“Maybe,” I echoed. “And maybe Ms. Keystone really was a Rockette back in 1935.”
Brandy giggled. “Poor Cupid.”
I groaned.
Turned out Cupid’s digestive issues were because Ms. Keystone replaced her morning kibble with Christmas cookies.
The good news was, now that she knew Christmas cookies were not a suitable replacement for morning kibble, Cupid would go back to smelling her best.
“Only in Winterbury,” I mused, and we both burst out laughing.
“I’m ready,” Brett said, coming from the back, already changed from his scrubs and into warm clothes for a visit to the farm.
I rushed into my office to get cleaned up, once again wondering what in the tangled tinsel got into me when I asked Brett if I could tag along.
Of course, it was obvious.
Even after ten years, Archer Hodge still made me do things I shouldn’t.
6
Archer
Ten yearsago (afterthatnight)…
Upat four to help with farm chores. Classes all day, including studying in the library during my free period. After the bell rang, I headed straight to the field for football practice. It had been grueling.
Any other coach would have just called it or told us to work out in the gym before going home. Not our coach, though. No. What did we get?
“The rain and mud will make you better players.” And, “If you can play a good game in these conditions, think of how easy it will be in nice weather.”
Except no one thought of that. All we could think about was how miserable it was to have wet mud in our jock straps. Don’t ask me how it got there. Some things are better left unexplained.
I didn’t even need to be at this practice. I was a senior, and our season was already over. But the coach liked to have occasional practices after winter break just to “keep the teamconditioned.” I tried to get out of it, using that very reasoning, but Coach just said, “You’re still on the team until you graduate.”
I didn’t argue as hard as I could have. Football seemed like as good an outlet as any to get out some of the frustration that practically lived in me these days. My muscles ached, and the joints in my fingers were stiff from the cold as I stood beneath the hot spray, watching mud and grass swirl around the rudimentary drain in the tile beneath me.
Water saturated my hair and pulled the long strands over my face, creating a curtain over my eyes. It was the kind of day that I was worn out and weary, my body as battered as my spirit.
Usually, on days like this, only one person had the ability to recharge me. But that person was gone. Yanked from the very fabric of my life, leaving a gaping hole and an overwhelming sense of anger.
Why couldn’t he be happy with the way we were?
Were you?
The question felt mocking, and an odd sort of resentment against myself built in my gut.YES!I shouted to the voice that heckled me. I was happy with how things were. Deliriously happy.
Why does everything have to change?
Grunting, I shoved my head farther under the spray, drowning out everything. Water slid into my ears and stung my nose, but I remained, letting it distract me.
Eventually, I lifted my head to reach for the soap.
Out in the locker room, a door slammed.
“See ya later, Hodge!” one of the guys yelled.
“Later!” I hollered back.
