Coach, Walt Sautter [ereader for android .TXT] 📗

I replied as we go in his car.
“What do ya mean?”
There was a long pause. I really didn’t know what to say. I certainly wasn’t going to say a word about what had happened.
“Ah, we chickened out!” Ricky blurted.
“Yeah, we lost our balls” I instantaneously added with all the conviction that I could muster.
“But Flash, you’re not gonna tell anybody are ya?”
“No! Not no one” he assured us.
“Thanks Flash. You’re a real pal not makin’ us look like chicken shit in front of everybody.”
Suddenly, Ricky cried excitedly.
“Holy shit, my hat!”
I turned to see him frantically scouring the back seat, searching for the missing hat.
“Look under the seat” I answered.
“I am” he replied while lying on the car floor and raking his hand back and forth under the front seats.
After several minutes of vain exploration, he sat erect.
“Can’t find it. Musta lost it up by Coach’s.
I kinda remember puttin’ it in my back pocket so I wouldn’t lose it, but I guess I did” he said dispiritedly.
With that Flash drove Ricky and me home.
I flopped on the bed, fully clothed, staring at the darkened ceiling. The details of the night rolled over and over though my mind.
Ricky’s words echoed.
“I’m not doin’ nothin’. I’m just pretending that I never saw shit!”
I’m sure he was right. I was just hoping that I could keep it all bottled up inside of me.
“Who would believe us anyway and even if they did, then what?” I thought.
The ringing of the telephone in the living room startled me out of my trance.
“John, its Kathy. It’s for you” my mother called down the hall.
Kathy MacIntyre was my girlfriend of about six months. She was in my math class and pretty hot stuff. I never really even thought that I had a chance especially when I saw Howie Green walking her from class to class.
I guess however, either my charm or Howie’s lack of charm sealed the deal because a month after I started talking to her, Howie was nowhere to be seen. I don’t think he took to the situation well. Every time after that, whenever I saw him, he peered back at me with a threatening, “I’d like to kill you”, scowl.
Back in the fifties, girls all wore long, camouflaging skirts but very tight sweaters. Kathy’s sweaters were certainly of high tensile strength. Every fiber was stretched to its elastic limit without tearing. It was a miracle of fifties textile engineering.
In those days, girls too, had nicknames, most unbeknownst to them. They were generally assigned by the boys and usually used to ascribe a specific physical characteristic or activity. Kathy was known as “Kathy MacTits”. I’m pretty sure it was Stinky that came up with that moniker and in light of the fact that MacDonald’s was unheard of at the time, I’d say it was quite avant-garde.
Well, in any event, after I started going out with her she was never again referred to by that pseudonym, not in my presence anyway.
Kathy had many other obvious assets as well. She had a cute rosy face and curly blonde hair, an enticing smile, which exposed her snow-white teeth at every delight and an over supply of hormones. She had all the things that an adolescent boy could want and even more.
She knew how to type, fifty words a minute. That meant my hours of hunt-and-peck term papers were over.
Unfortunately, however, she, like everyone else, also had her flaws, the main one being her father. He was a large man with a commanding presence and outwardly appeared good natured and friendly.
Do you know how you sometimes get a feeling about someone despite his overt manner? Well, that’s the way it was with me and Mr. MacIntyre.
I just knew that if he ever found out that I had defiled his daughter in any way he would tear out my heart and have it for supper. With that in mind, I knew then that I had but two choices, pussy or life! I chose life!
I took the phone from Mom and she obligingly left me and went into the kitchen.
“Hi Kathy.”
“I thought you were coming over tonight for ‘Night Lab’”, she answered in a terse tone.
“Night Lab” was term for a smooching workout in her basement. When I first met her we began by doing our bio homework together in cellar. I was pretty good at the science stuff and like I said, she was good with the typewriter so the whole thing started as a symbiotic relationship. After a few nights of homework at the downstairs table we began completing the assignments on the basement sofa. One night while we were finishing up our work on the sofa her father called down the stairs.
“Kathy, how’s everything going down there?”
We both instantly sat up, ramrod straight.
I felt the immediate urge to call back “Everything going just fuckin’ great Dad!” but the thought of instant death kept me silent.
Kathy yelled back, “Fine Dad, we’re just finishing up our biology lab write up.”
Thus the “Night Lab” term was conceived.
“Why didn’t you come over? You didn’t forget me, did you?” she asked in a kittenish voice.
I had completely forgotten in the excitement of the evening.
“Well, ah no, I know I didn’t forget. I kinda got involved in something.”
“Something more important than me?” she replied in an equally comely tone.
“No! No!” I stammered, “Of course not.”
“Well, what then?” she replied.
I didn’t know what to say. This could be the opportunity to unburden myself. Should I tell the whole story or just make up a feeble excuse?
“Ricky and me, we” I began and then hesitated.
“We went out, it’s Mischief Night you know,” I continued.
“And you guys were out all night? You musta had a real good time, huh. It must have been great fun to forget all about me. What did you guys do?” she interjected.
“We went to soap some windows,” I answered.
“That’s all? And that keep you out all night?”
“No, not really, there was a lot more” I added in a low voice.
“If I tell you, you can’t tell anybody. Nobody!
You gotta promise.”
“I promise. I promise,” she answered with strong sincerity.
With that, I burst out with whole sordid tale in one nonstop sentence. It felt like air leaving a balloon as the pressure within me drained with each word.
I wasn’t sure if it was the smart thing to do but it felt good, a relief from my nagging thoughts, and a release of the internal turmoil.
Kathy said nothing. I felt as if I could almost see her face, startled and perplexed, as I spoke.
“This isn’t just a story, is it Beamy?” she finally replied in a disbelieving tone.
“Do you really think I would make this kind of thing up?” I answered spontaneously.
“No, I’m sure you wouldn’t but it’s just so hard to believe.”
As I hung up the phone I felt plagued by the uncertainty of my decision to tell Kathy all that I had.
“Oh well, too late now. It was done,” I thought.
At least I felt better for having told someone, kind of like after you leave the confessional box.

Chapter 3
Monday came much too soon. That afternoon would be practice as usual and we would have to face both Howie and Coach, showing no evidence of our knowledge. We would show no signs of the turmoil within.
Two o’clock finally came and off we went to football, with nervousness and foreboding, that we might do something, or say something, even the slightest thing that reveal our awareness.
My apprehension was overwhelming. I struggled to remove the entire incident from my mind. I feared that if I thought too intently, my thoughts might be read by the others. Neither Ricky nor I even glanced at Coach or Howie fearful that our expressions might tell a tale. As the practice came to an end, I was at the point of exhaustion, not from the physical rigors but from the emotional drain.
As the days wore on the pretense became easier although the thoughts of that Friday night never left our minds. Every once in a while when Ricky and I were alone, we would talk about that night and again agree to remain silent.
The Thanksgiving Day game was just around the corner, a week away. The team, as usual, was unbeaten and had won most every game by thirty or more points. Howie was having the season that the dreams of high school football players are built on. Leading scorer in the state, most yards rushing in the illustrious history of Highburg High and several Division I scholarship offers despite his poor academics. All of the town folks agreed that he was on a sure path to meet, or most probably exceed the football legendry of Big Moose. Many went as far as to predict the Pros, even a place at Canton.
It was a hard day of practice, we were worked to the bone even though everyone knew that our final game would most likely be another business as usual thirty point win. We all knew why. Coach was eager to see Howie break the state scoring record and he was doing everything possible to make sure that would happen. That “everything possible” involved us, the second team running full contact defense against the varsity for play after endless play. No huddle was even called between plays. Coach merely barked out a code number known only to the offense as they immediately lined up to inflict the next round of punishment on us.
When it was finally over we all walked back to the locker room. As we walked, Howie’s loud bantering eclipsed everyone’s conversation. He was on the ultimate high anticipating the record-breaking performance that he was sure would come on Thursday.
We entered the locker room and began to undress. Ricky removed his shoulder pads, hung them in his locker and issued a great sigh of fatigue as he did so.
“What the fuck are you tired about Sambo?” came a shout from the far end of the room.
“You didn’t do shit today. I ran over you like a bulldozer. You didn’t give shit for defense. We shouldn’t even let guys like you on this team.
Not only are you a horseshit player you’re a nigger. You’re lucky we even let you in this locker room with us” he continued vitriolically.
A stillness spread over the room. Everyone instantly became motionless and mute with a look of astonishment.
Ricky froze too, but only for an instant. Everyone knew that he was not the kind of guy who would take shit from anyone but what happened next was expected by no one.
“You mother fuckin’ queer!” exploded Ricky.
“I know all about you and Coach. I saw you. You two guys blowin’ each other. You’re not only the best football player on the team you’re the best blow job!”
With that Ricky shot towards Howie like a lightning bolt, eyes flashing and fists flying. Within seconds Ricky was on top of Howie who was lying on the concrete floor being hammered by a flurry of punishing lefts and rights. Several team members immediately jumped in and attempted to pull him off.
Seconds later, with Ricky restrained, Howie lifted himself from his prone position, blood streaming from his nose and silently walked to his locker to continue removing his equipment without so much as a word. The entire team stood agape and then, they too silently turned and continued their undress.
“What are you gonna do now?” I whispered to Ricky as he returned to his locker, which was next to mine.