Date: Mon, 6 Jun 2016 12:41:13 -0500
From: Paul Knoke <paulkdoctor@gmail.com>
Subject: Installment Fifty of "The Father Contract."

INSTALLMENT FIFTY
from

THE FATHER CONTRACT
by

Arthur J. Arrington
Edited Paul K. Scott

Please consider a donation to the folks at Nifty so they will continue to
publish our exciting story of little PJ Thorndyke!

Chapter Ninety-Two: A Promise Fulfilled

Out on the field and coming from both sides, the raucous noise of cheering,
screaming, and blasting air horns was so loud, Erik had to shout to be
heard as he gathered the Gordonsville offense around him. "Here we are,
guys!" he told them with a confident grin. "Closing minute. Championship on
the line, an' we got the ball! Does it get any better than this?"

Hell, no!" shouted Cuyler, the stocky center. The other linemen--Derrick,
Rusty, Nolan-- all growled their agreement. Next to them Lyle and Dustin
traded fist taps, Phil and Brian did the same, and Jacob, standing at PJ's
side, nudged his shoulder while giving him a wink.

"Short time drill," Erik reminded them. "Stay sharp, guys. We're takin'
this ball into the end zone for a championship!" Then, eyes flashing, he
called the play. "Tango, Tango! I hop 66! I hop 66! On two! Break!"

With a sharp simultaneous clap, a loud "SMACK!," the offense broke the
huddle. PJ shivered to a thrill of excitement as he lined up. Erik was
going to the air! "Tango" was a three-receiver formation. Lyle and Phil on
the left, Brian to the right. "I hop 66" was a play from their two-minute
drill, a sideline pass to an open receiver who would gain whatever he could
before stepping out-of-bounds to stop the clock. On the snap of the ball,
PJ moved into blocking position, prepared to give Erik all the protection
he could.

Sure enough, Phil's presence on the left side confused the Franklyn corner
backs who'd been concentrating on Lyle. He got open, Erik's spiral pass
landed right into his hands, and the Gordonsville fans cheered wildly as
the youngster scampered for a first down!

"On our way!" Erik yelled happily, slapping Phil on the back as they formed
a new huddle.

For the next play he handed off to PJ, who swept out to the left and up the
sideline, past midfield before going out-of-bounds to conserve clock. He
jogged to the huddle feeing exhilarated, capable of anything! He knew he
was hurting, but what did that matter? The Top Floor Gang was in the game
and Erik was taking them down the field!

With the final minute of the Gordonsville season ticking off, they drove
ahead, PJ running with the ball again and again like a boy possessed! He
twisted and cut his way through the defenders, powering his way forward for
yardage, moving the ball farther into Franklyn territory. The defense tried
everything to stop him, hitting him as hard as they could and
gang-tackling. PJ was playing in a haze of pain. Yet he went on, shutting
it out of his mind. Erik was calling his number and he must run, run! And
the defense couldn't concentrate only on him. Brian and Phil and Lyle were
constant threats. Erik completed passes to all three; first on one side,
then the other. Gordonsville powered inside the thirty, the defense
desperately hanging on. They knew if they could only stop Erik for two more
plays, time would run out and the Championship would be theirs!

"OK, let's jam it down their throats!" Erik shouted in the huddle. He
called for the reverse with Phil's number. PJ was barely aware of the
situation. He was playing on pure courage now. Only his will and love for
Erik kept him on his feet. He heard the call and that part of him still
able to understand rejoiced. He and Brian would be blocking out in
front. Phil would have a chance to go in for the score!

He lined up focusing on his assignment ignoring the waves of pain from his
side. Once Erik crouched behind the center and begin his count, PJ stared
straight ahead. No eye movement must betray what they planned to do. On the
snap of the ball, Erik pivoted to hand off to Dustin while PJ moved as if
to block. Then he cut swiftly to his right. He saw the defense moving to
his left and knew they were taken in by the fake. Dustin would hand off to
Phil, who'd be coming around behind him and Brian.

As PJ moved, he heard a sudden roar go up from the sideline. A defender
screamed, "Reverse!" But PJ knew it was too late. The play was working! He
swept around the corner of the formation and saw that at least a few of the
defenders had not committed to the fake. Both the end and one of the
linebackers were coming up. He cut into them, squared his shoulders, and
hit the leading defender. Both of them slammed back into the boy behind,
all three tumbling to the ground. Pain from his side flooded over PJ as he
landed. He couldn't help groaning in agony, but he was sure his block had
been effective. He sensed rather than saw Phil streaking past, carrying the
ball. He heard tremendous cheers. Phil must have scored! He struggled to
get to his feet, his head swimming. When he shook it, his vision
cleared. Then his heart sank. Phil had gotten only to the ten where he'd
been pushed out-of- bounds. He was already trotting back to the huddle,
shaking his head.

Erik came running up, urgently saying something. There was a roaring in
PJ's ears. Was it cheering? He couldn't make out Erik's words. Something
about the clock. Then he distinctly heard Erik yell over the noise,
". . . one more play!" Forcing his legs to move, he limped into the
huddle. Erik was saying something again. PJ concentrated as hard as he
could to understand him. ". . . think you can do it?" Erik was asking.

He had no idea what it was that Erik wanted him to do, only that he would
try whatever it was. If Erik wanted it, there was nothing he wouldn't
do. "Call the play," he told his roommate. His voice sounded as distant as
though he was hearing himself from the other end of the field. Now Erik was
calling the signal, PJ had to make an effort to remember what it
meant. "Tap-Dance-Six, Tap-Dance-Six . . ."

Sudden understanding burst like a light in PJ's mind: Erik wanted him to be
a receiver. For this last play Erik was calling on him, his best friend, to
get the ball. At this final moment, it was going to be the two of them,
together, just the way it always had been since the very beginning.

From somewhere deep within himself, gathering it the way Jack had told him
to do so many times, PJ summoned all his courage, all his remaining
strength, for one last effort. The noise, the pain in his body, the sights
and sounds of the game itself, all were gone. There was only the beating of
his heart and the sight of Erik now crouched over the center and calling
the signals, "Hu-t . . . Hut Hut!"

On the snap, PJ accelerated and hurtled through the line! Nothing must stop
him. Nothing! Nothing! Nothing! A defender was in front of him, the boy's
eyes widening in surprise as PJ bore down on him. Jink! A lighting-fast hip
fake and PJ brushed by him, ignoring the shock of pain the move cost
him. He was in the clear! He was in the end zone! Glancing back, he saw
Erik looking for him. Now! Now, Erik! Now!

Suddenly it was like one of his dreams.  He was surrounded by
silence. Slowly, ever so slowly, he saw Erik throw the ball. It drifted
towards him, spinning in perfect symmetry. They were playing catch at the
base of The Hill, in clear, brilliant sunshine. PJ loved catching his best
friend's passes. Erik was so good! He could make any receiver look better
than he really was. Every time PJ caught the ball, it felt like a renewal
of the tie that bound them together. Now he leaped into the air, feeling
light and free, as if all he had to do was wish it and he could float into
the sky. The ball dropped into his hands and he grasped it, nestling it to
his body, clutching it tightly. As his feet fell back onto the ground, he
was conscious of a huge distant roar, like the sounds of the faraway crowd
he heard so often in the lonely corridor of his nightmares.

"Jack," he thought. They're cheering for Jack. He's here!

Realization broke upon him. The Championship! They'd won it! Erik had his
championship! He'd given his friend the gift that he'd wanted for him more
than anything else!

For you, Erik. It will be the last thing I can give you. With one hand he
reached for Erik's chain.

But as he did so, he was hit from both sides, the pain and shock so great
that he was unaware of being slammed into the ground. There was only the
one thought: Hang onto the ball! Hang onto the ball! But he had the ball!
He had it! That was everything! Yet though PJ never completely lost
consciousness, everything seemed so far away. There was a roaring in his
ears. He knew he was lying down, but he couldn't move. At first, he didn't
remember who or where he was. Then it came back. He was in the game and he
had to get up! If he didn't, Coach Lewis would substitute for him. And Jack
would be worried about him. Still clutching the ball, he tried to struggle
to his knees, but nothing was working right. His muscles had turned to
jelly. He kept falling over. What the heck was wrong?

And now someone was kneeling by him, holding him, calling to him. Erik! Of
course it was Erik! Erik was his best friend. Who else would help him?
Maybe he'd had a bad dream.

Then he remembered. They had won the game! He didn't need to try to get up
yet. It didn't matter anymore now. He had the ball. He'd given Erik the
Championship, and now he could rest. He sagged against his friend. "Erik,"
he tried to say. "Erik, we won!"

Why didn't Erik look happy?

Two more boys were with him. Brian and Phil! They were helping Erik get him
to his feet. His head was beginning to clear. Boys in football uniforms
were celebrating all around them, hugging, slapping each other's backs,
jumping up and down like crazy people!  The air was filled with screams,
whoops, and cheering. Suddenly he gasped in pain as Erik's hand pushed on
his side. "PJ, PJ, what's wrong?" Erik cried frantically.

"It's his side and back," Phil shouted. "He's been hurt ever since that
late hit in the first half."

"Ah, Geez PJ!" Erik cried in despair. He draped PJ's arm around his neck
and held his roommate by the waist.

Leaning against his friend, PJ allowed his head to loll on Erik's
shoulder. It felt so good to rest at last. "Erik," he said again. "Erik, we
won!"  His friend tightened his hold. "Yeah, Buddy," he said. "Tommy just
kicked the extra point. We won 33-30! You did it. You caught that pass!"

"I did it for you, Erik. I wanted to win for you!"

"I know, PJ." There were tears in his eyes. "I know you did. Oh, PJ," he
begged, "please be all right."

"I'm OK, Erik." PJ was puzzled. Why would Erik think I'm not? The he
remembered, something. "Erik . . . you have to tell Jack I'm OK."

"I don't know where he is, PJ I haven't seen him."

"He's here," PJ assured him. "Jack's here."

The boys were guiding him to the sidelines now. PJ had to go very
slowly. His legs were so shaky!

Coach Lewis came running up. "What happened?!" he demanded.

"Two kids hit after the whistle," Brian told the coach. "I'm sure it was on
purpose. One of 'em kicked him."

"Are you sure of that?" the coach said.

When Brian nodded, Coach Lewis turned and walked off looking extremely
angry.  Erik guided PJ to the bench so he could sit. "Get his helmet off,"
he told Brian and Phil.

As they were taking it off, a small form ran up and hurtled itself at
PJ. "PJ! PJ!" Billy threw his arms around his friend. "PJ, you got hurt."
The boy was almost crying. "Someone hurt you."

"I'm OK, Billy." PJ hugged his little brother and held him tightly even
though it hurt.

Then Travis was there, down on one knee in front of PJ, eyes wide with
concern. "Are you all right? That was a real stupid thing those kids did
after your catch. I told you they were jerks."

"I'd like to kill both of them!" Erik savagely snarled.

PJ leaned against his shoulder and shook his head. "We won, Erik," he
said. "That's all that matters."

Billy lifted his face to PJ's. "You played great."

"Thanks Billy," PJ whispered.

"Where's Jack?" Billy asked, looking around.

"He's here, Billy." PJ gave the young boy another hug. "He's here."

Coach Lewis came back. "Erik," he ordered. "Get PJ to the locker room!"

With his friends helping and his coach alongside, PJ started slowly up
toward the Field House. Right away they were joined by Bill, the other
fathers, and Coach Drew.

"That was a real cheap shot they took at this boy," Bill told Coach Lewis.

The young man nodded. "The officials know about it. They'll make a report
and so will I."

Once they were inside the building, Coach Lewis picked PJ up like a baby
and carried him the rest of the way into the locker room where he placed
him on a table in the trainer's room. With Erik's help, he got PJ's uniform
off. "What's all this?" he demanded when he saw the tape around PJ's chest.

There was an awkward silence. Finally, Phil confessed, "Uh . . . he sorta
got banged up in the first half, Coach, so we . . . er . . . that is, well,
I kinda taped him up a little. . ." He trailed off uncertainly at his
coach's look.

With a sigh and a shake of his head, the coach unlaced PJ's shoulder pads,
got them off, and removed his hip pads. He winced when he saw some of the
bruises on the boy's exposed body. "Hold him for me, Erik," he said. As
gently as he could, the coach stripped the wide band of tape from PJ's
chest. The adhesive stuck tightly. PJ gasped several times in pain as it
came loose. "God damn it!" Coach Lewis swore when he saw the bruising on
the boy's back and side. Erik's face was white. He held his friend as
closely as he dared. Apprehensive and concerned, the coach ran his fingers
over PJ's ribs and back. "Well, nothing's broken or out of place," he
concluded with relief when he finished. He looked into PJ's eyes. "You
promised me you weren't going to do this kind of thing anymore, that you
were going to tell me if you were hurt."  PJ lowered his gaze in
embarrassment. He had made that promise, and he was ashamed that he'd
broken it. Sadly he admitted, "I'm sorry, Coach. But I just had to stay in
the game. I wanted to win it for Erik." He looked back up at him pleaded,
"Please try to understand."

Coach Lewis stared at him some more. At last he sighed deeply again and his
look changed to one of compassion and concern. He reached out to stroke
PJ's head. "Of course I understand." he answered softly. "Of course I
do. You know that. I guess there isn't much you could do that I wouldn't
understand or forgive. It's just that if you did really get badly hurt, I'd
never be able to forgive myself."

PJ touched his hand. "Thanks Coach."

"Erik," Coach Lewis said, "You boys get PJ into the shower. When you're
done, bring him to the whirlpool. I'll meet you there." He went out to talk
to Bill, who was waiting with Travis and Billy and the other men to hear
how PJ was.

Erik immediately took charge. He sent Brian and Phil to their lockers with
instructions to come back with soap and towels while he stripped off the
rest of PJ's clothes. After that he got PJ into the shower room. Once the
others rejoined them, he took his own things off, and the three of them
helped wash PJ, being very gentle when they soaped his injuries. After
keeping him under the hot spray for awhile, the three boys clustered around
him and helped him into the whirlpool machine that Coach Lewis had ready.

PJ relaxed into the swirling water. Now that the game was over, he was
amazed that he had been able to keep himself going for so long. He wiggled
around until the jets of hot water were impacting directly on his back and
side where he'd been hit. He let his head fall back, looked up at Erik, and
smiled. When he put his fist up on the edge of the tub, Erik put his on top
of it. "We won, Erik," PJ said over the muffled purring of the
pump. "Together. Just like we said we would."

Erik touched his friend's cheek with his other hand. "Yeah, we did," he
said, looking fondly at his roommate. "Don't forget we had some help."
Brian and Phil placed their fists on top of Erik's.

"You guys are the greatest," PJ told them. "No one ever had better friends
than you."

"Here we are, the Top Floor Gang," Erik proudly declared. He grinned at
Phil and Brian. "Top starters and League Champs your first year on the
team. How does it feel"?

Smirking with a grin as big as Erik's, Brian dropped the towel he was
holding around his middle and struck a pose, the overhead fluorescent
lights glinting on his smooth, hard wrestler's body. "Champs! That's us!"
he shouted, flexing his arm muscles. "Top Floor! Top Guns!"

"Oh yeah?" Phil teased, pointing. "I don't see much 'gun' down there. If it
weren't for Erik . . ."

His mischievous roommate snatched away Phil's waist towel, gleefully
interrupting, "I got more than you!"

"Not,' Phil sputtered. Grabbing the towel before it hit the floor, he
attempted to snap Brain with it. Squealing, his roommate dodged away and
the two bare boys chased each other around the room, Brian giggling, Phil
in hot pursuit.

"Now we're as buck naked as the day we were born," Erik jibed. "PJ an' I
are OK. But with all your equipment off, you two might scare the girls away
with the size of your weenies!"

The younger giddy were with laughter! "Wait a minute!" Phil screeched. "You
mean they're too little or too big?"

Brian couldn't resist. "Too little for yours, Phil! Mine, of course, he
added smugly, is too big!"

They were all laughing. But Erik suddenly caught himself. We're forgetting
PJ, he thought guiltily. We're forgetting what he's just been through! This
is no time to be kidding around!
 But PJ was smiling. He'd his head to follow their antics, although not in
anything like a joking mood, and was glad to see his friends happy. "Take
care of them, Erik," he whispered, the words lost in the pump and water
noises of the whirlpool.

Erik leaned over the whirlpool's tub and yelled over the noise, "Our dads
are taking us out for some pizza to celebrate. I"ll tell em' to wait 'til
you're done so you and Jack can come with us."

"Bill and the others are waiting for us, PJ," Erik told him once he'd
recovered his composure. "We're all going to the Inn for lunch, but I'll
tell them to hold up awhile until you're done in here."

PJ shook his head. "Don't wait, Erik. Jack and I are goin' off alone to
spend some time together. Just me an' him. Except for just a few minutes at
the World Series, we haven't been together much. We'll meet you later for
the Dinner."

Erik stared hard at him. "PJ, are you sure Jack's here? I haven't seen him
at all. I was sure I'd see him when you got hurt."

"He's here, Erik." PJ smiled sadly. "Don't worry. I know where to find
him."

"OK, PJ."

The boys all said goodbye and left to get dressed, but Erik came back
hurriedly to add one last reminder. "Tell Jack we'll meet you at the House
to go to the Dinner with you, PJ."

"I will," PJ assured him.

Erik took another long look at his friend. "PJ," he said. "PJ . . .
thanks. Thanks for the Championship, for being my best friend, for being my
brother . . . . Thanks for everything."

PJ reached out and took his friend's hand. "You're the best friend I ever
had in the world, Erik. You won't ever forget me, will you?"

"I could never forget you, PJ," Erik told him, smiling. "We'll meet you at
the House."  "Goodbye, Erik," PJ said. "I'll miss you." But since Erik was
already walking away, these very last words were lost in the hum of the
whirlpool.

The sadness PJ experienced after Erik left made him cry for a few minutes,
tears trickling down his cheeks into the foaming water under his
chin. Afterwards, he felt relieved and at peace. The Championship was
won. He'd kept his promise, and now he was free. Free to find Jack, to go
with him, to feel nothing and to know nothing. Free to come to the end and
to rest.

What more could there be for him now after this? What could be beyond it?
He'd worked hard and followed the path that the nice old lady had started
him on. He'd found things in life and made them his. But he'd also
discovered that the triumphs he'd achieved were empty. They had meaning
only in what he could give of them to others. For him, there could be
nothing. Only loneliness. The long empty time ahead seemed as bleak and
dark as the endless corridor of his dreams. He needed to find warmth and
light. He needed to find Jack.

And Jack was waiting for him. He was waiting by the pool.

PJ put his head back on the rim of the whirlpool tub. His eyes closed and
he pictured how it would be in the warmth and the light, with the water
swirling around him. Drifting, drifting. . .

* * *

Coach Lewis left PJ in the whirlpool for an hour. When he came in to check
on the boy, he found him with his eyes closed and his head leaning
back. When the coach turned off the pump, PJ's eyes opened slowly.

"Feeling better?" the coach asked.

PJ nodded. Reluctantly he climbed out of the tub.

"Let me know how you're doing on Monday. If you're having a lot of
discomfort, we'll have the doctor take a look at you."

PJ nodded again. He felt very calm and detached. He barely heard the young
man's words.

"I'll see you and Jack tonight at the Dinner," Coach Lewis said. "I hope
your back doesn't keep you from enjoying it. Where is Jack, anyway? Did he
go with Bill and the others?"

"No." PJ shook his head. "He's waiting for me. I have to go now and find
him."

"All right, PJ." His coach smiled, put a towel around him, and picked him
up. PJ put his chin on Coach Lewis' shoulder and stared sightlessly into
space while he was carried to his locker. The coach gently put him down
giving PJ a little hug, which the boy didn't return.

"Think you'll be all right now?"

"I'm OK."

Coach Lewis ruffled his hair. "You played a great game, PJ, "and you had a
great season. Coaching boys like you and Erik and Phil and Brian gives me
more joy than you can imagine."

"I liked playing for you a lot, too, Coach," PJ said. He gave the man a
little smile and held out his hand. "Goodbye and thanks for everything

"I'll see you tonight, PJ." The young man shook hands and left PJ alone in
the locker room. Alone with his thoughts.  Chapter Ninety-Three: The Last
Swim Meet

The moment Coach Lewis walked out of the locker room, the last of PJ's ties
to Gordonsville slipped away. He dressed slowly. There wasn't any need to
hurry. He had plenty of time. He knew Jack would wait for him as long as
need be.

With his usual neatness, he neatly cleaned out his locker and carried his
few personal belongings away with him, including his lock and his Speedo
swim briefs. He put the practice brief Jack had given him carefully into
the pocket of his jacket. That was the one Jack would want him to be
wearing when he came to him.

He climbed the stairs to the high, dim foyer of the Field House and looked
one last time at the trophies in their lighted cases. The trophy their
football team had won that day would soon go in there, and maybe a team
picture. PJ wondered how many boys in the future would see it. Perhaps
someday a boy would be standing just where he was, asking himself, "Who
were they? Those kids who won a Championship. What were they like? Whatever
happened to them?"

He'd probably never know.

He turned away, but before leaving the Field House through one of the big
doors, he looked around carefully. He didn't want to meet anyone he knew.

There were lots of parents and students walking about on the campus. He
could hear crowd noises from the Varsity stadium where the afternoon
Homecoming game had started. PJ slipped unnoticed down the Field House
steps and disappeared in the opposite direction, towards the Administration
Building. He took a route to his House by a back way, careful to avoid
being seen by anybody who might recognize him. There were people in the
Common Room when he came in. He flitted by the door quickly and went up the
stairs two at a time.

On the third floor of a boy hailed him. "Hey, PJ! Mrs. Williamson is
looking for you."

"She found me," PJ told him. "Thanks."

He kept on going up to his room where, after making sure that there was no
noise coming from either his room or Brian's and Phil's across the hall, he
went in. He was all by himself.

Swiftly, he put away the personal belongings he'd taken from his
locker. But he kept the practice Speedo in his jacket pocket. Then he
picked up a felt tip pen, a pad of paper, and his book, Safe at Home. These
he took with him out of the room, first cracking the door and cautiously
peeking out so he could be certain he was unobserved. Descending quickly
downstairs, he left the House and retraced his steps back around the
Administration Building and from there, by another circuitous route to
avoid people, made his way to the deserted baseball fields where he slipped
into the first-base dugout he'd used so often as a hiding place. In its
farthest corner, he sat down, placed his pad on the book holding both
against his knees, and started writing. It took him several drafts to get
down what he wanted to say, and he had to stop several times to wipe tears
away, but at last he was finished. He read it carefully before copying the
following final draft in his neatest handwriting:

Dear Erik,

Once before when I went to the World Series game, I asked you to forgive me
for not telling you I was going. I did not tell you because I knew you
would want to go with me and I could not let you come. You forgave me then,
Erik, and I am asking you to please forgive me again. I am leaving on
another journey, a much longer one this time, and you cannot go with me.
This time I am not coming back.

I am going to find Jack. Please try to understand, Erik. You are my best
friend in all the world, Erik, but Jack is my father and I have to be with
him. I know how to find him now, and I am going. He is waiting for me.

I will miss all my friends, Travis, Billy, Phil, Brian, but I will miss you
most of all, Erik. I hope someday, somehow, we can all be together again.

Please Erik, take care of Billy for me. I know he is going to be upset
after I am gone. I am trusting him to you. I know you'll see that he is all
right. Let him come to Gordonsville and do the things I did not get to
do. He is such a great kid. I put a copy of some papers about his
scholarship with this letter. Keep them safe. I do not trust Walter.

I have also left you a copy of another thing that I hope will help all my
friends. The lawyer for the school knows about it. Walter says I can't do
it because I am just a kid, but I think I can. Bill will know what to do.

Goodbye, Erik. I will never forget you. Please do not forget me. I love
you. Your brother PJ."

When he'd finished copying, PJ put the drafts and the finished letter
carefully inside the back cover of the book. Then he opened it and started
at the beginning. Reading Safe at Home lasted through all the rest of that
autumn afternoon. The Varsity football game was played to an exciting
finish, there were sounds of cheering and celebration, but PJ never heard
them. Lost in the world of his reading, he paid no attention. Eventually,
as the sun sank below the trees on the Hill where PJ had played so often
with his friends, it began to get dark.

Afterwards when he could no longer see to read, PJ closed his book and got
up. He stepped out of the dugout to look around. The vacant baseball
diamond looked very bare in the fading light. He thought of the games he'd
played there the previous spring, sighed, and shivered a little. It was
getting cool as the sun disappeared below the horizon. He zipped up his
jacket. It was time.

Concealed in the gathering dusk, he had no trouble getting back to the
House unrecognized. There were lights on in almost all the windows, but
none in his room. He knew Erik wouldn't be back yet.  He had time. He
slipped through the front door and went quickly up the stairs. His room was
dark. He turned on his desk lamp as soon as he entered. He didn't like the
darkness.

He glanced around. Was everything in order? After straightening the things
on his desktop, he rummaged in his top drawer and took out the copies of
his will and the agreement about Billy's scholarship. These he placed on
the center of Erik's desk where he would be sure to see them. He laid his
own letter on top.  Next, PJ took his worn practice Speedo out of his
jacket pocket and laid it on his bed. He hung the jacket up. He had trouble
taking it off because of his injured side, but he managed it. With that
done, he sat at his desk and looked around.

Now that it was actually time to go, he felt a curious reluctance. It was
hard to leave so much behind. He looked at the Navy Corsair model he'd
built, the one Billy had given him for his birthday. The sleek object
glittered under its bright paint. He reached out and touched the wing with
his fingertip.

Finally, he got up and went to his bookshelf. So many old friends there! He
couldn't leave every one of them behind! Taking down Treasure Island and
The Secret Garden, he placed them with Safe at Home on the bed. Jack
wouldn't mind if he brought just those with him.

He gazed around one more time. He couldn't afford to wait any longer. He
had to be gone before Erik came back. He had just taken off his shoes and
socks when he heard a noise in the hall and a knock came on the door.

PJ jumped up, startled! Who could that be! It couldn't be Erik. It was too
soon and he would've come right in. He padded barefoot to the door. "Who is
it?"

A young boy's voice replied, "PJ? Can I come in?"

Billy! PJ opened the door and the youngster burst in and exclaimed, "PJ,
where you been? I've been looking and looking for you!  Where's Jack?"

"He's not here right now, Billy," PJ said. He saw that the boy was holding
some papers and a brown paper package."

"These are for you, PJ," Billy happily announced, holding them out. "And
one's for Jack. I made them. I was gonna give 'em to you after the game,
but you got hurt." He looked up anxiously. "You're all right now, aren't
you, PJ?"

"I'm OK, Billy," PJ told him reassuringly.

"See, look . . . . " Billy glanced around. "Why's it so dark in here, PJ?
Can we put on more lights?"

PJ turned on Erik's desk lamp and the floor lamp, staying between the young
boy and the top of Erik's desk so Billy wouldn't see the stuff he'd left
there.

"Here, PJ, this is for you," Billy handed over a small homemade card that
had been folded out of typewriter paper. On the front was a football,
carefully inked and colored in with brown crayon. Above it in Billy's best
printing it said, "Congratulations!" PJ opened the card. Inside it read,
"Middle School Football Champions" and under that Billy had added, "To PJ,
my best big brother in the world, love from Billy." Below that he had
signed his name.

PJ sat down on his bed and read the card again. A big lump formed in his
throat.

"I made it myself," Billy proudly declared. "One for you and one for
Erik. I gave Erik his already. Do you like it, PJ? I brought them with me
to the game. I just knew you were gonna win. I wanted you to have it right
away but you got hurt and then they wouldn't let me in the locker room."

PJ rubbed his eyes. His hand shook a little. "Oh, Billy," he whispered.

"Look, PJ," Billy said eagerly, "I made a card for Jack, too. I made it so
we could both sign it and give it to him, see?" He handed PJ another card,
almost identical to the first. This one had a baseball on the front, drawn
in ink with the stitching carefully detailed in. It was colored with a gray
crayon, and the stitches had red highlights. "I wasn't sure how to color
the baseball," Billy explained. "Baseballs are white and so is the paper,
so I used gray. Do you think Jack will mind, PJ?"

PJ shook his head. "No, Billy," he choked out. "Jack won't mind." He could
hardly trust himself to speak.

Billy opened the card proudly and showed it to PJ. "See what I wrote, PJ?
You can sign it too, and we'll give it to him." Inside, the card read,
"World Champions, Boston Red Sox" and under that was, "To the Greatest
Baseball Player in the World, Best Wishes, from your friend, Billy." He'd
signed his name beneath it. "You can write something and sign your name,
too, PJ," Billy told him.

PJ shook his head sadly. "I already sent him something, Billy. You go ahead
and give him that yourself."

"OK, PJ," Billy said, disappointed. Then he brightened up. "I brought one
more thing for you." With a happy smile he showed PJ the paper bag he was
carrying. "I almost told you about it last week, but I made myself keep it
a secret until you'd won your game." In a delighted air of mystery, Billy
opened the bag and very carefully took out a sleek airplane model. It was a
Cessna Citation, white with red and gold trim. Proudly, Billy presented it
to PJ. "I made this myself, PJ. Well, actually my dad helped a
little. Especially with the decals. Those are hard! But I did almost all of
it myself. Do you like it? I know it's your favorite."

PJ could no longer help himself. His hands were shaking badly and tears
streamed down his cheeks.

"PJ, what's wrong?" Billy cried in dismay. "You're crying. What is it? What
is it?" He took the model out of PJ's hands, placed it on PJ's desk, and
hurried back to the bed. He was nearly beside himself. "What is it, PJ?"

PJ took hold of him in a tight hug. His tears kept coming as Billy
desperately hugged him back, pleading, "PJ, what's wrong?"

"Billy," PJ said huskily, "Billy, you wanna go to Gordonsville, don't you?"

"Yes, PJ," Billy assured him. "I wanna be with you and Erik."

"Well you're gonna be here starting next year," PJ promised. "And when you
come, I want you to do something for me."

"I'll do it, PJ," Billy told him frantically. "Anything!"

"Promise me you'll take care of Erik and be his friend," PJ told
him. "Promise me!"

"I promise, PJ," Billy said. He was frightened now. PJ was acting so
strange! There was something wrong with him. Maybe he was still hurt! "But
you'll be here. You'll be Erik's friend, too!"

"Promise me, Billy," PJ said again.

"I promise, PJ. I promise!" Billy assured him, more frightened by the
second.

"And you won't forget me, will you?"

"PJ, what's wrong?" Billy wailed. "What is it?  Where's Jack? I'll get
Jack. Jack will fix it. I know he will. You're hurt. Someone hurt you. I'll
go get Jack." He struggled, and PJ let him go.

"Goodbye, Billy," he said, but the boy had already fled from the room and
didn't hear him.

PJ got up, closed the door, and locked it. It was time to go. He had to
leave before Billy brought someone. Moving quickly, he stripped off all his
clothes and hung everything neatly in his closet. Then he pulled on the
worn Speedo practice brief. Gathering up his books, he went to the window
and opened it. The cold air of the autumn evening swept into the room. He
shivered.

After looking out to be sure no one could see him, he began to climb over
the sash onto the roof. With one leg out, he hesitated. He'd promised Jack
that he'd never go out on the roof again. But he had to! After all, it was
the only way to find him.

"I'm sorry, Jack," he whispered.

	He climbed out the rest of the way and cautiously went up the slope
of the gable to the ridge. He stood up and looked out into the
darkness. Below him, more than five stories down, people were talking in
front of the House. He could hear the vague sounds of their voices, the
sound coming to him like the murmuring of water. He walked along the ridge
toward the back of the House until he came to the edge.

The void before him seemed to shimmer like the surface of the pool. He had
only to dive into its depths and drift to its bottom. Jack would find him,
take him up in his strong arms, and tell him, "You're safe, Little Champ."
And then he would toss PJ into the air so he could dive down into the
peaceful depths again and drift and drift, and drift, silently forever. . .

He was focused now, as he always was just before a race. He stared ahead,
seeing nothing but the lane ropes stretching to the other end of the
pool. A quick glance to his right revealed Jack, standing where he always
did for meets, in the front by the blocks. Erik was next to him, smiling,
holding the stopwatch. And Billy was there, too, cheering for his big
brother. Jack grinned at him and nodded. PJ knew that Jack was proud of
him.

He looked straight ahead again and dropped down into his stance. He waited
for the starter's gun.

* * *

CONCLUSION OF INSTALLMENT FIFTY

Editor Paul Scott's e-mail address: paulkdoctor@gmail.com