At the Drive-In, page 3
Cecil’s dad was on the school board and he knew that the meals had already been budgeted. Regardless of the coach’s efforts at using food to motivate them, they all knew that the arrangements had been made before the season had even started. Whenever they played at Richfield, they always ate at Chet’s Steak House and they always had the cheapest steak on the menu, a tough cube steak that tasted okay, but had the texture of old leather. As with any meal following a loss, they were not allowed to talk. On the other hand, the coaches felt free to break all their own rules and sat at the front table smoking while they ate and yucked it up as they replayed the loss and planned ahead for the district opener next week at home.
Soon, they were on the road again, and when they reached the school, the coaches hurried them out of the building as soon as possible. “Get your crap and get out.”
Cecil and his usual posse headed for Sully’s. Win, lose, or draw, they always ended up at the drive-in. Of course, it was more fun when they had won, but the coaches weren’t around, so even after a loss, they could be as loud as they wanted. And if you had a steady girl, you could count on some sympathy and comfort and maybe a few extra kisses for consolation.
As one of the team captains, Cecil was in no mood to celebrate. He and his fellow seniors had really hoped this would be a good year and now they were 1-3 and had yet to play a solid game. They had talent, but learning Coach Peter’s new system had been hard, and of course, depending on a sophomore to carry the offense was not easy. Not that Blake Billings didn’t have some talent, but he had yet to break loose in a game and demonstrate the speed and agility he flashed in practice each day. Cecil thought maybe it was nerves and he kept encouraging his friend to relax and just play. That night against Richfield, he had finally broken a few big runs and his confidence seemed to awaken. It was about time.
Cecil was driving his dad’s old station wagon, which was a good thing because it allowed plenty of room for all the captains to assemble after each game and dissect the win or loss. They would meet at Sully’s, drink a few cokes or malts, down a burger or two depending on the quality of the after game meal, and then untangle themselves from their girlfriends long enough to pile into the wagon and go over the good and bad of the game they had just played.
Steve Baldwin, the starting center, was one of Cecil’s best friends. The two had played together since the seventh grade and the quarterback and his center had developed a strong bond. As the leader of the offensive line, Steve was highly respected by his teammates and his leadership was second to none. Also in the car were Calvin Williams, the best linebacker to ever wear an Eagles’ uniform, and Mike Gutierrez, the team’s fullback and kicker. And Blake Billings.
Billings was not a team captain, but as a sophomore, he was the only one of the group to not have his own car. Cecil had befriended him and after most games, he would give him a ride home, so that Blake’s single, divorced mother would not have to get out and drive to the school to pick him up. His obvious idol worship for the captains kept him from being kicked out of the car at Sully’s, but he knew that sitting in the back and keeping his mouth shut was the price he paid for his inclusion.
Calvin was making no excuses for the defense. “We sucked tonight. We knew they were going to run the ball and we were ready for their so-called star running back, but we still let him gain over a hundred yards. Hell, I missed at least three easy tackles on him myself. Pitiful.”
Steve added an equally negative review of the offense. “Well, we were just as bad. I don’t think we even had a first down until the second half.”
Mike was perfectly willing to blame their coach. “If he’d quit putting in new plays every single week, we might figure out what we’re doing.”
Cecil reluctantly defended Peters. “We know the plays, we’re just not executing.” He glanced back at Blake half asleep in the back, “And if our own so-called star running back would hit the right holes and maybe gain a yard or two now and then, it would certainly help.”
Blake grinned and went back to pretending not to listen. Mike spoke again. “What about that new screen pass, was I anywhere close to where I was supposed to be? You got your playbook?”
Cecil pointed into the back seat. “It’s in my travel bag. Hand it up here.”
One of the perks of playing on the varsity was the chance to carry one of the prized travel bags the school provided. The previous coach had instituted the tradition and Coach Peters had continued the practice. The bag was a large, leather carry-all, in the school colors, emblazoned with the team logo and issued to each player. The idea was that when the team stepped off the bus for an away game, each player would be carrying an identical bag, wearing a team travel shirt, and they would look very organized and professional.
The JV players, on the other hand, were required to wear a tie and to provide their own equipment bag. The result was a collection of ugly, mismatched clip-ons, and equally mismatched luggage. Although they were intended for away games only, because it set them apart, most of the varsity players carried the bags daily, almost as a badge of honor. The bags became a substitute for the usual backpacks and ended up containing books, school supplies, food, drinks, and whatever extra clothing they felt the need to carry on a particular day. All of the bags looked exactly alike with only a small decal with the player’s jersey number to differentiate the bag from every other one.
When Mike grabbed the wrong bag and passed it to the front seat, Blake Billings came alive and made a futile attempt to stop him. Calvin easily batted the sophomore back into the rear of the wagon. “Hey, slow down white boy.”
Cecil unzipped the bag, looking for his playbook, but instead finding a much more suspicious object. From the back, Blake was clearly agitated. “That’s my bag. Don’t go in there, that’s my bag.”
He fell silent, as did the rest of the boys, as Cecil slowly pulled out a huge Rebel flag. Everyone in the car recognized the flag, and everyone knew it was not supposed to be in the bag, or in the car, or even in the town of Eastlake. They stayed silent for a long while. They were literally speechless and they remained that way for quite some time. The four captains were all staring into the back of the wagon, waiting on Blake Billings to start explaining, and dreading every word of what they would be hearing. Whatever he said, it would not be good.
***
In most high schools, the visiting dressing room was a smaller, blander version of the one used by the home team. During basketball season, the visitors usually found themselves in the girl’s locker room of the gym. Other than the embarrassment of occasionally bumping into the wall dispenser of sanitary pads, the boys generally respected the space and made extra efforts to leave the area as clean as they could. Football was a little different. Even the small schools usually had a field house of some kind attached to their stadiums and most of them were built with dressing rooms for both the home and visiting teams.
In most of these locations, the home team had a larger, cleaner, and more polished locker room. The area would be painted in the school colors, decorated with lots of motivational posters, and usually kept spotless. On the opposite side of the building, the visitors would generally find a small, generic locker room that often contained lots of old weights or equipment that would no longer fit in the storage areas, but had been deemed too good to throw away. The boys were used to dressing quickly and getting out of the frequently claustrophobic conditions and out onto the field.
There were however, always a few coaches who loved to use the opposing locker room as a way to gain some small psychological advantage over their opponents. One coach had painted the entire visitors’ dressing room pink after reading that the color had a calming effect on teens and would perhaps make them more passive and less aggressive on the field. Another coach used mirrors on the walls and left lots of free weights lying around. He believed that the boys on the opposing team would lift the weights and spend time admiring their muscles in the mirrors all the while tiring themselves out before the start of the night’s contest. It had actually worked at least once when an opponent’s best player had injured himself right before game time.
For the coaches at Richfield High, a single ploy had been devised. The dressing room was painted a dull gray and was overtly plain with only one exception. On the back wall of the locker room a huge Rebel flag had been mounted. The flag measured at least eight feet across and was clearly meant to intimidate and serve as a reminder that you were about to face the Rebels. Oddly enough, the flag had little effect on the boys from Eastlake, regardless of their race. Most of them had been dressing here at least every other year since the seventh grade. They had grown used to the flag and honestly ignored it as just another part of the place. The stadium itself was decorated with countless Confederate flags and at one point, even the team’s logo on their helmets featured the Rebel flag.
Blake Billings had a different reaction. For some unexplained reason, he had become fascinated with the flag. When the game had ended that night, most of the boys were eager to get out of town and put the latest loss behind them as soon as possible. Blake had lingered until only he and the team manager were left in the room. Sam Heiser took his job seriously and one of his most important tasks was to make sure that the dressing room was as clean when the team left as it had been when they had arrived. Consequently, he was always the last to leave and his arrival at the bus was the usual indicator that it was time to leave.
Blake and Sam walked out together and Sam hit the lights and made sure the door had closed. They walked a few yards up the sidewalk toward the bus when Blake suddenly stopped and began checking his pockets. “Oh, crap, I think I left my keys in the locker. Go on, Sam, I’ll be right there.”
He hesitated, but he had no reason to doubt Blake’s story. He had treated him better than many of the players on the team and he liked him. They even had a few classes together and sat near one another in English. Sam turned and headed for the bus. Inside, Blake jumped up on a nearby bench, delighted to discover the flag was held by only a row of pushpins which popped off easily when he tugged. He rolled the flag up hurriedly and stuffed it into his travel bag. He grabbed one loose pin from the floor and deposited it into the trashcan by the door as he made a mad dash to the bus.
***
At Sully’s, Cecil finally found his voice. “What the hell, Billings?”
Staying silent, he shrugged his shoulders and dropped his eyes, intently studying the floor mats. The other boys were still stunned until Calvin got their attention by using the dreaded F word. “We are so screwed. When Peters hears about this, he’s gonna kill us. All of us.”
Steve and Mike both focused on the boy in the back. “Maybe we should just go ahead and kill the one person who deserves it,” Mike suggested. Steve nodded his agreement.
Blake finally squeaked out a mild defense. “It’s just a ratty old flag. Maybe they won’t even care.”
Calvin flared up again. “Are you serious? They already hate our asses anyway! You stole their property. They’re gonna be pissed. And they’re gonna want it back, ratty or not.”
Cecil was already stuffing the flag back into the bag. “Well, first of all, we need to all calm down and think this through.” He threw the bag past the boys in the back seat at the offender in the rear. “And get this thing out of my sight.”
They sat silent for a few minutes longer, waiting on a solution to present itself. Finally, Steve made eye contact with Cecil and gestured toward the rear passenger. Cecil took the hint and spoke directly to him. “Blake, why don’t you take a walk and give us some time to talk about this?”
He eagerly took the chance to get out and was soon scampering away to the far side of the parking lot heading toward a group of sophomore girls. The four seniors gave him a minute to gain some distance and then began a serious discussion of their options.
Calvin made the first suggestion. “I think we need to turn his little ass in.”
Mike nodded in agreement. Steve looked at Cecil who looked down and spoke quietly. “He’s our teammate, guys, one of us.”
“So, we’re supposed to let him take us all down? Not me, man.” Mike was adamant.
Steve again looked to his friend, “But he’s guilty, Cec. He stole that flag. We can’t defend that.”
Cecil was obviously troubled and just as obviously, his friends were counting on him to lead them. On the field, he was the one who always took charge. Now off the field, they needed him to do the same.
“Look, guys, I’m not talking about defending him or anything like that, but we’re not part of this. We didn’t do anything wrong. That’s on him.”
Calvin spoke for the group, “So, whadda we do?”
“Let’s just be cool for a few days and see what happens. Maybe this doesn’t even connect back to us. And if it does, it still doesn’t involve the four of us.”
Steve voiced the sad truth of the matter. “It involved us as soon as you opened that damn travel bag.”
Cecil continued, “Involved or not, we still didn’t do anything wrong. I’ll talk to Blake. If this comes back on us, he’ll keep his mouth shut. For the time being, we all need to do the same. Agreed?”
The three nodded and called Blake back to the vehicle. They parted soon after, praying the matter would go away, fearing that it wouldn’t.
***
Thursday afternoon of the following week, Ed Pettis, the head coach of the Richfield Rebels was summoned to the office of the principal. When he arrived, he found Mr. Franklin sitting behind his desk with the night janitor, Charley Davis seated in front of him. Coach Pettis was soon informed of the theft of the flag from the field house dressing room. Mr. Franklin stopped him before he could ask any questions. “Just let Charley tell you what he told me.”
The young man was nervously chewing on his nails, out of place in the office and clearly uncomfortable, but he related his tale with a few prompts from the principal.
“Friday night, after the game, I checked the dressing room like I always do after a home game. It was pretty neat. I pulled the laundry hamper with the towels over to the washing machine and got it started, and I emptied the trash cans, but like I said it was pretty neat. I looked around the floor, but there weren’t no towels or trash lyin’ around, so I hit the lights and locked her up.”
Mr. Franklin interjected, “And you didn’t notice anything missing or out of place?”
“No, but like I said, I was mainly lookin’ at the floor. Seein’ if they’d left anything.”
“And you didn’t notice if the flag was there or not?”
“No, sir. I honestly couldn’t tell you.”
“Okay, let’s get to this morning. Tell us what you found.”
“Well, this mornin’ I went over there to mop the floors and spray some Lysol in those lockers, ‘cause we got a JV game tonight, and that’s when I noticed the flag was gone. I tell you, it was funny, lookin’ up and seeing nothing but that big ole blank wall.” He laughed. The other two men in the room did not.
Franklin continued, “And the door was locked the whole time, from Friday night till this morning?”
“Yes, sir.”
Coach Pettis jumped in. “Well, it’s pretty obvious what happened then. Those little bastards from Eastlake took it.”
“Not so fast, Ed. Tell him the rest, Charley.”
“I’m real sorry, Mr. Franklin. I know I messed up, but it won’t happen again, I promise.”
“It’s alright, Charley. Just tell him.”
“Well, when I double-checked everything this morning, I found a window that wasn’t locked. So, somebody coulda got in without using the door.”
Franklin excused the janitor and spoke to his coach. “So, you see Ed. It could have been Eastlake or it could have been one of our own kids anytime between Friday and today.”
The coach was fuming. “It was one of those kids from Eastlake. I’d bet money on it. You know how much those people over there hate us.”
“Look, Ed, why don’t you call over there and talk to the coach and see what he knows. Get him to ask around and see what he can find out. Maybe we can sort this out.”
“Oh, I’ll call him alright. And he better get my flag back or I’ll go over there and kick the shit out of those little bastards till somebody coughs it up.”
“Now play nice, Ed, play nice.” He chuckled to himself as he watched the coach storm out.
***
After a restless weekend, Cecil and his fellow captains had come together for breakfast in the cafeteria and assured each other that nothing had changed. They had all conjured up nightmares of the police appearing at their homes, and they were relieved to have survived the weekend without incident. They were curious about the stolen flag, but Cecil silenced them quickly. “I don’t know and I don’t want to know. I told Billings to take care of it.”
They worried a little less as each day passed, and by Thursday, they were convinced the problem would not resurface. They were busy getting ready for the first district game the next night and hoping to get back on a winning path. When Coach Peters hollered for the captains to come to his office after practice that afternoon, they assumed it was about the upcoming contest, but it wasn’t.
The four sat down, playbooks in hand, and waited to hear what new changes might be coming before tomorrow night’s game. Coach Peters plopped down and let out a deep breath. He looked angry, but then again he always looked that way. “I got a call this afternoon from Coach Pettis over at Richfield.”
All four boys swallowed. All four playbooks hit the floor and Calvin cleared his throat loudly. With an effort, the boys sat up and forced themselves to maintain eye contact. Coach Peters took in their somewhat suspicious body language and continued. “Seems they’re missing some stuff from the dressing room we used the other night over there. You boys wouldn’t know anything about that would you?”
