Flights (11 page)

At the snap there was an explosion of speed and power and he watched the play develop for too long, picking up Stallworth only as the Steeler receiver lashed into him, driving him onto his back so that his helmet bounced on the artificial turf and the condenser microphones on the sidelines could pick it up. He was aware of his father somewhere in the crowd.

Blair stood over him, eyes looming out of the white cage and purple helmet. Man, you're gonna have to deal with that, he said. Stallworth's gonna be comin' at you and you just gotta beat him to the guard or whoever's leading the play. He pulled, lifting Biddy off the cold artificial surface, and in the defensive huddle Biddy felt as he had in the Oriole dugout: he wasn't doing the job and they were going to get rid of him. Or worse, as he left the huddle and hunched opposite Stallworth once more: he was letting everyone down until they did.

While he diagnosed the next play, Stallworth moved like light and drove his shoulder and helmet into Biddy's thigh, pinwheeling him around and knocking him out of the runner's path. He lay on his side, arm pinned at an odd angle, watching Franco Harris score.

Oh, man, Blair said from behind him. You are just not willing to do what it takes, are you?

Every day for a week he sat next to Laura at recess. She sat alone during the free time the nuns allowed after organized games.

Her father was a doctor and she used to live in Toledo, Ohio. She didn't like Connecticut so far, but they were going to visit Mystic soon, her father said.

“You know what's at Mystic?” he asked.

She shook her head. “Boats?”

They sat under a smallish tree at the edge of the playground. She raised the plaid of her skirt and nudged a beetle off her thigh. “The nuns are nicer here,” she said, watching Sister Theresa.

“Some are nice,” he said.

“They don't hit you so much.”

Kristi flopped down next to them. “It's hot out there,” she announced. “You guys got all the shade.” She studied a kickball game across the yard before turning to Laura and squinting. “Who're you?”

“This is Laura,” Biddy said.

Kristi peered at her. “Do you have a sister in the first grade?”

“No.” Laura said.

“Are you an orphan?”

Laura looked up, wide-eyed. “No.”

“Look like an orphan.”

“Kristi,” Biddy warned.

“You're not very nice,” Laura said.

“Well, you're an assface.”

“Kristi get out of here,” he said. “Go sit under your own tree.”

She stood and left. “Assface,” she called over her shoulder.

Laura squinted after her.

“My sister's creepy sometimes,” he said. “Sorry.”

“It's okay.” She started to cry. She said, “I don't know anyone here.”

“It's okay,” he said meaninglessly, surprised. “You know me. You'll know other people.” She stared moodily at the tree, a lone hair lifting from her head in the breeze. “I don't know many people either,” he offered. “And I've been here my whole life.”

She didn't cheer up. He looked off in the direction she was looking.

Sister Theresa was approaching, gesturing for them to assemble with the others. She had a small oval of blood inside her nose, dark in the shadow of her nostril.

“What happened to Sister?” Laura breathed as Sister came closer.

“Probably picked it too hard,” he said, and she laughed, startling him. Sister stopped, equally surprised, and dabbed her nose with a handkerchief and noticed the blood. She looked up at them and walked over. She waited.

“My bloody nose is funny, Laura?” she said. “Is it funny?”

They didn't speak.

“That's very nice. You see someone bleeding and you laugh.” She paused. “I think you should stay after with me today, young lady.”

“No,” he said. “That's not fair. She wasn't laughing at you. She was laughing at something I said.”

“Oh?” Sister held the handkerchief back up to her nose. “And what was that, Jack Benny?”

He looked away, sullen.

“What'd you say?”

“Nothing.”

“Nothing? Was it that terrible?” She dabbed again. “You might as well tell me. You're staying after as well.” She gestured toward the school. “You've held up the whole recess line now. Not brave enough to tell me?”

“I said you must have picked it too hard,” he said.

She slapped him across the face.

Laura drew in her breath sharply, and his eyes filled with water. Sister stood them both up and followed them back to the recess line.

They stayed in separate rooms after school and Laura was released a half hour before he was. He wasn't allowed to leave his seat. He spent some time in Three Rivers Stadium but couldn't find the will to stay and was beginning to derive less from it in any event.

On his way home he thought, I could write a note.

Dear Mom and Dad.

I'm all right. It's real nice here and everybody's nice to me. I'm learning how to do all sorts of things. I found a new dog and he's really good. I'm eating a lot. I'm sorry I left. Today we went for a hike and saw farms and mountains. Today we went swimming. Today we went skiing.

Where was he going to go, he thought. How was he going to go anywhere? He didn't know where to go, didn't have any money, and didn't know anyone. He wasn't even sure if he wanted to go.

I don't know anything, he thought, and threw his lunch box into his yard as he came down the street.

“Kristi,” he called up the stairs as he climbed. “Don't do that again.” The bannister slipped and whistled under his palm.

“What are you fighting about?” his mother called. “Stop it.”

He called her again, and went into her bedroom, shutting the door behind him.

“Shh,” she said.

“What're you doing?”

“I'm watchin' Mr. Fraser back the car out.”

He went to the window. “What for?”

“He's runnin' over his rake.”

“His rake? Where?”

“There.” She pointed at the long, thin-handled rake, prongs up, lying in the driveway.

“Why don't you tell him?”

She looked at him. “I want to see if he sees it.”

They both watched, charmed into silence as Mr. Fraser edged the car out slowly, looking farther down the driveway. The bumper crept nearer so incrementally that the scene began to resemble something from an inept thriller. The prongs disappeared under the car's shadow.

Fraser stopped and got out of the car, checking behind it, and pulled the rake out of the way.

Kristi turned from the window. “I'm thirsty.”

“Kristi, don't act like that with Laura anymore.”

“You like her.”

He stared at her. “What do you care?”

“I don't have to like her just because you do.”

“You don't have to like her. Just don't be mean to her. Don't be so mean to anyone.”

She sat on the bed, bored. “Can we get a cat since Lady's dead?” she said.

“Shut up.” He looked at her blue eyes, her nose. “We don't need a cat. And you'd just treat it awful anyway.”

“Well I wouldn't kill it.”

They could hear noises outside. She rummaged in a drawer for a sweater, seemingly realizing she might have gone too far.

“Why are you so mean to everybody?” he asked, in almost a whisper. He very much wanted to know.

“I'm not. Leave me alone.” She found a bright red sweater and pulled it over her hair.

He felt sad, beaten in some way. He said, “Put on a jacket if you're going out.” I sound like them, he thought.

“Leave me alone.” She went to the stairs. “And get outta my room.”

“He's always in my room,” he heard her complain to his mother as she passed through the kitchen.

On the stairs later that evening, he heard his father and mother discussing him. “Well, we gotta do something,” his father said.

He couldn't hear his mother's response.

“Well, Jesus Christ, he walks around with his face down to here. Everything is ‘I don't care' or ‘I don't feel like it,' and he's got no interest in anything anymore. Now all I have to hear is that his grades are suffering.”

His mother said something.

“Well, I got Al Greaves looking for me, for a dog. Something small, you know, and it won't cost us anything, and I'll make sure it's not something that's gonna take your hand off.”

“You think it's that simple?” His mother was closer now.

“What do you want me to do? Hire a psychiatrist? Bring in a team from Yale?”

“He's unhappy about more than the dog and you know it.”

“Well, let's start small, all right? We'll surprise him with the dog, and if he ends up strangling it then we'll know what our next move should be.”

Dishes collided and rattled.

“Look, I'm not saying—” His father moved away, fading out under the clatter.

He thought for a while about a dog. The image of Lady as a puppy returned to him. “Lady the second,” he said, standing and turning in to his bedroom. “I'll probably kill her, too.”

The Lirianos came over. He avoided Mickey and went outside and sat next to Louis, who was sitting alone at the redwood table as though it were summer.

“Button your jacket, Louis,” he suggested.

“Thanks.” He buttoned his jacket. His voice always seemed to have an odd extra bit of volume.

“That was a great game last week,” Biddy said.

“Thanks.”

“Now all you gotta do is beat Milford.”

“Uh-huh.”

A leaf fell directly between them, resting on curved points on the table. “How come you're out here?”

Louis shrugged. “I'm tired. Came from practice.” He pulled up some grass and twiddled it between his fingers. Biddy felt sadder than ever.

“You know,” Louis said, startling him, “we hate Prep.” There was a silence, and Biddy waited for him to continue. “They do terrible things. Last year in pileups they were pulling the hairs out of my legs.”

Biddy sat forward. “The hairs out of your legs?”

He nodded sadly. “You couldn't see who was doing it, and everyone on top would hold you down.” There was an odd, rumbling sound from the airport. “It used to hurt,” he added.

“I believe it,” Biddy said.

“Darien was mean, too. They used to come in three buses. It was like an army, Coach said.”

“How were they mean?”

He shook his head vaguely. The tree branches above him moved in the wind, clacking like dice in a cup.

“How have you been, Louis?” he asked after a while.

“I'm okay. I hurt my hand in the game.” He looked at his hand.

“No, I mean have you been happy and stuff?”

“Yeah. I been happy.” He sounded flat.

“You sound blah.”

He nodded, undisturbed. “People say that.”

Biddy leaned forward. “Louis, do you ever see yourself doing other things? Playing in other games? Like pro football?”

“Oh, I'm not good enough for pro football.”

“No, I mean imagine—like pretend you're in a game. Or dream?”

“Sometimes I have dreams.”

Biddy slumped back.

“Is that what you mean?”

“No, not really.” A private plane droned by, banking around to its approach pattern. “What's your favorite team?”

“Football?” Louis said. “Browns.”

“Okay, do you ever, like imagine you're playing with the Browns?”

Louis looked at him strangely. “Why would I do that?”

“I don't know,” Biddy said, discouraged. “I thought you might.”

“You should button your jacket,” Louis said, scolding.

Biddy nodded, feeling the cold. “I know,” he said. “Thanks.”

Laura wasn't in school the next day. He sat under the tree anyway, by himself. Sister Theresa walked over and sat next to him.

“Going to play today?” she asked.

“No.”

Across the yard, the ball was kicked back and forth.

“I'm noticing a real change in attitude with you, Biddy,” she said. “What do you think?” She looked at him. “Feel any different?” She returned her attention to the game, her profile sharp and striking. “Like what happened yesterday. That surprised me. I wouldn't've expected it of you. I shouldn't have lost my temper like that, but even so. Is anything bothering you you'd like to talk about?”

“No,” he said.

“You could talk to Father if you'd be more comfortable.”

“No.”

“What about your grades?”

He gazed at the grass.

“They're not what anyone expects of you. You're just getting by this year. And letting a lot of people down. A lot of it is carelessness. As you know.”

He rubbed a hand on his shoe.

“Is the work too hard? It's not too hard for Janet. It's not too hard for Sarah Alice. Laura was just dropped into a strange situation and she's doing fine. Do you think you're going to get honors every year for slapdash work?” She waited. “What are your parents going to say after this report card?”

“I don't know,” he said.

“You don't know. You should know. Should I arrange a meeting with them? Do we need a meeting with them?”

“No.”

“Straighten up, Biddy. You're a bright boy and you stay out of trouble. You've got a good future ahead if you work at it.” She stood, checking the back of her habit for grass. “I'm still assuming you'll represent Our Lady of Peace in the spelling bee. With Sarah Alice and Janet.”

He nodded.

“It's an honor, by the way,” she called back over her shoulder. “Let's go. We're going in now.” She gestured at the line of boys and girls in plaid and gray, fidgeting and jostling one another under the cool overcast sky.

He took the pitch and sprinted wide, turning, twisting, darting, ripping away from people, making grunting, desperate noises in the exertion. He was upended finally and fumbled, landing on his shoulder. Someone tore his sleeve off.