Tietam Brown (13 page)

As for Tietam Brown, he might as well have had a blanket and lotion, for he looked very much like a child at the beach; all glowing smiles at the wonder before him. That smile then turned left, to a brown-haired young woman who'd been trading looks with ol' Tietam throughout much of the game. She'd looked merely average when the first kickoff was launched, but with each passing glance, she changed in my eyes, so that by the time things turned ugly, she was decidedly pretty, bordering on beautiful.

So while I held hands with Terri and watched the field fill with bodies, my father got up, took a stroll toward his girl, and within thirty seconds returned arm in arm with her. Just like that. (A snap for emphasis.) Like watching Houdini.

“Come on,” Tietam said, “let's beat the traffic,” and the four of us walked, two couples, to the welcoming arms of the Fairmont's cracked seats. And then, once inside, that woman filled the car with conversation and laughter. She bonded with Terri like a long-lost best pal. She treated me like a son that she loved. And as for ol' Tietam, she reduced him to tears. Tears of huge laughter that welled in his eyes as she questioned his Manilow and hid the blue dice.

Ten minutes tops was all that we shared, but we seemed like a family when we stopped at her house. Or her sister's house, actually, a small shingled ranch where she was staying for two weeks before moving along. Where? She didn't say, just “somewhere other than here.”

“Will I see you?” said Tietam, with enough of a stammer so that I saw myself in him. He seemed suddenly shy with a woman like this. Self-assured as she was, Tietam Brown was slightly out of his element.

“Sure,” she replied. “I think that would be cool. But don't fall in love, because I don't have too long.”

“Should I call you?”

“No, my sister will flip if an old guy like you calls,” she said with a laugh. “She'll tell all her friends at the bar. But I'll give you a ring. You're listed I hope.”

My dad just nodded his head.

“Brown, Antietam, I think I can find it. Now heal up that face. Bye Terri, bye Andy.”

And with that she was gone. A streak of bright sunshine, in a flurry of fringes.

“Wow,” my dad said as he headed for Terri's. “I've been around, but I've never seen anything quite like . . . her.”

I had to agree, and Terri did too. In the mirror's reflection, I could see him smile. A smile that belonged to a man who had never done nude push-ups or perfected the art of the deal.

He drove on in silence, just savoring her smell; a hint of magnolia in a soft summer rain. A comfortable silence that really felt right, as if no words were needed to fill in the gap.

When we pulled into Terri's, the silence was broken by the sound of good-bye and a thank-you from Terri to my newly smitten dad.

“Don't mention it, Terri. Did you have a good time?”

“The game was . . . different. But you were really great. And I like your new friend. I know that she'll call you.”

“I hope so,” he said, and meant it too.

“Can I ask you a favor?”

“Sure.”

“When I get to my door, can you turn your head and close your eyes.”

“I guess so,” he laughed. “Why?”

“Because your son is going to kiss me.”

The old Tietam Brown would have whipped up a reply to ruin the day. But this Tietam Brown, the new Tietam Brown, just nodded his head and did as he was told. I walked with Terri to her door, and he turned his head.

Terri fulfilled her end of the bargain with a wonderful kiss, first soft and then deep. Then she added a little surprise. She touched my balls. Touched them and rubbed them in a secretive way, so that only my boys and I had even a clue.

“Andy?”

“Yeah.” A voice as high as my penis was hard, but thankfully practice had paid off and my undies were spared.

“Did you like that?”

“Yes,” and actually wished it hadn't been so brief. Wished it was still going on as we talked.

“I'll bet no one else has ever touched you like that, have they?”

“Only my foster dad,” I said. Damn. The truth really sucks. All I had to do was lie. One simple lie. Lie, lie, lie, lie. Lying doesn't make a person bad. Hell, I'd heard Terri tell a bunch of them, and she was the nicest person I knew. Why didn't I have the power to lie?

“Andy. We're going to talk about that soon. That and your quarters, and all your other little secrets. But right now you're going to kiss me one more time, reach up real secret and feel my breast, and go home. Okay.”

“Okay.”

“So give me that kiss.”

I did. A nice one too.

“Now that other thing.”

I did that too. All of the pleasure with none of the spasming.

“That was nice. Good-bye Andy.”

“Good-bye.”

I watched the door close and walked away, doing my best to walk naturally, despite the telltale signs of arousal in my trousers. I got in the car and started to whistle. I think everyone whistles when they're afraid they'll be busted. If our policemen just looked for random whistlers, crime would be extinct in no time.

I looked at my dad. “Okay, let's go,” I said.

Tietam just kept smiling that new Tietam smile.

“Andy?”

“Yeah Dad.”

“Did you just feel her breast?”

“Yeah Dad, I guess I did.”

“That's a good boy.”

“Thanks, Dad.”

And away we went.

November 14, 1985 / Evening

Later that night, as I often did, I thought of the day. Meeting Terri's mother, watching the game, my dad's mystery girl, and my good-night kiss and feel. But my mind kept returning to Coach Hanrahan's face. When he saw my dad. That look on his face like he'd just seen a ghost. Or worse. I knocked on Tietam's door.

“Dad.”

“Yes, Andy, what is it?”

“Can I talk to you?”

“Sure, son, come in.” A room that was always off limits, up until now. A tone to his voice that exuded happiness.

I walked into the room and saw my dad, under sheets that were now clean and white, a smile on his face, a Bible in his hands.

“Good book?” I asked.

“The best,” Tietam said. “You know I read it a lot, usually looking for loopholes, but tonight I'm not.”

“No?”

“No, Andy, tonight I'm looking for truth.”

“Did you find it?”

“Sure, kid, it's all around. You just have to sift a little to get to it.”

I saw the black-and-white photo faceup on the nightstand. I didn't want to be pushy, but I needed to know. Who was this guy. I needed to know.

“Dad . . .” I tried to sound casual, even if our day had been anything but.

“Yeah.”

“Who's that guy in the picture, the one next to you?”

Tietam glanced down and took the old photo off the table. He looked at its image, and I saw a slight sign of sadness hidden in a small smile. Without looking up, he said, “His name's Eddie Edwards.”

“Were you two friends?”

“Yeah, I guess that we were.”

“Do you guys still talk?”

Tietam looked up from the photo. “No, the last time I saw him . . . we didn't leave on good terms. But I've been thinking of calling.”

“Maybe someday you should.”

“It better be soon.”

“How come?”

“Edwards is dying.” He swallowed hard. “Hey Andy.”

“Yes, Dad.”

“Did you like that new girl?”

I smiled. Thinking about her caused me to smile. Still does. “Yeah, Dad, I liked her a lot.”

“Me too,” said Tietam.

“What was her name?”

“I never did ask . . . Do you think that she'll call?”

“I do, Dad, I do.”

“I hope so,” he said, and he seemed suddenly small. Not small like the coach, but like a cute little child with a secret to share. Then, “Remember that night when I gave you the picture?”

“Yeah, I do,” remembered it well. His trembling hands and the tears on his face.

“Well, she reminds me of her.”

I nodded in silence, and suddenly knew. The answer to the question I'd been asking myself since meeting my dad. What did my mother see in this man? Because I saw it now too.

“Dad?”

“Yes, son.”

“What happened that night?”

“What night?” he said, and he sat up so quick that his Bible fell to the floor.

“Well you, you know,” I said, “that night at the coach's house.”

Then Tietam relaxed and said, “Andy, sit down,” and I hauled myself onto Tietam's big bed. He looked at me for a long time, too long it seemed, and said, “Why do you ask?”

“Well because, it uh, just seemed to me that, uh, Hanrahan looked right at you before he, you know, flipped out.”

“Yes, Andy, I think he did.”

“But why?”

“Andy, let me ask you this. How did you feel when you went to school that next day . . . after you were hit by the coach?”

“I guess I felt pain.”

“No, I mean, inside. How did you feel?”

“I guess kind of weird.”

“Weird in what way?”

“Self-conscious, I guess, because you know, everyone was talking about it.”

“And how did that make you feel?”

“I don't know, a little weird, I guess.”

“Ashamed?”

“No.”

“Then weird how? Try to explain.”

“Weird because . . . I . . . uh, well in a way I guess I was proud.”

“How did you feel today at the game? About your face?”

“I guess kind of cool.”

“And what do you see when you look at me?”

“I don't know.”

“About my face. Try describing my eyes.”

“They're really red in your eyeball.”

“And how 'bout under the eyeball?”

“Swollen.”

“Would you call it a black eye?”

“Yeah, two of them.”

“How 'bout my nose?”

“It's broken.”

“And up here,” he said, pointing to his eyebrow.

“It's cut pretty bad, probably should have been stitched.”

“Well there you have it, son.”

“I don't understand.”

“I went over to his house and look what he gave me. Two black eyes, a broken nose, a gash over my eye. All badges of courage, right?”

I nodded my head as if it made sense, but all that I saw was my beaten-up dad.

“Andy, he
gave
me all these things, but I went over there and
took
something from him. Understand?”

“No, Dad, I don't understand.” But part of me did. Understood it too well, and it filled me with dread . . . and pride.

“Andy, when I went over to his house, I took something from him. His will to live. I took it that night.”

November 27, 1985 / Afternoon

A very strange couple of weeks saw Hanrahan's teaching and coaching career work its way to a pitiful conclusion. First, a team of experts concluded that the Conestoga riot should not entitle that team to their last eight seconds of game time. As a result, the final score remained 12–7, and the Togas had to settle for second place.

Next, a very beaten and battered Henry Hanrahan was placed under suicide watch at Cornell Medical Center as a bevy of witnesses came forth with pieces of knowledge about the coach's past. In truth, it was mostly old news, but for some reason racial slurs, assaults, and statutory rape charges that seemed to slide off the winningest coach in section history now seemed just a little stickier to the laughingstock of Conestoga.

The principal, it seemed, had been informed of all previous complaints but had done nothing, and as a result was suspended pending further investigation.

Our house even served as a backdrop for some of the proceedings, as an unfailingly polite detective named Riley paid us a visit three days after the game.

“Mr. Brown,” the detective had said, “Mr. Hanrahan claims that you assaulted him, and intimidated him. Is that true?”

“Well I did try to intimidate him,” my father replied. “But I guess it didn't work out too well, huh?”

“I guess not,” the detective said. “Were all these wounds the result of your visit to Mr. Hanrahan's house?”

“Yes sir.”

“And why did you visit the home?”

“Because he assaulted my son in his classroom, sir.”

“Is that a fact?”

“It sure is. Hey Andy, come here.”

I showed up, the detective looked at my face and winced.

Tietam said, “And that's over a week old. Should have seen him when he came home. Any father would have done the same.”

“Yeah, I suppose he might have.”

“Damn right,” Tietam said.

“So then you didn't assault him?”

“Did that big monster look like he'd been assaulted?”

“No, not a scratch on him.”

“Probably just in his head. You know, his conscience catching up with him.”

“Probably so, Mr. Brown, probably so.”

Thanksgiving came and went without much fanfare, at least for us Antietams on Elston Court. Terri had gone with her parents to a town called Horseheads, which made me think of the first
God-father,
while I gave thanks and washed dishes at the diner.

Gave thanks for all the wonder that was filling up my days. And thanks for that next day to come, when I'd have Terri all alone. I hoped I would be ready. If our hot-water bill was any indicator, I would be.

I gave thanks too for my father, who hadn't seemed himself. Since meeting up with what's her name, he'd been living in a fog. A happy fog at first, it seemed, but with each passing day, his chances for a call seemed to shrink, and he looked a little sadder.

He still had his women, but he wasn't nearly as loud. And he'd stopped doing his deck. He even bought an answering machine so he wouldn't miss her potential call.

The phone rang at three on Friday afternoon, the day of my big date with Terri. The one I'd been dreaming about. The one I'd been practicing for.

I heard my dad's voice light up.

“Yes, this is Tietam, is that you? Oh it is . . . Jeez, I thought you might be gone . . . Oh you're leaving tomorrow . . . Well what is your name, you left without telling me . . . Holly? That's nice . . . Yeah, I'm free tonight, what would you like to do? . . . Sounds good to me. Hey I'm glad you called. Yeah, I'll pick you up . . . Five sounds great. See you then.”

I thought he was going to do a jig right there in our empty living room.

I looked outside as a truck dropped off lumber at our curb and a team of carpenters pulled power tools and sawhorses into our yard. Usually the only hammering I heard was in my father's bedroom, but on this cool afternoon, with a few tiny flakes of snow floating about, the hammering was loud and the hammering was often in our little front yard, on our small quiet street.

I looked at my father, who was actually now dancing, singing a rendition of “A Holly Jolly Christmas” that would have made Burl Ives scream. “Oh ho, the mistletoe, hung where you can see. Somebody waits for you, kiss her once for me, rin ta tin ta da.”

“Dad, what's going on?” I said.

“Revenge Andy, sweet revenge.”

“What kind of revenge, Dad?”

“Revenge with a holiday flair. Andy, look outside, at Sugling's house. What do you see?”

“Lots of Christmas stuff.”

“That's right, Andy, lots of stuff. Stuff that glows, stuff that lights up, stuff that causes a few cars to drive by, right?”

“I guess.”

“But it's really just stuff, and stuff is just a fancy word for crap, right?”

“I guess so.”

“Well tonight, Sugling will pay the price. People will be driving by our street all right, but they'll be driving by to see our house, Andy, our house.”

“But Dad, we don't even have any lights up.”

“Well, you and me are going to go out now and put two spotlights in the ground, okay?”

“Okay, Dad, but that doesn't sound very fancy.”

“Andy, I'll tell you what. You go on your date at what time?”

“Terri's picking me up around five.”

“Hey same time as your dad. Did you ever think it, Andy, two Browns on the town, at the same time.”

“No, I've got to admit that I never did, Dad.”

“Where are you going?”

“To the movies, I think.”

“Which one?”

I had to think on this one. Our elaborate romantic plan had not involved an alibi, and I knew that my dad could detect a lie a mile away, so I just played dumb and told what might be considered a little half-truth.

“I'm just going to go where Terri wants me to go,” I said. Which was straight to her bedroom. Yes!

“Well, Andy, when you come home from your movie, you will get one heck of a surprise.”

And then he was off, bounding up the stairs at a pace usually reserved for a coming interaction with a drunk married woman. But this time I heard no bouncing of springs, or banging of headboards. Just Tietam Brown butchering “A Holly Jolly Christmas” as the carpenters banged out a tune of their own.

By the time Terri arrived, darkness was falling and a shell of a building stood on our lawn as our neighbors, including Gloria and Charlie Sugling, stood silently, by turns shaking their heads, shrugging their shoulders, and covering their ears. I asked the carpenters what they were building, but they were apparently sworn to secrecy.

As we drove away, Terri grabbed my hand and squeezed it hard.

“Are you ready?” she said.

“I hope so,” I replied, but even as I said it, the word “ready” triggered a thought. Protection. I didn't have any. Oh how I wished I hadn't thrown my three-pack out. Oh what a pimple on the ass of pleasure.

Mournfully I told her. “Terri.”

“Yes, Andy.”

“I don't have any, um uh.”

“Protection?” she said.

“Yeah.”

“Don't worry. There, look in my bag.”

I did and was rewarded immediately with the familiar sight of a blue three-pack.

“Where'd you get these?” I asked.

“I drove almost to Binghamton so no one would know me.”

“Cool.”

“I bought a bunch just in case.”

“In case of what?”

“In case you really like it.”

The moon was full in the sky when we got to her house, and the flakes were now flurries, the first of the year.

“Do they have snow in Virginia, Andy?” Terri asked.

“Sure, once in a while. But never this early. And never this pretty.”

She looked up at the sky, caught a flake on her tongue. “Andy, this night would be pretty if it was raining down turds.”

“Maybe,” I said, “but you wouldn't catch them on your tongue.”

She laughed and I kissed her.

She said, “Let's go inside, you can kiss me more there.”

I did, and we did. Went inside and then kissed. On the mouth and the cheek, and the neck and the head. Kissed her until my mouth started to hurt and then kissed her some more. She looked into my eyes, kissed me once more, and said, “Let's go to my room.”

My heart was pounding wildly as I stepped inside. Anticipation and visions of grandeur played havoc with my senses. My fingers felt electric, at least the ones on my left hand. My legs were weak. My mouth was dry. I closed my eyes and envisioned her. Stepping out of her bathroom, just a few weeks ago, the shirt with the buttons, with no bra underneath. The purest, sexiest thing I had ever seen.

My open eyes proved me wrong. For Terri Lynn Johnson at that very moment, in her green sweater and blue jeans, cast a vision of pure beauty the likes of which I'd never seen.

She turned on a cassette, and I heard Rod Stewart's rasp singing “Don't say a word, my virgin child, just let your inhibitions run wild.” Looking back on it now, the song's a little obvious to be truly romantic, but at the time it seemed perfect. Hell, it still seems perfect.

“Tonight's the night, it's gonna be all right, 'cause I'm in love with you, woman, ain't nobody gonna stop us now.”

No, nobody was gonna stop us now, especially when Terri shut off the lights, leaving only a candle by which to admire her, and said, “Why don't you undress me, big boy.” Then, “And Andy, take those stupid quarters out of your pocket.”

I took out the quarters, three dollars in all, all minted in 1977, and placed them on her bureau. Then went to work.

I'm not going to claim that I was smooth, but I could have been worse as I lowered her jeans and let her step out, then pulled the green sweater, which I guessed cost more than my dad's Fairmont, over her head.

Oh my goodness, she wasn't just wearing a bra and underwear. This was black lingerie, picked out especially for me. Silk. And this woman was going to give me her body, and a memory for life. An honor really. A lifetime honor.

Rod was still singing, assuring me that it was “gonna be all right,” and the candle still flickered, casting sweet shadows that licked at her skin and danced on the walls.

She looked at me and smiled, drew my head to her breast. Kissed my bad ear and whispered, “Now it's my turn, lay down on the bed.”

I kicked off my sneakers and she slid off my pants, exposing a pup tent that I'd pitched on the way over to her house.

“Andy, I'd like to feel your skin on me, but you can leave your shirt on if you want.”

I pulled it off myself, that “skin on skin” idea being too good to pass on, pigeon chest or not.

Now Rod was singing “spread your wings and let me come inside,” which sounded like awfully thinly veiled imagery to me.

Then I sat up and took the initiative for the second time in my life, and laid her down on her bed.

“Andy, rewind the song and play it again, and we'll, you know . . . do it.”

Sounded like a pretty good idea, so I hopped up off the bed, just me and my pup tent, and rewound Rod to the proper lovemaking spot. Then turned around and saw Terri looking up at her cross, at the flickering image of Jesus, who had died for our sins. Man, I was dying for one of those sins myself, so to speak.

I said, “Can I take that thing down just for a few minutes?” But by that time Terri was under her sheets, so the son of God wouldn't see her in her black lingerie. She was crying. And the pup tent was gone.

“Andy, I'm scared,” she said.

“Hey it's okay,” I said as I rushed to her side. I got down on my knees and I pulled back her sheets, exposing a little girl's fears wrapped up in big girl's clothes. “It's okay. It's okay.”

“I've never done this before, and I want to, but it's just a little scary.”

Personally, I thought this was great news. Not the part about her being scared, but about her having not done it. I thought she hadn't, but she'd never confirmed it, nor had I asked. And even though I would have been spit on and laughed at by any self-respecting horny teenager, I didn't try to talk her out of the way she felt.

“Terri, Terri, Terri, Terri, come on now, don't cry. I'm scared too. And I'll tell you a little secret. I've never done it either.”

She laughed right out loud, the sniffle in her nose making it sound extra cute. “Wow, that's a real shock. So I'm not one of thousands.”

“No, you're one in a million.” Corny but effective, and straight from my heart.

“What about your foster dad?” She laughed just a little but quickly felt bad. “God I'm so sorry, that was really not nice. Forgive me. Okay?”

“Sure, you're forgiven.”

“Andy.”

“Yeah.”

“I feel really dumb.”

“Why?”

“Well, I went out and bought condoms, even bought lingerie. I worked out this whole night. And I wanted it so, wanted you to, uh you know, be my first . . . But I just feel so scared, like maybe we should wait . . . just a little while longer. I'm sorry.”

“Don't be,” I said.

“But I wanted you so much. Wanted you to love me.”

“I already do.”

The tears in her eyes in the flickering light cast a bright beauty that stays with me still.

“Andy, come here.” She lifted her sheets and patted her chest, and I slipped underneath and she pulled me so close.

“Terri?”

“Yes, love.”

“Can I lay my head here?” pointing to her breast.

“Sure you can, Andy, lay your head down.”

And I did and I loved it, and I told her why. “Right now this feels like the safest place in the world.”

“Then stay there, my love, stay as long as you want.”