Nothing Special (20 page)

“Okay. It's okay, Felton. It's okay.”

“It's not.” I didn't know what was happening, Aleah. I'm still not sure. I don't know what happened to me. But I was sort of convulsing, crying.

Tovi started the car and pulled away from the curb. Andrew got there and said, “Tovi. You have to come back. Stan's really losing his mind. Somebody might arrest him.”

“Can you stay?” Tovi asked. “Can you do it?

“Me?” Andrew asked.

“I have to drive Felton out of here.”

“Get in the car, Andrew,” I shouted at him. “Get in the fucking car right now. Please!”

“No,” Andrew said. “I'm going to stay.” He backed away from the car, and that was the last I saw of him.

“Andrew. Goddamn it…” I sobbed as Tovi pulled away.

I was totally inconsolable. Tovi asked me if I wanted to go back to the hotel. I told her no. I wanted to leave. I had to leave. I was so freaking crazy and burning, Aleah.

“What do you mean?” Tovi asked me. “You want to go the airport?”

I said yes. I probably wouldn't have thought of it on my own. But that's where I wanted to go.

Tovi (who was pretty shaken up too—this was bad Reinstein stuff) used Gram's money to buy me a ticket home, a flight that left two hours later, connected through Chicago, and landed me in Madison just after 9 p.m.

This ticket cost over $600. It makes me sick. Gram gave Tovi ten thousand to put us back together, and I used over five percent to run away. Jesus.

Before I left, I called Jerri on Tovi's cell and couldn't say much. She didn't ask much, just told me Andrew had called her and she knew what was happening and that she'd be at the airport when I got there.

Even before I flew in, she'd talked to Stan too, Aleah. Somehow this whole thing wasn't between Andrew and Stan. He was somehow comforted that Andrew stayed behind with him. It was between Stan and me. Or, really, between Stan and my dad, a dude who was so much like me. My dad, who wore these shoes I'm wearing.

Jerri said she screamed at Stan. Jerri said he took it and didn't scream back.

I don't know.

In the airport, even after we had the ticket, Tovi kept grabbing my hand, saying, “Are you sure you have to go? Are you sure?”

I couldn't really respond. My brain shut down.

From the plane I could see the huge expanse of the gulf stretching across the underbelly of the country. I hadn't flown since I was a kid, since the last time I flew back to Wisconsin from Florida. Then I was with my dad, my poor dad. And only then, only when the plane was off the ground and there was no way I could return, did I feel this huge remorse.

Here's a big part of my curse, Aleah. At important moments I can't think. I can't think ahead. I just react, just fling the poop that's in front of me, fight or flight, which maybe makes me a good football player, but it kills me in real life. It breaks crap and there are consequences for my actions. I left Andrew behind. I left Tovi alone. Poor Gus drove for thirty hours below me.

I couldn't even talk to Jerri when she picked me up, I felt so terrible. I was still the bad brother. I hadn't learned anything. Half my football crap is still at the White Shells Hotel and Resort, which has caused me trouble all summer. My dead cell phone was in my pocket because Gus had hated what I did to him so much that he cut up my charger. We barreled west through the Wisconsin night, fireflies lighting the ditches on Highway 151, the silence only cut by the sound of Jerri sniffling, Jerri crying.

• • •

I don't want to be that guy, Aleah. I don't want to be a narcissist or a dude who just chases balls or flings poop because that's what's in front of him.

I still run, because I have to run, but I don't want to live my whole dang life running. That's what I've decided.

And that decision led me here to this corner of a Shell gas station parking lot—because there is absolutely no way I'd have stayed on the phone with Stan when he called a few weeks ago if I was still that guy.

I don't want to be afraid of my own grandfather (or my dad). I don't want to be afraid of Andrew or you, Aleah. I don't want to be afraid of going to a football camp or on a recruiting trip or to college next year.

And I've had the rest of the summer to think.

When Stan called on my birthday, I said yes. Yes to coming back here, even though there were about a billion reasons not to, including me missing practices right before a game.

• • •

Oh. Hey. I think that's Tovi. Yes. Beemer at the stoplight a block away. Yeah, Andrew's in there. They're rolling…Jesus, Stan's in the backseat. Okay. That's good. Okay. Gotta run, Aleah.

Whoops they missed the station. They'll turn around…

Tovi and Andrew. I have to pull out the last little stump of Hickory Farms summer sausage. That'll make them laugh.

Oh my God, I have never been so happy to see human beings in my whole damn life.

Gotta go.

I miss you.

So…I've been back in Wisconsin for a couple of days.

Yup. Here I am again. Basement bedroom. I have welts on both my forearms. My right hand aches because it got stepped on.

Good! That's football!

Hi, Aleah. It was so awesome to see you. It was such a shock, and it put me in such a good mood. I was already in a pretty good mood this afternoon, but you really sent me into…I guess, elation? Elation is a word, right? I was very jacked.

I wasn't the only one who was excited. I knew you were there but hadn't told anybody. When Cody (who thinks you're so awesome—which is true, in fact) saw you in the stands during warm-ups, he said, “Hey! Hey! Dude! Aleah's here! Jesus!”

Cody doesn't get emotional about anything. “I know,” I smiled.

“Why didn't you tell me? Man!” he shouted.

He's been worried all summer that we'd break up. He figures we'll be coming over to his house for barbecues in twenty years, so it's very, very important we stay together as far as he's concerned.

“Thought I'd let you have the joy of discovery,” I said.

“Cool,” he said, getting his shit back under control.

You waved and we both waved back and really we shouldn't be waving at people during warm-ups (Coach talked to me about that last year), but I waved and you smiled so big and then I just started jumping up and down like I did all the time last year, back when I was an innocent boy.

It was really cool to see you sitting next to Gus and Maddie.

Did you see the Wisconsin coach a couple rows in front of you? He can't talk to me right now because of NCAA recruiting rules. But he was there. Makes me happy. Coaches don't get to Bluffton very often. We're in the middle of nowhere if you haven't noticed.

Hey, do you remember? Exactly fifty-one weeks ago today I played my first football game. You were there. Tonight I started my second season. And you were there, again.

Man, Aleah, thank you. You were so whacked from travel, so jet lagged, we barely had time to talk after the game before you passed out. Weird that you're up there in Andrew's room. If Ronald and Jerri weren't upstairs too, I'd lie down next to you. Of course I wouldn't be able to sleep and I'd annoy the crap out of you.

So, I've read some of this notebook you gave me. Berlin sounds dang cool. I do understand why you wanted a break. I really appreciate all the thinking you've done too. You're very, very smart. Have I told you that?

I want to finish mine by tomorrow so I can surprise you with a bunch of pages. (Let's be honest, an absolute crap ton of pages—I probably should just email this to you…not enough paper in the house.) Funny to think you were writing to me while I was writing to you. Of course, you wrote during your whole summer in Germany.

I wrote all of this in just a few days, and honestly, I didn't think I'd ever actually give it to you. I want you to know, though, that even when I was lifting weights, running routes, flinging around my Frisbee in the yard, hanging with Gus and Cody and those guys, I was thinking about you, constantly.

Thank you for writing to me.

The house does feel pretty empty without Andrew. Yeah, you're right. It
is
pretty weird.

Pretty funny that you asked me, “What in the world happened while I was gone?” I've got it for you. I wrote it all out.

How did this happen with Andrew being gone? Keep reading.

• • •

You know, Tovi and I talked just about every day after I left Florida that first time, after what we've come to call “The Great Reinstein Tennis Court Disaster.” (Stan freaking at me on the court.)

At first, she just wanted to make sure I was okay. I was, I guess.

More than anything, I felt really embarrassed for having run away like I did. Think I could stand up, right? After all that I'd been through, after going out on the boat with Andrew?

Be strong. Don't freak out. Stay there like Andrew stayed.

Wrong. Squirrel Nut Felton took control. The bad squirrel nut, the one who runs when he should stay and be strong.

I freaked and ran at the first sign of danger. (I mean, my fight with Stan was pretty intense—Jerri, Tovi, and Andrew have all told me to stop beating myself up about it—and I have stopped.)

For the last few weeks, I guess Tovi's been trying to break some different news to me. “Papa and Andrew are so good with each other. Andrew didn't leave his side for a week after you took off, man,” she told me.

“Great,” I said. “That's really good.” I didn't understand what she was getting at. Nothing occurred to me.

Maybe I should've gotten the clue when I finally took that call from Stan.

It was my birthday, a few weeks ago. Tovi said she wouldn't speak to me ever again if I didn't talk to Stan. She's still doing Grandma Rose's work. Trying to make the family all right. Tovi actually didn't have to threaten me. I wanted to talk to him (even though it was scary).

Jerri and your dad had already taken me for lunch and a movie in Dubuque. I'd already told Cody, Karpinski, and those guys that I'd be hanging with Gus that night. Gus and I planned to watch movies at his house and eat a whole store-bought cake, just like we used to do on movie nights back when we were in eighth grade. Stan hadn't called yet, and I was beginning to think he'd chickened out (which bummed me out).

But as I was biking over to Gus's, my phone rang. I pulled over and pulled the vibrating phone out of my pocket.

It was a 239 area code. That's Fort Myers. I almost fell off my bike with nerves.

I answered, “Hello?”

“Felton?” the old man's voice said.

“Yes?” I waited. He didn't speak right away. I held on—this was a big deal because my squirrel-nut, bolt-up-a-tree sensors were firing pretty hard. “Yes, this is Felton.”

“Felton?”

“Yes. I'm here.”

“This is your grandfather. This is Stanley.”

“Okay,” I said. I'm sure my voice was shaking.

“Are you having a good birthday?” he asked, as if we'd always talked and this wasn't the actual first conversation (other than him screaming at me to get the hell off his court) we'd ever had.

“Yes,” I said.

“Good…Good. That's good to hear.”

“Thanks,” I said.

“Your brother has really made great strides on the tennis court. Quite impressive. You should really see him play, Felton.”

“Okay. Um. I'll…I'll watch for that…”

“Felton?”

“Yes?”

“I bought you a ticket to come back here. I want you to see Andrew play tennis. And I'd like to take you out to dinner for your birthday.”

Football was about to start, Aleah. A ticket? What was he thinking? Just like that? I was totally unprepared for the invitation. “I don't think I can,” I said. “Not right now.”

“I'm sorry?” he said.

“I'm not available at the moment. Thanks for asking.”

“It would mean a lot to Tovi. Andrew would like to see you. It would be very nice.”

“No,” I said. “I really can't.”

“Felton?”

“Yes?”

“Damn it,” he mumbled. “Felton?”

“What?”

“Do you know what I did?”

“No?”

“When I yelled at you? On the court?”

“No.”

“I wasn't yelling at you, Felton. I knew it was you and not your father, but I wasn't yelling at you. Do you understand?”

“No.”

Stan's voice began to warble, which made me lose my balance, so I had to step off my bike and sit down on the curb. “Your father, Felton. Your father killed himself.”

“I know.”

“Your father hurt me and your grandmother very much. I would suggest, Felton, that I won't ever recover from…I won't ever be okay again, do you see?”

“Yes,” I said.

“And he was, Felton, a good, big, wonderful guy just like you. I don't know…” Stan was gulping for air. “I don't know, but he was so far away in that little town where you live?”

“Yeah.”

“With your mom who was just a kid. She was a little girl. What was he doing?”

“I don't know.”

“I couldn't help him. He wouldn't let me. And I am so angry at him, Felton. I am so angry, but I've got to stop because the costs of this anger are enormous. Do you know what I did to your grandmother?”

“No.”

“I made it so she'd never meet Andrew, so she'd never spend time with you, because I was so angry. Tovi should have her cousins, you know?”

“Yes.”

“I wasn't yelling at you on the court, Felton. I was yelling at your father because what he did…it's been too much for a small man like me to bear and I've broken everything. Do you understand?”

“Yes.”

“Will you please come down here and see Andrew play and have some dinner for your birthday?”

“Oh shit. Oh shit. Oh shit,” I cried.

“It's not just for…I would like to see you, Felton. I would like us to be good friends.”

“I don't know…”

“Andrew is such a good, good boy. We're friends, Felton. He's my grandson. I have a grandson. But I don't know when I might see you again. We don't know. We need…I would like so much to be your grandfather. Please come.”

I lay back in the grass, Aleah. All these birds were flying overhead like stingrays below Tovi and me in the gulf. I shut my eyes. I thought of Gus and what he did for me. I thought of Tovi taking off a whole summer of tennis to do Gram's work. I thought of Andrew and how I want to be the brother he deserves. And so I said, “Okay. Okay. I will.”

Happy birthday. He got the damn ticket for the week of my first game. Jerri had to change the return date so I at least had a day back in Bluffton before playing. Then it took two and a half days to get there? Happy birthday, Felton.

It's okay. I'm glad I made the stupid trip, you know? It wasn't stupid at all, really.

The big casualty of me being so late to get to Fort Myers was that there wasn't time to play tennis. When they picked me up at the Shell gas station, Andrew was in his Golden Rods Hawaiian shirt.

“We've got to get to your birthday dinner, so I can't show you my tennis game,” Andrew said.

“We can play back in Bluffton,” I said.

Stan jumped in: “The boy is good! He's gotten good at the net. Such a technician!”

“Uh, yeah. Pretty good,” Tovi said.

“I'm nothing special,” Andrew said.

“Baloney, kid. You set up points like a chess player now,” Stan said.

“No. I just like to play. I'm nothing special,” Andrew said more pointedly.

“Say what you will,” Stan said.

Instead of driving to Fiddlesticks or back to the White Shells, Tovi drove the Beemer out to Sanibel Island and then to Captiva. For my birthday dinner, they took me to a restaurant right on the beach called the Mucky Duck. The bad part of this was that I hadn't showered in days and I had chocolate melted all over my shorts, so I didn't exactly feel comfortable walking into a restaurant.

Nobody seemed to give a crap, and even though the food seemed ridiculously expensive (I guess I got used to restaurants being super cheap from my truck-stop stops on the way down to Florida with Gus), almost everybody in the place was in shorts and T-shirts and sandals.

I ordered a filet mignon. It was quite tasty. I have never eaten such a fancy-pants steak. Andrew, Stan, and Tovi all got seafood, which smells like boiled nut cup. I guess I'm not exactly an ocean dude, yet. It sort of grossed me out, especially Stan's lobster tail—very graphic crushing of shell…gross.

During the meal, Stan, Tovi, and Andrew laughed and talked and told me about all the crap they'd been doing all summer, and it sort of hurt my feelings, but I totally tried not to show it. Then, after we ordered dessert (Have you ever eaten chocolate mousse? Damn!), Stan pulled a gift out of the canvas bag he'd carried in.

He handed it to me. “For your birthday.”

I could tell it was a framed picture from the feel of it. Scared me a little. I immediately thought about the shot of Dad when he won the NCAA Championship—you know, the sad one? I peeled it open, feeling sort of nervous. Attached to the back of the frame was a check for a thousand dollars.

“
What
the
hell?
” I shouted.

“So you can visit that girlfriend of yours in Chicago,” Stan said. “Take her out.”

“Yeah, well, I don't know if she's interested in…”

“Have fun with it, okay?” Stan said.

I nodded.

So, I'm going to visit you and take you out for some fun, Aleah. You better figure out what you think is fun, though, because I don't really know how to spend that kind of money on fun. Maybe I'll spend it on groceries with Jerri. I eat so dang much I sometimes worry I'll drive her into total freaking poverty.

No, we can have fun, okay?

I paused before I turned over the photo. It seemed impossible that Tovi would let Stan give me that NCAA picture after it had bummed me out so much. Thankfully, it wasn't that shot. It was the picture of Dad in high school with a whole wad of friends.

“Your father loved every last kid on that team. Oh, they were good. The boy right next to him, Matthew Sedgewick? He's a doctor at the Mayo Clinic! Good kid.”

“He could be a fellow working at Qwik Trip and he'd still be a good kid,” Andrew said.

“He's also like forty-five now, so he's not really a kid,” Tovi said.

“Good boy. Just like your dad.” Stan nodded.

It's really a good picture too. I'm looking at it right now. Dad's hair is pretty long and Jewfroed out huge. He looks really, really happy. He's laughing in it, like somebody just made a great joke. I think I might let my 'fro fly, Aleah. What would you think about that? Can you picture me with big-ass hair? I'm serious!