Rocket Car

Chapter 6

Rocket Car

Davis is adamant that we enjoy the summer weather, and I'm not one to disagree. From his garage he digs out two fishing poles and a tackle box. He tells me that the river is just a short stroll from his house. Around here, that isn't too unusual as three rivers cross through our town. Fortunately it's just mid-morning, so the insufferable summer afternoon heat isn't here to ruin our walk. A rare cool breeze manages to sneak its way through the streets, making the stroll very enjoyable.

Ten minutes of silent but comfortable traveling and we find ourselves nearing the river's edge. The paved road disappears to a rocky, uneven path that's lined with neatly trimmed grass. Overgrown mulberry trees and wax current bushes block the water from the main path. Several cars are parked in dusty spots and a few families enjoy picnics and games in the well-maintained grass. We breakaway from all of that. Off path we travel until Davis leads me to a break in the bushes that leads to the muddy riverbank.

It's a sharp and rocky downhill stroll for a few feet before we're on flat ground again. I focus my eyes solely on the rough waters before us. This is the smallest of the three rivers, where less boaters disturb the waters and the force of Mother Nature is all that causes the river to move. An occasional group of kids on floating devices will pass by, happily calling out to all the fishermen on the shoreline. Without fail, all those fishing call back to the wild kids and give them a friendly wave. It's an attitude and atmosphere that can only be found in small places such as this.

"Davey!"

The shriek of a small child's yell causes my neck to snap in its direction. Pattering towards us as fast as his little legs can take him is a five year old boy with his arms outstretched. Davis carefully sets down his tackle box and snatches the kid up as he reaches him. Out of habit, I pick the tackle box up for him.

"How's it going, champ?" he asks the kid.

I don't listen to their conversation. The sight of Davis holding a child makes me feel something odd. It's not a negative feeling, nor necessarily is it a positive one. It's like a rumbling hits all my nerves at once and I shut down.

It doesn't take long for me to realize it's not Davis that makes me feel that way – it's the boy. The slight upturn of his nose, the way his lips tug without thought into a smile, the way his ears stick out just a tad, the roundness of his face, the light freckles, the hazel eyes…

"Hey!"

Great. Davis did this on purpose. I know that voice and now I know why the kid looked like I've known him for years. I don't bother to look at the man as he approaches. My eyes are focused on a rusty beer can that's been stuck in the mud for generations. I can still feel Davis cast a glance my way; smug bastard probably has a grin on his face. Jackass.

"How's it going, Willie?" Davis asks. Confirmation that the man before us really is him, I guess.

"Same old s**t, man. Hey! Kristy! It's been a long time! I didn't know you were back in town! Well, it's like they say, this is the rubber band," Willie says with a laugh.

I force myself to look up at him and smile. "Yeah, it's been a while. Like, eight years," I say.

"Wow, that long, huh?" he asks.

He's different now. When we were teenagers, he always looked a year or two younger than he really was. He was shorter than most other guys, nearly level in height with me, but he stood straight and proud back then. His body was lean and fitting of the spryness required for the position he played in baseball. Now, he looks a few years older; his shoulders slump a tad and I can tell he's gained quite a few pounds. Still, the eternal smile resting in his hazel eyes is clear as day.

"I'm going to take him to grab some shaved ice, is that okay?" Davis asks. Of course, he isn't waiting for an answer and he's already turned to leave.

Still, Willie says, "Sure thing. We'll cast off here, right?"

The question is directed at me. I nod silently.

Willie takes a seat on a big rock that's just a few inches into the water. As he rigs his line, I'm already casting out. I use Davis's tackle box as my seat, at least an arm's length behind Willie. Apparently, he's not a fan of the idea. The moment my lure drops into the water he turns to face me.

"What are you doing?" he asks. I say nothing. He lifts his soaked shoe out of the water and kicks a rock right next to him. "Sit here. We picked this spot for a reason, you know?"

For the first time I notice there are four rocks big enough to be used as seats all right next to each other. I can't argue the logic and I know I'm being childish if I fight. Besides, the rock looks smooth and a lot more comfortable than the tackle box.

He's casting out by the time I'm seated on the rock. It's silent, but surprisingly easy. He's always made me feel that way, though. Still, he's also always been really chatty and it's only a matter of time before he starts asking questions and rambling.

"Back home, huh? That's nice. I was happy to come back here after a few years, you know? Good weather, good fishing, decent baseball team. Miss visiting Safeco Field every day, though. You got to see Fenway, right? Lucky. We still need to hit up Wrigley sometime, though. Figured you would, with family in Chicago and everything. What brought you back here, anyway? Work? Husband?"

"I'm single," I admit. It feels good to a damn word in. In the time he was speaking I had reeled in and casted back out twice.

"Oh."

Back into silence we go. It's irritating the way he says it, like he feels pity for me or something. Then to just end the conversation? That's unlike him. He's casting back out again; I have to keep it going, or I'll end up bashing my head against the rocks. "I'm guessing that was your son?" I ask.

"Huh? Oh, yeah. Edgar. I get him during the summers. My current fiancée and I plan on going for full custody soon, though. Once we're married, anyway. My ex is a disaster. He needs a stable home, you know?" he says.

"I'm not surprised," I say without thought. I feel him turn to face me, so I do the same. He appears confused by the statement. "About you being a good dad. Actually caring. I always thought you'd be a good father."

I see the confusion disappear with his face and a smile bigger than I've ever seen grace his features. For a moment, he looks fifteen again. "Thanks! Imagine if he was yours, huh? Think it would've lasted?"

May 4th, 2003

Baseball never drew the same crowds as football. The softball team found a seat rather easily. They wished the softball bleachers would be updated from the wooden ones to the plastic ones the baseball field had. They've already played – and already lost. It was tradition for the softball and baseball teams to support each other, so of course they immediately shuffled over to watch the boys play.

The game was already into the second inning. Kristy didn't bother to look at the score. She didn't notice anyone on the field other than the second baseman. He's shorter than everyone else and much lighter. Dirt already covered his entire left side. A bloodied hand reached up to wipe the sweat away from his forehead and adjust his cap. Just before the next pitch he inhaled and exhaled, ready for any sudden movement necessary.

Someone next to her elbowed her and with a giggle said, "You're drooling."

At that moment, she might have actually been drooling, but she didn't mind.

August 20th, 2003

It was their first real date, although they'd been hanging out all summer. It started with him asking about her plans for the annual fair. She told him her typical group might go on Monday, if at all. His eyes lit up at the news. "Why don't you go with me on Wednesday? Um, just us," he said.

"A date?" she questioned, seeking clarification. Maybe she was being a bit too hopeful.

His cheeks turned red, oddly fitting of his light skin. "Yeah. Do you want to go out with me?" he asked. Despite the fact he was clearly embarrassed, he asked it with almost a commanding tone and squared shoulders.

So they found themselves walking side by side through the crowded fair grounds, unsure of exactly what it was they were supposed to do in that situation. He'd bought her kettle corn and tried to win a stuffed dolphin from one of those rigged carnie games. She's taken even the scariest rides with him, no matter how much she didn't really want to. It was fun, but it didn't really feel like a date. As day turned to nighttime, both fretted that they didn't leave a very good impression.

Then, casually, without any thought or hesitation, he slipped his hand into hers. The sudden touch caused her to halt; a glance at him revealed a smile that she'd rarely seen him give, bigger than anyone else could ever manage.

At that moment, he might have been sick to his stomach from anxiousness, but he didn't mind.

May 13rd, 2006

Baseball never drew the same crowds as football. Except this year, it drew better crowds.

She was in the bleachers again. This time, it was not because the softball team is done – it was because she was done. A glance at her wrapped knee and she sighed. So much for that scholarship. Still, there was one person that was living their dream and she was proud to be a part of it.

Everyone was watching the infield during warm ups. In the crowd there were faces no one in town had ever seen before. Rumor was they were scouts, both professional and college. They were there for one thing: the famous Ochoa, Waechter, and Abel trio. This town never said, "Tinkers to Evers to Chance;" it was "Ochoa to Waechter to Abel." Other teams dreaded coming up to bat with a runner on first – they'd definitely hit into a double play.

At the center of it all was a short second baseman that seemed to have it all. The range of Alomar and the hustle of Robinson made him a spry, flashy glove in the middle of the infield. He'd step up to the plate and adjust his sleeve, raise his bat, and aim it at the pitcher like Ichiro, but he'd swing like Griffey. As a Junior, he was team captain, a title often reserved for Seniors. He was seen at the center of every play, whether from his glove, his bat, or his cheering.

He stopped kicking the dirt long enough to look up and see her. It was odd how he could zero in on her in a heartbeat, no matter where in the crowd she was or how big it was. All the scouts, all the recruiters, all the pressure didn't matter – just knowing they could share a smile was what counted.

At that moment, they might have been unsure of the future, but they didn't mind.

April 2nd, 2007

It was their first out of town trip together. They'd spent their entire high school career as a couple. Well, for the most part. There were a few fights, some temporary break ups, and a lot of drama. Yet they don't remember any of that. The happy moments outweighed all the bad ones.

Still, the trip felt oddly like a goodbye letter to each other. They were in Seattle to scout out the town, the area, and the school he was going to attend. He promised to take her to the home opener for the Seattle Mariners – and showed her the tickets just to prove it. "I'll play in Safeco field one day, just watch! Then, I'll get you seats right along the dugout, promise!" he said with a grin.

Sometime that night, long after the game (which, they won, she'd never forget) and long after their shoes had touched every inch of downtown, he led her to the waterfront. Along the old wooden pier they walked hand in hand, enjoying the sights of the big city at night and the lights of ferries as they approached from across the sound. They stopped and leaned over the metal fence that prevented unsuspecting folks from toppling into the bay. Sea water smells and cool ocean breezes helped them relax.

"Are you sure you want to go to San Francisco?" he suddenly asked.

"I was already accepted down there," she said, unsure why he was now asking.

He straightened up. No longer leaning on the fence he stuck his hands into his pockets. For the first time, he seemed to hunch his shoulders. He was unsure. "Yeah, but I want to marry you."

Her heart stopped. No, she must have misheard.

Shaking, a hand left his pocket and revealed two things: a tiny padlock and a closed jewelry box. Her eyes danced from the objects in his hand to his face several times, not believing in the slightest this was happening. Yet he carried an expression so serious she thought he might've died right there if she said no.

His eyes never left hers as he said, "It's not fancy. I didn't make much at the butcher shop. I'll get you a nicer one once I'm done with school. When I'm playing baseball for real. I'll propose again then, if I have to. Along the third base line at Safeco Field, if that's what you want. After my first big league hit, if that's what you want. Whatever you want, please. Just, give me this one thing that I want. I want to marry you. I want to spend the rest of my life with you."

She didn't answer. Instead, she kissed him. Somehow, he must've known that she wasn't going to say "yes." He seemed content regardless, and returned the gesture the best he could. It was the only time they'd kissed in such a way; the only time she felt all of his love and emotions in a single gesture. He was much more mature than she was, she realized. He knew exactly what he wanted in life – and she didn't have a clue.

If you walk along the pier in Seattle, you can still find a tiny gold padlock latched against the fence, just one amongst hundreds (maybe thousands now). The etching is fading ever so slightly, but you can still make out the words "Willie and Kristy, 2007."

At that moment, they knew they weren't going to last forever, but they didn't mind.