The Caretaker

Tim knocked on the office door and looked in. Mrs. Taylor was on the phone, but signaled for him to come in and take a seat. Tim crossed the room and dropped into the chair across from her desk, his backpack falling off his shoulder and onto the floor next to his feet.

"Sure. I can do that," Mrs. Taylor said to the person on the phone. "Okay, take care!"

She hung up the phone and turned to smile at Tim. "Sorry about that. I can't seem to get off the church ladies' list for funeral food."

Tim nodded slightly, not sure how to respond to that.

"So, I got your mid-term reports and good job, Tim. I'm really impressed, but we need to start talking about your plans for next year," the coach's wife said as she opened up the folder in front of her. "What are you thinking, Tim?"

Tim looked up at her, his face blank. Thinking? About college?

"Tim?" Mrs. Taylor asked, snapping her fingers. "You in there? College? You plan on going?"

"Uh…I…I don't know," Tim replied. "Can I?"

Tami looked down at Tim's file and read over the grades and reports. After a moment, she looked back up at Tim. His hair was falling into his eyes as usual; his worn plaid shirt was clean, but with one more snap undone than was really necessary. "Well, I have to be completely honest; your grades aren't super strong, even with your latest turn around."

"Yeah," Tim responded. He knew. School had always been a means to an end. Jason had been on his case to pay more attention to it, but he had been the only one. Billy had never come to a teacher conference, let alone asked Tim if he had done his homework or how his grades were.

"But I know Eric has gotten some calls about you. Have you talked to any recruiters?"

Tim nodded. "A couple, I guess. Uh, A&M, Texas Tech, San Angelo State."

"Well, you could possibly get in there—more likely Tech or San Angelo. Have you thought about a two year option?"

Tim shook his head.

"What's your plan, Tim? You need to start thinking about this. You need to take the SAT. Frankly, you should have taken it three months ago."

Tim dropped his head and didn't respond.

"Tim?"

Tim looked up at her, his hair hanging over his eyes, but not completely obscuring the tears that threatened in his eyes. "I—I don't know what to do, Mrs. Taylor," he replied, his voice choking slightly.

Tami nodded, but didn't speak.

"Nothing is the way it's supposed to be," Tim added. "Street. Lyla. Football. None of it."

"How's it going with Jason?" Tami asked gently.

"Bad," Tim responded. "He—he won't talk to me. I mean, I went over there and I tried, but he can't do it and I don't blame him. I hate me—of course he does too.

"And I want to do something to help Lyla, but anything I do just makes it worse for her. God, I can't believe how they treat her."

"Girls are cruel," Tami replied. "And while I can see what you're trying to do, it's not really helping."

"Yeah," Tim said. "She told me that. Tyra told me that. Street wanted to know why I was asking him to help her. Guess he doesn't get it like the girls do."

"But you have talked to him?"

Tim sighed and shifted nervously in his seat. "Yeah, I went over there last week."

"And how did that go?" Tami asked, her voice filled with concern.

"How do you expect? I messed up royally and now my best friend hates me and is totally alone when he needs us the most."

"Uh huh," Tami replied. "But what about you?"

"What do you mean?" Tim asked.

"How are you doing?"

Tim looked down at his knees and picked at a hole in his jeans with his thumb. After a moment, he looked back up at Mrs. Taylor. "I don't know what I'll do—I don't know if Street will ever forgive me and if he doesn't…"

"And what about Lyla?"

Tim looked away from the counselor. "She's Street's girl. Even if they're having trouble, she's his girl."

"Do you care about her?" Tami asked.

Tim didn't answer.

"It wouldn't be totally shocking if you did, Tim. You're seventeen. Your best friend has been badly hurt; changing all the expectations you had for your future. You don't have a lot of other people to turn to with your parents gone and she was there when you needed her. That means something and the two of you have shared an experience that no one else at this school can understand."

"But it was wrong," Tim said quietly.

"Of course it was," Tami responded. "But it happened and you have to deal with that. What do you want, Tim?"

"For it not to have happened," Tim answered quickly.

"Well, like the Rolling Stones said, you can't always get what you want," Tami replied. "What else?"

"For Jason to forgive me. For us to be friends again."

"That's fair," Tami answered. "I don't know if it's possible, but if that's what you want, then there are some things you can do."

Tim looked up at Tami. "Like what?"

"Ask him."

"I did," Tim shot back.

"No, I bet you went over there and said you were sorry and you wish you hadn't done it. Am I right?"

Tim nodded.

"Okay, so you need to go back over there again and ask him to forgive you. Tell him you want to be his friend and that you'll wait. And then you have to do it."

"Do what?" Tim asked.

"You have to wait and see if he can forgive you."

Tim walked down the hallway thinking about what Mrs. Taylor had said. Being friends with Jason had always been the easy thing about life. Sure, Jay had teased him about letting the Rally Girls do his homework in a way that Tim knew he didn't really approve of it, but he also didn't hold it against Tim.

The loss of the friendship left a hole bigger than anything else—his dad leaving, losing his mom; none of it felt like Jason punching him and chasing him away.

He heard Tyra call to him, but ignored her and walked out to his truck. He had to go over to Jason's right now, before he lost his nerve.

Tim pulled up in front of Jason's house. It had been dark the other night when he had come to see Jay and he hadn't really noticed the changes they had to make before Jason came home. Mr. Street had done a really good job with the ramp. It didn't even look weird or anything.

Jay's jeep was still sitting in the driveway. It was weird to think that he'd never drive it again. Tim thought he'd be jealous when the Streets gave Jason the car for his 16th birthday, but instead it had opened up the world to them. They had been able to jump into the jeep and head down to the lake any time they wanted to—they could sure get farther in that jeep than they did on their bikes.

There was a new minivan next to the jeep, complete with handicapped plates. Somehow the plates seemed more permanent. It made sense—they give you the hangtag when you rip up your knee and are on crutches for six months. Tim knew that Jason wasn't going to walk. The chair was for real.

How had everything gotten so messed up? Landry was right. His life was turning into some tragic Steinbeck novel. No wonder he'd been able to make Ms. Levine happy with the report—wasn't he living it every single day now?

It was senior year, with a new coach, who was going to take them somewhere. Street was going to be all-state as quarterback and Tim was going to be there right next to him as an all-state fullback. Jason would go to Notre Dame and Tim might go to Tech. Street would play in the NFL and when he came home, Tim would be there and they'd get that hunting ranch.

And even if none of that other stuff had happened, they would have had their senior year. They had pretty girls to date and a ton of fun ahead of them. There was football, parties, and just hanging out and enjoying their last months together.

He knew Mrs. Taylor was right. He had to talk to Jason again. He had to ask for it—for forgiveness.

Tim pushed the door to the truck open and got out. He had driven his truck over to this house so many times before. It seemed so foreign to feel nervous outside Street's house. For so many years, it had been the one place he had felt comfortable.

He walked up the sidewalk and knocked on the door. Jason's mom opened the door up on his second knock.

"Tim," she said, a tired smile on her face.

"Hi, Mrs. Street," Tim replied. "Is—is Jason around?"

"Yes, but," she started.

"He doesn't want to see me," Tim stated.

Mrs. Street nodded. "He won't tell me what happened between you boys—with Lyla, but I wish y'all could work it out. He's really fragile, Tim. Maybe you should wait until he's ready."

"I know, ma'am. I just—I just want a chance to ask him something."

Mrs. Street cast a glance down the hallway towards Jason's new bedroom. "He's in his room. He's been trying to do some review work the tutor brought over earlier."

"Thank you, Mrs. Street," Tim said as he stepped past her and headed for Jason's room.

Tim tapped on the door and then pushed it open.

Jason was sitting at the desk, a book open. He had some kind of cuff on his right hand, covering a couple of his fingers.

"Jay?" Tim asked as he stepped into the room. He looked over at his friend, his eyes caught on Jason's rolled up hands. He used to watch in awe as Jason slid his hands around the football, controlling which way it went across the field, how far it would fly into the intended receiver's hands. It wasn't just that Jay would never run down the field again, but he would never throw a ball like that—control the field through the power of his fingers and arms.

Jason ignored Tim's entrance into his room, his attention staying on his book.

"I know you said you needed some time, but I came to ask you for something," Tim said quietly as he stood in the open door.

"Ask me for something?" Jason responded, still not looking at Tim.

"Yeah," Tim answered. "I—you're my best friend, Six. And I know I'm not in a place to ask for anything, but I wanted to ask you to please forgive me. I can't force you to do that and I won't bug you about it, but I wanted to ask you to forgive me and to please be my friend again."

Jason pushed back from the desk and turned to face Tim. He didn't say anything for a moment, then lifted himself slightly in his seat and looked up at Tim. "I want to forgive you. I want to forgive you and to forgive Lyla for what you did. I hate how this makes me feel.

"But, I can't force that, Timmy. I can't just decide that I'm past what happened—what you did. And I don't know if I can ever get there."

Tim nodded. "I get you, Six. I just had to come over here and say it, in case you didn't know. I know there's nothin' I can do to make this better for you and that kills me. I don't know why I do the things I do—how I let this happen - but I've never felt more sorry about anything in my life."

"It's gonna take time, Tim. I know you don't want to, but you just have to let me be with this and see what happens."

Tim nodded, stood without saying anything else and then reached out and took Jason's hand in his. Jason didn't pull away. He held it for a moment, squeezed Jason's cramped fingers and then turned to leave. Forgive me, he mouthed as he left.