Chapter 12

I have been truly happy only a few times in my life.

It’s not that I am sad or some kind of manic depressive. I just try to avoid the highs and lows so many people seem to go through.

I have decided it is much better to be on an even keel. Never get too excited, because you’ll pay for it later when your ship sinks, or too low, since a person just mopes around, feeling sorry for themselves.

Many people I have known through the years were terrible at managing their emotions, especially the three former Mrs. Hunt’s. But women do have to contend with all those extra raging hormones, menstrual cycles and thyroid difficulties.

Some guys also have problems with their emotions. I understand that and feel sorry for them. Since I seldom show emotion, I have been criticized as heartless and cold.

That is not true. I just won’t let bad stuff ruin my day.

If I recalled my happiest moment, it would be the night of my high school graduation. Sandy and I held each other tight on the dock at Cedar Lake and for a brief period, all was right in the world. No drug could have lifted me higher than she took me.

That was the start of my life, I remember thinking, and from that point on, everything would be great. I was wrong, of course. Things change. Sometimes for the good, other times it goes the opposite direction.

But no matter what happens in this life I am leading, for one night, I felt a joy that nothing can take away, not the strongest man nor most powerful fingernail polish remover.

I was alive and lived that night, something that hasn’t always been the case. The college years were good for the most part, but for a long time after that, I was on cruise control, just getting through the days and nights.

That lasted through the bad marriages, job changes and moves. I decided to change that two years ago and start living again. Away from work, if I wanted to do something, I did it. If I didn’t want to do something, I wouldn’t do it.

I think it was my middle-age crisis in reverse. Up to that point, I had been going through a whole-life crisis and went the other direction.

My life isn’t all roses and honeycombs now, of course. Problems do pop up here and there, but I don’t let them dictate my happiness, knowing they will go away in time.

One of the main reasons for my peaceful existence was the absence of any serious relationships with members of the opposite sex. I could trace most of the problems in my life, aside from those my father caused, to women.

I never rule out future relationships, but don’t go looking for them.

Yes, for the most part, my life was calm and peaceful. My mother’s phone call urging me to come home had changed that. The phone call I was currently on was adding to it.

“I want to spend some time with you,” Sandy stated.

That left me speechless for several seconds. I wanted to spend time with her, also, but doubted her gorilla-sized boyfriend would approve.

“What about Trevor?” I asked.

She was silent for a few seconds, either angered by my question or contemplating the answer.

“I’m really not worried about him.”

I was, mainly because he was big enough to tear one Michael Hunt into two pieces without breaking a sweat, if he had reason to believe I was trying to steal his woman. I had been around thugs like him my whole life.

The best way to avoid confrontation was to stay away. Trevor-types never seem to be happy unless they are bullying somebody, flexing their bulging biceps or bragging. I had no illusions about standing up to Trevor.

He would beat me to a pulp if he found out I was sneaking around with Sandy. This went against my whole thinking over the last couple of years in my peaceful existence.

I should tell Sandy “no thanks” and wish her a happy life. That would be the smart thing to do, something any rational person could clearly see.

“Good,” I answered. “Where do you want to go?”

Who was I kidding? If Sandy wanted to spend time with me, I wasn't going to turn her down. Trevor could pummel me every day of my life, but if I got to spend a few precious minutes with her, it would be worth it.

“I don’t care,” she replied. “Just out of Langford.”

“We could go to Tulsa,” I suggested. “I need to get some more stuff. It looks like I’m going to be staying longer than I expected.”

We made plans to leave early the next morning. I felt an excitement that had been missing for way too long.

I waited as long as possible before heading to the high school to watch our mighty Langford Lions open the season against Vian. It had been a long time since I had watched the old alma mater play a football game.

Back in the old days, it was something else. The stands would be packed and everybody knew we would probably win the game. There was a sense of excitement that I didn’t feel while I pulled the Ranger into the parking lot next to the school and parked.

I walked up to the pass gate and flashed my press pass. An angry-looking woman, probably a teacher I surmised, examined the press pass like it was something I bought off eBay.

“Who are you covering the game for?” she asked, looking around for backup.

“The Langford Review.”

“Why are you covering the game?” she asked. “Why can’t Mister Hunt?”

“I’m learning to spell and thought this would give me the chance to learn some new words.”

She wasn’t appreciating my humor, something she shares with most females.

“What’s your name?”

“Mister Hunt.”

Now she really eyed me suspiciously.

“Are you Mike Hunt?” she asked. Some teenaged boy was standing nearby and almost doubled over, he was laughing so hard.

“Michael Hunt,” I corrected.

“I remember you,” she said, turning to holler at another female. “Look, it’s Mike Hunt!”

Several others jerked their heads in our direction. I wanted to stick my head in the dirt.

“You were two years older than me in school,” she added. “My girlfriends always liked Mike Hunt, that’s all they ever talked about.”

It seemed like all the men in the stadium were rushing in our direction, expecting to hear the teacher talk about something other than what she intended.

“Can I go in now?” I begged.

“Yeah, I think it would be okay,” she responded, handing me back the press pass. I walked away much faster than normal. She was still telling others who I was. “That’s Mike Hunt.”

I didn’t turn around to see who she was talking with. Again, I thanked my father for cursing me with this name. I should have changed it a long time ago, just never got around to doing it.

It was sad to see the stands less than half full, which I preferred over half empty for some strange reason. I didn’t recognize many people so I walked out on the track that surrounds the field. The Pride of Langford had formed a tunnel for the players to run through.

They started playing a terrible rendition of “Our National Anthem”, one that I hoped our visitors from Vian could not hear. We also had a great band at Langford at one time. They must have left when our good football teams did.

The announcer in the press box welcomed everybody to Perdue Stadium and urged everybody to support the “Hometown Langford Lions!”

I wondered if the visiting Vian Wolverines would comply, doubting that would happen.

There was mild applause and I looked to the end of the field. The Lions were gathered in the end zone, dressed in their blue and gold uniforms. They were jumping up and down, hollering and screaming. They looked like a bunch of little kids. Across the field, Vian’s players came lumbering out on the field, looking like a bunch of monsters.

“We’s gonna get our butts kicked,” a voice from behind informed me. I didn’t turn around to see, but knew that Langford’s very own Squiggy was in the house.

“Looks that way,” I agreed.

The band started playing the school song and I looked to the end zone. Yes, the Lions were coming out on the field, prepared to break through the banner urging the Lions to “Maul the Wolverines!”, held by a group of cheerleaders that needed to visit Jenny Craig.

I expected the first player to come bursting through the banner, but was surprised to see the new ballcoach, Trevor Adams, run through instead of a player. Now, that was a first.

Trevor looked like he wanted to hit somebody. I stepped back, hoping not to attract his attention. As he sprinted the length of the field, Trevor pumped his arms into the air and actually waved into the stands.

“What a goober,” Squiggy voiced, a sentiment I shared.

Vian won the coin toss and elected to defer until the second half. Langford chose to receive and after the officials indicated the Lions would get the ball first, Trevor leaped into the air, probably happy Vian’s first score would be delayed a few minutes.

The Wolverines looked like a bunch of men playing against boys. As the teams lined up for the kickoff, Trevor noticed me and walked in my direction. He waved into the stands a couple of times before moving beside me.

“Why are you on my field?” he asked.

“I’m covering the game for the newspaper,” I replied.

“What are you doing here?” he asked Squiggy.

“Fixin to kick yerbutt if you don’t get outta my face,” Squiggy stated.

Trevor was briefly shaken. He stood a head taller than Squiggy, but must have noticed the crazed look.

“As long as you’re helping him, you can stay,” Trevor said, leaving with a speed that was fairly impressive.

Squiggy laughed. I wanted to join him, but didn’t.

Langford’s best running back actually caught the kick in the air and brought it back to the 23 before three Wolverines almost decapitated him. He didn’t fumble, the highlight of the night.

Vian held and got the ball back after a punt was shanked out of bounds at Langford’s 32. It took two plays to score as the Wolverines’ running backs found holes bigger than the ones Moses formed in the Red Sea for the Hebrews to leave Egypt.

The score was 21-0 at the end of the first quarter. By halftime, it was 49-0 and Trevor was putting on performance worthy of an Oscar, screaming at the players, walking the sidelines with his hands knotted in fists, throwing his hat on to the turf for dramatic effect. If I had a vote for best acting performance, Trevor would get it.

The final score was 77-0. Vian had to resort to letting its huskiest linemen run the ball in the final quarter to keep the score down. It got so bad, the only excitement was counting how many times the PA homer mentioned “Hometown Langford Lions”. We counted sixty one before losing interest.

Trevor had a look like he was in shock as he approached me after the game.

“I have no comment,” he said, then stood there for a minute.

“I didn’t ask you for one,” I informed him.

“Well don’t ask me anything,” sneered. “All I have to say is we’ll get better this week and the Panama Razorbacks better be ready next week because the Lions will be ready. We have a young team that is only going to get better. I really thought…”

He looked at me, wondering why I was not recording his thoughts.

“Aren’t you going to write this down?”

“You told me you didn’t have a comment,” I reminded him.

“Oh yeah,” he agreed, looking a little disappointed. “I don’t have anything else to say.”

“That’d be good cause they looked like a bunch of puds tonight,” Squiggy suggested.

“Let’s go Squiggy,” I said, seeing the look of defiance in his eyes. It would not be good for our new coach and one of our local nuts to get in a fight out on the field.

We started walking away. I saw Sandy and waved to her. She waved back and smiled.

“We gotta hurry,” Squiggy said. “I need to go get Psycho.”

“Where is she?” I asked, knowing better than to show interest.

“I left her at the bar.”

“You left your dog at a bar?”

“There must be one of them echo things here. Yeah, I left Psycho at the bar. She’ll be fine.”

I wasn’t worried about Psycho, more concerned with the welfare of the drunks.

“Hurry ups,” he urged. “I need beer. After we git Psycho, there’s something I needs to show ya.”

I doubted it was something I wanted to see. I was wrong.

Chapter 13