Clouds had rolled in overnight, carrying a thick mist that blanketed Lennings. Ivan stepped in on the passenger's side of the car and pulled the door. It creaked, then slammed shut. The Nova hadn't yet warmed up and wouldn't until they were well on their way to Princeton.
"Have everything?" his father asked, a wisp of breath curling from his mouth.
Ivan patted his equipment bag.
His father set the car in reverse and backed out of the driveway, then drove down Farmingdale, through the center of town, eventually turning south onto Route 31. Towns passed quickly. Destiny rushed forward.
For any New Jersey high school wrestler, advancing to the state semis would be a supreme accomplishment, undoubtedly the pinnacle of his life. To advance in consecutive seasons was a distinction worthy of the highest praise and a volume of pride. For Ivan there was little of either.
It was at this point last year when a chance at the state finals had been taken from him. This morning's match against his Boonton opponent wouldn't be close, he promised. He'd leave no chance for some timekeeper's screwup.
"Did you sleep?" his father said.
"Long enough."
Soon, mist became rain. His father turned on the wipers. Warm air was finally blowing from the heater vents. Ivan closed his eyes and settled back.
"You had a call yesterday," his father said. "From this Coach Riker."
Ivan opened his eyes. We gonna fight now, Papa?
But his father was calm. "He explained the problem with their scholarships. You have been very anxious for the past weeks. You are not like that. I always expect you to have much confidence. Now, you are angry, like the world is against you."
"It feels that way."
"It should not," his father said. "It should not at all."
Ivan stared out the windows, watching the splash of rain from the passing cars and the clouds that seemed to hang just above the roadway. "I gotta win today, both matches. Then everything will be okay."
"Losing is not the end of the world," his father said. "I do not want you to lose. But someday you will, and when that day comes, it will not be the end." He shook his head. "Losing is not death."
I know what death is, Papa. I lived in the same house with death, fightin' it, fightin' it with my mama. It beat me; it took her away. Don't worry; I know death.
"I know what you are thinking," his father said. "It is sad she is not here today. It is painful. I think of her always."
Ivan nodded. Yes, he understood pain, too.
"Days pass, but it does not get any better, I know," his father said. "Every day is one more that she has missed. I wish I could tell her about you. She would be very proud. Not only for your Wrestling, but for the man you have become. You understand that, yes?"
"I guess."
Minutes passed in silence. Princeton drew closer. The rain lightened, then eased, then stopped.
Ivan thought about what his father had said. At once it seemed like the oddest and most right time to bring up his mother's death. On their way to Jadwin Gym. They hadn't said much, but it was everything that needed to be said. And Ivan felt healed, if only a little.
So he again sank back into the cushions of the seat, thinking of only one thing. Stepping up on the championship podium. Holding the gold medal. Absorbing the cheers. Raising his arms above the world.