The Cheerleader

Chapter Forty

Bryan

As my determination arcs to its crashing point, I reach for the phone and, with a steady hand, dial my parents’ house—I don’t want to think of it as home anymore. I wait while it rings, thinking stupidly of the exorbitant cost of the long-distance call. It’s lunchtime, and I picture my old man sitting at the kitchen table eating his sandwich, same one, same time he always does.

“Hello.”

It’s my dad’s gruff voice, same as always, full of banked anger under the lifeless drone.

“Dad, it’s me.”

“What do you want? What are you doing calling in the middle of a workday?—”

“It’s important. I have NFL scouts interested in me.”

There’s nothing but my old man’s heavy, disturbed breathing on the other end of the line, and I wonder for a moment if he’s okay. But if he’s not, he’ll have to tell me, and he’d never do that.

“I have an agent, and he set up a meeting with the San Francisco 49ers to talk about possibly playing for them. They plan to draft me.”

I pause, and this time he responds.

He snorts. Doesn’t say a thing.

“If they draft me, I’m playing.”

“The hell you are?—”

“I am. And there’s not a fucking thing you can do about it.”

He starts swearing, and I hear the phone crash to the floor as if he’s thrown it. Then Mom comes on the line.

“Bryan? What’s going on?”

I tell her the news about playing football.

She sucks in a breath, and I hear her moving. “You think a team will pick you?”

She sounds worried and excited, her voice low as if she needs to keep a secret.

Before I have a chance to answer, she screeches, and I hear a scuffle. Shit.

“Foot-ball?”

My old man’s voice pounds through the phone. “A child’s game? That’s what you think you’re doing with your life? You’re coming back to the farm.”

My mother screams in the background. “Forget about the farm! Play football. Make your money. Live your life.”

“Which life?”

I don’t know who I’m talking to until my mother comes back on the phone.

“Don’t say that,”

she speaks quietly.

In the silence that follows, my gut churns in disbelief that I said the words out loud, dredged from my conscience, sorrow and anger dripping from them. Because my old man has a point. And Mom has a point.

My voice ragged, I press on. “The pretend life where I play a game and make an unfair amount of money to get my head bashed in? Or the life where I work on a family farm until I’m crippled, tied to the earth, the seasons, the weather, the whims of the market, making barely enough money to scrape by?”

“The life where you go somewhere and do something while you’re young, and you maybe find a young woman.”

She quiets and adds, “You can always come back to the farm, Bryan, in a few years, when he’s old and given up, five, ten years.”

She groans. “Maybe never. It doesn’t matter.”

“I can’t turn my back on the farm. How many generations has it been in the family? It’s who I am. I was a farmer long before I was a football player.”

I can’t quiet the guilt, the sense of betrayal to the farm or to Caleb’s memory.

Do I abandon the family legacy? Is my promise to Caleb enough to make up for that?

What do I want? All I see is a black hole of nothing in answer to that question.

“What about Dad?”

My voice raw. “He needs my help.”

She knows I’m really asking about her, whether she needs my help.

“We’ll all be fine.”

She pauses, must be covering the receiver because all I hear is her muffled words with my old man. Then she comes back. “Your father wants to say something to you.”

As she’s saying good-bye, he takes the phone from her.

“Bryan.”

He takes in an unruly breath, and I wonder if something’s wrong or if it’s been a hard day. Then he delivers his message. “I survived your brother’s death. Go. Do whatever you want. Your desertion means nothing.”

I hear my mother’s wail in the background, and it pierces my heart more than my father’s words. I press the receiver to my head, squeezing it, wanting to crush it.

“My leaving means something! I mean something. You need me, admit it, old man.”

I don’t realize I’m shouting into the phone until I stop.

There’s silence behind the drone of the phone line, the kind that reaches out and grabs me by the jugular and shakes me, a mean, merciless silence like my old man has aimed at me all my life. Or at least the half of my life after my brother died of stupidity. Dad’s and his.

Then there’s a click, and the line goes dead.

Fuck. I’ve lost my family. Wally—I should have asked about Wally. I bang the receiver into the cradle with enough force to dislodge it slightly from the wall, making it tilt sideways.

Pacing around the room now, I feel like a stupid fool, losing control, letting things go too far. Damn him.

I don’t know if I’m talking about my old man or Caleb. But maybe I should be blaming myself.

Later that night, I’m in bed staring at the ceiling in the dark, my mind a blank, when the phone rings. I know it’s Susie. That’s the only reason I get out of bed to answer the call.

“Susie.”

She half laughs, half sighs, sounding relieved. “How did you know it was me? You have no idea how good it is to hear your voice. Even through the phone line.”

I think about the things I whispered in her ear last night, and it seems like a century ago. I grunt in response, and then the words I need to say materialize.

“I know exactly what you mean. Did you talk to Liz?”

“Yes.”

Her word is a groan, and she tells me what happened in a quick breathless monologue, like the story’s been waiting to burst out of her, like she needed to get rid of it. I feel the burden of all that happened heaped onto me like a gift. The need to fix things for her, to erase her problems and pain, surges.

“Fuck. I’m sorry, princess. I’ll talk to her?—”

“You can talk to her, but not on my behalf. I’ll settle things between us. I’m not giving up on Liz. Not ever. Someday she’ll realize that and maybe decide to not give up on me.”

I nod, then realize she can’t see me. But I don’t know what to say. I’m not going to lay all my shit about my old man on her now, not when she’s already feeling bad about Liz. Not when there’s nothing she can do about it except what she’s already doing—existing in my world.

With a brighter voice, she says, “Our family got a nice Christmas gift. My dad got a new job.”

“Perfect. You can buy a big turkey now and toss out the pigeon.”

She laughs. “You’re terrible.”

She breathes the words, making them sound like she’s telling me I’m her hero. “There’s a catch though,” she adds.

My heart stutters. “I hate fucking catches—except in football.”

She laughs again, and I can picture the eye roll. “My dad’s job is in California, and my parents are moving out there the week after Christmas… I’ll be going out for a visit during break.”

“Are you shitting—I mean kidding me?”

“I know—they work fast for people over the hill. But the company—McDonnell Douglas—has a place for them to rent until they find something permanent. It’s south of Los Angeles.”

It’s on the tip of my tongue to say we could both be in California, but it’s a foolish thought. Since when have I been given to foolish thoughts, pipe dreams about my future? Never.

I keep my mouth shut, even when she asks me about football and any news.

I don’t tell her that I’m having a meeting with the 49ers because what’s there to tell?

I’m not a predictor of the future, so I shut down the conversation when she asks about the draft. I don’t mention that it’s next week and that my roommates are coming back to the apartment to celebrate—a foolish, premature plan that could turn into a funeral for my dead football career in a snap.

“Dad’s yelling from the next room that I’ve been on the phone long enough.”

She sighs. “I swear I hate long distance charges more than poisonous snakes.”

“I’ll call you next time.”

The charges will be killer when she gets to California, but I don’t care if I have to sell a football to call her.

“Promise? Don’t wait too long.”

She gives me her parents' number in Suffield and in California, and I realize she’ll be home alone.

For the first time since I got my license at sixteen so I could drive the farm’s truck, I wish to hell I owned a car. Because I’d drive there to see her in the flesh and alone the second her parents leave.

Going for a run every morning, sometimes to the grocery store for provisions, keeps me from getting lazy. The rest of my time I spend cleaning the apartment, working out at the gym, and reading.

On Christmas night, I called Susie to make sure she received the gift I mailed to her. She said it was quite a spark on Christmas morning—her words, not mine—when she opened it. Her parents asked all about me. She told them I was a farmer and a football player, and my chest tightened impossibly. She told them that she was seeing me, that we were together, and hoped I didn’t mind.

Fuck no, were my exact words.

Now, my chest still sizzles with greed every time I think about her words. She said she adored the necklace and swore she’d wear it every day from now on. I scraped together the remains of my football allowance to buy it for her—a gold necklace with a princess crown pendant. The charm was supposed to be for a bracelet, but I insisted to the jeweler that it belonged on a necklace where everyone could see it.

Today, Christmas seems like a long time ago. At the same time, anger flares with fresh vigor when I think about my phone call home on Christmas morning.

I only wanted to talk to Mom and Wally, but my old man complained in the background, and Mom and he ended up in a loud, lopsided fight.

I sent Wally a gift, a football, the one I ran for a touchdown with in my last game. He was over the moon about it, but he told me he wanted me to autograph it. I almost promised him I would.

My agent—Harry—is picking me up in twenty minutes. I dress in my suit and tie. We’re meeting the recruiter from the 49ers for lunch, and I swear I’m going to order the biggest meal on the menu.

Before Harry reaches the front door, I see him coming up the walk and meet him outside.

“Hey, tough guy.”

He shakes my hand. “Where’s your coat?”

“No need.”

I don’t have an overcoat to wear over my suit. The only jacket I have doesn’t work, but I don’t see a need to explain all that to him as I settle into the passenger seat.

“We’re eating at Chuck’s Steak House,”

he says. “It’s right near here. They wanted to make it as easy as possible for you. Pretty classy, eh?”

I nod and reserve judgment.

At lunch, the food’s good, and I eat more than my fill. The two representatives of the 49ers do a lot of smiling and laugh at my cheesy attempts at humor, but so what? I’m not a mind reader. In the end, I still need to wait for the draft, then wait for a signed contract, and a check in my hand.

It’s a day later when my grades come in the mail, and I call Susie.

“I got my grades.”

“How did you do?”

Her voice is excited and hopeful making I smile.

“B minus in English Comp.”

I don’t tell her I got straight A’s in all my other classes.

“That’s fantastic. I’m so proud of you, Bryan—not that I have any right?—”

“Yes you do. I would have settled for a C plus otherwise.”

She laughs. “I didn’t think settling for anything was in your character.”

Her words strike home like a punch to my soul. I grunt. “You got an A, didn’t you?”

There’s a pause before she admits to it.

“You got a 4.0, didn’t you?”

This time her laugh is nervous. “Yes. My parents are thrilled.”

“I’m proud of you, Susie. You should be proud of yourself. Try bragging sometime.”

“That’s not me. Besides, no one likes a bragger.”

“Brag to me.”

I whisper. I’ll like you no matter what. I should say it out loud.

Instead, I invites her to come for a visit without mentioning the draft. She tells me she’s going to visit with her aunt, then she’s going to CA next week to visit her parents until the semester starts.

“I’m sorry,”

she says, sounding like she means it.

“I’m busy too.”

I don’t bother mentioning the meeting with the recruiters. It’s a meaningless event. No signed contract yet.

“So I guess the NFL draft is coming up soon,”

she says, surprising me. “I’m crossing my fingers and praying for you, Bryan, not that you need it, but I can’t help myself. I don’t think I’ve ever wanted anything so much as I want for you, after all your hard work, and your promise to Caleb, to play in the NFL.”

Her words jolt me with an arc of intense pleasure that strikes me in the heart. “Don’t worry about me.”

My words are automatic, but not what I need to say.

“Well, I have to go?—”

“I… appreciate your prayers. Even if I don’t believe in prayers, yours are different because there’s something special about you rooting for me.”

“Bryan…”

Her voice is breathy, and I tense up, anticipating what she’ll say next, always worried she’s going to pull the plug on me, on us, because I’m so not good for her, too heavy with baggage and darkness.

“I’ll always be your special cheerleader. You’re the person I’ll cheer the hardest for, always, no matter what.”

Her words are close enough to what Liz has said to me that I feel a stab of pain. But Susie’s words are more real. They have the weight of genuine spirit, authentic and without bravado because she gets it for real; it’s baked into her bones with her life experience. She has no baggage tainting her soul.

No matter how positive Liz’s attitude is, she’s always on the edge of collapse into despair. I don’t think Susie has ever seen that line, the sharp one separating hope and despair, with the space above it where the limbo of resignation lives.

“I’ll call you next week, after the draft. Take care of yourself, Susie. I’ll be thinking about you.”

Dreaming about you.

She says her good-bye, ending on a sigh. I hang up the phone, wondering where I stand between hope, despair, and the limbo of resignation.

On draft night, Eldy arrives with all his luggage and two cases of beer. He’s staying. Ten minutes later, Mack and Chuck come in with four pizzas. They’re back for the semester. No more solitude. I wait for the rub of irritation, but it doesn’t come.

We get the radio antenna set to where we can pick up the coverage of the draft in New York City, and we sit in the living room listening to it while eating pizza and guzzling beer. Or they do.

By the second round, I get up and pace around, eying the telephone like it might jump from the hook all by itself and talk to me. Harry said someone from the team would call before they announce their pick and that I should stick near the phone, keep the line clear.

“Pick number 34 is coming up next for the San Francisco 49ers, and there are a number of good choices at running back for them still on the board,”

the announcer says. “It’s time for a word from our sponsor while they think it over.”

Eldy blows out a whistle. “This is it. This is your team, Bryan.”

He moves to the edge of the couch, staring at the radio. Mack and Chuck stand.

I look accusingly at the phone. The advertisement for Michelin tires drones on. Eldy stands and gets another beer. “The suspense is fucking killing me.”

He looks at me like he’s expecting me to admit that I’m tense as hell.

Stopping my pacing a foot away from the kitchen doorway near the phone, I bring the beer to my lips and tell myself to hold on to my shit.

Then the shrill ringing of the phone splits the air and my guts wide open.

I reach for it amidst the hooting and whistles of my friends, but I stop and glare at them for silence as it rings a second time.

“Answer the damn phone. We’ll keep quiet,”

Eldy says, his hand squeezing Mack’s shoulder. I’m glad it’s not mine.

I pluck the phone’s receiver from the hook and put it to my ear. “Bryan Granger.”

“Congratulations, Bryan. This is …”

All the words jumble together and all I get is the essential message. I’ve been officially drafted by the fucking San Francisco 49ers.

I drink more than I ever have in one night with my friends and when I try to call Susie, there’s no answer at her house.

In the fog of my euphoria I remember she was visiting with her Aunt. I don’t have that number. And I can’t look it up in the phone book because don’t even know her Aunt’s last name or where she lives.

The next day Eldy goes food shopping. He says it’s to fill the cupboards, accusing me of losing weight. He comes back with a truckload of food.

“Who’s all this for?”

“We’re having a party to celebrate—don’t argue with me about it.”

“Fine.”

There’s no one on campus to come to the party, so I’m not worried. “I have to make a call.”

I pick up the receiver and dial.

“Calling home?”

Eldy asks as he stocks the refrigerator with juice, milk, and Gatorade.

I nod and extend the cord around the corner into the hallway as I listen to the phone ring on the other end. Mom will answer. Dad’s out in the barn, and Wally’s in school.

“Hi, Mom.”

“Are you coming home?”

“No. I wanted to let you know that I got drafted by the San Francisco 49ers. They made me an offer to play for them. My agent is negotiating the deal now.”

“Good. That’s good.”

She doesn’t sound enthusiastic, and I put it down to her knowing that means I won’t be home for a while. “You going to be all right?”

she asks. “Are they paying you enough?”

“According to Harry—my agent, my rookie salary will be three to five times what the farm makes.”

“That’s good, Bryan.”

She pauses. “San Francisco is far away. Will you get time off to come home?”

“I don’t know if Dad will want me home?—”

“Don’t pay attention to him. I want to see you.”

“I’ll fly you out to California—you and Wally.”

She laughs. “That’s a dream.”

Then she lowers her voice, “If you send me a ticket, I’ll go.”

She doesn’t believe me. Maybe I don’t believe it either. Not yet. I’m not there yet.

“You going by yourself?”

“What do you mean?”

“I know you have a girl. Why are you hiding her from me?”

“I’m not sure she’s mine. It’s too new between us.”

“What about Liz? She’s always been after you.”

“Don’t say that, Mom. It’s not true.”

She snorts a laugh. “You know I’m right. You can’t fool me.”

“Why would I want to?”

I finally admit. “Liz… isn’t happy with me, but she’s like my sister.”

“It’s what I thought. And this new girl that has your fancy?”

“My fancy?” I snort.

“Don’t stall. What’s her name? Who is she?”

“Susie Bennett. She’s from Suffield.”

“I know her family. She’s in the auxiliary and he’s in the Lion’s Club.”

“Susie is… beautiful. A beautiful person.”

There’s a beat before Mom speaks, and I swear I hear a sob. “Oh Bryan, I’m so happy you found someone. Does she love you too?”

My heart accelerates at the L word coming out of my mother’s mouth. This conversation just got too close to the bone for me. “Mom, I have to go now.”

But before we have a chance to say good-bye, I hear her distressed sob as my old man’s voice travels toward the phone. He shouts a string of swears so loud as he reaches the receiver that it hurts my eardrum. Then the line goes dead as if he ripped the fucking phone from the wall.

I don’t bother calling back, but I swear I’m going home to check on Mom and Wally as soon as I get a chance. I hang up my phone with extra care.

“Everything good?”

Eldy asks. Mack and Chuck are helping him stow all the shit he bought.

“The usual. Mom’s glad for me, and the old man’s disowned me.”

“Shit. That’s harsh,”

Chuck says. “What the fuck for?”

“Long story,”

I say, not wanting to get into it. Not now. I’m numb, and I want to stay that way. I yawn. “I’m going to take a nap.”

We were up late last night talking about the 49ers, pooling everything we know about them.

“Not used to late nights, Mr. Farmer,”

Chuck says. “Gonna have to get used to California time.”

I flick him my middle finger and give him a smirk. They all laugh at me.

I close the door after me and lock it, then flop onto my mattress, needing to release all the thoughts, all the things happening, and I blank my mind.

The room is dark when I open my eyes and hear the knocking on my door.

“Come in,” I say.

“I can’t. The door is locked.”

It’s Susie’s voice.

I bounce to my feet and rush to the door, fumble with the lock, and fling it open. All the cool control I’ve ever possessed is nowhere. Susie stands there grinning, waiting for me to say something, but all I do is look at her, take her in from head to toe, breathe in her sweet scent, and assure myself she’s really here.

“Can I come in?”

she asks, politely, maybe a little shyly.

I pull her inside and close the door, ready to ravish her before I force myself to behave, not act like a wild hound. She didn’t drive all this way to have me ravage her on sight—at least I don’t think so.

“I thought you were going to California?”

“Tomorrow. Dane called me and told me about the celebration.”

She doesn’t accuse me with her eyes, but questions me for not calling her myself. “I missed you.”

She takes a step closer, and that’s all the invitation I need.

Taking her in my arms, I growl my response as I kiss her mouth and everywhere on her face. Sweeping her toward my bed, she laughs as I pick her up and lower her down gently.

“I’ve missed you too, in case you couldn’t tell,” I say.

“Congratulations, Bryan. I’m so happy for you making it to the NFL.”

She lets out a dreamy breath as she stares into my eyes. “Tell me everything.”

A knot of tension gathers, but I force myself to do what she asks. She deserves to know. All of it.

I tell her about my old man’s reaction to my decision to play football, that my desertion doesn’t matter. I tell her how it makes me feel that I’m missing a piece of my family, of myself.

And then I soothe her, wipe away the tears she sheds for me, and tell her about listening to the draft on the radio with my friends and getting the call.

We make out for a while until the noise of people and music gets loud enough to signal the party has started. We join the dozen guys in the kitchen and eat sandwiches with them. I keep Susie at my side.

“How come you’re the only one with a girl at this party?”

Chuck asks.

“Don’t worry,”

Eldy says, “I invited the girls from the apartment a few doors down. They’ll be over.”

“Do you even know them?”

Susie asks, amused, and I have a feeling she knows the answer.

“Nope. Not yet. But they seem nice.”

Mack snorts and shoves food in his mouth. “The word’s out,”

he says between chews. “I spread it around the gym and all around the field house. Some of the coaches are around.”

Coach Torini must have found out because he shows up at the door.

“Coach—”

I don’t get any further because he gives me a bear hug, the kind I haven’t felt in years. Not since Coach Hammer hugged me after my last game at Suffield Academy.

Before that, there was a long drought. Distracting my thoughts from taking me there, Coach slaps my back, takes the beer Eldy hands him and makes a toast.

“To the best player I ever coached. The hardest working man I ever met. Much success in your career and life, Bryan.”

He raises his glass, and everyone in the room speaks up and drinks to the toast.

Emotions beat at my insides as I struggle to keep control, but I take a long gulp of my beer, needing to feel this, realizing I made it up my mountain. Or one of my mountains. I glance at Susie and go back to her, returning to her side as more people arrive.

Considering it’s still winter break and the campus is empty, our apartment gets filled up. It’s not long before the entire coaching staff, and even Al Preconi show up.

In bed, Susie tells me I can buy myself a farm with the football money.

“You just need to last a few seasons to make enough money to afford your farm.”

I’ve thought the same things in the past, but I never thought I’d need to start from scratch, to buy my own farm, create my own legacy.

I tell her the things that clamor in my head, the negative things I need to beat down. Not so simple. Bad odds. Injuries. Low salaries for rookies.

“You can do it. You heard your coach. You’re tougher than everyone, harder working than anyone. And smart.”

“You had me until you said smart because we both know whatever smarts I have I’m borrowing from you.”

She smiles, that big beautiful heartfelt smile. “You can keep it forever.”