She looks like a little girl, in a T-shirt and
pajama pants, her hair sticking every which way.
I have a sudden urge to hug her.
Because I wonder if she knows.
Knows how much I appreciate everything they’ve done.
Knows how much I’ve come to love their family.
Knows I haven’t been this happy in a long time.
Knows how much I want them to love and trust me.
“Do you want me to stay up with you?” I ask.
She smiles. “No. Go to bed. Big day tomorrow.”
“Yeah. It is. Well, good night, then.”
And as I walk past, I do it. I give her a hug.
She wraps her arms around me and says,
“Good night, honey. Sweet dreams.”
As I start to head to my room, I say, “Thanks.”
I hope she knows how very much I mean it.
THE NEXT morning, when I step outside, the faint scent of burning wood in the cool autumn air, I see an old car parked on the street in front of our house. It looks familiar, and yet, I can’t quite place it.
Russ steps out and waves. Of course. Now it comes together. It’s been a while since I’ve seen him. Pretty sure the last time was at Mrs. Lewis’s birthday party.
You’d never know Russ and Benny were brothers just by looking at them. Where Benny is all muscle, Russ is skin and bones. Soon as he was out of high school, he moved out, into a crappy little apartment with a couple of friends. He works at a grocery store. Started as a bag boy in high school, now he’s a cashier. Benny used to say, “Now that’s exactly what I don’t want my life to look like.”
“Hey, man,” he says as we meet in the driveway. I throw the sheet I’m holding into the back of my truck and shake his hand.
“Hey, Russ. You’re up kinda early, aren’t you?”
“Yeah, I wanted to be sure to catch you. Look, I know the bake sale is going on today, and I want to see if I can do anything to help. I can’t bake anything worth shit, but could I do something else?”
I stick my hands in my pockets. “That’s great you want to help, but they’re all set with volunteers. Besides, this is about us helping you guys. You don’t need to do a thing.”
He looks past me, toward my house. “I wish I could do more to help him. I cannot stand being in that hospital room, man. I know that’s terrible, but I’m not good at pretending everything’s fine when it’s not, you know?”
“I don’t think you have to pretend,” I tell him. “Mostly I think it’s good for Benny to know that we care about him. That we support him. Right?”
“I guess. I just want to do something. I mean, something that matters. That makes a difference.”
I say it as nice as I can. “Russ, being there for him, talking to him, that matters. More than anything.”
He sighs. “I want him to get better. I want him to be his old self.”
“Well, that’s what this bake sale’s all about — helping him get into a good place where he can work toward that. Let’s hope people open their wallets wide today, in the name of Benny and baked goods.”
“Maybe I’ll stop by and get him a cake or something,” he says.
“That’s a great idea. I bet he’d love that.”
“You sure you don’t need any help?” he asks as I pull the truck keys out of my pocket.
“I’m sure,” I tell him. “But thanks for the offer.”
“All right, then. I’ll leave you to it. Thanks, Colby. For doing this for him.”
“You’re welcome.”
As I drive to Lauren’s, I think about Russ and realize if it’s hard for me to imagine Benny never playing football again, it’s gotta be even harder for his family. I think they all looked at him as the one with the real chance at greatness. And now it must feel like that chance is gone.
I want to believe there’s always a chance, though. Isn’t that what Coach has been trying to tell us with the cards and the signs and the pep talks? That believing is more important than anything. It’s what keeps you going, even when things look bad.
And I know things look pretty bad right now.
But he’s alive. He’s out of the coma. He’s talking.
And really, from here on out, things can only get better. Just how better, that’s the question.
WITH PIES
in the back,
we head to
the spot
downtown
where we will
sell fabulous treats
and collect
donations.
Colby is quiet.
Are people
going to come?
Will it be
enough?
Are we doing
all we can?
They are questions
with answers
we don’t have
quite yet.
I want to
reach over.
Hold his hand.
Tell him it
will be okay.
Would a friend
do that?
This whole
“being friends”
is hard.
Harder than
I thought.
There’s a line
we’re not supposed
to cross, except
the line is not
clear and not straight
and seems to move
at times.
Honestly,
I wish I could
just erase
the stupid line.
Build a bridge instead,
so there’d be nothing
to get in our way.
LAUREN’S QUIET.
Is she nervous? Worried about the turnout? Or wondering if everything will go all right? I don’t want her to worry.
“You know, this is a good thing you’re doing. Benny’s family appreciates it a lot.”
“Thanks,” she says. “It’s been fun, working on this. I’m glad I’ve had something else to think about besides …” She stops. Smiles. “I think it’s going to be a great day. I’m excited.”
I wonder what she was going to say. I almost ask her but decide now’s not the time. “Yeah. Me too. So which pie should I buy?”
She turns and looks at me. “Well, I think the question is, what do you like?”
I raise my eyebrows. “You mean, as far as a pie goes?”
As soon as I say it, I realize my mistake. I shouldn’t have said that. But it’s hard to stay away from flirting territory all the time. I mean, it’s pretty fun there. Especially with Lauren.
I want her to reply with something like, “No, not as far as a pie goes, as far as a girl goes.”
And then I would say something like, “Well, you should know better than anyone right now.”
Then she would get all flustered and not know how to respond. And I could reach over for her hand, and take it in mine.
But Lauren, she’s good. She keeps things right where they are supposed to be. She replies, “Of course, as far as pie goes. That’s what we’re talking about, right?”
“I guess I like berry or apple,” I say, pretty unenthusiastically, because what I really want to say is, I like you.
“Well, you’ll get first choice,” she says.
I want to say, I choose you.
Clearly, this being friends thing has become a challenge for me. But that’s okay. I thrive on challenges (or at least, this is what I tell myself).
When we get to the location of the bake sale, the tables and canopies are all set up and the place looks fantastic. Mr. Curtiss, Lauren’s boss, is setting up a couple of cash registers with change, which he offered to do.
Lauren goes over to talk to him and I simply stand back and watch her for a minute. I could watch her all day, actually, but I have pies to carry over.
Very carefully, one at a time, I take the pies to a table. Lauren comes over a little while later with colorful doilies, the
ingredients lists, and the price tags. Each of the pies made with pudding are in boxes with a couple of ice packs on the bottom. The other pies, she puts on little stands she made. When she’s done, I have to say, the table looks amazing.
“I’m gonna buy the berry one and put it in my truck, if that’s okay?” I tell her.
“Yeah. Absolutely. Mr. Curtiss can take your money.”
“Do you have something set up for donations too?” I ask.
“He brought a couple of huge jars for that. They’re perfect.”
“Okay, good.”
“The volunteers are starting to arrive,” she says. “I should go give them their directions.” She looks nervous as she bites her lip.
“You want me to go with you?”
She considers it for a moment. “Actually, could you hang around and help people carry stuff to the tables, if they need it?”
“Sure. I can do that.” I pick up the berry pie, along with the ingredients list. “Let me buy this one first.”
“Okay. Well, I guess I’ll see you around.”
She starts to leave when I call out, “I can give you a ride home later. If you want. Since, you know, you don’t have your bike.”
She turns around. Smiles. “You love rubbing that silly bike in my face, don’t you?”
“No. No! I love your bike. It’s a two-for-one, remember? Like this pie. It’ll be delicious and it’s for a good cause. I’m all about the two-for-ones, I promise.”
“Like, you give me a ride home and you get my charming company for ten minutes?”
I nod. Maybe a little too enthusiastically. “Exactly!”
“Okay,” she says. “You’re on.”
I practically skip as I make my way over to pay for the pie. Until I realize that after the bake sale today, we won’t really have an excuse to hang out anymore.
I wonder if she’s a good student? Maybe she could help me with some homework.
CUPCAKES
and fruit tarts.
Brownies
and scones.
Cookies
and lemon bars.
Éclairs
and pies.
Hundreds
of sweet treats.
All of them
sold.
Jars filled
with money.
Big bills
and checks.
An anonymous
donation
for ten thousand
bucks.
Joy and
gratitude.
Pats on
the back.
Small-town
living.
Not so bad
after all.
HOLY DOUBLE chocolate brownies, Batman.
It’s insane. How much money we raised. How many people came. How empty the tables are now that it’s over.
Benny’s family stopped by and were blown away by what they saw. It felt like the whole town came out to buy baked goods and donate money. Russ bought a big triple-layer chocolate fudge cake and said they’d take it to Benny to celebrate. He was moved to a rehab center in Lansford last week, but Mrs. Lewis said this extra money will allow her to take a leave of absence so they can go to Atlanta for at least a couple of months.
I’m thankful he’ll be going. And yet, when I think of him getting on that plane and leaving here for an unknown length of time, it hurts like hell.
I want him to go.
But, God, I don’t want him to go.
Lauren’s aunt and uncle volunteer to get the money in order and take it to the bank so they can give Benny’s family a big, fat check.
When Lauren gets in my truck, she leans back in the seat, closes her eyes, and says, “Wow.”
“Yeah,” I concur.
She rolls her head toward me and opens her eyes. “It was awesome, huh? I’m so proud of us.”
“Me too.”
“Maybe now people will stop thinking the worst about me,” she says. “About why I’m here, you know?”
“I’m sure they will but try not to worry about what people think.” I swallow hard, trying to get the nerve to do what I want to do next. “Do you, um, have to get home right away? I thought maybe we could make a stop first.”
She shrugs. “Okay. Can I borrow your phone and let my aunt know?”
While she calls, I drive. The clouds have cleared, and it’s pretty nice out. Now that it’s October, I know it won’t be like this much longer. I look over at Lauren, and I think, in more ways than one.
I want to make the most of this. Whatever “this” is.
I pull into the Safeway parking lot. She raises her eyebrows. Before she has time to say anything, I tell her, “I need to run in and get something. You stay here. I’ll be right back.”
I hustle through the store, grabbing what I need, and make it back to the truck in record time.
“Well, that was fun,” she teases. “Probably didn’t need to call my aunt and tell her I’d be late for a stop at Safeway.”
I start up the truck. “Okay, if you want to get technical, we’re making two stops. That was the first one. Now on to the second one.”
She looks at the grocery bag sitting between us. “Can I take a peek?”
“No!” I grab the bag and pull it close to me. “You’ll find out soon enough, since we’ll be there in about two minutes.” I look at her. “Patience, grasshopper. It’s a small town, remember?”
“How could I forget, after I just met almost everyone who lives here at the bake sale? I still can’t believe how many people showed up.”
I look at her after I pull out onto the road. “Yeah, you just witnessed the best of small-town life. We come together and pull for our own, that’s for sure.”
“It’s really great,” she says, staring out the window. “It felt good to be a part of something so important. Even if it wasn’t for very long.”
“That’s why people love football, you know. Why they love coming out to the games and supporting our team.”
She looks at me. Gives my leg a little shove. “But football isn’t that important.”
“Maybe not to you. But to a lot of people, it is.”
“Why? I don’t get it.”
I shrug. “I have a few different theories. Mostly, I think it’s because for a little while every week, folks are able to forget about their dull lives. They have something to believe in. Something to hope for. And it feels good to believe and hope.”
“But, Colby, it’s just a game. Why don’t they find something in their own lives to believe in and hope for?”
I smile. “Because it’s just a game. Putting your hopes on something like a football team rather than yourself is so much easier, right? And if things don’t go the way you want, well, there’s always next year. Always another chance to try again. To hope again. But in life? Sometimes we only get one chance.”
She doesn’t say anything after that.
Not a thing.
And I wonder what that means.
I KNOW all about
that thing
called hope.
Except lately,
hope and I
get along
about as well
as hawks and mice.
Sometimes
I find myself hoping
my mom will call me
and ask me to come home.
Other times
I’m hoping
I can just stay here,
with a family
I’ve grown to love.
My hopes change
along with my moods,
depending on what
I choose to remember
on any given day.
Maybe what I hope for
most of all
is that everything
simply works out
for the best,
even if I don’t know
exactly what that looks like.
Colby’s right.
It’d be a lot easie
r
to put my hopes
on a football team.
WHEN I pull into the parking lot of Queen Elizabeth Elementary School, Lauren gives me a funny look.
“This is where Benny and I met,” I explain as I park the truck. I notice the front doors are still a bright yet inviting blue, like they’ve always been. I turn the engine off. “He moved here in the third grade. At lunchtime, he sat down next to me. I watched as he ate his hamburger and Tater Tots in about fifteen seconds flat.” I laugh. “Man, that guy still loves Tater Tots. Anyway, when he was done, he turned and looked at me. And I’ll never forget what happened next.”
“What?” Lauren asks. I love how truly interested she is in this story.
“Benny said, ‘This is my favorite part of school.’ And then I said, ‘You mean eating lunch?’ And he said, ‘Nah. After we eat. Going to recess. Playing with friends.’ And I said, without thinking, because I was a stupid eight-year-old boy, ‘But you’re new. You don’t have any friends.’ He looked at me with those big brown eyes and said, ‘Maybe not yet. But I will. You’ll see. Now hurry up and eat so we can go play.’ ”
I swallow hard. I remember the moment so clearly, it’s like it happened an hour ago. “And he was right. By the end of recess, we were friends. But you know what’s really amazing to me? He could have sat anywhere that day. But it’s like God knew, and he sat him next to me.”
“Knew what?” she asks.
“Knew we needed each other.”
It hangs in the air for a second, and I want to say, I still need him. Benny. My best friend. And that I miss him like crazy.
But I don’t need to say it. She knows. How can she not know?
I quickly open my door. “Come on. We’re gonna go have a pie picnic. On the playground.”