Takedown (5 page)

Why did I feel so good all of a sudden? Why, when I’d met Clint only a few months ago, did it now seem as if I’d known him
all my life? He was friendly, sympathetic, and understanding — attributes a kid would expect in his father. Except my father
had never shown me those attributes.

I felt a lump come to my throat and took a deep breath. “Okay,” I replied. “I’ll call you Friday night.”

“Great!”

We were driving up to the curb in front of my house when I saw the red taillights of our car wink out in the garage. Had Mom
and Carl just arrived home? They should’ve been home at least half an hour ago. Why were they so late?

The lights were on in the house, so I assumed that Dad was up, probably still doing bookwork or watching television.

I got out of Clint’s car just as Mom and Carl came out of the garage. Carl was carrying a sack of groceries. He glanced briefly
at us, then turned to pull down the garage door.

Mom stood there like a statue, staring.

“Hi,” I said.

“Hi,” she murmured.

“Hello!” Clint called out. Then, “Good night!” and I turned in time to see him wave.

“Good night,” I called back.

I noticed then that his muffler was loud and clangy, and that the glass of the right taillight was broken. Through the rear
window of the jalopy I could see him still waving, and I waved back, feeling good inside. Even Dad had never shown such interest
in me in all my life.

I turned and started to head for the house when I saw that Mom was still standing there, watching the jalopy disappear down
the darkened street. She had a long, drawn look on her face. A worried look.

“Who was that?” she asked.

“Clint Wagner, the assistant referee,” I said.

“Where’d he pick you up?”

I paused and thought hard before I answered her. I hated to admit that I’d been in another fight with the Octopus. For all
I knew she’d look up Max’s address, go there, and have a verbal fight with his parents. Like me, she had guts.

Just the same I had to come clean. She’d probably find out about it eventually. I cleared my throat and told her about the
fight, and about Clint Wagner coming to my rescue.

Mom’s anger flared. “Another fight? What am I raising, a hood? Are you going to be a replica of your father and get into a
fight every-time you go out on the street?”

“It wasn’t like that, Mom,” I said, hoping I could make her understand. “I didn’t start it. Those guys did.”

“Sure! It’s always the same excuse! The other guys always start it! It’s never you! Your father used to say the same thing!
You’re just like him! You’re both bums!”

She whirled and stormed toward the house.

I was sick. I figured now a fishing trip with Clint was out of the question. I might as well
not even ask for permission. I might as well just call up Clint and tell him I couldn’t go.

That night I couldn’t sleep a wink, thinking about the fight with Max and what Mom had said to me.

“You’re just like him! You’re both bums!”

What a lousy thing to say.

But I wondered: Will I really end up like my father?

“I don’t think wrestling’s for him, Mom,” Carl said at the breakfast table the next morning. “I’m afraid that one of these
days he’s gonna get hurt, and get hurt bad. Look what happened last night. The Squasher really squashed him.”

“What?” I stared at him. He was sitting across from me, pouring cereal into his bowl. “You must be talking about some other
match, man. He didn’t pin me, did he? And he only beat me by a few points.”

“Two more and it would’ve been a major decision,” Carl said. “And four points instead of three.”

“But it
wasn’t
a major decision, and it
wasn’t
four points!” I stormed. “So stop blowing off, okay?”

“Okay, okay,” Dad said sharply. “Stop this silly bickering. Eat your breakfast, Carl, and get ready for the bus. That goes
for you, too, Sean.”

My heart thumped against my ribs as I tried to eat my breakfast and avoid Carl’s eyes. When was he going to stop badgering
me?

In a minute Dad wiped his mouth with a napkin, excused himself, and kissed Mom. “See you guys later,” he said, as he grabbed
his jacket and left. Being maintenance manager of Paul’s Motorcycle and Bike Shop had him leaving the house first every morning.
This ritual went on six days a week, Monday through Saturday. Sometimes I wondered which he loved the most, Mom and us kids
— Carl, anyway — or his job.

I stalled finishing my breakfast on purpose. I wanted to talk to Mom. Alone.

I still had a piece of toast left when Carl finished. “Better get a move on, guy,” he said as he wiped his mouth and pushed
away from the table. “The bus is due here any minute.”

“Go ahead,” I said. “I’ll be out in a sec.”

He pulled on his jacket, grabbed up his books, gave Mom a quick peck on the cheek, and left.

“You’d better hurry up, Sean,” Mom advised, sitting at the table with a cup of coffee in her hand. “Your brother’s right.
The bus is due any minute.”

I looked at her, my stomach tightening up into a knot. Her hair was bunched on top of her head in a messy-looking bun and
her face was pale. But she was calmer than she’d been last night.

“Mom,” I said, and paused. A lump caught in my throat.

“Yes? What is it?”

I swallowed the lump. “I — I’m sorry. About the fight and all.”

Mom sighed. “I’m sorry, too, for the things I said. It’s just that I worry about what will become of you. You’re so like your
father.”

“Well, he must’ve had
some
good points, or you wouldn’t have married him in the first place, right?” I said gently. I was nervous. I
didn’t think I’d ever be nervous talking to my own mother, but I was. Still, I wanted to know more about my real father.

She shrugged and took a sip of her coffee. “I’ve told you about him. What else is there to say?”

I could sense she wasn’t keen about continuing this conversation. Maybe I was wasting time. I started to get out of my chair.

“He was a decent, good-looking guy when we first met and started dating,” she said, and I sat back down. “Then, after we got
married, something happened. He changed, became almost a different person. He grew a mustache, then a beard. I didn’t object
to that. But then he began drinking… more.”

“That’s when he got into fights, too?”

She nodded. “You know the rest,” she said.

I had a tough time asking my next question. “Did he want me?”

She glanced at me for a second, then looked away. “He loved you very much,” she said, “but he knew it was best that you stay
with me. We had no argument about that.”

“Did he ever send you any money?”

“Alimony payments, you mean?” She shook her head. “No. Oh, he was willing to, all right. But I refused. I was so angry with
him I didn’t want a thing to do with him… ever. I wanted him completely out of my life.”

“You didn’t want him to see me?”

She looked at me. “That’s right, Sean. I was afraid that if he did, he might change his mind. He might want to take you from
me.”

“What did he do then? Where did he go?”

“He quit his job and joined one of the armed forces — the army or the navy — I’m not sure which.”

Just then there was a yell from outside. It was Carl.

“The bus is here,” I said. I got up, kissed Mom on the cheek, and grabbed my jacket. “Thanks, Mom,” I said. “See you tonight.”

I rushed out the door just as the bus was pulling up to the curb.

“Don’t tell me you took all this time finishing up that toast,” Carl grunted.

“Okay, I won’t,” I said.

The door of the bus opened and we got on.
He sat down beside another kid, and I sat a few rows farther back. I was glad we didn’t sit together. He might start asking
me questions about why I wasn’t out sooner. I couldn’t tell him what I was talking about with Mom. I would’ve had to make
up some story.

When 3:30 rolled around I, and all the other wrestlers, headed for the locker room. We put on our uniforms and headgear and
went out on the mats. I saw both coaches, Joe Doran and Chad Collins, standing with their arms crossed, probably discussing
strategy for our upcoming meet next week. I didn’t know who our varsity was up against, but we JV’s were wrestling guys from
Gardner Junior High. They were good, but not great. At least that was what we’d heard through the grapevine.

“Okay, you guys!” Coach Doran yelled out. “Spend some time on the weights! Then we’ll team up for some wrestling practice!”

We worked out for about ten minutes, then a whistle shrieked and Coach Doran ordered the varsity to one side of the gym and
the junior varsity to the other side. For a moment Coach
Collins studied us like an army master sergeant. Our eyes met, and for a second I thought he was going to call on me.

“Rick,” he then said to the kid next to me. “Step out here.”

Rick stepped forward, and he and Coach Collins got onto the mat. Rick was a tall, weed-thin kid with arms that looked like
long hot dogs, but his size would fool you if you didn’t know him. He wrestled in the ninety-eight-pound class and was one
of the best.

“I think we need some practice on the half nelson and the leg trap,” the coach said. “Most of you guys still don’t seem to
have gotten the hang of it. Now, keep a close watch on what we do and what I say.”

We watched like hawks as he showed us how to apply the half nelson, a move I liked and used whenever I got the opportunity.
He worked his far arm under Rick’s shoulder. You can work your inside arm under your opponent’s near shoulder, too, depending
on the situation. The coach moved his outside hand under Rick’s armpit and around the top of his neck, brought Rick’s arm
up and his head
down, and put pressure on Rick’s shoulder. Then he grabbed Rick’s chin with the hand that was around his neck, spread his
legs to give him leverage, lay on Rick’s chest, and got a pin.

“See how it works?” the coach said, grinning up at us.

We nodded like a bunch of puppets.

Next he showed us the leg trap. Again he had Rick lie on his stomach on the mat and he got on top of Rick, putting his right
forearm against Rick’s neck and pulling Rick’s right leg up with his right knee. It was a good hold, but it took a lot of
practice. And that’s what we all did when he finished showing us the holds on Rick. We paired off — Bull chose me before I
had a chance to pick out anyone else — and we worked on the half nelson first. I got down on the mat and he lay on me. Needless
to say, I was glad when we switched positions!

We worked on the move and hold three times, then practiced the leg trap three times.

“I like that!” Bull exclaimed as we climbed to our feet, both of us hot, sweaty, and panting. “Let’s go through ’em again!”

“Like heck!” I said. “If anybody ought to be called the Squasher, it’s you!”

He grinned. “Yea-a-h!” he said.

“Okay. We’re going to get into the real meat of things now,” Coach Collins said. “A two-minute workout with an opponent other
than the guy you practiced with. Dave, you and Smitty get together. Bull, you and Moe. Sean, you and Bud.”

Bud and I were in the same weight class. We got on different mats and, when Coach Collins blew the whistle, we went at it.
Bud was about two inches taller than me, but in no time at all I grabbed his right leg, floored him, and applied the first
hold the coach had us practice: the half nelson. It worked, and I got off him, feeling pretty good.

“Hey! Nice work, Sean!” Coach Collins said, coming over to me. “You pulled off the half like an old pro!”

I shrugged. “I think Bud was tired,” I said.

“Not any more tired than you,” the coach said.

He tapped me on the head and walked away, still smiling. I felt like an Olympic champ.

The half nelson and the leg trap — a couple of good moves I might be able to use when the I Octopus and I clashed.

I felt eager and ready to go. If I didn’t change old kid brother Carl’s opinion about my wrestling in my next meet, I’d never
change it.

I couldn’t wait.

During supper that night, I made up my mind to ask Mom and Dad if I could go fishing with Clint on Saturday. I had apologized,
after all, and it would be a chance for me to try something new and get to know Clint better.

When I finally brought it up they both looked at me as if I’d asked for a thousand dollars.

“It’s no big deal,” I said. “And I’ll be out of your hair for a couple of hours.”

I didn’t know how long we’d be fishing, but a couple of hours seemed long enough.

“But what do you know about the man?” Mom asked in the same tone she always used when she had doubts about my intentions.

“Mom! How much do I have to know?” I exclaimed. “He works at Wolcott’s Hardware Store! And he’s the assistant referee at school!
Everybody thinks he’s a great guy!”

That didn’t seem to impress her.

“Why did he ask you to go fishing with him?” she pressed.

“He’s taken an interest in my wrestling,” I said. “I think that’s what he’d like to talk about while we’re out there.”