The Circle

The Statler Incident

August 1989

         The summer always seemed to race to an end as we prepared for fall classes and a return to the crowded hallways and stuffy class rooms. Those last few weeks of August were savored just as much as our first weeks of freedom in June when the sun was fresh and the heat had yet to bake the pale white of winter from our faces. Our enjoyment was always tainted with a bitter touch of melancholy as we all knew that our time of freedom was almost up. There would be pickup games and night bike rides for a few more months, and the weekends still belonged to us, but the lazy days in the blinding sun and the long cloudless nights were coming to an end.

         I left Nick and the others playing an intense game of basketball halfway up Cunningham's Hill and quickly trotted back down to Sheldon. We had begun playing in Justin Baker's driveway a few weeks back soon after Nick discovered the blacktopped driveway. Baker's dad had even drawn the free throw line and three point arch on the smooth tar. Justin was slightly younger than Nick and almost entirely devoted to him. In Justin's eyes, Nick was 'the shit'. This did not stop Nick from endlessly abusing the boy, mostly with taunts and slams about his skills on the court, but a few smacks on the head and indian-burns were thrown out at his discretion as well. Of course, this did not deter Justin in the least.

         Rachel had told me the day before that she would be out early, but I had yet to see her. As I approached the house, I tried looking through our window and could see only darkness. I jumped the small hedge fencing her house from the neighbors and stood at the window where we first met. Even with my hands cupped over my eyes to block the sun, I could only make out shapes on the other side. I tapped three times on the window and waited. It was almost a full minute before Rachel popped out from her room. She squinted through tired eyes at the window, a look of annoyance crossing her face. She undid the lock and threw up the window.

         “Oh!”

         “Oh?”

         “Sorry, I thought you were Nick for a minute.”

         I understood the annoyed expression now, but I was still surprised she would make such a mistake.

         “How could you mistake me for him?”

         “You know, cause I'm always looking up at you and down at him. And the ground is lower on the outside, so you look shorter.”

         “Ah.” She could always answer the question in a way that made me feel a bit stupid for asking.

         “Well, fade-away queen, you comin' outside or what?”

         She smirked at the old moniker, a poor attempt at modesty. The nickname had started in the spring of that year after Rachel began learning the game. She had an uncanny ability with the fade-away shot. Regardless of who was guarding her, as long as she had time to fade back and shoot, she would sink the shot seven times out of ten, and came damn close the other three.

         “I think my dad is coming home early. I don't think I can come out.”

         “Well do you know what time he might be back?”

         “That's the thing. I'm not really sure.”

         I could sense that she was already nervous about having me this close to the house without knowing when Greg Statler's rusty and fuming DeSoto would be pulling in. The game on the hill kept coming back to mind though and the allure was too strong.

         “We got a killer game going on up the hill. Like everybody's up there. Bill and his brother, Jordan, Andy, Terry, Mark, Benny and Roger, everybody. Even that little Baker kid and one of his friends are up there.”

         She raised an eyebrow, her hands going to her hips. 

         “You mean the one who owns the damn court?”

         I could only laugh at first.

         “Yeah, I think its his court, but who knows?”

         She nearly jumped out the window at me. It never took much for my sarcasm to get to her. The others would either throw a nasty hand gesture or a quick and simple 'fucker' in response to one of my witticisms. Rachel preferred physical confrontation, usually in the form of a headlock. I jumped backwards over the hedges as she almost tumbled head first out the window.

         “Well, yer outside now, right?”

         She stood on the other side of the hedges, brushing at the wood splinters that had snagged her shorts from the window sill. A small scab stood out on one knee, an injury from a game last week that looked to be healing. A slight breeze picked at the edges of her hair. She didn't have it tied back into a pony tail as usual. It was one of the few times I saw her with her hair down. In the summer, she usually kept it to shoulder length. I had yet to see her hair short this year.

         “'Bout time for a hair cut, eh?”

         I hadn't meant anything by the comment, but she gave me a wounded look which immediately made me wish I had not said anything.

         “Sorry, its just yer hair's usually shorter in the summer, you know?”

         She continued to brush at the denim of her shorts, though there was no longer any splinters or wood chips. I could see she was struggling with something. There was something she wanted to tell me without having to say it out loud.

         “I just didn't feel like getting it cut.”

         “Alright, well, do you want to head on up. It's a killer game.”

         “Yeah.”

         She agreed so quickly after resisting earlier that I should have known there was a problem. At the time, I was only happy she was with me as we walked together up the gentle incline of Cunningham's Hill. After rounding the bend, the hill would increase rapidly until the last stretch of the road was reached. At that point, the pavement flattened and ran straight to one of the many entrances into the woods and the foothills beyond. We were not trekking that far however and stopped just before the hill twisted upward.

         The others were already locked into a heated confrontation. Nick pulled the ball in close, dribbling only an inch from the pavement before breaking hard to the left. The move threw Terry off just enough for Nick to sink an easy layup. I signaled to Nick before the ball was put back into play.

         “Hold up Stockman! We got two more.”

         Nick rolled his eyes as soon as he saw Rachel while Jordan and Andy began bickering over who would get me. As usual, neither wanted to claim Rachel, though she was just as competent with the ball as any of the younger crew and even rivaled Bill and myself on the long drop behind the three point line. There was something about picking a girl that never sat well with most of the group, though this never seemed to bother Rachel. Terry made the decision for the two screaming captains and motioned for Rachel to join his team. Nick put the ball into play and the dance began, the entire group intact.

         As the game wore on, the light quickly began to fade. The possibility of her father's return began to weigh on Rachel and she missed more and more shots. From our vantage point, we could see his car from enough distance to get her back in time, however no one had been paying much attention until we noticed that the daylight was fading. Another hour passed before the garage light was needed for us to continue the game. Eventually Mr. Baker shouted for Justin and his friend to hang it up for the night and suggested in clear terms that we do the same.

         On the way down from Cunningham's hill, the group was in high spirits. Nick began educating Andy on the secrets behind his speed in the paint and his 'patented' left hook layup. Terry and Bill were disputing a foul call made near the end of the game. Mark and the others were passing the ball back and forth, trying not to let it get away from them and bounce away down the hill. Rachel and I walked near the front.

         “How did you miss those last shots?”

         Rachel did not answer. Her eyes were arrowed forward. The fact that I did not realize what was bothering her would be a constant source of pain for the next few years. However, I blamed myself for more than the lack of understanding. 

         “Raich, you listenin?”

         Her eyes remained on her house at the bottom of the hill. She remained silent.

         “Alright...”

         I wasn't sure what to say and was clueless as to what was bothering her. I then noticed a car sitting in the driveway of the Statler residence. The slow realization crept upon me that the car looked a lot like a DeSoto.

         “Raich, is that..?”

         “Yes. It's my dad. He's home.”

         The answer came flat. She never took her eyes off the house. The rest in the group noticed at the same time and everyone fell silent. The small regiment of sneakers that kept time on the cracked pavement suddenly stopped as eight dumbstruck kids locked their gaze on the rusty car sitting in the dirt and gravel driveway. Bill broke the silence.

         “Shit!”

         “Damn! What the hell?! I didn't see him coming!” Jordan was almost frantic as he raced to the head of the group and latched onto my shoulder. Like the other younger members, he feared some sort of reprisal from Nick or myself. I could do nothing to appease his concerns. At that point, the blame rested entirely on me. My mind was locked on the DeSoto and my heart was a lump in my throat. I had failed her. The one promise I had made was that I would always make sure she was home before him and for two years I had kept the pact. Tonight he had slipped by my watch. Greg Statler was unaware that his daughter left the house at any time except for school and on Saturdays when he made her walk to the store and to the laundromat. Now I had no clue as to how long he had been home, if he had discovered her missing, or what would happen next.

         My mind was a block of cement. The summer had been so perfect. For it to end this way was unfair. I berated myself again. I had gotten lazy. I gave her away. The others had slowly begun an approach of the Statler home, Rachel in the lead. Those behind her, even Terry, seemed to cringe the closer they got. Rachel held her head high and walked to face this nightmare. She looked back once to where I remained fixed. In her eyes, I saw the depth of courage. In those eyes, I saw the circle. I realized in that moment she never needed my protection, only my friendship, my support. Somehow I pulled the soles of my shoes from the pavement and moved forward. Upon catching up with Rachel at the head of the pack, I began to imagine things would be alright. Her father had not shown himself yet and it was entirely possible he had come home drunk and hadn't noticed his daughter's absence. The closer we got to the patched and fading siding of that house, the further that image slipped from me.

         Before we had gotten within a short stone's throw, the front door was violently thrown back and Greg Statler stormed onto the porch, his grease stained tank top hanging off a thin wiry frame. His jeans were unbuttoned at the top and he held a thin leather belt wrapped tight in one calloused hand. The rest of the group stopped cold, I continued on with Rachel. Statler hadn't noticed his daughter yet and began calling in the other direction.

         “Rachel! Rachel! You get your little ass back here right now!”

         “I'm here dad.”

         The sound of her voice was small, but strong. She had decided long before not to show fear in the face of this man.

         Greg Statler twisted quickly in our direction, the belt dangling from his clenched fist. His eyes lifted quickly and focused on me. He pointed the belt straight at me and descended the steps.

         “You messin' around with my girl, you little prick. Come here!”

         I was never sure if Greg Statler had ever met my father, nor did I know if that would have changed the look of surprise on his face when I stood firm at his advance. Though the man had at least a hundred pounds over me as well as a well worked layer of ropy muscle spread over his entire frame, he wasn't half as imposing as the two hundred and fifty pound monster that I dealt with on a regular basis. His expression changed to one of fury when he realized I was to stand my ground. The blood raced through my veins as he approached. My own anger began to swell as I thought of all the trouble I had gone through to fool this creature, to prevent it from harming her. A vision of my fist connecting with his face flirted briefly through the front of my mind before the man grabbed my shirt and yanked me up into his filth lined face. Eyes like furnace dials twitched back and forth, attempting to bore holes in my own. He pushed his face closer, his forehead grinding into mine. The skin on his face had the look and feel of hard worked leather. Statler was the product of the coal and steel capital of the country. The reluctant citizen of an unforgiving, yet inescapably solidifying system. Bred in near nameless back waters, raised in abusive homes, educated in county institutions more correctional than progressive, and then broken and conditioned as a gear in a machine he neither understood nor from which he benefited. Here, in these raging eyes and hot, ragged face was the horrible truth that lie so patiently in wait for all of us.

         I didn't struggle, nor did he make a move to strike me. We stood, eyes locked, the tips of my shoes ever so slightly touching the pavement. Somewhere, perhaps another world, I heard Rachel screaming. The others didn't move behind me, fear keeping their feet welded in place. They might have not existed at this point. There was nothing else but this man's anger and his heated breath on the front of my neck. And then, it came to me as sudden and simply as my fears of the man allowed. There was a bigger monster I had survived, a monster that was at the very least protective of his prey. I narrowed my eyes at Greg Statler and spoke the words that I knew had delayed any further move on his part. Those words were so clearly lingering in the back of this man's mind. The full measure of his anger and hate had been checked on the off chance I would play this hand.

         “What you do from this point will come to him eventually. Maybe you should be careful.”

         Statler's eyes didn't move from mind, but I felt his grip loosen ever so slightly. An agonizing moment longer wherein I thought he would call my bluff passed. And then, he slowly released his claw-handed grasp and backed one step away.

         “Don't think I ain't gonna tell your pap there about what you been doin', you little rat. This is a warnin'. I see you with her again, and yo'r ass is mine, you hear me?”

         I didn't move or say anything. I half expected Andy or Jordan to speak up and ignite the situation further, but beyond all hope they kept their mouths shut. Greg Statler had decided to play my game. This was a game I had played before, one that was quickly becoming effective. He would not approach my father in the immediate future, let alone tell him what occurred here today. To do that would risk exposing his own actions here today to a man more than twice his size. He would settle with the threat.


To be continued....