goddam Rose Bowl; your kid gets put out of commission. I want to know where yourstrength is now, Will Weaver. How come youâre not so good now?â
Thereâs silence, and Willie canât imagine whatâs on his fatherâs face this minute.
Sandy continues. âWill, this family is coming apart at the seams. Since the day Willie got hurt, itâs just been coming apart at the seams. And youâre the reason. You donât talk to anybody, you donât help out; you donât give anyone any reason to believe that things will ever be any better. And Iâm about full up.â
âThat your solution?â Big Will says, his low voice vibrating with tension. âThings get a little tough and you hit the road.â
Sandy explodes. âA little tough! A little tough! Donât you put this back on me, Will Weaver. I donât bury my head in the newspaper night after night and pretend my family doesnât exist! I donât treat our son like a leper; or worse yet, like heâs invisible. Heâs not some possession, you know. Heâs not a car you can take back to the dealer because it doesnât run right. Heâs our son. And youâre the one heâs closest to and you better learn to be decent. You drove the boat, Will. Just like I chattered away across the street when Missy died.â
âYeah, well, youâre off the hook!â Big Will yells, his restraint crumbled. âYou donât have to sit around andlook at your screw-up every day. Missyâs six feet under. Sheâs a memory. Willieâs stumbling around in front of me from before sunrise to long after sunset, just reminding me. You know why he was without air so long? Because I panicked. Because I almost smothered him trying to get that damn jacket off. If it hadnât been for Jenny, Iâd have drowned him. And Iâm not so sure that wouldnât have been better. Let the little shit off the hook!â
âLet you off the hook, you mean! Grow up, Will. Just grow the hell up. Get real. Life isnât just the Rose Bowl.â
Willieâs eyes are glued to the closed bedroom door. Smoke from the scalded milk drifts off the stove, bringing him back. He slips into the kitchen to switch off the hot plate, pour the milk into the sink; then slinks back upstairs to the strains of his parentsâ relentless accusations. Heâs never heard them fight before, much less aim every shot below the belt. Devastated, he crawls back into bed and pulls the covers over his head.
He just wants out.
Â
Willie limps down the center of the hall, staring at a spot above the archway leading to the stairwell, letting the other students dodge him for a change. Heâs takingstock, like Cyril taught him. Counting the positives, over and over. There arenât many, after last night. Thereâs Jenny; in a session with Cyril, she promised sheâd hang in there with him; promised sheâd stay. And thereâs Johnny; heâs a good friend sometimes, though he can be a pain in the butt trying to help. His speech is getting better and lately heâs been feeling like maybe heâs going to get it under control. Thatâs it, though. His parentsâ¦no, not supposed to think about that. Just the positives. His mind moves back to Jenny, then Johnny, his speechâ¦
âGot a new sport for you.â Johnnyâs voice breaks his concentration as Johnny rushes to catch him, then slows to match Willieâs pace. âItâs perfect. Racquetball,â he says, pulling a shiny new racquet from behind his back. âYou only need one hand. Small court. Perfect for you. My dad took me over to play the other night. We can give it a try any time youâre ready.â
Willie looks at him and can only smile. âDonâtâ¦think so,â he says. âDonâtâ¦think Iâ¦couldâ¦getâ¦into it.â
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Just before noon, Willie follows the
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