Dodgeball like your life depended on it.

Rodger was always the anxious type, even more so after his older brother died during the tournament last year. But that was life, you had to play the game. Living in this part of the world everyone plays whether they want to or not. Rodger’s forefathers wrote the rules of dodgeball a long time ago and it was too difficult to change them. Given the choice Rodger would rather stay in and play with his chemistry set, but he knew how important it was to practice dodgeball. The stakes were high and the tournament was coming up later this week. He hoped he was ready.  

Everyone always got nervous before a big dodgeball tournament. Middle school kids are always overly dramatic so naturally there were  emotional goodlucks and see-you-laters. Everyone remembers the year they upgraded to the assault style ball throwers, and very few kids survived. The dodgeball committee initially said it wasn’t right to restrict the kids choices, and only after some of the committee members kids were affected did they change back.  

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It was game time. Everyone had their ball thrower and balls ready on their side of the court. Rodger remembers his mom’s advice, dodgeball like your life depended on it. The horn sounded and everyone started using their ball throwers shooting the balls at the other team. One by one kids were hit and eliminated from the game. Most of the time they did not get up. The lucky ones could walk off the court. Rodger played the game well and his team was victorious despite losing a lot of teammates. Rodger managed to eliminate three other kids from the other team. He wasn’t sure if they walked off or not, but didn’t dwell on the strange feeling that welled up in his stomach. After the game Rodger jumped into his mom’s minivan. She told him to put on his seatbelt and not to put his gun on the seat. As they drove away Rodger wondered why adults always called it that.  

People always questioned if it was too difficult to dodge the balls; it felt like the kids didn’t have a chance. But that’s the way it was always done. There were suggestions about how to play the game differently, but the rules were the rules. That is the way it was always played, and no one wanted to change. People were afraid that once you changed the rules of dodgeball then what else would change? It was too dangerous to change. The status quo was easier and more comfortable for everyone despite children dying.

 

Monsoon of Life

   Mornings always seem the foggiest. Some days George feels like a giant locomotive, that needs tremendous power to overcome the initial inertia. His mind is the conductor trying to keep everybody on schedule, but he wonders how often the conductor forgets his pocket-watch. As the day progresses he slowly gains speed, only to begin slowing down preparing for arriving at the next station. He settles into his morning routine thinking about the first time he was on a train. He was 8 and heading to Philadelphia. The war had ended, and his dad’s cousin found work in Philly with the Budd Company, making rail cars. His thoughts are interrupted by remembering to brush his teeth. Some things recently started slipping away, he found it strange how a habit so ingrained over time can slowly slip away with age. He continued about his morning; opening the front door stepping outside, and noticed his car was no longer in the drive way. He started to get upset, but then remembered his daughters said this way they would stop by more often, and take him if he ever needed anything. He had not seen Marie or Natalie for a few days, or was that weeks. He tries to remember, but then starts pondering why he can’t hear his footsteps. He has a slow methodical pace, one foot after the other hitting the macadam. The constant footsteps make him think of a stream, how it flows unnoticed, constant. No one paying any attention just like someone walking. No one will notice or question someone walking, like a small stream that simply trickles; but when the rain comes and that peaceful stream turns into a raging river, then everyone notices. That is all anyone can pay attention to or think about. It’s like running down the street, people stop and look and question ‘why is he running? I wonder where he is going? I wonder why he is wearing pajamas to go out for a run? These are questions that never arise if one simply walks. All because you move one foot in front of the other slightly faster, like all it takes is the rain to fall slightly faster to turn that stream into something worth paying attention to. George thinks about walking through life with no one noticing. Simply being a stream in the monsoon of life. He wonders how different his life would have been had the river been raging. Would he have married Julia, and raised two beautiful daughters? Would he have outlived his wife and live by himself ? His thoughts are interrupted by the sound of music. He can’t quite make out the song, but he knows he recognizes it. He doesn’t know from where or when, and now he’s not sure if there is really music playing , now he is questioning if he has ever heard music before. He stops … tries to remember his wedding song, a vivid image blurs across his mind, crystal clear, magnificent and bright. Yet he can’t make it out. It’s like a painter is using his mind as a canvas, and keeps wetting the brush and smearing the image. Then he realizes he’s stopped walking, for how long he’s not sure but he notices a tingling in his low back and his right foot is uncomfortable. He begins walking again and questions where he is going. He has a nagging feeling that he is forgetting to do something or is late for an appointment. He’s not sure, when his mind wanders to the delicate sparrow flying across the sky. He notices that the sun is much lower in the sky. He questions why the sun has to set in the first place. He wonders why he has more of these thoughts after his 85 birthday, but then he notices a chill running through him, and the tingling in his back is now a sharp pain. He looks around, and everything is strangely familiar like he’s seen it in a photograph one hundred times and yet he’s experiencing it for the first time. He notices the fresh cut grass moving ever so slightly in the breeze. It reminds him of when he was a boy, and how much he wanted to be able to mow the grass. Growing up in South Philadelphia in the 1940s there was no grass to mow. He envied the boys with the green badge of honor stains on their shoes. He looked down at his shoes and noticed they were untied. He begins the processes of stopping walking to bend down to tie the shoes, but then realizes the gentle breeze that is swaying the grass. It’s comforting, it reminds him of the day he met Julia. It was a Wednesday, and, a lot of the details are foggy, but he’s sure it was Wednesday because that was when he mowed Mrs. Williams lawn. He remembers the smell of the freshly cut grass dancing around with Julia’s perfume, creating this exotic scent that had him entranced. He remembers walking into Julia’s house and he could hear her mom shouting take off your shoes!  They’re filthy all torn up and stained green . That part really sticks out. Take off your shoes, he can still hear it now as if she was right next to him shouting, your shoes, excuse me, mr. Your shoes!  All the sudden he realizes someone is shouting at him, well he’s not sure if they’re shouting maybe talking but he can’t tell what the problem is. Excuse me; mr. your shoes are untied. Are you ok? Do you want me to get help?  George stares at her confused, not sure who she is and why she seems flustered. He wishes he could drift back to the day he met Julia, sitting in her living room wearing his socks, talking about how he would never buy a pair of green shoes. Now another voice, sir are you alright? Is there somebody I can call? He begins to answer their questions, but then suddenly has a terrifying feeling like this is final jeopardy and he wagered everything and knows nothing about the category. The more he searches for the answer the more questions he finds. Then, yes a phone, he remembers what Marie said “dad you must promise to keep my card in your pocket.”

   The girl and her father offer George a drink and a seat. George hears faint discussion from the other room.  ‘yes I know, no he’s fine, – he doesn’t want to, – I know he could have been hurt, – yes thank you again,   — George gets into Marie’s car and can tell she is flustered. He asks if everything is ok. She gives a curt reply, dad we’re going to have someone bring the paper inside from now on.