Keeper of An Open Mind

Note: Ah haaah! Okay, so it starts off a bit slow, but hang in there. >=) Chapter two is coming shortly.


Keeper of an Open Mind

I tried playing soccer once, but I decided I hated playing. I would have rather watched it on TV or seen my best friend play it. He played it more than he watched it. His name? Nick Felson, a senior at Welgreen High. He would be graduating and then going to Davis next year to study animal science and become a veterinarian. Though, I can’t remember him liking animals that much. He did own two shaggy dogs by the names of Scooter and Shelby and a goldfish, Droopy.

Today was his game, and I brought a book along with me for the half hour practice before it began, but I didn’t end up reading it. I admired Steinbeck, but I’d rather have spied on the team. There was Nick. He was the goalie, wearing thick black gloves, a yellow shirt, and loose, black shorts. His sandy hair glistened in the sun, and his smile was bright and cheerful. I guess he was the only one that mattered. The rest were varying statures: tall and short, thick and thin. all of them were fit to some degree, seeing as they were on a damn good soccer team.

He caught me staring and waved then turned back to his teammates. I should have been reading my book. Their girlfriends should have been staring and catching their waves, not me, Gray Sandgren, a guy with little athletic drive, someone who’d rather sit on the sidelines and read a Star Wars novel or nap.

I sighed and stretched my legs out on the grass and lay back, closing my eyes. I’m pretty sure Jeanette would ask him out soon, and he’d agree to it. She’d been hanging around the group during lunch at Mr. Pickles, the local sandwich shop.

My legs itched from the pesticides. They would swell up, and I’d have to take a cold shower. I should have borrowed a towel or blanket. I sat up, and they were off, running and kicking, weaving and scoring.

Both teams were fierce fighters, but the Swallows had one advantage. That was Nick.

He was the most dedicated Goalie to walk on a soccer field. He walked out of each game with at least four bruises from diving. This particular opponent, the Bulls, gave him a good run, but didn’t score.

After two hours, Nick’s team had won. The two teams were a mass of men huddled together. His team, the Swallows, yelled and whooped. They gave each other high fives and laughter accompanied with slaps on backs. Maybe I should have joined the team after all...

They lined up on opposite sides of the field and jogged past each other giving the compulsory high five and muttering “good game.” At least it made the referees and parents happy to see the young men practicing good sportsmanship.

Nick jogged over to me with a towel around his neck. Sweat dripped down his cheeks to his chin. He grinned and squeezed water all over himself from his water bottle and shook dry. He reminded me of Scooter and Shelby after their Saturday spray.

“What did you think? We schooled ‘em.”

“I saw,” I said, “Even when they were using some foul play around the edges like kicking Derek in the shins. You think they would at least be more subtle about it.”

“Too bad the ref didn’t catch it.” He stretched his neck from side to side and then arched his back.

“Good thing we have shin guards.” He checked his cell phone. The sun was low in the sky, spraying light across his face, illuminating my favorite features: his jutted chin, glinting blue eyes, and lips though they were now in a frown.

“David and the guys are going to get some pizza tonight. Want to go?” he said, “I’ll need a shower first, so I’ll be late.”

“Not really. I want to finish this book I’ve been reading-”

“Book?” He snatched it from my fingers and held it out of reach and laughed, “What book? You’re eating with us tonight.”

Two hours later, my worst fears manifested in the form of Jeanette Perkins. She was a petite girl with brown hair, which glided across her shoulders when she walked. Her presence was golden. She was the kind of person whose smile could brighten any guy’s day. Any guy but me.

She sat to my right, between Nick and me and had turned her back to me, acting like a physical barricade. To my left was David Rossman, a mutual friend of Nick’s and mine. He had a plain face, watery eyes, and untrimmed waxy black hair. He wasn’t a bad guy, and I didn’t mind chatting with him, but tonight was different.

“Man,” he said, running his fingers along the coke glass as if he was drinking beer. “You know that girl in our English class? Sarah Malloy?”

“Yup.” I could feel it starting, the drivel that came from women-crazy, heart-broken teenage boys.

“She totally rejected me. I asked her out to the…” blah blah blah. I couldn’t listen to him. It was always the same dull story when it came to girls, and I don’t know why they always chose to tell it to me.

“…So depressed… Sucks ass.” David took another sip of his coke and looked over at Jeanette who was still a barricade. He looked back at me and took another swig of his coke.

“That’s not spiked, is it?”

“No,” he smiled wryly. He straightened up and swallowed a hiccup. “You got a girlfriend, Sandgren?”

Imaginary bile rose in my throat. “No.” This terrible question. This abhorrent, hated, diseased question. “Not in awhile.”

“Why not? You should get one.”

“It’s not easy. As you know,” I snapped.

His watery gaze was on me (sounds like he’s going to cry), but I was staring at the crust on my plate. Perhaps I was too harsh. Jeanette’s laughter was like shrieking, deteriorating my brain.

The dim lights had the undesirable effect of making me both drowsy and dizzy. The voices of our grinning and laughing companions pounded around in my head.

“I’m not feeling too hot. I’m going to head home.” I stood up and Nick’s eyes followed me.

“You need a ride?” he said. His lady interest turned around and stared up with her large, solid brown eyes, feigning concern.

“I’m fine. Wouldn’t want to spoil the pizza experience.” I grinned and stumbled over the wooden bench to get out. I flicked my five dollars onto the table. “For the expense. See you later, guys.” And I left.

Outside, it was a beautiful 8:00 evening in Petaluma. To my right was main downtown, alight with laughter and drunkards. Cars zipped down the boulevard and back from the new movie theatre.

The left led away from the Saturday night bustle into a dreamier, quieter part of town. The sun’s last ray disappeared beyond the lazy trees and distant hillock This path was the only logical choice for an evening stroll.

Gnats drifted along, and stars made their first glinting appearances. The moon wasn’t out yet, but its powdery glow haunted the horizon.

I meandered the nine blocks down I street, a quiet family neighborhood surrounded by monstrous trees.

What would they do if they knew? My mother would sit me down and hug me. She might cry, but she would tell me that things were all right and that she would love me.

My father, if he had still been married to my mother, would stare down at me with unthinkable ideas behind his obsidian eyes. His large fingers would twitch upon his bulky knees. His ears would turn a rusty color and his thick, red lips would be curled in a frown. He wouldn’t say anything.

And friends? Who knew what they would think?

And Nick?

Damn! I kicked a reddish stone out into the street and watched it as it tumbled out into the street. I stared up at the moon that had finally shown its face. It was round and full, a wealth of reflected sunlight.

My pants pocket vibrated. I received a text message. Done w/ pizza. Where are you?

I clicked in the response, The Park. I walked across the street, which ran over a trickling creek. My path turned into a narrow strip of pavement that led along the water and reeds for about a quarter of a mile. At the end of the path, the creek disappeared into a white concrete tunnel just before my destination, a healthy willow tree.

The willow tree’s long branches curved over it like an embrace. The tips dipped into the trickling pool of water, which originated from the depths of the tunnel.

As a child, I had spent summer afternoons chasing frogs and venturing down the concrete tunnel lined with graffiti. At 18 years of age, I spent some of the evening hours in contemplation beneath the tree’s comforting branches.

The wavering image of the moon in the water caught my eye, and I sat down on one of the willow roots to gaze at it. I brushed my fingers along the bark and gripped it. I should tell him.

Crickets chirped on the other side of the creek. A bold one piped up behind me. I reached up and took hold of one of the drooping branches and plucked a leaf from it. I held it between my fingers and put it to my lips. He would be turning the bend to the street any moment. I really should tell him.

I could hear the sound of his car at a distance, a gentle roaring as he accelerated and a bumpy, clunky, whirring as he slowed down to park. Then I heard the slam of a car door and jingling of keys. He bustled his way down, bushes thrashing against him. He stood behind me, brushing his arms and legs.

I leaned my head back. “Take a root.”

He took the one near me. “Nice night out.”

My heart rose in my throat, and beat against my neck. I sat taller and straighter. I brought my knees closer to my chest, arms around them. “Have a nice time?”

“Eating pizza?”

“Seemed you were having a nice time with Jeanette.”

“I did. She’s a nice girl,” he said.

A steady stream of adrenaline rushed down from my heart into my stomach. It was as if I had my own fingers curled around my larynx preventing me from speaking.
How was I supposed to bring such a thing up?

I opened my mouth to speak, but the invisible fingers of my darker, fearful self stopped me.

He looked at me sidelong. “What’s up? You left so abruptly.”

I looked down at the dirt between my legs and scratched the hair just above the nape of my neck. “I know I left kind of fast.”

“So tell me,” he said, “What’s going on?” His eyes caught the glimmering reflection of the moon and his voice lowered, “Is it about Jeannette?”

I sighed. My heart dropped like a cold lump imbedding itself between my lungs. This wasn’t what I wanted to talk about. “No,” I said, but his dark eyebrows furrowed. “No, there’s nothing wrong with her. She seems fine.” My cheeks and ears burned.

“You’re sure?” He scratched his knee and rubbed a new bug bite.

“Look,” I said. My spirit slipped out of reality, adrenaline fueling my ability to deny the ridiculous thing I was about to do. All of my senses were heightened and combined to subdue my dark self. “Hear me out. I have something I’ve been meaning to tell you.”

There. No turning back. All of the fear, adrenaline, excitement, and nausea disappeared, leaving me in a mystifying, calm state.

“Alright,” he said. His voice was firm. He didn’t so much as twitch. I stared at him through the darkness. Moonlight was on his hair, his eyes, his face, and his hands. He looked down at his knees and rubbed them until they were white. “I sort of…knew this would come up.”

My throat felt strained; the inner tissues were closing in, constricting in dreadful anticipation. Did he really know what I was talking about?

He ran his hand through his hair and met my gaze, “We’ve been friends since the 4th grade. I know.” He smiled faintly. “I’d like to think I know everything about you, Sandgren.”

My heart was offbeat, “You know that I…”

“Don’t like girls?”

I frowned and nodded.

“I’ve known. And I also know that you are my best friend and will continue to be.” He straightened up, stretching his chest higher and shoulders backward. A couple of his muscles popped. “I know that you will find someone at college.” His sharp blue eyes held mine in place. “You’re a great guy, Gray. So don’t sweat it.”

So, I was his best friend. Good.

I took in a long, slow breath, internalizing his truth and letting it diffuse through my system.
He would date Jeannette.

I gritted my teeth, averting my gaze from him to the pond. A frog croaked from the opposite bank.

“You want to go play Star Wars?” he asked, stretching out his legs and standing up.

I nodded.

“Then let’s go.” Nick held out a hand.