Page 105 of The Fed Sex Man

He nodded toward my hand. “You gonna squeeze that thing like a titty, or are you gonna throw it?”

I doubted I could match John’s accuracy and stammered to make an excuse not to throw the ball. “I haven’t had a football in my hand since the day my father died.”

He picked up another ball. “You said the day I met you that your father loved the sport.”

“He did.”

“Did you make him proud? When you played, that is.”

My father told me every day how proud he was of me and my abilities. “Very much so,” I replied.

“Do you believe in God?” he asked.

“It’s hard to explain,” I said. “So, I’ll just say yes.”

“Suppose your father’s up there somewhere looking down on you right now?”

I didn’t have to think about it. “I do.”

“Suppose he’d be proud of you if a sixty-six-year-old man showed you up out here? Out-threw you?”

I hoisted the ball, took aim, and threw it. No differently than John’s, it flew right through the center of the tire. Although accomplishing the task would have been meaningless to most, I swelled with pride at what I’d done.

John looked at me and grinned. “Feels good, don’t it?”

I nodded. “It does.”

He picked up a ball, squeezed it, and then took aim. With the ball hoisted behind his right shoulder, he paused. “Jo told her mother that you two have messed around and fallen in love.”

I coughed out a lungful of surprise. “We uhhm. Yes, Sir. We admitted that to each other a few weeks ago. Thirteen days, to be exact.”

He threw the ball. As expected, it went through the center of the tire. As it rolled to a stop, he folded his forearms across his chest. “She’s always been different, that girl. Scared of her own shadow. I never understood why, but she was. Her mother thought we did something wrong. Held her too much, didn’t hold her enough, kept her on the bottle too long, too much time in the crib, something. Personally, I always wondered if it was a fear of rejection, or something like that. Suppose I’ll never know. I do know this.”

He reached into the trough. With is arm hanging at his side and the ball gripped firmly in his hand, he continued. “Men and women these days are different than they were when I was young. They’re too quick to get pregnant, get married and get divorced. Being in a relationship’s no different than being married. Succeeding requires one to be understanding, forgiving, and, above all, open-minded. Saying ‘I love you’ is easy, but there’s a big responsibility that comes with those three words, and it’s damned tough to live up to.”

I swallowed heavily. “I don’t think I’ll have any problems, Sir. Living up to her expectations, that is.”

He faced me. “Mind if I ask you why you think that?”

“Can I be honest?” I asked.

He laughed. “Wouldn’t expect you to be otherwise.”

“After losing my father, I walked away from football. I didn’t break my ankle. I wrapped it, made my own plaster cast, and told everyone I’d broken it in the wreck. I couldn’t think about playing the game without my father in the stands watching me. He was in the stands during practice, and he was in the stands during every game. I didn’t have to look, I knew he was there.”

Thinking of my father spending so much time sitting on the hard bleachers brought a smile to my face. “It was our sport. After my mother left, it brought us together. Without him sitting up there watching me from the stands, I had no desire to continue. I gave up on something I truly loved, and I’ve spent every day since regretting it. I’ve spent eighteen years running from the truth and wondering what could have been. I’m not going to make the same mistake again.”

I met his gaze. “Walking away from something I love, that is.”

He threw the football toward nothing in particular. It tumbled to a stop in the distance. “What could have been?” He shook his head and looked away. “You remind me of myself, Son. All of this.” He waved his hand toward the trough and then the tree. “This is me wondering what could have been. There’s nothing wrong with wondering. But, when I walk away from this little spot, I forget about what could have been. During the walk back to the house, I always thank the good Lord for what I have.”

The sound of a distant bell ringing captured my attention. John glanced toward the house. “Sounds like Jackie’s ready for dinner.”

The sound resembled what I’d heard from many of the churches I’d driven past during my Sunday drives throughout the state. It was a sound that was impossible to escape.

“That’s an impressive bell,” I said.

He waved his hand toward the western sky. “I could hear that SOB from the far end of the fields when I was a kid. There’s no better reminder of having been graced with another week’s blessings than the sound of the Sunday evening dinner bell ringing.”

He draped his arm over my shoulder. We faced the house. As we walked, I gave thanks for Jo, her parents, and for my willingness to change. When we reached the driveway, I felt a strange sense of guilt.

I hesitated and gestured toward my car.

“I’ll be right in,” I said. “I need to grab something.”

He turned toward the door. “Don’t be long. If she rang that bell, you can bet it’s ready to eat.”

“I’ll be right in.”

After he disappeared into the house, I lifted my chin and gazed toward the cloudless sky.

I’m sorry I gave up on football, I just…I couldn’t imagine playing without you. I hope you understand.

I lowered my head, took a few steps toward the door, and paused.

I promise you I’ll never give up on something I love again.