"Well, I guess I'll be seeing you, Coach," Ernie said after an awkward silence.
"Look, think it over, will you?" I urged. "I don't want you to think you have to cut out of the team completely just because of me."
"It's okay, I'll—"
He broke off suddenly, gripping my arm tightly, his eyes wide as he stared down the hill. I turned to look.
The car with the fancy mirrors was rolling down the hill. Already it was picking up speed.
Maybe Ernie saw the kid in the car. Maybe he heard the crowd beneath the cliff, or maybe he was thinking of Jenny. Probably it was all three. But before I could break the shock that had glued me to the blacktop, Ernie was off like a rocket, tearing after that car with all the speed he could muster.
And not only all the speed. He was 'porting, too, all but invisible gaining himself an extra foot of distance every two seconds. Not much, but every bit was worth something.
Out of the corner of my eye I saw the car's owners come out of the butcher shop. Her scream and his curse as they saw what was happening finally got my feet moving, and the three of us took off down the hill. I don't know what they were thinking, but I knew we didn't have a hope in hell of catching that car. What I did know was that I was suddenly terrified for Ernie.
Another few seconds, and Ernie had reached the car. He didn't waste time trying to open the door, but instead put one hand on the edge of the roof and the other hand on the mirror and vaulted onto the mirror's support posts. Twisting into a crazy sort of fetal position with his legs hooked around the mirror posts, he reached through the open window and grabbed the wheel.
I wanted to swear, but I needed all my breath for running. The car was starting to turn now, but only slowly, and it was already dangerously close to the edge of the cliff. I couldn't see how Ernie could get it turned in time, and if he couldn't he was going to go through the guardrail with it. There was no way he could drop off from that position without killing himself. A horrible thought flashed through my mind, that Ernie wouldn't have done something this suicidal if he hadn't been depressed by my talk with him. I silently cursed myself and tried to speed up.
The car was well into the curve now, but Ernie almost had the wheels turned enough. For a second I thought he was going to make it. Then the car slammed into the guardrail.
The woman running behind me gasped. Ernie's legs flailed a bit as the jolt threatened to throw him off, but he managed to hang on. The car had apparently bounced off the rail, because it was still on the road, and as I watched it bounced against the barrier two more times. Then, incredibly, it was solidly on blacktop again. The wheels were still turned, though, and as the road straightened out the car kept turning. It crossed both lanes and nosed into the ditch on the side away from the cliff. There, finally, it stopped, throwing Ernie off.
I didn't even glance into the car to see if the kid was all right, but headed straight to Ernie. He looked up at me out of a face dripping with sweat and smiled weakly. Then he fainted.
—
The hospital couldn't find anything except bruises on Ernie, but he was so exhausted they insisted on keeping him there overnight. I got in to see him about ten minutes after visiting hours started that evening. Jenny Cooper was already there, sitting by his bed and holding his hand, talking quietly with him.
"Coach Morrissey!" he said when he saw me at the door. "C'mon in."
"How are you doing?" I asked, pulling a chair to the foot of his bed.
"Great. A little tired is all."
"I can imagine," I said, thinking of all the 'porting he had done. "I guess everybody in town knows what you did today, Ernie. You're a real hero."
"Yeah," he said slowly. "You know, Coach, this isn't really how I expected it to be."
"Oh?" I thought I understood.
"No. I guess I always thought it would be the greatest thing in the world to have everybody telling me what a great guy I was. It's funny, but it doesn't seem all that important anymore. I was feeling good about what happened long before anybody started telling me I was a hero."
"It's like I told you a long time ago: what matters isn't the name but the guy who wears it. When you start feeling good about yourself, it doesn't matter a whole lot what anybody else thinks about you. Well, most anybody, I mean," I added, smiling at Jenny. She smiled back.
"Yeah." Ernie was silent for a moment. "Coach, will you be mad if I drop out of the boxing team? I know you were hoping I'd fight in the Golden Gloves tourney, but—well, I'd like to spend more time on my schoolwork. And besides, Jenny thinks boxing's too dangerous."
"If it's what you really want, Ernie, go ahead. I hope you'll come in and say hello when you can, though."
He grinned. "Sure thing."
"Good. Well, I guess I'll leave you two alone." I headed toward the door, but then turned back. "Oh, by the way, I talked to Chief Dobbs earlier. He told me that car hit the guardrail pretty hard those three times. Says it was a miracle you didn't go through it and over the cliff."
Jenny tightened her grip on Ernie's hand, but he just smiled slightly. "I believe in miracles, Coach. Don't you?"
"Sure do," I said, and in my mind's eye I could see Ernie clinging to that car, "porting it an inch at a time, six inches a second, backing it away from that edge. And I looked into Ernie's face and saw the peace and self-respect that was finally there. Ernie Lambert was a real somebody, and for the first time in his life he knew it. "Sure do," I repeated.
—
I still hear from Ernie a couple of times a year. He and Jenny are married and have two kids, and he's a CPA out in Denver. He doesn't box anymore, but plays some amateur baseball now and then, and Jenny tells me he's pretty good at it. It seems he's got this weird little jerk of some kind that he puts in the middle of each pitch. It drives the batters crazy.
As for me, I'm keeping my eyes open. Somewhere in this world there has to be someone else who can 'port like Ernie, and the guy just might be big enough and mean enough to become a real heavyweight pro.
I can always hope, anyway.
Raison D'etre
Something has happened. Something is different.
I try to understand. There are pressures on me at various places; other things are inside me. In front of me, through the thick wall, I see my work. All is as usual.
But something has changed. What?
I do not understand. But I did not understand the last time, either.
The last time?
Yes... yes—this has happened before. Somehow I know that I have felt this way once before... and once more before that. To know of something that is not now is strange. I do not understand it, and it frightens me. Fear, too, is new to me. What is happening?
The thought comes suddenly: I am aware.
For a long time I wonder about this, but cannot understand how this is different. Then, unexpectedly, comes another new discovery. Something inside me happens, which makes some of the pressures on me harder—and suddenly I can see in a brand new way!
I am startled so much that, for the first time, I stop working. This is wrong, I know, and I try to begin again, but this new sight is so different that I cannot concentrate. Finally, I simply give up, despite the deep longing I have to continue. I must understand this new sight.
It is, I quickly learn, much more limited than my normal sight. It can only be used in one direction at once, and things it shows me are not like what I see normally. They are dark, indistinct, and flat. Some are not even there; I cannot see my work moving along in front of me, no matter how I try.