9

The sun refused to come over the horizon and the air was bitterly cold on this particular first day of the week.  Kyle opened his eyes and saw a long beam of darkness pierce into the bedroom.  An odd, before-the-storm calm had been in the room since the night before.  He blinked a few times and yawned.  He rolled out of bed and looked at his bedside clock.  It was just after 6am and he usually slept until 10am.  Being cried out and the soothing vocals and instrumental of a very powerful swan song had knocked him cold.  He shook the remaining sleep from his head and yawned one more time.  The infectious yet sweet noise had resurfaced in his mind.  The melodious, menacing guitar riff and the sullen, anguished words filled his mind, body and soul with the calm that beset the room.  He grinned due to a newfound potency as he walked over to the bedroom door.

 

           His mother and father were rock-heavy sleepers on Sunday mornings since it was there only day off during the week.  Kyle maneuvered toward the home office and he got on the computer. Due to the inability to finance a cable internet connection, it had taken a couple of minutes for him to be online. He was on the hunt for the lyrics that gave the swan song its tormenting appeal. After typing a lyrical line into a search engine with many zeroes affixed on the end, he found a link to a major artist fan site. He read every word as deliberately as he could and it brought an overwhelming rush of enthusiasm.  Enthusiasm led to a momentary optimism. He yearned for a pencil and a sheet of white paper. Fate didn’t have to step in because Kyle was seated in a home office.

            The search lasted less than a couple of seconds. A bad print was hanging from the paper tray of the laser printer. Kyle stared at over the document wondering what it meant. Through the bad toner and jammed look of the document, Kyle deciphered it and the meaning stunned him. He thought the figures dealt with the mill levy cut his parents were so much against. His soulful renewal brought on more parental hatred so he had to show the document to somebody. He turned his attention back to the computer screen.  With a fleet double-click, he opened a music-swapping program with a most extreme connotation affixed at the end. He copied the lyrics onto the back of the substandard paper. No effort was taken on the part of the program to produce the swan song, since it was being downloaded within several seconds. In what felt like waiting in line at The Beast at King’s Island during a Saturday afternoon, the tune was finished downloading.  Another broad smile came across his face. He could listen to it anytime he wanted to, enough so he could annoy his parents to no end. He quickly took up the task of swift memorization. By 8:30am, he had the entire song etched into his memory and ready to belt out all at once.

            He produced a pair of black headphones and plugged them into a computer speaker. He cranked the volume to a substantial level and pushed the play button on the media player. The loud acoustic riff blasted into his ears and the words rolled off his tongue. His voice filled the entirety of the office, so loud that it could wake the long since deceased town founders. Through four minutes and fifty-seven seconds of acoustic depression and soul-calming bliss, Kyle shook the rafters with a voice that would do the songwriter proud. With every word the artist expressed Kyle was right by him. The fierceness Kyle exerted onto every syllable he sang was of a young man trying to purge all of the abuse he had taken in his life. When there were bridges between chorus repetitions or transitions of verses, Kyle mouthed the guitar licks, played air guitar, and contorted his body weirdly.  Lick for lick, note for note, and word for word, Kyle did his best rocking out to a song not originally meant for rocking out. The song came to an end and Kyle took off his headphones. The doorway was still vacant and Kyle put on a smart aleck grin. The day had started perfectly.

            Faced with a day where procrastination was a must, Kyle needed to get out of his house. With Weezer prone to pop out of ether at no point in particular, he mulled about being a hermit for a day. Kyle decided to make the best of it by stepping out of his domicile.  He changed into some faded jeans, a white t-shirt and put on a lighter jacket.  He treaded outside and felt the near-sub freezing temperature so he opted for a heavier jacket. He left his house and walked north. As he moved, he whistled his new favorite song. He had ambled on for a quarter of a mile when he came to the lifeblood of the Mayfield. He gawked around a little bit and saw the real reason Mayfield managed to survive for so long. About a hundred yards away from him were massive steel bins which were twenty-five yards across and eighty yards tall and there numbered ten in all. These were the corn silos where the local farmers brought their yearly harvests. Whenever trucks came and left, it was as if a cash drawer had been ringing. If there was a king in Mayfield, in Kyle's mind, it was a toss-up between corn and football. The community was very prosperous because the cornfields were all ripe and golden when the third football game of the year was played. The harvesters are usually going the day before the fourth game of the season. Kyle stared at the tall metal spires and laughed heartily. His mother had lied to him.

            The railroads are the arteries of the corn trade. Mayfield was one of many small towns on a major rail line that ran between Milwaukee and Baton Rouge. The majority of the corn stored in the huge silos would be made in corn syrup that Kyle might consume the next time he popped open a soft drink or ripped open a bag of gummy worms. Kyle walked over to the rails and he stepped on the closer one. This single rail was part of a trunk line that went up right up to the silo dump chutes. He looked to the north and then to the south, both times on the main line. Any citizen of Mayfield could easily hear a train horn at least ten times a day .That meant the steel rails and wooden ties wouldn't be torn up anytime soon. Mayfield still had its strong connections to the outside world.

            In Kyle's eyes, his connections with other people weren't very strong. Kyle's connections to his parents were like a rail line that had fallen into disrepair. With his classmates, teammates, and coach, it was a destruction based on a scorched earth policy.  The only functioning railroad in his life was the one he had with Mary but those materials were brand new and it was still being built. Kyle did a balancing act along the rail for several feet until he fell off. He sighed loudly and the chorus came to mind.

            Kyle sang quietly as he balanced forward for a few more feet, "Yes I finally found a reason…I don't need an excuse…I got this time on my hands…you are the one to abuse…the one to abuse."

            Kyle stepped off the rail into the rail bed. Connections are formed all the time and there are connections between all things whether we know it or not. The connection or railroad that Kyle had discovered was between him and the songwriter who penned the words of he was whispering. A very pessimistic and depressed teenager had written the chorus that from the point of view of an abuser. Kyle interpreted the song to be about a person being abused by someone who had nothing better to do than abuse others. What made the connection even more bizarre was that it was an Indiana native who wrote that song and it definitely connected to the life of another Indiana native. Those around him caused Kyle's emotional abuse and neglect and a songwriter only a few years older than he had put it into very simple terms. Everybody else had nothing better to do than to make his life miserable. He kicked the rail with his left foot and sighed loudly.

            "Everybody is out to get me!" he screamed.

            He huffed and walked further north this time between the rail lines.  He had a lot on his mind and he needed to talk to someone. If telekinesis had really existed, Kyle probably wouldn't have been shocked at who showed up on the opposite side of the trunk line.

            "Kyle!" a female voice called.

            Kyle looked over and saw Mary. She was wearing a black leather coat, blue jeans, and a red hat that matched her red locks. 

            He smiled widely at her, "Mary!"

            Mary crossed the trunk line and gave her boyfriend a big hug and kiss on the lips.  Kyle willingly returned each gesture.

            "How did you know I was here?" Kyle inquired as he held onto her.

            "I live right up the street, remember." Mary answered as she pointed to her house.  It was only a hundred or so yards up the street.

            Kyle shook his head in slight disgrace, "Mental lapse. I am sorry."

            Mary beamed in return, "Don't worry about it. You should only be worried when I am mad at you."

            His eyes narrowed, "Are you mad at me?"

            Her eyes suddenly widened, "Am I mad at you?" Her voice was out in the land of irony.

            He got the message, "Why are you mad at me?"

            She gasped at him, "You didn't call me last night. I tried to call you but your parents were being dicks. They said you were asleep."

            He nodded knowing he had to confess the truth, "I was asleep actually. My parents were just being jerks to you for the hell of it."

            She wandered back to ironic land, "After what you said to them, I am not surprised. I should hit you for that."

            He moved to into comment territory, "They still would have been King and Queen A*****e to you because they play those roles for me constantly."

            "Since you put it that way, I forgive you," she smiled and gave him a deep kiss.

            "Thank you, Mary," Kyle voiced after they finished.

            "You are welcome, Kyle," Mary took her away from Kyle's neck and put them in her jacket pockets. "So, why did you fall asleep so early last night?"

            Kyle put his hands into his jacket pockets, "I had cried myself out last night and it made so weary. I was going to call you but since my father was a thread's width away from physical retribution, I had figured otherwise. Instead, I had turned on my radio and a really good song lulled me to sleep."

            "Why did your mom and dad go off on you?" Mary asked with a look that echoed angst and worry.

            Kyle heaved a sigh and chose his prose once more, "This is going to be rather complicated. I came home last night and my mother was on the phone with the senator that represents this part of the state. She was crying that if the governor signed this new mill levy cut in law, the school would lose out on a bunch of state tax money."

            All Mary did was smile and nod since she had no idea what to say.

            Kyle's expectation had paid off, "A mill levy is a state land tax and most of that money is split up among the schools in the state depending upon the size of student body. It is a proportional cut, it means the bigger the student body, the more money the school receives. Most schools rely on this money for their operating budget. Do you understand?"

            Mary shrugged, "Somewhat, I am not a financial nut."

            Kyle remarked, "Neither am I. Living in a house with an accountant for a father and a tax attorney for a mother lets me know this stuff."

            Mary smiled and kissed him on the cheek, "You are really smart, you know?"

            "I guess so. I never considered myself to be a genius," Kyle smirked back and smooched her on the lips.

            Mary asked the kicker question, "How does this mill levy cut relate what happened to you?"

            "My mother had hung up the phone and she was thoroughly pissed. She was staring at the wall and she went off on how conservative Republicans know how to screw their constituents over by campaigning on lower taxes and this is at the time of a big state budget crisis. The Republicans are elected and to keep their chances good for the next election, they cut beneficial social programs and already existing taxes to give back tax refunds. It is a messed up situation my mother explained. The classic part is that she didn't realize it was me in the room with her," Kyle explained at length.

            "How did she react?" Mary was entranced with the story.

            Kyle continued with his tale, "I said that the school should be closed down.  All I have had is misery ever since I moved here and that the school is a hole for stupidity. She was mortified at my statement. She kept trying to defend the school and the town and I kept lashing back. I got to the point where I had made her squirm in her seat."

            Mary was like a gossip columnist searching for the dirt, "What? You made her squirm?"

            Kyle felt like a boy with a horse, "Yeah and I would have pressed further if it hadn't been for my dad. He made it clear that I am never to question the rules of the house again. His tone of voice made it all the more crystal clear. I backed down because my dad was a thread's width away from menacing retribution. So, I went to my room and cried my eyes out."

            Thoughts were fluttering in Mary's head. It was a puzzle yearning to be pieced together, "How did you make your mom squirm?"

            Kyle wanted to piece the puzzle together as well, "I pressured her about why I was so miserable. I asked her bluntly if she could explain away my agony. It is really problematic when you come home to a lack of love every damn day and you are suffering with s**t at school due to dickhead athletes, asinine classmates, evil coaches, and indifferent, spineless faculty. Even with her telling woe, I still received no answer. I've concluded that Mayfield is the black hole of the Corn Belt, if not the universe."

            Despite the almost tragic melodrama, Mary tried to uplift her man, "Every town is a black hole to someone. I thought Muncie was my black hole. So far, this town is much better to me than Muncie has ever been. The main reason is standing right in front me."

            Kyle smiled after hearing his girl's uplifting words.  He grabbed the young woman around the waist and they hugged for a few seconds. Then, a shrill noise broke the mood.

            "Time to get off the tracks," Kyle remarked.

            Mary didn't need to be told twice. Both youngsters moved out of the rail bed and onto a gravel lot where some grain trucks were parked. The whistle came closer and soon a locomotive with orange-yellow paint and a blue highway shield pulling black cylinder after black cylinder of corn syrup whizzed by heading someplace southward, maybe Memphis, maybe Birmingham, maybe Tallahassee. Kyle trained his focus from the train to the massive silos before him and sighed loudly.

            "My mother lied to me," Kyle commented from the blue.

            Mary wasn't expecting to hear such an assertion, "What did you say?"

            "My mother lied to me. The school would never go bankrupt because of those things," He said as he pointed to the metal silos.

            "How do you know?" She replied.

            Kyle drew an intriguing conclusion, "This town is a small hub of the corn trade. There have to be at least fifty farmers in the area who bring there harvest here to be collected. In the last three years and I think even before that, this town has thrived and I mean thrived off the corn coming off those fields. There is a lot of money flowing back into this community because of them."

            Mary countered with the supposed facts, "Maybe the town is in an actual monetary pinch. I heard a news report yesterday that the state budget crisis is worse than expected."

            It became a minor debate, Kyle rebutted, "No, The mill levy is a state property tax. The school gets back some proportion of it from the state government and it doesn't supply even a quarter of the school's total monetary intake. The local property taxes take care of that."

            Mary was stunned, "How do you know this?"

            "Those two financial wizards I know as parents leave certain things lying around the house all of the damn time," Kyle replied and he pulled the print out his pocket and showed it to Mary. He had pocketed it before he had gone outside. Mary took it from him and stared at it.

            He further stated, "The school isn't in financial trouble. I think we both can tell by the look of our athletics department and the new textbooks we received this year. The point is that my mother lied to me about this mill levy issue, what are the odds that she and even my dad lied to me about other issues in my life?"

            "Considering the way they treat you everyday, it wouldn't surprise me but why this particular issue? I mean this is a just a copy of the budget from the last school year," Mary replied.

            Kyle took the document in one hand while Mary still held on, "I know but there is a section near the bottom of the page about income. The largest number says 'local aid' next to it."

            Mary was somewhat skeptical, "I am in awe that you could find any meaning in this crumpled piece of paper."

            Kyle raised his left eyebrow, "There is meaning in there, you just have to find it, my dear."

            Mary scanned the document trying to make sense of it. She finally spoke after ninety-some seconds, "I still cannot decipher it, love. All I see are income numbers labeled 'local aid', 'state aid', and 'extended aid'."

            Kyle replied in knowing fashion, "The expense section below it lists the total expense amounts the school accrued in the last school year. It actually falls below the total income numbers by a few grand."

            Mary's skepticism was almost rock solid, "How did she lie to you then?"

            "My parents have been obsessing over this issue for weeks and I got sick of hearing about it after about two minutes. The legislature is planning on cutting the mill levy only 5% and it will last only three years. For this town, they can make up losses by diverting funds from the booster club. All the football team will lose is some travel expenses and they may have to drop a coach or two for those seasons. To prevent such an occurrence, I am sure the corn barons like Dusty Westfall, Stephen Winger, and Gideon Mayer will be able to contribute more support to their sons and their beloved coaching gods," Kyle finally revealed.

            Mary had to insert her contradictory two cents, "Kyle, budget balancing is not that simple. I turned in a budget assignment last week in accounting class and it came back with a lower grade than I anticipated. I had smoke out an error but my own math errors had covered it up further."

            Kyle blinked a couple of times, "Mary, budget work isn't that hard."

            Mary continued with her rant, "Budget work is time-consuming and complex. There are a lot of aspects to a school budgets besides just simple income, costs, and profit. Schools are not organizations for profit. The money the school gets is meant to give us a proper education...," and then it hit her.

            Kyle waited cautiously and then asked, "What is up, Mary?"

            Mary was officially stumped.  "This school is motivated by athletics, football in particular."

            "My mother did lie to me, Mary," Kyle voiced bluntly.

            Mary was still unsure, "Maybe she did and maybe she didn't, Kyle. She really hates you, why wouldn't she just lie directly to your face?"

            Kyle shook his head, "I don't know then either, my dear. Not responding to a question you may have an answer for may not be the same as lying but it is just as bad."

            Mary nodded and stared over to the grain silos, "True, your mother is obviously keeping something from you if you made her squirm in her seat. Now that I think about it, it is kind of ironic that two married people who are well-versed in finance have both of there businesses crumble beneath them due to financial problems."

            Kyle yelled melodramatically, "Oh, sweet irony, your rusty blade of scorn cuts my heart deeply!"

            Mary gave him a knowing eye so Kyle became serious once more, "It fit the definition perfectly. When I came to see it, I felt a diabetic who had been hit an insulin truck."

            She easily comprehended his point, "I take it your

parents never told you why you moved here."

            He sighed and remembered, "They had no other choice. Our house had been repossessed and we had no place to live. When they got that lifeline from the city council, they took it without question. Lucky for us, there was a kind heart that let us buy his house for very, very dirt-cheap. I feel like the squatter they want to get rid of."

            Mary sighed and remembered, "Well, it sucks to be treated like a guest on a regular basis. That is why my dad's second marriage crumbled into bits and pieces. My stepmother was a very nice person at first but she became a total b***h to me with a matter of moments. I still don't know why she was that way to me and my dad couldn't explain it either. Instead of seeing me suffer, he divorced her after eighteen months."

            Kyle was open-mouthed, "Wow! How did you manage it even with the suffering?"

            Mary had the answer, "I kept pestering my dad about it. At the time, my dad was naïve. All he saw was this angel that could be the mother I never had. Her true colors contradicted that hope. Eventually, my dad woke up and they divorced one another. My dad came away with a second broken heart and a thicker skin. Too bad wife number three fooled us both. She cheated with my dad's boss but she ran off with my one of my dad's underlings. She was a s****y succubus who couldn't stand both a small pen and an empty inkwell."

            Kyle laughed out loud after her revelation. Mary gave him a scowl that made him stop.

            "I am sorry. I've never heard an expression like that before. It's a quote if I have ever heard one," Kyle said with light defense.

            "I know but I have lived with two women who ripped me and my dad to shreds. That is why I have a really hard time trusting women who have an interest in my dad. My dad also doesn't have an interest in women who have an interest in him. It was really unexpected that my father was personally given his layoff notice from his direct supervisor. That man gave my dad a s**t-eating grin as he handed the pink slip to him. You need to understand that my trust in people is very wary," Mary replied seriously.

            "Why do you implicitly trust me?" Kyle asked pointedly.

            "I have seen the abuse you have taken on a daily basis. I have seen you day-after-day get shoved into the lockers and have had your books thrown on the floor. I see that mix of stress, guilt, anger, and woe on your face everyday as you walk the halls of our soul-sucking high school. I know that feeling and I felt I could talk to you about it. After what you exhibited for the last before last and yesterday afternoon, I know that I can trust you with anything. What you have done for me has made me love you all the more," Mary rejoined and she pecked her man on the lips.

            Kyle's soul had a happy dart shot into it. After the kissing, he gave Mary a big long hug and he smacked her on the cheek. As they held one another tightly, Kyle whispered into her ear.

            "Thank you for being there, Mary. I love you," Kyle voiced calmly.

            "I love you too, Kyle," Mary stated in the same tone.

            They held on to each other for a bit longer when a black pick-up had stormed into the parking lot kicking gravel in every direction. An irate-faced Coach Jerkoff emerged from the vehicle with his eyes trained on the young couple. Coach Gregson stomped up to Kyle and seized him by the arm.  Kyle felt the blood in his left upper limb cease flowing.

            "Dawson, I need a moment of your precious time." The coach remarked with hostility. Kyle glanced at Mary and then back at the coach. The football guru would not have temper tested so Kyle went with him. The two males made their way over to the coach's truck. The coach threw Kyle against the truck and gave the boy a stare that could melt concrete. Kyle grimaced at the pain and the coach maintained his visage. Coach Jerkoff placed his lead safe of a left hand against Kyle's chest.

            "I can save you from a much worse hurt. Where is it?" Coach Gregson asked as if the planets were about to be thrown out of alignment.

            "Where is what?" Kyle countered through the anguish.

            Coach Gregson retorted with threats, "Answer me with a question again and I will have you pulled off my football team and have theft charges crammed down your throat faster than a broken field run performed by Edgerrin James. Am I clear, Dawson?"

            Kyle understood that the coach wasn't joking, "You are clear, Coach. I have the game ball."

            Coach Gregson pressed harder, "Have it returned to Weezer by practice time tomorrow. If it isn't in his hands by then, my prior threat becomes promise. Do you understand?"

            All Kyle could do was nod his head up and down.

            Coach Jerkoff suddenly let his hand up, "Excellent mind you have there, Dawson. Your common sense always kicks in at the right moment. I should throw your scrawny a*s off the team for this but the rules dictate that the offender gets a second chance if the property is returned. You have twenty-four hours, Dawson. One more thing, have you been studying the playbook?"

            Kyle voiced his discomfort, "Coach, I know the plays inside and out."

            Coach Gregson stared Kyle down intently, "Don't backtalk me, Dawson.  Have you or not?"

            Kyle handed him the truth, "Not since last week but like I said…"

            Coach Gregson retained his vocal firmness, "Dawson, no buts! I hate repeating myself and if I have to once more, so help me! Once more, get your mind of the muff and on the game! We have a game against St. Anthony on Friday! They are the only other undefeated team in the region! If we don't beat them, we are this close from being in second place! Do you want that?" Coach Gregson put his thumb and forefinger a couple millimeters apart.

            Kyle couldn't answer him. The coach pressed his arm against Kyle's chest once more.

            Coach Gregson became a broken record player, "Study that playbook! If I find out you have not studied it, you are off my team! If you backtalk me, you are off my team! If you give me the silent treatment one more time, you are off my team! You got that, Dawson? One more f**k up and you are gone! G-O-N-E, gone!"

            The steam geyser of a football coach released the young man from his two-ton per-square-inch of a grip.  Kyle was intrigued by the fact that his coach could spell and be a blowhard at the same time. Feeling duly empowered, he pulled out the pointed question.

            "Why do you treat me like I don't matter?" Kyle asked acutely. 

            Coach Gregson had reopened the driver’s side door to reenter the truck.  He glared at Kyle with eyes that seemed like they were straight from the bowels of Hell. He slammed the door and came back face-to-face with the youngster.

            "What did you ask me?" the coach asked as if his hearing was impaired.

            "Why do you treat me like I don't matter?" Kyle reiterated fiercely.

            Coach Gregson growled, "What gives you the right to

ask that?"

            Kyle was disquieted but steadfast, "Why do you let the athletes under your power treat me, a fellow athlete, like I am sub-human waste?  Don't I deserve the same respect that members of your team give each other?"

            The coach was clearly boiling over. He grabbed Kyle by the collar and lifted his left hand into a fist, "You are cruising for a bruising, Dawson! Get away from me now!"

            Kyle would not back down, "Not until I get deserved respect by you and the other athletes! I came out for the team because I felt like I could be an asset and, as far as I have perceived, I have been. I scored the winning touchdown and the extra points to win the last game and to keep the tradition going. I don't even get a thank you out of the deal. What kind of coach and team would even allow that?"

            "BACK THE F**K OFF, DAWSON!!!" Coach Gregson screamed as loud as he possibly could and Kyle fell backward out of Coach Gregson's grip. Amazingly, he didn't suffer a scratch.

            Coach Jerkoff bent down and got into Kyle's face, "If you EVER and I mean EVER again question my integrity or how I deal with my players, I will damage you! This is the last warning you will ever have from me as well, Dawson! One more f**k up and your parents will never find you again! Do you comprehend me?"

            Kyle was at a loss for sound but not for motion.  He nodded but the coach wanted to hear him say it.

            Gregson voiced intently, "You better say it or you are dead dog meat!" 

            He put his fingers up and counted 3…2…but Kyle put up his hand, "I get it. I get the message."

            Gregson sneered like a psychopath, "Heed my diction! That is the last lifeline you get!!!"

            With that, Gregson backed into his vehicle and scrambled away from gravel parking lot. Kyle had to move fleetly to avoid the cutting spray of rocks. Mary ran over and comforted her boyfriend. She hadn't reacted before because she had been paralyzed with fear. Kyle looked up at her as she pulled him to his feet. The youngsters stared at each other for a few seconds and the silence was deafening.

            "I wish you didn't have to see that," Kyle finally said.

            "I wish you didn't have to go through it," Mary stated with dismay.

            He voiced behind a cumbersome moan, "This is what I go through on the practice field. The coach rides me like I am a burro that he won't let die. All I ever did was come for tryouts and I made the team. If he hated me so much, he should have cut me right away."

            She suspired as well, "Then why are you playing, Kyle? If it made all you the more miserable, you should have not played a down with them."

            Kyle rationalized his situation, "I know, but I still love playing football. I know this town worships the ground that Gregson and the players walk on but I am not playing for that. I originally started playing to try and earn respect from Weezer and those who picked on me because I know respect is earned and not given. It went pretty much south from there."

            Mary gave him a halfhearted edifice, "Kyle, if you love the game, quit and play next year. I am sure by then that your abuse will cease since Weezer is graduating but…"

            Kyle knew the truth was cold and hard, "…There is Coach Gregson, though. That man isn't retiring anytime soon. I could go through high school three more times before he even considers retirement. I think he would find some way to kick me off the team anyway."

            Mary got to the heart of the matter, "Then why not quit? I know it would be better if you quit gracefully and just went back to being a normal student."

            Kyle became militant, "Mary, I can't escape the abuse no matter how hard I try. I have tried to be nice to them. I have tried to ignore it. I have even tried playing by their rules. The only thing I probably have left is to lash out. I mean other kids have shot up their schools for less."

            Mary's face went white, "How can you say such a thing?"

            "I won't ever do it because I know better and besides I wouldn't even know where to get a firearm and thankfully my parents don't have one," Kyle restrained his belligerence and tried calming her fears.

            "Please, don't ever say anything like that again!" Mary replied with trepidation.

            "I won't and I don't repress my anger either. I find creative ways to channel it. Weezer had been giving me loads of undeserving s**t in the huddle. I played my heart out and I made those plays. I took a lot of guff during that day and I took even more guff before the game even started. Even inside the huddle where cohesion is needed the most, my loyalty was doubted. I was supremely brassed off when Weezer got that ball. I was so brassed that I wanted to strangle the coach and the quarterback with both my hands at the same time. I wanted to do it so badly," Kyle lamented.

            Mary understood yet she huffed loudly, "You still have that ball, don't you?"

            The topic still stung at Kyle like a scorpion bite, "Yes, I do. What of it?"

            Mary felt that Kyle was mentally thick, much like a stale Chicago-style pizza, "I told you to get rid of it. If you hadn't pulled that stupid stunt in the first place, you wouldn’t have so much grief to deal with."

            Kyle was still locked in the land of the dimwits, "Mary, I saw something that rightfully belonged to me being given to the person I hate the most…"

            Mary directly interjected, "…Who is now going to probably beat what sense you have left in you out of you. Not only did you raise the ire of your nemesis, the leash that controls him has been loosened even further."

            Her assertion caught Kyle off guard, "What did you say?"

            "I pretty much said Weezer has pretty much been let loose by Gregson," Mary uttered in shorthand.

            Kyle responded, "That is true. Some other thought hit me though."

            Mary queried, "What do you mean?"

            He rejoined, "Coach Jerkoff is pretty much the icon of worship in this town, right?"

            She supplied a result, "Yes, he is likely the one behind most of the goings-on."

            He asked back, "Do you see where I am coming from?"

            She sighed and voiced something cryptic, "Every word spelled out comes back to four."

            "What does that mean?" Kyle questioned.

            Mary need air for the explanation, "Last night, my dad taught me a trick that he heard from one of his co-workers. Every time you spell a word, you count the number of letters. Then you count the number of letters in the number you found and so on. Eventually, you will reach the number four."

            Ataxia crossed Kyle's face, "Can I have an example?"

            Mary scanned around and the train had finished going by moments ago, "Railroad. Spell railroad."

            "R-A-I-L-R-O-A-D," Kyle said. "Eight letters."

            Mary instructed, "Spell eight."

            "E-I-G-H-T.  Five letters," Kyle suddenly understood.

            Mary joined in the fun, "F-I-V-E...Four letters. F-O-U-R...Four letters."

            Kyle made the profound exegesis, "Everything comes back to four."

            She recapped the highlights, "Football, eight. Eight, five. Five, four. Four, four."

            He thought of another example, "Corn, four."

            She reworded the keen sentence, "Four is the root of all spellings."

            He noted, "I think it is more a really funny coincidence."

            She noted as well, "I would agree there. It's pretty freaky."

            Mary suddenly shivered because of the cold air, "Let's go back to my house. I am really cold."

            Kyle didn't disagree at all, "I'm with you. Freezing limbs aren't what I have in mind right now."

            The young couple walked the block to her house with their hands interlocked together.  The autumn chill was working its way through their bones, something much warmer traversed through the coach's veins.