The Off Season (11 page)

At last I came over and took the purse strap out of her hand, and then with all three of us working and her barking out warnings, we got her down on the floor. Where she lay with her face all white, still trying not to move.

"Guess I better start dinner," said Dad, scooting right out of there. Curtis hunkered in the corner looking miserable, and I guess Mom hadn't forgiven him yet because she barely glanced at him, she just asked me in a non-muscle-moving way for some Motrin. Which was easy enough but I had a heck of a time until I found a bendy straw all covered in dust in the back of the junk drawer, but I rinsed it off figuring this wasn't the time to be picky. And I got her the remote so she could watch TV at least. Then she had to go to the bathroom.

That took about half an hour, getting her up, which meant rolling her on her side, then her going on all fours and standing up really carefully, me trying not to use my right arm because that sure wouldn't help my AC heal, Mom almost crying because it hurt so much. Then we had to do everything in reverse to get her back down as I thought to myself that maybe she should hold back a bit on her beverage consumption.

The whole time I felt sick inside. Not just because of my shoulder and how much I was trying to protect it. Not because Curtis of all people was running around with a girl and he wasn't even in high school. Not because I couldn't help worrying Mom's back was probably going to cost us money when we didn't have two pennies to spare. And not just because Mom was hurt, and in a lot of pain, which was more than enough reason to feel sick in and of itself.

No, the reason I felt sick at heart was because now I couldn't go to Brian's. It was completely out of the question. I'd like to say that I came to this conclusion because I love my mother so much and I knew that no one else in the house could take care of her and help her to the bathroom and stuff if I left. And I mean, I do love my mother, that wasn't it, of course I do. But every time I thought about what she'd just said to me—that I
couldn't keep my hands off him,
that he was going to get me
pregnant
—which just so you know was not part of my big plan at all, thank you very much—I felt like barfing, I was so mortified. And I could not figure out one single way to borrow the Caravan so that I could spend Saturday evening with a boy I can't keep my hands off. Also, how did she even know?

So after I got Mom her special pillow from her bed, and her fuzzy slippers she likes so much, and calmed Smut down because normally folks only lie on the living room floor when they want to wrestle with her, which she couldn't figure out why Mom wasn't doing, I snuck off into the little office and shut the door and, completely miserable, called Brian.

As soon as he answered, though, I could tell there was a problem. "What's wrong?" I asked.

"Nothing," he said, sounding like his house had just burned down.

I'm sure I sounded just as bad. "My mom hurt her back so I can't come over."

"Oh! I mean, that's too bad. Is she okay?"

"Yeah. She will be. What's going on with you?"

"Nothing," he said, sounding better this time. "It's just these guys ... I thought they were doing something tonight but it got messed up and now they're coming over here. I mean, I really want to see you. But it'd be awkward, you know, with everyone."

"Don't they know I quit?" I asked, although of course I hadn't
quit
football. I had to stop due to a separated shoulder, which is too hard to say.

Brian laughed. "Oh, yeah. But you know how it is ... Is your mom hurting? Because my dad has these pills—he says they really help."

"Nah. She'd rather just lie on the floor in pain," I said, only half joking. We laughed.

Right then Mom called out that she sure would love an ice pack, and I had to go. Just talking to him, though, even though I couldn't see him, it helped. It really did.

Sunday, Mom was better in that she could get to the bathroom in only twenty-five minutes, and without so much of my lifting her, which was good because she's not the lightest woman in the world. All her friends wanted to help. Cindy Jorgensen even came by with a casserole and told me how sorry Kyle was about me and football, watching me like she was trying to see how hurt I really was. Later I heard Dad on the phone with someone who was trying to get him to make me play, it sounded like. And Dad didn't sound like he was defending me too much either.

Which made me feel just great, that my own father wouldn't even take my side.

Monday at least I got to skip school because Mom decided to see a doctor finally and Dad sure couldn't drive her because just thinking about doctors sets him off. The two of us took the seats out of the Caravan and helped her outside so she could lie on a mattress and make sucking sounds whenever I went over a bump even though I tried my best and finally had to tell her that her sucking sounds weren't making the road any smoother.

Dr. Miller took one look and said she'd slipped a disk and needed to keep doing what she already was, which was lying flat and taking Motrin. And stretching with these special back stretches. And also, he said kind of gently, lose some weight because that wasn't helping.

"But I'm trying!" Mom wailed. "I've lost ten pounds. I walk every day!"

I explained how Mom puffed around the farm, although I tried to make it sound a little better than that. "And she comes back all sweaty," I added. So he'd know how hard she was working.

"Maybe you're walking a little
too
hard," he said. "Are you under any stress?"

Mom and I looked at each other. Neither one of us was going to mention Curtis and how she blew her back out right after screaming at him. Plus there's that money stress that I wasn't going to bring up either. And my injury, which Dr. Miller said was doing pretty well but that I'd better keep resting and doing this boring PT stuff. And Mom's job as well, which I didn't know too much about but I bet being a school principal can add an ounce or two of tension to one's life every once in a while.

"A little," Mom said.

Which meant a big talk on how stress contributes to back pain, which I'm sure just added to her tension that much more. Although at least he said I didn't need my sling anymore. That was one good thing.

Then I had to drive her home, although Dr. Miller gave her these pills that kind of took the edge off things. Maybe they were the same as Brian's dad's. I don't know if they stopped the pain or just got her not to mind it so much, but either one was fine with me.

"Oh, D.J., what would I do without you?" she kept murmuring, which is exactly what I was thinking, but it sounded better coming from her. Now that I was home, I actually missed school. All those kids who'd badmouthed me about football were probably thinking I'd cut school because I'm a quitter, not because I was stuck caring for Mom. Besides, I was also, duh, missing classes, and a ton of homework that I'm sure the teachers weren't holding back on just because quitter D.J. Schwenk couldn't make it in.

I was getting Mom another pop and me one too, to cheer me up, when my cell phone rang, lying there on the counter plugged into its charger because I forgot to carry it to the doctor's office because I always forget to carry it. Amber's name blinked in the little window.

"Hey there," I answered, relieved it wasn't a kid from school calling to bawl me out.

But it turned out that it was. "Where
were
you!" Amber shouted. "Why didn't you pick up?"

"Whoa..." I slid outside, away from Mom's ears. "What's going on?"

Amber took this big shaky breath. "We—we got back last night, you know, and it was really late and she never comes in—" It was hard to make out what she was saying because she was gasping so much, and also because a UPS truck was grinding up our driveway.

"Who never comes in?" I asked, wondering what Mom had ordered. A new back, I hoped.

"Lori! My mother? She just goes to work. But she came in!"

"In where?" I asked. The UPS driver—how come UPS drivers are always nice? Is that part of their job description?—handed me this flat package, the letter kind, and drove off with a wave.

"What, are you stupid? In my room! She caught us!"

"Oh. Wow." I tried to sound concerned—I mean, I should be concerned, it would really concern me if Mom caught me with Brian, these days especially—but the UPS package was addressed to me of all people and I was trying to get it open.

"Yeah! And she totally flipped. She was screaming, and hitting me, and she and Dale got in a huge fight, and she—she kicked me out."

All of a sudden a copy of
People
slipped out. With a Post-it note signed "The Turkey Farmer" and another Post-it note sticking out of the pages.

"We're taking off," Amber said. "Dale's packing the truck right now. I'm leaving this stupid town and my stupid mother and I'm never coming back."

I opened up the magazine and all of a sudden I couldn't breathe.

"D.J.! I want to see you. I want to say goodbye before I leave!"

"Can I—can I call you back?" I didn't even wait for her answer, just hung up the phone and collapsed on our driveway, dropping my head between my knees so I wouldn't throw up.

T
HE HEADLINE WASN'T SO BAD
, really. It was a standard
People
story too, like those articles about a housewife who invents a new thing, or a cat that sails around the world by mistake. The article—well, I've got one here I can copy.

FOR THIS GIRL,
Football Is Part of the Family

"It's just something we do." That's how Darlene Joyce Schwenk, a starter for the Red Bend, Wisconsin, High School football team, explains her part in a family gridiron tradition.

Her oldest brother, Win, a quarterback at the University of Washington, admits D.J.'s playing surprised him: "I wouldn't be comfortable playing against a girl." Next in line is Bill, a sophomore linebacker for the University of Minnesota. "With a gifted athlete like that, it just comes naturally," he says of his sister.

D.J.'s father, George Schwenk, a semi-pro player himself, coached Pee-Wee football for eight years, and always included D.J. "Not that she would stay away. I knew that whatever team she joined would be better for it, no matter what. I feel that way today."

Longtime dairy farmers, the Schwenks still occupy the home built by D.J.'s great-great-grandfather, although mother Linda explains the house now has plumbing. She, too, takes her daughter's playing in stride. "D.J. was climbing the furniture—oh, from birth, I think. She was always an active kid."

When not playing linebacker, D.J. is a forward on the girls' basketball team, averaging 21 points a game. "In a way, I can't wait for football to end because I love basketball so much," she says with a grin. But when her father needed hip surgery last winter, she left basketball to keep the farm going. "I don't know any other way of living," she explains modestly. "But I don't know many kids who'd want this."

Well, not quite. Brian Nelson plays quarterback for nearby Hawley High School, which has been Red Bend's rival "since the invention of air," in his words. Yet he finds time almost every weekend to visit the Schwenk Farm, and D.J. "I guess it's weird we're together so much, seeing how our teams fight. But she spent the summer training me, and, well, it just seems right to be here."

On the field, though, neither of them pulls any punches. In their first matchup, D.J. intercepted Nelson's pass for a sixty-yard touchdown run. "She's the kind of player who keeps you on your toes, all the time," he says. "I'm not looking forward to playing against her again, I can tell you that."

And afterward? He smiles. "We'll celebrate, no matter who wins. We're good at that."

That wasn't the worst part, either. There were pictures: little ones of Win and Bill in their college uniforms, and one from the local paper of me just after that Hawley touchdown with my helmet off and Beaner jumping on my back. And there was even a little picture on the cover that I didn't recognize because that's not the place I ever expected to find myself, on the cover of
People
above a caption saying "Darlene Schwenk, high school linebacker."

All this was bad, I admit. Those last few paragraphs on Brian, oh boy, I would never hear the end of it.
Ever.
But even that wasn't the worst part. The worst part was—remember when I was showing off for the turkey farmers a bit? Well, this is one reason never to show off. The camera guy must have taken the last picture—or the first one, right there above the headline, taking up half the page—right after they pulled into the driveway. I'm going in for a lay-up, and I'm wearing just my sports bra, which isn't a regular bra but still, and Brian is right behind me trying to swat the ball away, with his other arm around my waist in a way that would get him fouled in a real game but I wasn't minding at all, which you can tell because I have a huge stupid grin on my face, and so does Brian, both of us looking like Brian's arm around my waist was the best thing that ever happened to us.

But even
that
wasn't as bad as the caption—or maybe the caption was equally bad, I'm really not the best person to judge. But the caption might as well have just seared my eyeballs, it hurt so much: "D.J. enjoys a pickup game with Brian Nelson, the quarterback for a rival football team. 'He's just a friend,' she explains."

I sat in the driveway for I don't know how long. All I'd seen was the photo, the pickup game photo, so I figured it couldn't be as bad as I thought. Eventually I convinced myself to read the whole thing just to know.

Then I did, stopping a couple times to put my head between my knees again, like with Bill's crack about being a gifted athlete, which is an old joke in our family that no one else would ever get so why would he make me sound so stuck-up like that? And Mom mentioning that we have indoor plumbing—hello? How incredibly stupid could she sound? And Dad saying he played semi-pro ball—he played in the army, for crying out loud. It was "semi-pro" only if semi-pro means you get out of real army jobs because the captain likes football too. And then when I got to the bit about Brian ... I've done some pretty brave things in my life, but the amount of courage it's ever taken to drive through three girls for a lay-up, or block a tackle for Kyle, that's
nothing
compared to how strong I had to be just to finish the article.