The Last Summer. Chan Howell
building flickered on. Someone was on the property. Mitch screamed, “Run for it!” A dog began to bark. I headed for the main driveway as Mitch headed for our hidden entrance. I looked over my shoulder for my sister and my new friend, but my frantic pace made it impossible for me to find them. Boom! I then heard the rain of tin cans.
The fear in my heart was fueling my feet. I did not see Wyatt as much as I could feel he was running nearby. His shoes hit the grass with a thump thump sound. I looked to my left and saw him, then boom! A gravelly voice shouted, “Stop, or I’ll call the police!”
Wyatt said, “We are out of sight. That’s not for us.”
He was right; the magnolia trees provided cover. I told Wyatt, “Mitch is long gone.”
He looked at me. “I’ll head back.”
I was too afraid, and I knew if she was captured, I would be of little help.
Wyatt slumped over, then jogged back down the driveway. Boom! A diversion bomb exploded. I walked to the edge of the driveway to try to find my sister as Wyatt also searched for her. Boom! The last bomb had exploded. I spotted her on the ground, trapped. I shouted in a whisper Whitley’s location to Wyatt. Her foot was caught on an old partially fallen clothesline. A large man lumbered off the porch in her direction, carrying a hound. The hound was violently barking, and the shadow-faced man had trouble holding his dog. Whitley’s ankle was bleeding from the rusted old clothesline. I did not run away as I watched Wyatt scoop her up and free her from the unintentional trap. He effortlessly ran with her in his arms. Whitley let out a screech, “Ooowwwwhhh!” just as the hound broke free. Wyatt arrived just before the hound, and a chase began. The hound was no match for Wyatt, and they escaped. His long powerful strides left the hound and his caretaker standing at the back of the magnolia driveway. The large shadow retreated back to his small shack, with his hound feverishly barking.
I met Whitley and Wyatt back at Scarborough Park. I could hear police sirens from two directions. Whitley’s ankle was no longer bleeding, but her leg as well as Wyatt’s arm all the way to his wrist were covered in blood. We decided to sneak back to my grandmother’s house as cleverly as possible. We darted between cars and bushes, hoping not to be seen. We ran for cover as two cars rode past. We hid underneath the branches of a magnolia tree in the courtyard of Mount Zion Baptist Church. Whitley limped the entire six blocks. She refused any assistance. When we arrived, Mitch was hiding among my grandmother’s azalea bushes. I told him what happened as my heart was still racing.
We did not get to sleep in as expected. Coach Ross woke my grandmother, then she got Wyatt, Mitch, and me up. He detailed bombs being exploded and that RJ admitted we were all involved after Dale confirmed everything. Coach Ross forced us over to Jack’s house to clean up the littered bombs. Jack watched all of us clean up the debris, but then he invited us all in for breakfast. RJ followed his disappointed dad home for further punishment.
My dad pulled up with a groggy Whitley. Whitley’s face was pale, and I knew the sign meant trouble for me. My dad shouted for me and Wyatt to get in the car. My dad rarely got upset, especially with my sister.
I asked, “What’s up?”
He said, “You know what’s up. You three are going to apologize.”
I said, “For what?”
His chuckle indicated he knew the truth. We did not stop at the park, as I had hoped. My dad pointed over his shoulder, then asked, “Did this new kid put you up to this?” Whitley said no, and that was all the answer he needed.
We drove down the potholed driveway. I shook at what was at the end of the magnolia tree driveway. The place looked different by sunlight. The yard was nearly perfect despite the overgrown flower gardens. This estate was surely the pride of town once upon a time. Standing on the porch of the small shack was the local scavenger and his small red chihuahua. We walked past the garbage on the main house porch; the scattered tin cans and the wood scraps littered the green grass.
My dad introduced us to Cecil Bane. Cecil was a Vietnam veteran. Cecil was from a prominent family in town. While he was away fighting in Vietnam, his father, brother, and mother drowned in a boating accident. When he came back, he had nothing. He lived in the small shack beside his father’s big house, and he collected scrap and did odd jobs. My dad was friends with Cecil’s younger brother. My dad was one of the few people Cecil would speak to. I am not sure how Cecil knew it was Whitley, Wyatt, and me that set off bombs on his property.
My dad instructed us to pick up everything we had destroyed. My dad left us with Cecil, and he told us he would be back in one hour. Cecil just sat on his porch and held his dog, named Sweetie. She barked the entire time. Cecil pointed out things we had not broken to fix or clean.
Wyatt kept asking, “Are we safe?”
Whitley responded, “Of course. Can we get some water?”
I said nothing.
Cecil showed us the old clothesline and asked us to help put it back up. He said very little other than,” help me here.” It did not take us long to get it back up. All he needed was another set of hands.
After we finished helping Cecil with the clothesline, he asked if we wanted to come in for some Cheerwine. We all agreed. The small shack house was meticulously kept. The only clutter was a stack of week-old newspapers. He handed Wyatt his hound as he went back to grab Cheerwines. Wyatt let the dog lick all over his face, and he laughed. “This killer terrified me last night.”
Cecil looked different in the light of day. He was still large, but he had a kind smile. His long hair hid his cloudy eye and scarred face. An explosion in Vietnam had burned his face, and he was blind in one eye. A Purple Heart was beside a black-and-white photo of his family from when he was a boy.
Cecil came back with our Cheerwines. He thanked us for coming back. Wyatt told him, “Their dad made us.”
Cecil looked at Wyatt, then said, “You will always come back. I can tell that about you.” He looked at Whitley, then asked, “How is your cut?”
She said, “I’ll be fine.”
He told her, “Don’t neglect it, or it will get worse and you might miss a soccer game.”
It was not unusual for someone to mention soccer to Whitley, since she had been on the cover of The Swansville Orator a few times, but it was odd the old scavenger obviously knew who she was.
He looked at me and just said, “Are you okay?”
My quivering lip must’ve shown I was still terrified. I nodded.
Cecil took a deep breath. He stuttered, then he began, “Bombs scare me. That’s why I have Sweetie. She keeps me calm.”
I tried to apologize at the same time as both Wyatt and Whitley. He shook his head, then rubbed his dog’s head. “It’s okay, it’s okay.”
Wyatt stood up and gave the large man a hug. A single tear rolled down Cecil’s cheek. I heard my dad’s car hitting the potholes and stood up. Cecil grabbed me and Whitley both in for the hug too. The three of us hugged him as he mumbled, “Roads find rewards. Time will stop. Victory is the curse.”
Wyatt and Whitley had puzzled looks on their faces. My dad honked the horn, and we ran out.
Wyatt shouted, “See you around, Cecil!”
He smiled and waved.
Regular Season
We hoped for different outcome this season, but it was the same story with the same ending. Wyatt and the Castaways had very little impact on the league due to no pitching. Wyatt was tormented all season. He would get one at bat before the opposing coach strolled to the mound then told the pitcher to intentionally walk him. It made him more defiant, and he began to welcome the boos, and they rolled off him like rain. He confronted parents and was fearless throwing sand at the hostile fans whenever he deemed it necessary. He lost all his games, but he stood one hundred feet tall after each game because he knew he had left it all on the field and you knew deep down