Just a Hat, page 5
“Yes, sir . . . but Coach, can I tackle, too?”
“If you’re any good, we’ll get you some equipment and a physical. We’ll teach you all of it. Once you put on a helmet, you can tackle the whole team if you want to. Now go get showered.”
“Yes, sir.”
Permission to tackle? Yo front and center. Okey dokey.
11
PAPER HAT
Joseph rode his bike home from football practice, thinking of ways to present this new activity to his parents. Baba was away from home working. He wouldn’t be back until Thursday night. Sometimes he was gone for three weeks at a time visiting oil fields. During those weeks, Joseph and Maman stayed home on Shabbat. She refused to drive all the way to Dallas, which might require parallel parking.
They kept their tiny rented garage apartment from when they lived in Dallas. It was within walking distance of the Dallas synagogue, but the owner required them to park on the curb, which was crowded on weekends. There was no way Maman would parallel park. Although she could read English, Maman made Joseph translate every single road sign on the interstate from English to Farsi. He had no idea how to translate the importance of Texas football to her.
One look inside the back-door window, and Joseph saw Maman was worried sick. Football practice had made him an hour and a half late. He was still in his grass-stained gym clothes. LaLa was there, and her ancient address book lay open on the table near the phone. She might have the numbers of Sam Houston and Stephen F. Austin if one looked under “H” and “A.” Joseph took a deep breath and opened the back door. Yo front and center.
“Youssef, where have you been!” Maman said. It was an accusation, not a question. LaLa left her rimless octagon glasses perched far down her nose so that she could peer over them disapprovingly. The low-nose perch was always a bad sign. Singing a soothing song wasn’t going to help him with these two ladies.
“The coach asked me to come to football practice after school,” said Joseph. He spoke as rationally as possible, imitating Baba’s serious tone.
“The school should have called if they were keeping you late,” interjected LaLa.
“It wasn’t planned,” said Joseph. “I did really well in gym class today, and Coach asked me to stay over.” He set down a sheaf of papers on the table and kissed Maman’s cheeks. “Love you, Maman.”
“Youssef . . .”
Joseph kept talking. “I need to go to a doctor for a physical, and you need to sign these papers so that I can play.”
Maman didn’t even look at the thick stack of English rules, disclosures, and forms. “And there’s an equipment fee.” Both women still stared at him. “And I need you to take me to the sporting goods store to get me a . . .” Here he faltered. Baba would be the best one to take him for a new athletic cup. “. . . custom mouthpiece,” Joseph finished. He no longer felt comfortable having conversations with his mother that involved his dhoul. Certainly not in front of Miss Eleanor.
LaLa closed her address book and rose to leave. This was a family problem. “Can you at least sign the permission slip?” Joseph asked Maman. “So that I can keep working out until I get my physical? I’m not allowed to have contact, but I can do the conditioning drills and practice running routes and catching.”
Maman looked at him helplessly, understanding none of what he said except that he needed the permission slip. She wasn’t over the fact that he’d been missing for an hour and a half.
“Look, Maman-jun . . .” Joseph stopped, and LaLa looked up at him. His voice had cracked strangely. “Emmm . . .” LaLa’s eyebrow raised in correction. Joseph tried again. “Maman . . .” This time his voice cooperated, “. . . Baba said I need to grow up and do more things that men do. This is something he’d want me to do. I just need you to sign the permission slip. I’ll talk to him when he gets home.”
LaLa gave him that look that said she knew he was manipulating his mother. It was only a slight movement of the right side of her mouth and right cheek, but Joseph knew the look. LaLa turned to leave.
Maman thanked Miss Eleanor for coming and calling around to locate Joseph, but Joseph was relieved when the front door closed behind LaLa. She always saw through the games he played. It took Joseph three hours of working on Maman that night before she finally put her signature on the permission slip.
Baba took the news better than Joseph thought he would. He looked through all the paperwork carefully. When Baba put down the papers, he told Maman, “He’s trying to put a hat on your head.”
“Trying to put a hat on your head” was a Persian way of saying you’re trying to trick someone. Joseph felt the disappointment of yet another door slamming in his face. No, you can’t because it’s Shabbat. No, you can’t because you’re Jewish. No, you can’t because you’re too young. Would he ever fit in this puzzle called Texas?
“It’s not a trick, Baba,” pled Joseph. “You wanted me to spend less time playing the piano and start doing man things. Football is a man’s game.”
“I said I wanted you to do grown-up things, Joseph. Serious things. A game is not a serious thing.”
“But Baba . . .”
“It’s okay,” said Baba.
Joseph stopped and searched Baba’s face.
“You can play. But if your English grades drop, it’s over. And you can’t play on Shabbat.”
“Thank you, Baba-jun!” Joseph hugged Baba and Maman. They gave each other those wry smiles as if they knew it would be trouble later.
Maybe Joseph could earn a black-and-gold Hawks football jersey. Maybe Vonda Baer would notice. Maybe she’d want to wear it. And maybe he could get a step closer to retrieving six dollars and two cents and his dignity from the two dirty birds.
12
DIRT HELMET
“They’re cousins,” said Mateo. “Larry and Brian Edmondson. They should be a year ahead of us in school, but one family moved when they were in elementary school. When they moved back a couple of years later, that cousin was put in class with the other one, who’d been held back a year.”
That explained why Grimy and Possum’s muscles stood out on their arms and shoulders and they had more than peach fuzz on their legs. Joseph skipped a year because he was so good at math. He was tall, but his smooth skin proved he was still a seventh grader by age. He had strong muscles built in boxing class, but not like the Edmondsons’. Larry and Brian strutted through the gym locker room like two roosters.
Joseph watched Mateo dip an engine part in a cleaning solution. The Ybarras owned eighty acres on the outskirts of town where oil pumps slowly dipped like giant, hungry, steel hummingbirds. Mr. Ybarra was a horse trainer by morning, and he ran several head of cattle that served to train the roping horses. In the afternoons, Mr. Ybarra repaired small engines. The local motorcycle shop employed him to repair motorcycles when their own mechanic couldn’t keep up. In the summertime, Mr. Ybarra did landscaping for a few customers in the evenings. Joseph had rarely seen him when he wasn’t working. He kept the twins and their older brothers busy, too.
“The cousins are always together. Always trouble,” said Mateo, “but Larry, the older one, calls the shots. Brian, the younger one, is the one who starts the trouble. I think Larry just keeps Brian from getting himself in bigger trouble.”
Joseph liked the aromas of tire rubber, plastic, paint, and oil. Mateo and Roberto had dirt bikes, but they had to help in the repair shop. Roberto spent his money on motorcycle gear. Mateo saved his money. He planned to go to the University of Texas like his older brothers. One of the older brothers had left his dirt bike when he went to college, and Joseph rode it. It was a good fit since Joseph had long legs.
Mateo was super smart. Almost everyone liked him, even the white kids. Mateo made you feel as if you were his best friend. Joseph suspected Mateo put up with him because he was friends with Roberto, but sometimes he asked Joseph for help with math homework. He didn’t want the answers, though. He wanted to understand how to solve the problem. The world was a place Mateo wanted to understand and put in better order.
The Ybarra twins were easy to tell apart. Roberto had a slightly smaller frame. High energy, fun, and mischief swirled around him like a cloud. Mateo was taller and larger. Even though he was only thirteen, Mateo had Mr. Ybarra’s adult dignity. Only Mateo could run laps in gym like a Marine drill sergeant. No sweat. Mateo was elected class president the last two years in a row. He made Joseph feel like there was an adult present. When he and Roberto proposed some sketchier types of fun, Mateo overruled them. Mateo was their gang’s “okay or oy veh,” a term Joseph had learned in synagogue. If Mateo approved, okay. If not, oy veh, no way!
“Do the Edmondsons live in town?” asked Joseph.
“Not too far from you. They moved last summer from the government housing apartments to one of those funny old houses that have two sides and two entrance doors. The cousins play football, so they get away with a lot of things in school that people like us wouldn’t.” Mateo set the engine part on a shelf to dry. “Their dads both go to the honky-tonk at the edge of the county on Friday and Saturday nights.”
“How do you know that?” asked Joseph.
“They drive by in an old blue GMC truck that’s really beat up,” said Roberto. “It’s broken down on the highway a couple of times. They walked here to get Papi to come fix it.”
“Yeah, and they didn’t pay him,” said Mateo. “They said they’d bring the money by later, but they never did.” He washed his hands at the shop sink. Mateo didn’t like working on the engines. Mateo would always have his head stuck in a book if he could.
“Weirdest thing, though,” said Roberto. “We were out riding one evening early in the summer. We saw them driving a different pickup, and they were coming back to town on the Dallas highway. It was a nice truck, brand new. They turned down a road we’ve never been on. Later that night, they passed our house going to town from the direction of the honky-tonk, but they were in their old pickup.”
“The Edmondsons bother you at football practice?” Mateo asked Joseph.
Joseph said, “Brian calls me Pretty Boy in the locker room, and Larry calls me Skinny Boy or Hey Kid if he has to speak to me. On the field, they don’t pay any attention to me. A couple of times in the locker room Brian told me that we weren’t done yet, and I better watch my back because I messed up his bicycle wheel. Blows me kisses in the hallway. That’s about it.”
“I can do something about that,” said Mateo. “Want to go ride?”
“Yeah,” said Joseph. “Take me to where you saw the Edmondsons driving the truck. Maybe it has some good places to ride.”
“It’s posted,” said Mateo over the idle of his bike. He pointed to the neat sign wrapped around the gatepole: No Trespassing. “We can’t ride there.”
“No, but look,” said Joseph. “See all that green brush winding through the field? That means there’s a creek. Maybe that’s the property line, and we won’t get in trouble if we ride down there. I want to find some mud.”
“And there’s some hills, too,” said Roberto. “We can practice jumping our bikes. It’s hard to practice whipping it without hills. We can ride on the pavement to the fence line. I’ll bet if there’s a creek, there’s a gap in the fence.”
“No,” said Mateo. “It’s clearly posted. There’s a barn, and the gate to it is locked. That’s a message to stay out. I’m going back. It will be time to feed the horses by the time we get back anyway.” He turned and rode toward home.
Joseph knew that Mateo expected him and Roberto to follow. Instead, he and Roberto exchanged a look. Roberto put his bike in gear and rode slowly along the ditch line of the road. Sure enough, at the place where the snaking pattern of green brush met the road, there was a large pipe culvert. It allowed the water from the stream to flow under the county road. The gap between the barbed-wire fence and creek bed was more than enough room to ride under.
Roberto went first, and Joseph followed. The stream had cut a deep path through the fields. Once in the creek bed, they couldn’t even see the level of the field above their heads. Scrub brush and short mesquite trees lined the sides, and wild grasses gave traction for their tires. It was probably full of ticks, though. Joseph hated ticks, but that was the price to pay for riding in the fields. Gloriously, though, there was mud. Mud could be washed off and muddy jeans thrown in the laundry hamper. Bugs burrowed into your tender bits and hung on.
About a hundred yards in, they came to the hills Roberto had seen. They were mounds of fresh earth on one side of the creek. “This doesn’t look natural,” said Joseph.
Roberto shook his head. There was nothing else like it around. “Someone dumped this dirt here with heavy equipment,” he said.
“Wonder why they dumped it here? Where did it come from?” mused Joseph.
“Don’t know, dude, but the playground’s open,” said Roberto, and he gunned his engine. For the next half hour, they tore over and through the mounds of earth above the creek bed, challenging one another to more dangerous jumps. They saved the highest mound for last. Roberto nodded to Joseph to try first. The grade of the hill was steeper than he’d thought, and Joseph’s bike went sideways in the air. He kept his body in line with the front suspension and accelerated. The landing impact was hard, but Joseph kept his wrists straight and absorbed it with his legs and bent elbows. He brought the bike to a stop and turned to warn Roberto, but Roberto had already followed.
Roberto miscalculated the angle of approach. It kicked his bike off to the side. Roberto and his bike were suspended in the air forever before they crashed into separate rolls. The bike somersaulted over into the creek bed. Roberto didn’t roll as far. Joseph abandoned his bike and ran to Roberto.
“You okay?” he asked.
Roberto tried to get up, but he only made it to his knees. “I think so.”
“You sure?”
Roberto looked up and unsnapped his helmet. “Pretty sure.”
Joseph scraped some dirt and grass from Roberto’s helmet visor. “Looks like you dug a ditch with your head,” said Joseph. He lifted under Roberto’s arm, and Roberto stood unsteadily.
“I’m about a dumbass,” Roberto said.
That gave Joseph a bit of relief. That was Roberto’s usual pronouncement when someone did something stupid. It was usually, “He’s about a dumbass,” or “You’re about a dumbass,” but not “I’m about a dumbass.”
“Let’s go,” said Joseph. “It’s getting dark anyway. I’ll help you with your chores before you take me back home.”
Roberto nodded and walked toward the edge of the dirt mounds to look for his dirt bike below. Joseph pushed his to the edge, too. Roberto’s bike lay about halfway down the bank. Together they slid down to it. It looked okay other than some dirt clods wedged in it, but it wouldn’t start. Nothing. Roberto checked here and there to see if anything was damaged, but the descending darkness made it harder. After tinkering for several minutes, Roberto announced, “It’s the plug wire. Nothing horrible, but I have to have a new one, or at least a working used one.”
“What do we do?” asked Joseph.
“We’ll have to leave it here. Hopefully, Papi won’t notice it’s missing. Maybe I can sneak back down here tonight after everyone’s in bed. If I bring a flashlight, then I can change the plug wire and ride it back home. I’ll cut the engine before I get home and push it into the workshop so Papi won’t hear.”
“It would take you all night to walk back here,” objected Joseph. “Maybe Mateo would give you a ride.”
“No, Mateo’s leaving in the morning to go to Austin with the Junior National Honor Society. They’re touring the capitol and meeting the governor and politicians.”
Joseph stared at him, and Roberto’s brown eyes glittered in the twilight. Was he hurting from the tumble? Frustrated? Maybe both.
“I know what to do,” said Joseph.
Roberto didn’t even answer.
“What time do your parents go to sleep?” asked Joseph.
“Around 10:30 p.m. 11:30 at the latest.”
“Take Mateo’s bike and pick me up at the railroad tracks at 1:00 a.m. We’ll ride out here, you can fix your bike, and then we’ll ride the bikes back to your place. You can bring me back to town, then go back home. It might take all night, but your parents won’t know as long as no one wakes up and notices we’re gone.”
Roberto’s eyes still glittered, but Joseph could sense a hopeful grin. A dangerous plan was better than no plan. “You’re about a dumbass,” said Roberto, but this time it was a compliment.
13
NIGHT CAP
They left Roberto’s dirt bike hidden under some brush. Roberto rode with Joseph to Joseph’s house to drop him off before Roberto rode the bike home. It was against traffic laws to ride a dirt bike on the roads, but that was the thing about Texas. There were laws, and there were laws. If there was no trouble, there was no trouble. The Ybarras made sure their dirt bikes weren’t loud, and they didn’t gun the engines in town, so no one ever complained. Boys will be boys. Hazel wasn’t Dallas.
Maman fussed a little about how Joseph was so dirty and missed supper. Other than that, there was no problem. Maman had miscarried several babies before she and Baba had Joseph, so he got away with a lot of stuff that a normal kid would get punished for. There were so many things he couldn’t do because of their religion that Joseph figured he was entitled to a reasonable amount of mischief.
While he showered, Maman reheated a bowl of bamieh with extra rice. Joseph needed to sleep a little before he sneaked out of the house, but he lay on the bed that night and thought through the plan. Walking through town in the daylight was one thing, but walking through town after midnight wasn’t something he’d ever tried. That reminded him. He’d need a flashlight. He tried to slip into the kitchen to get the flashlight out of the drawer, but Maman heard him.
