My father’s shaking my hand, too choked up to say anything, then handing me a twenty-dollar bill and telling me to take Kim out for dinner; I can take his car and he’ll walk home. “No, really,” he says. “Go. Get a shower and take this pretty girl out on me. You were great.”
She’s got tears in her eyes and the next match hasn’t started yet; everybody’s standing, cheering for Al and some for me, too. Coach is shaking his head and he’s got a big grin, talking to the guy from the newspaper. Al and his father are hugging each other over by the water fountain. Digit’s standing next to me, patting my back.
The pep band starts in with “You Can Call Me Al,” brassy and off-key just a little. Al raises his fist in the air; there’s a crowd around him now. My father musses my hair and mumbles “See ya at home,” then turns to leave. Digit says “Gotta see Al,” and he goes, so I hug Kim and kiss her on the forehead. Coach blows his whistle and the 145-pounders attack each other. The band shuts up.
Kim waits in the stands and I go to the locker room. Nobody’s in there. I shower a long time, letting the heat soak into my chest and through my head and down to my feet. My season’s over, but I’ve got shampoo left. I’ll have to go out for track.
I’m thinking Chinese food would be good; fried rice and snow peas, maybe with shrimp. My father doesn’t have any decent tapes in his car. I’ll borrow one from somebody. I love Kim. Digit has some good tapes in his locker. Al will win the states, no question.
The 189ers are wrestling by the time I get up there, and there’s almost nobody left in the stands. I sit next to Digit, who’s sitting next to Kim, and she and I hold hands behind his back until the last wrestle-off is over. We give him a ride home and then head to the Chinese Kitchen in Weston.
Digit’s tape sounds good, even with the cheap speakers in this vehicle. Kim has her hair in a ponytail. She is looking happy. This is a day I will never forget.
I get home late. My father is asleep on the couch, and the TV is on, but it’s turned so soft you can barely hear it. Mom’s still at work.
I climb the stairs quietly—I’ll let her be the one to wake him—and shut my door before turning on the light. It’s just cold enough outside, so I take off my jacket and put on two sweatshirts, as much for comfort as for warmth.
I can taste Kim’s mouth and her skin. I smell her soft hair and feel her sweet, moist breath on my neck. And I feel Al’s muscles, hard as steel and flexible as good strong rope, and I feel his breath on my skin, too, cursing, straining, finally wanting it as much as I did.
I sit on my bed to change from my running shoes to hiking boots, and then I see it there on the wall. The Elvis and Jesus thing from that house by the lake, with “You give me strength” scrawled on the cardboard matting.
I stand and take a step toward it and stop, not sure whether to laugh or to shudder or feel honored.
I shut the light and stand in the hallway in silence, with my hands in the big pouch pocket of the sweatshirt. Then I walk down the stairs to my father. I touch him lightly on the shoulder and he rolls, opening his eyes and looking surprised. “Thanks, Dad,” I say.
“Oh … yeah,” he says, sitting up and rubbing one eye with his hand. “Just, you know … I don’t know.”
“Yeah,” I say. “I know.” We stare at the TV for a few seconds, then I turn to the door. “I’m just going for a walk,” I finally say. I haven’t been alone yet, to absorb this day, to make it permanent.
The woods are quiet, but my vision is good. The moon is out and shining. This was a day. This can be the day Al begins reliving his father’s life, or the day he breaks free. I think of Hatcher—too dumb to be a doctor like his dad, but just dumb enough to relive everything else about him. Only Digit is sure to break the pattern. Me, I don’t know.
I can see the lights of the town far below me, and a dog is barking in the distance. My father is asleep again by now, snoring on the couch with the TV on softly. He’ll be punching in at the plant in eight hours.
I look at the moon, and it’s right where it should be, a quarter million miles away. I stop walking and shut my eyes in the cool, clear breeze, lifting my arms above my head and inhaling. The air smells piney, with just a hint of cows and of midnight.
Life is good. I have Kim.
I am tired and warm and alive.