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As Sir Ben related the last few chapters of Caging Skies, I ran through my note in my head, planning out what I was going to say, first in my paper, and later presentation. It wasn’t required to do both. I’d signed up for the extra credit. Much to the surprise, and delight of the professor.
There were few who signed up for the presentation at all, let alone someone from one of the sports teams. I didn’t see any of the other guys on the football team listed to present, even though five of them were in the same class. It was nice to make her day. She was a good teacher and deserved a much better school. Sometimes we just had to take what was available.
The bing was sudden as an air-raid siren, though not as loud. My morbid state of mind could at least partially explained by the portion of the book I was at. Pretty hard to take, but necessary for better understanding. Like sitting the SATs.
Drawing my phone like a gunfighter, I checked the new messages, where was found a missive that chilled my blood like a grim iced cocktail. Turned out I was right about Matt not being at the school anymore come Monday.
From the looks of it, by the end of the day, no one else would be either. The difference was, when the fires had calmed and the crisis was past, we would be invited back. More than could be said for Matt. It was the little victories.
I should have been sad, frustrated even. All the work I’d done to stay on the team, so I could stay in school, and both had been ended in one fell swoop. All because of a crisis none of us had seen coming, at least not to a scale like this.
Still, in the grand scheme of things, it wasn’t the worst of all outcomes. Looking on the bright side of life, as so often suggested by Monty Python, it might give me some time to relax. Away from the pressures of winning, and the self-applied stress of keeping my grades up.
I really wanted to be more than a jock. Joining the team hadn’t even been a priority. More a means to an end. In a way, the whole thing was reassuring. Just one more proof of the Murphy’s Law exemplar I’d suspected my life had become to that point. Best just to keep my head down and wait for it to pass.
Dad was the best option. He never said I couldn’t come back, just if I was going to stay there, I needed to be in school or get a job. Hopefully, he would understand how both of those would be difficult under the circumstances. If not, I’d do what I always did when life turned and bore its fangs. Improvise. And I mean, technically I was enrolled in school, it wasn’t my fault I couldn’t be there.
I kept my earbuds in on the way to the lot. It was best if I not talk to anyone. Particularly from the team. They were sure to be upset, and it was best to not engage. Now while emotions were so high. I couldn’t distance myself from the bad, not unless I wanted to live Unabomber style in a shack, but I could detach from it. At least until I was on a better footing.
Dad’s truck wasn’t there when I pulled into his side of the duplex. Probably for the best, considering he was undoubtedly going to be furloughed. There were many things I inherited from both my parents but, sure as snow was cold, my temperament was found on the paternal side of my bloodline. I was just better at handling it. He never scared me, at least not in the usual way, Dad always at much more of a risk of hurting himself than my mom and me.
It was a truly sad sound. The usual unhealthy rumble, transitioning to a sick cough, as the wagon finally gave up the ghost. An event long time in coming that, if it were going to happen, could hardly have chosen a more opportune time. I hardly could have planned it better. Like a Viking burning their boats on the beach before heading off on a new venture.
Change was a matter of opinion. Not whether it happened, but if it was broadly considered a positive or a negative. It must have been terrible for those in the latter camp. Change happened. It was the only thing in life that was truly consistent.
The knob clicked stiffly under my coaxing. Not great surprise. We’d never had much worth stealing but Dad always insisted on keeping things locked. A precaution which made sure I always had my keys.
I inched the door open, just to be safe, getting into the living room with no great incident. It looked the same as when I’d left it more than a year before. Dad was nothing if not consistent. It helped to avoid him at his nastier moments. Locking the door behind me, just so he would have the fun of unlocking it when he got home, I drifted through the dark living room like a ghost. Barely disturbing the dust as I took the first steps up to the second floor.
