American Bad Boy(37)

“For sure. I mean, first I want to make the middle school team though,” Chris looks around the nearly empty stadium in awe.

“You’re not in middle school yet? Man, how old are you? Someone’s been eating their Wheaties!” Armstrong chuckles at his own joke and Chris looks up at him with question marks in his eyes. “Never mind,” he mumbles, realizing the reference is lost on his young audience.

“I’m nine, in grade four. Well, I was in grade four anyway. Till I got kicked out of school.”

“Kicked out? What for?” Armstrong was never one for turning down gossip. It’s good to see some things don’t change.

“I dunno, I set off some cherry bombs in the toilets and the principal freaked out.” Chris shrugs.

“Well, that sounds like a dumb reason to get expelled, but I don’t know much about that. I do know that you’ll never play college ball if you don’t get into middle school. Hey, you two want to toss the ball around a bit out here?” Armstrong holds the football up in his hand and Chris’s eyes light up.

“Can we?”

“Yeah, man. Let’s do it.” Armstrong jogs about ten feet away and I do the same in the other direction until the three of us are in a triangle.

Cameron tosses the ball to Chris and he catches it effortlessly. “Great catch!” Cameron encourages him. Chris stands a little taller and chucks the ball my way.

I cradle the ball in my arms before tossing it back Cameron’s way.

“Thanks. And, I know that I need to get back in school. I’m gonna try not to mess it up when I get back in,” Chris catches the ball.

“I had to go to some group thing for kids who lost their parents and they told me that I haven’t had closure yet, or whatever. I dunno.” Chris chucks the ball at me and looks at his feet. “I don’t really know what they meant.”

My hand freezes in mid-air with the ball in it and I look over at Cameron. I talked to him ahead of time about Chris’s situation, so this isn’t news to him, but he’s not letting on.

“You lost your dad? I’m really sorry to hear that,” I can hear that the sentiment is heartfelt.

“Yeah, I haven’t said it yet, but I’m sorry you had to go through that shit,” I agree. “That’s an unfair hand you got dealt, Armstrong and I know how important it is to get closure though. Don’t we?” I chuck the ball back at my old Corporal.

“Yeah, man. That’s no lie.” He nods.

“You know, when I first got back from the war, I was really struggling with closure too. I lost some great men over there. Men I’d trust with my life. I did trust them with my life, and I felt like I let them down when I stepped back on U.S. soil and they didn’t.” I confess and for a moment, no one remembers to pass the ball. Instead, Chris and Cameron simply listen respectfully.

“What did you do? To get closure, I mean?” Chris prods and I’m grateful for the interruption in where my dark thoughts were heading.

“Hmm? Oh, I visited their graves and talked to them,” Chris looks at me like I just grew another head.

“What?” he sounds like he thinks I’m pulling his leg.

“No, really. I mean, it’s not like I thought they would answer me. I’m not crazy,” I try to explain, “I just needed to talk to them though. To tell them I was sorry I let them down and that I let their families down. I had to tell them how it was an honor to serve with them, and that I wouldn’t forget them.” My voice grows thick and I swallow hard, trying to push down the memory with it. “It really helped.” I admit to the ground.

I look up and Armstrong is watching me closely. He seems to suddenly remember that he’s still holding the ball and he throws it over to Chris. “You know what, man? I did the same thing.”

“Really?” Chris looks at him, tilting his head.

“Yeah, I went to the grave of my old buddy. I had to say good-bye to him, you know? I wanted to let him know that I got out of the military and came here,” he points to the empty seats surrounding us. “I don’t know why, but it really worked. I felt peace after that. Like I was finally closing a door on that part of my life.”

Chris looks at the ball in his hand, then at Armstrong and I. We’ve obviously given him something to chew on.

“I dunno if that would work for me,” he talks to the football. Armstrong walks in toward Chris and I follow his lead. I clap my hand on the boy’s back dragging him out of the dark place I can see him going to, like he just did for me.

“Hey, maybe talking to your dad at his grave won’t be the way for you. I’m just saying it worked for me. You gotta do what feels right for you, ok?” I explain gently.