Pins: A Novel (16 page)

At first everybody thought Anthony was just wimping out as usual. But then he fell down in the second period, collapsed. Coach yelled for somebody to get his inhaler from his gym bag. Joey and a few others stood but Joey found it first.

Assistant Coach Fiasole and the Washington coach hovered over his prone body as he thrashed about, trying to breathe. Joey handed the inhaler to Cleshun, who tried to aim it over Anthony’s mouth, but the boy couldn’t even muster the strength to bring his head up.

Joey used his T-shirt to fan the air above Anthony, but it didn’t do any good. “Go sit down,” Assistant Coach Fiasole said. Joey obeyed.

The men hovered over Anthony a while, then Fiasole left the gym. The other opponent, a skinny black kid, sat in the middle of the mat, bending over his seated frame, stretching, waiting patiently.

“You hungry?” Dink took a bite out of a sandwich he’d plucked from his bag.

“Naw.” Then he looked back accusingly at Dink. “How can you eat?”

“I’m hungry. He gets better or not, I’m still hungry.”

“You are one considerate guy.”

“Come on, just a bite.” Dink held the sandwich out to Joey.

“Get that outta my face.”

He did want to take a bite, almost exactly where Dink had bitten would have been nice, but he was up next, whenever next would be. He could just imagine coughing up a chunk of peanut butter and butter sandwich.

“Look at that,” Dink said.

Coach Fiasole led two men in long black coats with yellow stripes. One held a toolbox full of medical supplies. The coaches parted, giving the firemen room to examine Anthony. All Joey could see were Anthony’s legs sticking out of the cluster of men, bending over, discussing, concerned.

Some of the Washington kids began tousling about, just joke wrestling. All the coaches were bent over Anthony, not at all paying attention. Other Washington kids walked around, impatient with the interruption from the match.

Anthony was brought up to sitting, was breathing, at least.

Joey wasn’t upset or concerned for Anthony so much anymore, but almost jealous. But he sat with his teammates on the bench, hoods up, waiting. Joey saw a few school kids in jeans climb down from the low balcony, drop their backpacks, coats, just play. They had no inhibitions, while he and his clan perched, obedient. He wasn’t sure which was better, but he knew theirs looked like more fun.

But then he thought about that day, the dogpile, and those times where they’d all done stuff like that, and it was good that a coach was there to keep them all calm, or Anthony or him or any other guy would get dogpiled all the time. It wears on a guy.

“He’ll be okay,” Coach Cleshun said.

No one said, “Oh boy, am I relieved,” or “We were so concerned.” They just sat, Dink eating, Bennie plugged into his thrash tunes, Hunter clenching and unclenching his fists, tapping his feet, Walt Cryzinski picking a scab, while Coach shouted technical advice with a bit more strain than usual.

The rest of the match finally got going, but by then Joey felt cold, his legs stiffened taffy. He tried to use the first half of the period to just get warm again, fake a few single legs, just top the guy, but the other guy grabbed all over him, bendable, quick.

At one point, he had Joey’s head in both his hands, and he pulled, and something in Joey’s neck ripped.
 
He yanked himself out in an escape.

He’d never felt his back on the mat so much since his first year. Fortunately the ref was slow. Once, the timer, a chubby girl with long tresses of black hair, forgot to start the clock, so they got some leeway, a long breather when the ref had to check a two point takedown. Joey felt like he was going to pass out, too.

Voices of the teammates, his, theirs, tumbled around in his ears. The wash of shouts banged against those old walls, until he only heard a ringing, then sometime later, it was over, his arm was grabbed, raised.

Joey had caught his breath, shaken hands with his opponent, the opposing coach, retreated behind the bench to peel his singlet down to his waist. He tucked his headgear into his bag, pulled his shirt out to let it dry off. He’d probably have to wear his sweats home.

“Get some ice on that neck,” Coach Fiasole called out to Joey before crossing back to the scorekeeping table. Joey dutifully went over to the cooler full of ice Fiasole had put into little plastic bags.

Since his opponent was a no-show, Dink won by default, jokingly raising his hands in victory, as if he’d had to work for it. Some of the other guys won. A few lost. Joey wasn’t paying attention. His neck began its little twinge response. His guts felt weird. Where had they taken Anthony?

Hunter was up to his usual tactics, and got a warning when he shoved a guy who he had down after the ref blew the whistle for time. A player was supposed to help a guy up. It was supposed to be all in fun. But Hunter seemed determined to pummel the guy who so easily held on to his defensive moves. He never got Hunter in more than one good hold, but Hunter still scowled, even after his victory. When he was supposed to shake, he just slapped the guy’s hand. The black kid smiled, showing for all how childish Hunter behaved.

By then, a crowd had drawn, all of them Washington kids.

Bennie had been skipping rope, slapping his legs and face all through Hunter’s match. He came bursting out onto the mat, determined to attack from the beginning. The Washington guy had a sharp angled haircut. His muscles pressed out in all directions. They faced off. The floor rumbled with their first throws.

At one point Bennie had his opponent in his arms. He stood, lifting him off the mat, about to slam the guy down to the floor, but the ref said, “Easy.”

Bennie slowed, then more politely laid the guy down before cross-facing him.

“Like spreadin’ pizza dough,” Dink said. Joey saw. Bennie could reserve his power, like driving his Mustang. He worked on half-capacity. What was scary was what Bennie didn’t do.

 
Coach Fiasole argued with the ref in the locker room doorway, something about insurance. Everybody rushed to get in and out of the showers. Fiasole kept yellin’ “Hustle! Hustle!” clapping his hands. There would be no victorious anything, except the numbers.

“Hey, how’s Anthony?” Joey rushed up to Fiasole, who seemed a bit wired.

“He’ll be okay. Just go get changed and let’s get outta here.”

“But–”

“Go.” A smack on the butt. That worked.

A few guys tried to repeat the hypothalamoose call, but it wasn’t very funny after a few times. It still had a useful charm when wrestlers met up, but with the draft of a broken window making the room extra cold, the joke fell flat. Few showered.

By the time Joey finished changing, Bennie walked by.

“Hey man, what did Anthony say to you?”

“What?” Bennie stopped, turned, his bag over one shoulder.

“What you did, what’d you say to Anthony?”

Bennie dropped his bag, loomed over Joey in a way that made him want to back away. But Bennie stopped.

“What did I say? Like you think I got him all upset and it’s my fault he doesn’t know how to breathe?”

“I’m just sayin’ why you gotta be that way with your own team member?”

“Team member?” Bennie’s neck muscles flexed. Joey wondered how long it took him to shave that neck every morning. At the same time, he wondered if Bennie was going to punch him. “Listen, little man. I been on this team three years. You don’t know how we do things here. It’s not like Saint Ingratius or wherever you come from. You don’t tell me squat.”

“I’m sorry, I was just–”

“If he can’t cut it, he’s out. There’s better JVs in Paramus.”

“No, there isn’t. Tommy’s a spaz, but he tries, and Lamar’s out.”

“Dude, he broke his arm.”

“That’s not the point.”

Bennie grabbed Joey’s shoulder before he could turn away. “You don’t seem to get it, bro. This is hard work. This is not recess. There has to be a sacrifice.”

“What?”

Bennie’s fingers clutched Joey’s biceps, his fingers filing through the striations of muscle, checking Joey’s growth. Bennie softened his grip, blinked a few times, as if he didn’t understand what he’d said. “We have to sacrifice for our team, right?”

“Yeah. . .” Flooded with embarrassment, lust, fear, Joey stood as Bennie steamed down a bit, retracted himself from Joey, picked up his bag. His expression changed gears into a false look of fatherly concern. “Just. . .do your best. We all …just gotta do our best.”

“Yeah. Right.”
 

As he dressed, Joey wanted to turn around, see if Bennie was still looking at him, what mood he might try next.

As they tumbled onto the bus, Fiasole stood at the door, counting them, glaring each boy to silence. Everybody settled down, the losses or wins replayed in their heads. Behind him Joey heard Walt and Hunter whispering something about Anthony.

With Cleshun off to the hospital, Fiasole didn’t even have to say anything, just sat up front staring out the window with the driver. Nobody even coughed.

Dink didn’t say much in the seat behind him. Joey had to sit sideways against the window, but it scraped his back, so he turned around. He looked at the the guys sitting in front of him, like little monks in a chapel on wheels, all hoods up, except Buddha Martinez, his hair so black. Joey wanted to touch Buddha, but he only stared, then staring became exhausting. He closed his eyes, feigning sleep the whole ride back to the school parking lot.

He didn’t relax until after dinner, some tube, the tub. He made sure everybody else had finished first, assuring his parents that a good hot bath would restore not only his muscle fiber and accelerate the healing of injuries but boost his post-dinner carb build-up and rejuvenate his endocrine system. He wasn’t sure what it all meant, but it sounded impressive.

“Just don’t fall asleep in there again,” his mother joked. “I don’t want you drowning in my new bathroom.”

To be invoked for healing from both physical and spiritual wounds, the card read.
 
Tonight was definitely the neck. He read a prayer, figuring it was a good idea to say one for Anthony. He thought of saying one for Bennie, asking him for patience, but then he remembered Bennie being so weird, yet incredibly sexy.
 
He lay under the covers, wishing he’d taken care of business in the tub while he had a chance.

19

MEGAZOID’s EVIL PEGASAURUS.

DON’T JUST BUILD ‘EM!
 
BRING ‘EM TO LIFE!
TM

Amid the boxes of Grobots, Star Trek ship models and other “age 6 and up” toys, Mike pointed to a two-by-three foot box. On the box cover, a photo of a four-legged beast in shiny black plastic held him transfixed. Its forelegs glistened, silvery, its body a red and black cluster of sharp angles. At its hindquarters rockets and blades jutted out. Red wings hovered over a mane of black blades. Its silver eyes glared with a cold fury.

Joey had to go to the Willowbrook Mall with his father on Saturday, which was Christmas Eve, to buy presents for anybody he’d “forgotten.” Mike wanted to tag along, so he had to help him get presents, too. Their dad said he’d meet them at the hardware department of Sears, giving them an hour to shop.

“So, are we getting a new VCR?” Mike had asked.

Joey had mentioned it in the car, but his father scoffed at the idea. “That’s all we need, you watching wrestling tapes all day and Sophie wanting to sing some Barney song for the hundredth time.”

Then Joey felt guilty, not even thinking that Anthony might end up spending Christmas in bed. He’d called Coach Cleshun to find out, but all he got was “Steve and Anne aren’t in, but if you leave a message …” over “O Night Divine.” He’d left a message.

“Are we?”

“I dunno.” Joey didn’t want to worry about VCRs. That Washington kid had left what he hoped wasn’t a permanent dent in his spine. Even though he took three aspirin with breakfast, he walked carefully, not turning his neck too fast or bending over for anything, worried some crazed shopper might bump into him again. The entire mall bustled like an anthill after somebody kicked it.

He thought his mother would like a new pair of earrings, small ones. Joey picked out a pair while Mike stared under the counter at the rows of bottles, holding his nose amid the heavily perfumed women’s department store. The moment the counter girl, who kept smiling at Joey, put the little box in a bag, Mike said, “Come on. I wanna show you something.”
 

He’d led Joey to a toy store, “so we can get Soph’s presents,” but Joey knew Mike couldn’t be so enthused about getting something for their sister.

His instincts were right.

“You put it together.” Mike said, holding the Pegasaurus box. “It moves and shoots these rockets, see?”

Joey thwapped his finger at the corner of the box. “It’s forty dollars.” But it wasn’t the price that made him frown. As creepy as it was, Joey thought of getting one for Bennie to put on the hood of his car. “I ain’t gettin’ you that.”

“No, stupid,” Mike sighed. “You tell Dad to get it for me.” He clutched the box as if he already owned it.

“I don’t think so. And don’t call me stupid.”

“You get stupid stuff. Your dumb wrestling shit.”

“My equipment is not dumb. You shut up or you’re not getting anything.”

“I’m leaving.”

“We’re getting our sister’s presents, remember?”

Mike stormed off to Mermaid Land, abandoning him. A mother with a herd of kids gave Joey a glance. He turned away, his neck twinging with a shard of pain. He caught up with Mike, who’d grabbed a mermaid doll.

“Do you have enough money?” Joey said as they stood at the counter behind about two dozen people.

“Duh. I can count.”

When they finished, Joey said, “Okay, I gotta go get something else. You gotta stay somewhere.”

“The toy place.”

“That’s where I’m getting your present.”

“Oh. Bookstore.”

“Okay. Ten minutes.”

Mike saluted in mock obedience. Joey sort of smiled, as if maybe they’d reached a truce. He wanted not to care for just a few minutes.

Rushing back to the toy store, he grabbed an X-Men action figure he didn’t think Mike had. He walked back to the department store, through Men’s Clothing, trying not to think about how Wolverine and the Pegawhatsit both reminded him of Bennie. He was supposed to have a crush on Dink. Wasn’t that enough of a problem?

In the Men’s Department, rows, stacks of ties, shirts, suits hung in neat rows. He soaked in the smell of leather wallets, belts, the swirling patterns in the ties, the shirts layered like a dad factory. He thought of getting a tie for his father, but he only wore ties when he went to church, which was close to never.

 
Joey moved to a display with fancy underwear, boxers, silk paisleys, even one with a bright yellow smiley face, its tongue sticking out in a silent Yum. He thought it might be a funny gift, but then thought about it. Underwear. I want to buy something that’s gonna be right next to his …

Almost touching a pair of shorts, a thin clerk appeared out of nowhere, scared him off with a lisping, “Can I help you find something?”

Mike, surprisingly, was actually in the bookstore, poring over a book on female sexuality.
 
So much for that question.
 

“Come on. Let’s go to the hardware place,” he said to Mike, leading him out of the same place where he’d swiped the Marky Mark book. He felt relaxed there, as if stealing something there had made it his turf.

“But Dad’ll be there!”

“Not yet,” he said as he tugged Mike along. “That was his way of sayin’ he wants somethin’ from there. We gotta figure out what it is.”

It wasn’t easy. He put his father’s workbench, neat and orderly down in the basement, in his head. His dad had everything from his years of plumbing. Maybe some new gadget, a drill or a level? No, it had to be special.

“If we go in together, we can both get him one thing,” Joey offered, trying to erase the option of stealing something again. But Dink wasn’t around to dare him.

“What? Whaddawe get him?”

A new toolbox would wipe them both out.

“Look at this!” Mike pointed. Among the plumbing tools hung a plaque. It was a joke gift, stupid maybe, but just stupid enough to make his father laugh. The plaque featured a man lying in a tub with his bare feet up, a smile on his face, smoking a cigar. Around him were a dozen tangled pipes, a cartoon effort to stop a leaky pipe. Below the cartoon it read, “World’s Greatest Plumber.”

“We got you something really funny,” Mike teased when they met up with their father.

“Hey, don’t give it away.” Joey had made his purchases quickly, relieved to forget about the whole thing. It wasn’t that he’d spent a lot of time thinking about the gifts. He’d already had Dink’s present hidden away in his room, and he didn’t have to buy anything.

“Hey.
 
Merry etceteras!” Dink sang into the phone.

“I’m dreaming of a gray Christmas!” They laughed at Joey’s joke about the traditional New Jersey holiday drizzle.

“Mind if I stop by?”

“Sure, man. I gotta warn ya, though. My mom’s got about a ton of cookies. She’s been force-feeding anyone who comes by.”

“Ooh, I’m scared. I think my mom’s gonna make me bring over some monster cake thing.”

“As long as it’s not a fruit…”

“Cake.”

The canopy of crossed arms, the flex in the legs, the effort; he’d captured it. He almost wanted to keep it, but then knew. He’d made this drawing of the two wrestlers just for Dink. It was a picture of the two of them.

Using a piece of cardboard and some brightly colored paper, he carefully wrapped his first masterpiece, which he’d labored over for days.

When Joey heard the doorbell, he deliberately waited upstairs, shoving away the scissors, tape, savoring Dink’s arrival. He tingled with anticipation, heard the cheerful chatter below, then waited for the thud of steps bounding up the stairs.

“Hey.”

“Hey.”

“Ta da.” Dink held out a little gift-wrapped square box. His face and varsity coat glistened with droplets of melted snow.

“Gee, I wonder what it is.”

“Can’t open it till tomorrow.”

“You too.” He handed Dink the gift. Dink’s look was one of curiosity, as if he hadn’t expected anything.

“Hey man, thanks.”

“It’s nothing.” It was everything.

They were inches apart, alone. The moment where they could have shared a first kiss passed like a toy train.

“So! You into some Grinchness?”

“Sure. Not.” Then Dink fell back on Joey’s bed, his varsity jacket and sweatshirt slid up, showing a peek of belly. Joey wanted to tumble down on top of him, just playing. He didn’t. He satisfied himself in knowing that the sock he’d stolen lay under the mattress, once again inches from its owner.

“So, you havin’ all the relatives over?” Then Joey cut it off. “Oh, sorry.”

“It’s okay.
 
Really, it’s okay.” Dink sat up, peeled off his coat, tossing it on the floor. “Actually, I’m doin’ Christmas early with Mom, then Dad’s pickin’ me up for the afternoon. Lucky for me, her parents are back in Michigan and Dad’s mom is makin’ dinner so we don’t have to cook and she’s so old she falls asleep. Then Dad an’ me drink a glass of brandy.”

“Where’s she live?”

“Metuchen.”

“Hell of a ride.”

“Yeah, but it’s neat. Streets are like empty. We zoom. We’ll be back day after tomorrow.”

“We’re goin’ to my Grandmama’s in Newark. They’re havin’ this big dinner like always.”

“The big Eye-talian dinner.”

“Whaddayou, makin’ fun of me again?”

“No, man, chill, I just–”

“It’s okay. I was jokin’.”

There followed a predictable pause that Dink knew to break.
 
“How old is she, your Gramma?”

“Actually she’s my great-grandmother. ‘Bout eighty.”

“Grampas all gone?”

“Yeah.”

“The men always die sooner.”

“Where’d you hear that?”

“It’s a medical fact.”

“Is not.”

“Is so.”

“You’re so weird sometimes.”

“Don’t call me weird.”

“What?”

“I’m not weird, dude. I’m like, just elsewhere sometimes.”

“Like when you’re stoned.”

“Look, I don’t…shit.”
 
Dink sat up. “Do I push it on you? Do I? No, I respect your space, awright? What I know, and what Coach don’ know, and what you better not tell him, is remember those pins I got, those times I was so relaxed, all the times I won?”

“Yeah.”

“I was slightly stoned then, okay? I say it works, that mellows me, an’ I don’t hurt, which is okay.”

While waiting for Dink to unhurl, to toss off the words he needed to say, Joey stared at a corner of his desk, wondering if any stains showed, if there was anything Dink could do to make him stop hurting for loving a guy so messed up. Joey’s face and ears burned the way his whole body burned after practice. Troy once said that it was the team’s germs burrowing into him.