The Wide Game Page 2

  He shrugged, not wanting to talk about his advertising business, not really wanting to talk at all. “It means don’t go to Florida, or Las Vegas, or wherever else you want spend your money. Spend it here.”

  “You should use that Indiana Beach slogan in your ads: ‘There’s more than corn in Indiana.’ Something catchy. Something people know what it means.”

  Paul found an argument building in his throat and forced it down again. Everyone knows what it means! His eyes drifted to the field that filled the back window, and he thought to himself that there was more than corn, much more. Instead, he lowered his gaze to the kitchen table, to the red bound books that sat there. He knew immediately they were his yearbooks. “Oh, God mother ... you didn’t dig them out.”

  “I did. All four of them.”

  Mary lit up. “Let me see.”

  She hurried to the table, picked up his senior year, then flipped through the pages until she found his picture and squealed. “Look at your hair!”

  “It was the eighties,” he countered, then ran a hand through the finger-length cut he now sported. “It was the decade of big hair.”

  “God, you were starting to go gray even then.”

  She continued to turn the pages, rewinding his life.

  Paul saw Danny Fields in his red and white Harmony High football jersey, holding Nancy Collins across his arms as if he were the monster in a 1950’s movie poster. Danny smiled. Nancy laughed.

  Paul could not help but remember the February night they all went to see Nightmare on Elm Street 3 at the Woodfield Cinema. Danny made his own Freddy Krueger costume, right down to finger-knives of silver-painted wood. When the lights went down, he put the costume on – yelling “Hey, Nancy” before chasing her around the theater. The audience screamed, then applauded, and Danny took his bows.

  The next page showed the Harmony High Marching Rebels, performing at State Fair Band Day. One of the trumpet players was Mick Slatton. Paul recognized the glasses, glasses that magnified Mick’s eyes until he looked like an anime character. Mick once shared the fact that, when John F. Kennedy said “Ich bin ein Berliner” to signify that he was one with the people of Berlin, the phrase actually translated to: “I am a jelly roll.” The thought of it brought a smile to Paul’s face even now.

  A few pages later, Paul saw Sean Roche in the school pool, bleach-blonde hair hidden beneath a red bathing cap, brown eyes covered in goggles, with a fist held high in victory. Sean worked as an usher at the Woodfield, and, one day, he decided to conduct a little experiment.

  “No one pays attention to ushers,” Sean had said. To prove it, he’d tear tickets and, instead of “Thank you, enjoy the show,” say “Fuck you, enjoy the show.” The patrons never caught on. For two years, Paul saw every film that navigated its way to Harmony free of charge, thanks to Sean.

  Robby Miller was the next member of Paul’s old group to show himself. Mary turned to the “On the job ...” photo spread, featuring students working outside of school, and there was Robby – strapping someone to a gurney at Harmony’s volunteer fire station, the badge and light blue uniform shirt of an EMT clearly visible. If you asked him why he donated his time, Robby had been quick to point out that it looked good for college. This may or may not have been true; Paul always felt Robby did it to feel important.

  Once, after the “Glory of Love” Homecoming, Paul’s mother asked how the dance was, and Robby told her they’d gotten laid. When Lynn Rice’s face turned to horrified shock, Robby showed her the wreath of flowers around his neck. His mother had been less than amused.

  Mary next found the Art Department spread and Paul saw Deidra. She stood in the Art Room, holding the painting of a VW Beetle that won her a Scholastic Gold Medal Award. Her eyes seemed to be looking right at Paul.

  He held out his hand. “Can I see that?”

  Mary handed him the yearbook, watching as he stared at it.

  Deidra remained in the photograph as she remained in Paul’s mind, her red hair cut at an angle: one side ended just below her right ear, the other hung past her left shoulder blade. As was often the case, she wore a white T-shirt (on the day of this photo, it was the Thompson Twins) and Chic jeans. Paul looked at her hazel eyes, her fair skin, the redness of her lips – lips that once professed her love for him.

  The moment she walked into his freshman drama class, he felt an attraction to her. Initially, he found her to be edgy and unapproachable, but that changed when they took a directing class together.

  Paul’s assignment was to direct a scene from N. Richard Nash’s The Rainmaker. He’d seen Deidra act enough scenes to know he wanted her for the character of Lizzie. In the movie version, the role belonged to Katharine Hepburn. He then had to choose his Starbuck, a sexy con man who promises rain for a dried-up town – Burt Lancaster in the same film. Paul decided to cast Tony Cleaves in the part. Tony was president of the Drama Club, and dating Deidra at the time. As a director, Paul thought the natural chemistry of a real-life couple would add authenticity to his project.

  On the day the scene was to be presented, however, Tony was out sick. Paul was forced to act with Deidra, his character trying to convince her character she was pretty. At first, he’d been saying the words on the page, then something genuine happened: there was a tear in her eye. A single tear, but it caught the glow from the stage lights and sparkled as if it were a diamond. When he grabbed her and forced her to look in the stage mirror, it stopped being a scene. Paul was telling Deidra that she was pretty, that she could be more than what she thought she was.

  “Say it,” Paul urged, shocked by his own intensity.

  “I’m ... pretty,” she said, and the single tear became a naturally flowing river.

  As their classmates applauded, they hugged one another on an old couch someone had donated to the theater department. The feel of her head on his shoulder had been the greatest sensation of his life. At that moment, Paul knew he had feelings for her, feelings he could not act upon because she was dating Tony. Slowly, he forced himself to end the embrace, but Deidra would not let go. As they sat listening to critiques by Mrs. Vogel and the other students (the jury returning strongly in their favor), she held his hand. With everyone looking, she held his hand.

  Acting was a weird form of intimacy, so it didn’t surprise Paul in the least that this was the start of their friendship, not their romance. In the years that followed, Deidra felt close enough to Paul to come to him with her problems. He would offer his advice and his shoulder to cry on, and he could feel her affection for him grow. Many times – as they sat talking on the phone, at the movies, at a game – he’d wanted to be more to her than just a friend.

  Finally, after the Duran Duran concert, he told her so.

  She smiled and ran her fingers through his dark brown hair. “Do you know how long I’ve been wanting you to say that?” she asked him. “We sit talking about life, the universe, and everything, but whenever I’m close to you all I can do is wonder what it would be like –”

  “– To kiss you.”

  She nodded, her face flush.

  “Why haven’t you said anything?” he asked.

  She shrugged and lowered her eyes. “I wasn’t sure how you felt. I kept waiting on you to make the first move.”

  And then he did make a move. He kissed her, in a glass elevator for all to see. At first it had been a mild kiss, but it quickly turned passionate, probing. After all the kisses that followed, it still burned in his memory, filling him with warmth. The memories continued to shower him, and, rather than bathe in them, Paul quickly turned the yearbook page.

  The next layout was worse.

  We Remember ...

  The Lost Members of the Class of 1988

  When Paul saw the heading, he slammed the yearbook shut and tossed it across the kitchen.

  Both Mary and his mother jumped. Startled expressions of fright melted instantly to worry; Mary rose from the chair to stand at his side, her hand on his back to comfort him. His mother walk
ed over and retrieved the book from the floor. She turned it over in her hands, then placed it back on the table.

  Paul looked at his feet, his hands shaking. He had not wanted this weekend to be about his pain. He tried to live his life. He spent his days doing what he loved – shooting tape, editing images together, creating order from chaos. He’d met Mary. Together, they had begun a wonderful family.

  “Paul ...” his mother started.

  She did not know what went on in those cornfields. And even Mary, to whom he’d told nearly everything, had not been there. Neither could possibly comprehend it, truly grasp it, unless they’d been there.

  His mother did not stop. “I know you feel guilt or something, but I just don’t understand –”

  “That’s right, Mother. You don’t fucking understand!” Paul looked at her, then Mary. When he spoke again, it was with deliberate control. “Sorry ... I’m ... I’m going to the living room for a minute.”

  Lynn Rice watched her son leave. “I’ve tried to help him,” she said, then lowered her eyes to the pot. “I’ve never known what to say to him. Even when it happened, I didn’t know what to say ... what would help. I’ve prayed for him. I just wish he’d talk about it with someone.”

  “He talks to me.” Mary moved to follow her husband. He stood in the entryway, his head against the wall. She walked up to him, stroked his graying hair. “Well, how’d it feel to tell your mother she doesn’t know what the fuck she’s talking about? I’ve always wanted to do it.”

  “I haven’t,” he said.

  “Are you going to be all right?”

  “I don’t know.” Paul regarded her with brimming eyes. “Those guys were my friends. And when I saw their pictures just now ... I remembered the world I lived in. I remembered it all being taken away.”

  Mary brushed the hair from his sweaty brow. “I’m sorry.”

  Paul took her hand in his, brought it to his lips. “We don’t have to stay long tonight.”

  Mary shrugged. “We can stay until it’s over if you want.”

  “You won’t know anyone and –”

  “I’ll know you. If you don’t want to go to this, tell me and we can go see a movie tonight instead. We leave the second we walk in the door, if that’s what you want to do.”

  He sensed a “but” coming.

  Her eyes and voice turned serious. “But I don’t want you not to go because of me. You’ll only regret that later.”

  Paul kissed her fingers. “You’re using your psych degree.”

  “And I’m not even charging you.” She smiled, wrapped her arms around his waist. “I think it’ll be fun just to be with you, to leave the kids at home for once. We can dance, we can eat our thirty dollars worth, and just enjoy ourselves. Just don’t forget that you have to do the same for my reunion.”

  “Deal.” He looked at her, gave a real – if slight – smile, and they kissed. “How ’bout I go upstairs and get ready, then I’ll help Mom with the kids and you can get ready.”

  Mary nodded. There was more, but he would tell her when he was ready. She walked back down the hall into the kitchen.

  Paul listened as she told his mother he was fine, then headed up the stairs to the room he’d once called his own. He found it just as he left it. His old desk was bare, but encyclopedias, dictionaries, and other reference materials filled the shelves above it. He’d tacked a collection of movie posters to the walls, and the textured white wallpaper remained riddled with holes. His eyes went to the door that hid his old closet, and he moved with them.

  The closet held an archive of his youth. Costumes – some from past Halloweens, others from his home movies – hung on hangers. Boxes marked “videos” sat on the floor. Paul opened one and found the raw footage to a college film. On the shelf above, more stacked boxes. Some were marked simply “Paul’s Stuff,” others “School Papers.” Whatever they contained no longer interested him, but his mother wouldn’t throw any of his things away. Finally, he came upon an old Nike shoebox marked “Deidra” in his own handwriting.

  Paul took the box from the shelf and backed away. Inside, he found everything just as he’d packed it years before. There were handmade valentine cards from Deidra, cards that said “HAPPY V.D.!” in bold black letters. And pictures. He sat down on the edge of his old bed and stared at a younger version of himself; dark brown hair, holding a grinning Deidra at the edge of Sean’s pool, ready to drop her into the water. She laughed nervously, her arms around his neck, her legs kicking wildly in the air. The picture had been snapped just before Danny came up to give him a push, soaking both of them. Next, he saw a picture taken on the set of Oliver! – Paul in full costume as the uncle of Oliver Twist, his largest role; Deidra, who had been stage manager, smiling and cringing as he rubbed his face against her cheek, covering her in his make-up. Formal, posed pictures: homecoming, senior prom. Different clothes, the same smiles, the same promises. He then found a picture of his eighteenth birthday party. A patch of gray marred Paul’s hair. He held his cake aloft, Deidra at his side. Neither of them smiled for the camera. Their faces were sad ... haunted.

  He rummaged through envelopes, dozens of them, catching flashes of her handwriting and not wanting to read any of them. Like dusty bullets, her words still had the power to wound him. She wrote to him for years. Notes. Letters. Postcards from family vacations. Her early correspondence, like their relationship, had been merely friendly, the first coming shortly after The Rainmaker incident, when it had been Deidra’s turn to direct a scene ...

  Paul,

  Many thanks for your critique of my project! The Bad Seed has always been one of my favorites, maybe because for a long time that’s what my parents must have thought I was (I used to be a wild child, if you can believe that!). Your opinion really meant a lot. Sometimes people in that class can get so nit-picky, y’know? Especially Peterson! Whenever she speaks, I have to throw reins around my urge to kill! I don’t care if she did do a fucking (sorry, does language offend? I tend to dive into vulgarity from time to time – told you I was wild!) Burger Chef commercial when she was five! Anyway, thanks again!

  See you in class tomorrow!

  Sincerely,

  “Your Lizzie”

  Deidra

  Sometimes, her notes commented on the events of the day. The one that stuck out in Paul’s mind was written in 1986, their sophomore year, on Wednesday, January 29th ...

  Paul,

  I cut through the library yesterday and saw a bunchof people gathered around an AV cart with the “Big TV” turned on. When they said the space shuttle exploded, I couldn’t believe it. I don’t know why,but it just sounded impossible, y’know? – like a nightmare. Mrs. Berrett broke down and cried right in the middle of English class. She couldn’t even teach. I’ve never seen a teacher cry before. My mom was going on and on about this fire that killed some astronauts a long time ago. I didn’t know anything about that, do you? This is gonna be one of those things like J.F.K. getting killed, or the Moon landing. We’re always gonna remember where we were when we heard the news. Well, today the teachers are teaching, so I gotta go. Wish we still had a class together!

  Your friend,

  Deidra

  Still other notes shared things she had on her mind ...

  I’m glad you were at Sean’s party. Once everyone started drinking, it was nice to have someone sober to talk to. If I’d gotten drunk my parents would have sent me to a convent (Well, fuck that, I don’t drink anymore because I want to be in control of my own actions, thank you!). Either way, I’m glad you were there! Thanks again!

  Love,

  Deidra

  Once they started dating, however, her words turned into fine poetry ..

  .

  ♥Hi, Love!

  Yesterday, when you walked into the room, it was like you’d walked onto a stage: the house lights appeared to dim and a spotlight seemed to come on, making you brighter than anyone else in the world. Y’know, I actually needed to catch my breath. I hope
you don’t think that’s too sappy ...

  On the contrary, he’d found it incredible. He’d found Deidra incredible. Even now, if he closed his eyes, he could see her walking toward him. She was shorter, five-foot-six to his five-foot-ten. On the ring finger of her left hand, where a married woman would wear her diamond, she’d worn the false ruby of Paul’s class ring – red yarn wrapped around the bottom to keep it from sliding. He could see her tuck her scarlet hair behind her ear and tilt her head up to offer him a kiss.

  Paul opened his eyes and savagely swiped them with his knuckles, scraped away the forming tears as he looked back into the box. At last, he found the object of his search: a small golden charm on a chain, one side a smooth curve, the other a jagged zigzag. Etched into its surface was part of a heart, and imprisoned within the shape were words:

  The

  between

  while we

  one from

  Genesis

  Paul’s fingers closed around the charm. Its chain trailed over his knuckles, and his eyes filled once more with tears, tears he’d told himself he would not shed. Why, after all these years, did she still have this power over him? Why, with all Paul had in life, did he keep a warm place for her within his chest?

  He then saw a blue envelope, one with only “D.P.” written where the return address should have been. He moved his fingers to it with hesitation, forced himself to ...

  ... to look at Deidra with a troubled kind of tenderness – anticipation alive and tingling in his viscera, and, beneath it, something like guilt. He chalked up the latter to his Catholic upbringing. She lay on her bed with the script he’d written; her hazel eyes followed his words across the notebook pages. He’d been nervous about letting her read it, but even more nervous about this night alone with her.