Mr.
Thomas was in his workshop and he had organized things so he could easily move
around the floor. The sound of the saw pleased Latesha and it was nice to have
the television sitting silently in the living room. Even Oprah seemed to enjoy
the peace and quiet. Mr. Thomas had turned on an old radio in the shop that had
sat quiet for many moons and he was singing in a lighthearted way. Deon then
arrived wearing a sleek black and white tracksuit. “What do you say?” Peter
asked Deon as he looked at his watch. “Should we head down to the community
center?”
“Let’s
do it.”
Mr.
Thomas wheeled himself out of the workshop. “Wait,” he said. “I’m coming.”
Latesha
was surprised. “We can watch together, Dad.”
“I’m
not watching,” he answered. “I’m playing.”
Latesha
was shocked, and her expression was mirrored by Peter and Deon. But they said
nothing as Mr. Thomas went into the house and returned several minutes later
wearing his Walter Payton jersey. He had on sweat pants, socks, and running
shoes.
“Before
we go, Deon,” Latesha said, “I want you to promise to go back to school.”
Mr.
Thomas fixed his eyes on the young man. “I want you to do that, too, Deon.”
“I
will,” Deon promised. “I give you my word.”
“Good,”
Mr. Thomas said. He turned to Latesha and Peter. “Let’s go.”
“I
have a few things to do,” Latesha noted. “I’ll catch up.”
“I’ll
walk down with her,” Peter said.
Mr.
Thomas pushed himself down the driveway, hesitated near the road, then started
pushing himself along the shoulder. Deon walked at his side.
Latesha
packed food and water bottles. “I’m ready,” she said, her eyes sparkling.
“Want
me to carry the basket?”
“No,”
Latesha said. “Save your strength.”
Peter
laughed. “You really want us to win, don’t you?”
“That’s
an understatement. I want you to win so bad!”
They
followed about forty yards behind Mr. Thomas and Deon. As they approached the
community center, Peter watched their opponents practicing their best throws
and fastest runs. “They’re trying to impress us,” he whispered.
“Win!”
Latesha whispered back and then veered off so she could watch from the steps. Mary
walked into the parking lot with her younger son and about half a dozen other
spectators.
*
* * *
Peter
joined Mr. Thomas and Deon, warmed up for ten minutes, then moved to the middle
of the parking lot. Tin Man, Blake and Ronnie walked up to meet them.
“Ready,
Wheels?” Tin Man challenged mockingly.
“Don’t
worry about me,” he responded quickly. “Just worry about yourself.”
Tin
Man laughed arrogantly. They ran through the rules, determining that whoever
got three touchdowns first would be the winner.
“There
is a half-ton truckload of material left over from the renovations,” Peter
said. “Collection is apparently Tuesday morning, so whoever loses this game is
responsible for taking those materials to the curb by Monday night. Agreed?”
“Agreed,”
said Tin Man. He looked at Mr. Thomas. “And everybody on the team has to help,
even if he’s crippled.”
Mr.
Thomas gritted his teeth.
“Okay,
let’s play.” Peter took out a coin. “You guys make the call. Whoever wins
receives the ball first and it’s a race to three touchdowns.”
“Heads,”
Tin Man called.
Peter
flipped the coin and all the players crowded round to see. The coin bounced once
and then came up heads. Tin Man pumped his fist and let out a sharp yelp,
slapping hands with Ronnie.
“Let’s
get it on!” Tin Man bellowed, throwing down the gauntlet. He walked back to his
own end zone with Blake and Ronnie. “Hey!” he brazenly called out, “why don’t
you let Wheels kick it?” He burst out laughing. “Come on, Wheels, let’s see
what you got.”
“I’d
like to kick your ass,” Mr. Thomas said under his breath, but loud enough for
his teammates to hear.
Peter
and Deon laughed.
“Okay,
Deon,” Peter said, “get ready to do what we were talking about. Left side.”
“I
got it,” he said.
Peter
kicked the football in an odd way, high toward the left side, and it fluttered
like a lame duck. Immediately he and Deon sprinted toward it, the younger man
flying across the parking lot with breakneck speed. Mr. Thomas followed,
pushing his wheelchair with all his strength.
The
ball hung up for a long time, markedly wobbling. Tin Man tried to catch it but
the ball bounced off his chest and hit the pavement. Before he could retrieve
it, Deon scooped it up and sprinted into the end zone. It was over so fast the
other team didn’t know what hit them. Latesha and Mary jumped up, clapping and
cheering. Mr. Thomas was almost unable to believe his eyes. He congratulated
Deon, complimented Peter on the tricky kick, and then wheeled back to the
original starting point.
“You
guys got a horseshoe up your butt!” Tin Man exclaimed, embarrassed at having
fumbled the ball. “Kick it again, cracker. We got the medicine for you three
stooges.”
“Kick
it down his throat, Peter,” Mr. Thomas said lowly, grumbling.
Peter
laughed at his teammate’s dry tone. “Get ready. We’ll kick to Tin Man again.”
He called out the score. “One-nothing!”
Peter
kicked it toward Tin Man, but before Tin Man could catch it, Blake ran in front
of him and grabbed it. He was off in a flash, his powerful and muscular body
speeding up the sideline. If it weren’t for Deon tagging him near mid-field, he
would have easily scored.
But
it didn’t matter because they picked on Mr. Thomas with their plays from
scrimmage and he just couldn’t compete. Yet Peter and Deon were a dynamite
pairing on offense and soon the score was tied at two touchdowns each.
“Next
touchdown wins,” Peter said, waiting for the other team to kick it to them.
Blake
kicked and Deon caught it, but just after crossing the halfway point, Ronnie
knocked the ball free. Deon stopped in shock, crushed that he had made such a
crucial mistake. Ronnie recovered the fumble and Peter tagged him. Latesha
screwed up her face and looked at her father, great disappointment in both
their expressions.
“Nice
try,” Peter said to Deon, reassuringly touching his arm. “No big deal. We’ll
get it back.”
“If
we score, we win,” Tin Man proclaimed.
“If
you score,” Peter challenged.
On
the first down the other team got to within ten yards of the end zone. Peter
took his teammates into a defensive huddle.
“If
we hold them,” he said, “we’ll score on our next drive—I guarantee it. But we
have to stop them. Deon, you stick to Blake like a shadow. Mr. Thomas, you
watch Ronnie.”
Mr.
Thomas shook his head. “I can’t cover him. He’s way too fast.”
“You
won’t need to cover him long,” Peter assured. “I’m going to rush Tin Man and
tag him before he gets a chance to throw. It’ll work.”
Mr.
Thomas sighed. “All right,” he said. “Your call.”
“You
guys ready?” Tin Man cried irritably.
They
broke huddle. Deon stood in front of Blake while Peter and Mr. Thomas lined up
with Ronnie as he bent over to hike the ball. Latesha crossed her fingers and
rose to her feet. The other spectators also stood. Ronnie hiked the ball and
took off to the left. Mr. Thomas turned to follow him, his recent workouts
helping as he made a quick, efficient movement to provide coverage. Peter
surprised Tin Man when he quickly ran hard toward him, but Tin Man had just
enough time to throw a pass in Ronnie’s direction.
Just
as Ronnie was about to squeeze it, however, Mr. Thomas fully extended his arms
and caught the ball in the tips of his fingers. But doing so threw him off
balance and he fell over hard, the chair loudly smacking the pavement in a
flash of blinding metal. Mr. Thomas did a complete flip, bounced, slid a short
distance, then sprawled out next to the chair. He never let go of the ball.
“Aww!”
Latesha called out, running to her father.
Peter
hurried over. “Are you all right, Mr. Thomas?”
He
nodded to Latesha and Peter, glanced at his skinned elbow, then got back into
his chair with their help. Latesha checked him over like a doting mother, but
he was more concerned with the dent in his left wheel.
“We
better go home, Dad,” Latesha suggested. “This is getting way too serious.”
“No,
we’re finishing the game.”
Latesha
glanced at Peter and he gave her a reassuring nod. Why that made her feel
better she didn’t know, but she walked back to the steps.
Deon,
with great pride in his eyes, turned to Ronnie and Tin Man. “It’s our ball,” he
said.
“It’s
our ball,” Tin Man argued frantically, running forward and waving his arms like
a madman. “That was an incomplete pass. He dropped it. It’s still our ball.”
Blake
shook his head. “I saw the whole thing, Tin. Mr. Thomas caught it cleanly. It’s
their ball.”
Tin
Man turned to Ronnie for support. “He dropped it.”
“He
caught it, man,” Ronnie answered truthfully. “It was an interception.”
Tin
Man spat on the pavement and kicked a rock, sending it flying across the lot.
“Whatever,” he said with a snarl.
After
some crisp plays, Peter, Deon and Mr. Thomas were fifteen yards from the other
team’s end zone. “Last down,” Tin Man said, his chest heaving.
Peter
held a huddle and encouraged his teammates. They clapped their hands and lined
up. Mr. Thomas hiked the ball but, unfortunately, was too exhausted and too
hurt to move. He was done. It was now up to Peter and Deon. Deon ran full speed
into the right side of the end zone, taking Ronnie and Blake with him. Peter,
seeing an opening, started rolling to the right. Tin Man was afraid he might
run for a touchdown, so he chased Peter, but Peter suddenly stopped cold and
looked to his left. There, all alone and wheeling hard into the left side of
the end zone, was Mr. Thomas. By the time Tin Man realized he had been tricked,
it was too late. Peter threw the ball across the lot and Mr. Thomas caught it.
He laid it on his lap and wheeled into the end zone for the winning score.
Deon
jumped with youthful exuberance and Peter ran to Mr. Thomas. Latesha screamed
with delight as she watched the three of them celebrating. Tin Man swore and
barked at his teammates, then stormed off. Blake and Ronnie shook hands with
all three opponents and complimented Mr. Thomas on his great hands.
Latesha
ran up to her father, hugging and kissing him. Mary hugged Deon, then
complimented Mr. Thomas and Peter on their cunning play. The men talked about
the game, pausing only long enough to eat some oranges and drink water.
“Can
you stay for supper?” Mr. Thomas unexpectedly asked Peter. “I was going to make
my wife’s special pizza recipe.”
“I’d
love to.”
“Good,”
Mr. Thomas mumbled.
They
went back to the house and discussed every play in meticulous detail as Mr.
Thomas busied himself in the kitchen. When the pizza was ready, they all sat at
the table and ate with relish.
“Excellent
pizza, Mr. Thomas,” Peter said, enjoying a second piece.
“Thank
you. Flavia taught me how to make the special sauce.”
Suddenly
they heard a loud bang. Peter and Latesha hurried outside to find Tin Man
clutching a baseball bat in one hand and a half-empty bottle of whiskey in the
other. By the dent in Peter’s truck, it was obvious what had caused the noise.
“Ringer,”
he said to Peter in a drunken slur. “Set us up, didn’t you, cracker? Trying to
make Tin Man look like a fool.”
“It
was just a game,” Peter said.
“I’ll
show you a game,” he said, breaking his bottle on the foundation. “Ever hear of
baseball, cracker?” He stepped forward and brandished the bat as if he was
going to attack. “I’m gonna hit a home run with your damned head.”
“Leave
him alone!” Latesha shouted.
“I’ll
leave him alone all right,” Tin Man hollered, aggressively moving forward.
“I’ll leave him alone after I crack his lily white skull!”
“Drop
it!” Mr. Thomas suddenly shouted from the doorway. He had the rifle in his
hands and pointed it directly at Tin Man’s chest. “Now!”
Tin
Man froze.
“I’ll
blow a hole in you, I swear it,” Mr. Thomas said in a no-nonsense tone. “Drop
the weapon!”
Just
then a car stopped at the end of the driveway. In the front passenger side was
Mrs. Hill. “Get in!” she ordered Tin Man. “Now!”
Tin
Man lowered the bat and rocked on his feet. “If it was anybody but you, Momma,
I’d smack that boy upside the head.”
“You’re
not going to hit anybody,” she snapped. “Get in the car.”
He
climbed into the back seat. Mrs. Hill looked at Peter and Mr. Thomas,
apologized, then nodded with embarrassment. “It won’t happen again,” she
pledged.
The
car left and all three of them went back into the house. They discussed the
events of the day well into the night, eventually laughing about it.
“It’s
been a long day,” Mr. Thomas said. “I’m going to bed.”
“Goodnight,
Dad.”
“Goodnight,
Mr. Thomas.”
“Goodnight,
Peter.”
Latesha
went into her room to change and Mr. Thomas suddenly stopped in the hallway and
wheeled back to Peter. “I owe you an apology,” he said, extending his hand.
Peter
smiled and they shook hands
“When
I started dating Latesha’s mother,” Mr. Thomas said, “her father hated my
guts.”
“But
you never gave up.”
“I
would have put up with ten antagonistic fathers to be with Flavia. She was
worth it.”
Latesha
came back into the room. “What are you two talking about?”
“Women,”
her father said with a chuckle. “Man talk.”
“Goodnight,
Dad.”