All the characters
except J and her dad belong to Disney.
Bugs Bunny belongs to Warner Brothers.
Though I'm not sure if I need a disclaimer for
that. Do i? if it's only mentioned, not characters used? Oh well.
The disclaimer's here anyway.
Chapter 6
Of course,
J was right up there in the stands, screaming her lungs out, for the Titans'
final game, right?
If you're thinking that, you're wrong. J decided that instead, she'd
watch the game with Gerry in his hospital room.
"You know, to keep him company and all," she was quoted as
saying.
The
screaming lungs out part, however, is true. Gerry and J's combined angry and excited
voices could be heard echoing all down the hallway. At one point, J left to get something to eat. Right, apparently, when Gerry
chucked a pillow at one of the nurses.
J was upset that she missed that.
Always claimed that Gerry wouldn't have missed
if she'd been there to coach him.
***
During
halftime, while everyone was in the locker room, the phone in the Coach's
office rang. Boone ran to go get
it. "Hello?"
"Hey,
Coach." Boone's face brightened
slightly.
"Oh, hey Gerry. How you doing?"
"Not
too good, Coach. It's killin' me to see how you guys are doing out
there." Bone smiled in spite of
himself. Gerry was recovering rapidly
and quite nicely.
"Well,
we just had a bit of a bad start. I
think we're gonna do much
better, you just wait and see. Lemme give your message to the team." This Boone did, and was sent back to the
phone with many salutations and well-wishes to Gerry
from the rest of the Titans. Then J
grabbed the phone from Gerry after he received his message.
"Hey Coach Boone."
Now Boone broke out into a full grin, unable to contain his
amusement. J sure was something. Her and Sheryl…girls like them were hard to
come by.
"Hello there J.
Want me to tell the team something for you?" There was a pause that
sounded oddly like an intake of breath.
"Sure. WHAT are you guys DOING out there?! Whatever it is, it
sure isn't football!" Boone had to
pull away from the phone a bit, least he be rendered deaf. In the background, he could vaguely hear
pacing (at least as much pacing as one can do when inhibited by a phone
cord). "If you guys don't shape up
soon, I'm gonna come down there, steal a uniform, go
out on the field, and show you how it's done!
I'll win this thing myself!"
Suppressing a laugh, Coach replied,
"Alright,
I'll give the boys your 'message of encouragement.'"
***
As we all
know, the Titans shaped up second half and finished the game with a suspenseful
but spectacular win. Whether or not
Gerry and J's "pep talk" had anything to do with it has yet to be
proven. J let Gerry have a few moments
of silent victory, then pounded upon him in a
triumphant hug that consisted of much cheery and energy. Their celebration was cut short when the
phone rang. It was Alan.
"Alan, hey! Wow,
you guys did awesome out there! I didn't have to come down and impersonate a
team member."
"Jules,
you ARE a team member. You wouldn't need to impersonate. Hey, I wanna
talk to you, but let's do it later, in person.
Can I talk to Gerry for a sec?"
"Sure." J handed the phone to Gerry. "It's Alan." Gerry accepted the phone,
"Hey,
man! That was so great of you, letting Petey in. Awesome
win!"
"Hey,
thanks Gerry. Look, the rest of the guys and I have a message for you. You know that win you just mentioned? That one was for you."
Thus the Titans ended their perfect season. But our story is far
from over. In fact, it has just barely
begun.
***
December 23, 1971. The first day of Christmas break. One day before J's 17th
birthday. 4 pm in the
evening. J's father, Gregory
McConnell, has just returned from being gone since 1 o'clock that afternoon.
Gregory
walked into his house and beckoned for his daughter. "C'mon Red," (Red
was J's father's nickname for her) "put on a coat."
"Coming,
Dad," J called back as she thumped down the stairs. "Where are we going?" she asked as
she pulled on her coat.
"Over
to the Yoast's," J's father answered, opening
the door and ushering J out. The redhead
tried, unsuccessfully, to hide her smile.
She always loved hanging out with Sheryl and Coach. Then there was the obvious reason.
"What're
we going over there for? We already had
a birthday part…is this some sort of Christmas get-together thing? We've had them sometimes." J had gotten her cryptic smile from her
father, of that there was no doubt. For
with the familiar unrevealing tone in his voice, Gregory answered,
"Sure,
why not?"
***
When they
arrived, Sheryl and Coach were waiting in the living room, coats on. As soon as J stepped in the door, her father
asked, "You ready?" to them.
"You
bet. Let's go," Coach
answered.
"What—wait—where
are we going?" sputtered J.
"WE
are going to the movies, then dinner," Sheryl stated matter-of-factly on
her way out.
"Maybe
do a little last-minute Christmas shopping," Coach added. "You two have fun, okay?" he said
to J and Alan, who had just sauntered out of the kitchen, hands thrust in his
pockets.
"Yes,"
Mr. McConnell continued. "Behave
while we're gone." He
"menacingly" pointed a finger at J, but his gaze was directed at
Alan. The youth extracted a hand from
his pocket and waved goodbye.
"Yessir." Gregory grimaced,
"Don't
call me sir, please. Sounds
all stuffy and formal. The name's
Greg."
"Uhh…will do, sir." Chuckling, J's father turned and departed
with Coach and Sheryl. J was still
standing in the center of the room, baffled, coat on, soundlessly working her
jaw.
"What
just happened?" she asked slowly.
Alan grinned as he walked up to her.
"You might wanna take your coat
off." Blushing, J did so. "And they left, you heard what they
said."
"Then
why are we…" J spun around to look about her, as if in the Yoast's house for the very first time. Alan took both of J's hands and gently pulled
her into the dining room.
"We,
on the other hand, are staying here. So
I can repay you for that fabulous day at the beach a little over a month
ago." All confusion cleared and was replaced by awe when J took full notice of her
surroundings.
The room
was done in anything fancy, but to J, it was beautiful. The room was candlelit, but not dimly. A vase with 3 or 4
white roses, her favorite, adorned the center of the tape. In the place of fine china, or even regular
tableware, were Bugs Bunny cups, plates, and napkins. The spoons, forks, and knives were plastic. "Bugs is your
favorite," Alan said after J was done gaping, "so I figured you'd
like this. And
anything but plastic would have looked stupid with the plates. Besides, I know you'd yell at me if you
thought anything was too formal."
"Aw,
Alan," J turned to meet his gaze, eyes shimmering. "Thank you, I…" she paused to sniff
the air. "What is that wonderful
smell?"
Alan
beamed, "just sit down and hold tight for a sec—it's your birthday date
and this time I'm doing the work—and I'll show you." He disappeared into the kitchen for a minute
or so, soon returning with a big bowl of steaming spaghetti and another bowl of
thick tomato sauce—the source of the heavenly scent. "I made it all myself, so I had to pick
something where I wouldn't burn the house down while making it.
J picked up
her fork, then caught and held Alan's eyes with hers. "It's perfect. Trust me."
Alan's face
reflected both gratitude and relief.
"Good. Thanks. But, you haven't eaten anything yet. You might want to before you decide how great
it is…"
***
A pensive
look had settled upon J's face since tasting the tomato sauce, but she hadn't as of yet asked any questions. Finally, Alan couldn't
stand it anymore. "How bad is
it?" he asked weakly. J snapped out
of her ponderings.
"Oh,
Alan, it's great! It's just…"
"Just
what?" mumbled Alan as he played with his napkin.
"Where
did you get the sauce? Like, what brand
is it? Because it tastes so familiar,
but I can't seem to place exactly what it is.
Alan was
tearing little strips from his napkin.
"It's not a brand sauce.
It's a recipe."
Surprise
played about J's face. "A recipe? Really? What
recipe?"
Alan ran
his tongue along his bottom teeth for a moment before answering. "Your mother's."
"Mom's?"
whispered J, no solid emotions showing thoroughly in her voice or face. Her father had tried to make the sauce a
couple of times, but he wasn't a master when it came
to cooking. Each batch he'd made had been good, but not, apparently, Melinda
McConnell's famous tomato sauce. So Gregory had given up.
J's first real food, only a few weeks before her mother's death, had
been spaghetti with her mother's sauce.
The sauce tonight, the
taste, had been haunting
her, like a ghost of a memory.
Now she knew what it was.
"How?" she eventually managed to ask.
"Well,
when I was planning this dinner, I wanted to make something special. I went to your dad for help, and he told me
that the only thing he could think of was spaghetti with your mother's
sauce. But h said that no one had been
able to make it since…well, I figured I'd give it a try." Alan stood up and lit another candle, for it
was getting dark in the room.
"That's where your dad was all afternoon, over here taste-testing
for me. It took me four batches until I
got it right. He was so happy, your dad,
when he tasted the final batch. He got
this joyful look on his face first, that faded to wistfulness, but back to
cheery a moment later. He clapped me on
the back and thanked me for what I was doing.
Meant a lot to him…" Alan
trailed off as he noticed J starting at him, eyes shining.
"Thank
you. I—thank you."
Alan gazed
warmly back at her. "It's my
pleasure." His face turned kiddish, like a little child who was presenting a present
that he had made to his mother.
"Now it's time for desert."
***
Chocolate covered
strawberries. Her
favorite. Now, with a full
stomach and a contented sigh, J plopped down on the couch to wait for
Alan. They had just finished cleaning
the kitchen—Alan wanted to do it alone but J insisted that she help—and Alan
had told J to wait in the living room for him while he ran up to his room to
get something. Gazing
at the roaring flames before her (the couch was directly in front of the
fireplace), J was reminded of Alan. His warmth. All that he'd been
through to get to here, and J couldn't help but be boggled by the concept. How did Alan turn out to be as sweet, kind,
and loving as he was? He certainly didn't learn that from his biological parents.
J turned
her head to watch Alan as he thudded down the stairs. He was carrying a gift—it looked like a large
book. J's eyebrows peaked when she saw
what it was wrapped in—newspaper. Alan
pointed to the print as he sat down next to her. "The sports section. Your favorite."
"Cute,"
was J's reply as her lips curled in a little smile. She ripped through the paper to reveal the
present—it was indeed a book. Homemade, from the look of it. Light blue cardboard outside with plain white
paper inside. J gasped as she flipped
through the pages. There, placed inside
the book, were pictures, drawings, notes, newspaper clippings…all related to
her and Alan. One of the pictures at the
beginning was an old black and white photograph of three heads (if the picture
had been color, one sandy-blonde, one dark red, and the other dirt brown) sticking
out of a mass of bubbles inside a bathtub.
"Me, you, and Gerry, age two," murmured J, reading the
caption—in Alan's handwriting—beneath.
"Where did you get all of these?" J asked, studying all of the
old photographs.
Alan
shrugged as he watched J's delighted face with joy. "It wasn't that hard. Just went to your dad and Mrs. Bertier. They had
all sorts of stuff, and Coach had some of those newspaper clippings." The newspaper cut-outs,
some from the local newspaper about little-league football, and others from
their junior-high school's newspaper, all mentioned Gerry and Alan, some even
mentioned J. One school newspaper
clipping in particular was from 2 years before, when J had been named honorary
football team member since she was at every practice and game.
There was
even some recent memorabilia, including the picture of her and Alan from the
log flume a month before. Curiously, J
scanned the 20 or so blank pages still in the book. "What are these for?"
"The
future," replied Alan simply. J's
features softened as she grinned at him, smile deepening when she noticed the
caption on the book's front cover.
"Us: A
Scrapbook," she read aloud.
"Alan…thank you. This is the sweetest thing…" J broke off
as she hugged him tightly.
"I'm
glad you like it," responded Alan.
A few minutes later found the couple, still side by side, staring at the
crackling fire. "So…did this year
beat last year?" Alan asked.
"You
bet," laughed J. "But
what about you? I never did find
out—did I manage to top myself?"
"Hmm…I
don't know…" Alan stroked his chin in mock-thought. "It's kind hard to out-do a fake party
followed by a surprise party."
J rolled
her eyes. "I'm only glad that
you're so predictable and went trudging off to the Yoast's. I mean, if I'd told Gerry that his 16th
birthday party was at my house, then he'd shown up and found the place
deserted, he would have went sulking back home.
Luckily, you got curious and decided to go ask Coach if you'd had the date right, and there you found all of us waiting
for you with a surprise party. If you
had gone somewhere else, I dunno what we would have
done."
Alan
chuckled fondly at the memory. It
certainly had been an interesting birthday, though one that had turned out to
be an absolute blast. "This year was
better, though," he announced.
"I mean, I got a party and a whole day with you. What could be better?"
J returned
Alan's warm smile. "I agree. Same with my
birthday."
***
45 minutes
later, when Coach, Sheryl, and Mr. McConnell returned, they found Alan and J
curled up on the couch in front of a dying fire, fast asleep. J's head was on Alan's shoulder, his head
resting on top of hers. The scrapbook
was lying beside them. "Should we
wake them?" Sheryl whispered.
"I
don't really have the heart," answered Coach.
"It's okay, let them sleep," Gregory decided. "Send J back home in the
morning." And
that Coach did.