Chapter L: Possession Obsession

Chapter Fifty: Possession Obsession

A man of my word, I didn't waste any time in painting Poncho black and delivering to R. She coldly offered to give me a ride home, but I wanted to punish myself so elected to walk. I also didn't want to be there when Rachel tried to put Poncho into Drive. It had taken a great effort to navigate Poncho over the Sagamore Bridge. I ran my hands over the hood one last time and drifted down the driveway.
Since Rachel lived in Langdonville I had the pleasure of walking the length of Sagamore Road again, past where the badge pulled me over, past Skip's house, past the garage Vance and I bought Poncho at, and over the Sagamore River bridge. I stood on the metal grate bridge as cars sang their way across and looked into the plodding river. I listened for some explanation from the tides, some sublime moment of psychic clarity like when Siddhartha sat beneath the Bodhi tree or when Luke Skywalker flew his X-Wing fighter into the Death Star, or when “Ducky” defends “Andie” in Pretty in Pink. I just wanted to know there was a larger cause worth fighting for. But all I heard was the waste water from a “Live Lobster” roadside stand flush into the river. If there was some message nearby it must have been hidden in the cryptic graffiti that kids drew on the underside of the bridge before jumping into the water.
I staggered through old memories of playing ghost tag in the South Street cemetery, but now there wee new memories of picking Kurt up in Poncho and of walking home after the cop pulled me over. The layers of time had become so thick that I couldn't take two steps without crossing paths with Mack or Kurt or Tweak or Squid, kids I hadn't seen in months. I thought my trip to Connecticut and back, my romance with Lacy and Piper's influence would give me a moment of relief, but the opposite was more apparent. Old Youthsongs about Mack and Kurt and Karen and Bullwhip and Stu Walleye, my Alaska partner, hummed in the January air until I had to cover my ears. Bullwhip's presence was everywhere even though I couldn't actually see him.
I stumbled past the geese and Elwyn Avenue, finally reaching my house expecting Gentle Gena to emerge from the coat closet with her vicious plastic whips. I was walking in circles, it seemed. There was almost no point in getting out of bed anymore since I knew each day would slime along bitterly and end with my status hardly changed. I was a bootblack and it was all because of Dwight Evans and Calvin Schiraldi. They had betrayed me. Sure, they weren't responsible for the car crash. But the larger descent of my existence was directly caused by Game Six. This point no one could dispute. My fate would have been so much different if Ray Knight would just swing and miss. To this end, I collapsed on the couch and hit play on the remote.
“Come on!” I yelled at the television. “Please, Schiraldi. Just get someone out!”
I took my hat off and pressed it to my lips. It smelled like the Fenway Park Bleachers, Gillies hot dogs, salty carnival pretzels and the fetid Millpond. Now there was a lilac shampoo in there from my encounter with Lacy. How much longer would that be mine alone? When would Bonigan make his call again and demand her kisses be added to the fire?
“So you took care of business? The car is gone. You got lucky, if you ask me.”
It was my father, melting into the living room, but I ignored him. This time Schiraldi would throw the pitch of his life. It would streak like a neon muse into Gedman's mitt. I diverted everything, all my heart's anguish and toil and troding efforts, into my hat.
“Silence! This is it. One more strike! Please let it happen! Strike Knight out!”
“I should throw that hat away like all that other junk you had stashed in your room.”
My father again, but this time I paid attention to him and watched Knight stroke another RBI single to center. Curses!
“What other stuff? Excuse me? Pardon me? You didn't go in my room. You did not fuss about with my personal effects.”
My father nodded distractedly.
“That's how I found your little secret court summons. And I got rid of some of that garbage under your bed.”
This was like telling Picasso you got rid of some of his early sketches because they were cluttering up your closet. Or maybe you needed something to start the stove fire with so you could make popcorn.
“There wasn't any garbage under my bed. There was no junk!”
“Ninja Magazines? Ogden, I think it's safe to say you aren't going to be a Ninja.”
I was breathless with rage. Why didn't he just take my shine box and destroy it. Just burn it. Why not? I'm only a bootblack. Why should I care?
“I'm still training, Dad. I'm still in training. You can't throw them away. Where are they?”
“Gone. Those are gone and all those bits of paper you've been saving.”
“No! My Red Sox predictions? Those are historical documents.”
“So Wade Boggs hit .421 in 1988? I don't think so. And a check for ten million dollars written out to you.”
In an effort to be positive, my grandmother had given me a blank check and asked me to write out any amount on it. Then she gave me the check and told me that if I tried hard enough I could cash the check one day. I had written “Ten Million Dollars” on the check and was currently a mere 27 dollars closer to cashing it.
“My check? You threw away my check? I'm gonna cash that one day. Don't you believe in me? Don't you have any faith?”
It was just clutter, Oggy. Clutter like those filthy clothes.”
“Not the clothes. Not my Don Johnson outfit. What are you doing to me? Where did they go?”
“Gone. When are you going to wear a pinstripe dinner jacket? You won't even get off the couch. And there was a pair of pants that I remember buying at a yard sale in Maine when you were four years old. Why keep those?”
“Because they were from Homestead. I wore them in the play room.”
Actually, I had no idea there had been a pair of pants from Maine under my bed, but still...
“Well, we've got pictures. Mom has the albums stored somewhere. And those scratched records.”
“Ah! Not my records. First Lacy throws my Word Up tape out the window and now you threaten my records? Is nothing sacred? You're killing me. You are taking my shine box and destroying it!”
My father fffiffted through his teeth.
“One of them, The Outfield, was so warped it looked like artwork. I could eat cereal out of it if I plugged the hole in the middle. You can't store vinyl next to the radiator.”
“God damn you! You didn't throw away Play Deep. Tell me you didn't throw it away. First Word Up and now Play Deep. What's happening to my world?”
“Gone. To the dump along with all those mismatched socks that were way too small. And a box of Star Wars toys I brought to the Charity shop. Junk.”
I was almost in too much shock to respond. Not only had he violated my sanctum by ransacking the only tokens of normalcy I owned, but he had disposed of my socks. The plastic “Cantina” set from Star Wars was one thing, but my socks? It was a loss to great to bear. I stood up, trembling, and left the room. I had to find Darcy's sock. Why didn't I take it with me? Why had I left in such a hurry that I forgot her precious gift? Now I might have lost her sock forever.
“Pray for your soul, Dad. Pray. If I can't find it...”
The consequences were too horrible to mention. I stumbled up the stairs, bruising my shin on the steps when I slipped on a pile of mail. One of Kurt's postcards fell out and I read, “Ogden, old horse. It's good to be the king.” Curse him! He had no idea what it took to keep my shine box out of the mud. My father tagged along after me, mocking me as I crawled up the stairs after aggravating my back injury.
“It's all gone. It was junk. Junk! I tried to throw away that tape,” he said pointing at the television, “but it wouldn't come out of the damn VCR since it's been in there for so long. Your life needs to move forward, Ogden.”
“Just pray,” I said as I stumbled and knocked an ornamental bracket into the hallway. I crawled into my room and looked in all the normal hiding places, under the mattress, behind my clothes bureau, tucked into my 1984 Red Sox yearbook, in the pocket of my Red Sox warm-up jacket, in my Yoda pillow case, but couldn't find it. The ten million dollar check was gone too. Everything was gone.
“Where is it?”
My father was watching me with his arms crossed as I hunted for Darcy's sock. You know the seal on police cars? 'To Serve and Protect'. I always ask, “Serve whom? Protect whom?” I was asking the same question of my father now.
“At the dump. Hopefully incinerated. Specifically, what are you looking for? Maybe I left it alone or didn't want to go near it.”
“A sock. A small neon pink sock. It was my precious and I need it. Do you even know what you've done?”
My father laughed at my emotion. Everything was a big joke to him. But could you blame him since I was noting but a worthless sharecropper? Why not laugh at my misfortune? Have a little fun. Everybody seemed to get in on the laughs.
“A neon pink sock? There was a dull gray sock.”
“It was originally pink. Where is it now!”
“Oh, yes. I probably would've let it alone if there had been two socks, but there was only one pink neon sock. One. And it was filthy, probably hadn't been washed in ten years. What are you doing with one pink neon sock?”
My mouth was dry and it felt like my brain was getting too much oxygen.
“Fool! That was everything. Darcy gave me that sock. It was her present to me. What did you do with it? Where is it? Did you take it for yourself? You did! You have it and you're keeping it from me. Judas!”
I pushed past him, stumbled into his room, and started to search for Darcy's sock among his clothes. It was mine, after all. Why should I let my father have it? Had he sacrificed enough?
“Wait! What are you doing? Don't go through my drawers. Ogden. Stop.”
“I'm taking back what's mine. It's my sock, Dad. Give it to me. Where is it? Where are you hiding it?”
My F. grabbed me by both shoulders and shook me. I tried to get away and he shook me again. I attempted a Shu Ling Ninja elbow toss, but he was too heavy. I felt my back strain and tear as I tried to drive my palm into his sternum. Then my father slapped me across the head. Naturally, I fled for the door. Maybe he was telling the truth and had just thrown it away. No matter, I knew where I could find it.
“Where are you going? Come back here,” he called. “You're crazy. You need help.”
“I only need one thing. I need Darcy's sock back. She gave it to me, so it's mine. Mine!”
I staggered down the stairs and ran immediately to the VCR. If my father had really lost his mind then he might take my Game Six tape and destroy it. I'd be burned at the stake before I allowed that to happen. Without the tape I would have nothing, no way to control Schiraldi's pitch.
I soon learned that my father was right about one thing; the tape wouldn't come out of the VCR. I pressed eject, unplugged it, pressed play, eject, rewind, fast forward, kicked it, everything, but it wouldn't come out. I could hear gears moving but the tape got jammed as it approached the opening.
“Look what you did! You realize you've killed me, Dad. First you send the court summons back which leads to the seizure of Poncho. Then you steal Darcy's sock and other precious artifacts from my youth. Now the tape, the only thing I live for, is stuck in the VCR. Why are you destroying my life? Is this fun for you? I kissed Rose McCorley, you know. I'm not just a bootblack!”
My father had followed me downstairs--I couldn't seem to get rid of him--and was sitting on the couch holding a tissue to his forearm. Apparently, I had scratched him during our struggle. Serves him right. This cat has claws.
“I'm trying to help, Ogden. The tape won't come out because it's been in there for five years. It's probably melted to the components.”
“A likely story. You did this. First you take Darcy's sock and now you sabotage my tape. Are you enjoying yourself?”
I didn't hear his reply because I staggered into the kitchen and collected a knife. My father's eyes widened when I came back into the living room. He reached instinctively for a ceramic sculpture to defend himself.
“Settle down, Ogden. Think first. Think of the consequences.”
I smiled and slashed it back and forth in front of me. Then I pretended to cut my wrists. Then I laughed maniacally before walking to the VCR.
“Don't flatter yourself, Dad. I'm not going to stab you, at least not while you're awake. I need to knife to pry out the tape that you sabotaged.”
My father put the ceramic sculpture down and told me to be careful around electricity. Too late, as I stabbed some electrical component and got some low voltage into my magic ticker.
“Are you happy? Are you satisfied when I get injured? Does it fulfil some Schadenfreude sensation of yours?”
“Schadenfreude? Have you lost your mind?”
While I rubbed the life back into my arm, I looked out the window and said, “Maybe I have. Or maybe I've found it after all these years. Now I see who you really are. You're a bootblack, a Judas, and a vampire. You're on my side until I ask for your help beating the goddamn Mets. Funny how that works. Funny how you judge me, yet cripple my mission and break my shine box. It must be nice sitting on your velvet throne and watching me shine shoes.”
After unplugging the VCR I stuck the knife it and started to pry the tape out. My father mumbled about trying to help me, doing it for my benefit, one day I would see, etc. Of course he was going to say he was doing it for my own good. Would he admit to trying to sabotage my work? He may have been a Judas, but he wasn't dumb. Finally I was able to hook a tab of the tape and force it through the VCR slot. I grabbed it and headed for the door before my father could steal it from me.
“Ogden! Uh, Ogden?”
This would be his goodbye speech, but I meant to shut him up. I went back to the living room with my guns blazing.
“Let me save you the time, Dad. You want to tell me that everything will work out, that when I grow up this will all seem small and insignificant. I'm the asshole. I'm the bootblack. I'm the one who doesn't understand. I'm the simple one. Well, you know what? You're wrong. I'm a winner. I played Whiffle Ball against Clutch. I kissed Rose McCorley on the lips. I can win. Me and Dewey are winners. You think I don't know what I'm doing, but I'll show you. The Red Sox will win. I'll prove it to you. You think you know me, but you don't. I'm a winner.”
I held the tape up as though it were the embodiment of Ray Knight.
“I know what Ray Knight needs. I'll show him my wrath.”
My father was looking at me with a level of disappointment usually reserved for rapists and charity embezzlers. It was only then that I realized the mangled tape ribbon had caught on something in the VCR and had unraveled in a trail from the VCR, to the back door, and then in a giant U to where I was standing before my father in the living room.
“Ah! Look what you did.”
I fell to my knees before the VCR and started to pull out strands of ribbon that had been stuck in there. Parts of the ribbon were disconnected and dangling in my hands. I'd have to splice them back together as I had once done with a Eurythmics cassette that Twain had managed to bite in half. Soon I had gathered most of the tape and stuffed my pockets with it as I headed for the door.
“I'm still a winner,” I said. “I played baseball with Clutch and I was on the State Championship team. Yaz gave me his autograph and so did Rich Gedman. Dewey promised me the Sox would win and they still have a chance. As long as I've got my hat and Darcy's sock.”
I showed my father the 1986 Red Sox team photo, stabbing Dewey with my finger.
“I'm still a believer, a real fan. I won't give up because I know they can win. This is my team, Dad. Mine! They promised me they'd win and they only need one more strike. I can give them that, except people like you keep getting in my way. I'll show you. I'll show you what I can do. You're the one who needs help. You're the one who's a bootblack. You'll see and then I'll be the one laughing. Me and Dewey.”
I turned to leave with my tape and my team photo. Too much time had already been wasted to retrieve my precious sock. What if I was too late?
“Where are you going? It's my turn to cook in Queensland. Will you be around?”
Over my shoulder I shouted, “Darcy gave me her sock because she loved me and I'm going to get it.”