Takedown (6 page)

Carl scoffed. “The guy thinks my brother has po-ten-tial,” he said, smiling as he filled his mouth with a forkful of black-eyed
peas.

“Maybe he does,” Mom said. “But I still don’t like the idea.”

“I’m fourteen,” I said, getting an uncomfortable feeling in my stomach. It wasn’t the food. I loved fried chicken, potatoes,
and black-eyed peas. It was a knot, getting tighter every minute. “I think you and Dad should trust me by now.”

“We do trust you, Sean,” Mom said calmly, “but only, I’m sorry to say, up to a point.”

“What d’you mean?”

“I mean that you’ve betrayed that trust more than once by getting into fights when I’ve warned you not to time and time again.
No, I think as punishment I won’t let you go fishing. Maybe the next time you feel like slamming your fists into somebody
just because they’ve gotten under your skin you’ll remember, and control yourself.”

“Mom!” I cried, flabbergasted at her decision.

“That’s it!” she said, raising a hand to stop me from saying another word. “That’s my answer. No fishing. And that’s final.”

I was so angry I wanted to yell at her, “Mom, I hate you!” but the words wouldn’t come out.

I couldn’t eat another morsel. I shoved back my chair and headed upstairs. I could feel Mom’s, Dad’s, and Carl’s eyes riveted
on my back, and I thought Mom or Dad would order me to return to the table. But neither did, and I went on to my room.

Mom didn’t understand me, that’s all there was to it. She wasn’t fair inflicting such a severe punishment on me. I didn’t
deserve it. I’d never fished in my life, and now that I finally had the opportunity to do it, she refused to
grant it to me. It was more than a punishment. It was downright mean.

Lying there on my bed, with my hands crossed behind my head, I made a decision. I’d go against Mom’s order.

I’d go fishing anyway.

That night, after the rest of the family had gone to bed, I crept downstairs and called Clint. I told him I’d go fishing with
him in the morning and would meet him at nine o’clock at the front entrance of the mall.

“I could pick you up at your house,” he suggested.

“No,” I said. “I’ve got to pick up something. I’ll meet you there. Okay?”

“Okay,” he said.

I hung up, feeling guilty, but at the same time feeling kind of thrilled, too. I was going fishing for the first time in my
life, with someone — maybe the only person in the world — who really cared about me.

Clint had two fishing poles and a can of worms in the back seat of his jalopy when he
picked me up the next morning. He said he had dug up the worms earlier in the back yard of the apartment complex where he
lived.

It took us about ten minutes to get to a small lake surrounded by a cluster of woods, a playground, and a park. It wasn’t
far from Mount Villa College. Mom and Dad had brought us here several times for picnics, but never to fish.

Clint brought out the poles, a can of worms, and a stringer on which to put the fish if we caught any, and we walked out on
a dock that stuck out into the lake about twenty feet or so. He showed me how to bait a hook with a wet, squirming worm, then
how to reel out the line. After he baited his hook and heaved out his line, we sat on the edge of the dock and waited for
the fish to bite.

I still felt guilty. My excuse to Mom this morning had been that I was going to the mall for a while. It was something I often
did, so she wouldn’t be curious.

Lying to her bothered me, but I felt she wasn’t fair. I wasn’t going to let her or anybody else push me around. Maybe I
was
just like my father.

I brushed aside my thoughts and concentrated on fishing. I was enjoying every bit of it and hoped I’d catch one or two before
we were finished. But I was curious about Clint, too. In a way, Mom was right. I didn’t know any more about him than what
he did for a living.

After ten minutes or so of not getting even a nibble, I asked him if he was married.

“I
was
married a long time ago,” he replied. “But I’m not anymore.”

“Oh. I’m sorry,” I said.

Did he mean he was divorced, or a widower? I was afraid to ask.

I also hesitated before asking my next question, but I finally did. “Do you have any kids?”

“No. Can’t say that I do.” He glanced at me and smiled. “I always wanted to have a son. Not that I would have minded having
a daughter, you understand. But I guess I wanted a boy because I could wrestle with him. I’ve always liked wrestling. Was
a champ in the navy.”

I stared at him. “You were in the navy?”

He nodded. “Six years.”

My line stiffened just then and I felt a tug
on the pole. “I think I’ve got one!” I whispered, my heart starting to pound.

He glanced at my line and the pole. “You sure have! Pull it up, then reel ‘er in!”

I did, and out of the water squirted a fish about a foot long, its tail whipping every which way.

“Great work, Sean!” Clint cried. “You caught yourself a trout!”

I reeled it in and he showed me how to remove the hook from its throat. Then he slipped it on the stringer, secured one end
of it to the dock, and dropped the end with the trout on it into the water.

“My first fish!” I shouted. “I can’t believe it!”

“Believe it,” Clint said, grinning. “I’m your witness.”

We sat there for another fifteen minutes before I got another nibble. But this time no fish. A few minutes later Clint landed
one — he said it was a bass.

“We keep this up we’ll have enough fish for both of us,” he said.

His words hit me like a cannon shot. I guess I must have shown it because he turned to me
and asked, “What’s the matter? You
are
going to take home some fish if we catch a few, aren’t you?”

“I … I hadn’t thought about it,” I said. My insides felt like a tight banjo string for a second.

“You didn’t tell your parents you were going fishing with me, did you?”

I took a deep breath and shook my head.

“I thought so,” he said. “I thought it was strange that you wanted me to pick you up at the mall instead of at your house.
You didn’t sound quite like yourself, either. What’s wrong? Didn’t your parents want you to go fishing with me?”

“My mom didn’t,” I admitted. “My dad didn’t say a word.”

Then I told him how my dad didn’t care about me, how my mom was so overprotective of me that I lost my cool at times, and
how Carl and I couldn’t get along. When I was finished I felt as if a ten-ton weight had been lifted from my shoulders. Clint
was the first and only person I’d been able to confide in about my problems.

“Don’t worry. It’ll work out,” he said simply.

Sure, I thought. But when?

“Sometimes you just have to wait things out,” Clint said, as though he’d read my mind.

Before the two hours were up we had caught five fish, and I’d had more fun than I could remember having in years.

But by the time we decided to pack it in, I was thinking about a lot more than fish. Crazy thoughts, about Clint. He was my
size, he was a wrestler, and he had been in the navy. Was it just a coincidence that he had taken an interest in me, or was
there some other reason behind it? Maybe he wanted to make up for lost time…
maybe Clint Wagner was my real father.

But why wouldn’t he come out and say so? Why would he change his name? And why hadn’t he come back before this?

There was only one answer: he was ashamed of his past.

I almost asked him straight out, but I was afraid to. He might say no to keep me from knowing the truth, because of what he
used to be: a drunk. He might say no because he was
afraid I might want to see him more often, and, if I did, it would cause trouble between Mom and my stepfather. Or he might
say no because I was wrong about him. Still, the evidence suggested…

No, I decided not to ask him now. Maybe I would sometime, because I had to know. But not now.

“Almost forgot,” Clint said, reeling in his line. “I wanted to show you a couple of moves and holds before we leave. Okay?
I learned them way back when I was in the navy, but they’re still some of the best.”

“Sure,” I said.

We carried the poles to shore. Then he stood in front of me and put his hands on my shoulders. “I want you to remember something,”
he said. “Pins are great, but most matches are won on points. Sure you aim for a pin, but work on the moves and the holds
that could get you there. If you don’t get the pin, you’ll at least get some points. You get what I’m saying?”

I nodded. “Yes.”

“Good. Okay. One of the best moves I
learned in the navy was the double leg tackle. Here’s the way it’s done, so watch and listen closely.”

While he showed me the moves, working slowly, he explained them carefully, as if he wanted me to remember them the first time.
“Stand in open position,” he said, “with your right foot slightly in front of you.” He was talking as if he were in my position.
“Then shoot your right knee between your opponent’s legs, duck your head under his left armpit, and grab his thighs. Then
quickly step forward with your left foot, straighten up, lift him, spin on your right knee, and drive him to the mat.”

He went on explaining, and I listened as hard as I could. He went over it again and again. Then I took his place and went
through the motions, and I realized that it was easier each time.

“You’ve got it,” Clint declared, a pleased tone in his voice. “You’ve got it, kid. All you need is practice, and you’ll be
an expert with the double leg.”

I promised I’d practice it often. There was at least one guy I was anxious to try it on.

I thanked him, and we shook hands before getting into the car. I hated to leave, because I’d had so much fun, and because
I dreaded facing my mother. If she discovered the truth, she’d never trust me again. “You’re not only a bum, you’re a stinking
liar!” she’d cry.

“What’re you going to tell your mother?” Clint asked, proving again that he and I were on the same wavelength.

I stared at the street ahead, but saw nothing except the jumbled thoughts in my head. “I … I don’t know,” I said. I was confused,
worried. One minute I blamed myself for lying to Mom, the next minute I blamed her for being so down on me.

“Tell her the truth,” Clint said. “You’ll feel better. She might rake you over the coals, but then again she might not. She
might have second thoughts about chewing you out, and realize it’s not all your fault. I’d give her that chance if I were
you.”

His words cleared up the jumble in my head like a fan clears up smoke. “Thanks, Mr. Wagner,” I said, feeling relieved. “I
was wondering
what to do. You’re right. I should tell her the truth. And I will.”

I thought of the fish. “Will you take the fish?” I asked him. “I hate to think of what she’ll say, or do, if she saw…”

“I understand.” He nodded. “I’ll take ’em. There’s a family next door to me with four kids. And they all love fish.”

“Great,” I said.

A few minutes later he stopped in front of the house. I got out, thanked him again, and headed for the kitchen door. When
Mom saw me she gave me a look that would’ve shriveled a shark.

“I saw you get out of that car,” she said icily. “Where were you?”

I sat down and, my heart beating like thunder, I told her.

Her face turned cherry red. “You
what?”
she exclaimed. Her voice could’ve shattered glass. “You went fishing? In spite of my telling you not to?”

I nodded, and calmly explained that I did it because I didn’t think I deserved the punishment, that getting into the fight
with Max
wasn’t all my fault, and — maybe the strongest reason of all — that it was probably the only chance I’d ever have of going
fishing.

“I’m sorry, Mom,” I finished. “I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings. But I was hurt, too. I hope you understand.”

Gradually, the redness in her cheeks subsided. But her voice remained firm. “Maybe I was a bit harsh with you, and I didn’t
give you a chance to explain about the fight. But I can’t have you sneaking around and disobeying me, either. We’ll have to
discuss this further when your father comes home. In the meantime, please go up and clean your room.”

I nodded obediently and ran up the stairs, only too glad to escape. At least she didn’t go completely berserk, I thought with
relief. And chances are, if Dad is going to be involved, I’ll probably get off with nothing more than a lecture tonight.

Later that afternoon, Carl told Mom that he was going bike riding.

“Can I go with you?” I asked.

“No. I’m going alone,” he answered tersely and headed for the door.

I didn’t say anything. But right after he left, I went out, too. He had just opened the garage door. We entered the garage,
put on our helmets, and got on our bikes.

“I said I’m going alone,” Carl said, glaring at me.

“Who said I’m going with you?” I shot back.

I pressed the accelerator, drove past him to the street, and turned left. In the rearview mirror I saw him ride to the street
and turn right.

I was hurt and disgusted. I almost followed him to tell him how I felt but I didn’t. I just hoped that someday Carl would
act like a brother.

I hadn’t ridden more than two blocks when I saw a couple of girls skateboarding side by side on the sidewalk. I recognized
them immediately: Gail and Barbara.

I pulled up to the curb and cut the engine. “Hi!” I said.

“Oh, look, it’s Sean!” Barbara cried, swinging around and stopping in front of me.

“Hi, Sean!” Gail greeted me, skateboarding up to the curb. “Man! What a neat-looking motorcycle! I’ve never ridden on one
before!”