Scars Ch. 03-05

I look at Colin. I point at him and hit my chest, he knows I'm coming for him. He taps his line yelling for a tight control. "Hike!"

I sprint for the offensive line. They would be colliding with the defensive line and pushing through should be easy. Except somehow Brady is pushed to the side and hits the ground; the offensive lineman is ready for me, I can't slow down. I just reacted, doing something I've only ever done by myself and not over something quite this tall. I do a par core move and jump/roll over the line. Colin is a little surprised to see me come to my feet in front of him. He still has the ball when I hit him. He goes down like a sack of potatoes.

The defense shouts out with joy. It had been a long time since the defense had bested the offense in a scrimmage, let alone on the first play. I kneel down to Colin. "Now do you think you can beat me in a fight? I don't have any beef with you. Just leave me alone, and I will leave you alone. Got it?"

Colin nods. I get to my feet and stretch my hand down. He grasps it and I pull him to his feet. "Yo, dude, I'm sorry, I flipped out over nothing. We cool?" he asks.

"We're cool. All I ask is that you don't question my past. What is in my past stays there. I don't want to talk about it, other than that, we are cool," I say.

"I can respect that. There are things I've done that I'm not proud of. I hate being who I am, it's hard to back away from what everyone thinks I am. I wish I could go back and change things, but what is done is done," he tells me.

"I know what you mean. I do really. I might not know what you are referring to, but I know how you feel. There are things I want to change, things that if I could change, would cause me not to be here, but I can't," I whisper. Everyone was starting to crowd around us by now.

"Dylan," the coach was saying, "would you consider joining the team? We could definitely use someone like you. Not only on defense, but I think you would make an excellent running back and even a special teams receiver."

"Yeah coach. I'd love to join the team. It's not too late to join the roster is it?"

"Naw. It's fine. I'll get the details worked out. I will do what it takes to get you on the team, you just worry about keeping up your school grades and your job," Coach tells me.

The rest of practice, Coach has me trying out on different teams. He said with a little practice I might be able to even block a field goal attempt. I can jump pretty high; I can clear a crouched teenager so I think he thinks I can jump over and block a kick. I told him I didn't want to do that. I couldn't chance on offensive lineman standing up, making me loose my balance and breaking something.

Then Coach asked the million dollar question, "Son, can you throw a football?"

"Coach, you already have an amazing quarterback. I don't want to be one. They are the guys with the biggest target on them. Sir, with all due respect to you, I'd rather just stick to being a linebacker and a running back. That way I can avoid encroaching on Colin. We might be cool, but I still don't want to do anything to upset him," I explain to him.

"Well, alright, that sounds fine, but I still want you to practice as a quarterback, incase Summers gets an injury. You have potential to be an ace up my sleeve, if you can throw a ball with any kind of accuracy. I want you to think about it and I will talk to Summers."

I left practice feeling great. I spent another night in my car, parked in the Walmart parking lot. I didn't get that much sleep, tossing and turning. My car is definitely not built to make sleeping in it easy. My phone went off; the alarm telling me it was time to drive to the school.

The locker rooms were empty again and I took a shower. "Hey, Dylan, what are you doing here so early?" I was getting dressed and only had my shirt left to put on. I turn around to see Brady walking towards me. I quickly pull my shirt over my head, intending to cover up my scars.

"Um...I needed to get a shower. That's all. I..." I mumble in reply.

"Why not take one at your house? Don't you live with the Owens? They are a really nice couple, and I heard that their son came back. He isn't so nice in my opinion. Why would you be here taking a shower?" He shoots off questions like a machine gun.

"Umm...yeah about that. I...I don't know." I didn't know what to tell him. I didn't want to tell him I wasn't living there. I didn't want to be ridiculed by my only seemingly real friend.

"Dude, what's wrong? I promise it will stay between us. Did something happen?" He seemed genuinely concerned.

"Do you really promise not to tell anyone? Only Coach knows so far and I really don't want anyone else to know," I whisper.

"I promise. I wouldn't do that to anyone. I haven't mentioned the scars on your arms to anyone. I noticed them yesterday before practice. I didn't say a word about it to anyone," Brady admits to me.

I look at him. I didn't think anyone had noticed, mainly because no one had said anything and there weren't any rumors going around about it yet, so I figured no one had noticed. Now I knew better. I guess Brady was trustworthy; I hoped so. "I don't live there anymore. I was at the house when their son got home. He was pissed that I was there and when I told him to wait on the couch he got even madder. I then pushed him back outside and locked the door. When his parents got home, he told them that I hadn't even let him in the house...and they believed him. I fixed most of their major appliances in their house with my own money, never did anything to make them mistrust me, yet when their son gets home, suddenly I'm a liar. I left that night, which was two days ago. I've spent these past few nights in my car. It's why I take a shower here in the morning," I explain.

"Wow. I didn't know. I'm sorry. I will talk to my dad. Since my parents divorced and my mother took my brother with her, my dad has been...well missing that second child. Maybe he will let you stay, at least until we graduate."

"Thanks Brady. You don't have to do that. I can get by just fine. I still work for Mr. Connors and I get enough money to survive, well I guess you can call it surviving. I'm not dead yet. I live on two meals a day, sleep in my car, and I still don't know how I'm going to keep getting everything done that needs to be done. My social worker doesn't even know I left. I didn't tell her yet."

Brady looks at me. "I hate seeing you like this. I might have only met you yesterday, but I consider you one of my friends. I get the feeling that since you were young you've had some extremely bad things happen to you. Maybe I can prevent a little bit of that from continuing. I'll speak with my dad tonight and then call you. You mind giving me your number?" he asks.

I give it to him. "Thanks Brady. I've never really had any friends. I don't let anyone close to me because every time I do, they turn around and metaphorically stab me in the back. So, I hope you understand that I will take everything you say with a grain of salt. I've been through the grinder since I was ten. The only person who was ever there for me, even though most of the time I was a disappointment, is now dead. I don't expect anything from anyone, because it just never happens. I do thank you for your help though."

I walk away to go to my locker. I had to pick up books for my first and second period classes. The day went by and at lunch Brady and some of the nicer football guys came to sit with me. I had been sitting at a table in the corner of the lunch room, away from everyone, but they came over to sit with me.

Even more surprising is that Colin came over and sat with us too. He started talking like nothing had ever happened between us. I guess when he says things are cool, he meant it. I never even questioned it. I figured if he was still pissed it would show eventually.

It was Thursday today and I had to go to work, so before I left school, I let Coach know that I wouldn't be at practice. "Well, that's fine. I got you on the roster. I had to pull a few strings and trade favors, but you are officially on the team. I want you to make sure you stay in shape. If you got to school early everyday, then I could let you into the weight lifting room for thirty minutes each morning. We have a tread mill and a good amount of equipment. I would be telling you which ones you needed to do each day. I can't have you continuously working the same muscles day after day. That would end up hurting you more than helping." Coach was being extremely understanding of my predicament.

"Thanks Coach. I will, I'll be here at five thirty tomorrow morning. That way I can get thirty minutes of lifting and you can help me look over different plays. I might know how to play football, but the plays I don't know at all."

"That's a good idea son. I will be here to let you in. See you in the morning," Coach said.

I drove over to the house we had been working on Monday and found Mr. Connors and the crew there. "Hey Dylan!" Mr. Connors called out to me. "I need you to get over here quick. We are almost done and we need to get to the other house today and still need to get this tree in."

I jog over to where he was standing. They had a hole dug for the tree, but a quick glance at the tree told me that it wasn't deep enough. "Umm...sir? I'm not trying to be rude or question you, but I'm sure that hole isn't big enough. My mom used to have a garden..." I stopped talking, over come by the pain of even thinking about my mom. I had kept the pain back for a while now, but it was coming to the front again. "Excuse me, I'm sorry, she had a garden and I just know it needs to be bigger or the tree will die."

"I've been doing this for years. I do know what I'm doing...but I think you may be right. Why don't you jump in there and finish digging it out. We need a short break; we've been going at this yard non-stop since lunch. When you get the hole deep enough, give us a holler and we'll come put the tree in."

I grabbed a shovel and hopped into the hole. It wasn't that deep, maybe two feet deep so far. The tree needed about two more feet down. I started digging. I was like a machine. I let the physical labor wash away all my thoughts and with it, my pain.

It only took me about twenty minutes to shovel out that last two feet needed and get the excess dirt loaded in a wheel barrel. I kept the dirt nearby because we'd need it after the tree was put in to fill in the space. "Mr. Connors, I finished the hole. We can put the tree in now!" I call out.

The crew walks back to me. We put the tree in and I fill in the excess space with dirt. One of the guys goes over to the hose and turns it on. We soak the dirt to over flowing to give the tree water. The shock of being moved from one place to another can kill a plant, but if you do it right, you can prevent that. It takes a lot of water to help "calm it down."

We go over to the next house. This isn't a new house. It was in a nice neighborhood. The old lady that owned the house had a new patio installed and wanted to change the backyard to plants that would go with it. She had no bushes or trees or anything. It was all grass.

Mr. Connors gave her a book of plants we could put back there and explained which ones would go best and the kind of upkeep that each one required. She asked for something that didn't come with a lot of upkeep, so he pointed out about five different bushes and three flowers that would go with the patio.

That night I got a call from Brady saying his dad would like to meet me. Now that would be interesting. Brady gave me instructions on how to get to his house. When I pulled up in the driveway, Mr. Thompson was there waiting for me. I got out of my car and walked up to him and shook his hand. "Mr. Thompson? My name is Dylan. I'm a friend of Brady's. How are you doing tonight?"

"Brady's told me about you. Why are you here? I don't mean the house; I mean why are you in our town? If you are going to live here, I don't want any secrets. I want to know why you were in foster care. I also want to know why you left the Owens, they are a nice family, I don't see any reason for them to kick you out other than you doing something wrong, and in that case I wouldn't want you here."

"Well, sir, I didn't do anything to the Owens, they wronged me. As you probably know by now, their son came home a few days ago. When he knocked at the door I went to greet him and he got upset that I was there. I told him who I was and asked him to stay on the couch and wait for his parents. The only reason I knew it was him was because he resembled Mrs. Owens, so I let him in. I told him I was going back to my room, his old room. He got mad at that and told me I wasn't going to do that. I told him clearly that he was either going to sit on the couch and wait or he could go back outside. He tried to get physical so I pushed him back outside and shut and locked the door.

"When his parents got home he told them I hadn't even let him in the house, and they believed him over me. I had never given them a reason to mistrust me at all. I even took my own money and fixed things in their house. I had learned to fix a lot while growing up because I never had a lot of money growing up, so it was easier to learn how to do it, than have someone else do it," I explain to him.

"I see. What about the reason you were in foster care in the first place?" he asked.

"Sir, I'd rather keep that to myself, at least the details of it. My mother died recently and my father has been dead for a long time. I'd rather not say anything else. It is much too painful for me to think about. Can you respect that?" I ask Mr. Thompson.

"I understand. I won't ask you to say any more on the subject. Is that your car or the Owens?"

"It's mine. I paid for it myself. I had a savings for college and when I moved here, I decided to buy the car outright. I've fixed it up a bit. I did a lot of little tweaks to it and it runs better than it did the day it was made." I look at him. "Don't worry about my college savings, my dad was in the military and his life insurance now goes to me. I've been putting that into my savings. Look, my mother died when I was sixteen, so last year. It got around quickly that my mom had been murdered and the whispers started again, just at that point it was about her. I decided not to deal with it. It wasn't until recently that the Owens adopted me. I was in a foster care home with a lot of other foster kids. I was the oldest one there. I had to fight for my rights to get my dad's insurance.

"The lady that ran the orphanage thought she was entitled to the money for taking me in. The state finally ruled in my favor on that. I had my agent start putting the payments into my savings. There is now about five thousand dollars in it, after buying this car. My agent will continue receiving the checks and putting them into savings until I turn eighteen. At which point I can request to have them given to me. I will keep having her receive them until I turn twenty-one, at which point the payments will stop." I was rambling on about things he didn't even ask about, but I had become a little desperate. I didn't want to live in my car. As much as I was antisocial, I hated being disliked by everyone. It hurt, more than I let on.

"I...I don't know what to say to that. I would be glad to have you stay here though. You seem like a good kid. I've been through some rough times in my life and I know what it's like to be down on my luck. I hear you only eat two meals a day and yet you work for a landscaping job and play football. How can you do this? It's not healthy. Come on inside, I got some dinner left. You can have whatever you want."

"Thank you sir. I also need to tell you that I keep two knives on me. They are my dad's old knives from the military. One's a combat knife and the other is a throwing knife. While I'm at school they would stay in my car, but when I'm out I keep them hidden on me. It's a...security blanket thing. I found them when I was twelve and I've held on to them since then. I didn't take them to school at that time. My car has a locking glove box and that's where I keep them. I couldn't risk them being found on me at school. I used to get into fights a lot, I don't do it anymore, the reason I would is gone now and no one here knows that so I have no reason to fight. I haven't gotten into a fight since I was sixteen."

"Thank you for telling me this. It should be fine. I don't think I will wake up to a knife stuck in my throat...will I?"

I chuckle at his joke. "No, sir, you won't. I've never used them on another person," I say.

As we were discussing this Brian had come out and now looked at me, his eyebrows shooting up. I look at him and give an almost imperceptible shake of my head, letting him know now was not the time. I was sure he had figured out what I cut myself with. I wasn't too hard to figure out, if you knew about the knives.

That night I had my first full meal in longer than I could remember. Even when I was at the Owens I wasn't eating that much and at the orphanage we never had enough food and I usually gave half of everything I had to the little kids. I was starting to finally feel happy, something I hadn't felt since before my dad died. I loved my mom, but always being the "bad" kid takes a toll on your happiness a lot.

I woke up early the next morning and Mr. Thompson was already in the kitchen drinking coffee before work. "Dylan, what are you doing up this early?" he asked me.

"I'm going to be going in to school early every day so I can get ready for football. I've never actually played before so I don't know what the plays are. And with me working a lot of afternoons I can't make all the practices. Coach wants me to work out before school that way I can stay in shape," I tell him.

"Well, okay. Do have to work this afternoon?"

"Yes, sir, we are working with an elderly lady who wants plants that don't require much attention and that would look well with her new patio. We went over there yesterday to start planning it with her. Today we have to start setting it all up. We get the plants tomorrow so Mr. Connors wants everything ready so all we have to do is put them in and make sure they are perfect."

"Can we expect you to be home by around six? I usually have dinner ready by then," he questions.

"Sir? What do you mean?" I ask.

"I mean, will you be here by dinner time?"

"I thought this was a one night thing. I didn't expect you to let me stay," I say truthfully. "I don't expect you to. Most people wouldn't want me around anyway."

"Well, then those people are not very bright, now are they? You are a fine young man. Anyone who says otherwise needs to look at themselves again before saying anything of the contrary."

"Wow, thank you. In that case, yes, I will be...home...by dinner. It's been a long time since I've had a real place to call home. Even at the Owens I felt sort of like an outcast and I definitely felt that way at the orphanage. You don't know how good it feels to have a place to actually call home," I tell him.

"Actually, I do," he said, and walked out the door. I heard his car start and he pulled out, on his way to work.

I got to school at five twenty-five. Coach was already there, waiting on me. He had me warm up on the tread mill for ten minutes. The first two minutes were a steady slow jog, then he started bumping it up until I was running at full speed. He kept me at that speed for four minutes, then started bumping it back down to a jog.

After that he had me start on weightlifting. He asked me how much I could bench, "I can bench about two twenty, but only at ten reps, for more reps, I tend to go at one seventy-five. I can do about forty reps with that much weight."