John Grisham - Bleechers

Cameron spoke first, very softly. "Who are those people up in the bleachers?"

"Players.I was up there last night and the night before, waiting for Rake to die."

"So they're allcoming home?"

"Most of us.You came home."

"Of course.We're burying our most famous citizen."

"You didn't like Rake, did you?"

"I was not a fan. Miss Lila is a strong woman, but she was no match for him. He was a dictator on the field, and he had trouble turning it off when he got home. No, I didn't care for Eddie Rake."

"You hated football."

"I hated you, and that made me hate football."

"Atta girl."

"It was silly.Grown men crying after a loss.The entire town living and dying with each game. Prayer breakfasts every Friday morning, as if God cares who wins a high school football game. More money spent on the football team than on all other student groups combined. Worshiping seventeen-year-old boys who quickly become convinced they are truly worthy of being worshiped. The double standard—a football player cheats on a test, everybody scrambles to cover it up. A nonathlete cheats, and he gets suspended.The stupid little girls who can't wait to give it up to a Spartan.All for the good of the team. Messina needs its young virgins to sacrifice everything. Oh, and I almost forgot. The Pep Girls! Each player gets his own little slave who bakes him cookies on Wednesday and puts a spirit sign in his front yard on Thursday and polishes his helmet on Friday and what do you get on Saturday, Neely, a quickie?"

"Only if you want it."

"It's a sad scene. Thank you for shoving me out of it."

Looking back with the clear hindsight of fifteen years, it did indeed seem silly.

"But you came to the games," Neely said.

"A few of them. You have any idea what this town is like on Friday night away from the field? There's not a soul anywhere. Phoebe Cox and I would sneak over here, on the visitors' side and watch the games. We always wanted Messina to lose, but it never happened, not here. We ridiculed the band and the cheerleaders and the Pep Squad and everything else, and we did so because we were not a part of it. I couldn't wait to get to college."

"I knew you were up here."

"No you didn't."

"I swear. I knew."

Faint laughter drifted across the field as another Rake story found its mark among his boys. Neely could barely make out Silo and Paul in a group of ten others just under the press box. The beer was flowing.

"After you took the plunge in the backseat," she said, "and I was tossed aside, we still had two years left in this place. There were moments when I would see you in the hall, or the library, or even in the classroom, and our eyes would meet, just for a second. Gone was the cocky sneer, the arrogant look of everybody's hero. Just for a split-second you would look at me like a real person, and I would know that you still cared. I would've taken you back in a heartbeat."

"And I wanted you."

"That's hard to believe."

"It's true."

"But, of course, the joy of sex."

"I couldn't help myself."

"Congratulations, Neely. You and Screamer began your adventures at the age of sixteen. Look at her now. Fat and tired."

"Did you ever hear the rumor that she was pregnant?"

"Are you kidding? Rumors are like mosquitoes in this town."

"The summer before our senior year, she tells me she's pregnant."

"What a surprise.Basic biology."

"So we drove to Atlanta, got an abortion, drove back to Messina. I swear I never told a soul."

"Rested twenty-four hours, then back in the rut."

"Close."

"Look, Neely, I'm really tired of your sex life. It was my curse for many years. Eitherchange the subject, or I'm out of here."

Another long awkward pause as they watched the receiving line and thought about what to say next.A breeze blew in their faces and she held her arms close to her chest. He fought the desire to reach over and hold her. It wouldn't work.

"You've asked nothing about my life these days," he said.

"I'm sorry. I stopped thinking about you a long time ago. I can't lie,Neely . You're just not a factor anymore."

"You were always blunt."

"Blunt is good. It saves so much time."

"I sell real estate, live alone with a dog, date a girl I really don't like, date another one with two children, and I really miss my ex-wife."

"What caused the divorce?"

"She cracked up. She miscarried twice, the second one in the fourth month. I made the mistake of telling her I once paid for an abortion, so she blamed me for losing the babies. She was right. The real cost of an abortion is much more than the lousy three hundred bucks at the clinic."

"I'm sorry."

"Ten years to the week after Screamer and I made our little road trip to Atlanta, my wife had the second miscarriage. A little boy."

"I really want to leave now." "I'm sorry.

* * *

They sat on the front steps again. The lights were off. Mr. and Mrs. Lane were asleep. It was after eleven. "I think you should go now," Cameron said after a few minutes.

"You're right."

"You said earlier that you think about me all the time now. I'm curious as to why."

"I had no idea how painful a broken heart can be until my wife packed up and left. It was a nightmare. For the first time, I realized what you had suffered through. I realized how cruel I had been."

"You'll get over it.Takes about ten years."

"Thanks."

He walked down the sidewalk, then turned around and walked back. "How old is Jack?" he asked.

"Thirty-seven."

"Then, statistically, he should die first. Give me a call when he's gone. I'll be waiting."

"Sure you will."

"I swear. Isn't it comforting to know that someone will always be waiting for you?"

"I hadn't thought about it."

He leaned down and looked her in the eyes. "Can I kiss you on the cheek?"

"No."

"There's something magical about the first love, Cameron, something I'll miss forever."

"Good-bye Neely."

"Can I say I love you?"

"No.Good-bye Neely."

Friday

Messina mourned like never before. By ten on Friday morning the shops and cafes and offices around the square were locked. All students were dismissed from school. The courthouse was closed. The factories on the edges of the town were shut down, a free holiday, though few felt like celebrating.

Mal Brown placed his deputies around the high school, where by mid-morning the traffic was bumper to bumper on the road to Rake Field. By eleven, the home stands were almost full, and the ex-players, the former heroes, were gathering and milling around the tent at the fifty-yard line. Most of them wore their green game jerseys, a gift to every senior. And most jerseys were stretched tighter around the midsections. A few—the lawyers and doctors and bankers—wore sports coats over their game shirts, but the green was visible.

From the bleachers up above the fans looked down at the tent and the field and enjoyed the chance to identify their old heroes. Those with retired numbers caused the most excitement. "There's Roman Armstead, number 81, played for the Packers."—"There'sNeely, number 19."

The senior class string quartet played under the tent and the P.A. system lifted its sounds from end zone to end zone. The town kept coming.

There would be no casket. Eddie Rake was already in the ground. Miss Lila and her family arrived without ceremony and spent half an hour hugging former players in front of the tent. Just before noon, the priest appeared, and then a choir, but the crowd was far from settled. When the home bleachers were full, they began lining the fence around the track. There was no hurry. This was a moment Messina would cherish and remember.

Rake wanted his boys on the field, packed around the small podium near the edge of the tent. And he wanted them to wear their jerseys, a request that had been quietly spread in his last days. A tarp covered the track and several hundred folding chairs had been arranged in a half-moon. Around twelve-thirty, Father McCabe gave the signal and the players began packing into their seats. Miss Lila and the family sat in the front rows.