Where is my little boy?
What happened to that kid who used to wake me up early on a Saturday morning by bouncing a ball off my chest? "Come on, Dad! Let's go! Dad! Come on!"
And who is this man in my kitchen, drinking coffee? A lot has happened in the year that I've been . . . away. He looks up as I enter the kitchen. "Morning, Dad."
"You're up early. Have you already eaten?" I take a seat at the bar and look down at him as he sits on the couch.
"Yeah. I just had cereal."
"What do you have planned today? Want to go to the park and toss a ball around?"
He looked up at me. "I can't, I have training today."
"Training?"
"I thought I told you. It's on the calendar."
I get up and look. K-training is written on several days. "So it is. What's that about?"
Thankfully, he refrains from rolling his eyes. "I've got a lot of catching up to do. Three mornings a week, I have special training sessions to bring me up to where the other guys are. Then I come home for lunch, and go back for the regular practice in the afternoon."
"Will you be alone, or will you have company?"
"Do you mind company?"
"Not really." They're a pretty well-behaved bunch of guys, overall. Some of them are regulars, some only come once in a while. I still don't know all their names yet.
He takes a sip of his coffee, and that's when I realize that it's not coffee after all. It's tea. Since when did Kit start drinking tea? Tricia drank it all the time, but that was a long time ago. It must be something he picked up from Len and Kase.
"I'm heading out pretty soon," he says. "I'll be back around noon."
"You and how many?"
"I don't know. How many is too many?" he asks, with a grin. "Maybe four or five of us. That okay?"
"You know your friends are always welcome here."
He finishes his tea, gets up and puts the cup in the sink. "Gotta go. See you later, Dad."
"Have a good session," I tell him. I was surprised when I found out how good a fighter he is. I was raised with the principles of nonviolence, and I've always tried to teach Kit the same thing, but if he can hold his own against guys who've been training since they were six years old, that's something to be proud of.
Eventually I get up and fix my own breakfast, and sit down again thinking about how different all this would be if Tricia were still here. Would any of the events of the past year even have happened? Probably not.
It's funny how she pops into my head at odd moments. Not a day goes by that I don't miss her, but she's not often in the front of my mind. I have this mental image of her cleaning footprints off the mirrors and making sandwiches all the time she's complaining about unplanned company. I think she would have been cool with this, once she got used to it.
After I finish breakfast, I take a shower and get dressed, then I look over my To Do list for the day. It was Kit's idea, believe it or not. We have a lot of white boards around the house we use for communication and planning and stuff like that. My daily To Do list is on the back of my door. I've never been a list type of guy, and I didn't think Kit was either; I guess it must be something else he picked up from Kase or Len.
My list is a short one: Get milk, light bulbs, new shower curtain. Seems pretty easy. Depending on where I go, I could get them all in one trip. No rush, though, I have all morning.
Half an hour later, I'm sitting in a coffee shop, experiencing the joy of being able to complete the crossword puzzle myself. Usually, that Chance kid has it already done before I've even got a look at the paper. He's a nice guy, and he and Kit are pretty tight already, but I'm tired of opening the paper and finding the crossword already filled in-in ink.
Last week, I had a surprise for him when he showed up. I had bought him a big book of New York Times crosswords-tough ones. He thanked me and went to work on it right away.
Two hours later I found him sprawled across the couch watching wrestling.
"Did you give up on the puzzles?" I asked.
"No," he said. "I finished them."
"All of them? There were two hundred puzzles in that book!"
"I'm good at puzzles," he said.
"We don't keep him around just for his good looks," said the other boy, I think his name is Hunter or something.
Since then, I've been hiding the paper so Chance won't get hold of it before I do. I guess they all have their little quirks. One of them, I've heard, has amazing recall. I'm not sure which one. I think I've met them all, but after a while, they all get confused in my mind. I was calling Price John for the longest time, before he finally corrected me.
I linger over the coffee and the paper as long as I can, and then I finally get up and go about my errands. There's a hardware store a block away where I can get the light bulbs and possibly the shower curtain as well. I'll get the milk last, on my way home.
By the time I have everything done and I'm heading home, it's quarter of twelve. I think briefly about picking up some takeout for lunch, then decide to see how many people I'm buying for before ordering anything. Besides, I don't know what everyone will be in the mood for.
I get in the door only to find that they're already here. Looks like five today; Kit, Len, and Kase, plus Chance (good thing I did the crossword already) and one I don't think I've met yet.
"You guys want to order something?" I ask.
"We thought we'd just make sandwiches," Kit says. "Dad, this is Quinn. I don't think you've met before."
"It's a pleasure to meet you, sir," Quinn says, sticking out his hand. I take it and try to recall any mention of a Quinn. I think I remember something . . . he's the one who likes Harry Potter, isn't he?
"Nice to meet you too, Quinn. You don't have to call me sir. We're not formal here. You can just call me Frank, like everyone else."
Well, almost everyone else. Kase and Len have started calling me Dad sometimes. They're my other kids, and I love them like my own. We're all family here.
"Okay," I say, going to the fridge. "Who wants grilled cheese sandwiches?"
"I'll take two," Chance says. He's lying across the couch, his feet hanging over the edge. He never sits when he can lie, and when he can't, he leans back and takes up as much room vertically as he can. I see him reaching for the paper when he thinks I'm not looking. Boy, is he going to get a surprise.
"So how did the training go today?" I ask as I'm getting ingredients out and greasing up the big frying pan.
"Pretty good," Kit says. "I'm trying to find my attribute."
"Your what?"
"Every Rider has one," Len explains. "It's the thing that defines him-or her-most."
"Like something you're good at."
"No, it's something you are. It's hard to explain . . ."
"And how do you find this attribute?"
"By getting your butt kicked, apparently," Kit says with a smile.
"Just your luck you drew Ian for a partner," says Chance. "He doesn't do anything halfway."
"Have I met this Ian?" I ask.
Kit is shaking his head and chuckling. "Dad, if you'd met Ian, you'd remember him. He never stops moving. Even when he's sitting still, some part of him is still moving. He has a lot of restless energy."
"Reminds me of someone else I know." I have four sandwiches cooking. I flip them over, and get four more ready to go. At this rate, this'll take all day, and these kids can eat faster than I can cook.
"Want some help?" Kase is beside me, getting out the other frying pan and spraying cooking oil all over it. "You look like you've got your hands full."
"Thanks, hon." She really is a sweetheart. She doesn't mind helping with the cooking or the cleaning, as long as she's not the only one doing it.
And Kit is pouring the milk and passing it out, without even being asked. That's a first. What a difference a year makes, huh?
It's some time before I'm finally able to sit down and eat myself. These kids can really pack away the food, but with all the activity they do, they need the calories. There's not a single crumb left over by the time they're picking up their plates and putting them in the sink.
"Don't just dump them!" Kase scolds them. "Rinse them off and stack them on the counter. Honestly," she says to me, rolling her eyes, "if I didn't keep after them, they wouldn't do anything!"
"That is not true!" Chance protests. "I washed a dish last night!"
"A dish," she points out. "And you didn't so much wash it as run it under the water and take a few swipes at it with a cloth."
"Still counts."
She looks at me like You see what I have to work with?
"Just leave it, guys," I tell them. "I'll get it. I don't mind."
Kase just shrugs and steps aside while the guys rinse and stack. "Come on, let's go, we've got to get back by one."
"We've got plenty of time!" Chance sits back down on the couch and opens the paper, looking for the crossword. Cue surprise in three, two, one . . .
"Oh, man!" He looks over at me. "You finished it already?"
"Maybe you should buy your own paper."
"Maybe you should get two."
"We have to go," Kase reminds him.
Kit is just getting his jacket on. "You'll be home for dinner?" I ask him.
"Course I will! Might have a few people with me."
"Not a problem."
"We'll pick up something." He comes over and puts an arm around me in an unusual display of affection. "See you, Dad."
"Have fun."
Len comes over to say goodbye. "Don't let those guys hit him too hard," I tell him.
He just smiles. "Kit? He gives as good as he gets. He doesn't need my help."
"He's that good, huh?"
"You should come watch him sometime."
"Maybe I will."
Kase is next. "Bye, sweetheart. Thanks for all your help."
"Oh, no problem. I actually like cooking now. I just wish I could get these guys to take their turn," she says, aiming a dirty look at Chance.
"What?" he says, throwing up his hands. "I cook!
"Heating up a frozen lasagna is not cooking!"
"It's as close as I'm gonna get!"
"You guys," she says, shaking her head. And then she steps into the mirror, like it's one of those beaded curtains my parents used to have.
Chance is the next to go. "Frank, Frank," he says, shaking his head. "You knew I was coming, didn't you? That's why you did the crossword ahead of time."
"Do yourself a favor. Invest the seventy-five cents."
"Maybe I will." He smiles, claps me on the shoulder, and he's gone.
Quinn has been hanging back the whole time. I get the feeling he's a bit shy, especially around people he doesn't know very well. "It was nice to meet you, Quinn."
"Nice to meet you, too, si-Frank."
"You were raised to respect your elders. I'm impressed."
He looked a little sad. "I wish I could have impressed my dad. No chance of that now."
"Why not?"
"He was killed in action."
"I'm sorry."
"It was a long time ago. And I hadn't seen him since I was two, but still . . ."
"Yeah, I know. It could be ten years, or a hundred, and it still feels like yesterday." That's exactly how I feel about Tricia. "Maybe . . . maybe he's somewhere where he can see you, and he's proud of you."
"You think so?" He looks up at me hopefully.
"Absolutely. Our loved ones are never really gone; they're just somewhere out of reach. Now don't keep them waiting too long." I can see them in the mirror, on the other side, waiting for him.
"Oh, right. Um . . . thanks." He just stands there for a moment, and then he steps into the mirror.
Once he's gone, I finish the dishes, wash out the pans, and then I sit down and think about a lot of things. I really do believe that she's still here. Sometimes I can feel her, not as if she's in the room, but like she just stepped out for a moment and she'll be right back. I know she'd be proud of what our little boy has made of himself.
Just like I'm proud of him.