Forty-Five
IT TAKES A couple of days for Burt Webb—with some help from Taylor—to set things in motion.
What it does turn into, pretty fast, is a “Welcome Home, Silas” event, held at the high school stadium named after my father.
Before I walk into the stadium, I ask the mayor of Cross Rivers, Claire Larson, to keep her introduction as short as possible, which she does.
She finishes by saying, “This young man is not only our town’s favorite son, he’s the son of the local hero after which this stadium is named. So let’s give an official welcome-home greeting, one we want them to hear all the way over in Chapel Hill, for Silas Tucker!”
I come walking out of the tunnel then and into a sound I recognize from this place.
At midfield, seats are set up in front of a stage.
There in the front row I can see Burt and Taylor and EJ and Vince and Abby, Charlie Hall and Les.
I nod and smile at them and give myself one more moment to drink in the cheers, what has always been a different kind of music for me, no use lying to myself about that.
Finally, I wave for everybody to stop.
This summer Saturday feels more to me like an old-time football Saturday out of my college days, and not just because the stands are as full as they are. I see how many kids have shown up, something for which Burt and I had been hoping.
Only Burt and Taylor and I know what the subject matter for my talk is going to be, what it was always going to be after the last thing Burt had told me at Scobee’s, about what had happened to Reggie Piersall before Burt had saved him.
“I can’t get through to kids,” Burt had said. “Maybe they’ll listen to you. Either way, it’s worth a shot, especially because it will be coming from you.”
I start out by thanking everybody for coming out, telling them that being back on this field makes me wish I still had some eligibility left, just because there was never anything that ever made me prouder than being a Cross Rivers Eagle, not even being a Tar Heel over there on the other side of the state.
Gets me another cheer.
When that one subsides, I slowly look around, taking in the whole scene inside this small stadium, and say, “I’m here today to ask everybody to help me save a life.”
I let that settle before adding, “Talking about the life of this town.”
I know I have their full attention, just because of how quiet the whole place has gotten suddenly.
When I pause and look around one more time, I see Briar Crockett at the other end of the field, leaning against the goalpost there.
“Many people in attendance know that my father died in the middle of State Road 31 when I was twelve years old” is the way I really begin.
“The murder weapon, as I’m sure everybody here also knows, was a gun.
But the murder weapon I want to talk about with you today is something just as lethal, even if it’s small enough to hide in the palm of your hand, or in your pocket. And that’s a pill.”
I’d taken a public speaking class when I was at Carolina, and the first rule from the professor was simple as could be:
Don’t rush.
“We hear all the time about mass killings in this country, sometimes at a school just like the one behind me,” I continue.
“But now, because of oxycodone and fentanyl and drugs like that, especially in this part of our world, we’ve got kids dying like they’re the ones getting shot, sometimes making you think the drug dealers are the ones with automatic weapons. ”
I take another beat.
“Listen, I’m not all that much older than the teenaged kids I’m talking about, or the ones I see in the stands today,” I say. “Heck, I only graduated from this school four years ago. So I don’t think of myself as the smartest guy in the room. But I was always smart enough to stay away from drugs.”
I look around again, picturing myself standing at midfield in the old days for the coin toss, the excitement I used to feel knowing that the best part of my week was just a few minutes away, as soon as somebody kicked the ball off.
“I’m standing here as living proof of how fast life can change, how fast it can come at you,” I say. “I’m sure most of you know what happened to me a few months ago, and how lucky I am to be standing in front of you.”
I feel the thickness in my throat, just like that. Feel my mouth go dry and my eyes start to fill up.
“I’d do anything to change what happened that night, and to have one of my best friends back.
” Swallow hard but keep going. “I’d do anything to go back and somehow save his life.
But I can’t and that will kill me for the rest of my life.
Since the accident, people keep talking about what I lost that night. ” I shake my head. “No. I lost him.”
I look down at Taylor now. She gives me one of those sad smiles of hers. I manage to give her one back.
“But none of us, not one person here, has to lose another kid from Cross Rivers to drugs.” I look around the whole stadium again.
“I’m mostly talking to people here not all that much younger than me.
If you’re using drugs, you can stop today, and your life will get better immediately.
If you have a friend you know is using, do anything you can to get them to stop, because you might be saving their life.
And if you know who it is dealing this poison, do the right thing about that and call somebody like my friend Officer Burt Webb, sitting right down there in the front row. ”
I point at him and he points back at me.
“In conclusion, I’d just like to say one last thing, and don’t want anybody in this stadium to forget it.”
I look around again, my eyes taking in Briar Crockett one last time, like I’m trying to take a picture.
Then I shake a fist and shout, “This is our fucking town.”
In the very next moment, I hear the sirens, then see Burt Webb jump up and go running past me and past the stage toward the tunnel.