WEDNESDAY, SEPTEMBER 10:
Ducks in Order
WMCA’s counting down the new top ten tonight, so I lie in bed with the light off and look out the window.
Here’s the list so far:
10. “Sweet Caroline” (Neil Diamond). Good song, but I’ve had enough of it.
9. “Hot Fun in the Summertime” (Sly and the Family Stone). Cool.
8. “Green River” (Creedence Clearwater Revival). Okay.
7. “I’d Wait a Million Years” (The Grass Roots). Also okay.
6. “I Can’t Get Next to You” (The Temptations). Good.
5. “A Boy Named Sue” (Johnny Cash). Hilarious and cool.
4. “I’ll Never Fall in Love Again” (Tom Jones). Okay.
Coach Epstein said today that he’s hoping the substitutes will get “significant” playing time Saturday night. Wallington has a small team, and they’ve lost their first two games by about thirty points apiece. So the plan is to play the starters at the beginning, build up a lead, and then let the rest of us get a chance.
I’ll believe it when I see it, but it would be cool to get some action other than in the final minute.
First there’s this stupid school dance on Friday night. Why would I agree to go to another dance? Tony made me buy a ticket this afternoon. He says some kids from Corpus Christi are going to show up, so we might get another chance with Patty and Janet.
Like I ever want to go through that again.
Number three on the radio is “Jean,” which I kind of like but have heard too many times. I can’t figure out what number two is going to be. “Honky Tonk Women” has been at the top for four straight weeks with no end in sight.
But after a commercial I hear the familiar sound of the Rolling Stones. They’ve dropped to second! I keep running down the past few weeks’ top songs in my head, but I have no idea what could be number one, unless “Get Together” has made a big comeback. That has to be it! My favorite song of all time!
I run to the bathroom and brush my teeth. For the heck of it, I step onto the scale. I’m up to ninety for the first time in my life. I peel off my T-shirt and flex in front of the mirror. Looking good.
When I get back to the bedroom, I can’t believe my ears. It’s “Sugar, Sugar” by the Archies. At the top of the charts. All the way up from thirteen a week ago, where I was certain it had peaked.
Life is just unfair sometimes. “Get Together” never made it past number three.
I jolt awake when I hear the phone ringing. Dad picks it up in his and Mom’s bedroom and says hello. He listens for a minute, then speaks very softly, so I can’t make out what he’s saying. But I do hear it when he slams the phone down a few minutes later.
“That idiot!” Dad says.
I turn on my light and step into the hall. Their bedroom door is open, and I can see Dad pulling a pair of pants on over his pajamas.
“He got arrested,” Dad says.
“Oh my!” Mom replies. “Where is he?”
“Way up in Syracuse.”
“What? I thought he was sleeping at Skippy’s.”
“Apparently not. They went to some protest. A war protest! Why not just invite the government to throw him on the front lines?”
“Are you . . . are you driving all the way up there?”
“No,” he says sarcastically, “I thought I’d go for a pleasant ride in the country in the middle of the night. . . . Of course I’m driving up there. Who the hell else is going to bail him out?”
“Do you want me to go with you?”
“No, you better stay with Brody. Is there gas in the car?”
“I think it’s three-quarters full.”
Dad looks at his watch. “I guess that’ll get me there. That lunatic.”
I step into the bedroom. “What’s going on?”
Dad looks at me for a moment. “Nothing,” he says gently. “You can go back to bed.”
“Is Ryan in jail?” I ask.
Dad looks at Mom, then takes a deep breath. “He shoved a policeman.”
“Is Jenny there, too?” Mom asks.
“Apparently. She’s sitting in the police station, waiting. Skippy disappeared, so thank God we don’t have to worry about him.”
Mom makes a scolding sound with her tongue. “Skippy’s just a kid.”
“So was Billy.”
Mom looks puzzled. “Billy who?”
“Billy the Kid.”
I follow them downstairs. It’s almost one o’clock. Mom plugs in the coffeepot, and Dad eats two doughnuts while he waits for the coffee to boil. “I’ll take it with me,” he says. “Do we have anything I can put it in that won’t spill?”
Mom searches a cabinet and takes out an old plaid thermos.
Dad shakes his head. “What a palooka.”
“He’s only eighteen,” Mom says.
“I’ll eighteen him.” He wipes some doughnut dust off his chest. He’s wearing his white work shirt from yesterday; I saw him fish it out of the hamper.
“Drive carefully,” Mom says. “There’s no reason to hurry.”
“It’s a four-hour drive,” Dad says. “By the time I get there, they’ll probably be fitting him in battle fatigues. Or prison gear.”
“Don’t say that,” Mom replies.
“Well, what do you think? They’ll throw a guy like Muhammad Ali in jail, but just wave off some stupid kid and give him a birthday cake? This is serious stuff.”
Mom sniffs hard. “I know it is.”
“If you’re gonna protest the war, you’d better have your ducks in order,” Dad says. “No college, no credentials, and he has the audacity to get himself arrested.”
Dad leans against the kitchen door and shuts his eyes. Mom’s crying. He sighs and walks over to her, and they hug hard for a minute.
“It’ll be all right,” Dad whispers. “It’ll be all right.” He kisses her on the forehead. “Call my office in the morning and tell them I should be in by noon.”
Dad puts an arm around my shoulder and pulls me toward him. “Get some sleep, Brody,” he says. “This is gonna be okay. Your brother is a horse’s ass, but I don’t want you worrying.”
“I won’t.”
Like heck I won’t. But what am I supposed to do?
Just wait, I guess.
No way I can sleep. I lie in bed and listen to the radio, worried about Ryan. The war is raging.
I switch to a sports talk show. A caller is going on and on about why the Giants should fire their coach and get a new quarterback. They finally cut the guy off and announce the real news. The Mets swept a doubleheader from the Expos and are in first place.
Unbelievable, but I can’t even get excited about it.
I don’t want to lose my brother.