The kids on Frankie’s team purge their childhood souls, "Catch it
Frankie" (Jordan wanting Frankie to succeed). "Frankie look up"
(Richie with disgust). "Turn around, turn around" (Patrick in
frustration and annoyance). "There it is" (Mario in elementary
school despair). "He's going to drop it, he's going to" (Patrick
with disappointment). "There, there" (Mario with routine and
unfulfilled hope).
Frankie’s mother has equally unfulfilled wishes. Between cravings of black raspberry ice cream and avocadoes, her law degree was permanently derailed. While giving birth, her cries of pain and tears of happiness were mixed with those that pleaded with a careless God for a baby girl. She wishes that Frankie would share her passion for figure skating but would settle for taking him to early morning hockey practices. Unfortunately he has enough difficulty navigating the frictioned ground without stumbling, and therefore has never donned a pair of skates.
His mother daydreams he is manly and athletic or sweet and dainty or
anything but a void in space. She would yell at him for dropping so many
footballs and for being uncomfortable around girls, but she is unaware of
his continuing failures. Obliviously she is on her knees disinfecting
the toilet bowl that has turned filthy from apparent laziness.
Frankie Stump, a bit paunchy and pudgy, is the same unpopular kid that attended your grade school. He walks with a gait and doesn’t overcome any shortcomings with graceful social skills. He is too young to understand the words charisma and irony. He has yet to discover pubic hair and death. Few words describe his disbelonging to the society of kids (none of whom belong to the society at large), except to say that he will someday become Mister Frank Stump.
Little Frankie stumbles around on the small patch of paved grass amongst remarks that older people squander in the privacy of their own home. "Damn it Frankie" (Richie learned from his father at the kitchen table). Richie is on Frankie’s team, as are Jordan, Patrick, and Mario. They curse with mostly words of darn, shoot, geeze, and gosh. In their own way these words and their tone of disdain are to be that of encouragement. Like his mother, they don’t know of the mounting pressure that such verbalization puts on a young boy.
Frankie hears the voices, but doesn’t see the ball in the sky or even the
sky itself. With the deftness of a blind man, a single inner voice
continues its ever running commentary, “not again, i can’t drop this
again, oh shoot, i have to open my eyes, where is it, come on, don’t drop
it, catch it just this once, they’ll all love you, come on you can do it,
there it is, it’s coming closer, oh i don’t know, oh no, there it is over
my right shoulder, just fall in my hands please, oh there it is, i think
i can reach it, i got it, wait, oh, yes, i got it, i caught it, i caught
it.”
After conspiring against his body’s inner movements that have spilled
fruit punch on the new living room carpet, his fingertips grab the obtuse
ball. The chubby fingers cradle it at first, then clutch it choking the
strings and the enveloping skin into a round shape. Everyone gazes in
amazement and at first no one says anything. It seems that even the
teacher, Judith Jorgenstein, assigned to monitor the schoolyard stares in
shock; however she concentrates on filing her nails. Her appearance will
determine if there is a second date after tonight’s date. Stories later
told will include her participation in viewing Frankie’s spectacular
catch, contrary to the facts. Memories swirl, confused with future
varsity sports and televised Monday night football games.
As if time has been paused by a remote control, Frankie loses his balance
but not the ball. “Yesss” (Jordan happy for Frankie). “Run you damn
fool, run jerkhead“ (Richie preceding the inevitable collapse). “Yay,
yes, yes” (Mario relieved). Then it happens, and he expectedly falls.
With ball carefully between his rough, dirty hands, he falls before he
crosses the yellow line. This yellow line is just an arbitrary line
children choose to be the end zone. Joey’s brother and his friends used
the same line eleven years ago. Little has changed of the surrounding
buildings, and the teachers are all the same as a decade prior. Miss
Jorgenstein is still hot (according to the pubescent eight graders),
single and paying little attention to her job.
All of the rules resemble something of football, but adjustments were made by Joey’s brother and are still made by Joey. He wields the power and his teammates enjoy the benefits. Richie, Frankie, Mario, Patrick, and Jordan can do nothing except play by rules that are situational.
Frankie’s head swells, “i can’t believe i caught it, oww, oww, wow i did
it, ow, oh man i hope my pants aren’t ripped, mom is going to kill me.”
Sensing a chance to win they yell more. “Get up” (Jordan desperately
hoping). “Gooooooooooooo” (Patrick unable to do anything but scream).
Frankie remains sprawled on the ground, a victim of life’s skydiving
accident.
Thoughts of pain and satisfaction crisscross through his mind at rapid speed, but he has yet to realize he hasn’t scored a touchdown, “why are they yelling at me, oww, they should be happy, i finally caught one and they’re not even cheering, this bites, oww.” He begins to sniffle. “Get him” (Joey orders). These words unintentionally alert a crouched Frankie to Joey’s unyielding speed. Frankie tries to find his feet, so that he can run the few yards needed to score. Suddenly Joey is no longer approaching. Richie throws him to the ground, tearing both Joey’s pants and skin. It is a wondrous block that deserves time on a late-night highlight show, but isn’t seen by anyone, not even Joey.
Though Frankie is now acknowledging he still needs to run, his knees
shake but progress none, “where am i, oh shoot, there’s the yellow line,
shoot, ow.” Joey isn’t even moving, nor are his teammates. Joey
unsuccessfully fights tears. Richie laughs from deep within, relaxed and
happy. “Cross the line already, go” (Mario needing a touchdown and
victory). “You got it, gooooooooooo” (Richie happily prodding). Frankie
starts running and Richie follows him awaiting a celebration. The other
boys on their team have already began their trot with hands triumphantly
raised.
Then a bell rings. The bell rings. It means two things, as things often do. To the grown-ups who run the world, it means recess is over. To the kids who try to coexist in the world it means the game is over. As the continuing ringing eventually ends, Frankie’s chest and limbs cross the plane perpendicular to the fading paint on the unsmooth pavement. He circles into the ground with excitement, awaiting his teammates’ cheers and hugs. They take too long for him and exhaustion pales the accomplishment.
“We win” (Richie in exaltation). Richie turns back to see Joey still
crying. “We did it, you caught it Frankie, we did it.” (Mario himself
crossing the yellow line, pumping his fist). “Who cares” (one of the
girl’s unable to understand sports can be war). The blood covering
Joey’s leg answers this girl’s question. “You caught it, how about that,
we won.” (Jordan’s past tense already placing the events insignificantly
in the past). “No you didn’t win” (a far scream from Joey). A cackle
from one of his teammates affirms the ensuing argument.
Joey and his teammates win because they usually do when they say so.
That’s the way it works at Fisher Elementary School. That’s also the way
it will work when Frank Stump is employed by Lumerton Manufacturing.
He’ll possibly get fired for yelling at his boss, just like his father.
Frankie begins brooding, as children tend to do, “just once, i hate it
here, i’d like to win, this stinks, oh man, my mom is gonna kill me.”
The curly blonde-haired Judy filing her nails only seconds ago, now tends
to the bleeding Joey. “What did you do” (not wanting an answer). She
would have threatened to spank him, but that is her own inner desire.
“March right into the nurses office and don’t come back to class this
afternoon, just go to the principal’s office” (with little authority, a
confused, dictating ruler). She didn’t really care to punish him, but
she also didn’t want him disturbing the class with his antics. Joey was
a trouble-maker like his brother, who took numerous vacations to jail for
selling drugs.
Lines are now forming for the third-graders, far away from the hurt Joey. “You didn’t score before the bell ringed” (Joey’s crony, Bobby adamantly testified). “We got the play off before the bell” (Richie factually states). In a similar situation a couple weeks before, Joey determined that just like professional football the play only had to start before the final sounds of clanging metal. “Doesn’t matter, the rule is you have to score before the bell rings and Frankie didn’t cross the line until after, so you lose, we win” (Bobby officially mangled the previous rules on behalf of Joey and the team). Like a teacher, Bobby wanted to hear nothing more. The game and results were final. Bobby said his team won. There was no way to make Bobby think otherwise.
Frankie overhears the exchanged words, but says nothing, not even to
himself, though through time the luster of hopelessness might fade. “The
cops threw my friend in jail simply because he was carrying a revolver.
It took two years to exonerate him” (Mr. Stump often shares this anecdote
with his children about a friend he sees only at reunions).
Sulking on the way into the classroom and into his seat, Frankie feels dejected not for himself, but for his team. Miss Jorgenstein teaches history, boring the class and herself with useless facts that would be of no help to them, just then. “Listen, we did win, Frankie crossed that line early enough to win” (Richie in one last attempt growing angry again). Three of the four kids on Joey’s team hear Richie’s comments and start taunting him. It is hopeless. It doesn’t matter what happened five minutes ago in recess. Joey’s team always wins. And most of the games aren’t even played outside in the chilly Fall weather. Most of the games are simply fought with words or a fistfight in the hallway.
Miss Jorgenstein’s class forms lines again, this time to venture to the
bathroom. Richie takes more than three seconds at the water fountain,
equivalent to the workplace’s water cooler. Usually only sports and
television are discussed here sometimes more intelligently by the
children and sometimes less intelligently by the adults. Bobby pushes.
Richie pushes back, and a tussle ensues. Mario and Jordan enjoy the
pushing, cheering on Richie as he shoves Bobby to the ground. Bobby’s
head bounces off the hard tile naturally. The teacher only sees the
aftermath with Bobby on the ground. She rushes over, only after he
remains motionless for some time. The nurse is busy this afternoon, as
is the principal and half the Lumerton municipality’s fleet of emergency
vehicles.
Back in the classroom, away from the crowded scene outside the bathrooms,
Frankie mumbles a few words to Jordan, also a quiet kid, “Sorry I cost us
the game, it’s my fault we lost again. I’m sorry.” The game is finally
over. Frankie’s touchdown doesn’t count, because Frankie doesn’t count
it. Frankie never scored. Joey’s team wins again. “That’s okay”
(Jordan doesn’t care anymore). Jordan never cares who wins. He just
likes to be picked on a team. Jordan is content.
Throughout the rest of the afternoon, time moves slowly for Frankie. He
doesn’t think much more about the game, but rather of his mom’s future
reaction to the shredded fabric near his knee. It is an undoubtedly
silly preoccupation that ignores all else. Downstairs the principal
hastily ignores Richie and Joey, who talk to each other for the first
time. Richie agrees to quit Frankie’s team and to play on Joey’s team,
therefore guaranteeing victory. Sadly though there won’t be any more
recesses for Richie. The only games for him will be those of ‘good cop,
bad cop’ and the absurd judiciary system that will sentence a
third-grader to one hundred years in prison.
Pestering thoughts of manipulated rules lead to placid resignation for Frankie. Dismissal encourages thoughts of worry to surface again. Heavy speculating ratchets the punishment up to years of grounding for ripped pants.
Richie doesn’t leave the school with the other students, but is instead
escorted out, through the playground in handcuffs. The kids don’t know
yet that Bobby is dead. As the children gorge from the doors at three in
the afternoon, they associate the ambulance with a speedy recovery for
Boo-boo Bobby, a nickname bestowed upon him only in the late afternoon
sun.
Frankie hardly even notices the flashing sirens of red and blue, because he’s lost in a self-contained world. Frankie rigidly marches home as a form of penance and won’t learn about Richie’s and Bobby’s tragic consequences until after the weekend is over. Even then Frankie’s absorption probably will not allow him to engage in sympathy, but rather only a false sense of apathy.
Frankie didn’t hide from his mom or run quickly to his room. He told his mom what happened. The honesty didn’t work. She slapped him across the soon to be sorrowful face. Sewing up the hole is a simple task, but she feels it necessary to discipline her child. “When you’re older you’ll understand why I am punishing you” (she scolds him until commercials on the television end). But he already understands the slap, the reasons his team always loses, the reason he is grounded for the night, and with perfect childhood logic the reasons for Richie’s long impending imprisonment, “life is unfair.”
Copyright 2003-2004, Kevin Semanick