Twice Retired (4 page)

“Losing a parent crosses wires, Kenny.”
Philip muttered. “I mean, I don’t know the reasons, but it would
right?”

“I lost a parent. I’m the only one of
us that has.” Kenny replied. Jake looked at him, like he had
something to offer, but Jake kept his mouth closed. “Only
difference is, I lost a parent because the parent rejected me. And
I
was
a kid. Now that crossed
my wires, but I’m not flunking out of school or shooting heroin
because of it. Damn, if this guy sucked, it was all because he
allowed it to psychologically mess him up. No different than Mitch
Williams. Weak. Just weak. He tanked, tried to recover and
couldn’t. A dead mom or a couple of blown saves can change your
life, mentally. Wild Thing was still capable of throwing a ball,
but just couldn’t throw it right, because every hitter was Joe
Carter. Maybe to Gene, every fan was his mom, watching him fail.
And those thirty-thousand moms couldn’t hear or speak, man, but
they could see. Can’t show any expression, but they just watch.
Maybe he just never got a chance to explain why he was stinking the
place out. Never got a chance to tell her that it was her fault,
that she left and now he was a has-been.”

“That’s all possible.” Philip said,
with the mental image crowding his mind- a hazy daydream of
thirty-thousand people looking just like his mom, sitting in the
stands, except they’re all laughing because he couldn’t hit the
plate with his hardest fastball. He thanked himself for imagining
the image in the first-person. That way he couldn’t see the back of
his jersey, where he had no doubt the word “PLUG” had been
embroidered by the imaginary seamstress that held the contract with
the subconscious. “It’s all possible, but it could be that he just
lost it.”

“No way, man.” Jake said. “If you got
it, I mean really got it, it doesn’t just leave. It’s gotta be
pushed away. Something messed him up.”

“Look, none of this explains why the
old guy lied to us.” Kenny said, harnessing the initial
conversation. “We should confront him. Maybe
he
has some wires crossed.”

“It’s none of our business.” Jake
said.

Kenny thought about it. He knew damn
well that no father-son relationship deserved to die without proper
reason. His dad had hit the bricks, and he still didn’t know why.
He wasn’t satisfied, even though his mom and his friends and the
counsellor at school had told him to move on. How in the hell does
a kid move on after something like
that
? Kenny didn’t buy what they were selling-
didn’t even take the free sample. Uh-uh. He was going to find his
dad someday, someday when he wouldn’t have to ask his mom for a
ride. Maybe ask her for the car, but he was going to drive himself.
Show up on his dad’s porch and knock on the door until the bastard
or somebody else answered. He’d sneak past whatever slut it was
that opened the door and scour the house till he found his dad. If
he was going to spend the next seventy years without a father, he
was going to find out why, dammit. He was going to smack his dad
around if he had to, hold him down and kneel on his chest if that’s
what it took- his dad wasn’t that big, and Kenny figured that by
the time he got his license, he’d be bigger than his old man. He’d
smack that chickenshit bastard around and make him explain why he
took off. Make him make his son understand why he wasn’t good
enough to stick it out. Kenny was going to do all this. Now, if he
was thirteen years old and committed himself to this, then no fully
grown men, a son almost forty and a dad almost sixty, should ever
put up a wall without the proper psychological foundations. The old
guy seemed sick… and so old… it would be a shame to see their ends
come separately. Kenny wouldn’t let it happen.

“You know what?” Kenny said. “It is our
business, Jake. It is. And you know what else? I’m going back there
tomorrow and I’m gonna ask him why he lied. And I’m going to ask
him how he dares to be such a small person that he’s going to let
his son screw off on him like my dad did to me and Jenny and
mom.”

“I would like to know why he lied.”
Jake said.

“Me too.” Philip agreed.

“Yeah, me too. But I want to know more.
More. If he was jealous, fine. But if all this was was a squabble,
a typical father and son fight, then neither one of them deserves
to spend the rest of their lives apart. They’re already missing a
wife and a mother. That’s crap.”

“I’ll go with you.” Jake
said.

“Cool. But I don’t want you hammering
on this guy all day about the whole no-hitter thing. It’s not about
that.”

“To me it is.” Jake said.

“Just lay off and let me talk.” Kenny
ordered. Jake nodded. Philip nodded too, knowing he’d go along as
well. He’d lag behind through that rough inclined section of their
journey, but he’d go along.

They spent their early evening playing
video games before Kenny and Jacob returned to their own houses.
Once, Kenny started up a conversation about the whole nickname
issue that the old man had dragged in front of the tiny jury.
Philip waved him off, telling him not to worry about it. He was
cool with the name. Never mind all the crying at the cabin. He
didn’t mind. Really.

Kenny didn’t buy any of what Philip was
selling, either.

Before Kenny left at seven p.m., he
cornered Philip’s mom in her kitchen.

He asked her to stop calling her son
Plug.

The next day he’d tell Jake the same
thing.

---------

“You little bastard! Do you have any
idea what time it is?” Right out of the bottle, the lemon-gin
spilled all over the sofa, but it wouldn’t be cleaned up. In fact,
it would probably be impossible to find a cloth underneath the
Himalayan Range of Dirty Dishes in the kitchen. Mrs. Gilbride
remained in her half-lying position, propped up by pillows and at
the same time dragged down by misfortune. “Who the hell are you to
come stumbling into my house-
my
house
- at this time of the night? If you want to live
here you little bastard, you better show some gawd-damm
respect
! You’re worse than you father
ever was. Look at the time!”

“Mom,” Kenny said, a little loudly to
overpower the blaring television, “it’s seven-thirty.”

“Don’t you get smart with me, you
little bastard. Can’t you read the clock up there? It’s
midnight.”

Kenny was still standing in the
doorway. The sun was falling behind him, just below the tattered
roof of the house across the street. He stared at the V.C.R.while
he eased the door closed. It flashed 12:00, like in every stand-up
comic’s joke in the 80’s and 90’s. “Mom, you still haven’t reset
it. Remember the power went out yesterday?”

“Don’t you
dare
call me a liar. It’s midnight. You’re
grounded.”

Kenny was stealthily calm. He had
mastered these confrontations. They were rare at first, but she had
excelled into her alcoholism like no other undertaking in her life.
She was perfect at it, an expert. And Kenny somehow lived with it.
His mother still didn’t look at him, or she might have seen the
shredded sunlight cutting through the tiny oval window in the front
door. She sat in darkness, with only the light from the television
preventing her from being wholly sheltered from the mess in her
living room, the perpetual surrounding chaos that had symbolized
her new life.

Kenny calmly walked over to the T.V.
and clicked it to channel 14, the weather channel. The time ticked
in the bottom left corner. He smartly pointed at it, then he walked
away.

“You know,” she shouted, “if you
weren’t so lazy, you could set the clock for me.”

He replied with silence, then silenced
the silence. “If you weren’t drunk all the time, I could show you
how to do it yourself.”

She didn’t see him swipe the
cigarettes. The open carton on the end table was only missing three
packs, and right before her very eyes another pack disappeared-
except her eyes weren’t in focus. She could barely see the T.V. But
she was listening.

He walked down the hall and popped his
head in his sister’s room. “Hey kid!”

“Hi Kenny.” She said excitedly. Her day
brightened. “Wanna play with me?”

“Maybe a little later, Jenny. I’m gonna
hang in my room for a while. Did you eat today.”

She continued playing with a pair of
buxom blonde dolls and nodded in the affirmative.

“You sure? Because I can make you
something.” He said.

“I’m okay, Kenny.”

He was lying on his bed, smoking a
Camel and comtemplating the weird things that go on when you’re
trying to live a life in a world full of varied emotions. He kept
focusing on the situation with the Websters, and couldn’t help but
be intrigued by what it was that made the old man so desperate as
to lie about his successes. It was a mystery.

His door swung open. His mom stood
angrily akimbo and snarled. “Make something to eat for Jennifer.
And that
girl
called again.”
She swung around and slammed the door behind her. She didn’t say a
word about the cloud of stolen smoke that hovered over his
bed.

Kenny reached over and dialed the
phone, cursing his mother for forgetting about her little girl for
more than likely all three meals of the day. He spoke to the phone.
“Hi, is Brianne there?” He waited patiently. “Hi, Brianne. It’s
Kenny.

“I told you to stop calling me. I’m
telling you again.
Stop
calling me.”

“But Kenny…” a frail broken voice
uttered through the phone.

“But nothing. I don’t want anything to
do with you.” He knew she’d shift into another gear.

Her voice turned sinister. “You know,
Kenny, every guy in school wants me.”

“Well, I’m sure if they’re patient,
they’ll all get their shot before we make it to
high-school.”

“You know that someday, I will get you,
right?.”

“Not me, sugarpop.” He hung
up.

That
was a
betrayal he would not take part in, jeopardizing Philip’s
friendship and potentially dashing any hopes for the poor kid to
ever trust anybody in this life. Brianne was always abusive towards
Philip. Always- as if she had to preserve her reputation as the
coolest of the cool by picking on the prototype of the uncool make
and model. Everybody in school knew Brianne liked Kenny, no matter
who else she was seeing, but Kenny wouldn’t take part. Even if they
were voted the King and Queen of their grade eight graduation, he’d
dance with her and return to his date, whoever that would be. Boobs
or no boobs, Kenny had his beliefs, and he believed in friendship.
There was nothing else.

Kenny retired to the disaster zone that
they called a kitchen and threw together a quick dinner for his
little sister. She’d probably spent the entire day alone in her
room drawing out another civilization on her comforter. In her
scaled down society, every little girl had a daddy and every mother
did mommy things like cook dinner and clean up every couple of
days- regular practices of Mrs. Gilbride before Mr. Gilbride took
his leave. There were no alcoholic Barbies with three-day old
stains on their nightshirts in Jenny’s plastic eco-system. They all
drank invisible tea and changed clothes twice a day.

Kenny played with her for a little
while while she ate the chicken fingers and curly fries, but his
mind was floating around- from the cabin in the woods to Riverfront
Stadium and back. He took his little sister to the bathroom to
brush her teeth and then he retired to his room to eventually fell
asleep. His mother didn’t come in to apologize, and he didn’t
expect her to. She popped her head in to yell at him for falling
asleep with the light on. Rather than reaching six inches inside
the door to turn it off, she turned on her heels, screaming back at
him that he better brush his teeth. She couldn’t afford no
gawd-damm dentist.

Kenny crawled off his bed, turned off
the light. Then he brushed his teeth- for his own reasons- and went
back to bed. He contemplated the morning. There were two possible
outcomes. His mother might tip the bottle straight through the
night, and evilly enforce the house-arrest she had issued when he
came home late (at seven-thirty) Or, if she managed to get a couple
hours sleep, and Kenny timed it right, she’d spit a brief, hollow
apology over her coffee mug and he’d hit the road to the
forest.

When morning came, he couldn’t smell
the coffee brewing. It was nine o’clock and the television was on.
If she was up at this time and she wasn’t drinking coffee, that
meant she hadn’t been to bed. He faced a trial by a judge drowned
alive in gin sans tonic.

He quietly got dressed, brushed his
teeth again, and rolled right out his bedroom window. His mom would
probably fall asleep during the Sunday morning cartoons and sleep
the entire day away. Kenny could most likely return in the evening
and do an Irish jig on her stomach without waking her up. By the
time she made it to his room late at night to remind him he was
grounded, his day outside would already be done.