The Ties That Bind, story by James Howard at Spillwords.com

The Ties That Bind

written by: James Howard

Baseball practice finished up around 7:30. The rest of the boys ran over to where their parents were waiting. Nate, standing alone outside the fence that surrounded the field, searched for his father. The green country squire station wagon with the fake wood paneling on the sides was nowhere in sight. Late again. I knew he would be; he thought to himself. He was glad. He wanted to be the last one to leave. He didn’t want anyone around when his father showed up. He’d started drinking before he drove him to the school field, and Nate knew too well how mean his father could be when he’d been drinking.
A couple of kids walked by him, chanting, “I hate Nate,” “I hate Nate.” “Hey, loser, where’s your father, drunk again?” “Nice cleats, poorboy’’ one of them said. Nate didn’t have cleats. His father said he couldn’t afford them. “Sneakers work just as good,” he told him. Nate looked down at the ground, anger rising, tears welling in his eyes. He hated those kids. The coach yelled over to them to knock it off. “Nate,” the coach asked, “do you want a ride home?” “No, coach.” He did, but he didn’t want the coach to see where he lived; it embarrassed him. “Do you want me to wait with you until your ride gets here?” “No, I’m okay. It shouldn’t be too long.” “Okay, buddy. I’ll see you in a few days. We have a big game coming up on Wednesday, and I’m thinking about starting you at pitcher.” “Okay, bye, I’ll see you then.” He watched as the coach’s car drove down the school parking lot, secretly wishing his coach were his father.

As his coach’s car turned out of the school onto Pine Street, he spotted a lone figure walking on the side of the road. It was an old man. He was wearing a bone-colored overcoat, and on his head sat a fedora with a black feather sticking out of the hatband. In his left hand, he carried a cane. The old man noticed him standing under the overhang that leads to the entrance of the school and made his way over to where he was standing. “It’s getting dark out. Are you waiting for someone?” The old man asked. “Yes, sir, I’m waiting for my father to pick me up,” Nate replied. “Oh, good. I’d hate to see you out here all alone. Maybe he lost track of time. I’m sure he’s on his way now,” the old man said while looking at his watch.
After a brief pause, the old man said, “I’m looking for my dog. She’s lost. She’s a good dog, but she has a tendency to run off. Her name is Vera, and she has a white collar on. I think she might have ran into the woods back there,” pointing a long, bony, pasty finger toward the woods behind the school. Nate could see the veins coursing through the old man’s fingers, leading to his yellowed fingernails. “Would you mind helping an old man out? I’ll pay you.” He reached into his front pants pocket and pulled out a crumpled five-dollar bill. “That’s all I have on me, but I think it’s enough to get you a lot of penny candy from Jed’s gas station or maybe a couple comic books over at the Beacon Pharmacy.” “I, I have to wait here, my father should be here any second,” the boy nervously said, looking down the street. “Okay, no worries,” the old man said as he reached into the pocket of his overcoat, pulling out a pipe and a pouch filled with leafy tobacco. He asked the boy to hold his walking stick and handed it over to him. It felt warm and smooth in his hands. It was comforting. Carved around the entire length of the cane was a snake; the handle of the cane was fashioned into the snake’s head with its mouth open, its fangs bared. It looked as if it were ready to strike. He ran his hands the entire length of the cane. It was very detailed, right down to the scales on the snake’s skin. But what stood out the most to the boy were the eyes. They were crimson red and lifelike. He could swear they were looking right at him. The cane felt alive in his hands. The boy watched as the old man stuffed his pipe and put it up to his thin, almost colorless lips. From his other pocket, the old man pulled out a box of wooden matches; they were the same type of matches his mother and father used to light their cigarettes. The lit match illuminated the old man’s face. The boy looked into his eyes. They were yellow, and he could see a hint of faded blue around his pupils. The man looked back at him. Maybe it was the match or the glow from his pipe, but for a second, his eyes seemed to flash the same red color as the eyes of the snake on the cane. He could have sworn at that moment the cane moved in his hands as though it had come to life. He could feel the snake breathing, the rough scales running along his hand. Scared, the boy dropped the cane and stepped away from the old man. “Hey, be careful with that,” the old man said, exhaling pipe smoke. It smelled of apples. He bent over and picked it up. “This has been in my family for generations. I wasn’t that much older than you are now when it was given to me.” The sun was setting fast, and a slight breeze picked up. “Do I scare you?” The old man asked. The boy shrugged his shoulders, nervously scanning the street for approaching headlights. “I hope not. I don’t want to scare you,” the old man said. “Are you sure you won’t help me find my dog?” “No, I should stay here,” the boy mumbled. “Are you sure, it’s dark in them woods, and my eyesight ain’t that good anymore. You could just walk with me to the edge of the woods and wait for me. There’s a pond back there; it’s full of frogs and turtles.” “I know,” the boy replied. “Oh, have you been back there?” The old man asked. “Yes, sometimes me and my friends ride our bikes there to catch frogs or look for salamanders.” “So you know those woods then? You should walk with me. You’ll be back in time for your father to pick you up.” “No, I think I should stay here.” “Don’t you trust me?” The boy shrugged his shoulders. “Would you trust me if I told you my name?” The boy shrugged his shoulders again. “Well, my name is Geoden, Geodan Devland. What’s yours?” “Nathan,” replied the boy. “Ah, Nathan, a good Christian name. Did you know it means a gift from God?” “No, sir,” Nate replied quietly. “Do you feel like you’re a gift from God?” Geodan asked. “I don’t know,” Nate replied. “Do you believe in God?” “I don’t know.” “Do you go to church?” “I go to catechism.” Nate said, looking at the ground. “Do you like it?” Geodan asked. Pausing briefly, Nate said, “Not really, it’s always cold in the classroom.” The old man smiled; it was a comforting smile, then asked, “Now that we have introduced ourselves, do you trust me enough to walk with me to the woods?” “I’m really worried about my dog,” stuttering, the boy said. “I, I really should stay here. I need to go home. My father will be here pretty soon.” “That’s a good boy, you shouldn’t trust strangers, even if you know their name,” Geodan replied reassuringly. “Your parents are teaching you well, really well.” Smiling once again, this time the smile was different; this time, the smile seemed a little less friendly and a little more sinister. Nate got a good look at the old man’s teeth; they were brownish-yellow and pointed. They reminded him of the teeth of a piranha. He learned about piranhas in science class. Geoden said, “Okay, Nate, you don’t mind if I call you Nate, do you?” “No, sir,” he replied, looking away. Now he was scared. “I need to find my dog. Your father should be here any minute now. Are you sure you won’t walk with me?” The boy shook his head. “That’s okay, I can go alone.” “Aren’t you scared of going into those woods at night?” Nate asked. The old man cackled and said, “No, I’ve walked those woods all my life. I’ve seen you there too. I also saw you at the lily pads and the king’s chair. You didn’t see me, but I saw you. I felt bad for you; you looked lonely and sad, and angry. I saw your friends laugh when they lured you to the riverbank and pushed you into the water. I also saw your father and his father before him. They used to play in those woods, too. Did you know that?” “No, sir,” Nate replied, looking toward the woods. “Do you like your friends?” “I guess.” “That’s good, you like your friends, but you hate them too, don’t you? You hate them because they have things you don’t have and they laugh at you because of it, don’t they?” The boy just looked down. They stood in silence for a few moments before the old man said, “So long, Nate. Please keep an eye out for my dog.” “Okay, I will.” He watched as the old man turned away and walked towards the back of the school. He didn’t take his eyes off him. The old man stopped, turned back towards him, and waved. “I’ll see you around, Nate.” The boy didn’t wave back. In the distance, he could hear the New Haven Railroad train whistle and a dog bark. He wondered if that was the old man’s dog. The boy stood there alone, staring down the road, waiting for the headlights of his father’s station wagon. Finally, he saw his father’s car coming down the road and turning into the school’s driveway. He opened the door and climbed into the front passenger seat. He could smell the cigarettes in the ashtray and the whiskey on his father’s breath. “I’m sorry I’m late. Your damn mother was being a pain in the ass again. You know how she can be.” His father slurred. The boy didn’t look at his father; he just stared out the window. “Next time, maybe ask one of your friends for a ride or quit. I’m getting tired of having to cart your ass around town. Are you even any good at this game?” The boy didn’t respond. “I’m talking to you,” he felt the sting as the back of his father’s hand landed on his ear. “Are you going to cry now? Are you going to be a baby? I’ll toughen you up,” Nate felt the hatred towards his father wash over him. He wished his father were dead. He didn’t speak; he just kept staring out the window, wishing he was going to a different home, any home but his. As they rode over the Lowe’s Brook Bridge on Route 12, he saw the old man standing under a street light. In one hand was his cane. In the other, he was holding a white dog collar. They locked eyes. When they got home, the boy went straight to his room. He could tell his parents had been fighting. There were broken dishes and an empty Cutty Sark bottle lying on the kitchen floor. His mother asked him how practice was; he could tell she had been crying. He didn’t answer; he just wanted to go to bed; he just wanted to be left alone. As he was getting undressed, he felt something in the pocket of his sweatpants. He reached in and pulled out a crumpled five-dollar bill. He stared at it for a few seconds, then slipped it under his mattress, wondering why the old man gave it to him even though he didn’t help him find his dog, Vera, and how did he slip it into his pocket without him knowing? As he lay there on his bed, he told himself that he’ll never treat his kids like this. Drifting off to sleep, he caught a faint whiff of apples.

He awoke to the sound of his cell phone ringing. His head hurt; it was a dull throb, a leftover from the night before. “Hello, Nate, are you coming to pick your son up, or are you going to blow him off again?” It was his ex-wife. “Oh, shit, yeah, I’m coming. No, I didn’t get drunk last night,” he said. It was a lie; he knew it, and she knew it. He got drunk, too drunk. He always got too drunk. He hung up the phone; it was 8:10. He told the boy he’d be there at 8. He rolled off his couch and looked out the window. His pickup was parked out front, just under the crabapple tree. Thank god he thought. He didn’t remember how he got home. He saw scuff marks on his tires but no other damage.

He lit a cigarette and made his way to the bathroom. Looking into the bathroom mirror, he saw a hint of purple under his left eye, and his right ear was sore. Bits and pieces of the night came back through the boozy haze. He remembered seeing an old teammate. He remembered wanting to finally exact some revenge. He was going to show him what a man he is now. “Hey, remember me,” he asked him. Nate continued, “I sure as hell remember you; we were in Little League together. Remember how you made fun of me? Make fun of me now.” “Nate! How are you? That was a long time ag….” Nate pushed him up against the bar before he could finish. Bottles and glasses crashed to the floor. “Come on, you aren’t so tough now, are you?” Nate yelled. Whack! He didn’t see the bouncer behind him, but he felt the big, meaty fist as it connected with the side of his head. His knees buckled, and he hit his face on the side of a barstool. He saw blank faces staring, and he heard other patrons laughing at him as he was dragged by the back of his collar to the back door. He lay in the parking lot for a few minutes, vowing revenge on all of them. He built up scenarios in his head on how he would get them all.
He brushed his teeth, swallowed some aspirin, grabbed his car keys, and headed out to pick the boy up.
Stopping in front of the house, he saw the boy waiting on the front stoop, talking to his stepfather. That know-it-all, Nate thought to himself. He thinks he’s better than me. I’ll beat his ass too. Let him try me.

The boy climbed onto the seat of his father’s old pickup, cracking the window to escape the smell of cigarettes coming from the full ashtray, then asked his father if they could go get something to eat. “I don’t know. I don’t have much money. Besides, doesn’t your mother feed you? Isn’t that why I pay fucking child support?”

They drove off. The boy asked him if he could make it to his baseball game on Wednesday night. “I’m pitching,” he said excitedly. “I don’t know, I’m starting a new job this week, and I’m probably going to be tired,” an aggravated Nate replied. Then he asked if he could change the radio station. “I don’t like this music,” the boy said. Getting angrier, Nate shot back, “What are you talking about? This is classic rock; this was when music was real. Not like the garbage you kids listen to nowadays.” Sensing the escalating frustration in his father’s voice, the boy just turned his head and looked out the window. They drove on in silence. As they passed by the building that once housed the grocery store his parents shopped at, now a pharmacy, Nate remembered the trails, the old frog pond where he would go to escape, to get away, to be alone. It was also where a couple of older kids would try to take his bike from him. I’d love to run into them now, he thought. He wanted to see what it looked like some 30 years later. He pulled into the parking lot. They got out and started towards the path, now pretty much filled in by second growth. As they approached, he could hear the turtles sliding off the partially submerged, rotted fallen trees they were sunning themselves. Slipping into the safety of the water. As they stood at the edge of the pond, which now looked more like a swamp, he could see empty milk crates and discarded water bottles. The shoreline was littered with empty cigarette packs and old nip bottles. Lying on its side, half in the water, was an old, rusted shopping cart. “Why are we here?” the boy asked. “I used to come here when I was a kid,” Nate responded. “I don’t want to be here. Can’t we go to the park?” The boy asked. Frustrated again, Nate told the boy, “Listen, I can always bring you back home. You don’t appreciate anything I try to do for you. Your mother’s spoiling you. Come on, let’s go look and see if the trails are still up there. We used to come here and catch frogs and salamanders. Do you know what a salamander is?” “Yes.” The boy said while carefully walking over fallen limbs.
“Have you ever seen one?” “No,” the boy answered. “Maybe we can find some. Come on.” They headed up the short incline that leads to the pine grove and the trails. Once in the pine grove, there was even more trash. More empty bottles just lying around, broken bicycles, and plastic soda bottles that were used as crack pipes. But the paths were still there. Some of the old familiar ones and some newer ones. He could see the ball fields where he played Little League. Little kids were playing on the swings, and some of the older ones were playing basketball on the courts that were added years ago. “There’s too many bugs here, can we go now?” “I really don’t want to go much further,” the boy said while frantically swatting at mosquitoes and horseflies. “OK, goddamn it, let’s go. I’m bringing you home now. Your mother can deal with your attitude.” Just as they turned back, he heard the boy yell, “Whoa! Look at that,” pointing over to an old pine tree. Looking in the direction his son was pointing, Nate asked “What, what are you looking at?” “Over there, look, what is that?” That’s when he saw it, leaning up against the trunk of an old pine tree was a cane. The cane had a snake carved around it, twisting up to the handle, which was formed into the head of the snake. The eyes of the snake were red and lifelike. It looked as if it were looking right at him. Carved into the side of the handle were the initials G.D. Lying flat on the ground was a dirty, dingy white dog collar. Inside the collar was a crumpled five-dollar bill. He stood staring; the wind picked up, shaking the tops of the pine trees. He saw the faces of his father and his mother. He heard Gedeon, and he saw those old eyes looking at him. He remembered how comforting that cane felt in his hands, how it felt alive, how it seemed to give him strength. 30 years of misery, the fights, the anger, and hatred rushed through him, staggering him. The boy ran over to the tree and bent down to pick the cane up. Just before he put his hands around it, Nate yelled out, “Leave it alone, don’t touch that.” The boy recoiled. Nate continued, “It probably belongs to somebody, and they’ll be looking for it. Just leave it alone. Come on, let’s go. I thought you wanted to leave.” “Yeah, but look at that cane, it’s cool looking; it looks like a snake,” the boy excitedly said. “Just leave it alone. Come on, let’s go to the diner, you said you were hungry. I could go for a burger.” “Okay.” The boy stood and looked at the cane. He looked at the dog collar and wondered who this belonged to, and hoped the dog was okay. As they headed back down the trail towards the parking lot, the smell of apples floated in with the wind. In the distance, a dog barked, and the whistle from the Providence/Worcester railroad train sounded out. When they got back to the truck, Nate turned to the boy and said softly, “Promise me you’ll never come here without me.” “Okay, I won’t,” he replied. “No, son, promise me you’ll never come back here without me. Say I promise.” “Okay, I promise.”
After they finished their burgers, the waitress came back, cleared their plates from the table, and asked if they wanted some dessert. Today’s special is fresh homemade pie. We have apple and cherry. Nate ordered a slice of apple pie. “And did you want the same?” she asked the boy. “No, ma’am. Is it okay if I have cherry?” “You got it, young man.” She turned to Nate and said, “What a polite young man, and handsome too.” “Thank you,” Nate said. “Thank you,” said the boy. “What time is your game on Wednesday?” Nate asked. “7:30, it’s under the lights, Dad,” the boy responded before taking a big bite of his cherry pie. “Okay, buddy, I’ll be there.”

In the middle of the second inning, with the boy’s team leading by one run, the sound of sirens could be heard coming from Main Street. It sounds pretty bad, the boy thought to himself. He wished he could go and see what had happened.

About 45 minutes later, the boy saw a state police cruiser pull into the ball field. He watched as the officer walked over to his mother and began saying something to her. He saw his mother begin to cry. They both looked in the boy’s direction. His mom walked over to the dugout and said something to his coach. The coach, looking sympathetically at him, told him his mom needed to speak with him. He knew, he just knew something terrible had happened. He didn’t need his mother to tell him his father was killed in a motor vehicle crash. He was hit head-on by a drunk driver while heading to the game. As his mother was telling him, a light breeze blew in from the outfield. The boy picked up the faint smell of apples. Off in the distance, somewhere in the woods, he heard a dog howling, and the train whistle blared out from the tracks.

A few days later, the same police officer who went to the ball fields showed up at Nate’s ex-wife’s house to drop off some of Nate’s belongings recovered from his pickup truck after the accident. Included were a brand-new baseball glove and a pair of brand-new baseball cleats.