Read The Farewell Season Online
Authors: Ann Herrick
The Farewell Season (18 page)
"
It wasn't supposed to be like this
…." it started. From there Glynnie wrote about the expectations that Coach Pickett and all the seniors had at the end of last season and how sudden changes, injuries, health problems—even death—had changed those expectations by the time this year's season rolled around.
She wrote about overcoming unexpected adversity in a way that was personal, a way that would grab readers, and yet did not betray anyone's privacy. I could see that in her accounts of me, especially, where she portrayed my feelings, but protected my dignity.
Glynnie wrapped up by saying, "So life is not always fair. But the choice is there to make the best of it and keep our hopes high."
"So?" Kirstin said, suddenly standing next to me. "What do you think?"
I cleared my throat. "I, uh, think I should call Glynnie. Talk to her."
"Good thinking." Kirstin patted my head as if I were the younger sibling.
I went to my room and made the call.
Glynnie answered after the third ring.
"Hi, it's me. Eric."
"Oh?" There was a confused, questioning tone, but I thought I caught a trace of a smile in her voice too. It gave me the nerve to go on.
"I, uh, just read your column. I-I think it's great."
"Really?" The smile widened, I'm sure of it.
"Yeah. Really." I paused, then said, "Would you like to, you know, do something?" Aaargh! Whatever happened to the old, smooth Eric Nielsen?
"Well, I was about to go for a bike ride."
"Oh." For a second I thought she was dusting me off. Then the light went on. "Oh. Yeah. I'll get my bike and be right over. Uh, if that's okay."
Glynnie laughed softly. "That's more than okay."
"Okay! Great. I'll be right over!" I was in such a hurry I forgot to say goodbye. I ran to the garage, grabbed my helmet and bike, and headed for Glynnie's. On the way over, I decided I'd better tell her that I finally gave Hedy Theodore a proper goodbye.
I couldn't believe the way my skin tingled. Me, Eric Nielsen, nervous about seeing a girl.
It felt kind of nice.
Chapter Twenty
I couldn't believe it was the first day of school, but there was that early-morning nip in the air—and Kirstin running around freaking about what to wear proved it was.
Rolf stopped to pick up Kirstin. He offered me a ride, too, but by now I knew three was a crowd. Besides, Glynnie and I had decided we'd ride our bikes to school together. It wasn't the way I pictured starting my senior year, but pedaling along with Glynnie seemed like totally the right thing. We'd started out butting heads, worked our way up to friendship, and now our relationship was more than that. I smiled to myself as I thought,
Way more
.
Funny, but even with three years of high school behind me, I still had trouble getting my locker open, still had to make an appointment with the guidance counselor because there was a mistake in my schedule—first-year French instead of third-year Spanish—and I still could hardly stay awake in math class. Sorry, but differential calculus makes my eyes glaze over.
The major problem though was after school. I still wasn't sure if I wanted to play football, having Horton for a coach. It would be a major life change, not playing, and giving up some long-time dreams, but I wasn't sure I could take him for an entire season. If I did try to play, I'd probably end up quitting anyway, or getting kicked off the team.
I decided I'd go to the first practice and see what went down.
Coach Pickett looked tired and spent most of the time sitting on the bench. Horton was pretty much in charge. It was a real physical practice. We hit the field running. The mid-summer heat was back. We charged around in pads at full speed. It felt like two-a-days again.
Horton kept yelling.
"Run!"
"Faster!"
"Harder!"
"Aggressive! Be aggressive!"
I don't know what it was. Usually I would have run faster, harder, been more aggressive. Now I felt as if I was going in slow motion.
"Nielsen! To the locker room."
At first the words didn't sink in. When they did, I took off my helmet, slammed it to the ground, picked it up and stomped off to the locker room.
I pounded my fist against my locker door. I kicked the bench. I was ready to tear the paper-towel dispenser off the wall when I sensed a shadow. I turned. It was Horton, looming over me. "I quit!"
"You don't talk!" Horton stuck his finger at my face. "I talk. You listen."
I stared at his finger. It was huge, the nail was cracked, the knuckles hairy.
"You're a good athlete, Nielsen."
What? What did he say?
"In fact, you're a very good athlete."
I stared at his chin to hide my confusion.
"I'm not in the habit of explaining myself, but I want you to know, it's the same for everyone. I can tell you to do things right or you won't play. I can tell you I have no sympathy for excuses." Horton stroked his chin, seeming to look me over carefully. "What I can't do is make you
want
to play." He pointed to the door. "If you want to
quit
, go home. If you want to
play
, get back out there."
What did I want? That was the
Who-Wants-To-Be-A-Millionaire
question. Horton almost seemed to have more faith in me than I ever had. He'd never be like a Dad to me, no way. But if he believed in me …. I stood there for what felt like hours, but must have been seconds.
I went back out there.
Chapter Twenty-One
"Kirstin! Rolf's here. It's the last scrimmage before our first game next week. I can't be late. You and Mom'll have to leave now if you want to go with us!"
"You go ahead," Kirstin called from the kitchen. "Mom and I have to, uh, we aren't ready yet."
"Okay." I headed out the door, kind of surprised Kirstin would pass up a chance to spend time with Rolf.
"Ready?" Rolf asked as I climbed into the truck.
"I'd better be." I explained that Mom and Kirstin would be along later, then sat back and tried to relax. My stomach churned. This was as real as it was going to get until we played our first game. This scrimmage would have refs, a scoreboard, and a stadium full of fans. Usually Dad would be there, recording the game and making notes to look at after the scrimmage to help me prepare for the season.
Dad wouldn't be there. I'd be on my own—but not alone. Not really. Dad would be there in my memories of him. Everything Dad ever taught me, everything about him was still with me.
***
Even as Rolf pulled into the parking lot, it was getting crowded. Families and friends and townspeople streamed toward the seats. I saw Glynnie locking up her bike. She ran over, notebook in hand.
"Hi, guys!" She gave Rolf and me a big smile, but she saved the touch on the arm for me.
"Hey, Glynnie," Rolf said.
"Hi," I said. "Don't tell me you're doing another column about the team for the Recorder?"
Glynnie shook her head. "I'm going to write a sample column for the school paper. There's an opening for sports editor."
"That's great. Maybe I'll submit some sports cartoons." I risked a quick kiss on her cheek, even though Coach Horton was pacing the sidelines on just the other side of the field. He didn't react, so I guess he either didn't see or was too wired up for the scrimmage to care. "See you later."
"You bet." Glynnie trotted off, turned back to blow me a kiss, then took her place with other reporters.
In the locker room, guys were pumped for the scrimmage. The noise level equaled the roar of a crashing waterfall. When we spilled out onto the field, cheers washed over us. I felt the excitement seep into my skin. I wanted to play football. I wanted to play well. For myself, for my Dad, for the team.
We did warm-ups, practiced some moves, and then it was time to play. Just before kickoff I scanned the sidelines. A madly waving arm drew my attention to Mom, holding a notebook. She pointed to Kirstin, camera in hand, ready to record the scrimmage.
The ref blew the whistle. The kicker booted the ball. I clenched my jaw and started living again.
Epilogue
Late November, at the football team awards banquet
We had a pretty good regular season. Nine wins, two losses. In a few days we were headed for the state playoffs. I had just heard my name called as recipient of the Most Valuable Player award.
My knees shook and my palms were so sweaty when Coach Pickett handed me the plaque that I almost dropped it. I stood in front of the microphone, facing the crowd, wondering what to say after the applause died down.
Just as Glynnie caught my eye, it dawned on me. This was my chance to say the stuff I didn't get to say before.
"I want to thank Coach Pickett for being a great teacher and a great coach. He taught me a lot about football and a lot about working through my mistakes. I want to thank Coach Horton, for making me see there's more than one way of doing a job, and believing in me. I want to thank my teammates, especially Rolf Holst, for pushing me to my limits, but not letting me take myself too seriously.
"I want to thank my Mom and my sister for all their love and patience and for putting up with me.
"I want to thank Glynnie Alden for helping me realize I have to confront my problems, not run from them.
"And most of all … for his love, his guidance, his encouragement and his just plain being there for me … most of all, I want to thank my Dad."
The End
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About the Author
Ann Herrick grew up in Connecticut, where she graduated from The Morgan School and Quinnipiac University. She now lives in Oregon with her husband, who was her high-school sweetheart. Their wonderful daughter is grown, married and gainfully employed, and has given Ann her only grand-dog, Puff, a bloodhound-rottweiller-beagle mix. While she misses the East Coast, especially houses built before 1900, she enjoys the green valleys, fresh air and low humidity in the Willamette Valley of Oregon. Ann loves cats, walking, the Oregon Ducks and working in her back yard. In addition to stories and books for children and young adults, Ann also writes copy for humorous and conventional greeting cards. She loves to hear from her readers and can be contacted through her web site:
http://annherrickauthor.com
