Date: Fri, 31 Jul 2015 15:25:54 -0400 From: Paul Knoke Subject: INSTALLMENT TWENTY-NINE of "THE FATHER CONTRACT" INSTALLMENT TWENTY-NINE from THE FATHER CONTRACT by Arthur J. Arrington Edited Paul K. Scott Please consider making a monetary contribution to Nifty! We need to keep PJ's story on their site! Chapter Fifty-Four: The Only Way to Play The next morning when Erik's alarm went off, PJ awoke stiff and tired from sleeping on the floor. He was alone under his blanket. Sometime during the night, Phil had returned to his own bed. Erik got up and woke Phil and Brian. The two younger boys weren't enthusiastic about leaving a warm bed and participating in physical exercise, but Erik was insistent. "Trust me, guys, PJ and I have been through this. You'll be a lot better off if you get up now and work out with us. It'll get you into a routine and you'll sleep a lot better tonight. You'll see." They all went to breakfast together, but not before PJ sneaked a quick look at his computer to see if he had any mail. There was nothing. Afterwards, PJ and Erik took their younger charges to the weight room in the Field House. "We have to be kind of quiet in here," Erik warned. "We're not really supposed to be using the equipment without a coach present." "Coach Lewis knows about it, and he lets us do it as long as we don't fool around," PJ said. Phil was staring at the different workout stations and the gleaming chromed dumbbell racks. "PJ, this is awesome!" "Yeah, it's nice. So the thing to do is take advantage of it," PJ told him. "Today we can work a full two hours. Starting tomorrow, with classes going, we won't be able to do that much except on Saturday mornings. On weekdays, we'll have to squeeze the weights in at lunch." "We'll show you tomorrow," Erik promised. They went through their stations, the two younger boys managing only one set each, while PJ and Erik got three, four, or five depending on the exercise. "How did you learn all this stuff?" Brian asked as Erik showed him how to do a shoulder press. "On the swim team," PJ explained. "Phil, you and I will be doing workouts in here this winter as part of the team training program. Plus, some of this I learned from Jack. He does all this plus a lot more for two hours every morning. I'll show you his workout if you want." "Not today, PJ," Erik quickly interjected. He still had vivid memories of the last time PJ had shown him. When they'd finished and were all standing around catching their breath, PJ looked at Erik. "Why don't we take them to meet Billy?" "Who's Billy?" Brian wanted to know. "He's a kid who lives in town who's like our younger brother," Erik told them. "Just like you guys kinda are now. He's really neat, and his family has helped us a lot." "He comes to a lot of our games and meets to cheer for us," PJ explained. "You'll like him. And I know he'll like you." Neither Brian nor Phil had a skateboard, so the four boys walked to Billy's house after sneaking out the main gate, easily done due to the steady stream of cars with returning students and parents. "Geez, guys, it's only Phil's second day at school and already we're teaching him how to break the rules!" Erik joked, making them all laugh. When they arrived, Billy was in his front yard bouncing a tennis ball off his front steps. "PJ! Erik!" he yelled delightedly. He came running over, only to stop shyly when he saw the other two boys. PJ introduced them. "Billy, this is Brian, and this is Phil. They're going to be living across the hall from us. They play football and baseball and Phil's a swimmer. I told them you'd help cheer for them this year." "Hi," Billy said, not so shy anymore. He shook hands with both of them. "Come on, Billy," Erik said, "we want to take you over to the School to play some football this morning. Then we'll sneak you in for lunch. We'll celebrate the last day of summer vacation." Billy's face lit up. "I'll tell my mom." They went around to the back door and into the kitchen, where PJ introduced Brian and Phil to Mrs. Thatcher. She looked at them both affectionately and gave each one a little hug. "If you're living right next to PJ and Erik," she told them, "you're lucky. You couldn't know two nicer boys." PJ told her about their plan for Billy to spend part of the day over at the School. "You boys have a good time," she told them. "I'll have some cookies ready when you get back." "All right!" exclaimed Brian. Phil smiled. "Come on, guys," Erik eagerly said. "There should be lots of kids to play football with today." All five boys hurried back to the School, with Billy trotting to keep up with the older ones. They stopped at the House to get Erik's football, and ran down to the field, which PJ was surprised to find deserted. "I guess it's up to us to get things started," he said. Erik organized a passing game, sending them out on patterns where they took turns defending against each other. Brian and Phil were amazed at how good Billy was. "My big brothers taught me," Billy proudly declared, pointing to PJ and Erik. After awhile, other boys saw them playing and came over to get in on the fun. Soon a lively game of touch football was in progress. The Top Floor Gang and Billy all played together on the same side, scoring often on Erik's pinpoint passes. Erik particularly liked using Billy as a secret weapon. "No one expects him to catch the ball," he cheerfully told the others. When the rest of the boys were covered and PJ double-teamed, Billy was always open. Erik would lay a floating spiral right in his hands, and the little boy would scamper down the field. Each time he made a catch, he returned to the huddle, grinning happily. Then PJ devised a play that took advantage of Phil's good arm. When PJ was quarterback, he would hand off to Phil, who could roll to the left with Erik blocking and throw to Brian or Billy. The play caught the defense by surprise several times before the other boys figured out that Phil was a dangerous left-handed passing threat. During a short break as more boys joined the game, Billy stood close to PJ, pulled at his tee shirt, and whispered anxiously, "PJ, do you like Phil and Brian a whole lot?" "Yeah, Billy," PJ told him. "They're real nice. You'll see." "You don't like them better than me, do you?" "Heck, no!" Putting an arm around Billy, PJ hugged him, his other hand gesturing urgently for Erik to come over. "Billy, you're our younger brother," he assured the boy as Erik joined them. "There isn't anybody we like more than you. Brian and Phil are new little brothers too, but you're still the best little brother we have!" "Yeah, Billy." Erik knelt in front of the boy. "There's no one more important to me than you, except for PJ because he's my brother, too." "Promise?" Billy was looking from Erik to PJ. "Promise!" they told him. "Okay," Billy said in a relieved little voice. "I just wanted to be sure." "We understand, Little Brother." PJ tried to be as reassuring as he could because he did understand. Billy's jealous of Brian and Phil! "Come on, Billy." Erik tickled the little boy to make him laugh. "Let's get back to the game. Remember, you've my secret weapon." As the game went on, PJ noticed that Billy seemed to be having more fun and was beginning to talk with Brian and Phil. At one point, he overheard the young boy proudly boast to Phil, "PJ's my big brother. He's like the awesomest boy in the whole world! He introduced me to Jack Canon an' taught me how to hit a home run an' everything!" When Phil started to say, "PJ an' Erik are the greatest . . .," PJ quickly turned away, face scarlet with self-conscious embarrassment, anxious that the two boys hadn't noticed his reaction to their praising. Billy! He looks up to me so much . . . so much! The thought only gave him pain. PJ tried to push it away, to concentrate on blocking for Erik on the next play, but it remained in his head, reinforced by the way a happy and excited Billy smiled up at him in the huddle. How can I ever tell him about Jack? He'd never understand. Never! PJ could visualize all too clearly how it would be if he ever tried to explain what had happened, the hurt, tear-filled look Billy would give him as he asked, "Jack don't like you anymore? He told you to go away? Why, PJ?" How could he answer this? How explain that nobody wanted him because he was so weird. How could Billy still look up to him? And even if he did, even if he still had faith in an older brother whom he loved, what then? He'd be mad at Jack, that's what! Billy would lose faith in all the good things Jack stood for. And that would be wrong, so wrong, because none of it was Jack's fault. It's me, PJ thought, glancing about, anxious that no one see his distress. I'm the one who's weird. Not my parents, not Jack, not anybody. I'm what's wrong. What I did to Jack was wrong. I tried to force him into what he never wanted. It was all wrong . . . Stop it! he ordered himself. Knock it off! You're just feeling sorry for yourself! There was no chance he would ever tell Billy, he knew that. He would never tell Billy, or Erik, or Travis, or anyone else, even Mr. Williamson. It was too shameful. Unwanted. He was too weird for anyone to want. He would rather die than for anyone to find out the truth about him and Jack. But he knew that sooner or later, they'd find out. Somehow it would come out. And then what? Then what? Clenching his fists, PJ forced himself to think about what was important to him, and that was Billy. Billy! He believes in me, like I believe in Jack. Take care of him. PJ was standing next to Erik in the huddle. He nudged his roommate, winked, and nodded toward Billy. Erik grinned in return. On the next play, he floated a perfect spiral to the youngster, who'd gone scampering into the flat. Billy caught it, dashed away, and only the longer legs on the bigger kids defending him allowed them to tag him before he scored. Billy came running back to Erik and PJ, ball held up in triumph, a huge smile on his face. Then, without concern as to who might be watching, he flung the ball aside and gave both older boys a big hug. When the game finally broke up for lunch, PJ, Erik,and the two younger boys smuggled Billy into the Dining Hall to eat. There was such a crowd of returning students and parents that it was easy to do. Afterwards, Erik and PJ got their skateboards, and all five boys went to the lot behind the Field House so that Brian and Phil could try learning to ride them. When PJ let Billy go first, the two eleven-year-olds watched with envy as the younger boy did jumps on and off the curb. "PJ and Erik taught me," Billy told them. He did a wheelie and spun around. "Our older brother, Travis, gave Billy a skateboard so he could practice at home all the time," PJ explained. "Travis goes to school in Philadelphia," Erik added. "You'll get to meet him later this year. He's in Upper School now. But he'll be up here for swim meets. He is really neat. You'll like him." "He's a breaststroker," PJ told Phil. "He's good, too. He got first place in the Eastern Championships last year." "Is he your older brother for real?" Brian asked. PJ shook his head. "I call him my 'big brother' just like I call you guys 'little brothers.' He's just a very, very good friend, and he's also friends with Erik and Billy." "We're good friends, too, aren't we, PJ?" Phil asked anxiously. "Better believe it," Erik told him. "And we all need to stick together if we're going to win championships for Gordonsville. Billy, too." He gave his honorary little brother a hug. "You're the secret weapon, Billy. You're going to be cheering us on." "And maybe next year. . . " PJ said thoughtfully. "Would you like to come to school with us at Gordonsville, Billy?" "I wanna be on a team with you and Erik," the boy solemnly declared. "Come on, Brian," Erik said. "You and Phil have got to try this." They got Brian up on the skateboard and taught him to ride it on a smooth, level part of the parking lot. "Okay, Phil," PJ said, "your turn." Phil was a little scared at first, but PJ patiently worked with him as Billy supplied encouragement. After a few hours' work, both boys could stand up on the board, and Brian was even learning how to turn. Together they walked back to Billy's house, taking turns riding the two skateboards. Brian kept admiring PJ's. "Man, yours is really nice, PJ." "That's the one Jack got for him," Erik said. Brian gazed at PJ in awe. "Wow! He must really like you, PJ." "PJ's Jack's son," Billy said innocently. The two eleven-year-olds gave PJ startled looks. "No, not really," PJ quickly interjected. "Jack's just a friend." "You are lucky," Brian told him. Billy's mother had cookies and milk waiting for them when they arrived. They all sat around the kitchen table munching contentedly, reviewing for Mrs. Thatcher the high points of the fun they'd just shared. While they talked, Billy's two little sisters came in and stared curiously at Brian and Phil. "Uh-oh, guys," Billy whispered. "Better watch out. I think they like you." Erik reached for another cookie and sighed. "Football practice this afternoon, and then tomorrow school begins. Why does summer have to be so short?" "I wish I could go to football practice and be on the team," Billy said. "Bet you'd be pretty good," Brian told him. "Be patient, Billy," PJ said. "Another year or so and you'll be playing." Mrs. Thatcher came over and stroked her son's hair. "I suppose he will be," she said sadly. "But not yet. Football is such a rough game." "Oh, Mom!" Billy protested, ducking out from under her hand. His mother looked at the other boys, and then told PJ, "I want all of you to be careful out there when you play. I don't want to see any of you hurt." "We'll be okay," PJ assured her. "They give us the best equipment, and our coaches are real good." "They got refs for all the games," Erik said. "Everybody's gotta play by all the rules." Billy's mom shook her head doubtfully. She went to Brian and Phil and patted them both on their shoulders. "You two stay close to Erik and PJ and do what they tell you." "We will," the boys promised. "Hey, Little Brother, good luck tomorrow with your first day in the fourth grade," Erik said, slapping him on the back as they got ready to leave. "Yeah, Little Bro," PJ told him. "We'll be thinking of you as we head to class. Tear 'em up now. Straight A's all the way. Be a champ. If you get any homework you can't do, you know who to call." "I will, PJ." Billy was looking up at him with pure love in his eyes. He gave the older boy another hug around the waist. "We'll be over to see you on Saturday," PJ told him. "Tell your dad I'll bring the schedule." "Good luck, Billy," Brian and Phil called, waving as they followed PJ and Erik out the door. "Football practice in just a little while, guys," PJ said when they were heading up the street toward school. "Let's go right now. We can be early and do our passing drill." "Ugh, 'drill'," Erik said. "Don't even say that word, PJ. After yesterday, I don't know if I ever want to do another one." "Oh yes you can." PJ was not about to let his roommate get away with any pity-party. "If you could make me do all those hours of wall ball, you can do Coach Lewis' drills. Besides, what are Brian and Phil gonna think if all you do is complain all the time?" "Ha! I was watching 'em yesterday," Erik protested. "They get to do interesting, easy stuff! I'm gonna ask Coach Lewis if I can be a scrub again." Brian and Phil both laughed at this. They all went right to the Field House, got changed, and went down to the field, where Erik and Phil took turns throwing, while PJ and Brian alternated as receiver and defender. They were so engrossed in what they were doing they didn't notice Coach Lewis standing on the sidelines watching until he walked over to Erik and made an adjustment to his stance. "Oops! Sorry, Coach," Erik told him. "I should have remembered that." "That's okay. You're getting it, Erik." Coach Lewis turned and smiled at Phil. "You're a new boy, aren't you?" Phil nodded "yes." "A lefty, huh? What's your name?" When Phil told him, the coach made a note on his clipboard. "You've got a good arm, son. We'll have to do something with that." Then he walked away toward the bleachers. PJ and Brian came running over. "What did he say, Erik?" PJ asked excitedly. "Boys . . ." Erik drew himself up majestically and patted Phil on his back. "We are in the presence of a rising star." "That's great!" Brian looked delightedly at his roommate. "I saw Mr. Lewis writing on his clipboard," PJ said to Phil. "I bet they're gonna train you as a backup quarterback!" "Naturally," Erik said with a grin. "I expected nothing less given the quality of the coaching I've been giving him." "Come on, guys." Phil was blushing. "I'm not that good." "He's modest, too." Erik put an arm around Phil's shoulders. "Man, I just love this guy!" "Boy, are you lucky to have such a modest roommate, Brian," PJ said, struggling not to laugh. "You should see what it's like living with Erik. Talk about a big head. I have to get out of the room sometimes because there's no space left for me. I hate doing homework in the hallway. It really sucks!" Brian and Phil looked at each other, started laughing again, and Erik gave PJ a mischievous look. "Okay, PJ. I'll remember that one. Just wait until the next scrimmage when I hand off to you." He turned to Phil. "Always remember, Phil, there are two ways to hand off to your backs. For the nice ones, you tuck the ball into their belly. But for ones like PJ, you take the pointy end of the football, aim a little lower and. . ." Brian and Phil completely cracked up over this. PJ and Erik smiled at each other and slapped palms. "Guys," PJ said when the two eleven-year-olds had recovered, "I'd say the Top Floor Gang is on its way." "Championship," Erik said solemnly. "Championship," all the others echoed. Practice that day went even better than the day before. More new boys joined the team, prompting Coach Lewis to give another welcoming talk. Erik performed all the drills without complaining, and Brian and Phil received big, thick playbooks, which they had to tuck under their arms when they went with PJ and Erik to the Dining Hall for dinner. "You've already drilled us on some of this stuff," Phil told his older friends as he leafed through his book. "Yeah, we're gonna have a head start with this," Brian agreed. "See, gang, it pays to have friends." Erik put both arms around their shoulders. "I think all of us had better drill each other some more," PJ said, giving Erik a thoughtful look. "Especially Phil for that quarterback position. I just have a funny feeling about that first scrimmage." The others all nodded. After dinner, when they returned to the House, PJ looked anxiously on the hall table for any mail. He knew that he should be getting the things he had mailed to himself, and he was hoping against hope that a real package from Jack would arrive. There were quite a few letters, but none were for him. He hurried up to his room thinking maybe there would be something on his computer. Once again there was nothing. His head dropped in disappointment. It's only Wednesday, he told himself. His birthday was not until Friday. There was still lots of time. Something from Jack would eventually come. After all, it just couldn't be possible that Jack would forget all about him after they'd been friends for so long. Could it? Next, he checked the Red Sox website. No change. The Sox were still holding on to a lead in their division. They were playing at seven. "Hey!" Erik came bouncing into the room all excited, puffing with exertion from having run up the stairs. "The Sox are on tonight, PJ! Let's watch 'em like we said. It'll be neat. The last night before school. We'll stay up late. Ask Mr. Williamson if we can make popcorn. He always lets you do it. We'll get Brian an' Phil to watch too. . . PJ was not at all sure he wanted to stay up and see the Red Sox on TV. Close-ups of Jack on the screen would trigger bad feelings he'd have trouble controlling. Yet he knew that if he didn't fake some enthusiasm, Erik would wonder why. His roommate was suspicious enough as it was. So he forced a smile and said, "Yeah, that'll be fun, Erik. I'll go check." He ran downstairs, knocked at the Wiliamson's door, and when the housemaster opened it, asked, "Can Erik an' I make a bowl of popcorn? We're gonna watch the Red Sox game tonight." "Now there's a good idea!" Mr. Williamson's face lit up with a smile. "Let's make four bowls and you fellows watch it in here with Mrs. Williamson and me! You go get Erik and I'll start things in the kitchen." "Can I bring the two new boys from across the hall too?" "Sure you can," replied his housemaster. "We'll make six bowls!" PJ ran back upstairs and found Erik over in Brian and Phil's room. He stuck his head in the door and announced, "Mr. and Mrs. Williamson wanna watch the game with us. Come down an' we'll help make the popcorn." "Oh boy, popcorn!" Brian yelled. PJ liked making popcorn. The Williamsons had a big hot air popper with a clear plastic lid so you could watch the kernels explode. He never got tired of it. He poured in the bag of corn and added butter to the little compartment at the top of the lid. Then he switched on the hot air blower and watched the corn kernels spin around and pop. It was neat, and watching the process took his mind off things he preferred to avoid. Brian and Phil got out bowls, PJ popped each bag of corn, poured out the hot, buttered kernels, and the younger boys salted them under Erik's supervision. Mrs. Williamson then provided trays while Mr. Williamson went to turn on the TV in the living room. Soon they were all comfortably watching the pre-game show, the four boys on the floor with cushions, munching popcorn, and the Williamsons sitting on the sofa. The game that followed was exciting enough so that the boys had no trouble staying awake, even though it lasted late into the evening. The Red Sox were playing in Baltimore, and Camden Yards was packed with both Red Sox and Oriole fans. The Yankees had already won a day game in Detroit, so the Red Sox had to win their game to keep the lead in the division. As PJ had feared, occasional close-ups of Jack on the screen raised a turmoil of emotion within him, only made worse when Erik and the other two boys blurted out comments like, "There's Jack, PJ!" or, "They're talking about Jack!" Those comments required some sort of response from him, of course. So as a diversionary tactic, he tried pointing out various other players he'd met during his short time with the team, relating interesting things about them. When a Red Sox batboy ran out with a supply of balls for the umpire, PJ recognized him as one of the older jerks he had briefly shared locker space with. "That one and his friend were sort of mean," he said. "The first day I was there, they threw my clothes on the floor. They got a little more friendly by the end of the week, but they were never really nice." He thought for awhile of how the two batboys had told him that he was just another of Jack's "make-a-wish kids." They were right, weren't they? a thought whispered. PJ decided not to think about it. Jack would remember his birthday. Things might still be all right. The score of the game kept changing, both teams struggling for the lead as one exciting inning followed another. The only disappointment was Jack. He was still not playing well. In his first at-bat, he struck out, and he flied out the second time. On top of that, his play in right field was unspectacular. The TV kept showing close-ups of him sitting in the dugout, his face expressionless, while the two network commentators talked at length about his slump. "I wish they wouldn't keep yakking about it," PJ grumbled. "That's right where we used to see you, PJ, when we watched the games last spring," Mrs. Williamson said. "You used to always be sitting right next to him in the dugout with your little Red Sox uniform on. And he'd be talking to you." A terrible sadness overpowered PJ at these words. He was totally unprepared for the ache of longing that wrenched his heart. He had to close his eyes with the pain of it. As clearly as the sound coming from the TV, he could hear Jack telling him in the dugout, "I know you have the courage to play this game, PJ. You're my Little Champ." Tears welled up in his eyes. He struggled desperately for control. At that moment, the batter at the plate for the Red Sox hit a towering fly ball that was caught at the wall by a Baltimore outfielder to end the inning. As the commercial came on the screen, he managed to say, "bathroom break" in a voice he just barely kept from breaking into a sob. That's how he escaped from the room. PJ locked the bathroom door and sat on the john as the scalding tears began to slide down his cheeks. He buried his face on his knees to stifle his sobs and cried as though his heart would break. "Daddy," he whispered brokenly. "Oh, my Daddy." Once his crying stopped, he washed his face. After drying off, he stared into the mirror to be sure all traces of his tears were gone. "Jack lied to you," he told his reflection in the mirror. "He lied to you every time. You hate him." But he didn't hate him. He knew he didn't, and that was the problem! Everything had been his fault. Not Jack's. Back in front of the TV, he saw that the game was going into the ninth inning with the Red Sox down by one. The Orioles brought on their closer. "Come on guys, rally," PJ said. "They can do it," Erik told him. "Jack's coming up in this inning," Brian said. "Maybe he'll blast one." Jack did get up, just as Brian said he would. He came up with one out and a man on second, in scoring position. PJ knew that he was doing everything he could to get a hit. But it just didn't work. He swung over a breaking ball on a 3-2 pitch and struck out. Boos and catcalls filled the stadium as Jack walked slowly back to the dugout, his face grim. "That's not right," Phil said in dismay. "They shouldn't boo Jack. Jack's good. He did his best." PJ watched Jack walk dejectedly into the dugout. Then he turned to look at Erik. "Remember what Jack told us that day in the pool last winter. About the eternal challenge of sports. How everything you've done before doesn't matter. It's what you do today that counts. This is what he was talking about." Erik nodded. "I remember. My dad and I talked about that once. My dad says it's how you handle adversity that makes you a champion because no matter how good you are, you lose more often than you win." On the TV, the game went on, tensions mounting as the batter after Jack walked. Two outs, two on, Sox down by one. "Let's go, Red Sox!" The chant broke out all over the stadium. Next up was Boston's rookie second baseman, an aggressive hitter who swung a quick bat. Smack! He blasted the first pitch he saw, a line drive that split the difference between right and center fielders. Every Sox fan roared in joy as two runs came around to score. The Red Sox team erupted from the dugout to celebrate, and PJ noted that Jack was among the first to wave congratulations to the young rookie standing on second whose double had given the Sox a one-run lead. "All right!" Brian yelled. He slapped palms with Erik. Phil held up a hand so PJ could high-five with him. The game ended soon after. Baltimore got the next Red-Sox hitter out, took their own turn at bat in the bottom of the ninth, but quickly fell victim to the Red-Sox closer. The final image from Camden Yards was of happy fans in Red-Sox caps and shirts cheering a victory. Mr. Williamson got up to turn off the TV and asked, "What other things did Jack tell you, PJ? Other than about the challenge, I mean." PJ thought a moment. "Jack said that the most important thing in any sport is to find the courage to play it. He said no one can give you that courage; you have to find it within yourself. It doesn't matter what level you play at. He said that when the game's on the line, it takes just as much guts in our league to get into the batter's box against a tough pitcher as it does in the Majors." Erik nodded in agreement and added, "He said the challenge in sports is everywhere. Big leagues, Little Leagues, it doesn't matter. Great plays can happen anywhere, not just on TV in the pros. When PJ came from behind to win his race last season and we beat that other school in swimming, Jack told me it was one of the greatest moments in sports he'd ever seen." "Don't forget your five-point play in the basketball game," PJ interrupted. "He said it then, too." "Well, I know what he said once to PJ," Erik told Mr. Williamson. "Jack said that anyone can win when they're ahead. But only the great champions can come from behind. And he told me that PJ was a champion." There was silence for a moment after that remark. Brian and Phil were sitting on the floor, listening wide-eyed. "He also said something about the field," PJ went on softly. "That it was always there, waiting. Just the way it waited for all the players that came before you and all the ones that will come after. Just like our own football field is out there right now, waiting for us." He pointed to the dark window. "It will be there for the practice tomorrow, and the day after that, and all the games this season. And every day the challenge will be there, and everything you did before won't help you. Only what you do that day will count. And every single day you have to find the courage within yourself to meet that challenge." He paused for a moment, looking down at the floor. Then he whispered, "Jack always told me to believe that anything's possible." There was another long silence. Mr. Williamson stared at PJ kindly. Finally he said, "Mr. Canon is a remarkable man, PJ. I thought so on both occasions that I had a chance to talk with him. What he's taught you and Erik is very wise. How do you suppose he learned those things? That that's the only way to play? I think you know the answer." "Jack's had to come back from some very bad things," PJ replied, still looking down. Mr. Williamson nodded. "Yes, he has. And so have you, haven't you." PJ nodded. Mrs. Williamson leaned forward in her seat on the sofa. "Maybe that's why you both understand each other so well," she gently told PJ. "You've been fortunate." "Yes, Ma'am," PJ said distractedly, without raising his eyes. "I was lucky." The elderly woman put a hand on her husband's arm. "These boys need to go to bed. They have school tomorrow." Everyone helped her clean up the living room and Erik stacked their popcorn bowls in the dishwasher. Then the four boys trooped up the stairs to the top floor. "If you guys need anything or have any problems during the night, PJ and I are right across the hall over here," Erik told the eleven-year-olds. "Don't worry about knocking, just come in and wake us. We don't mind." "Yeah," PJ told them. He put a hand on Phil's shoulder. "Listen. If you need anything, if you have a bad dream, or just feel bad, anything, promise you'll come wake me up. Please!" "You too, Brian," Erik told the boy, "you come and get us." Brian nodded. "Okay," Erik said, "see you in the morning." They paired off into their rooms. But when PJ went to bed, he forgot about Phil, his mind in turmoil with thoughts of Jack and his upcoming birthday. He tossed restlessly for awhile before finally falling asleep. In his dreams, he wandered through dim concrete corridors beneath the stands of a great stadium, looking and looking, but not finding what he had lost. He heard the distant roar of a huge crowd. Someone had hit a home run. But who? He felt that he should know. "What are you feeling?" the nice gray lady said in her gray chair. But PJ was tired, so tired. He didn't want to feel anything anymore. He dove to the bottom of Jack's pool. It was so peaceful there. His body drifted in the silence, his hair twisting slowly in the current. He stared sightlessly. After this last vision, and for reasons unbeknown to him, he slept soundly. Chapter Fifty-Five: Time Passages When PJ woke the next morning, the new school year began. Surrounded by the familiar sights and sounds of the House, he went to the bathroom, brushed his teeth, and dressed in slacks and a clean button-down shirt. On all four floors, boys were getting ready to go to breakfast and then to class, just as he was. PJ was suddenly struck by a peculiarly odd vision, almost like a weird. It seemed to him as if nothing had changed from this exact time the year before, as if the intervening three-hundred-and-sixty-five days had been a dream in the night, one that he'd just awakened from and was already forgetting. Tomorrow on his birthday, he'd turn eleven. His roommate Erik and he were on the football team. They were only scrubs, but it was a real school team, and he was sure to get on the school swim team later, too. And maybe, just maybe, if he did well in his classwork and if he practiced hard at football, his parents would visit. He wanted them to so much. And they just had to come for the Father-Son Dinner. If I tell them how important it is, for sure they'll understand and come. Jack Canon would. Jack Canon would understand. Jack Canon is the most incredible wonderful person in the world. If only he were my father. I wonder if I could ever meet him? PJ stared into the mirror, searching for his ten-year-old self of a year ago. Where are you? he thought. But the boy who looked back at him from the glass was not the same. This boy was taller, stronger, his face more drawn, blonde hair a bit longer, eyes staring and haunted. And there were other differences too, differences PJ couldn't see but differences he knew were there, differences which made him afraid. The young boy he'd once been had still yearned for his parents' love. Terribly hurt by their indifference, he'd still believed that somehow, some way, he'd find someone who would care for him. If that boy was gone forever, was his dream too? The boy who PJ now saw in the mirror stared back at him without a belief in much of anything--except that a last flickering hope, however desperate, still remained. In that moment, PJ was overwhelmed by a sense of the irrevocable flow of time, of how the present--so immediate, so insistently here and now--became, in an instant, the unreachable past. Yet the feeling of being dislocated in time persisted. His mind oscillated between a year before and the present in a bewildering whirl. Almost in despair, he looked around the room, trying to find more of those visible differences. His Jack Canon poster. It wasn't on his closet door, so that was different. His books? There were more on the shelf now, and the titles were different. He looked inside the closet. The clothes hanging there were almost, but not quite the same, and in the corner was a new baseball glove in place of the old one he'd used since playing on his first baseball team in Chicago. Jack. . . . He picked up the glove. Jack's signature was written across its heel in the bold, clear script he knew so well. PJ could remember how thrilled he'd once been to have that new glove, how proudly he'd shown it off to his Gordonsville teammates. But there was another memory as well. He gives one to all the make-a-wish kids. Mike the batboy had been sneering when he'd said that. PJ tossed the glove back into the corner of the closet and slammed the door shut. Right next to him was his desk with his computer. Will Jack remember my birthday? Will he send a message? PJ could hardly bear the idea of Jack not remembering, but either he would or he wouldn't. If he does, then maybe, maybe, it will be okay. He and Jack could still be friends, at least a little bit. But if not . . . For a moment PJ had a vision of what that future would be like, days stretching endlessly, blankly before him. . . . You have to seek the goals that mean the most to you and pursue them, the old lady had said. PJ could see her, sitting in her chair. "In your chair, always there, I'll be true, I'll purr-Sue! . . ." He sang it in a high-pitched childish voice, smiling to himself. Then, standing straight, like a soldier at attention, he examined his reflection in the mirror again. He'd made a commitment to Erik, his best friend. He would keep it no--matter what. But afterwards? "Come on, PJ," Erik's voice came from the hallway. "Brian and Phil are ready." PJ headed for the door, thinking, There are four of us going to breakfast this time, instead of just me and Erik. That proves things have changed. Gradually, throughout that morning, the odd sensation of a slip in time faded. True, PJ's surroundings remained familiar--some of his masters and even most of the classrooms were the same as in the previous year--but the subject matter had changed, and the textbooks were all different. While eating lunch, he became aware of another change from the year before. Then, he had looked through his books eagerly, anxious to find all the interesting things they might contain. Today, he felt no such urge. He listened to Erik talk to Brian and Phil about their new classes without much enthusiasm. As soon as they finished the noon meal, the four boys ran to the Field House for their workout. "We don't have enough time to do everything, so we work on different things each day," Erik explained to Brian and Phil. PJ was thinking of something else. I wasn't doing this last year. This is different too. In the afternoon, there were more new classes, including a science lab that PJ would have killed to get into the year before. Now he viewed it simply as one more routine part of his day. Helmets were issued at football practice, and the drills in the protective headgear were a whole new challenge for everyone. PJ appreciated once again how his preparation that summer had helped him. As most of his teammates struggled, PJ moved effortlessly through the exercises. Coach Lewis was having him drill as both an offensive and defensive end. When he saw PJ's quickness, he had him work for awhile at running back. "There's no telling where you'll end up," the young coach told him. The phrase stuck in PJ's mind and caught his fancy. "There's no telling . . . there's no telling . . ." he chanted over and over to himself as he pushed hard through the repetitive drills. At the end of practice, he ran pattern after pattern for Erik against a mock defense. Each time his roommate floated a pass into his outstretched fingers, PJ sang "There's no telling. . . there's no telling. . . there's no telling where you'll end up" under his breath. Suddenly, vivid in his mind was the trip to New York to see Jack, and their dinner in the Chinese restaurant. My fortune slip was blank, he thought. It seemed a revelation to him. "So of course there's no telling," he whispered. "You never know where you'll end up when you're fortune slip is blank." He trotted back to Erik. Now it all made sense. "It all makes sense," he told his roommate as he handed him the ball. "What does, PJ?" Erik asked. "Everything." PJ gave his roommate a delighted smile to which Erik returned a startled look. In fact, PJ had seemed a little peculiar all day. "Sideline pattern," an assistant coach called. As PJ shot off down the field, Erik concentrated on getting the ball to him. The pass was off a little, but his friend made a beautiful catch. PJ will be all right, Erik thought. Now that school has started, he'll settle into a routine. After practice, as they were walking side by side to the Field House, PJ turned to him and said in a very serious tone of voice, "I'm so lucky." "About what? " Erik asked. "That you're my friend." Erik gave PJ a searching look. "Thanks. I like being your friend too, PJ." Brian and Phil trotted up to join them. "Man, I'm finding out how little I know about football," Phil exclaimed. "What do you mean?" asked Erik, turning away from PJ. Brian chuckled. "Coach is teaching us the basics of all the positions." "Yeah, an' everything I thought I knew is wrong," Phil complained. "An' another thing. You can't see anything with this helmet on!" This got a chuckle from Erik. "Oh yeah! The helmet makes a difference. But you'll get used to it. Trust me. PJ and I will help you with it some more on Saturday, right, PJ?" "Who knows where we'll be. . ." PJ answered in a daze. "Don't pay any attention to him," Erik hastily told the two younger boys. "He's had a hard practice." After showering and changing, the Top Floor Gang walked back to the House, Brian and Phil chattering happily about their day. PJ was quiet. As they came into the front hall, Erik exclaimed, "Hey, look! Someone's got a package!" On the table were two boxes in brown paper wrappings. Brian ran over to them. "PJ! These are for you!" The other boys crowded around, Erik turning the boxes in order to read the return addresses. "From Jack!" he announced in excitement. "I bet it's for your birthday!" "When's your birthday, PJ?" Brian asked. "PJ," Phil said, handing over two envelopes, "there's letters here, too." "Who from?" Erik pushed in close to see. PJ recognized one of them. "This is from Jack." He held up the letter he'd sent to himself. The other one, he studied curiously. The envelope, with its thick paper, looked familiar. He checked the return address. "Oh, it's from Walter." Now he knew why it was so familiar. It was the same kind of envelope Walter had used for his Christmas card. "Come on, PJ," Erik told him. "Let's get everything upstairs." PJ held on to his two letters. Brian and Phil each grabbed a box. They all trooped up to PJ and Erik's room, and once PJ placed the boxes on his bed, the other boys looked at him expectantly. "Well come on!" Erik demanded with a grin, "aren't you gonna open them up?" "I don't know . . . " Now that the moment had come, PJ was having second thoughts about opening everything right in front of his friends. What if they spot a tag that shows I sent the stuff to myself? "My birthday's not 'til tomorrow," he said, playing for time. "Maybe Jack would want me to wait." "Geez, PJ," Erik exclaimed impatiently, "it doesn't say 'Do Not Open until Your Birthday' on any of them. Come on! Let's see what he got you." "I can't believe you actually got a birthday present from Jack Canon." Phil was shaking his head in awe. "Two of them!" Brian said. "Come on, PJ. You gotta see what it is!" Feeling trapped, PJ started to take the wrappings off the larger of the two boxes. "Well, I guess it's all right." "Maybe he sent you all kinds of cool team stuff," Phil speculated, looking over his shoulder. "Nah. He knows I have enough of that stuff. Besides, he's already given me a bunch of those things." "Like what?" Brian asked. "Show them the cards and pictures, PJ," Erik said. Putting down the partially unwrapped box, PJ went to his desk. He got out the set of pictures taken of Jack and himself at Thanksgiving the year before and passed them around. "Oh, cool!" Brian muttered under his breath. Phil stared wordlessly at the one of PJ and Jack kneeling together on the grass. Then PJ handed them the set of baseball cards. "Geez!" Brian exclaimed. "Every one of these is personally autographed!" "I've never seen anything like this in my whole life," Phil whispered. "PJ's got team caps, a shirt, and a set of batting gloves, too," Erik said. "He's the luckiest kid in the world," Phil solemnly declared. PJ stared at them all for a moment, then looked away. "Yes, I am," he said in what seemed to them an oddly sad voice. "I am lucky, but not because of that. I'm lucky because you're my friends." The two younger boys looked back at him without understanding. "Come on, PJ," Erik said at last. "Open your presents." Returning to the bed, PJ tore the rest of the wrappings off the larger box and opened it. Inside were the football and the two colorful jerseys that he'd picked out. He tried to look pleased and surprised. "Oh neat!" he exclaimed. "All right, a new football!" Erik picked it up and gripped it as if he were attempting a pass. "We can break it in on Saturday. Our old one is almost worn out. I bet Jack is excited about you being on the football team, PJ! Wouldn't it be cool if he could get to one of our games!" "In a way I'm hoping he doesn't, because that will mean the Red Sox have made the playoffs." "Yeah, that's true," Erik agreed. Brian and Phil were examining the jerseys, Brian holding one up and admiring it. "These are cool, PJ." "You should have seen all the stuff Jack got for PJ last Spring Break when he was with the Sox," Erik told them. "Totally perfecto!" "Look! Here's something else." Phil drew an envelope from the box and handed it to PJ. After taking out the card and pretending as if he'd never seen it before--it was that "Wine, Women and Song" one he'd bought--he read it and laughed before passing it to the other boys. Erik cracked up and Brian and Phil both snickered. "Look," Phil read, "he says 'The whole Red Sox team sends their best wishes.' Do you know the whole team, PJ?" Erik nodded. "You should've seen it the time he took me into their locker room when we went to visit Jack at Yankee Stadium. All the players were saying 'Hi PJ,' 'Hello PJ.' They all know him." "Geez!" Phil said wonderingly. PJ was already working on the other package. That one had more wrappings on it, so it took him awhile to get at the contents. He didn't rush because he was nervous. This was the box with books, and it had suddenly occurred to him that bookstores sometimes put store logos on what they sold. He didn't want Erik noticing that the books had been bought at the mall. He opened the package carefully and, hiding the contents with his body, peeked inside. The books were there, all right. To his relief, he didn't see a label. "Cool!" he sang out, trying to sound excited. "Books!" "Jack sends you books?" Brian stared in amazement. "Sure he does," Erik told him. "He knows we both like to read. He knows all kinds of famous authors." "He knows one, anyway," PJ said, smiling at his roommate. "Which one?" Phil asked. "It's a guy who writes sports stories. He wrote The Boy Who Only Hit Homers." "Jack knows him?" responded Brian, his face lighting up. "That's like one of the coolest books in the world! Jack really knows him?" Erik went to the shelf and took down the book Jack had given them with the author's note and signature in it. Brian stared at it in amazement. When PJ was unpacking the new books and handing them around, Erik pounced on The Hobbit. "Yeah!" he cried. "PJ, Jack sent you a Tolkien novel! I keep telling you this is a good one! All the other books after it are great, too. You're gonna love this one." "These football stories look real good," Brian remarked, turning the pages of Great Football Stories for Boys. Phil sat on PJ's bed looking at the third book with a stunned expression on his face. "What is it, Phil?" PJ asked. "PJ," Phil said in a hushed voice, "Jack sent you this?" "Yes he did," PJ lied. "What is it?" Phil showed him. He held the book carefully, as if it were a great treasure. "It's The Secret Garden. He looked up intently at the older boy. "PJ, this is like my favorite, favorite book. I've read it lots of times. I didn't know anybody else liked it." PJ smiled at him. "If Jack sent it to me, then he must think it's good too." Phil stared at the book again, stroked a hand over it lovingly, and gave it to PJ. "Jack must be really, really great," he softly said. "You're so lucky." "Yes," PJ answered sadly. "I was lucky." The others didn't catch his subtle verb shift. "PJ, there's another card in here." Erik was rummaging around in the box. PJ opened the envelope Erik handed him. It was the card with the old dog on it. He passed it around. "Look at the signature," Brian said, awestruck. "That's just how Jack signs it on the baseball cards." He shook his head in wonder. "It's just so cool that you know him." "What about the other cards, PJ?" Erik asked. "Let's look at the one from Walter," PJ told him. He slit open the heavy cream-colored envelope and took out Walter's card, recognizing the slick, expensive-looking stock. There were gold-embossed borders and the words "Happy Birthday" in an elaborate script of blue and gold inks. Inside, a handwritten note said, "Best Wishes on Your 12th Birthday," under which both Walter and Ms. Snyder had signed their names. PJ looked at it with a little smile, then passed it around. "Who are these guys?" Brian asked, looking at the card. "Perry Mason and Della Street." PJ offered no further explanation, so Erik took over. "They're PJ's lawyers. They're sorta looking after stuff for him until he's older. They're kinda stuffy." "Geez, I guess," Brian remarked, wrinkling his nose in distaste. "Jack's cards are a lot better." PJ held the last envelope without opening it. He was quietly putting it to one side when Erik said, "Where's the other card, PJ? That one was from Jack, too. Let's see what he says." "Yeah!" chorused the two younger boys. PJ opened the envelope reluctantly. It was the "To A Wonderful Son" card, and he was sorry now he'd sent it. He hadn't anticipated having to open it like this in front of his friends. He took out the card with the drawing of the boy passing a football and pretended to read it. "This one's kinda personal," he said, quickly closing it. "Sure, that's okay, PJ," Erik told his friend. But Brian had already seen the front. "To a Wonderful Son," he read aloud. The other boys looked puzzled. "I'm. . . I'm not really his son," PJ told them in some confusion. There was silence. Then Phil said, "He must really like you a lot to call you that, PJ." "Jack likes everybody," PJ said. "He's just a very nice guy." After his friends congratulated him again on his presents and left the room, PJ put his cards up on a shelf to display them, hung up his new jerseys, put his football in the closet, and put the new books away. He left The Hobbit out on the table by his bed so he could start reading it later, then took a quick look at his e-mail while Erik was still out of the room. When he saw there was nothing new, he experienced a little flutter of panic. It was just not possible that Jack would forget his birthday. He can't be that angry with me. For sure there'll be something tomorrow. PJ got out his new textbooks, thinking that some homework would keep his mind off his worries. When he was studying for his classes, he didn't think so much about Jack. It worked for a couple of hours, but that night, he was restless again and had a dream about being lost under the strange stadium. He opened door after door, but the rooms were empty and dark. He couldn't get to Jack's pool. There was peace there at its bottom, but PJ couldn't find the right door. He wanted to call out, Jack . . . please find me . . . please come find me . . . . Except, when he tried, no sound came out. He couldn't say the words--and somehow he knew that even if he could, Jack was someplace where he would never hear them. It was getting darker. "Jack!" he tried to scream. There was still no sound. He struggled . . . . . . and sat up, wide-awake, staring around, his heart pounding. It was the middle of the night, but in the darkness he could make out the familiar shapes of objects in the room by the glow of his little nightlight. All around him, the House was silent. From the other bed came the sound of Erik's soft breathing as he lay fast asleep. Very quietly, PJ slipped out from under the covers, tip-toed over to his computer, and checked out his e-mail. There was nothing. Squeezing his eyes tightly shut, he momentarily bowed his head. Then, taking great care not to make any noise, he tip-toed back to bed, where he lay for a long just staring again, this time at the ceiling. Whether he wanted it to or not, sleep finally overtook him. * * * PJ woke up the next morning still feeling tired, but at least grateful that the night was over with. His very first thought was, Today's my birthday! I'm twelve. Then came another thought: I'll hear from Jack today. He looked for Erik, but his roommate's bed was empty. He heard a muffled giggle outside his door. It burst open and Erik rushed in, followed by Brian and Phil. Before PJ could move, the three boys had jumped on his bed, buried him under their bodies, and began fanatically tickling him in his stomach and armpits, with one tormenter's goose in his private parts thrown in for good measure. "Ah! Yikes! Help!" PJ cried. He tried to curl into a ball but the two younger boys on top of him were merciless. They had him shrieking with laughter before Erik made them stop. "Okay," he said. "Don't kill him. We still need him as a mascot for the football team. All together now, guys. One, two, three!" "Happy Birthday PJ!" they yelled gleefully, and then sat back on their heels grinning at him. "Congratulations, PJ," Brian told him. "Many happy returns," Phil added. "Thank you for being the best roommate in the whole world and my best friend," Erik told PJ with a warm look. He grinned again. "We thought about singing 'Happy Birthday,' but we figured that might be too much to take this early in the morning." PJ lay back on his pillow and smiled at his friends. "Thanks, Erik," he told his roommate. "Thanks, guys," he said to the other two. "I told you I was lucky. This proves it." "Let's take the birthday boy to breakfast," Erik told them. After he got dressed, PJ looked at himself in the mirror over his desk. Twelve, he thought. I'm not a little kid anymore. That's all over now. Next year at this time I'll be a teenager. He stared at the mirror. He didn't feel different, but he must be. "Twelve, twelve, twelve," he whispered. Where would he be when he was thirteen? Did he ever want to be? When your fortune slip is blank, there's no telling where you'll end up, he half-sang to himself. All day, PJ was pleasantly surprised by how many people remembered his birthday. His math teacher, English teacher, and the science master all remembered. They had been his teachers the previous year as well, and liked him. His music teacher remembered. That day was the first music lesson of the new term, and when he walked in, the master greeted him with "Happy Birthday, PJ." It was a nice feeling. He knew he was far from being the best pupil the man taught, yet he'd remembered. PJ always enjoyed his violin lesson, but he enjoyed it even more that day. Coach Lewis remembered. "Happy Birthday, PJ" he said with a big smile when PJ got to practice. "Thanks, Coach." It was another happy moment because PJ liked Coach Lewis almost more than anybody. "Hey," the coach assured him, "I wouldn't forget someone who gave me the nicest pen and pencil set I've ever owned. You notice I'm still using it, don't you?" He gave PJ a little hug. "I think you're just terrific, PJ. I wish we had at least a dozen more like you here at Gordonsville." PJ practiced hard that afternoon, delighted that so many people had remembered his special day. It made him confident that Jack would, too. He was anxious to get back to the House after they were done. He was sure they would be something from Jack. A letter or a card or an e-mail. The other boys chattered happily as they walked across the Quad. "You had a good practice, PJ," Erik said. "You should arrange to have a birthday every day." "Ours was really good, too," Brian said. "You should see how good Phil is throwing the ball." PJ turned to look at his roommate. "I think Phil could be a secret weapon in some of our games." "Yeah." Erik nodded in agreement. "I wonder if we could talk Coach Lewis into trying it? I know one thing. Tomorrow afternoon I wanna have a Top-Floor-Gang practice. I've got some ideas I wanna try." "Let's get Billy first," PJ reminded him. "I have to bring our schedule over for his dad." "I'm sure we'll get the schedule to him okay," Erik said, smiling mysteriously. Brian and Phil giggled. As they came into the front hall, PJ glanced right away at the table to see if there was any mail from Jack. But there was nothing. He was looking up in disappointment, only to turn around in astonishment when he suddenly heard the word, "SURPRISE!" * * * CONCLUSION OF INSTALLMENT TWENTY-NINE Editor Paul K. Scott's e-mail: paulkdoctor@gmail.com Keep on firing in those comments because we both appreciate them!