riptide_asylum (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
riptide_asylum) wrote2009-10-16 08:57 pm
riptide_asylum) wrote2009-10-16 08:57 pm
Entry tags:
"First Down" (Out of the Dark, 1956)
Title: First Down
Rating: PG
Summary: Once upon a time, Cody's father made him try Pop Warner football.
1.
Cody's never liked football. Baseball's okay, 'cause you play it when it's sunny, and you get to just hang out a lot, talking. And no one hits you.
"Now look, Cody, don't screw this up, okay? Coach Taggart's doing me a favor letting you be on this team, and you better not blow it. You're only gonna get this one chance." Roland's shaking him by the shoulder as Cody watches all the other kids run around and into each other, laughing and falling down on the soft green grass of Santa Ana Community Park.
Roland's fingers tighten and Cody looks up at his father expectantly. He puts on his best listening look, quick.
"Don't. Screw. This. Up." Shake, shake, shake, shake. "You got that, kid?"
Cody nods fast, taking a quick breath in.
2.
"This him, Rolly?" A skinny old man with gray sandpaper on his cheeks walks up. He has mean eyes, but Cody straightens up when Roland thumps him on the back.
"This is the kid, Jim. Doesn't he look like a chip off the old block?"
The skinny old man snorts. "Roland, you said he was small, but..." He shakes his head and Cody spreads his feet to stand wider, trying to take up more room, wishing he'd finished that second pb and j this morning. Wishing there was more of him, for once, instead of wanting to be smaller.
"There's small, Rolly, and then there's this kid. He's gonna get killed out there."
Cody feels suddenly cold, watching two older boys run at each other at top speed. They collide, and one falls to the ground, lying still while all the other kids cheer. He reaches for his father's hand but remembers not to grab it, just in time.
"Aw come on, Jim. For me. For an old Pi Kappa brother?"
Cody keeps staring at those kids, not knowing what pie has to do with football.
The one who got hit hasn't gotten up yet.
3.
The season is long, and every game is a Saturday he can't go out to the boat. Granddad comes to every game. And after every one, he puts his arm round Cody's shoulders and tells him how proud he is. It makes the bruises hurt a little less.
Each game is harder than the last. The kids hit harder, the ground gets harder when he falls, and it's hard just to show up to every practice, knowing that no matter how hard he tries, Cody's gonna wind up bruised and sore, knowing Roland will meet him at the front door with his lips pressed in that thin tight line that means "Cody Allen, you are in for it now, mister."
Granddad hugs him gently, seeming to know already where Cody got hit, but then all too soon he's gone, the low-slung comfy station wagon disappearing down the road, leaving Cody alone with Roland and his angry, disappointed mouth.
After the fourth game he can't really tell which bruises are which.
4.
The morning of the last game of the season, Cody wakes up just as it's getting light out. He lies in bed until he can't stand it anymore, then runs down the hall to the bathroom and throws up until there's nothing left. He's careful to clean up the mess afterwards, before anyone else wakes up.
Downstairs at breakfast, no one talks, and the cereal looks too much like throw-up and it's too light and too hot and his uniform's too tight.
His mom tries for a smile. "Just do your best, honey. That's all anyone's asking of you."
Cody pushes away from the table, leaving his cereal untouched. Last night before bed, Roland sat him down and explained in no uncertain terms what he was asking of Cody, and what would happen if Cody didn't deliver.
Maybe he just forgot to tell Cody's mom.
5.
The game goes from bad to worse, Roland's eyes burning a hole through the back of his jersey. Cody sits on the bench and is careful not to swing his feet, is careful to look serious and interested.
"Allen! You're in! Now hustle!"
Cody looks up in time to see his father stalk back to the bleachers, the coach slipping something in his pocket. One of the Brach brothers groans. "Aw, man," he whispers, "but we're winning!"
Somehow he gets himself out on the field, standing behind the other Brach brother, who hikes the ball into his chest before he's ready. Cody bobbles it, but hangs on, fingers clutching at the pebbled plastic until it's secure against his chest. He looks up and smiles, just in time for a sixth grader from Pasadena Del Mar to run him over like a freight train.
6.
When Cody opens his eyes, the coach is leaning over him, so he figures he's still on the ground. "Allen? C'mon, kid, your old man's counting on you. Pull it together for one play. Can you do that? One play, and we'll get you back outta there."
Cody makes the words into sentences with only a little effort, then nods his head slowly. One play. He can do one play.
The coach tugs him to his feet and gives him a pat on the back, sending him back towards his teammates. Number 27 shakes his head.
"Way to go, Assen," says Number 39. His name is Ryan. Cody sat behind him in Social Studies last year.
He stands back behind the Brach brother again, eyes focused on the ball. One play.
7.
This time he catches the hike perfectly, the point of the ball spiraling into his sternum hard enough to hurt, but that doesn't matter. Cody looks up, looks at all the uniforms running around. One play.
Number 39, Ryan. He's waving his hands and yelling, and Cody throws the ball as hard as he can, everything he's got. The ball arcs perfectly through the air and Cody watches it, feeling relief steal through his body, right before a yellow-and-green jersey snatches it out of the sky and runs it right back at him.
The freight train's back, and as Cody's lying on the field with the sun in his eyes, he can hear cheering. He's not sure what it's for, but he's fairly sure what it's not for.
8.
The ride back home is tense and silent, and Cody fights not to throw up again. His shoulder hurts real bad, and he's too hot still. Roland wouldn't let him ride back with Granddad, wouldn't let him even say goodbye, just picked him up by one arm and pulled him to the car so fast he skipped and stumbled keeping up. At least concentrating on his feet he didn't have to look at everyone on the way, mumbling and laughing.
When they get home, Roland doesn't say a word, but Cody goes up to his room without being told. One play. He couldn't even do one play.
Downstairs his mom starts crying again, then Roland roars and Cody hears his mom's car keys, and the front door slams. The house seals itself around him like an oven. He sits on the bed, wondering if he should take a shower, or at least change out of his sweaty, mud-stained jersey, when the door to his room opens. Roland stands there with the belt curled loosely in one hand.
One play.
9.
Cody looks over at his father, eyes pleading. He starts to shake, and manages to slide off the bed before the first strike. He can't remember his father ever using the buckle before, but the whistle and the bite together hurt so bad he can't think, he just screams and tries to get away. He makes it halfway under the bed, crying, but Roland grabs his arm and pulls, roaring. Roland puts a foot on the back of his shoulder, and the carpet fibers tickle his nose as he squirms. He knows he's not supposed to cry anymore, but now his pants are yanked down like he was still a baby, and there's only a moment of cool air on his skin before the buckle's biting him again, fires springing up under its jaws.
Cody struggles under his father's foot, sobbing and pleading. The foot lifts and Cody takes a breath, then cries out as the foot slams back down on his ribs, hard. By this time Cody can barely move, just lies still, begging for forgiveness, promising anything.
Roland snarls in response, reaching for Cody's arm, yanking him away from the bed.
There's a snap and someone screams; the foot continues rising and falling in counterpoint to the buckle's bite, and the whistling fades away, down a long tunnel, taking Cody with it.
10.
Cody lays still.
He can hear two voices: one high and trilling like a frightened bird, the other lower, buzzing angrily. A swarm of hornets chasing the bird, maybe. Everything hurts, even listening too long to the voices, so he follows the tunnel back down into the darkness.
11.
There's a bird kneeling next to him on the carpet and the soft, wrinkled fabric of her skirt is stained with something. She reaches for him, one pale, delicate hand that smells like flowers, but when it touches him, the pain stabs him, redhot and sour-tasting. He tries to scream, but all he can hear is a weak bleat, and then his mother's voice again, spiralling higher and higher, the panicked bird trying to escape.
Cody closes his eyes and looks for the tunnel again, but there's only redhot pain: behind his eyes, in his mouth, all along his back and thighs, shooting along one arm.
The bird tilts her head and chirrups softly at him, eyes large and sad. Cody wants to understand, but all he can do is lie there, letting the sounds move over and around him.
Her feathers are gentle as she gets his clothes arranged around him, and then she's lifting him, carrying him against her to the car. Cool plastic seat against his cheek, and the motion of the wheels lulls him to sleep.
11a.
(There's a brief but violent interlude with bright lights and rough hands dressed in white; he's a fish caught in a net, pulled out of the water, terrified and struggling. Then all of a sudden, he smelled whiskey and boat lacquer, and knew he was headed back to the water, somehow safe, even when the doctor set his arm with a merry pop. Cody never remembers this part, except in dreams. By the time he's 25, he's sure he imagined the whole thing.)
12.
Cody stays in bed and watches the ceiling while summer vacation goes on outside.
The cast on his arm is heavy, and it itches, and anytime he needs anything--a drink of water, a snack, the restroom--he has to shake this little castanet toy his mom brought up for him. He hates the sound and he's pretty sure everyone else does too, but he can't stand too good yet and--
"Hey."
He jumps, but it's just Vanessa, leaning against the doorframe, wearing a Superman shirt and jeans. "Hey," Cody croaks.
Vanessa walks over to the bed, with long confident strides, one arm behind her back. Cody watches her carefully, not sure yet what kind of mood she's in. She's 16, and sometimes she's Vanessa, but other times she turns into Bad Black Bart and tries to shoot him. It's kind of worrisome, but kind of fun too, trying to see what makes her turn. It's a lot like being related to the Incredible Hulk.
Today though, she sits on his bed with a smile. "Sucks to be you, squirt. Can't believe Dad flipped his lid like that." Cody frowns, but then Vanessa pulls the brown paper bag out from behind her back and empties it onto his lap with a shriek. Comics, gum and candy rain down on him and he laughs excitedly.
They sit in Cody's room, reading and trying to out-bubble one another until Roland's car pulls in the driveway. Quick as a flash, Vanessa clears the comics and the wrappers, stuffing everything back in the bag, jumping up to toss it in his closet. Before Cody has time to thank her, she's gone without a backwards glance, slamming the door shut behind her.
Cody sits in bed and goes back to watching the ceiling while summer vacation keeps going on outside.
Rating: PG
Summary: Once upon a time, Cody's father made him try Pop Warner football.
1.
Cody's never liked football. Baseball's okay, 'cause you play it when it's sunny, and you get to just hang out a lot, talking. And no one hits you.
"Now look, Cody, don't screw this up, okay? Coach Taggart's doing me a favor letting you be on this team, and you better not blow it. You're only gonna get this one chance." Roland's shaking him by the shoulder as Cody watches all the other kids run around and into each other, laughing and falling down on the soft green grass of Santa Ana Community Park.
Roland's fingers tighten and Cody looks up at his father expectantly. He puts on his best listening look, quick.
"Don't. Screw. This. Up." Shake, shake, shake, shake. "You got that, kid?"
Cody nods fast, taking a quick breath in.
2.
"This him, Rolly?" A skinny old man with gray sandpaper on his cheeks walks up. He has mean eyes, but Cody straightens up when Roland thumps him on the back.
"This is the kid, Jim. Doesn't he look like a chip off the old block?"
The skinny old man snorts. "Roland, you said he was small, but..." He shakes his head and Cody spreads his feet to stand wider, trying to take up more room, wishing he'd finished that second pb and j this morning. Wishing there was more of him, for once, instead of wanting to be smaller.
"There's small, Rolly, and then there's this kid. He's gonna get killed out there."
Cody feels suddenly cold, watching two older boys run at each other at top speed. They collide, and one falls to the ground, lying still while all the other kids cheer. He reaches for his father's hand but remembers not to grab it, just in time.
"Aw come on, Jim. For me. For an old Pi Kappa brother?"
Cody keeps staring at those kids, not knowing what pie has to do with football.
The one who got hit hasn't gotten up yet.
3.
The season is long, and every game is a Saturday he can't go out to the boat. Granddad comes to every game. And after every one, he puts his arm round Cody's shoulders and tells him how proud he is. It makes the bruises hurt a little less.
Each game is harder than the last. The kids hit harder, the ground gets harder when he falls, and it's hard just to show up to every practice, knowing that no matter how hard he tries, Cody's gonna wind up bruised and sore, knowing Roland will meet him at the front door with his lips pressed in that thin tight line that means "Cody Allen, you are in for it now, mister."
Granddad hugs him gently, seeming to know already where Cody got hit, but then all too soon he's gone, the low-slung comfy station wagon disappearing down the road, leaving Cody alone with Roland and his angry, disappointed mouth.
After the fourth game he can't really tell which bruises are which.
4.
The morning of the last game of the season, Cody wakes up just as it's getting light out. He lies in bed until he can't stand it anymore, then runs down the hall to the bathroom and throws up until there's nothing left. He's careful to clean up the mess afterwards, before anyone else wakes up.
Downstairs at breakfast, no one talks, and the cereal looks too much like throw-up and it's too light and too hot and his uniform's too tight.
His mom tries for a smile. "Just do your best, honey. That's all anyone's asking of you."
Cody pushes away from the table, leaving his cereal untouched. Last night before bed, Roland sat him down and explained in no uncertain terms what he was asking of Cody, and what would happen if Cody didn't deliver.
Maybe he just forgot to tell Cody's mom.
5.
The game goes from bad to worse, Roland's eyes burning a hole through the back of his jersey. Cody sits on the bench and is careful not to swing his feet, is careful to look serious and interested.
"Allen! You're in! Now hustle!"
Cody looks up in time to see his father stalk back to the bleachers, the coach slipping something in his pocket. One of the Brach brothers groans. "Aw, man," he whispers, "but we're winning!"
Somehow he gets himself out on the field, standing behind the other Brach brother, who hikes the ball into his chest before he's ready. Cody bobbles it, but hangs on, fingers clutching at the pebbled plastic until it's secure against his chest. He looks up and smiles, just in time for a sixth grader from Pasadena Del Mar to run him over like a freight train.
6.
When Cody opens his eyes, the coach is leaning over him, so he figures he's still on the ground. "Allen? C'mon, kid, your old man's counting on you. Pull it together for one play. Can you do that? One play, and we'll get you back outta there."
Cody makes the words into sentences with only a little effort, then nods his head slowly. One play. He can do one play.
The coach tugs him to his feet and gives him a pat on the back, sending him back towards his teammates. Number 27 shakes his head.
"Way to go, Assen," says Number 39. His name is Ryan. Cody sat behind him in Social Studies last year.
He stands back behind the Brach brother again, eyes focused on the ball. One play.
7.
This time he catches the hike perfectly, the point of the ball spiraling into his sternum hard enough to hurt, but that doesn't matter. Cody looks up, looks at all the uniforms running around. One play.
Number 39, Ryan. He's waving his hands and yelling, and Cody throws the ball as hard as he can, everything he's got. The ball arcs perfectly through the air and Cody watches it, feeling relief steal through his body, right before a yellow-and-green jersey snatches it out of the sky and runs it right back at him.
The freight train's back, and as Cody's lying on the field with the sun in his eyes, he can hear cheering. He's not sure what it's for, but he's fairly sure what it's not for.
8.
The ride back home is tense and silent, and Cody fights not to throw up again. His shoulder hurts real bad, and he's too hot still. Roland wouldn't let him ride back with Granddad, wouldn't let him even say goodbye, just picked him up by one arm and pulled him to the car so fast he skipped and stumbled keeping up. At least concentrating on his feet he didn't have to look at everyone on the way, mumbling and laughing.
When they get home, Roland doesn't say a word, but Cody goes up to his room without being told. One play. He couldn't even do one play.
Downstairs his mom starts crying again, then Roland roars and Cody hears his mom's car keys, and the front door slams. The house seals itself around him like an oven. He sits on the bed, wondering if he should take a shower, or at least change out of his sweaty, mud-stained jersey, when the door to his room opens. Roland stands there with the belt curled loosely in one hand.
One play.
9.
Cody looks over at his father, eyes pleading. He starts to shake, and manages to slide off the bed before the first strike. He can't remember his father ever using the buckle before, but the whistle and the bite together hurt so bad he can't think, he just screams and tries to get away. He makes it halfway under the bed, crying, but Roland grabs his arm and pulls, roaring. Roland puts a foot on the back of his shoulder, and the carpet fibers tickle his nose as he squirms. He knows he's not supposed to cry anymore, but now his pants are yanked down like he was still a baby, and there's only a moment of cool air on his skin before the buckle's biting him again, fires springing up under its jaws.
Cody struggles under his father's foot, sobbing and pleading. The foot lifts and Cody takes a breath, then cries out as the foot slams back down on his ribs, hard. By this time Cody can barely move, just lies still, begging for forgiveness, promising anything.
Roland snarls in response, reaching for Cody's arm, yanking him away from the bed.
There's a snap and someone screams; the foot continues rising and falling in counterpoint to the buckle's bite, and the whistling fades away, down a long tunnel, taking Cody with it.
10.
Cody lays still.
He can hear two voices: one high and trilling like a frightened bird, the other lower, buzzing angrily. A swarm of hornets chasing the bird, maybe. Everything hurts, even listening too long to the voices, so he follows the tunnel back down into the darkness.
11.
There's a bird kneeling next to him on the carpet and the soft, wrinkled fabric of her skirt is stained with something. She reaches for him, one pale, delicate hand that smells like flowers, but when it touches him, the pain stabs him, redhot and sour-tasting. He tries to scream, but all he can hear is a weak bleat, and then his mother's voice again, spiralling higher and higher, the panicked bird trying to escape.
Cody closes his eyes and looks for the tunnel again, but there's only redhot pain: behind his eyes, in his mouth, all along his back and thighs, shooting along one arm.
The bird tilts her head and chirrups softly at him, eyes large and sad. Cody wants to understand, but all he can do is lie there, letting the sounds move over and around him.
Her feathers are gentle as she gets his clothes arranged around him, and then she's lifting him, carrying him against her to the car. Cool plastic seat against his cheek, and the motion of the wheels lulls him to sleep.
11a.
(There's a brief but violent interlude with bright lights and rough hands dressed in white; he's a fish caught in a net, pulled out of the water, terrified and struggling. Then all of a sudden, he smelled whiskey and boat lacquer, and knew he was headed back to the water, somehow safe, even when the doctor set his arm with a merry pop. Cody never remembers this part, except in dreams. By the time he's 25, he's sure he imagined the whole thing.)
12.
Cody stays in bed and watches the ceiling while summer vacation goes on outside.
The cast on his arm is heavy, and it itches, and anytime he needs anything--a drink of water, a snack, the restroom--he has to shake this little castanet toy his mom brought up for him. He hates the sound and he's pretty sure everyone else does too, but he can't stand too good yet and--
"Hey."
He jumps, but it's just Vanessa, leaning against the doorframe, wearing a Superman shirt and jeans. "Hey," Cody croaks.
Vanessa walks over to the bed, with long confident strides, one arm behind her back. Cody watches her carefully, not sure yet what kind of mood she's in. She's 16, and sometimes she's Vanessa, but other times she turns into Bad Black Bart and tries to shoot him. It's kind of worrisome, but kind of fun too, trying to see what makes her turn. It's a lot like being related to the Incredible Hulk.
Today though, she sits on his bed with a smile. "Sucks to be you, squirt. Can't believe Dad flipped his lid like that." Cody frowns, but then Vanessa pulls the brown paper bag out from behind her back and empties it onto his lap with a shriek. Comics, gum and candy rain down on him and he laughs excitedly.
They sit in Cody's room, reading and trying to out-bubble one another until Roland's car pulls in the driveway. Quick as a flash, Vanessa clears the comics and the wrappers, stuffing everything back in the bag, jumping up to toss it in his closet. Before Cody has time to thank her, she's gone without a backwards glance, slamming the door shut behind her.
Cody sits in bed and goes back to watching the ceiling while summer vacation keeps going on outside.