kid who used to play ball with my son gets shot dead during a holdup, and I don’t know anything about it. Of course, we never would have reported it in the New York Star—not a Puerto Rican corpse north of Ninety-sixth Street. The only way I could ever know was through Jake, who’d never told me until now.
“I wish you’d told me back then.”
“Why?”
It’s a good question. Why? What was I going to do, attend the funeral? I didn’t even know Eduardo’s last name. All he ever was to me was a ball-hogging punch line to a funny story.
“I don’t know why,” I admit. “I just…Jesus! What else do you know about it?”
“Not much. From what I hear, he ignored the warnings to drop the gun and ran outside, firing away. So they had to shoot him.”
“Jesus Christ!”
“What did you expect, Dad? That was Eduardo, all the way. He never gave up the ball. He wasn’t about to give up the gun.”
I stare at Jake, both awed and chilled by what he’s just said. My son, I realize, is very smart. I always knew he could regurgitate what he’d learned from books and spit it back out on exams, but this is a new level of intelligence, and for some reason it’s not a comfort to me. I would hate for him to think that I am stupid, and I wonder if he does. It’s never occurred to me before. I’ve often wondered whether or not he liked me, but this is something new to ponder, something new to worry about. Just what I need.
“Dad,” he says in the weary voice of one forced to explain something totally obvious, “you want to know why I stopped playing organized ball, right? It’s because the coaches wreck the whole thing, the way they carry on. The yelling, the screaming…I just couldn’t listen to it anymore. Does that make any sense to you?”
“I’ll have to take your word for it. I never had a coach.” Jake sits up straight on the bed, turns and looks at me. “You never had a coach? How is that possible?”
“I was never good enough to make any of the teams. And in the schoolyard games, it was always ‘We got Sullivan.’”
“What the hell is that?”
“Two captains would choose up sides for kickball, or dodge-ball, or whatever, and I’d always be the last one left. That’s when one of the captains would sigh and say, ‘All right, we got Sullivan.’”
Whenever I tell that story to people I get laughs, and I expect one from Jake. Instead he is silent for a few moments before saying, “That really must have hurt, Dad.”
I shrug. “You get over it in twenty years or so. Thirty years, tops.” I’m shocked to find that my eyes are misting up. I blink back the tears, smile at Jake. “That’s why I could never quite believe it, that I could be the father of a star athlete. Me, the guy they always chose last. And suddenly you just quit everything.”
“I disappointed you.”
“No, no, no. I just never understood why you did it, until now. Thank you for telling me.”
Jake gets off the bed and comes over to me. He puts a hand on my shoulder, gives it a squeeze. “It’s not like it was some aftershock from the divorce, in case that’s what you were wondering.”
It’s exactly what I was wondering. “I appreciate that, Jake.”
“You like to blame yourself for things, don’t you, Dad?”
“It’s not a question of liking it. It’s just that I’m good at it.”
“Well, give yourself a break on this one. I’m sorry I never told you about Eduardo. I thought I did. Maybe I found out about it on a weekday, and didn’t see you until the weekend, and forgot about it in between, you know?”
The gaps, those fucking gaps. “Sure, Jake. That’s probably what happened.”
“Listen, Dad, as long as we’re talking to each other, can I ask you to do something for me?”
It’s the first time he’s ever flat-out asked me to do something for him. I’m actually thrilled to hear the words, to feel that I’m needed in some way by my son. If he was about to ask me to be the getaway driver for a bank job he was pulling, I’d have gladly said yes.
“Name it,” I say.
“Could you come with me to see my girlfriend?”
I’d sooner have expected him to ask me to knock over the bank.
“You want me to meet Sarah?” I ask in wonder.
“I just want you to come with me to see her,” he says carefully. “It could get ugly.”
I’m engulfed by a gulpy warmth. My son needs me with him. He needs me!
“Let’s brush our teeth before we go,” I suggest. “The last thing you need in a situation like this is beer breath. Where are we meeting her?”
“Just leave that to me,” Jake says, flipping open his cell phone and hitting a speed-dial button. “I appreciate this, Dad, I really do. Hey, one other thing. Give me my essay, would you? I may need it.”
CHAPTER SIX
We ride the crosstown bus through the park to the East Side, our teeth freshly brushed, our breaths minty from the Life Savers we’ve been sucking on. The bus we’re on is a double bus, and we sit right at the axis, which creaks and shifts beneath our feet with every turn. We’ve always sat at the axis on crosstown buses, ever since Jake was a little kid. When the bus made sharp turns in those days I’d say, “Look, Jakey, the bus is breaking in half!” and he’d squeal with delight.
I turn to him. “Hey, Jake, do you remember—”
“You’d tell me the bus was breaking in half. Yeah, Dad, I remember.”
“Oh.”
He’s a little too preoccupied for tender memories.
We’re meeting Sarah at a Starbucks on Lexington Avenue. He’s told her he has something important to talk about, but he hasn’t told her about me coming along. He’s remarkably calm, considering what may soon be happening.
I’m the one who’s nervous. I’m actually jumpier now than I was a few hours ago, when I was losing my livelihood.
“You okay, Dad? You don’t look so good.”
“What are you going to say to this girl?”
“I’m just going to tell her about what happened today.”
“And I’m coming with you because…”
“Because I asked you to. I don’t think I’ve asked you to do too many things. If you don’t want to do it, you can bail.”
I’m a little stunned by this attack. “Hey. Nobody’s bailing.”
“All right, then, thank
