Archives for November 9, 2013

Chapter 57

 

            The sophomore team’s first game was against East Orange. They had no game uniforms and were told the night before to take their pants and jerseys home and have their mothers clean them. Ron was in a quandary. His mother hated doing laundry. There was no laundry room in this building. He sat on the edge of the tub that he’d filled with hot water and detergent and bleach and soaked his filthy uniform. He took a scrub brush to the harder stains. When he was pretty sure that he’s gotten everything acceptably clean, he hung them up to dry.

            George got home before Marjorie. When he saw the uniform dripping into the now filthy tub, he said, “What are you doing?”

            George had an idea. He got a plastic garbage bag and loaded the wet uniform in it. He could not fault Ron’s desire to look clean. He would help him with that. Secretly, he’s told all the guys at work that his son was playing football on the JV as just a freshman. His chest had swelled when they congratulated him and said that maybe this would keep Ron out of trouble.

            When Marjorie came home, George said, “Let’s have dinner at my mother’s house. She has a washer and a dryer. Ronald has a game tomorrow and this fabric will never be dry like this.

            Ron felt touched. For George it was a win win. He’d get to eat dinner with his family, and he’d done something for Ronald that he could use when he and Marjorie argued about Ron’s lack of respect. Marjorie was glum but agreed. She was hot and tired and the last thing that she wanted to do was have a noisy dinner at her mother in law’s house where the women didn’t trust that she knew how to do anything in the kitchen.

            They ate escarole and beans. George was in heaven. It was accompanied by a tomato salad from the garden and the tomatoes were plump and juicy and ripe and swimming in olive oil with some onion.

            Ron picked at his food and was grateful to George for helping him out.  After dinner and while the dryer was running, George snuck down to the Arrow where he placed a $20 to win bet on Touchdown, a colt who was running in a qualifier down at Monmouth.

            The next day’s classes went smoothly. Ron had been prepared both times that he was called on. He’d taken his Friday Algebra quiz. He wasn’t sure about that. He barely passed the first two and they were review.

            In English, his black frocked teacher had asked the class to explain the difference between an adverb and an adjective. Ron had been tentative but correct and concise.

He hadn’t been hit and so it was a good day, but he’d watched other get slapped. In Religion, Brother Cecil had rapped his knuckles down on the top of Anthony Malone’s head for speaking out without raising his hand. The sound had echoed and Anthony held a hand on top of his head for several minutes afterwards.

Brother Alvin had pinched his fingers into Malone’s neck earlier that day. He said that he was helping him with his accent. The class bonded. They were all going to take a beating once in a while but that was the way that it was.

Ron lined up on the receiving team for the kickoff. He was on the front line. Just before the whistle blew he felt his gazed pulled up and saw his father standing alongside his car. His body froze and his mind went blank. The ball was kicked to his left and his team mate covered it. Ron stood there in shock at the thought that his father was watching him play as a large black boy from East Orange slammed his body down on top of the Jersey Catholic player who lay on the ground with the ball curled into his belly.

Ron felt a surge rush through him and felt like a river in his ears. He was on offense. The same kid was lined up across from him. Ron’s assignment was to drive on him and he fired off with low slanted speed and the need for collision. It came. His shoulder bucked into the kid like a kick. He heard the grunt and the play ran for eleven yards. He looked for his dad. He was still there, standing and watching.

When he heard the same play called in the huddle, he grinned. He was gonna get to do it again. He fired out but this time the boy tried to circle him. Ron changed his trajectory and lunged and hit and the kid went down on his back. Helmet to helmet, Ron looked into his face. He saw fear. He liked what he saw. Jersey Catholic didn’t score but they drove and when they punted the ball was deep in East Orange territory.

            Ron was second string on defense. At least he thought he was. When he got to sidelines, Coach Connors put his hands on his shoulder pads and slapped his ass. “Linebacker on the left,” he said. He gave Ron a shove and sent him back out to play.

The perspective was different when you weren’t down in a stance. Ron bent his knees and coiled his torso. The play went the other way, but he sprinted and got there just as it ended. Coach Peters turned to assistant and smiled, “Ronnie likes to play football.”

The game continued and Ron flew all over the field. He loved to tackle. He was unstoppable. His dad was watching. His team was up by one score. Then Allen Watkins fumbled in back of the line of scrimmage. There was a pile and Ron was in it. The ball was wedged under him. A hand punched him in the stomach. A knee came up into his groin. Ron was clutching for the ball, but other hands were clutching for it too. They heard whistles but no one was letting go or stopping. And then it was gone. He’d lost his tentative grip on it. When he got up, the fat Black kid was smiling. He held out the ball. “Lose something?” he said with a smirk.

Ron was about to go for him when he heard another whistle and a ref was between them and a yellow flag was fluttering in the air. “Unsportsman like conduct,” said the ref.

            East Orange was backed up. Ron felt a fury rushing through him like the sound of a train whistle in his ears. He wanted to hit. He saw the play coming right at him. It was a sweep to his side. He moved towards it and felt a sharp pain in his back knock him off balance and send him sprawling onto his face. He jumped to his feet with fury in his eyes and a throbbing pain at the middle of his back. He saw another yellow flag.

The East Orange player who was called for clipping said, “Oh fuck these white refs and this white boy Jesus school.”

The field erupted and players were grabbing at each other. Whistles blew loudly. The coaches were instructed to get their players to the sidelines. They met with the refs in the middle of the field. They stood there talking and the coaches were gesticulating at each other. The whistle blew again and the ref raised his hands in the air and waved them. He picked up the ball trotted over to the East Orange sideline tossed them their ball and then the two refs, still completely dressed headed for their cars.

Coach Peters’ face was very red when he got back to his sideline. “Gather up our stuff men. We’re going home. Game’s over.”

The players looked shocked. They didn’t realize what was happening. “Fellas, I want you to stay together on the way back to the school.”

No one said anything until Allen asked, “Did we win?”

“I’ll tell you when we get back to the school,” said Peters.

Ron looked for his father’s car but it was gone.

Coach Peters circled around the team with his car. His assistant walked back with the team. Everyone was eerily quiet. Back in the locker room Connors explained that because they had a lead and that they hadn’t instigated the trouble, they were declared the winners. The guys cheered and smiled. Connors said, “It’s a lesson in self-control boys. We had it, they didn’t. Anyone bloodied up or have an injury to report?”

Two hands went up into the air almost ashamed. Each of the coaches went to one of the boys.  Ron stripped out his jersey and shoulder pads. He sat in front of his locker waiting.

Allen walked over and said, “Come on Tuck, you need a shower.”

 

 

Chapter 58

            The next time that the Bombascos and the Bragos met was at Angel’s birthday party. Celeste had planned a lavish meal and everyone, including Angel’s father and his family, was invited. It was scheduled for a Sunday and Ron was relieved that there would be no pressure for him to be anywhere else.

            Joey and Mario worked all morning to set up the backyard with tables and tablecloths and chairs that they borrowed from neighbors. Anna sat in her kitchen holding her fly swatter. With all the ins and outs through the back door, she was sure that her house was now infested. Celeste was at the stove. She had four burners going and she felt tense and happy. Her daughter was two years old.

            Anna said, “Any chance that Ron is intending to lend a hand?”

            “He’s working, Mom.”

            “On a Sunday morning? And you believe that?”

            “He does his papers and prepares for the week on Sundays.”

            “Jimmy never had to work on Sundays.”

            Celeste unsuccessfully tried to hide the sarcasm in her voice, “Jimmy’s a gym teacher.”

            “Oh,” said Anna. “So now this Ronnie-come-lately is more important than your cousin?”

            “I didn’t say that or mean that.”

            “Who knows what you are talking about half the time.”

            Exasperated, Celeste reached for the pot of boiling water without a pot holder or a mitten. The hot metal pot burned into her hands. She dropped it and screamed.

            “Oh, for God sakes.” Anna got up with difficulty. “Go into the bathroom so I can take care of you.”

            Before Celeste had become a nurse and before Tina had become a nurse, Anna had nursed during World War 2. She’d seen burns. She dressed her daughter’s hands efficiently. Celeste watched as her sedentary mother’s hands worked with agility. The burns were minor. It wouldn’t be a problem. Anna gazed into her daughter’s eyes and saw her dreams and felt a pang of jealousy. It wasn’t jealousy without love. Maybe it was envy.

            Anna had settled on a life. Mario had hardly been her first and only choice, but he was sensible and romantic. Most of all, he made her feel safe. He didn’t play an instrument anymore, but he’d serenaded her outside of her window when he courted her. The difference was that Mario no longer had ambition. The war had taken that away. Being a paratrooper as part of the preparation for D-day had taken that away. The people that he’d had to shoot had left him incapable of wanting more. Being peeled out of the night ice at the Battle of the Bulge had convinced him that he wanted a warm and easy life, with easy comforts. They had two children. They made a life. Anna looked into her daughter’s eyes. She had given her a grandchild who was beautiful and who Anna could tell embodied her spirit. She felt that Celeste’s choices in men had been astoundingly abysmal. They were either both entertaining and good for nothing or cold fish.

            “How does it feel?”

            “I’ll be ok,” said Celeste.

            “He should have been here.”

            “You don’t know him the way that I do. He’s kind and good and he’s really smart. He loves the baby.”

            “I still don’t think that this is a good idea,” said Anna. “I don’t think that you know what you are getting yourself into.”

            “Why?”

            “I want to read his cards,” said Anna.

 

            People began arriving for the party and there was still no sign of Ron.  Celeste slipped off to dial his number and when there was no answer, she felt a twinge. She came upstairs and broke into a grin as she heard him squeaking around the corner. Barb was dressing Angel, who insisted that she wanted Aunt Barb to do it because she knew how to make her look the prettiest. Barb had beamed.

            Tina arrived with little Joey and hollered, “Where’s the birthday girl?”

            Mario had come in the back door. He smiled and picked up his grandson. “She’s upstairs making herself bea-ut-ti-ful.” He enunciated each syllable and drew them out so that the word had a feel of cacophony.

            Celeste kissed little Joey and opened the front door just as Ron was coming up the stairs. He immediately saw the bandage on her hand and said, “What happened?”

            “A little accident,” said Celeste. “It’s nothing.”

            Anna was back in her chair, she reached for her cigarettes and found that Mario had slipped the clear plastic off and turned it around so that it covered the open pack. She frowned and tore it off. “You know Mario, it’s doesn’t do anything but annoy me.”

            Mario didn’t answer.

            Ron said, “Tell me what happened.”

            “I burned my hand reaching for a pot and forgetting that it was hot. It was my own fault.”

            Anna waited for her to add that her mother had bandaged it, but she didn’t. She looked at her grandson in Mario’s arms and smiled. He was a big boy and very happy. He slept through the night. He entertained himself in front of the TV. In short he was ten times less demanding than Angel was. Publically, she credited Tina with this. Privately she knew that Angel was just more of a problem child. It was good to keep Celeste in her place though. Then she frowned with the thought that all of that would be changing now. She grimaced at Ron.

            Barb and Angel came downstairs. Angel was wearing a pink dress with white hearts on it. Her hair had a pink ribbon and hung down passed her shoulders with delightfully bouncing twirling curls. “Here’s the Princess,” announced Barb.

            Angel took hold of the hem of her dress and did a little half curtsey, just the way that she and Barb had practice upstairs. Anna smiled until she laughed. Mario repeated, “You look bea-ut-i-ful,” elongating the word even more than the first time.

            Ron crouched down as Angel ran to him. “Do I look pretty?” she said.

            “You’re the prettiest two year old in the entire world,” said Ron.

            Then Angel ran to her grandmother, who leaned over and hugged her and whispered into her ear. “You are a knockout.”

            Angel wasn’t sure what that meant, but she grinned with the faith that her grandmother always said nice things to her.

            Tina smiled. “Hello gorgeous girl and Happy Birthday!”

            There were about fifty people in the backyard, when the Bombascos arrived. Ron grimaced when he saw that Lois was with Marjorie and George. He hoped that he didn’t have to explain that. There was a polite reception for them and introductions were made. Marjorie went up to Angel and said, “Happy Birthday” and handed her an elegantly wrapped gift.

            Angel took it and ran over to the stack of presents that was taller than she was and twice as wide. Marjorie waited to be thanked. Celeste came over and kissed Marjorie on the cheek and said, “Thank you very much and please enjoy yourself.”

            Marjorie’s eyes were fixed on the huge pile of presents. She watched Angel toss it onto the pile and saw it disappear. Well so much for the time that she had spent wrapping that.

            Ron said, “Come over here. Let’s sit in the shade.”

            Andrew Canigliaro arrived with his mother and father. There was a clear awkwardness. There were exchanged looks among the guests. He had a lot of nerve coming here after the way that he’d acted. They all knew that while Celeste was pregnant that he had called her repeatedly and begged her to have an abortion. Then his father had called her and told her that she should have an abortion. The general consensus was that he should hang his head in shame for the rest of his life.

            The sight of the child and feel of the tension was just too much for Andrew’s father. Donald Canigliaro clutched at his chest and collapsed. Rose Canigliaro screamed. Tina and Celeste ran. Angel had not seen what happened and discreetly Barb took her inside so that she would not be frightened. The sisters acted quickly. Tina loosened his shirt. Celeste took his pulse. Their eyes met and exchanged a troubled glance.

            Donald was unconscious and he wasn’t breathing. Celeste did CPR. Tina ran to call for an ambulance. Anna’s belief in god was reaffirmed. Marjorie thought, what kind of a party was this? George watched the efficiency with which Celeste worked and admired it. Ron tried to stay out of the way.  He was caught between wanting to go to Angel and wanting to help Celeste and knowing that he needed to stay close to his mother so that she didn’t lose it.

            It seemed that everything was moving in slow motion and then the siren could be heard. A stretcher was rolled up the along the side of the house. Celeste backed away when she saw the EMT’s there. She had done all that she could. She hoped that it was enough.

            As quickly as they had arrived, the Canigliaros left.

            Mario said, “Is he OK?’

            Celeste answered, “I think he’s having a heart attack.”

            Anna patted Celeste’s hand. “You and Tina did very well and Barb got Angel inside so that she didn’t get scared.”

            Ron sat there watching and then turned to Marjorie. “Celeste may have saved his life.”

            “Don’t be so dramatic,” said Marjorie. “It may just have been the heat. She isn’t a doctor.”

            “You’re incredible,” said Ron. He got up and walked away.

 

Chapter 59

           

            Harry Tuck was drinking coffee with Marjorie and George when Ron got home. Ron lit up at the sight of his mother and father together. He blocked out the existence of George Bombasco, or shoved him far enough away in his mind to make him irrelevant. It was the three of them. It was the way that it always should have been, without a Rocky and certainly without a Bombasco.

            “How was the game?” said Marjorie.

            Ron grinned and the two of his parents smiled at the way that his face dimpled. “Dad was there,” said Ron.

            “I saw the way that those Coons tried to bully you,” said Harry.

            Ron nodded. “But we won.”

            “And they hate you all the more for it and will say that it was stolen from them.”

            “They stopped the game because they were afraid,” said Ron. “We weren’t afraid. The kids on the field weren’t afraid.”

            “I don’t know what they even play against a nigger school,” said George.

            Ron ignored George. “I was excited to see you there Dad, thank you.”

            Marjorie smiled. He’d always known what his father needed to hear and said it to him naturally. When would Harry realize that Ron only said the things that he knew that Harry wanted to hear because he was afraid of not seeing him anymore? Marjorie waited for Harry to say that he was proud of the way that his son played, but in her heart she knew that he wouldn’t say it. He just couldn’t.

            Harry got up to leave. A look of disappointment spread over Ron’s face and then Marjorie watched him try to hide it. She hadn’t been wrong to leave Harry Tuck. She told herself that again. She was sure that it was what she had to do and it didn’t matter now anyway.

            She both hated and loved Harry for the cool ease with which he slid out. She looked at George and closed her eyes. “Well, we better have dinner.”

            Ron could feel that his teachers knew what had happened in the game yesterday. Each of the Brothers smiled at him. Nobody put him on the spot. Even Brother Cecil gave him a pass. Ron was doing his reading. His mind was not willing to submit to Latin or French. He did the assignments, but he just couldn’t commit the words to memory. They didn’t make sense to him. He had words. He was squeaking by in Algebra, but some of his classmates weren’t.

            Brother O’Shea said, “Mr. Dalton, you got a 59 on the quiz didn’t you?”

            Stan Dalton had been called up to the front of the room to receive his quiz. “Yes Brother.”

            O’Shea rocked back on his heels. “And that isn’t good enough is it?”

            “No Brother.” Stan Dalton’s left eye began to twitch.

            “Would you prefer them on your palms or your backside?”

            “I don’t understand Brother.”

            Brother O’Shea removed a strap from his belt that looked like the one that Joe the Barber used to sharpen his razor when he was about to shave the back of Ron’s neck after a haircut. “Hold out your hands,” Mr. Dalton.

            Stan Dalton extended his palms. They were shaking. The strap was a blur when it cracked down on the boys open palms. He yelped and pulled his palms back.

            “One more,” said O’Shea. “You decide, which hand?”

            Stan Dalton hesitantly extended his left hand, the one that he didn’t have to write with. The fingers were curled and O’Shea used the strap gently to straighten them. Then he raised it over his head and cracked it down on the trembling flesh. Dalton yelped and then whimpered. His shoulders slumped.

            “You may take your seat, Mr. Dalton”

            The class watched Stan Dalton meekly return to his desk. He was rubbing his hands on his thighs.

            “Now,” said O’Shea, confident that he had their attention. “Let’s talk about Algebraic equations.”

           

Chapter 60

            When it was time for Angel to open her presents, Celeste set up a lawn chair in front of the huge pile of gifts and placed her daughter between her thighs on the chair. Angel squirmed until she was comfy and then Celeste handed her the first gift. It was from her grandmother and grandfather and was a pink snow suit with a hood that had a fluffy white fringe on the top. Celeste smiled at her parents. It was just what she had asked them to buy. “Look,” she said, “It matches your dress.”

            Angel couldn’t remember snow and didn’t know what the heavy garments were for but she said, “Thank you Papa. Thank you Nanna.”

            There were smiles and a few “ohhs” from the party goers. Angel was on to the next gift. Celeste tried to fold the suit back up and get it into the box, but Angel was excitedly ripping into the wrapping paper of her next present. Barb came to help Celeste and took the snowsuit and box so she could re-box it and let Celeste concentrate on Angel. It was a summer dress. It was blue and had a huge pink heart on the chest with a picture of a kitten inside the heart. Celeste read the card to Angel. It was from Aunt Barb, one of the eleven presents that Barb had bought her for the day.

            Ten presents into the process, Angel was bored. Everyone had gotten her clothes and they were nice but she felt hot and confined with her mother in the chair and wanted to run around. When Celeste handed her Marjorie and George’s gift, she said, “No more now,” and squirmed free.

            Ron could feel the tension emanating from his mother. Marjorie turned to Lois and said, “They just let that child do whatever she wants to do.”

            Lois nodded. “She spoiled and she’s too young for this kind of thing.”

            Marjorie rolled her eyes and looked at Ron but directed her statement to Lois. “Oh no, she’s a prodigy. The smartest girl the earth has ever seen. Just ask my son.”

            Ron’s green eyes flashed dark. “She’s two years old.”

            “Then she should be treated like she’s two years old.”

            “That’s enough now,” said George. His fear of embarrassment was one of his strongest emotions and Marjorie knew that he hadn’t wanted to be here in the first place.

            Celeste realized her mistake. It had already been a long day for Angel and she had missed her nap. Celeste had let the party and the preparations and the tension of having the Canigliaros and the Bombascos there, along with her desire to just have the day run smoothly to cause her to forget the nap. Angel was cranky. She wanted Ron. She saw him sitting off to the side and ran over to him. She literally dove into his lap and Marjorie recoiled.

            She turned to George and said, “You’re right, it’s more than enough.”

            She turned to Ronald who was tossing Angel gently into the air and catching her and said. “We’re going to be going.”

            “Just a second,” said Ron. “I’ll walk you to the car.”

            “I think you should stay with what’s important to you, Ronald,” said his mother.

            She and Lois walked away. George said, “You know how she is. Let her get over it.”

            “Get over what?”

Angel no longer tossed and giggling ran off to find someone else to play with her. She was on overdrive and headed for a crash.

            “You know how she is,” repeated George.

            Janine had heard everything. At Anna’s request, she had positioned herself where she could hear what Marjorie and George were saying without interacting with them. It was going to be an interesting phone call tomorrow morning.

            It was about eight o’clock in the evening. Just about everyone had left. Celeste brought Ron out of the basement where he’d been reviewing for the next day’s classes.

            The dining room table had been cleared off except for the coffee that was in front of Anna along with her deck of Tarot Cards. Janine and Anna had taken classes together to learn how to read them and Anna was uncannily good with them. Janine’s mother Hannah was the best in the family, but her skills came from an old tradition of divining that was mysterious and involved pressing her thumb into the forehead of the person she was working with and sometimes stroking the tips of that person’s ears.

            Ron sat down across from Anna. He didn’t tell her that he also had a Tarot deck and that he’d done readings and astrology charts in the past.

            “Would you mind if I read your cards, Ron?”

            “Not at all,” said Ron smiling.

            She spread the cards on the table, face up. “Pick the card that you think best represents you,” she said.

            Ron gave her his dimpled grin. “Well, let’s go with popular opinion,” he said. He selected The Fool. Janine giggled and Celeste smiled. Anna’s face was expressionless, except for the feel of a tired sadness.

            She handed Ron the deck. “You shuffle them.”

            Celeste and Janine watched along with Anna as Ron shuffled the cards again and again. Janine stared at his hands. They weren’t as big as Jimmy’s hands. She’d ask Celeste about his equipment the next time that they were alone.

            Ron finished shuffling and laid the deck down in front of him. He waited.

            “Cut them,” said Anna. Her short red hair was mixed with grey and white. Ron tried to read her face as she shuffled. He couldn’t.

            Ron cut the cards and handed them back to Anna.

            “Place them on the table,” said Anna.

            “Do you know your question?” said Anna.

            “Yes,” said Ron.

            “Don’t tell me,” she said.

            Ron obeyed and watched. Anna turned the deck towards her and picked it up. Slowly she laid the first card down, “This is in back of you.” The ten of Wands appeared. Ron stared at it. A man with his back turned was carrying a load of 10 wands or staffs. Out of the top of each one small green flowers were visible. In the distance was a house.

            Anna turned the next card. “This covers you.” The ten of Cups came up reversed. Ron saw the cups in a semi-circle in the air. Underneath them a man and a woman were dancing.  In the left corner of the card was the sun and it the other corner was the moon. Anna turned the next card saying, “This is in front of you.” Ron hoped that by doing this that maybe they would be closer together. Maybe she would give him a chance. The two of Swords was revealed. This depicted a blindfolded woman sitting on a rock with her arms crossed at her chest and a long sword projecting from each of her hands. She turned the next card. “This card indicates the emotional factors that are influencing you.”  A Woman and a child were seated in a boat. A man standing behind them was using a staff to propel the boat and six Swords were lining the sides of the rowboat. Anna stared up at Ron’s face. She thought that she saw fear and that he was about to ask something. “Just wait until I’m finished” she said. Then you can ask questions. The fear seemed to vanish from Ron’s face and he nodded.

            “This next card indicates the outside influences on you. The Queen of Swords came up reversed. A woman wearing a crown was seated on a throne and held up a single sword. “This card indicates your hopes and fears,” said Anna. She turned the card and The Hanged man appeared. A man with his hands behind his back was suspended upside down from a cross by one foot. His other foot was bent at the knee and in back of him. There was a halo around his head. “This last card indicates the outcome to the situation about which you have a question.” The Hierophant appeared. She looked like a priestess of a queen seated on a throne. Two monks were kneeling before her. In her left hand she held a scepter and right hand was raised in a symbol of peace.

            Ron stared at the pictures. His emotional mind flicked from one to the other. He knew that The Fool meant hope. It was why he had chosen it. He wondered if there was any attempt to reach out to Anna that would meet with a measure of success. He tried again to reach into her.

            “So what do you see?”

            “A confused situation with a troubled past and influences that are stacked against things working out. Although, there is hope in these cards.”

            Ron was drawn to the boat and the man standing with a staff, rowing a woman and child. He’d learned to trust what he saw in the cards as much as he trusted the written explanations of what was there.

            Ho looked at Celeste. He saw that she didn’t see anything in the cards but was hopeful that maybe there was a place of agreement of peace. He felt the warmth of her there with him. Agreement and peace and a chance to make it work. That’s what they were asking for. Why was it so difficult to achieve?

            Janine’s eyes flicked behind her tinted glasses from one card to the other. She knew what she saw. She didn’t need to be told, but it was Anna’s reading.

            “The answer to your question is that there is a difficult path in front of you and no guarantee of success. You are haunted by a past that you could not control. You’re impetuous to believe that you can control your future. You’re wrong and you know it. But you want a fighting chance. You feel like you deserve it. That’s also wrong. You may get it but it won’t be because you deserve it.”

            Janine felt her eyes widen. Anna truly was uncanny.

 

Chapter 51

Ron smiled as he saw his students enter.  Their disheveled youth amused him. He felt kindly towards them. “So, good morning. I hope the weekend was good but good or not it’s over and time to go back to work.” He paused. He stared at them. They gazed back, proud and young and waiting to be filled. “Your responses were good. Some of you have learned how to write. That was satisfying to see. The others of you who do not, catch up. This is an honors English class. If you don’t know how to write, I’ll help you to find a more suitable placement. Otherwise, get to work.”

He passed on their essays complete with comments. He said, “Take a moment. If you have trouble with my handwriting let me see it. I didn’t take time writing those comments because I wish them disregarded. Your grades will be a reflection of how you perform on tests. But your learning will be a conversation between the two of us.  Please read my responses to your papers.”

He waited and watched. They read. His heart missed his girls and their shyness coupled with their sometimes brazen approach. These guys deserved his best. He didn’t intend to short change them. One by one, their heads raised and let him know that they had read what he’d written. He surveyed them. “Questions?”

Mark Simon said, “What does suspend disbelief mean?”

“It means that literature requires imagination and that if you keep what you think weighted down by the hard facts of life that you will find it much harder to dream.”

He let that sink in.

Paul Panini said, “I don’t think that too much of that is any good.”

Ron tried to absorb that. It was an unexpected comment. He liked that it surprised and challenged him His mind reached back. Something that Lashly had taught him. “Balance is everything, Paul. But one person’s balance is another’s tipping point.” The look on Paul’s face told Ron that he didn’t understand, but Ron did.

Edward Lang said, I didn’t find William Bradford boring. I thought that the poem was boring.” The poem that Ron read that first class went:

We The First People

 

I’m proud to belong to one of the original clans

Whose Ancestors occupied all of these lands

Before we were “found” by some wandering seaman

Who knew just where he was and we became “Indian”

 

Talk to me of our victories, and I will listen

Tell me about our history, a tear will glisten

Stories of how life use to be, bring a rueful smile

Drums and flutes will find me dreaming all the while

 

In order to “save” us, they killed us

Our peaceful cultures were “dangerous”

And they thought they could just ravage us

But by fighting back, we became “savages”

 

Call us lazy indeed – we’re not driven by their greed

To gather “materials” about them

But my question is

How did we exist

For hundreds of centuries without them?

 

— Unknown

           

Ron picked up the book and read it again. He knew now that poems were like songs. The more that you heard them, the deeper their effect would be. “Why does this bore you, Ed?”

            “When you read it, it didn’t. When I read it, it did.”

            Ron thought hard about that. He had the sense that the information was important, but he wasn’t sure what to do with it. When the class ended, he walked down to the teachers’ lounge with it still on his mind.

            His department chairman was Sam Felice. Sam was hunched over a book and eating an egg salad sandwich at 10:30 in the morning. Ron slid in across from him.

“Hi, Sam.”

Sam looked up and wiped his mouth.  He had dark hair and glasses that had slipped down his nose. He pushed them back. “How’re things Ron?”

“Kid just stopped me with a question.”

Sam laughed. “You’re letting them ask questions already?”

Ron grinned. They’d had many conversations about teaching. Sam was serious about it and Ron respected him. “Yeah well, it’s my honors class. You get them next year. I figured that I’d get all their questions out.”

They shared a chuckle and Sam said, “What did he say?”

“He said the poem wasn’t boring when I read it but that it was when he did.”

Sam smiled. “Did you tell him that it was because he didn’t know how to read?”

That comment hit Ron hard. They knew words but they weren’t sure how to hear them. He nodded. “Thanks Sam.”

Ron drank coffee while Sam finished his sandwich. “How’s the football team?”

“We lost on Saturday.”

“I know,” said Sam. “But how does it look?”

“Like we are 0-1,” said Ron.

 

Chapter 51

            There were two lunches at Jersey Catholic. The cafeteria was vast and crammed full of long lunch tables that were set in identical rows spanning both the length and width of the room. Once you were down, getting up was a navigation. Ron sat with Phillip from Our Lady of the Forlorn.

            Phillip said, “Seniors are allowed to smoke at their table.”

            “Really?” said Ron. “Where’d you hear that?”

            “I forget,” said Phillip. “But if one of us gets caught at their table we’re in big trouble.”

            “I got no reason to be over there,” said Ron.

            “No, but good to know, isn’t it? I mean suppose one of them invited us over there just to laugh at us when we get in trouble?”

            Phillip was right. Anything that they could figure out about the way that things really were could be helpful. It would be like that until they had things figured out.

            To some extent, seniors were allowed to pick on the freshman. It was considered a rite of passage. The younger kids stayed away from them and the seniors were always on the lookout for some easy fun during lunch. They had gone through it. Now it was their turn to be in charge. They’d looked forward to this for three years.

            “You going to play football, Phillip?”

            “I’m gonna try. Tryouts are tomorrow.”

            Phillip and Ron were about the same size. They had been the best two players when their friends lined up. They were never allowed on the same team and now they would be. “We’ll both make it,” said Ron.

            “I don’t know. I heard there are a hundred guys who want to play and the team only carries forty.”

            That rumor was true, but it was hard to tell what was true from what was just a story. They ate quickly. Looking around at the noisy throng of guys and in the distance seeing the cloud of smoke that hung over the senior table in the low ceilinged room. From the corner of his eye, Ron watched one of the seniors walk passed. His mouth dropped open. The guy looked like he shaved every day. Ron had never shaved but he wanted to. Phillip shaved about once every two weeks. Ron wondered if that meant that he was less of a man.

            Ron got his books from his locker with a feeling that he had gotten through the first morning and could see the pattern. It was simple. Shut up, stay put and do your work. That message was loud and clear.

            History was taught by the first lay teacher that Ron had seen. He was a slight man with thin hair and a redeeming hairline. He appeared to be in good shape. He smiled at them and said, “My name is Mr. Connor. This is World History.” He paused for a moment and looked over the class. “There sure are a lot of you. Take your jackets off fellas, it’s too hot for this.” He stopped and removed his own jacket across the back of his chair. His students did the same thing.

            Connor peered out into the class. “Are any of my runners here?”

            Everyone looked around. Ron hadn’t known that Connor was a coach. Two hands went into the air. One was the red haired kid who sat in back of Ron. He’d been one the kids who had to stand during Algebra. Ron thought I guess that’s how it goes. You can be a jerkoff in the morning and distinguished in the afternoon.

            Connor spent the rest of the class talking to them about why he felt history as worth knowing. “The President’s knowledge of history probably saved us from annihilation during this Cuban thing. He knew that the Bear had more growl than bite.” Ron wasn’t sure who the Bear was but he did like the easy way that Connor seemed to be running his class. They didn’t take out their books until the end when he provided them with an assignment.  It was five pages of reading. Ron flipped through the pages. There were more words to a page on these books then there had been in the books that they used in grammar school.  He took that to mean that he was growing up. He flipped through the pages delighted when he saw pictures that took up large parts of the page.

            There were two of his classmates standing at the door waiting for a teacher to arrive to start the next class. Brother Cecil looked down at them from the doorway.

Tim DeFalco said, “Brother, can I use the bathroom?”

Cecil had arrived early and some of the students still had their jackets off. Brother Cecil had a baritone voice that spread out from his mouth like a rumble. “What a wonderful greeting. I walk into the room and the first thing that is said to me is ‘can I urinate.’ He eyed DeFalco. “I surely hope that you have the capacity to urinate. What is your name?”

Tim face was now fire engine red. “Tim DeFalco, Brother.”

“Do you think that you can urinate, Mr. DeFalco?”

“I don’t know, Brother, but I need to.”

“The proper way to express yourself is to ask ‘may I use the rest room?’ Saying can I use it implies that perhaps you don’t know how. I assume that you know how, or am I incorrect?”

“No Brother.”

The class had gotten back into their jackets as they watched DeFalco suffer. Ron could see that his hand kept starting to reach for his penis to squeeze it and try to hold it back, but he kept checking himself and stopping. Brother Cecil saw it too. “Hurry up, DeFalco, but I’m not waiting for you.” Brother Cecil turned to the class and said, “Welcome to our study of Christianity.”

Ron couldn’t help it and began to laugh out loud. Brother Cecil shot him a harsh look and Ron attempted to stifle his laughter. But the sight of Tim resisting the urge to try to squeeze his penis shut combined with the enjoyment that Cecil took in the exchange had him laughing and he couldn’t stop. He bit his lip hard. Cecil was walking towards him. “May I ask exactly what was so funny?”

Ron couldn’t help it. “Sure you can,” he said and the giggles erupted again.

Brother Cecil rocked back on his heels and slapped Ron hard across his face. His giggles vanished into shock. Ron’s eyes widened as they looked up at him. “I hope that I’ve been able to help you,” said Brother Cecil.

Ron couldn’t resist the urge to bring his hands to his face. It wasn’t fury or fear that raged in him. His reaction was mixed. He’d stopped laughing. His face hurt. The rest of the class faded back in his mind. He floated for that instant. “Thank you, Brother,” he said and lowered his eyes.

Cecil smiled. “What is your name?”

“Ron Tuck.”

“Where are you from?”

“I live about three blocks from here.”

“Not the first time that you’ve had your face slapped then?”

“No Brother.”

“Let’s make it the last time that I have to do that.”

Brother Cecil continued with his introduction.

 

 

Chapter 52

            After the JV game on Monday, the coaches gathered to watch the game film of the varsity’s loss. If The varsity played at home, the JV played away. Some players participated in both games. It was a lot to ask, but Ferry wanted to give them a taste of victory and although it wasn’t really a second chance, it could be something. Paul Pamenteri was the head JV coach. Artie was his assistant. Artie also had the advantage of being able to do fast and good tapings and acted as their trainer. Ron broke down the film with Ferry and the starters who were beyond playing in a JV game.

Ron had expected Steve to rail, but the coach silently let the film run through most of the first quarter. Then he stopped it. “Watch here,” he clicked it forward again. “See this? We run the hell out of this dive to both sides. Let’s make it even better.” He let the film run. The players were viewing it intently. They either liked or hated seeing themselves but it was never a neutral reaction. Ferry stopped it again for the pass plays to the flat. Ron felt a rush of pride. Those were plays that he’d suggested. Well almost. Ferry had asked him about the flats and he’s been correct.

“Those are the things that we can build on men. We can run and we have a quarterback who can play catch with a wide receiver. We also have a pretty tough defense.”

Ron thought Steve Ferry was masterful and his respect for him deepened. It had been the first game of the year. They had been outflanked by a new defense. Maybe it was new. For now, Steve was giving that the benefit of the doubt. Ron tried to absorb that.

“Let’s stretch and jog a couple of easy laps and call it a day, boys.”

 

They sat in the coaches’ room with two pizza boxes in front of them and watched the game film for the second time. This time Ferry stopped it after each play and dissected what he saw. Ron watched as he ran it forwards and then backwards…in slow motion. Each play was dissected. Ron took notes. So did Paul. Artie tried to stay awake and ate one entire pizza by himself.

“We did pretty well up front,” said Ferry. “But we aren’t all coming off the ball at the same time. Artie, see how the left side is just a half step behind?”

“I see it,” said Artie.

“Time for more sled work,” said Ferry.

Artie grinned. He loved to ride the seven man sled. And you could feel the slightest variation when the players didn’t fire out together and put a shoulder into it.

“Paul, watch the quarterback’s feet.”

Ferry ran the play again. They all watched the quarterback. “He’s taking extra steps. It’s slowing the play down and the running back has to hesitate before he gets the ball.”

“I didn’t see it on the field,” said Paul. “I see it now.”

“I didn’t see it on the field either.

 

Larry Viola did not join them for this film work. He sat in Brother Howard’s office explaining his idea. “I think that pre-game rallies would help our attendance. It would get people to the games earlier and the concessions would sell more. Our students would feel like they were more part of the team.”

Brother Howard puffed on his after dinner cigar and listened. He could see the benefits. “What about your scouting?”

“I can still get to the games and three of the teams that we play have their games on Friday nights, so that won’t be a problem.”

Brother Howard rubbed the ash off into his ashtray. “What did Steve say?”

“He said that I wasn’t a cheerleader. But I am Brother. I’m a cheerleader for this school and you know that.”

“I do,” said Brother Howard. “I’ll speak to Steve. Our next home game isn’t until a week from Saturday, so you’ll have time to put something together.”

Larry Viola preened. This was going to be fun. He thought about whether it was a good time to bring Artie up and decided that it wasn’t.

“If this works out the way that you think it will, there will be a little something extra

 for you Larry.”

Viola smiled. “Thank you Brother, but you know that’s not why I’m doing it, don’t you?”

“Everybody has to live, Larry.”

 

Chapter 53

The day seemed to stretch on forever. Mr. Wisnewski was their English teacher. He was tall, slender and had dark brown hair. What was striking about his appearance was that he taught in a long black, cap and gown style robe that was zippered up tight and revealed only the knot of his tie and the white, starched collar of his shirt. He spoke in clipped tones. He did not allow them to remove their jackets

The clock did not seem to be moving. Ron’s mind wandered. Wisnewski did not seem to ever look at his students. He kept his eyes fixed at a point on the rear wall up over their heads. He didn’t smile or ask for questions. When it was finally over, Ron felt like cheering.

Out as his locker, he noticed that several of the guys were hanging their blazers in the locker. That seemed like a good idea. At least he wouldn’t have to wear the thing to and from school.

Ron went home that night, ate dinner with Marjorie and George. They asked the obligatory questions about how his first day was. He didn’t tell them that he had been slapped in the mouth. He wanted to forget that it had happened. Besides, he wasn’t a baby. He could take it.

After dinner, he read. He was lying on his bed with a transistor radio playing Surfer Girl. His door was closed to blot out the sound of the TV and their voices. His eyes felt heavy. Then he was asleep with his book still open and still dressed.

The next day felt like a copy of the first. It was just as hot. It was just as interminably long. Gym at the end of the day felt like freedom. His mind was focused on the tryouts. He wouldn’t even have to change and he would be right there.

The freshman coaches lined them up on the track which was in back of the school and had once been a parking lot. The Brothers had dug up the asphalt and planted grass. The lot was surrounded by a pointy tipped, ten foot high, iron fence.

Ron’s belly felt like it was fluttering. He wanted this so badly. The coaches showed them how to stretch out their legs and arms. There were five coaches watching. They were going to run sprints, four across. Two coaches were at the starting line and three were at the finish. When it was Ron’s turn, he was placed in the lane closest to the school. He looked at the other three guys who also looked nervous. Coach Jensen said, “Ready,” He paused and then said in a louder, more urgent voice, “Go!”

Ron ran. He tried to run faster than he had ever run before. People were watching.  He felt himself pulling ahead. When he crossed the finish line, Coach Peters said, “Good job.”

A few minutes later they had him lined up with another group. At “Go!” he felt himself flying. His arms pumped. The heat of the boring day in a jacket was behind him and he was putting as much distance as he could between it and him. This time it was a tighter finish, but he was still first. He felt Coach Peters’ eyes on him and then Peters turned to the other two coaches. Peters pointed at Ron and called him over. “Can you go again?”

Ron almost shouted his reply. “Yes, Coach.” He trotted back to the starting point. Peters signaled to Jensen to put him right on the track. Ron ran as hard as he could. This time he was second, just behind a lanky kid who really could fly.

Coach Peters called Ron over. “What’s your name, son?”

“Ron Tuck, Sir.”

“Ron, you’ve got some size and speed and endurance.”

Ron blushed.

“Do you love football, son?”

“Yes Sir.”

“Do you know how to use those shoulders?” Ron was confused and didn’t know how to answer. The coach waited for a reply. Were they going to cut him already? He won the first two races. Did you have to win three to make the team?

“I’m asking if you know how to block and tackle Ron.”

A light lit up Ron’s face. He smiled. “Yes Sir.”

“Wait over there.”  Connors pointed to a spot on the grass on the field. Ron trotted over and sat down. Soon there were three other boys sitting with him. They watched the rest of the sprints. Then the other boys were taken into a group with Coach Jensen and Connors walked over to them with Coach Timlin.

“Well boys, got a little surprise for you. The sophomore team is a little light this year and we’re moving you three up. Go with coach Timlin and we’ll get you suited up.”

Ron’s heart sang an aria. He watched as Coach Jensen sent some of the other boys home and then started a second round of sprints.

The locker room that the football team used smelled of sweat and sweat soaked clothes and equipment. The Varsity had already been practicing for a week. Ron was fitted with a helmet. Coach Timlin picked up from a pile of neatly stacked helmets. It was a hard plastic and had a facemask with two bars running horizontally from ear to ear and two short, vertical bars that connected them. It was much heavier that the helmets that he had tried on in sporting goods stores.

Timlin said, “How’s that feel?”

Ron was almost giddy. “Heavy.”

Timlin grinned. “You’ll get used to it.”

Next they moved to shoulder pads. Timlin fitted him like a tailor. When the pads were on, he raised both of his fists and slapped them down hard on Ron’s shoulders. Except for the pressure of the contact, Ron hadn’t felt a thing. They shared a grin. Hip pads, thigh pads, knee pads, pants and a jersey went quickly.

“Get dressed and let’s have a look at you,” said Timlin and walked off to start with the next kid.

Ron stood in front of the mirror and looked at himself. He loved what he saw. He was still standing there when Peters walked into the locker room with a fourth kid. Now he had a team.

 

Phillip and Ron went to their lockers together. “I don’t know why they picked me out,” said Ron.

“You’re big and you’re fast,” said Phillip.

“I wish they picked you too,” said Ron.

“I’m glad they didn’t pick me, Ronnie.”

“Why?”

“They guys they picked you to play with are older and bigger and faster, and they’re gonna make you pay.”

“I figured that,” said Ron.

Chapter 54

            Mr. Tuck picked up the literature book and skimmed passed Bradford.

            “So now we know what it was like to get here,” he said. “And what they found after they arrived. For the most part they had nothing to go back to and so no choice.”  Ron thought about his girls at Our Lady of the Forlorn. They would have understood exactly what he was saying. But they had also moved on with their lives and he had done that too. He felt a pang.

            “Ben Franklin is something else. He may very well have been the most accomplished man in the world by the time that he died. People don’t talk about him the way that they talk about De Vinci, but they should. He had a wider sphere of influence.”

            He had their attention. He walked to the window side of the room and sat on the combination heater and counter that spanned the length of the room. “Let’s start with this,” Ron read, “Observe all men, thyself most.” He repeated it and looked out to them. “Five words, easy enough. What do you think?”

            The class looked down and read it again. They looked up. Mr. Tuck was waiting. Teachers normally hated silence in their classrooms. It gave them the uneasy feeling that nothing was happening. Usually they could wait a teacher out.

            Ron was silent. Then he read it again. “What do you think?”

            “Ok,” said Mark Simon. “I get it. Be aware of the people around you and what they do, but pay closer attention to what you do.”

            Ron smiled. “Why?”

            Chris Fortuna said, “What you do is more important.”

            Mr. Tuck smiled at Chris. “Because?”

            “Because you do it,” said Chris.

            “Seems simple right? But is it? Is Franklin hinting that we need to both be aware of our environment and how we interact within it, but that personal growth increases from self-knowledge? Did that idea also lead him to take part in the Revolution?”  It was a simple concept but he wanted them to see it. Who you were and what you did should be the results of self-awareness. “Now,” said Ron. He picked up the book and read, “Fish and visitors stink after three days.”

            The class laughed and Ron laughed with them. He knew that if he repeated this line that they would just laugh again. “What do you think this means?”

            Bobby Taylor raised his hand. “Well I know that my mom won’t even cook fish in the house. Either she buys it already cooked or they cook it outside.”

            Ron thought about that. He wondered why. “And what does that have to do with visitors?”

            The class was quiet. Ron paced back and forth rolling chalk between his palms. It clicked against his ring.

            Chris said, “After a few days, you get tired of having them around.”

            Ron nodded. Now back in the 18^th century, it had more practical meanings as well. No refrigeration and so it was important to eat things fresh. They also didn’t know a lot about hygiene, and so visitors would probably not have bathed. That is one of the things that made Franklin uniquely American and popular.  There was both wisdom and practicality in what he said and wrote.”

            Back in the teachers’ room Ron huddled with Sam. “I want to skip over some of this stuff and go more in depth with other pieces,” said Ron.

            “It’s your class,” said Sam.

            “Yeah, I’m just concerned about the finals. But I figure that I did a couple of Native American things I’ll do Jonathan Edwards Sinners in the Hands of an Angry God, doing Franklin now, I’ll mix in some of Jefferson and Thomas Paine, but then I want to skip right to Poe and do a bunch of his things.”

            Sam’s eyes got a little wider. “That’s a big skip, but I know why.”

            “Yeah,” said Ron. “The writing sucked and I’ll lose them.”

            Father Tom Orecchio was sitting there listening to their conversation while he puffed his cigarette. There was something about Ron’s mannerisms and his patterns of speech that he found familiar. “Where you from, Ron?”

            Ron looked up, surprised by the question and lit a cigarette. “Newark,” he said exhaling.

            Orecchio smiled. “Whereabouts?”

            “Broadway, Lincoln Avenue.” Then it dawned on him. “You from there?

            “First Ward,” said Orecchio nodding.

            Sam said, “So I guess the message here is to never let either of you get really pissed off at me.”

            Tom Orecchio and Ron Tuck shared a grin. That was always the reaction from people who didn’t grow up there unless they grew up in Paterson or Jersey City. Father Orecchio said, “It’s not that we’re that tough, just that vicious.”

            “Where’d you go to school Tom?” There was a slight pause. Ron had never called him Tom before, neither had anyone else.

            “St. Rose’s grammar school, then Jersey Catholic.” He noticed a tension in Ron’s face.

            Then Tuck said, “I went to Jersey Catholic too.” He added, “For a while.”

           

Chapter 55

            The next day’s practice was hard. After classes, they changed into their uniforms, carried their cleats and walked the mile up to Branch Brook Park. It was a huge park, more than 360 acres big, and it skirted the border of Newark. Ron felt that the park was designed to keep Newark caged in. He walked up 2^nd Avenue with the other players. The sophomores didn’t talk to the freshman that had been added to their team. They were embarrassed to have them there.

            The team stretched and Ron smelled the freshly cut grass. When he lay on his back and did leg lifts, he stared up at the sky and felt like his helmet was a cocoon. He felt relaxed and yet tense at the same time.

            Coach Connors said, “OK men listen up. You all know we have some new players. They didn’t ask to be here. We picked them because we thought they could help us. They are on the team and I expect them to be treated like everybody else.”

            A large red headed kid named Allen muttered out of the side of his mouth, “Yeah, like shit.”

            Connors heard the comment but didn’t respond. Ron tried not to laugh. “Well, let’s see what we’ve got.” Connors explained the drill. He lined the team up facing each other about ten yards apart. There were twenty-six of them. Thirteen on a side. “On my whistle, squad on my left runs like they have the ball. Squad on my right, you tackle them. The idea is to run straight ahead guys. Ron was on the left. He could do this. He felt determined. In front of him was Allen, who was bigger than Ron. For a second Ron felt fear. Then he tugged on his face mask and thought, fuck it.

            He ran straight at Allen. The impact was not like anything that he’d ever felt before. He felt that he’d run into a car and then he left his feet and came down on his back with a thud that made his head spin. He closed his eyes and opened them again. It was still spinning. He heard Coach Connor’s whistle and his voice say, “Ok, pop up.”

            Ron wasn’t sure that he could move but then he found himself on his feet wondering how he’d gotten there. Now it was his turn to deliver a blow and he couldn’t wait to wipe the smirk that he say on Allen’s face right off. The whistle blew. Allen ran with a galloping churn of his legs. Ron tried to aim himself at Allen’s waist but it was covered with his churning legs. He reacted by going low. He cracked into his knees and wrapped his arms around and hung on tight. He thought this is what it feels like to tackle a moose. Allen went down hard. Ron didn’t feel dizzy this time. He felt completely alive.

            Coach Connors walked over to them. “That was two good hits men.” He looked right at Ron. “Do you know why you got creamed?”

            Ron shook his head.

            “You gave him too big a target. You let him get into you where you were soft. You need to run low and pump your knees higher.”

            Ron nodded. He wasn’t sure that he could change the way that he ran, but he would try. At the whistle, he ran hunched and pumped his knees high. It felt like it slowed him down. He felt Allen grab at his ankles and he pumped harder and then fell flat on his face. There was grass sticking out of his facemask when he got up. He didn’t care. He wanted to smack into the moose again.

            As they walked back to the school, every part of him ached. He was smiling. He stripped off his jersey and shoulder pads and sat in front of his locker. Allen and two of the other sophomores came over to four freshman and said, “You take your showers when we’re done.”

            They waited together. One of the four had stripped naked and sat with a towel draped over his thighs. Ron felt the ache spread through him like ease. It took the edges away. He could relax. He didn’t mind waiting.

            By the time they’d finished showering there were position assignments on the bulletin board. Ron was listed at linebacker and guard. He understood. He wouldn’t get to run with the ball anymore.

            Having the ball in your hands or even touching it was so much more special in football than in any other sport. You held the ball. You squeezed it tight. You didn’t let go like your life depended on it. Ron walked the three blocks to his house. He’d have to be able to steal the ball.

            Marjorie was waiting for him. She smiled when he came through the door. She didn’t tell him how hard it had been for her to get home from work and that Harry Tuck had detoured in order to make sure that she got there ok. She was working downtown in a clothing store now. She saw a chance at some advancement. She could sell. But the manager wanted her to learn credit and she saw him more than once leering at the fullness of her breasts and her behind. She didn’t mind.

             She saw her son and the slight bruise on her chin and the way that he seemed to glow. “How was your day?”

            Ron grinned. “I don’t know. I got knocked down a lot but I got up and I loved it.”

            Marjorie said, “What about school?”

            “I didn’t get into trouble,” said Ron.

            “What do you mean?”

            “It’s different there.”

            “Why?”

            Part of Ron wanted to tell her that they made you afraid to do anything but what they wanted you to do. He fought the urge to tell her. “I’m one of the little kids again,” said Ron.

            Marjorie smiled and stroked her fingers lightly over the bruise. She rarely touched him. She preferred to look at him. She felt him pull back, like his father.

She took her hand away.

            “Do you want to go for a ride?” she said.

            “I’m supposed to read.”

            “You can read later,” she said.

            They drove north back to Broadway. She stopped the car in front of their old basement apartment in the five story building. Ron tried to look into the windows and see who lived there now. He wondered if those people were anything like he was.

            Marjorie turned the corner and headed the car up Montclair Avenue. They parked in front of number 89. It was his Aunt Dottie’s building. She gave them iced tea that was fresh brewed. That told Ron that she had been expecting them. The ache was almost gone. He missed it.  He realized that he was hungry when he saw the plate of homemade corned beef hash on his plate. He launched into it with gusto. The women ate more slowly and smiled as they watched him devour the food.

            After dinner, they sat in the living room. Ron sat on the floor and tried not to touch anything. Dorothy sat in her fan backed chair. Marjorie sat on a couch with an enormous, white, goose-down cushion that would take an hour to re-fluff. The evening light hardly filtered in through the drapes and they turned on a lamp that had a Chinese design. He gazed at the centerpiece which was also Chinese and depicted a lone fisherman waiting for a fish that he would never catch, but eternally hopeful.

            Dorothy said, “A man that works hard is an asset. It hurts when you can’t talk to him.”

            “I know,” said Marjorie. “Sometimes when I talk to him, I wish that I hadn’t.”

            Ron was silent and listened. He stared at the fisherman and felt wisdom in his gaze.

            “Has he hit you?”

            “No, but he’s punched things to avoid it.”

            “That shows that he knows how to hold back,” said Dorothy.

            “I don’t love him.”

            “So what? You think I love the old fart that I’m married to?”

            Aunt Dottie met Ron’s eyes and let him know that he wasn’t allowed to laugh. He’d wanted to and she knew it. But he couldn’t and her look was communicating that in the sternest terms. Ron held it in and it passed. Marjorie hadn’t seen it. She was absorbed in the thoughts of a loveless marriage.

            “I have an idea,” said Marjorie.

            Dorothy listened.

            “I want to put him into so much debt that he can’t even think about gambling again.”

            Dorothy was genuinely surprised. “How?”

            “I want to buy a house and get out of Newark.”

            Ron’s heart was beating very fast as he listened. He wanted to be on the island with that Chinese fisherman, and the dwarf tree and the moss and the water. He might as well be there as out of Newark.

            Marjorie continued. “There’s trouble coming here. This isn’t going to be a good place to live anymore. I want to take you with me.”

            At first Dorothy bristled and then she smiled. “We’re getting too old for keeping up with this.” She spread her arms upward to indicate the 22 apartments over her head.

            He knew that something had happened and that his life was changing in some unexpected way, but he didn’t understand it. The light was soft but the air was heavy. He breathed in the scent of her carpet. Ron looked up and she was gazing back at him. How he loved her and everything that she was. If they could all live together, he could be happy.

            Dorothy said, “That could be a long way off. A lot could happen between now and then.”

            Marjorie nodded. “But that’s my goal.”

            Ron’s eyes lifted to his mother. He could see determination and fear.

           

 

            Chapter 56

            The meeting between the Bombascos and The Bragos happened at Marjorie’s house. Harry Tuck was also invited. They sat around the table in the dining room. They were there to discuss numbers. Ron and Celeste were nervous. It was his first wedding and her third. Her parents had been here before and were embarrassed at the prospect of being here again. Marjorie had waited to be sitting at a table like this forever. But not with them.

            George served drinks. Mario and Anna took Scotch on the rocks. George was shocked when Marjorie said that she would have some wine. Ron had what Marjorie did. Harry took Scotch straight up. Celeste had the wine. George fixed himself a Manhattan and sat down.

            Marjorie tried to smile. She clasped her hands together on the table and said, “So they want to get married.”

            There was nervous laughter around the table. Mario said, “God only knows why.”

            Marjorie frowned. They should feel grateful at the chance of having her son who was making the biggest mistake of his life. “Yes, I’ve wondered why as well.”

            Eyes were on Ron and Celeste now. They sat there looking down at the table and then Celeste spoke. “I didn’t expect to have your son come into my life. I’d lost hope that he was out there. But he’s here now and I can’t help but love him and want to spend the rest of my life with him.”

            Anna just closed her eyes. How had she raised such a fool to believe in true love at her age? “We don’t have a lot and we’d like to keep this small for obvious reasons.”

            “What are they? said Marjorie.

            The two women eyed each other and just when Ron wished for it, he thought he saw his Aunt Dottie come into the room. He blinked and squinted and she was gone. She would have known how to handle this. But she was dead and wasn’t coming in the door anymore.

“Celeste has been married before, twice.”

            Marjorie’s face was grim. “My son hasn’t. Why should he have to pay for your daughter’s mistakes?”

            “We’ve all paid for Celeste’s mistakes,” said Anna.

            Celeste wished that she could shrink down to nothing and just disappear.

            “We’re straying from the point,” said Harry. “Marjorie was married once before. I was married once before. We know that not all marriages work out. No one needs to pay. I thought we were here to discuss this wedding.”

            Celeste smiled at Harry. Marjorie capitulated. Anna sulked but did not respond. In the back of her mind, she hoped that if she started a big enough fight that Ron and Celeste would call the whole thing off. Marjorie has been a willing participant and things would have escalated. But this Harry guy had thrown a pail of cold water on that and now she was stuck, but only for a moment. “I understand that you had the privilege of meeting my grand-daughter. Isn’t she beautiful?” said Anna.

            “She’s cute,” said George.

            Marjorie’s head snapped towards him. He never opened his mouth at the right time and he never, never said the right thing. “She alright,” said Marjorie.

            Anna and Mario recoiled like they had been slapped in the face. Their Angel was being called ‘alright.’       

            “I think that she’s a very special little girl and so very smart,” said Ron.

            Anna nodded. He’d better say that or she was getting up and walking right out of here this instant.

            “We’d like to get married at the end of March,” said Ron.  “I’ll have Easter vacation and so I won’t need to miss any time from work.”

            Marjorie said, “Are you both really sure that this is what you want to do? I mean there is more involved here than just the two of you. There is a child to think about. And all the expenses that come along with her.” She turned to her son. “Where are you going to get the money to support a wife and child? A few years ago, you were taking cans out of our pantry so that you could eat in the summertime.”

            Now it was Ron’s turn to want to disappear as he saw Anna and Mario exchange a look and both shake their heads.

            Celeste started to say that she was going to get a job, but Harry spoke up first. “We were poor when we got married,” he said to Marjorie.

            “That was different,” she said. “Everybody was poor then.”

            That had been true of Mario and Anna too but they weren’t about to wash those dirty clothes in front of these people.

            Marjorie stared at Harry and then said in a defeated voice, “I think we can give them $5000.”

            Harry said, “I can do that too.”

            Mario and Anna had decided on $2000 but Anna said, “We’ll help all we can, but we don’t have that kind of money. Maybe we can go $3000.”

            Mario spoke before thinking. “I thought that we decided on $2000.”

            Anna wanted to kick him in his shins until he bled. She hated that he never minded looking cheap.

            George said, “I can also get all of the printing of invitations done for nothing.”

            Marjorie smiled. He finally said something useful. She would make their wedding favors at her ceramics shop, but she wasn’t going to say that just then.

            Ron and Celeste smiled at each other. They had a budget and an uneasy truce, but they had make progress.

Chapter 46

            During the middle of his eighth grade year, students began talking about where they were going to go to high school. In Ron’s part of Newark, if you weren’t going to Barringer, you had to compete for entrance into a school.

            “I don’t understand why he can’t go to public school,” said George.

            “I don’t want him there.”

            “How are we going to pay for it?”

            “We’ll find a way.”

            Ron listened to them talking and his face showed his utter contempt for George. George caught the look and said, “I’m just saying Ronald.”

            “Saying what?”

            “That Barringer is a good school.”

            “It’s not as good as the private schools and they don’t put up with any nonsense,” said Marjorie.

            George felt defeated. They never listened to him. He couldn’t even tell them that he’d won $50 in a card game because she would be crazy about him gambling.

            The entrance exams were on Saturdays. They staggered them so that guys would have a chance to apply to the big three, which were Seton Hall, St. Benedicts and New Jersey Catholic. St. Peters was an even better school but it was in Jersey City and that thought frightened Marjorie.

            The tests were long. At St. Benedicts, it was a three hour exam. Seton Hall and NJ Catholic were both two hours long. Each came with a $20 application fee.

            For girls, the choices were more limited. Of course the nuns encouraged them to attend Our lady of the Forlorn, and there was East Orange Catholic but that was about it unless someone wanted the trek across the Passaic River to a co-ed high school called Queen of Peace.

            His friends talked of little else. It caused a gender separation because none of them wanted to consider Queen of Peace.

            Richie announced, “I’m going to Seton Hall.”

            Dave Spenelli said, “I think I’m going to Jersey. My parents think it’s a good school and it’s the closest.”

            Ron didn’t say anything. He’d been accepted into all three schools, but wasn’t sure if there was enough money for any of them. He would have liked to go to The Hall with Richie, but he didn’t want to get his hopes up.

            “Ronald, I’m really proud that you did so well on the entrance exams.”

            “Thanks Mom.”

            “George is proud too,” said Marjorie. She was trying to cue George to say something. George nodded and grunted.

            “New Jersey Catholic is a good school,” said Marjorie.

            Ron nodded.

            “The tuition isn’t a lot more than where you are now.”

            “It’ll be fine,” said Ron. He was trying really hard to hide his disappointment. He was relieved that it wasn’t going to be Barringer.

            He went into his room and tore up the acceptance letters to Seton Hall and Benedicts. Through the door he heard George’s muffled voice say, “I don’t know how we’re going to do it.” Ron punched his mattress as hard as he was able. He felt stupid. Why should he care if the sent him to Barringer or Seton Hall or New Jersey Catholic? Things still wouldn’t feel right.  Right now the best thing about George that Ron could conceive was that he belonged to a club that had a rotation of paperback porn.

            He found that certain lines excited him. He didn’t know why. He would just feel this rush after he’d read them and want to read them again and again, and then it would happen. At the same time that he loved his time alone with those books, they caused his disdain for George to even grow deeper.

            He hid them, buried in the dirty clothes of the laundry basket in the bathroom.  Ron would take them out and bring them back into his room and then return them. He knew that it was his mother who emptied the laundry. He wondered what she did with the books when she found them.

 

Chapter 47

            Ron read and was impressed.

            Paul Panini wrote: Not all Indian cultures were peaceful. Some were as brutal as the Europeans.

            Mark Simon wrote: I liked the first part. How do you find a people?

            Ron smiled. These two were smart and the classroom had been a catalyst. He thought, maybe a classroom has less to do with being a physical place than I thought it did. Maybe a classroom is only special for that time and those moments when it’s functioning.

            His mind flashed to classrooms that he’s been in. The first one that he remembered was Mrs. Francis kindergarten class. It was a huge room with wooden floors that creaked and lots to do. He loved it. Things got darker. He saw himself in 4^th grade hurling his books when he was told that he had detention for something that he didn’t do.

            Ron glanced back at the papers. Edward Lang had written: Civilization comes at a price, but it’s good. Ron smiled and relaxed into his papers and forgot the time or where he was expected to be.

            Celeste came into the basement quietly. Ron was sprawled on the bed and there were stacks of papers everywhere. His incredibly large and clumsy book bag was open. She smiled. She approached. He didn’t know she was in the room until a blur caught the corner of his eye. Now she was standing there naked. Ron scrambled to put the papers away. He knew that his boys would understand.

            Celeste slept quietly and Ron put on the desk lamp. He finished reading William Bradford for the second time and tried not to hate it. Then he smiled. They would read it and hate it too. Maybe he could teach them to find a new perspective on the things that they seemed to hate but were forced to accept.

            “This is what we have in our literature book as the first piece of reading. Let’s look at it. A hard crossing. Illness. Only a fragment left of what had come.

This is our fragment. Our piece of what has survived. That’s why I wanted you to read it,” said Ron.      

Paul Panini said, “Don’t we have to read it?”

“That too,” said Ron. “I tried for a while to find some way to come here and tell you why I think that you should read this. It’s not great writing. It’s not even good. Why then? How can I stand here and expect you to trust me when I have to choose from a selected group of material? Answer is that I’m trying to work that out and giving it my best shot. Let’s see how it goes. I have an idea.”

Ron picked up their literature book. It was his copy. The pages were dog-eared. There were foreign objects slid between the pages. “I’ve taken a hard look at this and decided that it would benefit you to know what is in here.”

Ron looked out into the room. There were the two in the back, Panini and Simon, but there were two more. Sal Taleno could catch, He’d always been able to catch. He could run and he wasn’t afraid to take a hit, but he also was under some pressure to read. It was parentally induced. Ron understood that. But Sal was now in his class. Even though they had little contact on the field, they were on the team. There was a tentative bond. Sal looked up and met his eyes.

Sal grinned. “Tell us what it is.”

“This book isn’t what’s important here. It’s our minds meeting and exploring. There is some really good stuff in here. I’ll cut out the crap as best as I am able. This is what I want. You gotta read what I tell you to read.”

They were quiet. They weren’t sure what he was telling them to do. What was the assignment?

“I want you to read it until you understand it. When I assign too much, tell me. That’s what I want from each assignment.” Ron looked the football player in the eyes. “Can you do that Taleno?”

“Yes, Coach.”

 

Chapter 48

On the day that Ron graduated from Our Lady of the Forlorn’s Grammar School, his father and his mother and his Aunt Dottie embraced him with a warm feel of approval that was genuine.

His Aunt took him aside. “People seem to be pinning their hopes on you.”

“I know. What happens if I let them all down?  Will my mother get sick again?”

She looked into his eyes. “Ron, it’s your life, not theirs.”

“What do you mean?”

“Their expectations don’t have to be your expectations.”

“Aunt Dot, I’m still not sure what that means.”

“That’s ok,” she said grinning.

They took photographs of him standing with each of them. There was always an arm around his shoulder. He was supposed to smile, but he was scared. What was he supposed to be?

Students who were accepted into Jersey Catholic were required to do summer reading. Ron smiled to himself as he scanned the list. He’d read four of the six. There was just these books called Lord of the Flies and another called Animal Farm.

 

Ron Tuck was an avid reader.  He’d plowed his way through book after book that was supposed to be over his head and gleaned whatever he could and hoped that somehow, osmotically, enough would filter into him. He opened Animal Farm and began to read.

Neither book was long. He felt that they were his introduction to the high school. These books would tell him what the school expected of him. He grinned as he listened to Major. He wondered if pigs were that smart and told himself that he would look that up the next time that he was in the library.

When Boxer collapsed Ron’s heart sunk. He knew that horse was hurt and he believed so deeply in the farm and in the rights of the other animals to govern themselves.

Boxer had worked himself too hard. He needed to take more breaks and to relax once in a while. He wanted for the other animals to take care of their hero. His hands gripped the book tightly when he realized what was happening to the horse. Then he saw and felt his tears. They were rolling down his face and plopping onto the pages. He forced himself to keep reading. He couldn’t hear or see anything but the book which was now blurry.

His mind screamed for Boxer to break out of the cart that was taking him to the glue factory and to stomp those worthless, traitor pigs with his powerful hooves. It didn’t happen, and then they lied about what had become of Boxer. Some of the other animals knew but were too frightened to say anything. They had screamed for Boxer to break out of the cart.

The unfairness of it all seared into his brain as something that he couldn’t accept. He wanted to get it out of his head but it was stuck there and he was crying like a baby laying in his bed.

When he finished the book, his reaction continued. He couldn’t look at the cover without seeing Boxer too weak to break out of his confinement. His mind hadn’t processed Orwell’s ideas, but it felt the pain. Ron slid the book under a stack of others so that he wouldn’t have to look at it, but he still knew it was there. He fished it out of the pile and put it under the clothes in the bottom drawer of his dresser. Maybe he should toss it into the hamper with George’s porn. He pictured George as one of the pigs. His mind saw him sitting at their kitchen table shoveling food into his face.  He did grunt a lot.  Ron walked into their living room and stared down at one of the stains on the white rug. It was further evidence.

George looked up from his TV program and saw Ron standing there. His face was tear streaked and there was a sick look on his face. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” said Ron. He didn’t want to talk to the pig.

 

Chapter 49

            The season opener was against Ridgefield. Larry volunteered to organize a pregame rally. Ferry looked at him with disdain. “You’re a coach, not a cheerleader.”

            Larry Viola walked away, shoulders slumped. He stood next to Ron’s locker and mumbled, “He made it sound like an insult that I wanted to organize a rally.”

            Ron pulled on his brand new coach’s game day jersey. It was gold with black lettering. His cap was black with an interlocking PH in the center of the front. When he and Larry had scouted together last year, Ron had been puzzled when Viola had said that he couldn’t wait for halftime because Bergenfield had one of the best bands that he’d ever seen.

            None of the other teams scouting the game had coaches who watched the halftime. The stood in a circle eating hotdogs and talking about what they had seen in the first half. They tried to pick up on tendencies that the others had seen and maybe they had missed. It was friendly but competitive and no one ever showed anyone else what they had drawn on their play pads.

            Ron stood towards the side of the circle of men who were wearing their team hats so that everyone knew who they were. He saw Larry up in the stands clapping loudly as the band finished a number. He was a good guy, thought Ron. He just wasn’t a football coach.

            Ron was happy that he wouldn’t have to go to those games with Larry anymore. He’d been embarrassed to be seen with him. Now he felt sorry for Larry. He’d wanted to do it to make things fun for the kids and for him.

            Ron would be in the booth wearing a headset that was connected to Steve Ferry. He was to tell him what the defense was doing and to make any suggestions that he thought would be useful. This would be one of the first times Ron got to see the varsity play live. Last year he was always out scouting with Larry.

            Paul Pamenteri pulled Ron aside in the hallway. “Remember that I’m on the system too.”

            “What do you want me to look for?”

            “We can’t see the line splits from field level as good as you can see them from up top.”

            “Got it.”

            “Ronnie, listen sometimes during the game, Steve loses it. He gets disgusted by mistakes. He’s bitter about being overmatched. He forgets and starts calling plays that he hasn’t put into the playbook.”

            “What do you mean?”

            “Old plays from teams that he’s had in the past.”

            “What do we do then?”

            “I talked to him about it. This year, I’m going to send the plays that he calls in. I need you to be ready with something if he starts to lose it.”

            “Ok.”

            Paul looked at Ron seriously. “No one else knows. Not Artie and certainly not Larry. You can’t let Steve know that I told you.”

            The game was evenly matched. In the first quarter, Ridgefield almost scored on a long pass play that was wide open but the pass wasn’t any good.

            “What happened there?” growled Ferry.

            “We bit on the short pass fake. It was wide open,” said Ron.

            “God damn it! Why do we practice these things?”

            Paul voice was composed. “Coach, we need a play.”

            “Run the damn dive to the left. Maybe we can do that without screwing up.”

            The blare of the loud speaker drowned out everyone’s voice. The play went for six yards. Ron said, “Paul, run it to the other side.”

            Ferry said, “Ok, let’s see if we can educate them and get them to pack it in tight.”

            The play ran for six more yards and they had a first down.

            “Run that baby again,” said a gleeful Ferry.

            This time the inside linebacker for Ridgefield anticipated the play and stuffed the hole for just a two yard gain.

            “Linebacker cheated up,” said Ron.

            “We saw it,” said Paul.

            The quarter ended scoreless. Ferry said, “Now we fake the dive and run a toss to the same side. Go to the left, Paul.”

            Ridgefield came out in an odd man front. Both guards were covered and when the onside guard pulled out to lead the sweep, the inside linebacker crashed the hole and blew the play up. The ball bounced crazily in the center of the field and then they were on it.

            “Where the fuck did that come from?” screamed Ferry. “Ron didn’t you say that when you scouted the game scrimmage that they only ran an even front?”

            “I wasn’t there, Coach.  That was Larry.”

            “Call a defense, Steve,” said Paul.

            “Artie, set them in a 4/4.”

            Ridgefield scored and then scored again. Perpetual Hope’s defensive back bit on the short pass fake again and this time the pass was true. It was 13-0 at the half because Artie had put in a play that defeated their second extra point attempt. It was an illegal play but Artie was betting that he could get away with it once a game. The defensive man over the center pulled his man forward just as he was snapping the ball. Things happened in the interior of the line. One ref was watching to see that the kick was good. The other was looking for an offside. They couldn’t see it.

            At halftime, Ron came down to the locker room. The players ate oranges. There were no real injuries. The coaches gathered in the office. This had to be quick. They had maybe ten minutes and then they had to talk to the players.   

            Ferry said, “Well, we look as confused as a three legged cat on ice trying to take a shit.”

            “We haven’t practiced against an odd man front all week,” said Artie. “Can’t blame the kids for being confused.”

            “Can we protect?” said Ferry.

            “Can’t run those sprint passes without exposing the backside and they have some speed. Now that the linebacker has a sniff of it, he’ll be up our asses every time,” said Artie.

            “How do the flats look, Ron?’

            “They’re packed in. If we can get it out there, there’s space.”

            “Paul, two things. Get that fucking numbnuts who bit on that fake twice off the field. Sit him down. We’ll work with him this week.”

            Paul nodded.

            “Instead of carrying through with the fake on the dive, I want Scutero to teach that crashing linebacker a little lesson. Ring his bell.”

            Artie laughed. This was his kind of football. 

            At the start of the second half Sal Taleno caught three passes in a row and when the defender fell on the third one, Sal scored. There was jubilation on the sideline. Ron pumped his fist from on top of the announcer’s box.

            Ridgefield couldn’t move the ball. They went back to the wider splits of their even front. Scutero had rung number 51’s bell good. He was on the sidelines.

            “Run the dive,” crowed Ferry.

            “Stick it right down their throats,” screamed Artie. He had run over and yelled in Ferry’s ear. It was loud enough for Ron to hear. He looked down to see an animated Artie waving his arms and snorting as he stomped around in a circle.

            On the third play of this drive, Perpetual Help fumbled again. This time they got it back but lost fourteen yards on the play. Ridgefield finally closed up the line splits and continued to sprinkle in the off man front. They were content to sit on their lead. The game ended 13-7.

            Larry Viola walked into the coach’s room excited. “That was a great game. We almost had them.”

            Ferry was in no mood. “It ain’t fucking horseshoes, Larry.”

            Larry slumped again. Sure he could understand that losing wasn’t what they were after, but it was a sunny day. The stands were filled. Both bands sounded good. Didn’t you have to enjoy that?

            Ferry picked up Larry Viola’s scouting report. “Didn’t you tell us that they exclusively ran an even front?”

            “Yeah,” said Larry.

            “Were you surprised today?” said Ferry with a note of menace in his voice.

            Looking back on it, Ferry realized that he just should have said yes, but he didn’t. He was still stung about Ferry’s attitude about the rally. He blurted, “I didn’t notice.”

            “That’s just great, Larry.” Ferry was already thinking about beer.

            Ron needed Celeste and Angel. He didn’t shower or change. He drove to their house. Everyone was in the backyard. Ron walked around the side and up the driveway. Celeste loved the squeak mobile. It always alerted her. It was her friend.

            Joey watched young Joey in the pool with Angel. She had water-wings. She was splashing. Joey cuddled his son and splashed back. He was getting soaked but didn’t care. Anna and Mario were watching. The garden was in full early September bloom. Tomatoes needed to be picked. There were peppers and zucchini. Tina was in the kitchen. The sauce was simmering. She added some fresh basil.

            Celeste and Ron embraced. She felt ripe and warm and good. It stirred him. He wanted to take her into the basement and lay her face down and pump himself into her. The urge was strong. He resisted it.

            Angel’s face lit up when she caught sight of him. She tried to climb out of the pool. Joey left his son flat in his tube and helped her. Then Ron was there and he swept her up into his arms and held her drippingly wet and her happy body clung to him.

            “I’m so happy to see you,” he whispered.

            She grinned with the feel of him. Lost herself for a moment in the embrace. Then she said, “I missed you.”

            “I was working.”

            She hugged him with her entire body. “Don’t work anymore.”

            Ron’s heart was flipping in his chest. He lifted her back into the air and carried her to the pool. He plunked her squirmy little body back into the water and continued the embrace.

            “I need some help to put dinner in the table,” called Tina.

            Celeste went inside. No one asked if they won or lost. Ron didn’t care.

 

 

Chapter 50

            Ron was nervous as he walked to school. It was the day after Labor Day and it was hot. Ron wondered why the weather always seemed to get hotter after school started. There would be those sometimes cool and rainy days of August and then he’d go back to school and SPLAT. Summer would seem to come back with a vengeance.

            His blazer was gray wool and had the emblem of the school on its breast pocket. His slacks were black and his tie felt tight. After one block, he was sweating.

            His books had been expensive and they were heavy. He thought that it was probably a mistake to try to cram them all into his book bag on the first day, but he wanted to make a good impression.

            Although Jersey Catholic was one of the newer parochial schools in Newark, it was the largest. There were 2000 students and all of them were male. Students came from as far away as Cedar Grove and Verona to attend. Their bus ride was an hour long. Ron had a three block walk.

            The school was housed in a huge stone building on Broadway that used to belong to an insurance company. Now it was run by the Christian Brothers. It was ten stories high and covered an entire city block.

            The sight of it intimidated Ron. It was him feel small and weak. What was even more intimidating was the throng on young men who were gathered on the side steps waiting for the doors to be opened. They were packed in and all were wearing the same blazers. Ron tried to tell himself that he was one of them but it was a hard sell.

            The way that the building was organized allowed for a floor for each year of students. Students were assigned a classroom and that’s where they stayed. Their teachers came to them. It had the unintended effect of making it difficult to get to know very many students outside of the ones that were in your class.

            Freshman were assigned to the fifth floor. There were twenty-five freshman classes and each held thirty-five students.  Ron looked at his schedule. Algebra was his first class, then French, then Latin, then History, Religion and English and Physical Education. Students were not allowed out of their rooms between classes. They were only allowed to visit their lockers before and after lunch. They were not permitted to use the elevators.

            The room was hot and Ron tried to forget about the heat. Brother O’Shea was a short blonde man with a reddish tinge to his skin. Ron wondered if he was sun burned. He rocked back and forth on his heels as he spoke to the class.

            “Take off your jackets men.” There was a wave of relief and activity as the guys removed their blazers and draped them over the backs of their desks. “After class make sure that you put them back on. It is the prerogative of each teacher to allow or not allow you this privilege.” He rocked back and forth on his heels. “My rules are simple. One chapter a week and a quiz each Friday. The only times that we will not have a Friday quiz is when we will be having a unit test. Your tests will be returned on Monday and then we will begin the cycle again.”

            Rob thought that it seemed simple enough, but Algebra intimidated him. He’d never been great with numbers. He hadn’t really liked fractions and when Richie had tried to explain the concept of equations to him, his mind just went blank and wandered.

            “Let’s begin,” said Brother O’Shea. “Take out your books.”

            Now Ron was happy that he’d carried the heavy bag to school. He looked around. Not everyone had their books, and the kids that didn’t had this kind of frozen look on their faces and their bodies seem to have gone a little rigid.

            O’Shea looked around and then he smiled. “Not all of you are prepared. What did you boys think we were going to do today? Did you think we were going to play Let’s Get to Know Each Other? We aren’t here to get to know each other. We’re here to get to know Algebra. You men without books, put your jackets back on.” Ron heard a groan from in back of him. He turned to see a slender kid with red hair in back of him outing his jacket back on. “Bookless boys, stand up!” said O’Shea. Move into the aisle and take a step either forwards or backwards and stand next to one of your classmates who did knew enough to come prepared. You can follow along.”

            O’Shea ran his hands underneath the broad waistband that cinched his brown habit. “A quick review on the multiplication and division of fractions he said.”

            Ron looked down. That was Chapter 1. His mind said, how do you review something that you never really learned the first time? Maybe he would get it this time. O’Shea spoke quickly but not loudly. He had the habit of sometimes speaking to the chalkboard instead of the classroom and this made him both difficult to hear and to understand. Ron did understand a lot of it. Maybe he would be ok. What O’Shea basically did for the rest of the class was say exactly what was in the book, using the exact words from the book, and writing the exact some examples that were in the book on the chalk board. He finished talking just before the bell rang. Then he quickly packed up and left.

            They were alone. The guys looked around and grinned at each other. Somebody said, “Let’s get our jackets on.”

 

            Two minutes later Brother Alvin appeared at the doorway. “Bonjour.” He said. The class silenced. He was a very tall man and he carried just his French textbook in his hands. “Bonjour, is the French form of greeting. Loosely translated, it means hello. It is expected that when someone says Bonjour, that you respond in kind.” He paused dramatically. “Bonjour!” There was a smattering of mumbled responses. He walked to the teacher’s desk in the front of the room and slammed the textbook down onto it. The sound was like the explosion of a gunshot and the boys jumped. They sat up straighter. “Bonjour!” he said loudly.

            “Bonjour,” said the frightened students.

            Brother Alvin did not mention their jackets and the temperature had risen. The students were sweating. The class seemed to go on forever. When it ended and Brother Alvin left…the students took off their blazers and fanned themselves with their books.

            Ron barely tolerated Latin. There would be declensions and conjugations. His mind screamed, what the fuck for? Brother Delban was wirey.  There was grit in his voice. He expected cooperation. The lack of it would result in punishment.

Ron’s mind ached. Was that the message? He was one of the animals on the farm. He’d be penned and instructed. His mind howled. It was time for lunch.

 

Chapter 41

Marjorie was tight lipped when she and George told Ron that there was going to be a baby. She tried to smile but Ron could see that her heart wasn’t in it. George didn’t know that though. He was worried about money. His gambling debts had worsened since he had the added expenses that came with not living at home. It was true that Marjorie earned a good salary for a woman. But each Thursday, George forked over half of his paycheck from the printing company to the two guys that showed up and were friendly enough but wanted to be paid.

“Who are these guys?” said Ron.

“They’re friends of George’s.”

“They don’t look like friends.”

“You’re better off not knowing some things Ronald.”

Ron felt stung. “Since when?”

Marjorie was at her wits end. She had already taken out two finance company loans. She couldn’t get a third. He had promised her twice that he was done gambling. Each time he had lied. Each time he’d promised that it would be the last time. Ron had listened to these late night confessions while they thought that he was sleep.

“I don’t know what to do, Margie. I just can’t seem to stop.”

“Don’t you care about anybody but yourself?”

“That’s not it.”

“It must be the case. Otherwise you wouldn’t do this to me.”

George said, “What about the other bankbook?”

Marjorie looked at him in shocked disbelief. “You can’t be serious. I’ve never touched that. Not even when we didn’t have the rent. It’s not my money.”

Ron knew what they were talking about now. When he was in second grade, they had begun a bank savings program in his school. Whenever he was given any money for birthdays or holidays, at least half of it went into the bank. His mother kept it for him. He didn’t know how much was there.

“We could use it to get out from under this,” said George.

“George, the two of you don’t get along. How can I ask him for this?”

“You don’t ask him, you tell him.”

“You don’t understand. You don’t know what it used to be like between him and me. I can’t just tell him.”

“If I miss a payment, you know what will happen.”

“They aren’t going to damage someone who pays George. That wouldn’t be good business. You know these guys most of your life.”

“That doesn’t matter,” said George morosely.

Two days later, Marjorie told Ron what she needed to do. She had gone to see Vinnie Caputo, the shy. He tallied up George’s number for her. In addition to the one thousand dollar loan that they had at each of the finance companies, George was into Vinnie for fifteen hundred more. Ron’s bankbook could wipe that out. The vig was ten percent of the balance each week. That meant that on the fifteen hundred dollars, George was paying one hundred and fifty dollar a week in interest. It had to stop. The numbers would never allow them to climb out from under and George would keep dreaming for that big hit that would make everything even.

“If I pay it off, will you promise not to loan him anymore money?”

“I really can’t do that, Marjorie. George is a friend.”

The irony of this would not allow her to hold her tongue. “Is this what a friend does? What kind of a person ruins his friend’s life?”

Vinnie the Shy was a short squat man with salt and pepper hair. They were Caruso’s Ristorante. As a silent partner, Vinnie owned half of the place. It gave him a declarable income and a spot to do business. Marjorie sat in front of her cold cup of coffee thinking that none of these places knew how to make a good cup of coffee. She stared up at Vinnie the Shy. “If you loan him anymore money, I’ll leave him.”

“That’s none of my business,” said Vinnie.

For two days Marjorie agonized about what to do. She was sick in the mornings now. It was an effort to get herself to work each day, but George said that it would pass and that she would feel better soon.

“Ronald, I need a favor.”

“Sure.” He knew it was coming. He had heard the conversation. He could read the resolute look on her face.

“George and I need to borrow the money in your bankbook.” She said it flatly. She had forced the words out. She hadn’t wanted to say them but here it was and now she had said it. “I’ll make sure that you get it back,” she added.

Ron felt the anger rise up in him that George wasn’t even there. He’d left this shitty job to his mother. “Just take it,” said Ron.

“Ronald, I’m sorry.”

“It isn’t you. I know that.”

“Yes, it is. It’s me here asking you.”

“It’s your money Mom. There wouldn’t be a me without you.”

“Would you like to go and visit Aunt Dottie? See if any of your old friends are around?”

“Sure. When?”

“Let’s go now.”

From the appearance of the way that her life was now, a person who didn’t know would not think that Dorothy Thomas had any important friends. Sure she dolled up in her minks and diamonds on Saturday nights when they went to the corner bar, but that didn’t mean anything really. Dorothy had once been married to the president of the teamsters in Newark. She was on a first name basis with Newark’s mayor. She had been friends with Peter Rodino was a member of the House of Representatives.

Marjorie explained what had happened. Dorothy’s scowl was deep.

“What are you doing with this loser?”

“He’s a hard worker.”

“He’s dumb. He thinks being a hard worker entitles him to be stupid.”

“Will you make a phone call?”

“And say what?”

“Get them to stop loaning him money.”

“I’d rather get them to break his legs.”

“Don’t say that. Aunt Dottie, I’m pregnant.”

“Oh for Christ’s sake. Why did you do that?”

“It just happened.”

“It never just happens. Does Ron know?”

“Yes.” Marjorie paused. This last part was going to be more difficult. “He said that I could take his bankbook to pay off the Shy.”

Dorothy’s gaze felt like a razor blade. “You really should be ashamed of yourself.”

Marjorie wanted with all her heart to remind her aunt that she had been a little girl in a rooming house with her grandmother, Dorothy’s mother, when they were too poor
to ride the bus and Dorothy was spending weekends on yachts.

Dorothy shook her head. “I’ll make the call, but Margi if a man is hungry to gamble, he’ll find a way to get the money.”

 

 

Chapter 42

“When’s Ron coming over?” said Angel.

“Not until much later. He’s working,” said Celeste.

“I don’t like it when he works. Why does he have to do that?”

“That’s what adults have to do.”

“Are you an adult?”

Barbara and Anna grinned at the precocious question.

“Yes,” said Celeste, ignoring the smirks.

“Why can’t you work? Ron can stay here and play with me.”

Part of Celeste had dreaded springing this information on her mother and cousin, but the time was right. “I am going to start working,” said Celeste.

Anna and Barb froze. What was she talking about? What kind of shit did she think she was going to pull now?

Angel wandered away to play with her tea set. She had wanted to play tea party with Ron. She didn’t understand the implications for her and Celeste had decided that she would explain all of that to her later. Right now, she had dropped a bomb and was waiting for the explosion.

Anna began slowly. “What do you mean that you are going to work?”

Celeste’s income consisted of her support checks from Angel’s father and her welfare checks. She hated taking public assistance, but Anna and Mario had assured her that was what it was there for. Mario had never been proud about taking handouts and this wasn’t even in his name.

“I’m taking a part time job at a doctor’s office.”

“You have a baby!” said Anna. Barb nodded in a very quiet and supportive way that told Celeste that she had no ally in this situation. “I’m sorry Celeste. I’m just not able to take care of her. She’s too much.”

“I know that Mom. I’m going to enroll her in daycare.”

“At her age? Are you crazy?”

Barb spoke up for the first time. “Horrible things happen at those places, Cele. It’s a bad idea.”

“I won’t allow it,” said Anna.

“It’s not your decision, Mom.”

“What kind of a mother are you?” said Anna.

“You always worked,” said Celeste.

“I had no choice,” glared Anna. “And you were never left with strangers. You were always with family.”

“It’s a good day care center. It’s right at the Community College. It will only be for four hours a day.”

“Four hours a day!” screamed Anna. In her younger days, Anna would have taken off her shoe and thrown it at Celeste. Now the pain in her back made the bending too difficult for it to be her response.

Celeste got up and left the room to check on Angel.

Barb said, “She won’t really do it.”

“Yes, she will,” said Anna. “She wants this guy and she is willing to anything that she has to do in order to have him.”

“Foolish girl. She has a beautiful baby. That should be enough,” said Barb.

“Nothing has ever been enough for her,” said Anna.

 

Chapter 43

 

Marjorie sat George down.  Ron was with Harry. She’d called him and said that golf or no golf that he needed to see his son, and Harry had agreed. He’d stopped taking Ron to work with him on a regular basis. That had stopped a while ago. Harry was learning a new game. He’d gotten too old for softball. Bowling held limited interest. Then he discovered golf. He knew that he’d gone overboard. His new wife didn’t know how to complain as long as food was on the table and her bills were paid and her daughter provided for. Now she was pregnant with another one. But Marjorie was right. He’d neglected his son.

“George, I went to the doctor’s yesterday.”

“What did he say?” George’s tone and the expectation of the question telegraphed the need to hear that everything was alright. He wanted a rubber stamp. He expected it.

“George, there are problems. The doctor says that I’ve got to slow down and take it easy.”

“What does he mean?”

“He thinks that I should work less and spend more time in bed. He thinks that I shouldn’t be lifting things or scrubbing floors.”

“I’ll mop the floors,” said George. “I don’t think that we can afford to have you cut back at work.”

Marjorie agreed. She might lose her job.

 

Harry Tuck snapped a quick throw at Ron. He snagged it and whipped it back. Harry smiled.  The throw stung his hand. His son had a decent arm. He blooped a toss. He watched Ron hold the glove up. He saw him squint, but he caught it and a grin spread from his face through his body as it winged it back.

 

“George, I’m not sure that I can do it.”

“What do you mean?”

“I’m tired. I’m trying. I don’t feel right.”

“You’ll feel better soon,” said George.

 

Chapter 44

The miscarriage hit the day before Ron’s birthday. It happened in the kitchen. Marjorie was on her knees with the pain. The blood was flowing out of her along with pieces of something else. She screamed but it wouldn’t stop and she couldn’t move and even though she was home, she was alone.

Marjorie clawed at the linoleum floor. George walked into the house and stood there horrified at the sight of her. He called an ambulance. He rode with her to the hospital.

It was officially determined that she’d had a miscarriage and needed what was known as a D&C. Marjorie, who was now more than half crazed, said no. It was her son’s birthday and she had to be there for him. She needed to see him. If he wasn’t there, she was alone in the world.

Against the objections of doctors, nurses and two hospital administrators, Marjorie signed herself out. They had her in an adult diaper because she was still leaking blood.

Ron was at home watching TV. It was late on a Saturday afternoon in June and he had been out all day. After dinner he wanted to go out again. These were the long days when summer had almost started. He could play ball until it was almost nine o’clock.

He looked up when they came in. Something was very wrong. His mother was walking very slowly and painfully. She was pale. George was holding her arm. Something was very wrong.

Ron was on his feet. “What happened?”

“They took me to the hospital,” wailed Marjorie.

Ron ran to her and then stopped. Would it hurt if he held her? “What’s wrong?”

“I lost the baby,” said Marjorie with a tint of shame.

“You’re hurt,” said Ron.

“They want me to have an operation.”

“Why?”

“Because I lost the baby.” Marjorie made it sound like it was a punishment.

George watched as a different kind of look overcame Ron. He became very composed. He straightened.  His eyes were dark green when they flicked to George. “Why isn’t she still in the hospital?”

Marjorie seemed to shrink a little. George said, “She signed herself out.”

“You let her?”

            “What was I supposed to do?”

            The look of disdain that crossed Ron’s face reminded Marjorie of Harry and she felt, for that instant, safer. “You’re right,” said Ron. He turned to his mother. “We have to go back there right now.”

            “Can’t we wait until after your birthday?”

            Ron’s face softened when he gazed into her eyes. “No, we can’t.”

            George was stunned when she just turned around and let them take her back through the door. She would have never done that for him.

           

 

Chapter 45

            After baking in the sun for the last several days and spending most of the summer in shorts and t-shirts, Ron fidgeted uncomfortably in his jacket and tie. He had traded his over the shoulder, green canvas bag for a book salesman’s sample bag. It looked like a medium sized piece of luggage, but Ron found that if it stood it on his desk that it was the perfect height for a podium. It might weigh as much as thirty pounds at different times of the year, but it was durable and had room for everything that he needed.

            He didn’t have his own classroom at Perpetual Help. There was no place to hang his Lincoln and he missed having it in the classroom. There were no pictures on the walls and no decorations of any kind expected or allowed and Ron was also pleased with this.

            He undid he top shirt button and ran his finger around the inside of his collar as he watched the students for his American Literature class file in. They were not required to wear uniforms of any kind. They were expected to be presentable at all times.

            There was little freedom in his curriculum and the finals were departmental so the pacing of what was covered when was also of some importance. He hadn’t chafed against these restrictions in his first year. He’d just been trying to make a good impression. He knew that this was considered one of the most academically challenging private high schools in the northern part of the state. If he didn’t cut it, they would cut him in an eye blink.

            His class sizes were larger. The total number of students that he had in his five classes had climbed to a staggering one hundred and fifty students. It was almost twice as many as he had at his previous school and Ron had learned that a series of frequent vocab quizzes were essential.

            Some of his students knew him as Coach Tuck and others just called him Mr. Tuck. Ron noted with some pleasure that their faces had the same eager looks that all the students he’d ever taught had.

            “Good morning. My name is Mr. Tuck and this is American Literature Honors. Check your schedules and make sure that you’re in the right place.” He paused a moment as the students stared at the computer generated printouts of schedules that they received in the mail. “Some people believe that American Literature starts of slowly. That for the longest time, it was just a parody of English Literature. Early American settlers didn’t have much time or use for books and reading.” Ron heard a soft cheer go up from two guys sitting in the back of the room. He smiled up at them and made eyes contact. “Oh, so you both like that philosophy?” They grinned and nodded. “I see. You and I may have an area of disagreement there. Here is how we are going to resolve it. You will embrace literature like it was a pretty sixteen year old girl in a bikini.” The class laughed.

            “What is your name please?” said Ron. He pointed. “You, cheerleader on the left.” The class laughed again.

            “Mark Simon.”

            “Would you like to embrace a pretty sixteen year old who was wearing a bikini?”

            Mark nodded enthusiastically.

            “Then you must learn to use the language properly and have some sophistication about what you read. Do you know why?”

            Mark shook his head back and forth.

            “In frontier times, you might need a good plow, a good horse, maybe a cow if you were lucky. Have you ever milked a cow, Mr. Simon?”

            “No,” said Mark blushing and laughing at the same time.

            “Neither have I. Now we have machines that milk them. Do you understand what that means?”

            Ron let Mark Simon off the hook. He swiveled his head. “Cheerleader on the right. What is your name?”

            “Paul Panini.”

            “Do you know what that means?”

            “You’re saying that the world has changed.”

            “Very good Paul. The world has changed and now, in order to get the little passionate girl in the bikini, it’s better to be smart than brawny. Using the language helps you to get smarter.” Now Ron could borrow from some other openings that he’d used when he taught all girls. His class was grinning and interested. He had them. They had been easy.

            Ron circled back to his book bag. “Literature book,” he held it up for them to see. “Vocabulary book,” he held up the thin, narrow paperback. “You are to have a notebook with you each and every day. I’ll tell you when we will be using the grammar books.” Ron paused and stared at them. “I would like to have to use the grammar books as little as possible, but that will depend on your essays. I’ll want a writing sample as soon as possible and so for tonight you will begin with this.

            Ron read a poem that he’d found in a book of Native American Poetry. It was called, We The First People. Then he passed out a copy to each of them.

            “I know that not all of you have your books yet, so we will start with them at the next class. For now, I would like a short five paragraph essay on your responses to this poem. That’s right guys, you are to write it tonight.”

 

Chapter 36

 

            George took Ron to the Arrow Bar that afternoon. It was a place that he worked on the weekends and Ron hadn’t ever been there before. It was a long dark narrow place with a mahogany bar and some round tables set off opposite it. There was a group of men sitting around one of the tables and George lit up when he saw them. He left Ron standing at the bar. Ron’s eyes instinctively searched for the juke box or the pinball machine but he couldn’t find either. What kind of a joint was this?

            The bartender was an old guy who wore an apron that swelled out over a large stomach. His beefy arms were partially covered by a long sleeve shirt that was turned up at the cuffs. “Ain’t nothing for you in here, kid.”

            Ron didn’t answer. He gestured over at George who had his back to him and said, “I’m with him.”

            “You’re with Father George?”

            “Who?”

            “George Bombasco. Around here everyone calls him Father George.”

            “Why?”

            “Just a nickname.”

            “What’s it mean?”

            “You better ask him.”

            Ron had no intentions of asking George anything that he didn’t have to ask him and decided to just let it go. The bartender saw an opportunity for a little fun.

            “Hey, Father George, kid here wants to know how you got your nickname.”

            GimmeTwo laughed, “Because he was always preaching to everybody about how bad gambling was while he’s making bets.”

            George flushed. It wasn’t information that he wanted Ron to have. He knew that the kid would throw it up at him.

            GimmeTwo waved Ron over. ‘Come on over kid, let’s get a look at you.”

            Ron walked over hesitantly. There were four men at the table and George was standing facing them. He half turned as Ron walked over. “Everybody, this is my son, Ronald.”

            The shock of the words hit Ron like ice water being thrown into his face. They immobilized him. He had never once thought of himself as George’s son and George had never said those words before. Then it hit him. It was for show. But if it was for show, did that mean that he was proud of him? He never acted in the least bit proud.

            George said, “Ronald this is GimmeTwo,” he stopped and looked confused, “I mean this is Mr. Rossi.” Everyone at the table chuckled and George laughed with them.

Babootz said, “I want to see you remember my name.”

Everyone laughed again.

George said, “Lemme think.”

Babootz said, “Call me Babootz, Ronnie. These guys won’t know who you are talking about if you call me Mr. Bontafacio.”

“OK, Mr. Bontafacio,” said Ron.

George said, “I never would have remembered it.”

Ron thought that Babootz made him sound like some kind of monkey and wondered if his hairy body was the reason that he got the name. That wasn’t a good question to ask.

Jimmy the Gigolo said, “Nice to meet you Ronnie. So, you’re George’s son?”

Ron felt trapped. If he said no it would seem like he was contradicting George and instinctively he knew that contradiction was either ball busting or an insult. Now the table was staring at him, waiting for him to respond. Saying yes would be betraying his dad. For the first time in his life he said, “I’m his stepson.” He felt nausea sweep over him when he said it.

George said, “This is Jimmy the Gigolo.” He was smiling. Ron hadn’t let him down or said anything smart-assed.

“Good to meet you, Mr. Gigolo.”

The table burst out in raucous laughter. Ron didn’t know why.

“Just Jimmy will be fine, Ronnie.”

Now Ron was confused again. He had been taught that it was impolite to address adults by their first name. “OK.” It wasn’t like he was ever going to be seeing very much of these men.  

Now they were all having fun with this little game. A man with diamond rings on each of his pinkies said, “My name is easy. I’m just Whitey.”

Ron smiled. “Like Whitey Ford.”

The table exploded again. Whitey had earned his name by betting a bundle against Ford twice during the 1955 World Series. He’d lost both times.

“Yeah,” said Whitey, shaking his head with a self-deprecating grin, “just like him.”

“You want a soda, Ronnie?”

George spoke up and said, “Nah, we got to go. His mother will be worried.”

“She afraid that you’re taking him to the track, Father George?”

Ron could have used the soda but he was happy that they were leaving.

 

 

Chapter 37

Ferry lectured endlessly and Ron could tell that that Artie was having a hard time staying awake. He drank soda after soda and kept wiping his face with his hands. Larry pretended to understand and took lots of notes so that he could parrot back Steve Ferry’s words and sound like he knew what he was talking about. Paul did understand. He’s been a quarterback who was fast and smart. He’s just been too short and slow to play college ball.

It was the second afternoon and Ferry was talking defense. He was really talking about reads. His belief was that you could only coach the first couple of steps of a play on defense. It was read and react. He didn’t have the talent for an attack defense, at least he didn’t think he did. Ferry was talking about the strong side safety in a four/four alignment. The middle defensive back would always shade to the opponent’s tight end side. “This man has an excellent view of the field and can see how the play is starting to develop. He watches the strong side guard and if he pulls to the right,” Steve stopped and positioned himself in front of them with his knees bent and his hands in front of him elbows crooked. He moved his left foot forward and gave his body a quarter turn. “This is his first step. Now, if he sees the wide receiver release towards the middle of the field, he squares up and plays football from here. If that receiver tries to come towards him, he needs to be ready to cover or deflect a block, but he can’t lose sight of what’s happening in the backfield. This man is our last line of defense and no one is to get in back of him.”

Ron thought you could draw things up this way, but when you were on the field, you had to let your instincts take over. Sometimes you just knew what was going to happen. You couldn’t stop and think about all these things. You’d be standing there when the play flew by you.

Ferry looked at Ron’s face like he was reading his mind. “We have to train his instincts by doing it over and over in practice so that he no longer thinks about it.”

Ron and Paul nodded. Larry wrote down …train his instincts. Artie yawned and said, “I gotta take a leak.”

Ron stood up. He wanted a cigarette. Steve said, “I think we’re about done. Tomorrow, Ron, you take shoulder pads,”

Ron nodded.

“Artie, you handle girdles.”

“Paul, you and I will do helmets.”

“You got it,” said Paul.

Steve said, “I want you to lay aside about ten of the new ones. I don’t want the bench riders who are seniors to gobble them up. When we’re all done we’ll see what we have left and swap out some of the better helmets to the younger kids who will be on the field.”

All of the coaches nodded. They were interested again. This endless lecture was actually coming to an end.

“Larry, you handle pants and practice jerseys. Make sure they fit tight. Nothing looks worse that a football player with a saggy ass.”

Larry beamed. He didn’t realize that Ferry had given him the one area that did not include any real equipment. It had the least to do with football aside from the entertainment factor when the new players sometimes put in their thigh pads upside down. Everyone was sure that Larry had learned the correct way to insert a thigh-pad by now.

Out in the parking lot, Ron talked with Paul Pamenteri. “How’s married life?” said Ron.

Paul beamed. “Paula is pregnant. It’s a boy.”

“How do you know?”

“There’s this test.”

Ron grinned. He liked Paul and his reputation among the students was that Mr. Pamenteri was ok. He didn’t rat kids out unnecessarily like it was a search and destroy mission, but he was smart enough to define boundaries. Ron was in the process of doing that but this was just his second year.

Perpetual Hope was a strange school in an affluent area of a wealthy county that was a combination bedroom community for New York City and wealthy people who had made small fortunes in New Jersey. If they were Catholic, they enjoyed the status of sending their sons to  private school. It was would be necessary that the level of education at the private school be above average. There had to be some success with sports. The tuition was not a factor, unless expectations weren’t met.

Paul was from Paterson. Now he lived in Totowa. He was a history teacher who Ron had been told took it seriously and tried to get his students to see concepts in history, not just dates and names.

Ron said, “They gave me an honors class.”

“Hey Ron?”

“Yeah?”

“Can I tell you something without you saying anything before the announcement?”

“Sure.”

“They’re expanding the Guidance Department, and I’m in.”

“Is that what you wanted?”

“Yeah, I’m taking classes at William Paterson and getting my guidance certificate and now I’ll have the credentials and the experience to move over to a public school.”

“That’s what you want?”

“Ron, I got a wife and a kid on the way. I can’t work for peanuts anymore.”

“That makes sense,” said Ron. His brain was grasping at it. “So how many games do you think we win this year?”

Paul laughed. “Maybe three.”

 

 

Chapter 38

The apartment building where George, Marjorie and Ron lived was shaped like a U with a center court entrance. There were shrubs that grew on a dirt island and along the inner sides of the building. There was a backyard but it was dingy and littered with broken glass and very little grew there. But next door was a vacant lot where someone had planted grass at one time.

Then a Baptist Church bought it and mowed the grass. Now it was a perfect football field. Ron played with guys that he met from the Boys Club. It was before he had ever experienced an injury and the game showed him at his best. He played with abandon and fury. They would have games until it was too dark to see and then they would wander home tired, spent and dirty.

Tina Poleski used to watch them from the window in her room and when she saw that the game was breaking up, she would comb her hair out and run downstairs to be sitting on the steps when Ron came home.

“Hi, Ronnie.”

“Hi, Tina.”

“Was it a good game?”

“Yeah.”

“Ronnie, would you do me a favor?”

“Sure, if I can.”

“There’s a place in the backyard that frightens me. Would you take me there?”

“Why?”

“So I won’t be frightened of it anymore.”

They got up and walked around the side of the building and then opened the low chain link fence that led into the backyard. Tina reached out for Ron’s hand and he took it. As they were walking along the concrete pathway, a window opened.

“Tina Poleski, I told you that the next time that I caught you back here with a boy after dark that I was telling your mother. And that’s exactly what I’m going to do.”

Tina whispered, “Oh shit” to Ron and then called up. “Mrs. Kresge, we weren’t doing anything. We were just going in the back way.”

“Don’t give me that nonsense. Tina you’re a little liar. Does that boy even live in this building?”

“Hello, Mrs. Kresge. It’s Ronald Tuck.”

“Ronald, your mother is going to hear about this!”

“Hear about what? Tina asked me if I would show her something.”

“I’ll bet she did.”

Tina whispered, “I’d love to see it.”

Ron blushed. “We’re leaving Mrs. Kresge. Nothing to worry about.”

They both heard the window slam down.

“Would you show it to me, sometime, Ronnie?” Ron blushed again. “I’ll bet it gets really hard and big.”

“We’d better go inside,” said Ron.

That night Ron lay in bed masturbating to Tina’s words over and over again. He would hear them in his head like a record that was stuck in a grove saying, “I’ll bet it gets really hard and big.” It was the first time a girl had ever said anything like that to him before.

 

 

            Chapter 39

            The first day of real practice was a scorcher.  They baked in the sun and Ferry ended the practice session early when he saw that some of his players were starting to wobble on their feet. There would be a two hour break before they would start again. Ferry reminded them that they had to shower, they had to drink a lot of fluids but they should try not to gulp mass quantities down.

            When they got into the coaches’ office, Artie peeled off his outer shirt revealing a Mizuna that was made of a rubberized material that didn’t breathe. He lifted it and several ounces of gathered perspiration splashed down onto the floor.

            “That’s disgusting Artie,” said Paul.

            Artie laughed.

            Ferry gave him a disapproving look and said, “Either do that outside or in the shower room. Artie pulled the shirt up over his head and several more ounces of sweat splashed down onto the floor. Ferry raised his tone. “I’m not fucking around Artie. Do that again and I won’t allow you back in here.”

            Artie Ferris slunk away.

            Larry said, “Someone should tell Brother Ward about how disgusting that man is.”

            The room grew silent. Larry Viola was actually saying that he was going to do it and they all understood that immediately.

            Steve Ferry said, “It won’t be you. I’ll speak to Artie. Housebreak him a little better but coaches don’t squeal on each other Larry. There’s a code. And nobody works better with the grunts up front than he does.”

            Paul added, “Artie’s alright. He just doesn’t have any manners.”

            “He lives in a cave,” said Larry.

            Steve said, “Ron, this afternoon, I want you to take the d-backs under those trees at the other end of the field and work the reaction to ball drill when we break off into groups.”

            “Shorts and helmets?” said Ron.

            “Yeah, I think so. It’s just too damn hot. Paul, how’s the wing?”

            “It’s fine, said Paul. He rotated his arm up over his head and stretched it until he could touch the center of his back.

            “Do some throwing with the qb’s and the ends. We’re going to be running a lot of crossing patterns and they have to learn how to lead the receiver and not telegraph where the ball is going.”

            Paul nodded but he knew that it was probably beyond the quarterbacks that they had to be doing this kind of work this soon.

            “I want you to set up the slap drill, Larry. Wait. We can’t run that one in shorts and helmets. Nevermind. Let me think about it and we’ll save that for tomorrow.”

            “Whatever you want, coach.”

            “I’m going to have the team report at 8 am. Maybe we should scrap the afternoon practice and try to do one long session that starts before it gets so miserable out.”

            The coaches grinned.

Steve Ferry could do whatever he wanted to do with their schedules, but this sounded like an unexpected afternoon off in the precious dwindling days before classes started. Artie was waddling back into the offices naked. “Put something on,” shouted Ferry. “Anyone can come down here.”

 

 

Chapter 40

Ron drove home late. He was too tired to eat. He just wanted to peel off his clothes and crawl into bed in his tiny air conditioned bedroom that had a folding door to separate it from the living room and a sheet that was tacked over the entry to the living room to keep the cool air consolidated.

He’d wanted to run and tried to tell himself that he would gain energy from a run, but his body had whimpered back its response. He needed to call it a day. He stripped and climbed into bed and brought the phone with him for company. He dialed her number and closed his eyes.

“Hello?”

“Hi.”

They felt the mutual smile through the connection. “Did you have dinner?” said Celeste.

“I’ll have breakfast,” said Ron. He felt her wanting to feed him through the phone. “I was surprised. Ferry said we were going to send the kids home today after one session, then he sprung on us that we needed this marathon film session.”

“Are you exhausted?”

“Yeah. Listen I want to talk to you about something.”

“OK.”

“We’re going to need more money to live than we have.”

“I need to go to work,” said Celeste.

“What about Angel?”

“If I could get something part-time, there’s a day care center at the Community College.”

“How is that news going to be received?”

“Things are going to change,” said Celeste.

“That’s an understatement,” said Ron.

They giggled a mutual laugh that was more of a coo. Ron felt himself relax into the feel of her. The silence was warm as the night air.

He added. “After football, I’m going to take on a Forensics Team and between that and tutoring, I’ll make more.”

“We’ll have enough,” said Celeste. “We don’t need that much.”

Ron wasn’t sure that he liked the sound of that completely. He hadn’t given a lot of thought to money since he had worked at Our Lady of the Forlorn that first year and that summer had to live on Swiss cheese and pasta. He’d drunk tap water because he couldn’t afford coffee. He’d even tried flavoring it with condiments that he’d picked up at his mother’s house. He hadn’t liked feeling poor. It brought back hot memories that he needed to push away.

“I wish that I was there with you,” he said.

There was silence.

Celeste answered, “If you spent the night here, you’d be closer to work in the morning.

Energy that he didn’t know that he had, surged in him. “You think it would be ok?”

“I’ll make it ok,” said Celeste.