Seasons of the Son

By Ken Orwick

In his first novel Orwick captures the essence of small town, America in the 60’s with a sense of comic drama that is sure to evoke both tears and laughter. The reader is caught off guard by his raucous wit and poignant sentiment that harkens back to a time when simple things like friendship, love, commitment, and football were appreciated.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Ken Orwick
• Release date: Dec 1, 2010
• ISBN: 9781452497006

Book preview

CHAPTER ONE

Father Mick Flannigan rested on his favorite stool on a cold and drizzly late afternoon in early February, 1980. He was sipping on a frosty brew in Jake’s Place peering through a wide front window when he saw the hobo limp slowly across the bridge into town. At first glance, other than the gimpy left leg that slowed his pace, the shaggy haired traveler seemed no different than most of the other misfits who had frequently found their way into the town named Cherry Valley. Many of those who straggled in were disenchanted vets, burnt out leftovers from a controversial war, abused and unwanted and lost in a world where many unfairly despised them. Some came and went on a regular basis while others chose to stay and try to make a life for themselves as well as for their families.

A few minutes before the priest did, Jake Labine had already set his eyes on the weary stranger who appeared to be in no hurry to discover what the Valley had to offer. Flannigan figured something was amiss when the bartender’s blues perked up, his back stiffened, and he hurriedly scampered out the door as fast as his aged stems would carry him. Skipping over one large puddle of water after another, Jake hoped he could warn the grizzle chinned man of the trap that had been set in his honor. Sadly he was too late to help the weary soul who stood shaking in place having been doused from head to toe by watery spray courtesy of a speeding pickup. Initiation, the hooligan kids called the shameful deed meant to be a reminder to those who were not like themselves to find another place to nester so long as it was nowhere near the Valley.

Idiot kids…they do this all the time, Jake screamed out loud as he rushed to assist the victim. Hell, mister, it’s no big deal. Ain’t the first time I’ve been treated like the scum of the earth, and I’m pretty sure it won’t be the last.

Still, it’s a real damn shame, the youngsters I mean, and how they take great pleasure trashing those who are down on their luck that wander into our Valley.

I suppose you mean us bottom of the barrel degenerates.

I meant no disrespect, son.

Drenched to the bone, shivering, the target seemed unimpressed. If you’re finished preaching, I think I’ll be moving on down the line to the next town where things probably won’t be much different.

Hold up a minute, the elderly gentleman insisted. Please don’t take it personal, but judging from your appearance I suspect that you haven’t eaten for a day or two. If you like I’ll make you a sandwich over at my place with a hot bowl of soup and cold drink to boot. It won’t be fancy mind you, just a little grub to fill an empty stomach.

Nice thought, but I have no money to pay you.

The Good Samaritan quickly compromised. The tavern floor needs to be swept, and there are always plenty of dirty dishes to be washed. How about we trade off and call it even?

Well, truth is, old timer, I haven’t eaten anything decent in a coon’s age. I’ll take you up on the invite as long as you keep your word that I can do the odd jobs that need to be done to earn my keep.

It’s a deal.

Sam walked close by Jake’s side for security sake. He felt comfortable enough, although still a bit uneasy. Like most of the other small towns he had passed through over the past fifteen years his stay would be a brief one, and then he’d be on his way. The hobo lingered deep in thought when Jake asked the inevitable. What’s your handle, son?

Handle?

Name, you do have a name, don’t you?

Sam.

And a last name.

You sure are a nosey old fart, aren’t you?

Inquisitive is more like it.

Just Sam, was the comeback closing the door on the short lived interrogation.

When they entered a side door to the tavern a pint sized stocky built man with a curious look on his face was waiting to welcome them in. He had grayish white hair that was balding a little at the crown. Interestingly enough there was a collar around his neck with a tiny white block in the center. Despite a pleasant smile that seemed genuine enough, Sam backed away immediately. Jake sensed the dilemma. The man dressed in black scared the man, and he made him feel uncomfortable. Don’t mind him, son. I promise he won’t bite.

Reverend Mick Flannigan, young man. And, yes, I am a priest.

A pee poor one, too, if you ask me, Jake countered. The old geezer’s been a fixture around these parts for so many years now that we just sort of pacify him as best we can and let him have his way.

A slight crease just short of a smile pursed the lips of the tramp. Uh, pleased to meet you, sir.

Like wise, my son. He paused a moment before asking. Where are you from, young fella? I don’t believe I’ve seen you in our friendly little Valley before. The friendly part was forced.

Sam answered sheepishly. No where in particular. Here, there, everywhere.

Hmm, I take that to mean mind my own business.

Pretty much, I guess. But, hey, I don’t mean to be disrespectful.

I must say you are a spunky fella for sure, but at least you’re honest. Most everyone in this Valley tries not to hurt my feelings as best they can. It’s a fact though, as my old buddy here can attest to, they have no problem letting me know when they damn sure don’t want me around.

Flannigan was one of a fast dying breed in Cherry Valley. So was Jake Labine. Many years ago both were considered major kingpins in the thriving picturesque community buried deep in the foothills of the beautiful Pocono Mountains in Northeastern Pennsylvania. Back then the small town flourished, not so much in riches, but simply because of the down home flavor of kinship and caring, togetherness, and a common goal. Because of greed and outside influence times were different now. Those like Jake and Father Mick were few and far between.

Jake offered. Step right on in and make yourself at home.

Thanks for the invite.

I notice you have a duffle.

Just a change of clothes, a shirt, jeans, and a couple pair of briefs.

The bartender pointed to a room at the rear of the bar. If you like you can wash up in the stockroom in the back. It ain’t much but it does have a bathroom that is clean and neatly kept. When you come out I’ll have your food prepared.

Fifteen minutes later Sam moseyed to the front of the tavern to seat himself at the end of the counter. Flannigan had left a few minutes earlier. Jake locked the door behind him. He wanted to get to know his visitor better and now was the perfect time. He waited patiently while Sam chewed on the beans in the soup and swallow down a fresh made sandwich. It was when the young man sipped on a coke to wash down the contents that Jake cautiously started to ask. Uh, I was just wondering…

Don’t bother.

Pardon me?

If what you want is to get to know me better you’re wasting your valuable time. There isn’t anything about me that I want to share. So, please, I would like to eat my food, clean up your place, and then be on my way.

Jake persisted. You know you’re welcome to hang around for awhile if you want. I’m sure you saw the extra bed in the back and…

Damn it, man, you have no idea what you’re dealing with…trying to be nice to me I mean.

I’m willing to take my chances.

"All you need to know is trouble follows me everywhere I go and it usually comes in large doses.

Believe me, you hard headed old fool, this town will be a lot better off when I’m gone."

Maybe I can help.

Can you create a miracle?

No…but my friend, Flannigan, he says they happen all the time.

Then I suggest that the man’s plum goofy.

A little eccentric, maybe, but saying Mick is goofy is way out of line.

Sam swallowed the last crumb on his plate. Listen up, mister, I’m not going to sit here and argue with you. Show me the way to the broom shed and the dishwasher so I can work off my debt and then be on my way. If I hang around here much longer I’ll probably implode. Believe me when I tell you it isn’t a pretty sight.

The bartender stared straight into a weathered face. First of all, my name’s Jake, not old timer, not mister.

Sorry, it’s just that it isn’t very often that I hang around any one place long enough to work up a relationship on a first name basis.

Apology accepted.

Good. What else?

You drink a lot, don’t you?

Sometimes twenty four hours a day. Considerably less when I can’t find some sucker to drop a few bucks in my lap.

And occasionally you steal?

I used to, not so much lately, though. I guess I just don’t have the stomach to do that shit anymore. What he didn’t say was that not all that long ago he jumped a suit inside a parking garage. He was desperate. Drugs had taken a toll.

The bartender had always been a very good judge of character. Sam didn’t fit the mold of a bad guy. Somehow you just don’t seem like the type.

What’s that supposed to mean?

To constantly be fighting the demons.

Sam lifted up from the stool. The broom, Jake…I think it’s time I clean up this joint.

The closet in the corner, you’ll find it there.

Sam spent the next hour tidying up the place, pausing at one point to scrutinize a series of photos that hung unevenly on the wall. Each was different, but the theme was always the same. Jake noticed the interest. Those, my boy, were all great athletes. A few are personal friends from way back when. The others, well, they just passed through here occasionally to wet their whistles on their way to who knows where.

The hobo seemed enthralled. One picture in particular caught his attention. It hung off by itself. The young man posing in the frame was much younger than the others. The clarity suggested it was taken much more recent than all the rest. Jake answered the question before it was asked. That one is my son, Billy.

Good looking kid.

He certainly was.

Immediately Sam knew he had stepped into a hornet’s nest. Nervousness set in. Did you say was?"

Jake turned ash white and sullen. We lost him in the war.

A sudden urge to vomit surged through Sam’s intestines, not so much for Jake’s loss as it was for personal reasons that he did not wish to share. Christ, I’m really sorry. I didn’t mean to pry.

It was a long time ago. At first it almost killed me, my wife too, God rest her soul. I found myself hitting the bottle night after night, but as time went on things got better. Of course I’ll never forget the kid, but life goes on. Quickly he offered an apology. By the way I’m sorry I brought up the drinking thing. It’s really none of my business."

Hell, it doesn’t matter. Funny thing is, I used to hate the taste of alcohol. That is until…

Sam stopped dead in the middle of the thought. Thinking a break through was near, the bar keep trudged on. You were about to say?

Nothing, Sam fired back emphatically.

A deep breath followed a sigh. Jake had done all he could do open up a line of communication. Being patient was one thing, kissing Sam’s ass was another. Maybe it would be best if the head case hopped on the train to the next town, city, or wherever in hell the man felt he might be more welcome. He followed Sam into the kitchen. Forget the dishes, son, you better be on your way. It’ll be getting dark soon and word has it that a snowstorm might be moving in. In this part of the country, that could mean a foot or more in a matter of minutes.

You’re sure, then, about the dishes I mean?

Positive. I’ll wash them myself in the morning.

Before I hit the road could I ask a question that is probably none of my business?

Sure. If I don’t want to answer I won’t.

It’s about your son. In the picture he’s all decked out in football gear. I was wondering…

Billy was a star, young man. No brag, just fact like they say. He had more scholarship offers than we could shake a stick at. Papa Joe over at Penn State, yes sir, there never was a doubt who my son wanted to play for.

Sam’s interest raised more with each word. It was as if he was lost in the middle of a trance. The hypnotic state continued as the saga of Billy wore on. The bartender labored in a fantasy world of his own thinking back to better days when his son was alive and happy. Everyone said my boy was a sure fire All American. I believe he would have been if things had worked out the way they were supposed to, but…

Let me guess, an injury, right?

Big time, he blew out a knee the first week of practice ending a promising career before it started. He was so distraught he left campus the next day. Sad to say, he never went back to school.

Dropping his guard a second time, Sam mumbled under his breath something about being able to sympathize with the son, and then he hastily retreated. Thankfully Jake’s ears didn’t hear so well and not a word filtered through in the process. The old man lingered in a mellow frame of mind until the listener brought him back to his senses. So what happened next? I mean with Billy.

Shortly thereafter he married his high school sweetheart, fathered a child, Billy, Jr. And then he went off to war. Didn’t have to, mind you, considering the knee and all. He simply felt it was the right thing to do.

Perspiration oozed from every pore in Sam’s body. He felt like a butcher knife had penetrated every vital organ. It was only after Jake insisted on changing the subject that he was able to regain his composure. Even then the flashbacks were hard to control. Now was as good a time as any to say goodbye to the man who didn’t want to see him go. Standing toe to toe with the bartender, he reached out to shake the hand of the generous man. You’re a good man, Jake Labine.

And you, young man, are a hard headed son of a bitch.

Where the hell did that come from?

Sorry, I just had to get it off my chest. Like I said before, there’s no reason for you to leave right now, none whatsoever. You can stay here in the back as long as you want, and you can work for your food and board.

Can I ask you something, Jake?

Sure.

Why am I so special that you feel the need to help?

Truthfully, I really don’t know except perhaps it’s your wonderful disposition.

That and my optimistic outlook on the whole wide world in general I suppose.

Honestly, all I ask is that you give me the opportunity to learn what makes you tick.

Sam coiled like a rattle snake. The message was perfectly clear. I already told you, I promise you want no part of me. Today my belly is full and I haven’t had a drink for three days, so at the present time my mood is tolerable. Tomorrow will probably be a different story, because by then somehow I will have found a way to scrounge enough money to purchase a cheap bottle of wine, whiskey if I’m lucky.

And that’s when you go off the deep end?

Yeah, the deepest part of the pool.

What happens when the towns run out, the handouts?

I’ll worry about that when the time comes.

I’m beginning to believe I’m the world’s biggest sucker.

I warned you I’m not so nice.

Jake wanted to continue the conversation, Sam didn’t. He turned his back on the bartender to pick up the canvas that held his meager belongings. Outside in the dusk tiny flakes of snow began to fall. Almost instantly the white stuff picked up in intensity. A few last minute pleasantries found the hobo standing at the open door anxious to move on. There was nothing left in the bartender’s arsenal. I guess I’ve held you hostage long enough.

If it means anything to you, old man, meeting you has certainly been my pleasure.

Sam walked out into the cold night air. Each step was a painful one. His knee hurt like hell the same as it did almost every evening the closer it got to dark. For reasons only the passer through understood, he did not bother to turn for one last look at the tavern. Because he didn’t, he couldn’t see the silhouette standing at the window following him down the walk built of wooden planks. Jake felt a hint of nausea curdling inside. Why was Sam so different than the rest of the down trodden who had come and gone over time? The others were like a dime a dozen. He likened his latest find to a valuable silver dollar fresh out of the mint. Momentarily, he felt ashamed comparing the way he did. Chastising himself didn’t help. He continued to search his inner self for the answers he could not find. Frustration turned to anger that was hard to accept. If given half a chance, he was sure he could have done more to help. Tired and out of sorts from the encounter, he turned off the lights that lit the tavern. It was time to call it a night.

CHAPTER TW0

Nine year old Sammy Madison skipped down a partially worn path toward an opening at the edge of the woods that would leave him a few hundred feet from the old farmhouse where his mother would be waiting for his arrival. He was happy for two reasons. For one he knew there would be a fresh baked apple pie cooking in the oven. Of equal importance, it was the middle of May, which meant in a few short weeks school would let out and that the long hot summer days full of fun were just around the corner. Promise of good times danced in his head as he pranced gingerly along the trail toward home. He cocked an ear to listen to his surroundings. Birds of all species chirped in a happy mood above and all around him. He smelled the fresh green foliage of springtime, and he noticed the wildlife scampering from place to place searching for the food to feed them. His mind continued to stray fantasizing about other incidental tidbits, everything interesting in a young man’s fantasizing mind that made his life worth living.

Somewhere in the middle of a thought, a rustle in the brush disturbed him. Startled, his heart propped up several beats a minute. A deer, he thought momentarily, more hope than anything else. Instinct told him there was plenty to worry about. He remembered what Matthew his older brother and most trusted friend on earth had told him some time back, that when the woods fell quiet without a sound it was more times a bad omen than not. Animals knew, Matthew taught, when intruders and danger were close at hand. Wishfully he hoped his brother was wrong. The thought quickly vanished. Matthew was never wrong about anything. He had always been special to the younger brother, a person bigger than life, and someone he could always depend on in times of pending crisis. Problem was the youngster knew he was dead center in the middle of a possible catastrophe and his big brother was no where near to help.

A second later brought with it another round of fear. Crackling twigs and grunting noises caused a cold sweat to ooze from every pore. He felt clammy, disoriented and uncomfortable. He ordered his feet to move faster and wondered why they refused. His imagination ran wild again. Whatever or whoever it was that was about to swoop down and swallow him whole was near by, way to close for comfort. Big and ugly danced through his head. He was right on both accounts. He screamed in panic. Fat Freddy Snibbley and two accomplices had him surrounded. Instantly he understood his predicament. Freddy was there for revenge. Today at school Sammy had made a gross miscalculation. In front of the whole third grade class he had christened the slob about to hold him hostage ‘Wart Face’ along with so much more. How could he be so stupid? At the time it seemed like a good idea to taunt the beast. Now things had taken a turn for the worse. His proclamation was about to come back to haunt him.

All things considered it was a perfect tab he had pinned on the blubber butt, given the fact that a hideous brown wart protruded from the right nostril making the left one seem out of place. Freddy had several more drawbacks as well. He had puffy ears, bulging eyes, and almost no neck at all. Add to the mixture that the ox was mean, obese, and downright ugly as mortal sin it was easy to understand the assessment. Being right on target was one thing, smart another. He should have kept his mouth shut. Now it was payback time. Death was close at hand in Sammy’s mind or something just as bad. He thought with machine gun quickness but the barrel was empty of sensible solutions. Guilty as sin, he knew he was about to be punished for his indiscretion. It was not nice what the fat kid was about to do to his victim. Not all that long ago the terrified youngster had witnessed first hand Freddy dish out the despicable act of lunacy to another poor soul who had accidentally stepped on the toes of the weenie.

Seventy-five pounds soaking wet, Sammy was no match for his adversary. A smack to the chops sent him down for the count. On cue the buddy act began. One held Sammy’s legs to the ground while the other grabbed at two spindly arms to tuck them behind his head. Incidentals out of the way, Freddy took his turn taunting the mini sized victim who began to beg out loud for redemption. Please…please, the young boy shouted out in fear knowing the fate he was about to encounter.

Not so cocky now are you, punk? Snibbley proceeded to unbutton his jeans then drop them to the ankles. The worst was yet to come. With the pleasured look of a madman on a mission the stalker pulled down his underwear and straddled into position to hover six or so inches directly above Sammy’s face. He toyed with the youngster lying prone beneath him before aiming a big brown hole perfectly at the target. Sammy fought for all he was worth, but the fight soon died out within him. Unmercifully, a second later a gaseous explosion ripped hard into his nose. Blast number two sent him reeling, a third into a comatose state. Freddy grunted a time or two for a fourth burst but his ass had nothing to give. Exuberance all of a sudden turned to the downside. The mugger saw it in the startled look on the faces of both varmints who had helped him do the deed. A heartbeat later they were gone, fleeing to the safe haven of the underbrush where they vanished into the unknown. Right then Freddy turned to mush at the sight of the onrushing stranger barreling down the path. Quickly he bent to pull up his underwear.

Don’t bother you worthless piece of crap. Stand there and don’t move. I’ll have my way with you in a minute. Matthew reached down to stand Sammy up. He dusted off his backside. Are you okay, little brother?

Shaking in place, tears streaming down both cheeks, kid brother felt a whole lot better. I am now that you’re here.

The piecing look in the hero’s eyes cinched the fact that Freddy was in for a world of hurt. There was no need for a judge and jury, the verdict was already in. All that remained was the sentencing. Freddy stood naked in the wind from the waist down. He wished he could be anywhere else than where he was at the moment. He started to plea bargain. It’ll never happen again, never ever, I promise.

Scorching fury shot across Matthew’s brow. He zeroed in on his target. Too late, you useless piece of dung…now you’re going to have to pay a price.

Sammy perked up to sky high anticipating what was next to come. Doom to Snibbley, the worst beating the better. He watched as Matthew crouched to pick up a branch nearby. It was small with a curvy stem, perfect to serve its purpose. Instinct told the rotund slob exactly what was next to come. He prayed he was wrong, but he wasn’t. Matthew tapped the stick on the head of a tiny peanut. Teasingly he poked at the penis again, this time tickling it some for spite. How does it feel, hog head? Turn about ain’t so much fun, is it?

Freddy sobbed like a baby. He wanted his mama, his daddy too. It was hard being on the other end of the ridicule as he tried again to plead his case. Sammy had it coming, Matthew. He…

Liar, liar, pants on fire, Sammy blurted out in self defense.

Unconditional love saved the day for the fibber. Often he didn’t come clean with the truth. It seldom mattered. Matthew always covered for his sibling no matter what. Still he felt a tinge of remorse, secretly wanting the escapade to end. Humiliation had been carried a bit too far. He needed to make amends. The balancing act was a tough one. Letting Snibbley off easy wasn’t as hard as it was making sure to stand tall in the eyes of his brother. He chose to turn forgiving. Pull your jeans up and go on home to your mommy, weasel. I’m done with you for now.

Unsure and uneasy, Freddy bent to raise his britches. He babbled on promising both boys that he would be indebted to them for the rest of his natural life even if he lived to be a hundred. Matthew made a point. Bother my little brother ever again, and next time I’ll ram this rod so far up that little pee hole of yours that it’ll never see the light of day.

Freddy ran off to safety as quick as his plump stubs would carry him. He was lucky this time. Rarely did Matthew forgive a trespass when it came to his younger brother. The built in since birth loyalty was way out of the ordinary and sometimes over the edge, but it existed and it was real. They were closer than a dead heat, Sammy more often on the receiving end, Matthew more often the giver. The brothers poked along the worn trail toward home. Sammy stayed a half step behind like he always did when he traveled with his protector. He felt comfortable, safe and secure. A great victory had just been achieved, still there seemed to be no joy in Matthew’s demeanor. Sammy waited for an explanation that never came. So, he asked. What’s wrong, big brother…something bothering you?

I was wrong back there. I should have sent the fat assed clod packing before things got out of hand.

But…but you were just watching out for me like you always do, weren’t you?

Sure I was. I always will. The thing is there was no need for me to humiliate him the way I did. His voice trailed off. He changed the subject. By the way, what did the lard butt mean when he said you had it coming?

Face flush red, staring at the ground, the con artist fibbed as usual. Geez, darned if I know.

Yeah, right, I bet you don’t.

Just up ahead a clearing appeared that would guide them on toward home. It was time to play the game they always played. A hundred feet from the farmhouse walking turned to trot. Matthew quickly broke to the front with Sammy in hot pursuit. A well timed fake stumble by the older boy sent the younger one to the lead. Matthew strained to pull even before falling back just in the nick of time. Each thrust was calculated. Lost opportunities to gain were well planned for eventual defeat. Every race, every time, Matthew was destined to lose. Once the race was over, the boys hugged in mutual respect. In the bat of an eye Sammy sped off again running like a deer in the wind. The afternoon was good again thanks to the love of a brother.

CHAPTER THREE

Sammy Madison was a sportswriter’s dream. Blessed with a rifle arm, laser speed, and the savvy of a cagey veteran, the quarterback from the small out of the way town of Crooked Creek had gallantly led his tiny band of overachievers to the pinnacle, the Iowa State High School championship game, and the chance of a lifetime all kids dream of. The Spartan team was small in numbers as well as size, and every single play was a challenge. But they were one in spirit as a unit, they believed in themselves, and they fought hard on every snap. The Monroe Mustangs were a different breed. Big, strong, and talented at every position they had methodically rolled over opposing teams like a raging fire in the forest. ‘David versus Goliath’ was how the media portrayed the contest, giving little consideration to the country boys and all that the team had accomplished. On this day though it was put up or shut up time, to the victor the spoils belonged.

Streaks of lightning blazed in a fury across the late afternoon sky. A series of loud booms of thunder signaled a downpour was eminent. Below in the bowels of the bowl like stadium the roar of several thousand frenzied fans drowned out the noise of the rumble and whatever else the heavens might have to offer. Courageously, a bunch of small town farm boys had fought their way back from eighteen points down putting themselves in a position to win the contest. Five measly seconds remained on the scoreboard clock. Sammy had preached to his team all game long that they could be the best and now they believed in a miracle.

Listless and out of sync, the Mustangs reeled in the depth of self pity. Want to or not, they knew the Madison kid was the real deal, and now he was about to rock their world to oblivion. All day long the uncanny quarterback had thrown darts through the eye of a needle. He ran with abandon, too, gaining yard after yard, breaking the hearts of the defense. With time running out it was up to the ‘Magic Man’ with the cannon arm and antelope-like feet to will his team to victory. The heart and soul of his team, Sammy was the leader, their strength of purpose, and the reason they were there in the first place. The world might end tomorrow but today belonged to those who tried the hardest, the warriors of the gridiron who would fight until death if need be to win out in the end.

The ball rested on the two yard line. The General knelt in the huddle doodling in the dirt. He tuned out the chants of Sam-my, Sam-my, that rang off the charts spilling from the Spartan side of the field. It was for them as well as for his teammates that he would breathe his last breath if need be. These were good people from down home in the Creek. He hoped he could make something special happen, a lasting memory, and a gift he could share forever with those who meant so much. Sucking in some much needed air, he continued to scribble in the earth. Without hesitation, he searched out a string bean of a kid who seemed to be hiding in the dark of the huddle. Calmly he said. Nice day to be a hero, isn’t it, Toby?

The boy winced. No, damn it, I just want to win the fricking game and go on home to the Creek.

Too bad, my main man, because today I’m going make you a star.

Stunned by the proclamation, nine teammates concurred with Brenner. True, he was a good guy and he had the heart of a lion, but the fact was they were astonished that the kid in charge would even consider throwing him the hot potato. They had good reason to be concerned. Earlier in the playoffs the skinny tight end dropped a perfect pass in the end zone nearly costing his team the game and the chance to be playing for all the marbles. And now, considering the stakes, a mutiny was near at hand. Instantly, with grit in his voice, Sammy quelled the rebellion. I’m the boss, guys. What I say goes. Brash as always, he had the final say. Just hop on my back, do as I say, and I’ll carry you guys to the Promised Land.

The circle became quiet. The Spartans always played by their leader’s rules, today would be no exception. A quick toot of the whistle said it was time to settle the issue. Chaos reigned in the moment as the boisterous backers of both scrappy teams screamed for their team to survive. The stadium rocked, the ground shook, and the sky broke loose with a deluge. The wind blew first right, then it curled left, as the rain poured down in buckets. Sammy felt the sting of pellet like sleet slapping against his helmet. High time to bargain with the gods, he thought, as he tested the turf beneath him. Treacherous footing and crowd noise were minor nuisances. It was the ton of human beef lined up on the other side of the football anxious to behead him that concerned Sammy the most. Do or die time, he thought to himself, just what the doctor ordered at crunch time. No time for the feint of heart, he crouched to bark the signals. At the snap of the ball he sprinted to the left side weaving his way through traffic. Body on body, man on man the trenches became a war zone. It was as if World War III started on the field that autumn day with orders that no prisoners be taken. Brenner flopped head first into the muddy muck playing his part to perfection. No one noticed on the Mustang side the beginning of the deception of the century. The trap was set. It was time to pull the lever. Sammy zigzagged both left and right eluding one would be tackler after the other. Left alone in the excitement, Toby crawled unmolested toward the end zone. Visions of fame and long lasting glory danced in his head. On a dime the decoy stopped dead in his tracks and cocked his arm to mail the football special delivery.

The play was ridiculously easy at first, a second later not so simple at all. A flick of the wrist was all it took to lob the leather to Brenner. A sudden hush fell throughout the oval as if time stood still in the moment. Toby waited patiently for the ball, the reward that would make him famous forever. In an instant the Spartan world turned chaotic, all because of an alert defensive back who tipped the ball high in the air hoping to save the game for the Mustangs. Premature celebration on the Monroe sideline instantly turned to the downside. A second later good trumped evil. God apparently favored the Spartans. It was Brenner’s turn to look fate in the eye and dare it to go against him. There was nothing graceful in the slide across the goal, or the fingertip grab of the pigskin. But after all was said and done and the fat lady had sung, Toby saved the day for the Creek kids. Because of heart and desire, and the will to win on that rainy fall afternoon, certain defeat turned into a hard fought victory, and the glory belonged to the team that deserved it.

CHAPTER FOUR

The old yellow school bus curled its way through the back roads and the long stretches of open highway on the journey home to the Creek. The pungent aroma of used adhesive and other various medicinal helpers filled the cubical, along with piles of equipment that lay strewn on the floor next to and underneath the feet of thirty two exhausted gladiators. Shut eye was easy for some of the kids while others preferred to daydream in silence. In the back one lucky kid shared his seat with no one. Bored to death he could not sleep. He sat back and tilted to the right searching the many crevices of the midnight November moon. Deep in thought, he wondered how he pulled off the theft of the century. Blood and guts came to mind. Not only his, but also those around him. Memories would last forever and that was a good thing, but the thought of never stepping on football field with his best friends ever again nauseated him, and it was hard to set aside the feeling. Suddenly he was awakened from the stupor when Toby Brenner slid into the vacancy next to where he sat.

What’s up, my main man?

My pecker, what’s up with you?

Let’s measure, Brenner teased, a dollar to the winner.

No thanks, too much like stealing.

I do believe I smell a bit of chicken shit in the coop.

That’s your breath bouncing of the roof, igmo.

Sticks and stones…

Sammy knew when his best friend had something on his mind. This was one of those times. Brenner began to talk speaking in a slow drawl that sometimes resembled a stutter. Why did you do it?

Do what?

Throw me the ball at a crucial time like that. Hell, man, with your moves you could have walked tippy toe into the end zone and you know it.

Worked out, didn’t it?

You threw it to me because we’re tight, didn’t you?

Listen, goofy, I threw it to you because you were open.

But it darn near backfired.

If you can’t live on the edge sometimes what’s the sense in playing? Improvising pumps me up, gets my adrenalin flowing. You know how I am.

Satisfaction settled in. Winning the game was really all that mattered. Toby couldn’t deny that next to losing his virginity in the back seat of his car on a warm sultry summer’s night not too long ago, catching the winning touchdown was the most important moment of his relatively young life. He no longer wanted to second guess the master. It was time to let it be. He maneuvered his body into a comfortable position, sighed once, closed his eyes and soon fell fast asleep.

The bus wound around many curves, along creeks, and through several sleepy hollows. Sammy couldn’t sleep a wink. Waves of unwanted thoughts continued to flow through his mind. Somewhere in the middle of the confused state reality won him over. His biggest strength became a weakness. He began to question himself. Toby was right all along. He was crazy to throw the ball to the kid with dropsy hands. The safe play was to run it in, a walk in the park for someone as gifted as himself. It was true that he threw the ball to his life long friend out of sympathy because he wanted Brenner to be the difference. He could come to only one conclusion why he did. It was a simple one. He knew there would be many more autumn afternoons when he would have the opportunity to shine in the sun. For Toby, there would be none. Like most everyone else in Crooked Creek, his friend was bred to farm the land he lived on, and the chance that he would ever see the inside of a college classroom was slim or next to none.

It was sad for a lot of reasons that Toby had played his final game. Passion for the sport best described his enthusiasm, as well as above average intelligence. Brenner never complained about his many shortcomings, such as being slow as molasses on a good day, downright turtle like on a bad. Mr. Dependable, Sammy dubbed the kid, because when the chips were down and times looked bleak Toby usually found an answer.

It was hard for the high strung quarterback to take control of senses thinking the things he was. He should be deliriously happy but he wasn’t. Certainly he was thankful for the Championship, and the way he played the game. Still, he was emotionally drained and physically spent from the long afternoon on the grid iron. His options were limited. He needed comfort from the outside world, not from somewhere within. He wished Matthew was sitting next to him instead of the kid who was fast asleep. That way he and his brother could do what they always did when Sammy was down and out. They could talk about subjects other than football, kid stuff, things that calmed him down.

In the quiet of the dark Sammy shifted back to the future. Melancholy sat in. He thought ahead to where he would be this time next year, and further on down the road. Football was his life. He knew like everyone else in the Creek that he could choose any University in the country to play for. It was a good feeling yet, one that left him perplexed. It was all about family, friends, and leaving the Creek he loved. Mostly though, it centered on the brother he idolized. He thought about his mom and dad, his grandfather Reggie as well. The fun times, country summers, and the slower pace of life. Plus all of the other perks he was unable to conjure in the moment that made him who he was. He was grateful when his eyes began to droop, and glad to succumb to a more peaceful place far away from the real world. Weary and out of sorts, he looked toward the heavens one last time to search out the moon and stars. A second later the lids closed. Finally he was at rest.

A few minutes past midnight, the carrier rolled to a stop in the middle of a wide loop in front of the grand old high school. It was blustery in the dark outside where several hundred appreciative supporters, young and elderly alike, broke into thunderous applause to acknowledge the achievement of the team that never quit. John Skinner, school custodian and bus driver for life, opened the door to freedom. One by one the players descended the steps amid loud and raucous cheers. The throng multiplied, chaos reigned, and the intensity blossomed to an all time high. The team bathed in the excitement. Individually, each gladiator graciously accepted the accolades savoring every memorable moment.

Two boys remained behind. The bus was dark, the mood somber. Sammy shuffled about pretending to search for something imaginary under the seat that he could not immediately find. Toby waited for the charade to end. Worried I’m about to get all slobbery, aren’t you?

Sammy sat straight up in the seat. We’ve been there before, Toby, you and your babbling crap and me always having to listen. The words went in one ear, straight out the other. Toby did have a soft spot when it came to nostalgia, so Sammy prepared for the worst. Let it out, Brenner. What is it this time? A small amount of moisture formed in Toby’s eyes. He reached out to cuff the back of Sammy’s neck. He snuggled him close to his chest. Sammy fought the urge to puke on the spot. It was because of the sincere look in Toby’s face that he managed to hold it in. Brenner sniffed. I, uh, don’t want to sound like a nerd or a wimp, but, he paused to reflect, you definitely are the best friend a guy could have and the best damn football player I’ve ever seen.

Sammy was touched and he almost gave in to the emotion of the moment. He didn’t though, only because it was not his style. The boys hugged each another, Toby’s embrace much more sincere than Sammy’s. It wasn’t meant to be a slight on Sammy’s part it was just that Brenner was the more emotional of the two. A few minutes more of lingering sentimentality left Sammy reeling. For awhile he could accept Brenner rambling on about the distant past, the present, and whatever the future held in store. Now, though, he was bored. It was time to exit the bus into the freshness of early morning air. He motioned for Toby to go first. If there were still hero worshippers mingling about, he hoped they would shower the kid with genuine affection for a job well done. It was only right that Toby be treated as a star. He deserved to be recognized the same as anyone else for the contribution he made to the game. Watching Toby descend the steps, Sammy guessed how the morning newspaper would read. He had always been the media darling in the Creek, and he knew for sure that no matter how badly he wished the idiot writers would focus on team achievement, that more than one prominent author would center in on him as the sole reason for the victory. Week in and week out he had learned to read their thoughts. The Second Coming of Jesus Christ came to mind or something just as absurd. He also had a selfish reason for wanting Brenner to bask in the limelight. It was simply because he wanted to be left alone so that he wouldn’t have to share his thoughts. Waiting behind in the shadows in the confines of the bus he made a plea to Skinner. Please don’t give me away.

Hiding from the flock, are you?

Yeah, I am.

Then it’s a perfect time to tell you.

Excuse me.

That this broken down old fart thinks you are one hell of a good kid, let alone being the greatest ball player I’ve ever seen in my long stay on this earth.

It’s a team thing, Skinner…I’m really nothing special.

Yeah, right, the custodian smiled, nonchalantly stepping to the bottom rung of the bus. I think the coast is clear now.

Great.

Momentarily the bus driver blocked the path to the outside world. I think I speak for everyone in the Creek when I say that thanks to you boys, and the spark that you guys provided, the people around here will always have a great memory to fall back on when times are really tough.

The kid squirmed. He guessed it was the older mentality compared to the young. To him it was all about winning a football game, and bringing home the trophy. To those who toiled in the fields on hot summer days obviously it meant much more. He tried to understand the significance in a mature sort of way, but the ignorance of youth won out in the end. Uh, thanks, Skinner. I mean for the nice words, and especially for hiding me out. If you don’t mind though…

Yeah, yeah…see you around school, kid.

Sammy slipped away from the hoopla to disappear into a long corridor that separated the high school and the gymnasium to where a walkway made of brick led him to where it all began. Along the way he surveyed the surroundings, purging one precious memory after the next. The turf belonged to him. He owned it, all one hundred yards of heaven on earth. It made little difference that the grass was worn badly in several spots from a season of heated battles. He continued to roam toward the far end of the stadium, slowing his gait to accommodate the inner wish that the real estate become his sanctuary, a temporary retreat where he might hide away from the friendly lunatics who would love to anoint him to sainthood. Somewhere in the black of the night the sound of a familiar voice startled him. Great game, little brother, probably the best you ever played.

Thanks…never a doubt in my mind who would win, though.

You sure fooled me and a whole lot of other people, the piece of cake thing, I mean.

Sammy dropped to a kneeling position under the cross bar of the goal post. The pole swayed gently in the midnight breeze. He snatched a few strands of grass, bunched them up to make a batch, then he tossed it in the air. Matthew knelt down beside him. It’s the memories, huh?

All the good ones, yeah…tonight I don’t want to touch the bad ones. Sammy placed an index finger over his lips. Listen, big brother, can you hear them?

Matthew guessed. The cheers I bet.

I can still hear them ringing down around me. He hurt inside. How could it go so fast? I mean, gosh it seems like only yesterday that…

I know, kid, it has to be tough on you, but time goes on. Down the road a piece, I’m pretty darn certain there will be a heck of lot more accolades for you…positive as a matter of fact. Different fans, another place, but applause all the same.

Still, it makes me wonder if I’ll always be able to measure up to what people expect. The game comes easy now. Big time college football is different.

Savor the present, little brother. Enjoy it while you can. Next year, and the year after, none of us know where we might be or what we might be doing.

There was an ebb and flow in Sammy’s demeanor, up one minute and down the other. I am on cloud nine, big brother…the game and all. It just bothers me that I’ll be going away to school next fall and you’ll be left behind to do all the dirty work.

You were meant to play football. Me? I was born to live off the land. But, heck, if you want to give up all that you’ve worked for since you’ve been knee high to a piss ant, dad and me, we can always use an extra hand around here.

Gosh, let me think…uh, no thanks, I believe I’ll take a pass.

The brothers continued to reminisce at will each taking turns tuning up the past. It was just the tonic Sammy needed to calm the tension. Matthew was wise beyond his years. Funny, Sammy thought in a moment of silence, how most everyone in the Crooked Creek looked upon him as God’s gift to the universe when, in fact, it had always been Matthew who was the staple one. It was the way life worked he consoled himself owning up that it wasn’t fair.

Cool turned to down right cold. It was time to head on home. They were about to reach the rest of the family when Matthew suddenly stopped. A second later his eyes starred straight into Sammy’s. Listen up, kid. I want you to always remember one thing. If and when the time comes you need me for anything at all I will always be there for you no matter what.

Sammy sucked in the words along with the early morning fragrance of dewy grass. Thanks to his brother he was whole again. In the distance his family waited for his arrival the same as a few hardy leftovers, those who wanted to share the unlikely dream of a lifetime. Sammy obliged willingly. He thanked the small contingent of well wishers for supporting him during the bad times as well as good. To his mom he blew a kiss in the wind, to his dad a lipped synced thank you. Lastly he winked at his grandpa who sat antsy in his wheel chair groggy, mostly out of sorts. With one last wave of the arm at the assembled groupies it was time call it a night.

Sammy snuggled up close to his mother breasts. Her warmth made him feel good. She sent him the look of love and contentment, along with the sternest of glares. It was because of the way he ran off and hid from everyone else at a time when she felt he should be near. Tom Madison was irked some too. He let it pass. Trivial things didn’t matter at moments like these. Truth was the evening belonged to his youngest son. If the boy felt the need to be off by himself there must have been a good reason.

In the bed of old Daisy the pickup truck the brothers huddled together for heat. Mom and dad are upset with me for running off the way I did, aren’t they?

It’s a parent thing. They realize big changes are just around the corner. Mom knows her baby boy will be heading off to school somewhere far away and, understandably, it’s killing her inside. Dad, well I really don’t know what to think. It’s just a hunch on my part, but as much as he loves watching you play football, sometimes I wonder if maybe he would just as soon you stay home in the Creek and farm in the fields with us.

What about you?

Will I miss you? That’s a stupid question. Do I think you should leave? Absolutely, because we both know how much you hate farming. Why it isn’t in your blood like most everyone else around here, I have no idea. That isn’t the point. Maybe you’re just…

Blessed? Yeah, I know. That’s the word the writers use all the time. Christ! How many times has it been written that I have this wonderful gift that’s been bestowed on me, like I’m this super human stud who can do no wrong when it comes to the game of football?

Stud. I can’t say I remember…

Shut up, ignoramous, you know what I mean.

Sammy.

Yes?

What I’m about to say is all you have to know. Deep down where it counts Mom and dad know what is best for you. They aren’t going to stand in your way. You being blessed or whatever, it really isn’t all that important. Sure, you’re going to be given the chance of a lifetime to play the game you love, but even if it doesn’t work out for one reason or the other you will still have the opportunity to get a great education and experience a whole new way of life.

Sammy sat mesmerized. And just when did you get so smart?

I guess, like you, I’m blessed.

A flippant mood turned serious when Sammy said. The hardest part is you won’t be around to guide me anymore.

You’re a big boy now. I’m pretty sure you can take care of yourself.

And if I can’t?

Matthew smiled. I already told you…I’ll be there for you like always.

Daisy pulled to a stop in front of the barn. She sputtered defiantly three times before coming to a halt. Tripod, roused from a deep sleep, came out from under the house to greet the boys. The older brother was his favorite. Sometime back Matthew had saved his life when he snatched the dog from the jaws of a vicious Pit Bull who intended on devouring him for lunch. Unlucky for the old hound dog, he lost a right hind leg in the process.

Reggie stayed in a cantankerous mood badly in need of sleep. Carolyn patted the old man gently on his shoulder to let him know she cared. It was her soothing touch that calmed him. She whispered in his ear that she loved him, that he was a good man, and that she would soon come to tuck him in. He forced a smile. A hint of drool spilled from his lips when he dropped his chin to his chest. Her eyes reddened some. She tried to contain her emotions as she reminisced back to the day Sammy found his grandfather pinned under the overturned tractor high up on the ridge, and how the youngster fought for all he was worth to free Reggie from the wreckage and quite possibly the brink of death. Sadly, she remembered vividly how the man lost more than the feeling in his limbs that day. For a long time afterwards he lost his will to live.

Later on in the cool of the dark early morning hours Carolyn peeked through the curtains of the kitchen window to search out her sons. Her heart fluttered to the good side and also some to the bad. Matthew spread his frame in the creaky old swing while Sammy sat on the top of the step. She stood in place silent to listen to the trivial talk about nothing important at all. In the moment she wondered how two brothers who were so different could be as close as one. She worried to the point of a near breakdown thinking that with Sammy leaving the fold before too long the relationship might never be quite the same. Matthew saved the moment. We hear you in there, woman. Are you snooping around as usual?

Carolyn composed herself. Hush, both of you. I was just doing some last minute cleaning up. She began to hum off tune. Sammy pulled her plug. We’re on to you, lady bug. Reggie’s got your number and he passed it on to us. He said it was his edge.

Taking sides with the old man, huh? In that case…

Sammy pretended to unravel. You can take a joke, can’t you, mother?

A joke, yes I can. An all out mutiny, nah…I don’t think so. So what’s it going to be…me doing the cooking and laundry for you guys, or both of you renouncing your grandpa?

That night the boys took a stand on behalf of the grandfather. They went to sleep guarding Reggie’s secret. Long ago he had tipped them off that when the woman hummed a tune far off key or when she sang a silly song it usually meant she was fibbing out her teeth. Her idiosyncrasy simply was a bonding thing between the men of the house, a helpful tool to let them know when the conniving lady was not exactly being forthright with the truth. It wasn’t often that Carolyn told little white lies, but it was nice to know when she did.

CHAPTER FIVE

An hour had passed since Sam left the comfort of Jake’s Tavern. The heavier the snow fell the more hope faded that he might have changed his mind and decided to return to the tavern. Jake sat in the dark on a stool