They had a ton of questions about Win, of course, and one of them knew a kid in school with SCI so she had a lot to say. Then Tyrona wanted to know about football and she wouldn't stop until I'd told the entire story, pretty much every detail including Brian, and she just ate it up.
"What are we doing here?" she asked the other girls. "We could be out there breaking new ground, and we're just shooting hoops."
"I'm not breaking ground now," I pointed out.
"Of course you're not—it's November, woman. The ground is frozen. You wanna go out?"
That too was quite the experience, seeing Tyrona's room and her signed posters of all the WNBA teams and players, and she dressed me because of course I hadn't brought any going-out clothes, or owned any really, and I sure don't have money to waste on stuff like that. But that's one nice thing about hanging out with Division I women's basketball players: they're all pretty much my size. We went to a party with music I'd never heard before but I liked it, and just as we walked in, Aaron gave this huge whoop because he was there too, and he grabbed me and said, "Hey, y'all, this is Milkshake's baby sister so you all be nice to her." Which is how I learned that Bill's nickname is Milkshake, which he had never felt the need to mention.
I also learned that Aaron's nickname is Tink, short for Tinkerbell, which he is pretty much the opposite of. Although he might have gotten it for another reason, because—and I know this is a huge stereotype about black people, I'm well aware of that—but that guy can dance. I mean, he's around 320, but on the dance floor he must have magic slippers or something—it's like he weighs twenty pounds max. Which really impressed me, especially seeing as us Wisconsin folks aren't really known for our, you know, dancing ability, but he took me under his wing and got me dancing too, or at least relaxed enough that I wasn't seizing up from terror at how bad I looked.
If I ever coach football, which is a long shot I know, the very first thing I'm going to do is hire Aaron to come teach all the players to dance, because anyone who can move like that would be pretty much unstoppable.
Bill was there as well, hanging out as always in a big cloud of girls, which would have bummed me out if I wasn't getting so much attention from Aaron on my dancing and stuff. I mean, at times I've been kind of jealous of Bill's abilities to make friends and girlfriends so easily. Not that I want girlfriends but you understand. If I'd been there alone, without Aaron and Tyrona making me feel welcome, I'd be sitting in a corner getting sad about Brian.
But here's the thing: it felt so different here, away from Red Bend and all that high school social stuff. Back in Red Bend, I would never get invited to a party like this—I almost never got invited to parties, period. And these were cool people. I mean, I don't know how they fit into the whole U of M pecking order—I'm sure there were kids somewhere on campus who would look at this party as uncool or unhip or something. But I didn't care, and I got the sense that no one else there cared either. They were having a good time with people they liked, and that's all that mattered to them.
Maybe that's what college is. Maybe it's that town full of strangers I'd been hoping to find with Brian. It's a place where you can start new without anyone sticking their noses in the air about your growing up on a dairy farm or being taller than almost all the boys in school, or having gay friends. Maybe the people at this party acted like that back in high school, I don't know. I didn't know them then. But maybe they'd grown up enough not to be like that anymore.
Brian—maybe he'll grow up too, in his town full of strangers wherever he goes to college. But at the moment I didn't care too much about his growing up, because I felt—this is going to sound pretty stuck up, I'm sure—but I felt that by the time he did, I'd be too grown up to care. Or maybe I was already. Besides, dancing was too much fun to think about people like Brian.
We left the party pretty early, actually, because Bill and Aaron were still on football time and had a curfew, which was fine with me. Aaron crashed with a friend down the hall so I could have his bed, which was huge just like him. The next morning I slept in for the first time in years, which felt like absolute heaven, and I walked around campus for the rest of the day pretending I was a real college student. That was a pretty heady feeling, let me tell you. Although it didn't compare one tiny iota to that night when I got to go to a women's basketball exhibition game. Wow. Almost ten thousand people—ten thousand!—watched, and they were extremely loud, and the game was extremely amazing, and Minnesota won because they've got a total home-court advantage, and I couldn't help but think that however exciting Red Bend football had been, this was a totally different league.
Afterward Bill took me back to his room because he actually had to study, which I guess is part of college too, and I didn't mind one bit seeing as I had my own homework to do. And then the next morning he drove me back to the rehab hospital. Back to reality. Although I felt so great, it was like I'd been gone three months instead of just two nights. And we didn't even stop at the Mall of America though it was right there with huge signs begging us to come in. We just drove right past it.
As happy as I was to be at U of M, I think Win was twice as happy to have three days with Charlie Wright, talking football around the clock while Charlie helped him. Charlie had even brought some Packers tapes. Win still couldn't watch live TV football for reasons I'm sure you can understand, but this was a job, which of course Win was totally into, and he and Charlie pored over them, talking all sorts of stuff that would probably have bored even me.
Bill came up to visit for a bit and join in all the football talk, stuff about pro ball that I'd never even imagined, it's so far from Red Bend. Although I did get to point out that if Bill ever got drafted, he'd either be training under Win or playing against him, both of which would pretty much suck. Which made them all crack up, even though Win had to add that maybe he'd get that assistant's position, and of course maybe Bill would be good enough for the NFL. Thanks, Win.
Then Charlie said, in a voice like they'd been through this before, "You need a degree before they'll hire you." What is it with grownups and college degrees?
Win stiffened, if you can stiffen in a cervical cream-cheese collar. "I know that!"
I had no idea what they were talking about but I sure didn't want to set Win off, and Bill must have felt the same way because right away he started talking about this girl he'd met who had eyes that are two different colors. Which wasn't the most exciting way to change the subject but it sure beat irritating Win.
Later when Win was napping, Charlie explained that the University of Washington would still give Win a full scholarship, which was awfully nice of them considering that he'd ruined his life playing for them although I don't mean to sound bitter. But of course in order to get that degree, Win would have to go back to school. With assistants if he needed them, specially trained people so it's not all dumped on your family. And Charlie said that folks at the university, and folks in Red Bend too, like Kathy Ott and Cindy Jorgensen, who apparently are angels from heaven sent to care for us Schwenks, were organizing fundraisers and stuff because SCI costs so much. Wheelchairs cost a ton, even the manual ones and don't ask about electric, and rebuilding bathrooms and kitchens—which our house will need, duh—and those specially trained aides, and PT, and a whole bunch of other stuff. So the fact that people out there wanted to give money to Win was awfully nice.
Which brought up what Charlie and Win had been fighting about, that Win wanted the degree but he didn't want to go to class with the other students. And even though he liked the idea of fundraising, he refused to talk about something like a press conference, which of course would be the best way to get the word out. Even when Charlie said that Win needed to be a role model, which usually works on him the way the words "free beer" work on Bill, Win objected. He didn't want people looking at him and talking about him and feeling sorry for him. Which I could understand, but I could understand Charlie's point too.
Anyway, we talked about this a while, and when Win woke
up he transferred to the wheelchair with not too much help from me and Charlie, showing Bill how good he was getting, and I wheeled him downstairs to say goodbye. Charlie asked Win to come out to the curb where his rental car was but Win wouldn't. He said it was because it was too cold, but it was clear to all of us that Win didn't want to be out in public, on a street where he could be seen by strangers. So that was a bit of an awkward moment, and then Charlie and Bill both hugged us and said how impressed they were by Win's progress, and off they went while I took Win back upstairs.
I thought about pointing out that hiding inside wasn't how captains acted, but I didn't because I'm not that stupid.
28. Day of Thanks
EVERYONE WAS TALKING ABOUT WIN actually going home for Thanksgiving. Which really is kind of a miracle, a Grandpa Warren hard-work miracle, not the God-is-easy-on-you kind. We had a couple big phone calls with Mom and Dad, organizing a trip back to Schwenk Farm just for Thanksgiving Day, not spending the night because that's months away yet. Maryann even volunteered to go with us to assess the house—that's something they do with every patient although usually not on Thanksgiving, which makes me think that Maryann was making, you know, a special exception. Then again, her family's in Nebraska and maybe she didn't have anything else to do, who knows.
A few days before Thanksgiving, Win got a head cold and I thought that was it. But he recovered before it went into his chest, which would be really bad because the whole pneumonia thing with quads, and now it looked like we were really good to go. Win even had these ceramic turkey candleholders he'd made in art class that Mom would just bawl her head off over.
Wednesday afternoon Dad showed up to stay the night then drive us back, Win and Maryann and me. We kept saying this wasn't necessary, that in fact it was an extremely bad idea because Win needs a special van—he can't just be wheeled onto the pickup bed. But Dad insisted. Then when he showed up, I could see why.
He was driving a new van. I mean, brand new. It was so new it didn't have a license plate even, just a paper form. And a wheelchair lift and everything. Dad climbed out of that van like it was his fifth child. He'd called from the road to make sure I'd be out front when he pulled up.
"That's not ours," I said.
"Oh yeah it is. Just got it." He patted the shiny new paint. It's been a long time since he had a shiny ride. "All we pay for is gas."
"But who—where—"
"That fellow of yours? Well, his father started up a collection with truck dealers, all over Wisconsin I think, and they pooled up and got this."
"Brian's father? The one who almost sued the school about me?"
Dad nodded. He looked as surprised as I did, and he'd had time to absorb it. "You just can't tell about some people." He started to cry. "You can't tell what's inside them."
Which I had to agree with, though I didn't have any time to chew this over because Dad right away wanted to see Win, and he started crying even more watching Win wheel himself over to shake his hand. That got the nurses going even. Win showed Dad all over the hospital, me pushing most of the time because he can't wheel for long and it's not so good for his shoulders. Win was pretty much head honcho these days, speaking to new patients, busting guys who weren't working as hard as he thought they should be, joking around with Dennis, who nearly gave Dad a heart attack when he came rushing over to greet him. There was a huge duffel of Win's medical stuff, all these things he'd need and stuff we sure hoped he wouldn't, and I was extremely glad Maryann was coming because there was no way I could have handled that by myself. I couldn't even identify most of it.
Dad spent the night with me in the little apartment, and I got to make him French toast for dinner, really late, because that's the only thing I know how to cook, Dad drinking beer, which normally doesn't go with French toast but guess how much he cared.
"You know, I saw Brian," Dad said after a while.
I shrugged, but inside my stomach flipped. I tried to think of what to say: "Oh"..."We broke up"..."Did he talk about me?" But I couldn't think of anything, not without a couple weeks' effort.
"He came by with his dad to drop off the van. Asked me to say hello."
"Oh," I managed to get out at last. "That's—that's nice."
"It is. He's had an easy life, that boy has." There was a long silence, and then Dad held up a forkful of French toast. "You didn't use any cinnamon, I see."
I had to grin. "Couldn't find any."
"Well, they taste perfect like this. Just perfect." He clinked his beer against my glass of milk, and the conversation drifted over to Curtis, how Dad had just about lost his teeth, the fake ones, the first time he saw those rats.
Walking into Win's room the next morning, though, I could tell something was wrong. Just the way he sat staring out the window made me think, Uh-oh.
"Hey there, ready to hit the road?" I said, hoping to bluff my way through.
"I'm not going," Win said flatly.
"So, we've got a van, we've got a therapist—the prettiest therapist, which is nice—we've got Dad ready to pull out a handkerchief for just about anything. We've got the turkey candlesticks. Anything we're missing?"
"I'm not going."
I sat down on the edge of the bed. "Okay."
"People know me here. They know what I look like."
"So you're saying you don't want to go for Thanksgiving, or you don't want to go, period?"
Win didn't answer.
"Because you're going to have to leave the building eventually. They'll kick you out."
"Do you know what people will say, seeing me?" he asked bitterly, gesturing to his wheelchair. "'Oh, look at that crippled guy. Isn't that sad. Isn't he brave.' I hate that garbage. I hate it."
That lingered there in the hospital room for a few minutes, those words.
I swallowed. "We've got a little brother," I said, kind of out of the blue, "who's really smart. Which, you know, is not something that comes naturally to us. He's probably going to go to med school or something. And he made this thing—with rats, but still—and it won a huge prize. But he couldn't tell anyone. He got in so much trouble, and so did Sarah, because everyone thought they were fooling around. But having people think that, that was easier for the two of them than the truth. The truth that they're smart."
Win didn't say anything, but he was listening.
"And I used to have a boyfriend. Who actually is a really nice guy, and his dad got us that van, which is pretty amazing. But we broke up because he couldn't stand what his friends might think. I might not be the best girl in the world, or the prettiest—"
"You're both those things," said Win.
"Prettier than Maryann?"
"Shut up. Keep talking."
"Anyway, we broke up because he was afraid of what his friends said. And that's kind of pathetic, I think." I sighed. "I have another friend, a real friend. She said once—just a couple weeks ago, actually—that you can't control what people say about you. And she should know."
"Was this Amber?"
(I'd told Win about Amber too, which I thought would be a huge revelation but he just laughed and asked me if I'd ever been in a weight room. Whatever that means.)
"Nah, her girlfriend."
Win thought for a moment. "'You can't control what people say about you'...She's got a smart girlfriend."
"Yeah, she does."
"So are you going to help me out of here?"
"I suppose so," I said, giving him a punch in the arm. Not too hard, but hard enough. Hard enough to let him know he couldn't be broken.
So that was the beginning of our big trip home for Thanksgiving, and it would have been the emotional high point probably, if we hadn't driven through Hawley.
Okay, I know I haven't mentioned much about Red Bend football lately, but it turns out Red Bend and Hawley finished the season tied for first, and they were playing each other for the league championship. This was the big Thanksgiving Day game everyone goes to every year.
Which Dad knew, even t
hough he also wasn't paying as much attention as he usually does. So while we were on the road, Dad asked if it was okay if we drove through Hawley. He didn't even mention the game, just said that Jimmy Ott wanted to wave. Which Jimmy did want to do. He'd been so much a part of our family, he and Kathy, that he really wanted, you know, just to acknowledge Win as we drove by, step out of his office before the game started to do that. And so Dad called from his cell phone—oh, Dad has a cell phone now, did I forget to mention that? So he can call the cows in for milking, ha ha—Dad called Jimmy to let him know we'd be passing by.
Anyway, we ended up leaving the hospital a lot later than we'd planned because everything takes so much longer with, well, with everything, and so Dad's big plan to pass through Hawley two hours before the game got all screwed up, and instead he called about fifteen minutes before kickoff when Jimmy was in the middle of his locker room pep talk. And because Jimmy is such a loyal, wonderful person, and also because he thought it might really inspire his players, he made the whole Hawley team come out to the street with him. And when Jeff Peterson heard what was going on, then of course he had to bring the Red Bend players out as well, seeing as he was one of Win's coaches back in high school. And then the cheerleaders joined in because that's what they do, and a whole bunch of Red Bend fans went racing for the gates—especially because Kathy had organized a fund drive for Win before the game, with ladies at every gate collecting money in Red Bend football helmets, which sort of put Win on everyone's minds...
But we didn't know any of this. Even Dad and Jimmy Ott weren't expecting this. So Dad looked just as surprised as the rest of us in the van when we turned onto the street that runs past the high school and there, all of a sudden, was everyone. All these people lining the road, both sides, and cheerleaders too, and Beaner yelling his head off and jumping up and down, and all the Hawley players, probably Brian even, though I couldn't make him out in that blur of orange uniforms—