Steady as the Snow Falls(22)

"Nothing, really. He just … makes me nervous. Says things he shouldn't,  shows up where I don't want him to. All the time. It's okay, Mom. I  shouldn't have said anything." Beth shifted on the chair and turned her  eyes to her food.

Now that she'd voiced her concerns and seen her mother's reaction, Beth  felt like she was overreacting. She felt like she was betraying him by  speaking of him that way. It was Ozzy. He may be unstable at times, but  at the center of him, there was goodness. He made mistakes, but it  wasn't like he didn't feel bad about them. Beth's faith rang hollow.

She pointed her spoon in Beth's direction. "I better not hear about him  harassing you, because if I do, me, your dad, and your two brothers will  be having a talk with him."

Beth smiled at her mom's proclamation. Knowing she had her support made her feel better.

They finished their lunch with little talk, and once the dishes were  washed and put away, Beth turned to her mom. "Dad still keeps all his  sports magazines, right?"         

     



 

"Yes." Her mom sighed and hung the dishtowel on the oven handlebar. "You  know what a packrat he is. They're all downstairs in the den. Why?"

"I was just curious about how far back they go. Is it okay if I look around?"

She eyed Beth, her expression saying she was suspicious of her  daughter's words. Everyone who knew Beth knew she didn't care about, or  know anything about, sports. "Sure. Good luck making your way around the  room. He has boxes and boxes of them. Shelves even. Everything is  categorized by year and sport, if that helps."

Beth gave her mom a brief hug, smelling cleaning solution and hairspray  on her. "Let me know when you're leaving if I'm still down there and  I'll make sure I lock up when I go."

Her mom murmured acknowledgment, watching Beth with narrowed eyes as she  walked the length of the carpeted hallway. Beth opened the door that  went down to the den in the basement and her dad's sanctuary in a house  that was otherwise designated as her mom's. Turning on the light, she  started down the steps.

It was cooler in the basement, the main room dreary with its cement  floor and half-finished walls. The downstairs smelled of dust and  staleness, the chill in the air weaving its way through her. Finishing  the basement was one of her father's never-ending projects. He  complained that he'd finally get it the way he wanted, and then he'd  die. Which could explain his procrastination.

Die.

Death.

Harrison.

The words echoed through her mind, growing in volume and urgency. As far  as she knew, his death was not coming anytime soon, and yet it felt  like there was a shadow of it hovering just the same. Beth went still,  forcing thoughts away from Harrison. Again. And then they went right  back to him anyway. Her brain seemed to be hardwired to him.

Everything reminded her of him or made her think of something that  pertained to him. There he was, alone in his house in the country,  surviving. Enduring. He acted like he wanted it that way. Beth didn't  accept that. What did he do for fun? What did he do to keep the insanity  of his illness at bay? Did he allow himself to hope, to wonder, to  dream? What brought him joy?

No one should live without some kind of happiness.

How many times had he smiled?

Not enough.

How many times had he laughed?

Not enough.

The walls shrank on all sides of her as she moved around boxes, totes,  and rarely used exercise equipment, squeezing in on her like a blackened  organ with her standing in the center of it. It was a warning to  distance herself from Harrison, but she didn't know if she was able to  heed it. Beth sighed, deciding it was time to be honest with herself.

She didn't want to distance herself.

There. It was out. Unable to be ignored.

Admitting it to herself was opening a virtual gate to invite in other  truths. Like how she admired the vibrant shade of his hair, that it  reminded her of fire. How she liked to look into his dark eyes that saw  too much, seemed too old, and were trying to hide from her. How her  breaths couldn't function right and her palms turned damp as she thought  about his lips and wondered how they would feel.

"Shit." Beth closed her eyes, not sure she was ready to admit quite that many things.

Something shot through her, pushed back her shoulders, added grimness to  her lips and determination to her frame. Harrison thought he had to  deal with HIV alone. That was his first mistake. He didn't. Beth could  help him, be a friend. He needed a friend.

The den was through a doorway with no door, a large space that smelled  faintly of cigars and her dad's cologne. It was a dark room, decorated  in black and brown. A man cave, as her dad liked to proudly call it.  Benny's and Jake's various athletic trophies were set up in a bookcase. A  spattering of Beth's awards were among them, but hers were for  Forensics, Solo Ensemble, dance competitions, and poetry contests.

She trailed her fingers over the frame of a picture taken of them all  when she was thirteen, and smiled at the memory of that day. It was  Jake's sixteenth birthday, and he took the family car without asking,  thinking he was entitled to it since he had his driver's license. The  picture was taken after he got back from the store, and his misery  showed in the scowl on his face. He wasn't allowed to drive anywhere for  a month after that. He acted like his world was over. It was nice  having older siblings as role models on how to not behave.

Her hand fell away, and Beth turned, not sure where to start. Her mom  was right-there were magazines and other sports paraphernalia covering  just about every inch of the room. The task could easily overwhelm her  if she let it. Taking a breath, she searched her dad's handwritten  stickered labels and found the football section on one of the shelving  units. It shouldn't be a big deal, but Beth couldn't shake the sense of  urgency that she must find something on Harrison. She wanted to hold his  history within her hands.         

     



 

The magazines blurred into one another, and when she finally came to one  that featured Harrison on the cover, Beth flinched and dropped it.  Carefully lifting it like one wrong move would cause it to burst into  flames, she took the magazine and sat down on the old and lumpy  loveseat, her back twinging when she moved wrong. The journal was cold  against her fingertips.

Wrapping an old blue, musty smelling blanket around her shoulders, Beth  stared at his face with its cut cheekbones and firm mouth. Harrison's  red and gold hair was styled with the top in orderly disarray, and short  sideburns lined the edges of his face. His jaw was hard with  determination, his dark eyes alive and confident. The image exuded power  and strength. A choked sound left her, and she traced a trembling  finger down the side of his face. Beth hugged the magazine to her chest  and focused on the television across the room, trying to calm an  unstoppable need.

I'm too interested in him. I care too much. This isn't good.

It was of no consequence.

"Feelings cannot be decided by time," she whispered to herself.

She opened the publication to the right page, and she read about  Harrison Caldwell. He studied forest management in college and hoped to  work in an outdoor capacity once he retired from playing professional  football. His hobbies included hiking, canoeing, and camping. A dream of  his was to hike the Appalachian Trail. Long-term goals included having  land in the country with his family and spending as much time outside as  he was able.

"Beth? What's got you so upset?"

Her head shot up, and Beth looked at her mom, unaware that she was  crying until one warm tear slid down her cheek. "Nothing. I'm fine." She  closed the magazine and set it on the couch beside her.

"Are you sure?" Her mom had exchanged her shabby clothes for jeans and a  light blue sweater. She walked to the couch and sat down, picking up  the magazine as she did so.

"I just … I was thinking of Ozzy." The lie felt thick on her tongue, and Beth's stomach roiled in response.

"Don't waste any more of your tears on that boy," she quietly chastised, putting an arm around Beth.

"I'm working on it." That much was true.

Her mom flipped the magazine to the front and frowned. "Such a tragedy.  Your father and I saw him play once, when he was just starting out."

Beth looked over her arm, pretending to not recognize the man on the  cover. The pounding of her heart said she did. "Harrison Caldwell."

"You know I'm a fan of sports as much as your dad and brothers. I never  saw someone before him play with such spirit. He was an amazing football  player. He moved across the field like smooth water. Hardly anyone ever  caught him, or took him down." Her mom stood and put the magazine back  in its spot among the others. "Why are you interested in Harrison  Caldwell?"

"I'm not," Beth quickly told her, getting to her feet.

The look she gave her daughter said she was smarter than Beth thought she was.