My Name Is River Blue (13 page)

The man's deep
voice boomed large and friendly. "Hello, young man. My name is Ray Long,
but most people call me, "Papa" or "Papa Ray.'"

I imagined that
his voice could be intimidating to some kids, but I wasn't intimidated, just cautious
with a man physically superior to me. I was confident that I could win a fight
with any boy my age, and even with many older boys, but I sensed that the man before
me was not anyone I wanted to fight. Gabby told me that it was smart to know my
limits, and my guess was that a physical confrontation with the man would not go
well for me.

Wiping the sweat
from my eyes, I glanced up at Papa and squinted because the sun was directly
behind him. I nodded my head slightly but said nothing.

"I've never
seen you before," said Papa. "I work with a lot of youth sports programs,
so I know most of the boys in the park."

I kept my head
down and didn't respond but that didn't discourage the man.

"I watched
you running the track, and I'm impressed. You're fast and fluid. I can tell
that you work out too."

I shielded my
eyes from the sun and peeked under my hand to read the man's face. There was
something very familiar about him, but I couldn't place him. He could have been
at one of the open houses or the fundraisers at the boys home. He might have
sponsored little league baseball or peewee football. Before Stockwell, I had managed
to play a season of each one on teams comprised mostly of foster boys.

Papa tried to
get a reaction from me. "Yep, you're fast and well-developed for a
twelve-year-old boy."

I took Papa's
bait and replied before I thought. "Thirteen. Actually, thirteen and a
half, dude."

"Oh, sorry.
My mistake." Papa smiled.

I was pissed
that I allowed the man to trick a response from me because I should have known
better. I was proud that I was tall with a good build, and I knew that most people
thought I was closer to sixteen years old than to thirteen.

I glared at the
man. I thought he was gloating over tricking me, and I decided that I would
wipe the smile off his face. "What the hell is it you want, man?"

Papa continued
to smile and took a seat near me without invading my personal space. I didn't
budge and faced forward, pretending to focus on a group of boys playing
football. I was determined to show the man that I had no fear of him, and that
he didn't even rate my attention, but I
did
listen carefully to what he
said.

"I was
supposed to meet a young friend here to help him with his passing, but he's
late. He said that he wanted to play junior high football, and I promised that
I would help train him. I suppose he couldn't make it, or he isn't serious. So
here I am with this football and no one to train."

I cut my eyes
towards Papa. The man was well over six feet tall and weighed more than two
hundred pounds with no signs of fat gathering as it did on many men his age.
Considering the man's appearance, the way he moved and spoke, and the way he
handled the football, I believed that it was very possible that he coached kids
in sports. I hoped that I was in his shape when I was his age.

"You ever
play any football?" Papa showed an easy smile. "You remind me so much
of a young boy I knew a long time ago. He was a good athlete."

"I played peewee
a few years ago," I answered.

"Well, if
you ever want to take up football again, you sure have the body for it. You're
tall, well built, with large hands and feet. You move with the grace of a
natural athlete." Papa paused a moment as if he were forming a final
judgment. "Yep, you're surprising for thirteen, and if you continue to
work at it, you'll be an amazing high school athlete. Maybe good enough for a
college scholarship."

"Yeah?"
I tried not to take the man's words too seriously, but I was proud of my body,
and I enjoyed his praise. I think I stuck my chest out just a little farther.

Papa appeared to
scan the boys that were playing football before turning back to me.

"I've
always done well with judging young athletes and young horses, and I think both
are either born with what it takes to be champions or they're not. Of all the
boys playing on this field right now, I don't see anyone comparable to you. I
truly think you're a special boy."

It was as if the
man had slapped my face.

There was always
a trigger. All it took was a few key words to bring on my storm.

You're a special
boy.

My body grew
rigid. My breathing turned rapid. My vision blurred. I was lightheaded and
nauseous. I was going to be sick.

You're a special
boy.

I leaned forward
over the grass and violently hurled the acidic crap that had rushed up my
throat. I wretched again. One more time. Then I took slow, deep breaths and
struggled to calm the rapid pumping and pounding of my heart. I squeezed and
squeezed to chase the bastard from my head.

I heard Papa's
voice, as from a distance, growing ever closer. I spit one last time, relaxed
my muscles, and regained control of my body. I took more deep breaths, and when
my vision cleared, I saw Papa studying me as if I were a unique specimen of
insect. I thought he might be concerned, but I didn't care.

I was
embarrassed, and I was pissed.

I hated him for making
me think of it. For exposing a weakness and making me afraid again. For ruining
my first real day of freedom. Son of a bitch. I wanted to hurt him. I wanted to
fuck him up. I stood to face him where he sat on the bleacher. I did my best to
crap on his day, the same as he did mine.

"So, I'm
special
,
huh?" My face contorted, a nasty smirk twisting my lips. I was loud. I was
out of control. I didn't care. "Fuck you! Whatever you want, you ain't
gettin' it from me. You hear me, asshole!" I pointed to the kids who waved
at him earlier. Some of them were looking our way. "Go play your bullshit games
with one of your little friends
.
Just leave me the hell alone."

I expected Papa's
smile to fade with his anger and indignation over my assault. To promise, as
most adults would, that he would report me to my parents before he furiously stomped
away from me. But he did nothing I thought he would. He remained seated on the
bleacher, and his face shifted to an expression that was almost foreign to me. I
had rarely seen what appeared to be a genuine look of sadness and concern from
an adult, especially one who had just suffered a vile and profane verbal attack
from me. It confused me. What was he playing?

"Young man,
I don't want anything from you. I enjoy kids, but I don't have any of my own,
so I volunteer my time in youth sports programs and in a mentoring association
that helps disadvantaged youth."

"I don't
need no help, so you can leave. I got here first." I sat back down on the
bleacher, a few feet from Papa, and crossed my arms.

Papa ignored me.
"Someone has obviously betrayed your trust, and hurt you about as bad as a
kid can be hurt. You have every right to feel like you do, but it'll be a shame
if you never find out that there are just as many good people as bad."

Papa was
compassionate, not angry. He read me as easily as he would a page from a
child's first storybook, and I wasn't sure how I felt about that. I only knew
that I still didn't trust him, and I let him know it.

"I guess you
help kids just cause it's the
Christian
thing to do, and you don't get
nothing out of it. I've heard that shit before." I was amazed that he was
still talking to me, and more amazed that I was still sitting there.

"I get
plenty out of it," said Papa. "Every time I help a kid, it helps the
community where I do business with my horse farm and my fitness center. When
our kids are involved in wholesome activities, it keeps them out of trouble,
which cuts the cost of the juvenile crime. It makes our town a more desirable
place to live, raises property values, and attracts more businesses. Plus, I
simply enjoy working with young folks. Do I make sense?"

"I'm not
too stupid to follow you." I kept an edge to my tone even though I was embarrassed
by my earlier outburst. I knew I was probably wrong to disrespect the man, but
apologizing was a punk thing to do, and it showed weakness. I was anything but
weak, and I didn't do something for nothing. Instead, I asked him a question.

"How come
people call you Papa? You can't be more than forty-something, and that name makes
you sound like a grandpa."

"I coached pee
wee football about ten years ago and during the first week of practice, I
reminded one of the kids of his grandfather, so he started calling me
"Papa" and the other kids picked it up. My friends thought it was
funny and began to call me "Papa" and it snowballed. By the end of
the year everyone was using my new nickname."

Papa stood and
stepped off the bleacher to the ground. He juggled the football from one hand
to the other and spoke again. "What do you say? Want to throw the ball
around some?"

I saw a big ring
on Papa's right ring finger.

"What kind
of ring is that?" I asked.

Papa stuck his
hand out closer to me. "High School Football 4-A state championship ring
from when I played quarterback at Harper Springs High."

A vision filled
my head of Papa, as a high school quarterback, barking out signals before
taking the snap and dropping back to pass. I had seen a Harper Springs High
game once when Mr. Bonner took all the boys from the home. The image faded as
Papa's voice broke through.

"Well?"
Papa said.

"What?"
I didn't remember a question.

"I think
you were daydreaming," said Papa, smiling. "I asked you again if you
wanted to throw the ball around with me."

"No. Maybe
another day." I still didn't trust him enough, and playing with him would
be the same as admitting I was wrong about him.

"Okay, I'll
be around a while if you change your mind. By the way, what's your name?"

"River. River
Blue."

Papa's face
brightened. "Oh, so you're the new boy living at Tolley House with Hal and
Jenny, and that means your caseworker is probably Amy Martin. Tell them you met
me. We've all been good friends a long time."

Dammit! It was
just my luck to curse a friend of my guardians. I could picture him giving the
Mackeys all the evidence they needed to prove they were right about me. They would
say that I couldn't control myself in public and ground me from going to the
park. Why couldn't I keep my mouth shut?

"You gonna
rat me out? About how I talked to you?"

Papa appeared to
think it over a moment. "No, not this time. You obviously recalled something
that upset you, and you lost control. All I ask is that I don't hear you speak
to me or anyone else that way again. It doesn't look good on you, and I, for
one, don't deserve it. Let me know if you decide you want to play ball."

I was afraid
that Papa wouldn't keep his word, and I would lose my newfound freedom, but I
was wrong. He never told, and if I had known him better, I would have never
doubted him.

CHAPTER
SEVEN

Over the next
two weeks, I walked alone to the park each day. I jogged the trail, ran the
track, explored the woods, and sometimes watched a pickup game of baseball or
football. I saw Papa many of those days, and at first, I tried to avoid him,
but he always popped up close enough to speak to me. Any time we met, even when
he was already working with another boy on his football skills, Papa always
invited me to "throw the ball around."

After turning
him down many times, one day when Papa was alone at the park, he asked me again
if I wanted to play. I really
did
want to join him, but I couldn't admit
it. By that time, I believed that he was harmless, but I couldn't give something
for nothing.

It was my
mindset after years in state care, shaped more by my time in Stockwell than any
other place I had lived. If I gave in to him for something he wanted more than
I did, or even something we equally desired, then he would win, and it would somehow
make the man stronger than I was. It seems silly now, but I had to come out on
top in any trade or agreement I made. That particular day, before I could
decline his offer, Papa gave me a way to make an acceptable deal. In doing so, he
changed my life.

"River, I
know you don't really want to play with an old guy like me, but you'd be doing
me a big favor because I'm really bored," explained Papa. "If you
want, when we're done, we could walk over to McDonald's for lunch, if you're
good with that. My treat."

"You're
saying all I have to do is play catch, and you'll buy me McDonald's?"

"Sure. Anything
you want."

"Ten
dollars worth?"

"Anything you
want and as much as you want," agreed Papa.

I had eaten in
restaurants, including fast food places, less than five times in my life, and
though I preferred healthier food, my mouth watered. "Give me ten dollars
now for lunch, and I'll throw the ball with you for an hour."

"Sounds
reasonable. Deal?" Papa held out his hand to me.

I was much
bigger and stronger than most kids my age were, but I had to look up to Papa,
who was at least four inches taller and sixty pounds heavier than I was. I
could plainly see that the man was made of hard muscle, and not the gym
variety, but the kind you get from real work on a farm. I decided the first day
we met that he could kill me in a fight, but that didn't stop me from giving him
a warning along with my handshake.

"Deal,"
I agreed. "Just remember that I'm tougher than I act, and ten bucks don't
buy you nothing but throwing the ball. I won't be cheated, and I won't take crap
off nobody, including you."

Papa whistled
low. "Dang, if you're tougher than you act, you must be a real joy at school
and Tolley House." Papa held his laughter until he could judge my
reaction.

At first, I was
angry with him for making fun of me, but it passed when I saw the humor in his
harmless remark. When I thought of how silly I must have sounded, I couldn't
help but laugh, and soon, we were both out of control. I couldn't remember the
last time I had laughed that hard, and I knew Papa was laughing with me the way
a friend would.

With a new ten-dollar
bill in my pocket, I "threw the ball around some" with Papa for over
two hours. When we took a break, I reminded him that we had played an additional
hour, and he agreed to a new deal to pay for the extra time. I accepted Papa's offer
for me to keep the ten dollars in addition to eating all that I wanted at his
expense. A meal, even fast food, was very important to a kid like me who had
learned never to take food for granted. I was satisfied that I had come out on
top in our agreement.

In the boys
home, they never offered me all that I could eat because of tight budgets, and
the fact that I wasn't a staff favorite. At Stockwell, the portions were small,
and most of the boys would walk away from every meal still hungry. Since I had
Miss Martin and Gabby bringing me additional food, I was not as weak and malnourished
as some of the boys were, but I still never played with a meal.

At Tolley House,
the food was good and adequate for our nutrition, but there were times when I
was especially hungry and wanted more. I burned many more calories with my
workouts than the other boys did, and I think that was the reason I was often
hungrier than they were. In time, when I grew friendlier with a couple of my
foster brothers, they would offer me their plates to finish, if they weren't
very hungry. Jenny always discouraged us from eating off another boy's plate,
but as long as a boy wasn't obviously sick with something, I didn't worry about
his germs. I never offered to share my food because I never had any left.

In McDonald's I ate
like a starving college football player while Papa watched the amazing magic
show featuring the disappearance of three quarter pounders, two large fries, an
apple pie, and several cups of water, which was my normal drink. My meal was
more than ten dollars, and I was satisfied with a bloated stomach and money in
my pocket.

I wondered if
Papa would be willing to buy my lunch again at a better restaurant that served
healthier food, but my mind didn't stop there. I imagined making other deals for
clothes, shoes, and electronics. If he wanted, I could play ball with him more
often, and he could pay for my company with clothes, shoes, and electronics.

After lunch,
Papa and I returned to the park, sat on the same bleachers, and talked while we
digested our food. Papa was doing most of the talking while I eyed a group of
girls who were practicing cheer routines about twenty yards away. I remembered
the observation that I had made when I first saw them in the halls of Harper
Springs Junior High. All of the cheerleaders were very hot girls. A year
earlier, I would have paid little attention to them, but my brain and body had
changed and by that day in the park, all I had to do was look at a pretty girl
to get so excited that I would ignore everything else around me.

As I studied the
group, I picked out Carlee Summers, the pretty blond who had tripped in the
school hall right in front of me. I was lucky enough to catch her and save her
from a nasty and embarrassing spill on the hard tile floor. The hall was full
of students changing classes, and there was no doubt that the kids would have
brutally teased her for months.

I often replayed
the scene in my head, remembering how great it was to hold Carlee so close to
me. It was a dream-come-true for me to feel her developing breasts against my
chest, smell the fresh scent of her hair, and touch the soft skin of her arms. She
thanked me twice before I realized that I should let her go, and when she moved
away, I immediately shoved my books in front of my jeans.

Sometimes when I
was in bed for the night, I would pretend that Carlee wanted me as badly as I
wanted her. My imagination would run wild in the privacy of my room, but when my
vital signs returned to normal, I would curse my stupidity for fantasizing
about something that would never happen. The reality was that popular Harper
Springs girls like Carlee wouldn't risk catching a disease or a bad reputation
by hanging with trash like me.

Still, it didn't
stop me from watching her. I studied every little move she made, and everything
she did excited me. When Carlee was nearby, I couldn't focus on anything else.

When I realized
that Papa had stopped talking, I saw that he was amused and waiting for me to
come out of my fantasyland. I hadn't heard anything he said, and I knew that he
had watched me salivating over Carlee, as a skinny coyote would a plate of raw
steaks. With the thin running shorts I was wearing, only a blind man could have
missed seeing what Carlee did to me. My face burned as I folded my arms over my
lap and turned slightly away from Papa. I'm not sure what I expected the man to
say, but I was embarrassed. That summer, I had many of those moments when I struggled
to control my new feelings and my ever-changing body, which seemed determined
to betray me at the worst moments.

Papa surprised
me by joking about lunch. He suggested that I ate enough to look about nine
months pregnant, which drew a nervous chuckle from me. I was glad to talk about
anything but my reaction to Carlee, and I was thankful when he began speaking
freely about his life. I listened and occasionally asked questions until we
were far away from my embarrassment. With what Papa shared and what I heard
from other people, by the time summer was over, I felt as if I had known Papa for
years.

Papa was an only
child, whose mother was unable to have any other children. Both of his parents passed
away within a year of each other, before he was thirty years old. They left him
the family home and the horse farm business, which included two huge barns,
horse stables, a riding ring, and at the time, more than sixty American
Saddlebred horses. His property covered over 1100 acres, including pastures,
woods, a small lake, a creek, and deeper woods near the Blue Bergeron River
that were thick enough for a hiker to lose his way. In addition, his parents
left Papa a large bank account and a healthy investment portfolio. Everyone in
the county knew that he was a wealthy man.

Papa's
grandfather built the beautiful Southern farmhouse that Papa inherited from his
parents. It was a white, two-story home with a wide, gray porch furnished with
six rocking chairs and two swings. The porch not only ran across the front of
the house, but it also wrapped around two sides. The interior of the house was suitable
for a big family that was typical of farms in an era long gone. Many of the
large rooms had tall ceilings, wood floors, and working fireplaces, boasting
hand carved mantles. The master bedroom was downstairs and since Papa lived
alone, he had six fully furnished bedrooms upstairs that were seldom ever used.

Even though
Papa's house was old, all of the appliances, plumbing, electrical, and
insulation were new or had at least been brought up to current building codes. As
far as electronics and gadgets, Papa had the best of everything. He had game
systems that could keep kids entertained all day without them ever stepping
outside of his house. It took some time for me to understand that Papa enjoyed
some of his toys as much as the kids who visited him did.

After his
parents passed, Papa appointed a long time employee as farm manager and hired
more help for the farm before building Long's Fitness Center, which grew into a
chain of fitness centers covering much of the state. Papa offered a variety of membership
plans and fees that could fit almost any budget. He gave reduced rates to
children whose parents were struggling financially, and he automatically
offered foster kids free memberships. Since each of his fitness centers had a
basketball court and a swimming pool, both with plenty of fan seating, Papa
charged admission for events that he hosted to make up for the money lost by giving
away free memberships to kids. Harper Springs, and other towns where the centers
were located, benefited from Papa allowing the cities' recreation departments
to use his basketball courts and swimming pools for competitions in their youth
sports programs.

Papa bought a
car dealership in Harper Springs and with the changes he made, it became the
largest in the county and specialized in selling dependable used cars and
trucks. Since the majority of citizens in the area were on the struggling end
of middle class, most of them couldn't afford a new vehicle, and they couldn't
afford to throw away money on a ride that turned out to be a lemon. Papa gave a
year's bumper-to-bumper warranty on any used vehicle that he sold regardless of
its age or mileage. Papa kept his prices low, but his volume was high because
the locals bought from him with confidence that they were making a good deal
with a man whose word was golden.

Papa did
volunteer work for numerous charities and was deeply involved in youth
programs, especially ones involving sports. He was a member of the school board
and president of the Harper Springs High School Booster Club. He loved the
football team, and he enjoyed helping the players with any of their on or off
the field problems. No boy ever had to worry about fees, transportation, or any
other obstacle to his opportunity to play football.

A good example
of Papa taking care of the players was the way he helped them with academics. Each
high school athlete had to maintain a minimum of a "C" average in
high school in order to participate in sports. If Papa saw that a kid would
have academic trouble based on his pre high school grades, then the player
would have a tutor at the beginning of the summer before high school and as
long as he needed one. The tutor's fee would be low or free, depending upon the
player's ability to pay. Coach Haney seldom had to dismiss a player due to poor
grades.

Jenny told me that
Papa had planned to marry not long after he graduated from college, but his
fiancée became ill and died before their wedding day. It was something that
Papa obviously didn't like discussing, and according to Jenny, he never fully
recovered from the loss of the young woman he loved so much. She said that Papa
would date from time to time, but as far as she knew, he never showed any
interest in marriage again. Jenny added that Papa served in the army for three
years following the woman's death.

Papa had no
biological children, but he was proud to say that he had plenty of kids he
loved. He was a state approved foster parent, but he only took kids on a
temporary, emergency basis. As a single man who ran several businesses and
volunteered for many community activities, he thought that he couldn't provide
the kind of permanent home a child needed.