7. Saturday is for Sports
Sara and Kevin held hands walking into Buckley Park through the black-iron gated entry, commonly referred to as the football entrance; June, Kai and Zee trooping along, June and Kai in soccer gear, Zee in an aqua sweatsuit with a Disney logo featuring Timon and Pumba.
“Saturday is for sports,” Kai had announced that morning at breakfast.
“Indeed,” Kevin answered happily.
The Dells moved into a two-way stream of people pacing a walkway that runs the length of the eastern edge of the park.
Alongside the walkway, towering white pines, mighty, 80-foot soldiers, set in a line long ago to protect a sacred place; the sun, having risen over the eastern hillside, illuminates the branches with a velvety, blue-green luster.
Sara liked to say that if everyone behaved the way Worthboro folks do on a busy Saturday at Buckley Park, the whole wide world might live happily ever after.
Kevin couldn’t agree more.
Everyone watches their children while casting an eye on others, boosting the overall effectiveness of the herd. People move in well rehearsed steps, enjoying the fresh air, locating teammates and friends, watching and participating in the games.
Humanity congregating and cooperating. Mostly.
Kevin slyly likes to observe the minor conflicts. Loud mouths. Misbehaving children. Spats between opponents.
Rifts and rivalries.
Nuances that add spice to the overall harmony.
Worthboro folks often boast that they have the best sports and rec program anywhere; but anyone who’s competed at Buckley Park knows it’s not boasting.
Thousands of years ago, a glacier rammed its way through New England, tractor-scooping a rectangular-ish sprawl that would one day become the heart of an enclave of upper-middle class prosperity.
A community that today is downright fanatical in its commitment to athletic excellence.
Buckley Park was built into the natural clearing, the grounds stretching a quarter mile across and just over a half mile end to end.
A baseball park with real cement dugouts and a professional quality infield occupies the east corner and has a separate entrance on School Street.
The football field dominates the west end, with state of the art artificial turf, an electronic scoreboard the size of a drive-in movie screen and sturdy aluminum bleachers rising along either sideline.
While the baseball and football areas bookend Buckley Park, the center expanse includes tennis courts, the town pool, picnic areas, volleyball, horseshoes, flower gardens, pavilions, and a modern and snazzy children’s playground.
At the heart of the park are three soccer fields, two, full-sized fields and a smaller field for the younger kids.
Winding throughout the sprawl are walking paths of asphalt wide enough for both pedestrians and bicycles and the occasional maintenance vehicle.
Once the Dells round the edge of the football bleachers, they followed the stream of people on the path leading away from the pines, toward the soccer fields.
June and Kai were soon hurrying ahead, having spotted uniforms like their own.
The girls had back-to-back games today.
June played first, on one of the full sized fields. Kai’s game immediately followed on the smaller field.
All three fields had ongoing games as the Dells arrived; clusters of spectators looped along the sidelines.
Kevin and Sara approached the field where June would play, the current game hotly contested, crowd noise stereoing with the play; Kevin spotted Carter Marionette amidst 22 players on the pitch, like the brightest star on a clear night, the kinetic energy of his movements reminding Kevin of his uncle Jonny at the same age.
Gazed along the sideline to find the Marionette sisters: Jackie and Jenna.
Not even the death of their mother would stop them from attending a sporting event; to the contrary, Kevin guessed the sisters would feel obligated to be here.
The two of them stood close enough to touch, like an island; folks behaving two ways; some, like ships avoiding a treacherous shoreline, drifting around; others, drawn to their pain, offering condolences.
June was best buddies with Jackie’s daughter Erin and they played on the same girls’ team, scheduled to play next.
Sara poked Kevin and pointed and they proudly observed June walking with Erin, shoulder to shoulder and hand in hand, in their soccer uniforms, toward the sisters.
June, tentative, then springing forward to throw her arms around Jackie Marionette, Erin’s Mom and Leslie’s oldest daughter.
***
The impossible to understand circumstance of Leslie’s death weighed heavily on Kevin, her death eclipsing what might have otherwise dominated the week—the clipping of his scrotum.
Sara had been extra affectionate, repeatedly asking Kevin if he was sore and if everything was … okay?
Kevin assured her that he was fine, while enjoying the extra attention.
He was concerned about Sara, though, knowing that she, ironically, was having a more difficult time with the procedure.
Sara, having held on to the hope of one more child for longer than she cared to admit.
Kevin had to admit to once having no plans of procreating.
Perhaps, because of his precocious mind, at too young of an age he recognized the many problems of the world and tended to lean against bringing more humans onto the planet.
Then he met Sara.
Sara told him on their second date that she wanted a bunch of littles ones. Someday.
When things got serious, she sat Kevin down (to look him eye to eye) and told him that if he was serious, she wanted two or four or six children, end of discussion.
Kevin told her, “I’ve always preferred even numbers.”
“Better for the kids,” Sara explained. “So they can’t gang up on each other.”
Sara and Kevin were married their junior year of college.
Started trying as soon as they entered the workforce.
Kept on trying.
Sara went to one specialist. Then others.
No one knew for sure why she couldn’t conceive, as Kevin’s sperm count tested excellent.
But, from the age of five until her senior year of college, Sara powered her body through daily, grueling physical exercise. An honest doctor told Sara that competitive gymnastics was believed to take a toll on women in ways not completely understood.
So Sara and Kevin continued trying.
And then, as though the mad tinkerer waved a magic wand, there was a pregnancy.
A miscarriage.
A repeat of that gut-wrenching experience.
Sara and Kevin were ready to jump into adoption when June was conceived.
A miracle, for sure.
Two years after June was born, Sara and Kevin began trying again, unsure of what would happen.
And just like that, Kai.
In similar, spectacularly predictable fashion, Zee arrived three years later.
Three girls, each born roughly three years apart. The gut-wrenching emotion of the early days forgotten.
Sara and Kevin assumed the same thing would happen when Kai reached two years of age.
But, like the mad tinkerer swept that magic wand back again … nothing.
After they each turned 40, Kevin scheduled the vasectomy, his only caveat that before the procedure, Sara would take a day off from work so they could—as Kevin put it—”enjoy one last hurrah.”
Just the previous weekend he had asked, “You will be on the cusp of that fertility window thing, right?”
“You little devil,” Sara told him sweetly. “I’ll gladly take a day off to be with you, but we both know we’re stuck with an odd number.”
Neither one of them liked that—odd numbers; though, Kevin knew better than to say anything about it in front of Sara anymore.
The day that she turned 40, Sara burst into tears.
Kevin told her that three was a perfect number.
“You don’t understand,” she told him, mad at herself more than embarrassed. “I’m superstitious, you know that. And that big brain of yours scares me. When you say stuff about not trusting odd numbers … I just get afraid. I know it doesn’t make sense, but I get so afraid that something is going to happen to one of our girls.”
Kevin told her not to worry.
Superstition is not the way.
***
The teams were running warm-up drills when June scampered over, breathlessly telling Sara (knowing Kevin was watching) that Katie, a regular starter at midfield was sick so June would be starting in her place.
Sara shouted “You go girl,” as June raced back, Kevin pleased that June seemed genuinely excited, rather than intimidated.
June’s strength was her tactics. She had a good sense of spacing and movement and a natural tendency to share, which made her good for soccer.
Normally, the coach played her on the outside, either defense or midfield so she received solid playing time coming off the bench and her wind was good.
The game started and Kevin was thrilled to see June playing at a peak level.
The teams were evenly matched.
Nearing halftime, June came racing down the sideline for the ball as the opposing defender closed from a near opposite angle.
Play was on the sideline opposite the spectators, where the teams were lined up, and both groups were shouting encouragement so neither player was going to back down.
The collision was a good one, both girls arriving to kick the ball at the same time, the result a bit comical, the ball basically not moving while each player continued in relatively the same direction.
June, flying head first, got her hands out to prevent a full, face-plant in the turf, while the other girl careened sideways, hitting the ground hip first and tumbling.
The referee, a veteran of the competitive divisions, blew her whistle before either player caught wind enough to start crying.
While harrowing to watch, Sara and Kevin knew the collision was physically harmless due to the wonderful elasticity of youth.
But when June stood and immediately collapsed to a sitting position, her wail carried across to the spectators.
“I’ll go,” Kevin said immediately.
Sara followed several paces onto the field, but then turned to look where Kai and Zee were carousing with other kids, oblivious to what was happening on the field. A lifelong athlete and now a teacher, trainer and coach, Sara knew that bumps and bruises were part of the process. She stayed on the sideline, arms crossed, watching Kevin hurry toward their oldest child.
Kevin reached June as the other father reached the other girl.
The violence of the impact had scared June more than hurt her. When she felt pain in her ankle while standing, it startled her, making her cry out and sit back down.
Her coach was standing over her and her teammates called encouragement from the sideline.
June looked up at her Dad, embarrassed at the tears, but Kevin felt a guilty rush of warmth for feeling so needed.
That piece of Kevin’s heart eternally connected to his daughter’s thrummed as he leaned over to scoop her up.
“It hurt when I stood,” June whimpered.
“No prob,'' Kevin said. “Let’s go see Mom and she can look and I’ll find some ice and I bet it’ll feel better soon.”
“Kay.”
Cradling June to his chest, Kevin crossed the field and the spectators began clapping; inclined his head and muttered into June’s ear, “Oh golly, those nice people are cheering for me.”
June couldn’t help a half-laugh kind of whimper.
***
Sara and the other soccer moms provided a deluge of wraps and cold packs and drinks and snacks and June sat comfortably in a fold-up chair with her sprained ankle up through the remainder of her game.
And then Kai’s game.
Once soccer Saturday at Buckley Park concluded, Sara had errands to run and Kai and Zee chose to tag along.
June, able to walk, but with a limp, went home with her Dad, giggling when he insisted on carrying her into the house, saying, “Doesn’t mean we’re married ya know. Mom’s got that covered.”
The laughter of his children.
The first time Kevin heard June belly laugh, a shock ran through his body.
Could a sound be so?
So utterly beautiful as to tune every cell of his body (all four trillion, Kevin would say), into a kind of perfect harmony.
He knew then, his true purpose in life: take care of this person. That is what you do now. Protect her.
With one arm wrapped around his neck, June continued giggling as Kevin carried her through the living area and into his office.
Three walls fully shelved and laden with books and a writing desk.
Plunked June down in the slim and tall-backed chair in front of the desk, a chair he kept reminding the girls was called a gaming chair, and was designed by a NASA engineer.
“Just sit here for a moment and let me unwrap that ankle. See how it feels without the wrap.”
June, barefoot and still wearing her soccer uniform said, “I can walk ya now.”
Kneeling in front of her, Kevin ordered, “Quiet, I’m enjoying this.”
June glanced at the large canvas print hung on the one wall left bare in her Dad’s office. “You just want me to look at the scribbler.”
“This chair is comfy and if necessary, I can roll you around in it.”
June’s brow suddenly creased, flipping the switch to serious. “Does this mean I don’t get a big girl day?”
Kevin held the slim, lower leg of his daughter.
From a distance, she was so big now.
Watching her play soccer or talking with her friends, June was mature, confident and strong; yet, the muscles of her calf still fit snugly into his palm.
Kevin loosened a strap of velcro.
Since returning to school after the holidays, June had been pestering Sara and Kevin about taking the bus all by herself.
Becoming fixated, as though it were a right of passage.
Sensing her father’s doubt, June said, “Mrs. Marionette lets Erin take the bus home all by herself. Before she gets back from work. And she gets to use her cell phone.”
“You mean she gets to use it once she’s back at her house?”
“The other day, a girl forgot to turn her cell phone off and her parents got called into the school.”
“Well, rules are rules. Right?”
June nodded solemnly. “Is there a rule for taking the bus all by myself?”
“No,” Kevin said, removing the last of the wrap. “That’s a parental decision. The thing is, the world is a big place, right? And not all places are the same.”
“We live in an excellent neighborhood. You always say that.”
“As does Erin. As did her Grandma.”
“I know,” June said with a bit less confidence.
Decisions about his children were difficult in ways that Kevin could never have imagined. He knew that one wrong decision, made in the moment and seemingly benign, can gather impetus and pull future decisions—good and bad—into its gravitational wake.
And there was the lingering thought that something wicked still remained in Worthboro.
But the injury had scared June.
Momentarily robbing her of the burgeoning confidence that would light her future. And more than anything, Sara and Kevin wanted to emancipate their daughters.
Allow them to rise.
He stood, the wrap in his hand; June, looking up, asked, “Why do you go to the race track?”
The depth of the question caught Kevin off guard, but June did that to him; her astonishing ability to so quickly and effectively connect metaphors.
He answered the best he could.
“The race track I go to is like the country club that Erin’s dad goes to. But instead of golf, it’s for guys who like cars. For guys who like to drive fast cars on race tracks. Like me.”
“But it’s dangerous.”
“Punkin, I know what you mean. But statistically, it’s actually a safe hobby. As far as physically active hobbies go, I’m far more likely to get seriously hurt skiing. Or playing soccer.”
He winked at her, slumped comfortably in his cool chair.
June kept her eyes turned up at her so-tall Dad and hit him with a classic, “I’m almost eleven-and-a-half ya know.”
“Yes. Another month?”
“Yes. I like it when I’m something and a half.”
“Why’s that?”
“Cuz I was born in January.”
June, counted on her fingers, “January, February, March, April, May and then June! Ha ha!”
Kevin tossed the wrap onto his desk. “Ha ha. Thirty minutes can seem like a long time, especially when you’re alone.”
“You always say time moves at exactly the same pace no matter what you’re doing.”
Kevin knelt to the floor again, eye level with his daughter. Gently rubbed her foot and ankle. “That hurt?”
June shook her head.
“Okay smart butt. What’re you gonna do?”
June crossed her arms. “I’m gonna make a plate of Ritz and cheese for Kai and cinnamon toast for Zee.”
Uncrossed her arms and leaned forward. Looked at Kevin sharply, their faces barely a foot apart. “Don’t tell, I want it to be a surprise.”
“My lips are sealed.”
June glared at her Dad for an instant, then nodded with an 11-year-old’s sincerity that he would guard her secrets for life. Leaned back in the chair again.
Kevin said, “You know which bus, right?”
June rolled her eyes. “Yes. Mom asks me even more than you do. A lot more, actually.”
“Well, humor me then.”
June turned her head and sighed extra heavily (glancing out of the corner of an eye to make sure Dad heard) and said (sounding sooo stressed), “Kai and Zee get on the number five that goes to Mom’s gym and I get on the number seven that goes to our house. You know I’ve done it a million times before. You’re always there!”
“Yes, but that’s with your sisters.”
“The teachers check us off like cattle, ya know. I can’t escape.”
That’s not what I’m afraid of, Kevin thought, then chuckled. “Like cattle?”
“Yes. Miss Fletcher says giddy-up when we’re getting in line. When I get home I’m going to put on Beyonce, not Destiny’s Child, because she’s better solo.”
“Of course.”
June saw her Dad was doing the dorky dad smile.
Thus, June’s mind-reading abilities said Kevin didn’t have the slightest idea who Beyonce was; that she was The Queen, but it was so cool because she had made an album with her friends from the old days (back when Beyonce was almost the same age as June was now … almost).
(Album, that was another word she’d learned from her Dad.)
June knew that she was fortunate that her dad was probably the smartest dad in Worthboro, which, unfortunately, the way the world worked, also made him the dorkiest dad in Worthboro.
(Contradictions are common in life, he told her, though you might not think they should be.)
Kevin said, “All right kiddo, as long as you’re not hobbling around on that ankle, you’ll get your big girl time. Wednesday, you get the house all to yourself.”
“Spin the chair,” June said. “Take a selfie of me and you with the scribbler behind us and send it to Mom.”
Kevin felt another burst of pride at June’s intuitive grasp of depth through focus. But said to be sure, “You mean take a picture, right?”
June nodded.
“What’d you call it?”
“A selfie. You know, taking a picture of yourself and sending it to someone.”
Kevin thought for a sec. “Right. Like saying hello with a picture. I get it.”
June laughed her beautiful laugh, knowing that he didn’t.
“The scribbler, huh?” Kevin said, amused at how June liked to tease him.
Kevin had a keen interest in art, but for reasons he couldn’t explain, had never pursued a form of expression for himself.
Kind of the way it had turned out for sports, he supposed. A tremendous fan, just lousy when it came to the participation part.
Kevin loved painting, in particular.
In his office, he kept one wall clear of book shelving; devoting the entire space to a single piece.
Over the years, various replicas of famous works had occupied the spot; always, the highest-quality print to canvas with no frame, as close to the size of the original as possible.
Most of Kevin’s favs lasted six months to a year before he moved on to another.
The latest, brought home that winter, was a masterwork by Jackson Pollock sometimes referred to as, Cathedral.
The print to canvas stretched 3 x 6 feet, the same size as the original.
Cathedral was painted by Pollock in 1947, the period where the self-destructive artist perfected his drip technique: pouring, dripping and flicking paint from the end of a brush or stick.
After Kevin hung the extra-large print, Sara said, “Huh.” (Nothing else.)
So he told her that Pollock explained his process as working himself into a kind of trance, a limbo between conscious thought and some nether region we touch in dreams or intense meditation.
“Or maybe hallucinogenic drugs?” Sara asked.
Upon inspection by the girls, June told her father that his new painting reminded her of her old kindergarten scribbles.
Kai said it would be better with different colors, like yellow and green. Or maybe pink.
Zee, somewhat surprisingly (possibly intuitively?) said it was scary.
The girls walked away, ignoring their father as he recited that Pollock emerged at the time of abstract expressionism, a time when humanity confusedly grappled with the brutality of two world wars, the swirling, layered lines of gray, silver and black providing physical depth to a community’s shared confusion and angst.
Kevin liked to stare at his paintings. Gave him a chance to ponder, he told Sara.
He handed his cell phone to June, who held it out at arms length and ordered Kevin to duck down beside the chair and lean his head next to hers.
“Smile,” June said and took the picture.
She then showed him how to send it to Sara.