A Charmed Life (Knox #1)
The Outsider
A Charmed Life
A Knox Family story
Part of the Enfield Undrowned universe
© 2016 by The Outsider
Edited by Graybyrd
Published by Lucky 13 Media
All rights reserved
Cover photo taken by Michael J. MacLeod, US Army. This image is the work of a member of the US military, taken as part of that person’s official duties; as a work of the US federal government, the image is in the public domain in the United States.
The added text is the work of the author; no additional copyright is claimed.
Will you be content to drift from situation to situation, to sail the course charted for you by others, or will you take charge of your life and chart your own course? For Jeff Knox, a teenager about to start high school in Enfield, Massachusetts, choosing to take charge of his life will affect more lives than just his own.
Tags: Coming of Age, Romance, School, Military, Workplace, Alternate Timeline
A Charmed Life
Introduction
As early as the 1890s the people of the Metropolitan Boston area, through its Metropolitan District Commission (MDC), eyed the Swift River Valley in West Central Massachusetts for a massive man-made reservoir. Bills drafted and introduced at the Massachusetts General Court in the early 1920s would have allowed the Commonwealth to “disincorporate” four towns in that valley to create such a reservoir. Such bills were threats the few residents of that area would never have amassed the political might to defeat, even if other towns west of Boston already affected by similar, smaller reservoirs added their voices to such a fight.
Before the final vote at the State House, near-simultaneous inventions of cheap, efficient and easily implemented desalinization processes which also treated waste water changed the political landscape. These discoveries allowed for water treatment/desalinization plants of sufficient size to be built near Boston which would supply the growing city with the water it needed. Being both easier to build and costing much less than moving four towns worth of people, these plants ended any talk of taking land in the valley. Treatment plants soon flanked Boston, north and south; plants based on the original design soon popped up across the country as the patent was not enforced. Use of certain pork-derived products in the original design stymied worldwide adoption; almost the whole Middle East and major portions of Africa would not use the purifier due to religious objections until well into the twenty-first century.
These inventions, coupled with the gravity-fed reservoirs built near Framingham, Sudbury, and Worcester in the late 1800s and early 1900s, helped ensure fresh, clean water would be available for the thirsty Metro Boston region for the foreseeable future prior to World War II.
The residents of the cities and towns surrounding Boston soon began to push back at the urban planners. Successful ‘suburban revolts’ occurred in towns around Boston in response to highway plans during the late 1950s and early 1960s; the environmental movement of the 1970s assured the valley would remain largely as it was, despite Metro Boston’s growing population and water needs. Adding capacity to the original treatment plants handled the increase in water demand for a while. Improvements in the base technology and miniaturization allowed in-home units at an affordable price by the start of the 1980s. This sounded the death knell for any thought that Eastern Massachusetts would ever need another reservoir larger than a water cooler.
Greenwich (pronounced “GREEN-witch”) built a modern hospital in the mid-1930s with the help of the Work Projects Administration. Doctors vacationing from New York in the late 1920s had noticed the appalling lack of adequate medical care in the region; with their backing the WPA constructed it in the northeastern part of Greenwich Village. The Greenwich Village Hospital, now called Greenwich Village Medical Center, replaced the much-added to original hospital with a new complex in early 1983. The hospital corporation now owned an expansive three square-mile campus straddling the Greenwich-Dana town line and employed over twenty-five hundred men and women; its parent company, Swift River Health Care, employed a further two thousand people across three other hospitals in the towns of Ware, Gardner and Athol. GVMC kept as much of the flagship campus as untouched as possible, allowing it to blend into its surroundings while also providing room for future growth. Upon completion of the new hospital complex the site of the original hospital was returned to its pre-construction state and protected.
Prescott had been the poorest of the four towns in the MDC's sights. It was also the one which was ready to hand the MDC the keys to Town Hall early in the reservoir discussion. Due to its topography, it became the town of choice for GVMC's doctors to build their homes in owing to the views from either side of Prescott Ridge. These medical professionals helped bring much needed tax and construction revenue to the area. They also committed to keeping much of the non-rural extras out of the area. Winter weather sometimes made it difficult to trek to Belchertown or Ware for serious shopping at department or specialty stores but it was a sacrifice they seemed willing to make, more so as transportation technology improved. This also translated into better facilities in the area than one might expect as those medical professionals also attracted the presence of other professionals to serve them.
Dana, the northernmost town in the original target area, remained almost untouched and much like it had been in the 1920s. Farming continued to dominate the town's character through the middle of the twentieth century, which would be to its benefit later, as is explained below.
In the southern most of the four towns, Enfield, a private school was founded along the Greenwich town line in the last days of the Roaring Twenties. Named the Thompkins School for the tycoon who founded it, its endowment allowed it to keep tuitions low and weather the turbulent years of the early- to mid-1930s as the Depression engulfed the United States. The school covered the middle and high school age ranges and had a mix of a boarding and day school students. Thompkins was male-only until the 1969-70 school year when the trustees opened enrollment to young ladies. This fact drew a fifty-six percent increase in applications and ushered in a thirty-two percent increase in admissions, along with a concurrent rise in revenue. Despite the continual improvement in transportation, boarding enrollment continued to account for two-thirds of students. Valley residents made up the large percentage of day students.
The Massachusetts Department of Public Works, formerly the Massachusetts Highway Commission which planned not to plan highways in the four towns due to their futures, found itself quickly drawing state highways across the valley. A thoughtful young man there possessed enough foresight not to use consecutive numbers for the route numbers. He also chose numbers that hadn’t already been assigned and would fill in gaps on the numerical list of route numbers in Massachusetts.
In contrast the American Association of State Highway and Transportation Officials, which coordinates and plans the numbering of the U.S. Route system, mapped out its U.S. Route 202 as if there was going to be a 30+ acre, man-made lake in West Central Massachusetts. Rather than running through Dana, Greenwich and Enfield on its way from Athol to Belchertown, U.S. 202 would be cut to the west of the valley and would act as a sort of "bypass" to the area, but one that somehow did not harm it.
The 1950s through the 1970s also brought a decline in the textile and manufacturing industries all across the New England region. Mills which once dotted the valley began to close one by one, bringing economic hardships not experienced since the Depression. Fortunes turned for the area as people began to look away from the cities in the waining years of the 1980s and 1990s. Organic farming took off, revitalizing the old, undeveloped family farms that still peppered the landscape as people yearned for the ‘simpler life.’
Jeffrey Andrew Knox entered this world in the latter half of 1969. A shy and unassuming boy for his first thirteen years, he would soon take charge of his life and make his mark on the world around him.
Part One
Enfield
One
In the Beginning
27 June 1983 – West Ware Road, Enfield, Massachusetts
Jeff Knox cracked open an eye to look at his alarm clock, the one he hadn’t set the night before. His sleep-fogged brain registered the bright sunlight streaming in around his shade and curtains as he did so.
“8:45” the bright red numbers read. He sighed and burrowed back into his pillow. He allowed himself to wake up more before rolling out of bed, dropping to the floor, and beginning his morning workout routine.
Three months ago Jeff began doing as many push-ups and sit-ups as his body would allow, not long after baseball season started. He could now do close to fifty quick repetitions of each before his muscles began to fatigue, and he began to see definition in those muscles. Today he planned to add a more visible piece to his exercise routine.
He hadn’t told anyone at his former school what he’d begun to do, nor about how he wanted to change the direction of his life. Since about the Fourth Grade those in his class considered him a geek. At first that was due to his slightly awkward social interactions with his classmates. As the years went by, that label stuck due to his increasing academic successes. While he was friendly with people at the public middle school, there wasn’t anyone to whom he would apply the label of friend. Starting a new school in the fall would offer him a new chance at making friends.
Getting dressed, Jeff visited the bathroom before going downstairs to the kitchen. “Morning, Mom,” he said as he entered.
“Hey, Jeff!” Marisa Knox replied from the breakfast nook, smiling at her oldest. She loved sitting by the windows overlooking their expansive back yard, taking in the scene regardless of the weather or time of year. Great Quabbin Hill dominated that view. She shuddered when she remembered how the towns in this picturesque valley were nearly destroyed to satisfy Boston’s growing thirst for water.
“What do you have planned for your first weekday of vacation?” she asked as Jeff got himself a glass of OJ and a bowl of cereal. In contrast to the region’s public schools, which let out for the summer on Friday the twenty-fourth, private Thompkins School where Marisa taught Sixth Grade math let out about a week and a half earlier.
“I’m going to bike over to the Village and talk to someone at Quabbin Runners about running shoes and how to get started with a running program. I saw a help wanted sign in the window of Bilzarian’s Hardware so I thought I’d stop in and check that out while I’m nearby.”
Marisa raised an eyebrow. “Not giving yourself any time off, are you?”
“I know it looks that way, Mom,” Jeff sighed, “but I’ll be doing my workouts in the morning. That will give me plenty of time during the rest of the day to do stuff, unless I wind up with a job at Bilzarian’s. I’ll be trying out for the soccer team when I get to Thompkins, too. They’ve routinely got some of the best sports teams in the state, so I’ve got to be able to hang with the others if I want a chance to play. I’ll need the extra stamina when hockey and baseball roll around, too.”
“Honey,” Marisa said in an understanding voice, “I just want you to be able to enjoy your summer, that’s all.”
“I will, Mom,” Jeff assured her. “Going to Thompkins this fall will give me a new chance to make a first impression; I want to make a good one.” Marisa smiled at her son. She saw his frustration over the last few years as he seemed to be unable to overcome the ‘geek’ label hung on him. She prayed that Thompkins would be as good for him as he was hoping.
“Are you going to be running on these roads?” she asked.
“No, thanks,” Jeff mumbled around a mouthful of cereal. “At least not until I get more used to running. The roads around here are too narrow for my taste, even though I’ve ridden my bike on them for years. I’ll ride over to Thompkins and run on their track while I’m getting started, as long as it’s not a problem.”
“Problem?” Marisa snorted. “You’ve been in and out of that school your entire life! Almost the entire staff knows you!” Jeff was going to be a faculty kid at Thompkins where his mother taught, something he wasn’t sure he’d like. While Marisa and her husband Joe had discussed keeping their kids in the public school system until they left for college, it was obvious that Jeff and his younger sister Kara wouldn’t be challenged enough unless they went to a school with academics as rigorous as Thompkins.
He rinsed his cereal bowl and glass and put them in the dishwasher. (“The sink? Is that where they go?” “No, Mom.”) He filled the water bottle for his bike and set out for Enfield town center. The bike ride from southeastern Enfield - known as Enfield Plains to residents - to Enfield Village as the center was called, was about a two and a half mile ride. People waved as he passed them, including people in their cars. This was something he enjoyed about the valley, the fact that everybody knew everybody, so he tried hard not to be a dirtbag. He’d be starting high school in the fall so he only had four more years to enjoy it. Even if he went to UMass, just a few towns to the west, he’d still be away from the valley he’d called home his whole life.
Never a very populous region, census estimates put the population of the Swift River Valley towns at about twelve thousand people. Zoning laws enacted in the wake of Boston’s attempted land grab were strict; there were none of the malls, strip or otherwise, allowed in the four valley towns - Dana, Greenwich, Prescott, and Enfield. Neither were they allowed in four others nearby that also wanted to preserve their rural character - Petersham, New Salem, Shutesbury, and his mother’s hometown of Pelham. Two other towns, Ware and Belchertown, solicited the Commonwealth years ago to improve Route 9 through their municipalities and strip malls abounded.
The valley towns still harbored a strong distrust of state involvement in their region. Not all interactions between the State House and the region’s communities were bad; Boston was still quite solicitous to requests from the area thanks to constant reminders of what the state and its Metropolitan District Commission - the water rights agency for Metro Boston - tried to do. One such example was that the Commonwealth approved requests to give more police-like authority to the area’s sheriff departments to augment local departments, which were almost a regional police force in and of themselves; sheriff’s departments mainly ran the jails in Massachusetts.
Entering the Enfield Village district required Jeff to pay more attention to his riding. Traffic, such as traffic was in the valley, was heavier in the center of town. Jeff turned north on Main, following Routes 21 and 34 where East Street joined Main Street. The road followed the general route of the old Boston and Albany Railroad Athol branch line; it was now being re-purposed as the B&A Bike Trail. Once in the center proper Jeff waved to the firefighters, many of whom had kids he went to school with, working outside their station across Main Street.
He parked his bike in front of the Quabbin Runners storefront and locked it to a post. Jeff recognized Mr. O’Mara, his gym teacher at Enfield Middle School, talking to another man when he entered the former car dealership. While the store’s name said ‘runners,’ Jeff noticed a wide selection of equipment for all of the sports played in the area. Family stores abounded in the valley; large chain stores were noticeably absent. Mr. O’Mara noticed Jeff approaching the dizzying display of running shoes on the back wall of the store.
“Well now!” the older gentleman boomed. “’Tis a good thing to see such a friendly face!” Sean O’Mara held out his meaty hand and shook with Jeff.
“Hi, Mr. O’Mara. How was the first weekend of your summer?”
“Boyo, I’ve retired from teaching,” the man admitted, drawing a look of shock from Jeff.
”Retired?”
“’Tis true, I’m sorry ta say. I dinna want a lot of fanfare when I finally decided ta go. I did tell Mr. Davies ahead of time, but I turned in my papers this morning.” Mr. Davies was the middle school’s principal.
“Well, I feel sorry for the kids coming up behind me,” Jeff said sadly. “Your gym class was one of the more fun classes I had at Enfield Middle. What are you going to be doing now?”
“If he makes it through training, he’ll be my newest salesman!” the younger man joked.
“Jeff, the man pretending to be a comedian over here is my oldest son Tim. Tim, this fine young lad is Jeff Knox. He’ll be going to Thompkins next year. His ma teaches math there.” Jeff shook hands with the younger O’Mara.
“Good to meet you, Jeff. Other than the opportunity to trade tall tales with this grumpy old Gus here, what brings you into my store today?” Tim asked.
“I’d like to start running, Mr. O’Mara, but I don’t know what kind of shoe is the best, how much they cost, or how to get started with a program.”
“Then you’ve come to the right place, Jeff! The question isn’t really what shoe is best, though, it’s what shoe is best for you?”
“That makes sense.”
“Come over here so I can watch your feet as you run, and figure out what the right answer to that question is. What do you want to train for?”
“Soccer this fall, but if there’s a way to make it work for all three of the sports I play, that’d be great.”
“What do you play?”
“Soccer, hockey in the winter and baseball in the spring. Baseball’s always been my best sport.”
Tim O’Mara nodded as the trio walked to the side of the store where a running area had been set up so store staff could evaluate customers. He asked Jeff to run a straight line, barefoot. He watched how Jeff’s feet and ankles reacted when his feet struck the ground. Tim had Jeff repeat the short runs a few times while he pointed out certain things to his father. As they walked back towards the shoes, Tim explained what he’d seen to Jeff. They selected a pair of shoes, then Tim asked Jeff to run again.
“Damn, I’m good!” Tim crowed. “First try!” Tim explained to Jeff how to start running and why, for his sports, he wanted interval training - short bursts of sprinting mixed with jogging. He also agreed with Jeff’s plan to run on the track at Thompkins as much as possible, especially while starting out. Jeff learned the shoes that were best for him were not all that expensive. Forty dollars later Jeff was on the road to being in even better shape, no pun intended.
He secured his first job at the hardware store across the street. Mr. Bilzarian, Senior, was slowing down and Mr. Bilzarian, Junior, would take over the day-to-day operation of the store. Young Mr. B. knew he needed more employees to run the store more efficiently. Hiring Jeff was his first step in doing so.
Jeff agreed to work ten a.m. to four p.m. Monday through Thursday, and ten a.m. to two p.m. on Fridays. He’d start the following week as a general stock boy. He’d keep the shelves refilled and organized earning minimum wage to start, the staggering rate of three dollars and thirty-five cents an hour. He’d also have the opportunity to get raises based on his job performance. With taxes taken out, he should clear about sixty-five dollars a week. That wouldn’t pay for college, but he could at least start saving towards it.
Jeff rode south through the center toward Belchertown after leaving Bilzarian’s. He pulled into a service station south of Quabbin Hill Road. The service tech at the desk smiled as he walked in.
“Jeff!” Jerry called in his thick accent. Jerzy (Jerry) Gulbicki was a first-generation immigrant to the United States and was his dad’s lead mechanic.
“How you doing Jerry?”
“Good, good. Your Dad in bay,” he said as he motioned out to the floor of the shop. “You go see.”
“Thanks, Jerry.” Jeff stepped carefully through the shop’s work area until he found his dad, nodding at the other mechanics as he went. Four service bays and a good reputation kept his father’s garage very busy.
“Jeff!” his father exclaimed when he turned around. “What brings you by?”
“Hey, Dad. I was just over at Quabbin Runners getting some running shoes and I just got a job at Bilzarian’s. Thought I’d see how you were doing today since I didn’t see you this morning.”
Joe Knox’s eyebrows rose. “A job? Geez, don’t be in such a hurry to grow up!” he joked. “How much will you be working?” Jeff told his father what his schedule would be, his hourly pay rate and how he saw his schedule impacting his summer. Joe nodded. “Well, it seems that you have things well planned. Don’t burn yourself out.”
“Don’t worry, Dad. I won’t.”
“Let’s talk about how to save the money you’ll be earning.”
Early the next morning, Jeff sucked in deep breaths while sweat poured off of him as he ran a third lap around the Thompkins track. Blood pounded in his ears; he felt a pretty sizable stitch in his side. Despite Tim O’Mara’s warning not to be frustrated when he first started the program, he found himself frustrated that he might not make one mile, let alone the two miles he hoped for; but he was pushing himself harder than he normally did. Tim O’Mara also warned him that running was much different than cycling. Jeff hadn’t been prepared for how different it would be.
Remembering Tim O’Mara’s words Jeff kept at it, running when he could and walking when he couldn’t. Determined, Jeff willed himself to put one foot in front of the other. He ran most of the distance, walked some, and finished the two miles he challenged himself to do; the world record for the outdoor mile would survive another day. He also willed himself to walk another half lap to some shade. There he collapsed onto the grass under an oak tree.
“Way to stick to it!” he heard a voice call out. Looking up as he lay on his back, Jeff saw Mr. Peter Romanov, the head soccer coach, approaching with an Enfield police officer he didn’t recognize. They were coming from the parking lot beside the track. Jeff noticed an Enfield police cruiser tucked a few rows back.
“I thought that was you, Jeff,” Mr. Romanov said. Jeff stood up to greet the two men, bent over with his hands on his knees. He waved.
“Jeff, this officer is Jack Dwadczik; he just finished his orientation after transferring here from the Cambridge Police Department. Jack, this is Jeff Knox; he’ll be starting here in the fall. His mother’s been a math teacher at Thompkins for several years.”
Straightening up, Jeff dried his hand on a towel and reached out to shake hands. “A pleasure to meet you, sir. Welcome to the valley.”
“Thanks. Good to meet you too, Jeff,” the young officer replied.
“Will you be trying out for the soccer team in the fall, Jeff?” Mr. Romanov asked.
“Yes, sir,” Jeff said. “That’s part of why I’m out here. I might get out played, but I’ll be damned if I’ll get out run.”
“That’s the attitude I want to see from my players, Jeff! What position do you play?”
“I enjoy midfield, sir, despite my current fitness level. I’ve had no problem keeping up with my man so far, but I don’t think we ran as much as your players do at the high school level.”
“You keep working hard this summer. I’d rather have a player with so-so skills who always gives one hundred percent, over a natural-born player who is lazy. Skill we can work on; heart we can’t. I don’t have a problem starting freshmen, either.”
“That kind of work ethic will serve you well later in life too, Jeff,” Officer Dwadczik added. “Would you mind a workout partner in the mornings?”
Jeff blinked. This sounded like the start of an offer to help him out, and he’d only just met the man. “That’d be great, sir.”
“I’m on the graveyard shift right now, eleven at night to seven in the morning. I can be here by 7:15 most mornings, as long as I don’t get buried in reports from the night shift. Would that work for you?”
“Yes, sir!” Jeff said quickly. “I usually do my push-ups and sit-ups after waking up. Should I keep doing that?”
“Why don’t you hold off until you get here in the morning?” Jack Dwadczik suggested. “I’m sure you’re doing things right, but I can show you some other types of push-ups, too. What are you doing now?” Jeff explained when he’d started and how many of each he could do. Jack nodded.
“We can start tomorrow, if you’d like? I’m on the night shift again tonight, but then I’m off for a few days before I start my shift rotation again. Having a workout partner on a consistent basis will help me out as well.”
“Yes, please,” Jeff replied, nodding. Another thirty minutes of sleep was always welcome. Delaying the start of his workout until 7:15 wouldn’t cut into his day much, even when school started. He would easily make his scheduled shifts at Bilzarian’s, too.
“Good deal. I’ll see you here by 7:15 tomorrow morning. If I’m not here on time, then I’m tied up with something. Start without me. Are you done working out for the day now?”
“Yes, sir, I am.”
“Coach mentioned that bike over by the parking lot is yours?”
“Yes, sir, it is.”
“We can load it into the trunk of my cruiser and I can drop you off before I head back to the station, how’s that sound?”
“I won’t turn that down, that’s for sure!”
Jack laughed. “Good enough.”
Jack and Jeff shared a good laugh at Marisa Knox’s reaction to seeing her son climbing out of a police cruiser that first morning. She’d been upset until they let her off the hook, explaining the situation when she appeared to be about to explode.
Jeff joined Jack Dwadczik at the track every morning that summer, regardless of the weather. Jeff soon learned that Jack had been a military policeman in the Army. Jack introduced Jeff to wide-arm and diamond push-ups, and coached better form for his regular push-ups.
After seeing his dedication, Peter Romanov offered suggestions to Jack Dwadczik for drills that Jeff could practice to improve his skills. Coach Romanov wanted to work with Jeff one-on-one over the summer, but that would violate the rules of the Massachusetts Interscholastic Athletic Association; he was required to wait for the official start date for practice.
Nevertheless, the coach saw significant improvement in Jeff’s skills as the boy drilled himself after his conditioning sessions. Jeff’s muscle definition increased and his running reached a consistent three miles a day by the start of soccer tryouts.
Two
Starting Strong
29 August 1983 – Hardwick Road, Enfield, Massachusetts
Jeff leaned into the opposing player as they fought for the soccer ball. Sweat stung his eyes and his lungs burned as they ran down the field. Jeff finally gained a step on his man and flicked the ball towards a player from his team. A whistle blew behind them, signaling the end of their turn, and both players returned to the back of the drill line.
“Nice job,” the other boy offered as they jogged back to the rest of the midfielders.
“Thanks,” Jeff answered.
“I’m Tom Jarrett.”
“Jeff Knox,” he replied as they stopped at the water cooler.
“’Knox?’ Does your mom work here by any chance?”
“Yeah,” Jeff confirmed, nodding while they rejoined the line, “she teaches Sixth Grade math.”
“Cool! She was my math teacher back then!” Tom exclaimed. “Hey, you’re a freshman right? My brother will be in your class this year.”
“I’ll look for him next week.”
On offense his next turn, Jeff pulled away from his defender with ease. He sprinted away from the boy, angled towards the goal, and blasted a shot at the net. The goalie made the stop but the defender should have kept Jeff from shooting at all. His counterpart said nothing to him as they returned to the line. Whatever, pal, Jeff thought. Some days you eat the bear, some days the bear eats you.
Jeff gave one hundred percent on the field and was not timid; timid players got bench time, not playing time. Whatever Jeff was off the field was going to change.
The second half of practice on Friday was all scrimmages. Jeff was always right on his man when defending and a step ahead on offense. The end of the final scrimmage approached when his defense cleared the ball; the ball sailed down the field rather than out towards the sideline. Jeff gauged the flight of the ball and broke for the opposing goal.
The ball appeared over his right shoulder, landing on the pitch in front of him. He advanced it down the field without breaking stride. He streaked by the other team’s midfielder before that player could react; he put the ball through the legs of their left fullback and cut around him. The sweeper came over to defend against him. The boy charged at him and attempted a hard slide tackle.
The ball was on Jeff’s foot when the sweeper slid towards him. Jeff popped it ahead of where the defender would be, leapt over him, and flew down the now-open field. The other team tried to catch up. The goalie and the boy playing stopper both closed in on him.
Perfect.
Jeff flicked the ball across the field, causing the stopper to slip and fall when he tried to reverse direction. The goalie tracked the new path of the ball but it was hopeless.
Tom Jarrett ran flat-out down the opposite side of the field, angling towards the goal. He judged the speed of the ball and planted his foot in the proper place. The ball wasn’t near him when he began his kick, but it rolled into the right spot as Tom’s leg came forward; he launched a one-timer at the net. The goalie leapt for the shot but it sailed past him and inside the right post. Tom and Jeff high-fived as the whistle blew.
Hot damn! Coach Romanov thought as he smiled around his whistle. Those two are going to cut defenses apart!
Alright. Deep breath. You can do this, Jeff coached himself while he pulled the door to his homeroom open. Head up, shoulders back, look people in the eye. Mrs. Elgin, his homeroom teacher, looked up at him as he entered.
“Jeff!” she greeted him with a smile as he walked over to her desk. “Welcome! How was your summer?”
“Too short as always, Mrs. E.,” he responded.
“Very true,” she said in agreement. “When did your mom start getting ready for the school year?”
“August 1st, same as every year,” he grinned. “Was it the same for you?”
“I’ve been teaching a few years longer than your mother, Jeff. I’ve learned how to put off preparations until at least the fifteenth of August.” Alice Elgin laughed; she’d been teaching for over forty years.
“Do we have assigned seats in homeroom?” he asked.
“We most certainly do, young man!” she responded in a stern manner, shaking a finger at him. “Why, chaos would reign should we let the ill-informed choose their own seating!” Jeff laughed with her. “Do you see that boy sitting there?” Jeff turned in the direction she pointed; he turned back and nodded. “Your seat is just to the left of him, his right if you’re facing the front of the room.”
“Thanks, Mrs. E. I’ll go and introduce myself, if you’ll excuse me?” Jeff turned for the indicated seat when she smiled and nodded. He noticed that the already-seated boy studied a map of the campus and comparing it to his class schedule. That boy looked up when Jeff approached.
“You must be Tom Jarrett’s brother,” Jeff said.
“Yeah, I am!” the boy confirmed, holding out his hand and smiling. “I’m Jack Jarrett.”
“Jeff Knox. Good to meet you.”
“Nice to meet you, too. How do you know Tom? Were you here for middle school?”
“No, I play soccer, so we met last week at practice. Tom did tell me that he had my mother as his math teacher when he was in Sixth Grade.”
“Your mom’s a teacher here?” Jack asked as Jeff sat.
“Yep,” he confirmed. “She’s been teaching math here since I was three.”
“But you’re just starting Thompkins today?”
“Yeah, I was in Enfield’s public schools until last year.”
“So you’re from here?”
“Sure am. I was born at the hospital in Greenwich and I’ve lived in the valley my whole life. What about you and Tom?”
“We grew up in Williamstown. We were born up in Burlington, Vermont before Mom and Dad decided to move south to Massachusetts. I wasn’t old enough then to remember it.”
They chatted back and forth until the first bell rang. Both gathered their things and rose to head to their first class. Jeff noted that Jack walked with a pronounced limp but kept his eyes on his new friend’s eyes and said nothing about it.
“I’ll grab a couple of seats for us at lunch, okay?” Jeff asked.
“Sounds good, thanks.”
See? Jeff asked himself. That wasn’t so hard, was it?
Jeff entered the cafeteria and grabbed a couple of seats at the end of a still-empty table. He looked around the large room but didn’t see Jack, so he sat and opened the brown bag he brought to school. He looked up every so often to see if Jack was there.
Jeff spotted Jack a few minutes later while the other freshman moved through the lunch line. He checked again a few minutes later and saw Jack now at the checkout station; he also noticed that Jack didn’t look happy. Jack looked around the lunch room so Jeff waved until Jack caught sight of him and nodded. Jeff also noticed another student following Jack to the table. Jeff guessed the other boy was the source of Jack’s displeasure.
Jeff rose from the table as Jack approached. He nodded toward the table then stepped between it and the other student when Jack was past him.
“Table’s full,” Jeff said in a brusque manner.
“Bullshit!” the other boy spat. “Nobody else is sitting here!”
“Tough, you won’t be either.”
“Fuck you,” the boy spat, trying to get past Jeff who continued to block him.
“Let me make it clearer - you’re not welcome here. You’re clearly bothering my friend, so go find another place to sit.” Jeff felt movement behind him. He shifted position and saw that other freshmen from the soccer team now occupied the seats at the table; they’d filled it up. Jeff turned back to the other boy saying, “See? Table’s full.”
“Up yours, asshole!” the boy spat again. “You’ll get yours!”
“Like you’re gonna be the one giving it to me,” Jeff snorted in reply.
“You’d best bring help if you try anything, Cosgrove,” Jeff heard from behind him. He could see a large portion of the both the varsity and JV soccer teams arrayed behind his table when he looked again; none of the players looked happy. “You give Jeff or his friend any crap, and you’ll be explaining yourself to all of us,” one of them said. The boy named Cosgrove snorted and walked away.
Jeff turned to his teammates. “Thanks for the backup, guys.”
“Keep your head on a swivel, Jeff,” Nick Ansonia cautioned him. Nick was a junior who played defense on the varsity; he was also the one who’d warned the other boy off. “Bryan Cosgrove, his older brother Jeremy, and their friends are major jerks. We’ve got your back, but be aware of those times when you’re not covered.”
“Got it, Nick.” Jeff’s teammates nodded and headed off while Jeff sat back down and introduced the other frosh to Jack.
“Thanks, Jeff,” Jack muttered across the table after the introductions. “That kid wouldn’t let up on me.”
“Anytime, man.”
“It was a car accident.”
“What was?”
“I got hit by a car while riding my bike when I was eight. That’s why I walk like I do,” Jack explained. “I broke my hip and shattered my femur – that’s the thigh bone. The femur healed fine, except that it’s about an inch shorter than the other one, and my hip sticks a little.”
“Jack, are you a dickhead?”
“What? No! At least I try not to be,” Jack responded, confused.
“Dude, that’s all I care about,” Jeff told his new friend. “You didn’t come across as one in homeroom, so I don’t need to worry about anything else after that.”
“Thanks, man.”
Bryan Cosgrove didn’t learn his lessons too well.
Jeff shook his head at the sight of Cosgrove and a few of his buddies cornering two freshmen girls later the same day. Jeff pushed past the henchmen forming the outer ring of containment and stepped up to Cosgrove; he was alone but he felt that he could handle this group. He shoved Bryan, causing him to turn.
“Did you think I’d forgotten about that nonsense back in the cafeteria?” Jeff asked in a quiet voice. “I don’t like bullies. Actually, I despise them.”
“Fuck you, pal!” Cosgrove spat back. “There’s only one of you now, there’s four of us!” The girls Bryan had been terrorizing kept flicking their gaze back and forth. It was like they were watching a tennis match.
Jeff stepped closer and asked, “Oh, do you wanna dance with me? Because I’ll be sure that I take you out first. Whatever happens in the end, I will ruin your day before I’m done. Whatever you used to pull at whatever school you were at last year isn’t gonna fly here. Anything happens to these girls, or anyone else in this school, I’m going to be looking for you first.” Jeff then gave him a hard stare. Cosgrove stepped back.
“Whatever, pal,” he scoffed, trying to look tough for his accomplices. “Come on!” he ordered the others as he walked away from Jeff.
Jeff wasn’t sure where his new backbone came from but he figured it developed when he decided to take charge of his life. He watched Cosgrove and his buddies leave while he shook his head once more.
“Ladies, do you need an escort to class?” he asked, turning back to the two freshmen. There was nobody there. Jeff looked down the hall and saw them running away from the scene; he simply shrugged and turned to get to his class. Jeff burned off the anger from his confrontations with Bryan Cosgrove at soccer practice.
Jeff looked around for Jack Jarrett when he entered the cafeteria for lunch the following Monday, but didn’t see him right away. There was a pretty brunette sitting at their normal table with someone else. That person turned around and Jeff saw that it was Jack. Jack saw his new friend, smiled and waved him over.
“Hey, Jeff!” Jack called when Jeff drew closer.
“Hey,” Jeff answered back as he put his lunch down on the table next to Jack. “Hi, I’m Jeff Knox,” he said, smiling to the girl across the table. The girl smiled back and held out her hand which Jeff shook.
“Hi, I’m Kathy Stein,” she said.
Jeff sat. “Are you in our class?” he asked. “A freshman?”
“I am,” she confirmed with a nod.
“Welcome. How come you didn’t start the year with us last week?”
Kathy smiled. “My dad’s a cardiologist and just started at GVMC. We moved out here from L.A. at the beginning of August, but my folks wanted to make sure our family got at least part of a summer. We’ve been packing and unpacking for months. We’ve been in Maine, up in Scarborough, for the last month or so. Mom found this gorgeous place right on the water there when Dad talked about moving us out of Southern California before last summer; she rented it for a month, centered around Labor Day.” Kathy sighed. “It was wonderful! It was so much different after school started up there, too!” Jeff liked Kathy right away, for she seemed very genuine and honest. He also noticed during lunch that she seemed to have developed quite the interest in his friend.
“It might not be so wonderful when we get our first foot of snow,” Jeff cautioned.
“Hey, Tom says you’ve been turning heads at soccer,” Jack commented.
“‘Take no prisoners,’ that’s my motto, Jack,” Jeff grinned.
“Does that apply to Bryan Cosgrove and his buddies, too?” Jack asked back with a knowing smile.
Jeff rolled his eyes. “That dickhead,” he muttered. “Why? What have you heard?”
“Only that you promised to take him apart at the seams if you catch him bothering anyone.”
“That lardass doesn’t have any seams. He’s a solid piece of excrement.”
“Who’s Bryan Cosgrove?” asked Kathy who was still meeting the rest of her classmates.
“The member of the Class of 1987 who is in the early lead for the ‘Biggest Dickhead’ award at our graduation,” Jeff said.
“He is at that,” Jack laughed. He looked around the cafeteria and spotted the dickhead in question, pointing him out to Kathy. “Him. Avoid him at all cost.”
“I will, thanks.”
“’All the leaves are brown, and the sky is gray…’” Jeff sang to himself two months later while he put his books away in his locker. There were no leaves visible on the trees or on the ground, not since Mother Nature blessed them with a foot of snow over the weekend. The sky was, however, the color of lead as the lyrics indicated. Jeff thought it might be warmer on the ice today, as the outside temperature was an unusual twenty-two degrees Fahrenheit; it was normally in the high forties near the end of October. All that stood between Jeff and a good workout now was a last period study hall.
Jeff saw some movement to his right as he was about to close his locker. He discovered it was his two best friends, Kathy and Jack, when he looked closer. He was about to call out to them when he saw them step closer to each other and give each other a quick kiss. Whoa! Jeff thought. When did that happen?
Jeff was by no means upset. He thought the two would make a good couple, he was just startled by the sight. Jeff couldn’t remember seeing anything out of the ordinary over the last two months, despite the three having lunch together since the start of school. Kathy and Jack broke their clinch after another quick kiss. Kathy turned away from Jeff and Jack and waled to her last period class.
Jack also had study hall and would have to pass Jeff to get there. Jeff closed his locker silently; he leaned against it while waiting for his friend. Jack watched Kathy walk away until she rounded a corner and disappeared from sight. He then turned to head to study hall, but noticed his friend leaning against his locker with a bemused smile. Jack shook his head as he walked down the hall and came alongside Jeff.
“No wise-ass comments from you, fella,” Jack warned him.
Jeff looked hurt. “Who, me?” he asked.
“Yes, you, you jerk,” Jack grumbled back.
Jeff threw an arm around his friend’s shoulders as they continued down the hall. “Hey, bud, I’m happy for you two, really,” Jeff told Jack in a serious tone. “You know you two are my best friends, right?”
“Yeah,” Jack admitted. “Thanks, Jeff. I was worried you might be upset. That I was blocking you or something.”
“Hey, I think Kathy’s great and very pretty, but I’m not interested in her that way,” Jeff admitted to Jack.
“So you’re not gonna move in on my girlfriend?”
“Who, me?” Jeff repeated. The two laughed as they made their way to study hall.
“You guys will get ‘em next year,” Phil D’Etremont sighed; he was captain of the hockey team and a senior. The team sat in the visitor’s locker room at Amherst High School’s rink, having just lost their final game.
“Sure we will,” sophomore Paul Benton muttered.
“Remember us little people when you and your BU teammates raise the Beanpot next year, Phil,” Jeff called out.
Phil threw some wadded-up tape at him. “I gotta make the team first, asshole,” he cautioned. “I gotta go up against all of the guys who are already there and all of the other freshmen. The those guys usually come from championship teams.”
“So?” Jeff snorted. “Going five-and-fifteen will make you that much more hungry. You’ll blow those guys away, Phil.” Phil gave him a small nod and a smile as he began unlacing his skates. Jeff saw that the conversation was over and did the same.
Phil waited for Jeff to leave the locker room and walked to the bus with him. “Hey, thanks for trying to keep things positive back there,” he said to Jeff. “Losing your last game of the year, last game of high school, sucks. Don’t let Benton bring you guys down if things get rough next year.”
“I’m not worried about Benton; he’d be unhappy if he won the lottery. How many sports clichés do you want to hear?”
“What do you mean?”
“You know - ‘You can’t win ‘em all,’ ‘that’s the price you pay if you wanna play the game,’ and, let’s not forget my personal favorite: ‘you guys will get ‘em next year.’”
Phil groaned. “You wanna get cross-checked, don’t you?”
“Are you guys going anywhere for vacation?” Kathy asked while the friends ate their lunch together in early March. Kathy’s family would head back to Southern California to visit friends and family. Her family hadn’t gone anywhere over the Christmas/New Year’s break. They also hadn’t seen many of the people they would visit since they moved east.
“No, we’re not doing anything this year,” Jeff mumbled as he ate his sandwich. “I’ll be working at Bilzarian’s for those two weeks.” His family hadn’t planned anything for the upcoming vacation because his sister Kara was still in public school. Thompkins held their spring vacation over a single two-week period in mid-March, rather than over one week in February and one week in April like public schools in Massachusetts did. Going away would be too difficult with two different school schedules to contend with.
Jack chimed in with, “My family’s headed north to do some skiing.” Jack was excited because skiing was the one sport he could participate in despite his leg. As long as he didn’t have to ski through moguls all day his hip and leg could take the exercise. He’d never come off a mountain if he had his way.
“Spring vacation means the baseball season is almost upon us!” Jeff said, smiling. “It’ll be good to get back out under the sun.”
“Sometimes I think you’ll turn into a baseball as much as you talk about it,” Jack joked while he threw a grape at his friend; Jeff caught it and popped it into his mouth. “When are you going to start getting ready for the season?”
“I’m still doing my daily workouts, naturally,” Jeff said. “I’ve been using a batting trainer at home since hockey ended. I’ve also been tossing a ball around with Dad for a couple of weeks.” The snow melted by the end of February; the winter had been mild despite the way it started. Joe and Jeff Knox ventured outside to throw baseballs as soon as the ground was clear.
Jeff stacked fifty pound bags of ice melt at Bilzarian’s Hardware about three weeks later. Snow was possible at any time through late May in New England, though the increasing outdoor temperatures made needing ice melt less and less of a probable occurence. He stretched and wiped his brow after placing the last bag on the stack.
Jeff wondered how Jack and Kathy were each enjoying their vacations. He couldn’t begrudge them the fun they were having with their families. Both of his friends worked hard at school. All three of the friends were near the top of their small class; class sizes at Thompkins were smaller than at local public schools, but the academics there were much more rigorous.
“You okay, Jeff?” came Steve Bilzarian’s voice. Jeff turned to find his boss walking towards him.
“No worries, Mr. B.,” Jeff responded. “Just wondering how my friends are doing during their vacations.”
“Where are they?” the older man asked.
“One of my friends is up in Vermont, skiing with his family. The other’s back out in California where she’s originally from; she moved out here at the beginning of August last year.”
“To be honest, I was a little surprised when you came in last month asking if you could work during your vacation.”
Jeff shrugged. “With Mom and I at Thompkins and Kara still at Enfield Middle this year, it was a bit tough for us to plan a vacation. We’ll be headed to Maine this summer instead.”
Steve Bilzarian nodded. “Are you coming back to work here this summer?”
“Yes, sir, I’d like to,” Jeff answered, also nodding.
“I can offer you a full forty-hour schedule at four dollars and fifteen cents an hour if you do come back.” Jeff stared at the man in shock. Steve caught the look and asked, “Jeff, do you understand how hard you work? Especially compared to other high school kids we’ve hired in the past?” Jeff continued to stare. “Come on over here and sit down,” Steve said, motioning to a row of five-gallon paint buckets. Steve turned two of them upside-down and the pair sat.
“Jeff, I planned to hire two stock boys to do the work you do if you decided not to come back. That’s why I’m offering you the increase.”
“Sir, that’s eighty cents more an hour than I was making just a year ago! Less than a year ago, actually!”
“You’ve earned it, Jeff,” Steve Bilzarian replied. “Honestly, I shouldn’t have expected anything less once I learned you were Joe Knox’s son.” Joe Knox’s reputation for hard work was well-known locally.
“Thank you very much, sir,” Jeff answered; it was the only way he could. Jeff did the math in his head and realized he’d been given the opportunity to earn over one hundred dollars a week after taxes.
A noticeable chill still lingered in the air when baseball practice started a week later. Jeff ran back and forth across the outfield in a easy jog to warm up with the rest of his team. The ground was still soft under his feet, but it was firm enough that there was no mud bubbling up with each footfall. The coach called the group together after a few minutes.
“Alright, gentlemen. Let’s have two lines, about ten yards apart, and let’s get some soft-toss started.”
There wouldn’t be any hard throwing for about a week; it would take that long for their arms to become accustomed to that sort of activity. It wouldn’t look good to have players blowing their shoulders out on the first day of practice. After the soft-toss came base-running practice. Many of the freshmen showed up for the tryouts were winded after just warm ups and the easy jogs around the base paths.
Jeff was the exception. He now did one hundred and fifty push-ups and sit-ups a day along with an almost-three mile run; the workout the baseball team had gone through so far wasn’t much in comparison. His stamina was noticed by the coaching staff though there were no comments made aloud, not yet.
“Is he going to make us run all day?” Bill Sampson gasped. The baseball team was starting its fifth circuit of the playing fields at Thompkins. Their last game had been a disaster and Coach Kessler was teaching them about mental focus.
“Probably,” Jeff said as he came along side the slower runner. “A month into the season we shouldn’t be making the mistakes we made yesterday. Don’t stop, Bill,” he cautioned when Sampson started to slow. “It’ll hurt worse if you do.”
“What are you? A machine or something?”
“We’ve only gone about two miles,” Jeff commented, shrugging. “I usually run about three or four a day.”
Jeff grunted when he landed on the outfield grass. He scrambled to his feet and threw the baseball to the shortstop, keeping the baserunner at first. It was the third inning in the next-to-last game and Coach Kessler tapped him for the start in left field today. Jeff brushed himself off and returned to his position. That’s the third or fourth ball I’ve had to dive for, Jeff thought to himself as he did. That doesn’t even take into account the fly balls I’ve caught. They’ve got Bill’s number today for sure.
“Lay off the high ones,” Tom Jarrett cautioned while Jeff put on his batting helmet in the bottom of the seventh. Thompkins trailed three-to-one, but were beginning to rally and had two men on base. Jeff nodded and headed to the on-deck circle; he struck out twice already in the game on high pitches.
The batter in front of him struck out for the first out of the inning. A double-play ball would end the game. Jeff stepped into the batter’s box and got himself ready; high pitches were all he saw for the first three pitches thrown, but Jeff didn’t chase them this time. Jeff looked at his coach for the sign and blinked when he received ‘swing away.’
The opposing pitcher tried to blow a three-and-oh fastball by him, but Jeff waited on just that pitch. He drove the ball deep into the right-centerfield gap, catching the outfielders flat-footed. Jeff dropped the bat, sprinted away from home, and dug hard for first. He stepped on the inside corner of the bag and kept going. A line drive into the gap was a near-guaranteed double.
Jeff looked at Coach Kessler in the third base coach’s box and the man pinwheeled his arm, signaling Jeff to continue to third. Jeff didn’t slow. His cleats threw dirt as he continued around second and sped towards third. Jeff stole a glance towards the outfield while he rounded the bag; their centerfielder was just getting to the ball. He could hear the other team yelling instructions behind him as he looked where he was headed. Coach Kessler signaled him to slide to the inside of the bag.
Jeff leaned forward, brought himself lower to the ground, and launched himself at third. His right hand reached for the bag. He hooked his forearm around the bag so he wouldn’t overshoot it; Jeff held on as his momentum swung him around. The third baseman slapped the tag down.
“SAFE!” the umpire yelled, causing the Thompkins fans to cheer wildly at the bang-bang play.
Jeff asked for time and the umpire granted it. Coach Kessler slapped him on the helmet while he brushed off the dirt from the base path.
“Good job, Jeff! Nice hustle!”
“Thanks, Coach,” he answered, stepping back onto third.
“Okay, still just one out and now we’re tied three-to-three thanks to that hit. We may win this one yet.”
Tom Jarrett stepped up to the plate and dug his cleats into the box as he stared out at the pitcher. The other coach encouraged his pitcher from the dugout, but the kid was rattled. Tom blasted the first pitch back over the pitcher’s head and into centerfield. Jeff trotted home with the wining run.
“Nice game, kid,” Tom said later while they carried equipment back to the gym.
“Thanks. That hit felt pretty good.”
“How’s your head?” Tom asked with a grin.
“I think my ears are still ringing from people slapping my helmet.”
“That’s what happens when you lay off the high ones. It’s too bad we were eliminated from the playoffs a few weeks ago or that the season wasn’t a little longer. We’re finally looking pretty good.”
“Like we Sox fans always say, Tom: there’s always next year.”
“Well, our freshman year is just about over,” Kathy noted while the group of friends walked through the halls during the last week of school in May.
“Yep,” agreed Jack. “All that stands between us and vacation is the wonderful experience of exams.”
“Should be fun,” Jeff added.
“Like you have anything to worry about,” Jack retorted. “You could skip the next two weeks of school and you’d still get an A in Señora Alcala’s class!” Isabelle Alcala was Jeff’s Spanish teacher. “Not that you won’t be getting straight As...”
“And you two won’t?” Jeff asked he friends as they all entered the cafeteria.
A month later, while Jeff worked his full-time shifts at Bilzarian’s, his report card came to his house. It proved his friend’s prediction right.
I see plenty of clouds, but I don’t see any silver linings, Jeff thought to himself as he glanced outside. Vacationing in Milbridge, Maine was great but there wasn’t much to do when the weather wasn’t cooperating. Overcast and sixty was a far cry from the sunny and nineties of the past few days.
Jeff walked back to the couch and picked up his book again. He felt pretty proud of himself; he was no longer a freshman, his report card arrived with straight As, and he’d gotten another raise at Bilzarian’s. Life was good.
Jeff heard Kara’s door open upstairs and her footsteps approach the stairs. She pounded down them wearing a sweatshirt and long pants. She tore open the door and slammed it behind her. Jeff could see her striding down the walk through the window, but lost sight of her as she turned towards the ocean. She’d looked pissed off about something.
What’s eating her? Jeff wondered a moment before his earlier good mood evaporated.
Jeff ran up to his room, pulled on a sweatshirt, and bolted out of the house. He couldn’t see Kara when he reached the street. He tried to think of where Kara might have gone, then remembered where he’d seen her sitting many times over the last few days. He jogged towards the small beach the family had enjoyed. Kara sat on the jetty looking out over the ocean from the rocks there. He watched from the edge of the road for a few moments, but she didn’t move. He carefully made his way out along the rocks.
“Kara?” he called when he reached her. His sister turned and squinted up at him but said nothing. “Is it okay if I sit down here and talk to you?” The look on his her face suggested that wouldn’t be her first choice but she just shrugged; he decided that wasn’t a ‘no’ so he sat. It was a few minutes before either of them said anything.
“Kara, I want to apologize to you,” he finally said.
Kara glanced at him with a neutral look. “For what?” she asked.
“I haven’t treated you very well over the past year.” She kept quiet when he paused so he pressed forward. “I guess I was so focused on trying to change who I was before I got to Thompkins that I kept changing until I turned into a jerk. A self-absorbed jerk.”
“Why do you say that?” she asked. “That you’re a jerk?”
“When we were younger we used to spend hours in the woods behind the house exploring together. We used to spend almost as much time trying to figure out some way to pull pranks on Mom or Dad. In the winter we’d spend hours having snowball fights or sledding together; there weren’t many other kids who grew up near us, so we were always with one another. I stopped doing all of that this past year. I abandoned you. The ten minutes we’ve been sitting here together might be the longest we’ve voluntarily spent together in all of that time.”
Kara turned back to look at the ocean again. She was silent for many moments so Jeff held his tongue and also turned back to the water. Jeff figured she was preparing a response, but he wasn’t prepared for her to slug him in the shoulder. He was surprised by the impact.
“I HATE YOU!” she screamed at him while tears rolled down her face. “You get a job, go off to another school, make new friends and leave me alone? You left me behind like some day-old newspaper you’d already read! I was drowning in your wake! I was lost!” Jeff had never seen Kara so mad. “You totally changed! You stopped being the shy brother I could talk to and into a confident boy who didn’t seem to need me anymore! What did I do, Jeff? Huh? TELL ME! WHAT DID I DO?”
Kara buried her face in her hands and began sobbing, the sound audible over the crash of the nearby waves. Jeff tried to give her a hug, not quite knowing what else to do; Kara twisted out of his grasp and began hitting him in the chest over and over. His sister may have been the quiet artistic type, but she inherited enough of their father’s strong build for the punches to hurt. The venom she loosed on him stung more than the blows that rained down.
Jeff reached past the flailing arms and pulled his little sister into the hug he’d tried to give her earlier; he pulled her close enough that she had to stop hitting him. Kara continued to sob and pulled her arms to her own chest as he drew her to his. “You did nothing, Kara,” he assured her. “It was all my fault.” Kara cried louder. He began whispering, “I’m sorry,” over and over.
Jeff held his little sister for some time.
Three
You’ve Been Thunderstruck
27 August 1984 – Hardwick Road, Enfield, Massachusetts
Jeff gulped down the cup of water he held and tried to ready himself for his next turn at the current drill. He’d be going up against Nick Ansoina, now a senior and a co-captain of the soccer team. They watched while Tom Jarrett and a freshman raced after the ball, each jockeying for position.
“Man, they’re really banging away at each other, aren’t they?” Nick asked as he looked down the field. “That kid isn’t taking it easy on Tom, that’s for sure.”
“There’s one in every bunch,” Jeff joked in reply.
“That was you last year, ya know?” Nick reminded Jeff, facing him now.
“Huh?”
“That was you,” Nick repeated. “You and Tom fought your way down the whole sideline. And you’re right, there is one in every bunch; that was me my freshman year, it was Tom two years ago and you last year. Your performance in this drill last year, that you wouldn’t give up, that was a big reason why you got as much playing time as you did last year. You’ll be captain your senior year, if not before.” Jeff wasn’t sure how to answer that.
He didn’t have a chance to meet the freshman he commented about until the scrimmage at the end of practice. They were part of their team’s midfield.
“Hey,” Jeff greeted his teammate while he held out a hand. “I’m Jeff Knox.”
“Chris Micklicz,” the freshman responded as they shook.
“Where you from?”
“My family just moved to Palmer from outside Lansing, Michigan. Dad got a new job in Springfield this summer.”
“Well, unlike Lansing the valley’s not anywhere near our beloved Commonwealth’s capital, but we actually prefer it that way.”
“The valley?”
“The Swift River Valley which is, technically, Enfield, Greenwich, Prescott and Dana.”
“It’s not pronounced ‘Grennitch?’”
“Nope, ‘GREENwitch.’ We’re a bit different ‘round these parts.”
Chris laughed. “I’m my folks at least picked a school with a hockey team. Is it any good?”
Jeff shrugged. “We weren’t that good last year, five-and-fifteen, but a lot of those games could have gone either way. We just need the breaks to go our way and we’ll be pretty good.”
The whistle blew.
“Today, ladies!” called Coach Romanov. They quickly got back into their positions.
“Hey! Jeff!” a voice called to him the next week. Jeff turned from his locker to see his friend Jack Jarrett walking toward him with a wide smile on his face. Jack had an arm around Kathy Stein, his girlfriend of nine months. The young brunette invited Jack to her family’s summer house for the month that August; Jeff hadn’t seen the couple since mid-July due to the timing of his own family’s vacation and theirs. Jack and Kathy left for Maine the same day the Knoxes returned home.
“Well, look at you two,” Jeff quipped. “Both of you look very happy. And disgustingly tan.”
“And you’re not?” Kathy shot back. “You look like you were outside for hours every day yourself.”
“Well…” Jeff began. “Okay, fine. I was outside a lot despite my hours at Bilzarian’s. How was Maine?”
“Other than the crazy tourists, it was fine,” Kathy replied.
“Um, aren’t you guys crazy tourists when you go up there, Kath?”
“Yeah, okay.”
A beautiful blonde he didn’t recognize passing by distracted Jeff; she was talking to a group of girls he recognized from the junior class. He managed not to let his mouth hang open, but he couldn’t stop staring at her. She was spectacular.
“Jeff? Jeff?” Jack tried to get his attention. Jeff looked back at his friends.
“Sorry…” he said, a sheepish look on his face. Kathy just laughed at him. She saw who he’d been watching.
“You met Chris Micklicz last week during soccer practice, right?” Jack asked.
“Yeah?” Jeff answered, wondering how Jack had already heard of him.
“Tom told me about him,” Jack explained. “That’s his older sister, Pauline. She’s in Tom’s class.”
“Wow…” Jeff whispered, clearly taken with the older girl.
“Yeah, definitely not a butter face,” Kathy muttered. A ‘butter face’ is a girl who looked pretty until she turned around: “she had a fine body, but her face..!”
“Older and out of my league, then,” Jeff sighed.
“You never know until you try, Big Boy,” Kathy teased.
“That’s one of the areas I don’t have a lot of confidence in, Kathy. You know that.”
“And that’s something I totally don’t get,” she said. “You’re friends with just about everybody!”
“Most of the girls I’m friends with I’ve known for years,” Jeff reminded Kathy. “You’re the exception, Kath; you’d already met this guy here, and now you’re Jack’s girlfriend. There’s no pressure with you. This girl’s different.”
The soccer team talked about many things while they cleaned up after practices. One locker room debate after practice early in the year started the team thinking; it was also the start of helping them gel. Jeff was right in the middle of the discussion.
“Why do we need to worry about those kids?” asked Deke Mueller, a starting forward and a senior this year.
“Deke, do you like music?” Jeff asked in return.
“What? I though we were talking about the geeks?”
“Bear with me. Do you like listening to music? On a turntable? Maybe on a tape player?”
“Yeah…?”
“How about talking to your girlfriend on the phone? Picking her up in your car to go somewhere? Not having to go to bed when the sun sets because you can turn on a light?”
“Yeah…?”
“Who do you think thought up all that stuff? The geeks, right?”
“Yeah, I guess,” Deke admitted.
“Deke, I’m a geek,” Jeff told him. “I have been for years. In fact, I got straight A’s on my final report card last year.” Deke just blinked at him. “I’m probably near the top of my class right now.”
“But… but… You’re a soccer player! A jock!” Deke exclaimed, shocked.
“Yeah, so?” Jeff shrugged. “Why do the two have to be separate? When I leave Thompkins that might be the end of me ever playing sports competitively again. There may be people at this school who will go on to college sports, or maybe even get to the pros, but for the majority of us this will be it. Why shouldn’t we work hard? Learn as much as we can as well as we can so we have more choices later in life? Anyone can be a dick, just look at Bryan Cosgrove. But how much will that cost you later in life? And how much will it gain for you not to be?”
Deke looked thoughtful, as did the others who heard Jeff’s argument, so Jeff kept going. “You guys know Tom has a little brother, right?” he asked indicating Tom Jarrett. Many of his teammates nodded. “Jack’s probably my best friend, with Kathy Stein a close second. With his medical problems Jack will never be able to play sports, and Kathy’s chosen not to. Does that matter to me? No. I have the same sense of humor as they do, and we like hanging out together. End of story.
“You guys backed me up last year when I squared off with Cosgrove on the first day of school, and you’d only known me a week. There’s only about three hundred of us in high school here, so why are we splitting ourselves into such small, divisive groups? Talk to these kids. Make them see you’re nothing like they probably thought you were.”
Jeff climbed off his soapbox. He let his teammates roll his words around in their heads while they finished dressing. Tom Jarrett caught up to him as he walked out to the parking lot to catch his ride home.
“Nice sermon, Reverend,” Tom joked as he shoved him gently.
“Why should Jack and Kathy and the others who don’t play sports be treated like that, Tom?” Jeff asked in a not-so-joking manner. “You know I’d be treated like them if I didn’t play a sport.”
“Easy, man,” Tom said in a soothing tone. “You’re preaching to the choir, okay?”
“Sorry, Tom. It pisses me off.”
“Really? Hadn’t noticed.” Tom almost fell over laughing when Jeff shoved him back.
In his office Coach Romanov smiled to himself. He overheard Jeff’s speech.
The sophomore grinned at the three freshman. It was a cruel smile. With his buddies behind him backing him up, he was sure that the three younger kids would soon piss their pants. He’d just about gotten them to the point where they’d hand over their lunch money when he heard a scuffle behind him. Someone swatted a stinging slap to the back of his head. That person was going to die! Spinning around, he nearly shit his pants when he saw who slapped him.
“Hi, Bryan,” Jeff Knox growled through gritted teeth. “Did ya have a nice summer?”
Bryan had stayed in the shadows, avoiding Jeff since their first confrontation last year; he’d taken a chance and poked his head up again this year to see what he could get away with. A quick glance around showed his buddies being braced by Jeff’s teammates, many teammates.
The other teams heard about Jeff’s speech; they responded to the challenge. Bryan knew he was about to be hammered back down into his hole. He turned back to Jeff with a much less arrogant attitude.
“What I told you last year is still in effect,” Jeff whispered to him, so softly that only Bryan could hear. “We haven’t been back in school a month and already you’ve managed to piss me off. Nice work.”
Jeff looked over at the three younger students. “Guys, if this person here - and I use the term person lightly - bothers you again, you come find me or any of my teammates. We’ll handle the problem, okay?” The three freshmen nodded nervously, not quite believing that an older student was sticking up for them; that wasn’t what their dealings with other classes had showed them so far. They saw the student who stuck up for them give the bully a hard look before he waved them down the hall.
“That’s strike two,” Jeff warned Cosgrove after the younger students left. “You don’t want to know what happens when you strike out.”
Jeff worked on his French homework beside Kara before dinner. He was taking both Spanish II and French I on the enthusiastic recommendation of Isabelle Alcala. Kara chose French as her language so they were in the same beginner’s class. She found Jeff’s study methods and his discipline were something to emulate; with the burden of an extra class this year, Jeff needed to study whenever he could. His mother tousled his hair while the siblings worked at the kitchen table.
“Mom, you’re killing my chance with the ladies!” he complained, trying to straighten his hair while Kara laughed at him.
“Who?” she asked. “Your sister? Me? The kitchen isn’t exactly a ‘target-rich environment’ as you kids say.”
“You’re the one that keeps telling me to be ready when opportunity knocks!” he responded. “How can I be ready for my adoring fans if I look like I just woke up?”
“Relax, Romeo. The bouncer at the door will let us know when they start lining up for you. It’s time to put away le français and set the table.”
Thompkins played their league rival Petersham Preparatory Academy in an early October soccer match. Away games were sparsely attended by Thompkins students. PPA’s students made a decent turnout in contrast; now they made a lot of noise because their team had been whistled for a foul just before halftime. The foul happened just outside the penalty area and the ref awarded Thompkins an indirect free kick for interference. Two players had to touch the ball before a goal would count.
Nick Ansonia waited next to Jeff while the referee pointed to the spot of the foul. The ref paced off the ten yard zone that PPA had to stay outside of. Nick and Jeff talked over the play one more time; it was a common play that everyone used but it did work sometimes. The referee raised his arm and blew the whistle.
Nick nodded to Jeff and ran towards the ball. He stepped over it, and bumped it back towards Jeff. The ball made the one full revolution for the play to be legal. Jeff sprinted towards the ball; he blasted a shot towards the goal, a shot that looked to be going wide of the far post.
PPA’s goalie saw the ball’s spin. He broke as hard as he could for the back post of his goal. Jeff placed his shot well. Sideline spectators watched the shot arc towards the net; PPA’s defenseman leaped for it, hoping to head it away. The goalie dove to intercept the ball, stretching out, trying to bat it away.