack’s grin broadened. “You take care and tell your dad I said hi,” he turned to Matt. Tim glared at the man before pulling back on the road.
Matt stood near the street, smiling at his soon to be new purchase. Sure, there were some rust spots and Jack told him it needed a new alternator, something he promised to replace as soon as Matt signed on the dotted line. A horn pulled Matt’s attention. He saw Coach Taylor and gave him a wave, “hey,” he said.
“Hey, Saracen,” Eric pulled the Explorer over. “How are you?”
“I’m good, thanks, Coach,” Matt stuttered, “I mean, uh, Coach, Mr. Taylor.” He looked at the ground before meeting Eric’s eyes.
Eric tried to ignore the boy’s reluctance, “you in the market for a car?”
Matt nodded, “yeah. Dad thought I could use a vehicle. Grandma can’t drive and sometimes Landry’s busy so I can’t use his car.”
Shutting his door, Eric walked around the car. He reached through the window popping the hood. The motor looked old, and Eric doubted it only had 105,000 miles as the odometer suggested. Looking to the trailer Jack used as an office Eric questioned, “you sure the back seat’s big enough?”
“Uh, the back seat?” Matt repeated. “The back seat looks pretty good, sir. I mean, there’s not really such a thing as a bad back seat, right?” He gave him a sly smile. Realizing what he’d said, Matt’s face pinked, “not, that, you know, not that I need a, well I don’t really think the back seat is really--,” he stumbled.
Eric held up his hand, “I was kidding, Saracen.” He shut the hood. “Look, Matt, why don’t you and I go over to Buddy’s. I’m sure he can work something out so you can get a car with a solid warranty. I’ll be happy to co-sign or whatever for you.”
Clenching his jaw, Matt kicked at the ground, “Dad told me to come here. I make enough to pay for insurance and dad’s sending me some money to pay for it.” Looking at Eric, he crossed his arms, “I don’t really need charity, Sir.”
Pressing his lips together, Eric pushed his sunglasses on his nose. Matt’s comment cut. “Right,” Eric nodded. “Right,” he said stepping toward the car. “OK, then. Matt, you take care of yourself, I’ll be seeing you.” Sitting in the car for a moment before starting it, he added, “tell your Grandma I said hello.” Matt nodded as Coach Taylor drove away.
Tami looked up from her desk, seeing Tyra filling her doorway. “Hey,” she smiled, closing the file.
Tyra smiled tensly, setting her books on the chair. Walking to the window, she plucked a few leaves off the plant. Moving to the file cabinet, she tended to that plant as well. Tami watched her with a puzzled expression. “Looks like your plants need some water,” Tyra remarked feeling the soil. Pulling a tissue out, she wiped the dirt from her finger.
Realizing Tyra stopped by for more than a casual conversation, Tami closed the door. She sat down in front of her desk. “Yeah, I’m not exactly a green thumbed master gardener,” she conceded with a smile. Letting Tyra fiddle with things a bit longer, Tami noted she failed to look at her. “I have a feeling you didn’t exactly stop in to check on my plants,” Tami offered.
Tyra pressed her lips together, shrugging. Sitting on the couch, Tyra crossed her legs, picking up the throw pillow. Playing with the tassels, Tyra shot Tami some glances. Seeing her sitting quietly, expectantly gave Tyra the confidence she needed to start talking, “he’s back,” she almost whispered.
Tami wasn’t sure she’d heard Tyra correctly, yet judging by her body language, she knew, “he’s back?”
Tyra nodded, uncrossing her legs. “About a month ago, I took an order to carside. He was in some white car. I bent down to get the money and noticed the burn on his face. It looked all purple and uuuhh” she stopped, shuddering. Tami got up and sat beside Tyra on the couch. Throwing a glance toward Tami, Tyra hugged the pillow. “Monday evening I was driving home and noticed a truck that would not get off my ass. He passed me in front of school. I parked in Landry’s driveway. He didn’t stop.”
Tami patted Tyra’s arm gently, “that’s pretty scary, hon.” Making a mental note to double check her own locks, having a known rapist running around Dillon concerned Tami greatly. Her hand reflectively ran over her stomach, thinking of her empty house with no man most of the time.
“No,” Tyra’s defiance brought Tami back. Shifting on the couch, “no. I’m not scared. I’m angry, stressed,” Tyra ran her hand through her hair.
Tami nodded, “right,” she said softly. “Denial’s a pretty common thing, sweetheart.”
Tyra glared at Tami. “Denial?” She questioned incredulously. “Mrs. T, I am not denying anything.” She let out a shaky breath.
“It’s perfectly normal to feel,” Tami paused, searching for the right words. “Vulnerable,” she concluded. “I don’t think you’ve recovered from the initial trauma and now just as you start gaining some ground, that threat is back,” Tami tried to understand. She noticed dark circles under Tyra’s eyes. Tami cupped her face, running her thumb under her eyes. The darkness surely wasn’t make up, Tami noted the exhaustion carried on Tyra’s face.
Vulnerability. Tyra scoffed at the notion. She’d learned really early on that being vulnerable meant being weak. Being weak meant getting hurt. Angela may not have set a solid example for her daughters but the string of boyfriends, some very shady taught Tyra the only way a little girl had a chance against bigger, stronger people was to build strong walls, guarding her heart and taking a baseball bat to bed. Hugging the pillow tighter, Tyra quivered.
Setting her jaw, Tyra shook her time….”Just so-“ she paused trying to think of the word. She pressed her face into the pillow. Feeling Mrs. T’s hand on her back, Tyra leaned back. Staring at the ceiling, “raw. Raw and scared,” Tyra admitted.
Tami’s heart ached for the girl. Silent tears ran down Tyra’s face, Tami pulled her into a hug. She semi rocked Tyra. “We can go down to the station right after school. Make a report, let the police know to be on the lookout.”
Shaking her head, Tyra knew it wouldn’t do any good. Mindy had a customer who’d stalked her. After he followed her to the house one too many times, he’d learned the hard way vigilante justice wasn’t just a pretty headline or empty campaign talking point. In Dillon it meant a broken knee cap and a crowbar through the radiator of some beat up car. Letting her eyes close, Tyra’s head rested heavily on Tami’s shoulder, “won’t matter,” she said groggily.
Tami wanted to believe Tyra was wrong but the deputies had a large county and just getting to her house from the station would take ten minutes. Taking a deep breath, Tami rested a hand on her small baby bump, “we’ll figure something out,” she promised the girl. “Maybe it’s time you tell your mama,” Tami said smoothing Tyra’s hair. She felt the girl stiffen. Letting the conversation drop, Tami rested her cheek on Tyra’s head. Watching Tyra’s fingers play with the pillow fringes, Tami internally cringed. The once white pillow had a hint of gray. It had become an unofficial security blanket as scared kids found their voice within the safety of Tami’s office.
“Sheila,” Smash yelled up the stairs. He walked into the kitchen picking up his protein shake, “Noannie,” he called. Shaking the cup, Brian took a large gulp, “hey.” Setting the drink on the counter, Brian ran up the stairs, two at a time. Opening the door to his sisters’ room, Smash glared at a napping Noannie and jammin’ Sheila. “Where’s the mail?”
Sheila frowned at her brother, “don’t you knock?”
“I was hollarin’ for five minutes,” Smash exaggerated. “You better turn that music down. Mama sees you, won’t be no iPod for a week,” he advised.
Rolling her eyes, Sheila watched Noannie roll over, “nice, Brian. You woke her up.” Sheila paused the iPod, now she’d have to share with her baby sister.
“Mail,” Smash repeated, ignoring the fierce looks from his sisters. An insurance salesman from Brant had managed to score Smash a ticket to UT’s Sweet Sixteen match up with Georgetown. He figured stopping by Tennessee’s campus while partying it up in the Music City, would keep rumors of recruiting violations down. Smash was Texas through and through. Who could blame him for supporting the Longhorns. The fact that his ticket cost more than he made in probably six months flipping burgers was beside the point.
Noannie sat up, “it’s on your bed,” she said rubbing her eyes.
Smash, flipped through envelopes. Michigan, Texas Tech, UCLA, St. Vincent, Miami. No tickets, he sighed tearing open the envelopes. Same story different school, he thought tossing the UCLA letter to the floor. The St. Vincent envelope was addressed in pen, unlike the usual generated ink. Furrowing his eyebrow, Smash tore the seal. Holding up the notebook paper, Smash’s face softened.
“Hey Brian, Hope this letter finds you doing well. We’re at the library for an outing. I read in the paper, Dillon is playing Cambria in the regionals. I’d maybe be able to get a pass to go but there’s not much point since I know the Smash won’t swing a bat. My cousin Chris is on the team. Says Voodoo is as much of a jerk as he was with you guys.
I guess things are getting pretty intense with recruiting. My life’s pretty simple. I wake up, take my meds, eat breakfast, go to resident issues. Then we do some school work, eat lunch, more meds. Then there’s basic living or individual therapy. They teach us how to balance a check book, make a budget, stuff like that. Then we have to rest for an hour before snack and chores. After that, we have exercise time. Dinner and resident issues. Lights out. Pretty boring.
There’s ten levels here, I’m on three. My case manager, Linda, says I’m doing better.
I hope to hear from you. Mom and Dad come down for family group on Thursday and then usually visit Sundays. It gets kind of lonely but we’re pretty busy. Can’t let the crazies have unstructured time. Tell the girls and your mama I said hey. Take care, Love Wave
Smash carefully folded up the paper and placed back in the envelope realizing St. Vincent wasn’t a college, but that hospital Waverly was staying at. Clutching the letter, Smash wrapped his fingers around his cross, saying a short prayer before setting the envelope in his night stand drawer.
Matt chewed on the string of his hoodie. Julie had just told him she would be gone for a month this summer, attending Governor’s Art Academy. It was a big deal to be chosen and part of him was proud of her, but mostly he was disappointed. Matt had imagined a summer of ice cream cones and watermelon, going on twilight walks down dusty Dillon roads, and doing it all with Julie.
“And it’s not like it’s really that long. I mean you’ll be in the weight room so technically we wouldn’t be able to hang out much during the week anyway,” Julie continued to talk, using hand gestures, her words coming out better than she’d rehearsed. Of course, as she told the mirror, she’d paused, imagining points where Matt would interrupt her, proclaiming his undying love for her. Looking at him, Julie rolled her eyes. No wonder she’d been selected for creative writing. “Matt,” she said, nudging him.
Matt looked at Julie, “what?” He remained even, calm.
“I asked if you were going to come down during visitation weekend,” Julie said, a bit annoyed.
Matt sighed, sitting up. He shrugged, “I don’t know if I can. I mean like you said I’ll be in the weight room a lot and it’s hard to leave Grandma.” He looked at Julie, quickly turning away when he saw the hurt flash across her face. “Plus, I mean, I don’t really have a good car. Landry probably will be using his a lot this summer,” Matt concluded.
Julie let her arms dangle between her knees. The tips of her fingers grated against the cool cement, “yeah,” she answered quietly. Training her eyes to the steps, Julie took a deep breath.
Matt chewed his thumbnail listening to the sounds of the unusually warm evening. The street light came on and cast an orange glow over the porch. He again glanced at Julie and sighed, “well, maybe I can work out a deal with him or something,” Matt conceded. He offered Julie a small smile when she looked at him, “I mean, he’s going to need someone to look after his helmet and stuff in the locker room,” Matt grinned.
Julie returned the smile and linked arms with him, “we can write everyday,” she said tracing the inseam of Matt’s jeans. Gripping his knee, she flashed his a flirty look, “plus, doesn’t absence make the heart grow fonder?”
Matt adjusted himself, pulling slightly away from Julie’s touch. Clearing his throat, “that’s what they say,” he stuttered. Wiping his palms on his jeans, Matt took Julie’s hand, “I can always use the computers at school and we can hook up.”
“You think you can do that even though it’s summer?” Julie asked, absently playing with Matt’s hand.
He smirked, “I’m Matt Saracen, QB 1 of the Dillon Panthers. “I mean, I can pretty much do what I want around here.”
Julie arched an eyebrow, “oh really,” she said leaning toward him with a smirk of her own. “Anything but get tickets to Eragon?” She questioned pressing her lips to his, capturing his smile
Reyes shifted his weight back and forth, in a defensive stance. “You got this Brett. He couldn’t hit the broad side of a barn,” he chattered. “Play’s at first boys,” Reyes pounded his hand into the baseball glove. Brett Weston leaned forward, getting the signal from the catcher, J.D. Checking the runner at first base, he threw a blazing fastball. The batter made contact. Charging the ball, Reyes fielded it on a second hop, stepping on second base and firing to first. Double play. Slapping his glove with Weston’s, Reyes smiled. He was enjoying being back on a team.
Weston led the inning off, batting in sixth position. He advanced to third base on a single by Will Parsons. West Carobee’s coach came from the dug out. Taking the ball from his pitcher, he signaled to the bench. Ray, Voodoo, Tatum ducked onto the field. Sauntering to the mound, he eyed the Panther bench. Warming up, Coach Spivey noted Tatum was matching Weston’s fastball.
“Just try and put some wood on it,” Coach Utz instructed Reyes. “He’ll probably try and stick you inside. Watch for the jam,” he walked back to third base box. Utz gave Reyes the signal to swing away.
Pushing down on his helmet, Reyes rubbed his hands together and stepped into the batters box. He loosely gripped the bat. Tatum’s long, lanky arms were probably the size of Reyes’ leg. Settling in his stance, he waited for the pitch. Just as Coach Utz predicted, Tatum jammed him on the inside corner. “Strike,” the umpire called. Reyes eyed him before getting back into the stance. The next pitch missed the outside corner for a ball, “One and one,” the umpire noted. Tatum leaned in and Reyes dug his feet in the dirt. Reyes watched the ball bear down toward his head. Turning away at exactly the right time, he felt the world go fuzzy as a 90 mph fastball thudded against his helmet.
Dillon’s bench cleared. Coach Utz rushed to the plate, restraining Reyes. The Mustang’s players also rushed the field. Tatum’s cocky smirk only fueled the frenzy. Brett Weston grabbed Tatum’s jersey and tried to wrestle him down. Tatum’s strength and size effortlessly pushed the Panther pitcher to the ground. After several minutes of tussling, the adults gained control. The umpire called the game and pending review from the athletic commission both schools would have a forfeit on their record.
“I’d of shoved that bat through his skull,” Weston growled. He turned his hat backwards, “that was crazy.”
Reyes nodded. Choosing not to respond, he looked out the window. Watching the town fade into abandoned oil fields, Reyes was disappointed in his actions. He’d been visiting an anger management therapist for six months. He leaned back in the seat, crossing his arms. Cracking the window, Reyes put his cap in his bat bag. “Least you got a few innings,” he remarked to Brett.
“Yeah,” Weston agreed. “I saw that one guy in the stands. Dad said he worked for the Astros developmental team.” Brett dreamed of playing baseball in college, then the majors. Hell, if he could skip college, that’d be fine too. Coach Taylor replacing Street with Saracen had angered him at first. After talking with Coach Utz and his brother, John-David, former QB 1 at Dillon, current play caller with the Alabama Crimson Tide, Brett realized he’d rather hold a clipboard than spend his summer obsessing over defensive formations. He had Legion ball to play.
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