The Bridge From Me to You Page 2
“Each of you will stick this card in your wallet where you can see it. And you will read the words every day. I want you to come to practice ready. By that I mean ready to give me your best. But more importantly, ready to give your team your best. Are you ready?”
“Ready!”
“I believe,” Coach yells.
“I believe,” we reply, half-assed.
“What’s that?” he says.
“I believe!” we yell.
“See you on the field in five,” Coach says as he turns to leave.
Benny and I hustle back to our lockers. “You nervous?” he asks me.
“Do eagles fly?”
“You love answering a question with a question, don’t you?” He slaps my back. “No, these Eagles do not fly, Pynes. These Eagles play football. And these Eagles are counting on you, bro.”
Like I need to be reminded.
I WAKE up sweating.
The same dream I’ve had too many times.
A baby cries.
Cries for some food in his tiny, hungry belly.
I run through the house,
searching every room.
A baby cries.
Cries for someone to hold him.
When I come to the nursery,
I rip the crib apart, because he has to be there.
A baby cries.
Cries for me to find him.
I look and I look and I look until I realize the truth.
I won’t find him. He’s gone.
A sister cries.
Cries for the little brother she’s lost.
AFTER PRACTICE, I go home, where Gram has scrambled enough eggs to feed the entire team.
“Sorry, no toast this morning,” she says. “We’re out of bread.”
“It’s okay,” I say before I drink the big glass of juice she’s poured. When I’m finished I tell her, “I’ll pick some up later for you. After practice?”
She shakes her head. “Why do they make you work so hard? I don’t like it.”
“It’ll be all right, Judith,” Grandpa says. “He’s strong and healthy. The coach just wants the boys in great shape for the first preseason game.”
Even though they’ve been here awhile now, it’s still weird having them around. Before they moved in with us, I came and went and Dad barely paid any attention. He works so much, he’s hardly ever here. I’m still trying to get used to curiosity and questions. And huge plates of scrambled eggs.
“You like the new coach?” Grandpa asks.
“He seems all right, I guess.” I reach down to get my wallet and show Grandpa the card. “Every player got one of these this morning.”
“Hm. I suppose he wants your head in the right place.” He looks at me. “You think it is?”
I started as wide receiver last year. Our quarterback, Seth Temple, and I are a great team. I pretty much catch anything Temple sends my way. I’m not too worried.
“My head is exactly where it should be,” I tell Grandpa before I shovel more eggs into my mouth. “Between my shoulders.”
Gram chuckles as she puts her hand on my back. “Yes, it is. And you’re going to do just fine.”
When I’ve had enough to eat, I stand up. “I’m tired. Think I’ll catch a nap before I head into work. Thanks for breakfast.”
“You’re welcome. We’ll keep the television down so we don’t wake you.”
I smile. “Don’t worry. After that practice, I think I can sleep through anything.”
I THROW the covers off
and lie there, telling myself
it was just a dream.
Just a dream.
Just a dream.
He’s fine.
Wherever he is,
he’s fine.
If I think too long
and too hard
about the other options,
I start sinking into a
pool of despair.
It’s dark and cold there,
and I don’t want to
d
r
o
w
n
I tell myself
what I need to hear.
He’s fine.
After all, it’s up to me
whether I sink or swim.
I roll over and stare at the bookshelf
my aunt and uncle got me.
Enough books there for
a high school lit class
and I haven’t managed to read
one.
I should.
Josh and Erica are the
proud owners of
Whispering Willow Bookshop.
Every night, they read
to their kids before bed.
Sometimes to all of them in a group,
sometimes one-on-one.
Every now and then,
I sit in and listen.
They are excellent
storytellers, using different
voices and lots of emotion.
But that’s not the best part.
The best part is for a little while,
I forget who I am
and why I’m here
and everything that’s happened
up ’til now.
It’s like the story puts
my brain on pause.
I get up and grab a book.
Because I could use
a little pause
about now.
“HOW WAS practice this morning?” Mr. Weir asks me as we go in the back so he can show me the shipment of boxes that came in earlier. I work at AutoZone part-time, mostly stocking shelves.
“Fine,” I say.
“Think it’s gonna be a good year?” he asks.
“Yeah, I think so,” I reply, mostly because that’s what he wants to hear.
This is how it is for most people here. They ask about football before anything else. Every year, as the sun burns high in the sky, August brings a new batch of hope to our town. Hope for a championship title. It may not come packed in boxes, like auto parts, but it’s there, and everyone feels it.
Especially the players.
For two and a half hours, I unpack parts and get them shelved. When I’m finished, Mr. Weir says that’s all he has for me and I’m free to go.
I punch out, and since I have a little time to kill before practice, I head to Whispering Willow Bookshop down the street.
“Colby,” Mr. McMann says from the counter when I walk in the front door. “Good to see you. How’s it going? The team looking good so far?”
“You bet,” I say, because there it is again. Hope. Can’t escape it. “I think it’s gonna be a great year.”
“Awesome,” he says. “You here for that book you ordered?”
“Yes, sir.”
“What was the title again?”
“Bridging the World.”
He turns around to a shelf on the wall where orders are stored. He pulls out the book and sets it on the counter.
“This is gorgeous,” he says, rubbing the cover. He gives me a curious look. “You interested in bridges, Colby?”
I feel my cheeks getting warm. “Nah. It’s, um, a gift. For my grandfather.”
Mr. McMann nods. “Ah. I see. That’s nice of you. I’m sure he’s going to love it.”
I get out my wallet and give him some cash. While he rings me up, he says, “Did I tell you I have a niece who’ll be at your school this year?”
“I don’t think so.”
He hands me my change. “Her name’s Lauren. Came here from Seattle. Really nice girl. She’s a little nervous about being the new kid. I keep telling her Willow High is a great school and she’s going to get along just fine there.”
I put my wallet away. “What year is she?”
“Senior. She’s been living with us for a few weeks now.”
I pick up the bag, wondering why she’s living with them. I don’t ask, though. None of my business. “Well, if I see her when school starts, I’ll tell
her hello.”
He smiles. “Thanks. That’s real nice of you.” He nods at the book. “I hope your grandpa likes his gift.”
“Thanks a lot.”
There’s a bakery in the far corner of the shop, so I walk over there. Quite a few people are sitting at tables, reading books or magazines. I get in line to order, hoping to avoid being recognized, because I don’t want to talk about football practice or the new coach or how great this season is going to be.
In front of me, two women are talking. Not just any women, but women who walk around like they own the town. One is the wife of the best-known realtor in Willow, Mrs. Landry, and the other is a doctor’s wife, Mrs. Poole. They both serve on the school board. My dad told me he’s been to a couple of meetings, and apparently, they are not afraid of speaking their mind.
Even though they’re trying to keep their voices down, I can’t help but overhear their conversation.
“Well, I think it’s strange,” Mrs. Landry says. “You don’t take a teen into your home when you have three small children of your own unless the circumstances are truly dire.”
“What did he say again?” Mrs. Poole asks. “When you asked Josh why the girl is living with them? Word for word. What did he say?”
“He said his niece had a bad situation going on at home. So he and his wife offered to take her in for a time. That’s how he put it. ‘A bad situation.’ ”
“I bet she does drugs,” Mrs. Poole says. “Or worse. Poor man. I bet he’ll end up regretting that decision.”
Mrs. Landry’s about to say something else, but she suddenly gets the bright idea to take a look around to make sure no one’s listening. I want to tell her it’s a little late for that. I quickly turn my eyes toward the floor, but it’s not enough to keep her from seeing me.
“Well, look who it is, Marianne,” Mrs. Landry says. “Colby Pynes. Fancy running into you on the first day of football practice. Getting yourself a little snack, huh? I don’t blame you. I hear they work you boys hard.”
“Hello, Colby,” Mrs. Poole says. “Why, my husband was just talking about the team this morning. Said he feels like this is going to be your year.”
“I hope so,” I tell them.
“Ladies, may I help you?” the clerk calls to them, and they walk up to the counter, saving me from having to say anything more. Thank God.
After they’ve ordered, they tell me it was nice running into me and take their coffees and pastries to a table, where they’ll no doubt come up with a hundred and one more reasons why Mr. McMann’s niece moved in with them. I’d bet money that not a single one of those reasons will be right.
I step up to the counter and order two scones and a bottle of water to go. Once I’m in my truck, I check the clock before I start flipping through my new book. It’s three twenty, which means I have a little time to enjoy some peace and quiet before the second practice of the day starts at four.
The bridges transport me to a place where there is no small-town talk, and no football to worry about. For a few glorious minutes, anyway.
WHEN I got here a few weeks ago,
Josh and Erica gave me a shiny new
bicycle — sky blue with a fat seat
and wide handlebars.
They smiled at me
like they’d just given me
the keys to the sweetest ride
known to teens.
I wished I were six
with pigtails
and an endless imagination,
instead of seventeen
and filled with uncertainty
about this small town.
“It’s called a Cruiser,” Aunt Erica said.
“Isn’t it fun? Now you can get yourself places.
Anywhere you want to go, really.”
That first day,
I looked at my aunt and uncle
and my three cousins,
who live in the-middle-of-nowhere Oregon,
and thought the only place I might
want to go was to see the birds again
at Grandma’s house in California.
That’d be one long-ass bike ride.
And besides, she didn’t want me.
Said she wasn’t prepared to take me
in for an “unknown length of time.”
Like I was prepared to leave
for an unknown length of time?
Today’s the first day I’ve ridden anywhere.
My maiden voyage is to Jiffy Mart,
to get myself some Bugles.
As I park my bike
and fiddle with the lock,
an old Chevy pickup,
black as night and covered in
at least three coats of wax,
pulls into the parking lot.
I watch as the guy gets out.
He glances at me, probably
thinking I’m twelve because
I’ve got a sky-blue bike
and one of my cousin’s
baseball hats on to cover up
my unwashed hair.
God, he’s cute.
Short brown hair that curls
at the edges, and eyes the
color of rich, dark coffee.
When I go inside, I see
him head down the aisle
at the far end of the store.
I find the chip aisle and grab
a bag of my beloved Bugles.
We meet up at the register.
He’s carrying a loaf of bread
in the crook of his arm,
like a football, along with a
bottle of red Gatorade.
“Go ahead,” he says.
“Thanks,” I mutter.
I step ahead, but the woman
at the register doesn’t even
acknowledge me.
“Hey, Colby,” she says, smiling.
“How’s it going?
Survived the first day, I see.”
“Yep. Just finished the second practice.”
I drop a dollar and a bunch
of coins onto the counter
and count out the exact amount.
The cashier can’t stop looking at
bread boy, or Colby, or
whoever he is.
Guess I’m not the only one
who thinks he’s cute.
With my Bugles in hand,
I scurry to my bike,
hoping to take off before
he comes back out.
But of course, that’s not
how it goes for me.
No. I can’t unlock the bike
because I can’t find the key.
I’m swearing inside my head,
wondering why my life always
goes like this.
Nothing easy.
Nothing as it should be.
Nothing found, just lost all the time.
“IS THIS yours?” the cashier asks me, holding out a small silver key.
“Mine?” I ask. “No. Must be that girl’s. Want me to give it to her?”
She smiles. “Would you mind? Since you’re going out there anyway?”
“No problem.”
When I get outside, the girl is searching the pavement. “You looking for this?” I ask her, holding out the key.
She turns around and lets out a big sigh of relief. Though she has a Giants baseball cap on, I can see she’s good-looking. Big green eyes, high cheekbones, and a real pretty smile. Her cheeks turn pink as she stands there, looking at me.
“Oh God,” she says. “I dropped it in there?”
“Just left it on the counter.” I walk closer and hand it to her.
“Thanks,” she says. “Maybe that’s why my aunt and uncle got me a bike, instead of a car. Losing car keys would be a lot worse.”
When she says “aunt and uncle,” I realize why I’ve never seen this girl before. “Wait a second. Are you Lauren?”
She looks at me funny. “Yeah. How’d you know that?”
/> “I was at Whispering Willow earlier today, and your uncle was asking me to watch out for you when school started. You know, to say hi or whatever.”
She groans. “He did? Well, that’s kind of, um, embarrassing.”
What would she think if she knew people were talking about her? Wondering what her story is and how she ended up here? Well, I’m not going to tell her. I’m guessing she’ll find out on her own soon enough, anyway.
“Nah. Don’t worry. He didn’t mean anything by it. Just cares about you, that’s all.” I decide I should change the subject, so we don’t end this chance encounter on a bad note. I point to her bag of Bugles. “Do you think it’s weird I’ve never had those before?”
Her eyes get big. “You’ve never had a Bugle? You are missing out. Forget potato chips, these are the best snack food around.”
“Yeah? So, are you waiting until you get home to tear that bag open?”
“I guess I could let you have one, but I’m not sure I should be handing out my Bugles to strange guys in parking lots.”
“Oh man, I haven’t introduced myself, have I? Sorry. I’m Colby. Senior, like you.” I hold my hand out. She frees up her right hand by putting everything in the left and shakes mine.
“Good to meet you, Colby.” She moves over to the curb near my truck and sits down. “Might as well open them now and show you what you’ve been missing. Nice truck, by the way.”
“Thanks.” I take a seat next to her. “Nice bike, by the way.”
She looks at me like I’ve just insulted her. “Maybe if I was ten.”
“No,” I tell her, setting the bag of bread down next to me. “I’m serious. I like it. The thing is, when you ride a bike, it’s like a two-for-one. You get some exercise and you get yourself somewhere.”