Denny got off his bike, put it on the ground, and walked up to where the other kids were. The nine of them were passing around three footballs, catching them, dropping them, running, chasing each other zigzag, tackling, and getting back up. They had been there for a while, it seemed. Now there were ten.
Good, Denny thought. Two teams of five. “Hi Chris, hi Tommy, hi Peter.”
“Hi Denny. You wanna play?” asked Chris.
“Yeah, OK.”
“We played yesterday too. I had to play permanent quarterback, cause there was only nine. Ten is better.”
Chris and Peter decided they were captains, and quickly chose their teams. Chris picked Denny last.
“Put your bike over there, at the top of the ditch. That’ll be the endzone and the sideline” Chris told Denny, who ran over and moved his bike to the spot at the top of the ditch.
As he set his bike down, Denny heard the squeaking of a rusty bike chain, from the paved path between the two houses that bordered the field. Someone was pedalling fast. Then he heard the bike head right towards him, riding across the grass, the squeaking of the chain modulated by the bumpiness of the turf. It was far from a perfect ballfield.
Denny knew the bike was shiny orange metallic without looking, knew the handlebars were covered in tattered cork tape without looking, knew who was riding the bike without looking. It was Karl, who lived a little down the street from him.
Denny also knew why the chain was squeaky. They had ridden their bikes through a shallow creek yesterday, and both their chains had started making bad noises on the ride home. In fact, Denny had been worried that his father would hear the chain on his bike, and ask what the hell they had been up to. So Denny made sure to oil the chain til it was nice and quiet, before his father got home.
Karl had not.
“Hi Denny!”
“Hi Karl…”
“Whatcha doin’?”
“Playing football.”
“Football?” asked Karl.
“Yeah, but it’s five-on-five” answered Denny.
“Oh. What’s the score?”
“Zero-zero.”
“Oh.”
“I thought you were going to put some oil on your chain?” asked Denny. “I did mine.”
“Yeah, I forgot”, answered Karl. “Until I started riding, then I remembered because of the squeaking.”
“Uh-huh.”
“Did your sneakers dry out? Mine are still a little wet.”
Denny looked down at Karl’s sneakers. “Still muddy, too.”
“How long is the game gonna be?”
“I don’t know. Why?”
“When you’re done, we could go back to the creek and finish that obstacle course. Remember that jump? Right into the creek, like a movie stunt!”
“Yeah, I don’t know how long it’s going to go. And I might be kinda tired after.”
“Oh, OK,” said Karl, looking over at the other kids. “Well, I’m probably going to be there, if you want to come by after the game.”
“Don’t forget to oil the chain.”
Denny had looked at the chain on Karl’s bike, and the shoes on Karl’s feet, but not at the eyes on Karl’s face. He looked at the ground, and noticed three or four trampled dandelions. Karl got on his bike, turned, and rode back to the path between the two houses. He wasn’t pedalling as hard this time, so the squeaking was a little quieter. But still loud enough to carry across the field.
Denny jogged back to where his team was. As he got closer, they huddled. Denny got into the huddle, put his hands on his knees, and looked up. Everyone was staring right at him. It seemed like they were all holding their breath. He looked down at the grass, and noticed an intact dandelion.
How had that not gotten trampled? he wondered. With everybody running up and down the field? And tackling? And rolling around, and the ball bouncing all over the place?
After a second or two, he said “He’s a weirdo.”
The huddle breathed normally again. Chris called the play.
“Dog left twenty. On three. Break!”.
As they walked up to the line, Denny was relieved, and felt a little lighter. It was a good play for him. He would get the ball. He was “Dog”.
Chris hiked the ball, pitched it wide to Dog. Dog ran the ball strong through the other team, breaking three tackles, before hitting the turf hard.
“Good run, Dog.”
“Yeah, thanks.”
As he got up, grass stains on his knees and dirt on his elbows, he noticed another dandelion, also still intact.
He kicked it as hard as he could, sending the seeds floating just above ground as they scattered in the slight breeze.
