Chapter 2
“Bob?” Zach said as he
approached Bob Mendez, who was squatting in front of his locker.
“Yo,” Mendez answered even
before turning to see who was there.
Zach leaned against another locker while he waited for Bob to finish
what he was doing. Finally Mendez
grabbed an armload of books and stood up.
“Whoa!” he said. “Zach? Is that you?”
“It’s me,” Zach said.
He’d been worried that Mendez wouldn’t remember him from the prior
season. Even if he did, he might not
recognize Zach’s new look.
“When did you do that?” he
asked, running his hand through Zach’s crew cut hairstyle. “You look so different.”
Zach thought about how many
times he’d lived through this scene that day.
It was his first day back at school since he’d had a foot of hair
sheared off. He still wasn’t used to it
himself, and constantly found himself touching the stiff bristles. “I didn’t want to spend another season
tucking my hair into my headgear,” he said.
“You look so much tougher,”
Mendez said. “Does this mean you’re
coming out for the team again?”
“Yeah, I’m pretty sure I
am,” Zach replied.
“Cool,” Mendez said. “We were afraid we lost you to the
druggies.”
“I’m back,” Zach replied.
“Cool,” Mendez said. “You ended up winning a lot of matches last
year. We didn’t know what to
expect. You were all we had.”
“I guess I did alright,” Zach
said.
“You look like you worked
out some,” he said, squeezing Zach’s bicep.
“You’re a lot bigger.”
“I’ve been lifting and
running,” Zach said, pleased that Mendez had noticed. After all, that was the reason he’d removed the layer of flannel
that covered his tight Rolling Stones tee shirt.
“What are you weighing these
days?” Mendez asked.
“I’m about 185, maybe a
little more,” Zach said.
“That’s about twenty pounds
more than last season, isn’t it?” Mendez asked. “What weight are you going?”
Cutting weight wasn’t
something that Mendez needed to worry about for himself. With his huge arms and ample midsection that
hung over his belt, he was every inch a heavyweight. Although he was only an inch or two taller than Zach, he was at
least seventy pounds heavier.
“I haven’t decided yet,”
Zach said. “It depends on where
everybody else is, I guess.”
“You’re in a tough spot,” Mendez said after pausing to
think. “You’ll either have to cut to
160 or go 189. Mark Easton’s at
171. You don’t want to be at 189. Those guys are big. Can you make 160?”
Zach had thought a lot about
Mark Easton since the previous season ended.
He had endured a constant stream of abuse from the team captain, most of
it focused on Zach’s personal life.
Playing in a band and staying out late smoking and drinking were anathema
to
“We’ll see,” Zach said.
“You know the first practice
is Saturday morning, right?” Mendez asked.
“Yeah, in five days,” Zach
said. “I’ll be there.
“Good,” Mendez said. “Glad to have you back.”
Zach was excited that the
season would start soon because he’d worked so hard to prepare for it. Unfortunately, the first practice was the
morning after the teen club dance. The
band would finish playing by eleven or so, and there would be at least an hour
of packing up. As much as he wanted to
make an impression on the first day of practice, he knew it would be tough on
just a few hours of sleep.
“Thanks,” Zach said. “See you there.” By then Mendez had finished loading his book bag. He tossed a pencil onto the shelf before
slamming the locker door and walking off to class.
~~~
The school day always ended
for Zach in wood shop class. It was his
favorite part of the day, when he escaped to a room filled with the smell of
sawdust and varnish. As he carefully
sanded the bookcase he’d been working on he thought about his conversation with
Mendez. Until then, he had forgotten
how much of a commitment wrestling was going to be. He worried that with the band, school, and now wrestling, he was
overextending himself. Joe’s already
pissed at me because of the time I spent trying to get into shape, he
thought. What’ll he be like once
the season starts? Can I do
this?
~~~
“Any of you gents up for a
party?” Fauquier asked as they squeezed into his van. He was in good spirits because the teen club dance had gone well. They’d crammed all of their equipment into
the back and on the roof. To keep
things simple the band often traveled to gigs together in the van, even local
ones.
“Right on,” Dumphries
said. Herndon nodded as he lit a
cigarette. The menthol scent made Zach
crave the habit that he had learned to resist but hadn’t yet kicked. The temptation made him even more desperate
to get home to rest up for wrestling practice but he said nothing because he
knew he would be outvoted. When
Dumphries lit up a cigarette of his own, he’d had enough.
“Can’t you guys go ten
minutes without smoking?” he asked.
“What are you, the surgeon
general?” Herndon asked before blowing a smoke ring in Zach’s direction.
Zach waved it away, turning
it into a shapeless grey haze. Maybe he
didn’t have any choice about staying out late night but he didn’t have to be
agreeable about any of it. “I just
don’t want to fill my lungs with your fumes,” he said.
“Oh yeah, I forgot,” Herndon
said. “You’re ‘Mr. Fitness’ now, you
and your new muscles. I hope you won’t
kick sand in my face next time we’re at the shore.” Fauquier laughed as he pulled the van away from the curb and into
traffic.
“Screw all of you,” Zach
said, trying not to smile at the image Herndon had conjured up.
“Everything was pretty good
tonight, don’t you think?” Dumphries asked from the front seat.
“Yeah, I’d say so,” Bo said.
Zach leaned over and popped
the side window open as far as it would go.
Nobody said anything as they watched him push his face as close as he
could, breathing in fresh air from outside.
When they reached the party, at a painted brick building in
“Where are we, anyway?”
Dumphries asked.
“That’s Route 73 right
there,” Fauquier said. “We’re not far
from home.”
“No, I mean, whose place is
this?” Dumphries asked.
“That guy Jackie, the guy
who sings for the band with the two drummers,” Fauquier said. “What’s their name again?”
“
“I don’t know,” Fauquier
told him. “He told me we could drop
by. He doesn’t live here. He works here, or something like that.”
“It looks like an old
firehouse,” Dumphries said.
“Joe, I can’t stay late,”
Zach said as they walked toward the building.
“Cut me a break just this once, alright?”
“Okay, okay,” Fauquier said. “Stop stressing. We’re looking out for you.”
When they walked inside they
found themselves in a dimly lit room, shrouded in marijuana smoke. The smell had always reminded Zach of
burning leaves, which of course, was what it was. A short man with a face that was pocked with acne scars waved
then through without saying anything. The four passed through and into a larger
area where there was more light.
Fauquier immediately spotted
some musicians he knew and headed off to do some networking, with Herndon a few
steps behind. Zach and Dumphries
remained by the door, unsure of where to go.
“Somebody actually works here?” Dumphries asked. “Zach, man, let’s go look for a keg. There’s got to be one somewhere.”
“You go ahead,” Zach
said. “I’m going outside to get some
air.”
“We just came in,”
Dumphries said. “What’s with you? You’ve been acting weird all night.”
“Dude, wrestling season
starts tomorrow,” Zach said. “I don’t
want to be gasping for breath like I did last season. I can’t be sucking smoke into my lungs.”
“What are you talking
about?” Dumphries asked. “You smoke as
much as anybody.”
“Not anymore. You just haven’t noticed,” Zach said. “I haven’t smoked anything since the springtime. I’ve gotten pretty good at faking it.”
Dumphries cocked his head
and gawked at Zach, trying not to laugh.
“You mean you didn’t inhale?” he asked.
“Nope. It kills your stamina,” Zach said.
“Stamina,” Dumphries
said. “Yeah right. Well what about that keg, are you with me?”
“Nope. Same reason,” Zach said.
“Joe and Bo are right,
you’re flipping out. I mean, you nearly
had your face out the window on the way over here,” Dumphries said.
“I don’t want to make a big
deal about it, alright?” Zach said.
“Yeah, sure,” Dumphries
said. “But I’m still going for a
brewski.”
Zach found what looked like
a door to the outside. “Just before he
pushed it open he heard a voice. “That doesn’t
go anywhere,” warned somebody who was lurking in the dark near the door.
“Thanks,” he said. “I’ll be okay.” He pushed the door open and walked outside onto a gravel parking
lot. The door swished closed behind
him, instantly cutting off the sounds of music and partying. It was quiet.
The view was surprisingly
nice. If he looked past the highway and
a few car dealerships he could see the
“No problem,” Zach said,
wondering what he had to do to get away from cigarette smoke. The light was a little better outside and he
recognized her from hanging out in the past.
She dressed like a gypsy, with lots of dangling jewelry and scarves. Defying the cold, she wore wispy clothing
from head to toe.
She rapped the top of the
cigarette pack with her fingers before removing one and putting it between her
lips. “You’re in Joe’s band, right?”
she asked as she clicked her lighter until a flame appeared.
“Yeah,” Zach said.
“What’s with the haircut?”
she asked before cupping her hands over the cigarette to prevent the wind from
extinguishing the flame.
“I just got tired of combing
it,” he told her, hoping it would be her last question.
“It looks good,” she said
after lighting the cigarette and snapping the lighter shut. “I know what you mean about the hair,” she
said. “I’d cut mine off too but I’ve
finally got this Stevie Nicks look down pat.
It takes a lot of time. With the
dresses and the capes, oh brother. That’s
not even counting the hair time.” She
was rambling so quickly that Zach couldn’t figure out what drug she was on.
Zach laughed. “You do look like her, now that you mention
it,” he said.
“I’m Jeanine,” she said.
“I’m Zach,” he replied.
“Good to meet you Zach,” she
said. “I heard you’re in high school.”
“Yeah, eleventh grade,” he
said.
She moved a few feet away
and sat on a bench that Zach hadn’t seen in the darkness. He followed her over but didn’t sit. “Are you in school?” Zach asked.
“No, I graduated a couple
years ago,” she said.
“Are you in a band?” Zach
asked.
“No,” she said. “I just hang around. I’m a groupie, I guess. I don’t even have a job right now.”
Zach shrugged but said
nothing.
Before another word was
spoken the door burst open and a bushy-haired man in a brown jacket
emerged. Zach recognized him as a
guitar player from somewhere nearby. His
bleached beard made him look older than he probably was. As he fell out the door he managed to
maintain control of the drink and cigarette that he held in one hand. Before
saying anything he glared at Jeanine while taking a long drag on the
cigarette. “Where did you go?” he
snarled at Jeanine.
“Right here,” she told
him. “I told you I was coming out here,
Wade.”
“Who’s this guy?” he
said. This time, clear liquid sloshed
out of the cup as he gestured in Zach’s direction.
“Who are you?” Jeanine asked
Zach with a smile.
“I’m Mick Jagger,” Zach told
him.
“Look junior, I don’t need
your garbage,” he said. “Shut your
trap.”
Zach had seen this tough-guy
act by so many drunk musicians that it wasn’t even fun to play along
anymore. “Relax. We’re just talking,” he said.
“What’s going on inside?”
Jeanine asked Wade.
“Same as before,” he
answered. “Standing around, hitting on
the bong, sucking down beers.” As he
spoke he maneuvered closer to the bench.
When he was close enough he rested a foot on the bench between Zach and
Jeanine, and took another drag on the cigarette.
Moments after a cloud of
fresh smoke drifted his way, Zach felt a stinging pain on his wrist inside the
sleeve of his coat. He realized that
Wade was burning him with the lit end of his cigarette. After jerking his arm away he turned and
gave Wade a two-handed shove to the chest, knocking him backwards. “Better back off, man!” Zach said.
“Don’t tell me what to do,
man,” Wade said. He took a step toward
Zach but then began to flail as he lost his footing in the gravel. A second later Zach’s face and left shoulder
were drenched with what was left in the cup, which turned out to be vodka. Not caring whether it had been done
purposely, Zach spun Wade around and pushed him up against the side of the
building. Drawing on his wrestling
skills, he put him in an arm bar hold, immobilizing him with little effort.
“Are you cool?” Zach
demanded as he wiped his face against his dry shoulder. “Can I let go now?”
Wade said nothing but
stopped writhing when he realized he was stuck. “I’m letting go,” Zach told him.
“Don’t try anything.”
Wade had other ideas. As soon as he was free he turned and lunged
wildly. Zach felt a fingernail scrape
across his forehead. Easily sidestepping
the attack, Zach grabbed him around the waist and threw him face first into the
gravel where he was finally still. This
time Zach knew Wade wasn’t going to be any more trouble, if he was even
conscious. He pushed his sleeve up and
probed the burn on his forearm. That’ll look real good at practice tomorrow,
he thought. That reminded him that he
needed to get home. It was time to get
back inside and start nagging Fauquier about leaving.
“I’m sorry about this. He wouldn’t let it go,” Zach said, holding
out his burned forearm.
“I know. He deserved it,” she said. “He always does. Your head’s bleeding too.”
“I really need to get
going,” Zach said. “I better go find
my friends. I’m real sorry about him,”
he said again.
“Do you need to be
somewhere?” she asked.
“Just home. I have wrestling practice tomorrow,” he
said. He hadn’t meant to tell her
anything personal, especially something that sounded so square.
“Where do you live? I’ll take you,” she offered.
“What about him?” Zach
asked, jabbing his thumb toward Wade, who hadn’t moved.
“Whatever. Maybe we could get him inside before we
leave,” she suggested.
“Okay,” Zach agreed. He bent down and pulled Wade into a sitting
position. Using a fireman’s carry, a
wrestling takedown he’d learned the year before, he picked up Wade’s limp body
and threw him across his own back.
Jeanine opened the door and they brought him inside. There was no furniture nearby and Zach
wasn’t sure what to do with him.
“Take him over there,”
Jeanine said, pointing to a small room in which a bare light bulb burned.
“In that little closet?”
Zach asked.
“Yeah, just dump him outside
the door,” she said. “Hopefully nobody
will step on him.”
When Zach laid Wade on his
back he saw that there was purplish mixture of blood and dirt on his face. That must be from where he had landed in the
gravel. Instinctively, Zach looked at
the shoulder of his coat where Wade’s head had rested and saw that it was the
same color.
“Will he be alright?” Zach
asked.
“Yeah, he’ll wake up and
not even remember what happened,” she said.
“He gets in fights all the time.”
Zach looked at the burn on
his arm again, and then at his watch. 2:30. Man, he thought. How did it get so late so fast? “I
need to get out of here,” he said, hoping Jeanine would repeat the offer to
drive him. After she did they left
immediately.
“So where do you
live?” Zach asked after giving directions to his own home.
“Oh, just around,” she
said. “Here and there.”
“Are you from this area?” he
asked. What he was really wondering was
how she survived. With no apparent
means for supporting herself, he guessed that she must have parents or family
nearby.
“Yeah, I guess you could say
that,” she finally said.
Her reluctance to tell him
about herself made him all the more curious but it was late and he was too
tired to push for more information.
When they reached his house it was after
“Well, thanks for the ride,
Jeanine,” he said.
“Anytime,” she
answered. “Maybe I’ll see you around. I’ll look for you at the next show.”
Zach walked to the front
door after watching her pull away in her weather beaten sedan with the torn
vinyl roof. He wondered if there was a
father somewhere wondering if his daughter was okay, and when she was going to
be home. Letting her leave without
knowing she had a place to go felt wrong, especially when he was headed into a
safe, comfortable home. Even a free
spirit needs a place to sleep at night.