Catching Colleen

Supper was great. The ham had a sweet coating and the sweet potatoes were not smothered in marshmallows so they were not candy. We had microwaved, buttered broccoli and half-way through the meal Art walked in and it was good to see the guy. He was a rounder man, shorter than I, smiling--I thought he would smile through Armageddon. He had never spoken much to me, maybe he just felt awkward around me. I was that brother-in-law who went in a different direction, made it, but really wasn't like he was. We connected through Joan. His love for her was obvious, palpable in an emotional sense. Mine for her was for granted, growing as our age difference mattered less and less. He knew I loved Joan, and he knew I knew he did, too. He was surprised to see me, but not put out. We shook hands as the two little girls made chatter.

"So what are your plans now, Ko?"

"First of all I'm going to watch Penny play a practice basketball game, tomorrow," I said on the spur of the moment. Penny looked surprised. Joan too. "Yeah, I have no commitments and the game sounds fun. No sweat."

I guessed I'd be driving out again tomorrow. I didn't often make commitments without thinking ahead of time. What was I saying? I didn't make commitments, period.

And it was fun. I walked into Lincoln Middle School Gym about ten minutes before game time and climbed to a seat on the bleachers. There was a sprinkling of spectators for the Bluecoats, parents probably; Mercy's spectators were farther down the bleachers. I sat near midcourt, toward the top of the 12 rows or so of seats. Penny noticed me right away, gave me a smile and a little wave. A brown-haired lady a few rows in front of me turned and looked my way--I smiled and nodded at her, and she smiled back.

There were two referees, so I breathed a sigh of relief--I did not want to get drafted into doing it. I'd called games when I was in the minors as a way to pick up some easy cash, and I'd liked it, but it had been many years. And I wanted to watch Penny.

I was not disappointed. She was the shortest kid on either team, and the fastest. She stole several dribbles from the opposing guard, taking two of them on for layups. She must have had five or six assists, including a bounce pass as she drew the defenders away from her teammate. She knew how to help her teammates on defense. But her team was short and height is a talent that can't be taught. Boxing out only goes so far, and rebounding probably cost them a lot of points. They played six "quarters" running clock, and kept score only per quarter. I don't know who won, although each quarter was close.

About halfway through the third quarter, Joan walked in the gym with her overcoat and a big bag full of papers to grade, and spied me. She said hi to a few parents, including the brown-haired woman in front of me, and then sat with me.

"Hi, Ko, how are we doing?" she wanted to know.

"Well, that kid of yours is something! She's stealing dribbles and making passes. Quite a player! Too bad she got Mom's height, huh?" I said.

"Yeah," she said shaking her head. "But the team's okay?"

"Uh-huh, the tall girl who really isn't tall is doing a great job in the middle, against that big Mercy girl," I said, as Joan pointed to the brown-haired lady in front of us--that must be mom. "And the other guard for us can shoot long ones. That kid," I pointed to a kid on the bench, "she's quite a passer. Not a bad team. Who's the coach?"

"Ralph Wilton, a math teacher. Good guy. He's been doing this for decades. He only cares about helping the kids play well. Some parents wish he were more vocal and demanding, but I think we have too much of that out there. He's actually my department head." The guy was round and bald and in his fifties, dare I say jovial? Smiling a lot in huddles, tapping girls on the head, speaking to each one. It looked like a good situation.

Penny was fouled for a 1 and 1 as the quarter was in its last two minutes and the clock would now stop for each whistle. She stood at the line, and I heard Joan pray for a make. Penny dribbled three times and then once more, spun the ball in her hands and then shot; it hit the rim and clanged off and play resumed. "Oh, for some foul shot success," Joan whispered with despair. "She's getting a mental block about foul shots."

"Yeah, like hitting. When you lose confidence it becomes almost impossible to get things to go right," I said.

At that moment, Penny and the other guard for Lincoln trapped the Mercy guard as she crossed the half court line. The other Lincoln guard knocked the ball away and Penny took it for a layup but was fouled on the shot which she made, leaving the one free throw. So Penny headed for the free throw line again, shoulders just a little slumped. This time the ref gave her the ball and she dribbled once, spun the ball, dribbled twice more, and shot. The ball hit the flange and bounced out and play resumed. Penny then fouled someone in frustration. I knew exactly how she felt.

But a player is not just the worst thing she does, and Penny had many more good plays than bad free throws. There was a lot of joy in the whole team, laughing when a ball went off a girl's head, smiling and helping an opponent off the floor, even Penny admitting a ball went off her leg and not the opponent's. The coach was clapping and instructing and smiling at different players and the whole thing was just so damn positive I wondered if I'd lived in an alternate sports universe for twenty years. Girls were diving for loose balls, trying to implement plays, and running into walls. I don't think I'd ever seen a girls or boys youth team perspire so much, and so willingly. Ralph might be a great coach. I looked at the little round guy with different eyes.

Between the fifth and sixth "quarters," Joan said, "Hey let me introduce you around. Before rumors start." She grabbed my hand and pulled me down two steps to the brown-haired lady, who I now saw also had brown eyes.

"Hi, Colleen," Joan said, "I'd like you to meet my brother, Serge. Serge, this is Colleen Olding." The brunette looked at me smiling, "Nice to meet you, Serge. I was wondering who you were after I saw Penny wave to you."

"My pleasure, Mrs. Olding," I said, but was immediately corrected.

"No, it's just Colleen," she said, "I'm not married."

"My mistake," I smiled, hoping to mitigate my faux pas. I hoped there was no hard feeling.

"I need to introduce Serge around, or people will say he's my boyfriend," Joan said, pulling me on to several other parents. I think I met seven or eight sitting right next to each other, as the final period began. One dad recognized me but didn't say anything. Then we headed back to our seats. "You want to sit with Colleen?" she asked. "She always sits by herself, so I usually sit with her at these games. I taught her daughter last year, but not this one."

"Fine by me," I said.

So we ended up next to Colleen, with my sister in the middle. They seemed to know each other well, chatting about this and that. I didn't hear anything about me, and I can't say I wasn't listening. About halfway through the last period Joan said she had to talk to the principal, who had wandered into the gym and was standing near the fountain. Joan headed off that way.

"So Colleen, what do you do that you can get away in the afternoon to watch basketball?" I asked. "And which kid is yours?"

"Renée is my only kid, number 25, playing center. I run the Starbuck's down the street so I set my own schedule," she said.

I considered as the other team ran an inbounds play. "That's great," I said. I suddenly was sensitive: I was the long lost brother with no ties, yet I had not seen my sister or her kids in a half dozen years. I felt like I was errant.

"Are you on vacation or something that you can visit Joan now?" she asked.

"Well, I just quit my job and I have no commitments so I thought I'd reconnect with Joan. I haven't seen them in seven years or so. I don't really know Penny, or Maddy or Nicci, for that matter. I'm just out to see them."

She looked at me oddly as if judging my statement. "Why'd you quit?" she asked. She looked at me despite play on the court, but her kid wasn't in at the moment so maybe that was why. "You are too young to retire, I'm sure."

I thought to myself, well Serge, it's a good question. "Um, actually they call it retirement. It was time for me to move on. I'd been doing the same thing since high school, in North Carolina, Montana, St. Louis, Minneapolis, Cincinnati. Now I'm not sure what I'm going to do."

"What business were you in? I mean it sounds like you got all over. Missed the west coast though," she said.

I laughed at that one. "I worked in sports. Baseball."

"What did you do? I mean, were you in sales or management or the front office?"

"No, I was an athlete. I caught."

She looked at me with a funny smile.

"I am--was--a catcher. I played in the major leagues for St. Louis, the Twins, and the Reds."

"Who ARE you?"

"Joan's brother. Serge Kowalsh." Maybe she knew the name if not the face. After all, I usually wore a mask, and I was rarely the Star of the Game.

"I've heard of you! Well, I had no idea Joan was related to someone famous," she went on.

"Um, famous?" I said. Colleen laughed and I smiled. I think I'd made a fool of myself. Was I modest or hiding that I thought I was a little better because people in San Francisco and Boston knew my name? A few of them anyway. Maybe for a week or two more.

"How'd you come to run a Starbuck's?" I asked. Colleen was a good name for a brown- haired, brown-eyed mother of one girl.

"I was in college and worked there part-time, paying bills. I became manager before my senior year. The money got good, and I wanted to change my major, my dad didn't like me going away to school. So I quit school and eventually bought the store. I am thinking about buying another store in Dayton but I don't want to commute so right now I'm just here. And doing okay." She made slinging cappuccinos sound important.

"That's cool. I'll be sure to come by while I'm in town," I said. "I'm not sure what I'm going to do. I live in Cincinnati, but there's nothing holding me there anymore."

"So you get to start another career, that's kind of exciting. What are you thinking about?"

I pondered. Pondering is a thing you can do during basketball games, if you're not playing. Or in right field in slow-pitch baseball. There are even songs and poems about it.

"I have a degree in English, but I'm not sure what to do, and I'm in no hurry at all. It's good getting to know Jo's family more now, the girls and Art."

"Well, I hope you come by. I'm usually at the store or running my kid around."

I didn't know how to ask the next question, but I did. "I hope this isn't forward, but you haven't mentioned Renée's dad?"

She smiled, and it was not a perturbed one. "I adopted Renée when she was 3. I was not married. We had some bonding issues at the start, but we make a pretty good family, overall." My eyes opened a little. Extraordinary. I felt as if I had wasted some of my best years frivolously gadding about. I played a kid's game for money, married because I felt like it, distanced myself from a woman who loved me, and put off any idea of family for a later date. Responsibility was something I did not pursue. What's it all about, Sergei?

She watched me as I pondered yet again. This lady had been mature when I was still an adolescent at 30. I said, shaking my head, "I am overwhelmed by you, Colleen. You are...larger than life. Impressive." The klaxon sounded about then, blasting our ears. "Larger than life, huh?" she laughed. "Never been called that!" I joined her laughter.

The two teams were shaking hands, and spectators began drifting down to the floor to meet up with their children. The teams disappeared into their locker rooms for a few minutes but then reappeared carrying their bags and wearing coats. Colleen and I joined Joan and the principal, whom she introduced to me. I spoke pleasantries to a few of the parents. I said good game to some of the Mercy girls, who seemed to surround me on their way to the exit, and they smiled and said thanks. One Lincoln dad came over, the one I thought had recognized me.

"Hi," I said, having forgotten his name.

"George Wilmington, Mr. Kowalsh. I didn't know if you were keeping your name secret or what."

"George, call me Serge please. No, no secret, it's just when people find out I played for the Reds they talk about nothing else. And I'm the new guy here, so I'd rather talk about this stuff. That's all."

"Yeah, I guess so. We don't have much contact with professional athletes. We had a kid drafted by the Pirates out of the high school years ago, but he never made it out of the minors."

"I almost got stuck at Billings, myself. It's not easy. Quite a few come and only last a few seasons. I got lucky when the Cardinals had two catchers go down. Then I hit .250 and got a home run to win a game, so they kept me around. Sent me down a few times, but always pulled me back. Luckily I threw some guys out."

He smiled, "Yeah, you had an arm."

I said, "It's going to be strange not buying BenGay every time I go to the store." He smiled.

Just then Penny and her teammates came out and began mingling. "Good meeting you, George," I said, shaking his hand.

"You too, Serge."

"Uncle Serge! What do you think?"

"Penny, you are easily the fastest person this family has ever produced! Not just your feet, your hands. Every time I looked up you were stealing a dribble or making an assist. Just terrific, kid!" I said. She was beaming, I had my hand on her shoulder. Joan came over. I saw Colleen with Renée, George with one of the kids I'd not noticed. "Your whole team is fast." She looked shy all of a sudden, and turned to her mom, so I wandered over to Colleen.

"Renée," Colleen said, "This is Penny's uncle Serge."

Renée was a taller eighth grader on this team this year, though not particularly tall for her age. She had the beautiful olive skin of mixed races, with yellow curly hair and shy blue eyes. "Hello, Mr. Serge," she said, but she looked me in the eye.

"Your little hook shot was cool. It must be hard playing against players so much taller than you," I said.

"It gets frustrating, they block a lot of my shots," she said.

"Well the little hook is a good way to get around some of that. And you're fast with your feet and hands, you'll be able to find other ways to get around them. You'll probably be faster than most of them. It was a good game today. Your whole team looked good, I thought."

The kid seemed to like the compliments. I remembered some more of her play, especially on defense. She was about 5'6" and slender; she would not be a center forever with that height--but it was eighth grade.

"Thanks, a lot." She stood with her mom, same height, as if they were joined at the hip.

"Colleen, it's been nice meeting you. I promise I'll stop in your Starbuck's when I'm in town," I said.

"Serge, really. I hope I see you again."

"Me, too. And Renée, it was fun watching you play, you look good out there."

"Thank you, Sir."

I think at this point Renée realized something was probably up, because she looked from her mom to me and back to her mom as we shook hands and I held on a little too long, and then we parted. Perhaps we stood closer together than others, or maybe we looked at each other differently. I don't know. Something was definitely up. It felt strange. I felt like I was a third grader who wanted to tell a girl that he liked her.

I made my way through the parents and players to Joan, who had lost Penny for the moment.

"Colleen, huh?" she said. I smiled back at her.

"It's that obvious? I'm out of practice. Any reason not to be interested?" I asked. We hadn't looked at each other this way since before Carol. "I was still a kid with Carol...or trying to be," I said letting it hang.

Joan had this pensive, expectant look on her face.

"Not how I saw it, you and Carol. No," she said, "Colleen has no obvious baggage. I haven't heard of any affairs or anything bad at all. She's not Catholic, if that matters. I never see her at Mass. I know since your divorce you've slipped away. I think if I had the time, she and I would be friends. Are you really interested?"

I didn't downplay it, but neither did I embellish. "I like her. No big deal. Okay?"

She grabbed my arm, like when we were kids. Well, in our twenties. "More than okay."

She and I called for Penny and headed out.

*

I cleaned up around my apartment and changed the oil in my car, met two new neighbors who'd just moved in upstairs, and saw a movie. I read For Whom the Bell Tolls and decided some of the criticism of Hemingway was unjust. I thought the book great. I wrote two letters to editors of some opinion pieces I was interested in. A week had passed since the basketball game, and I decided to drive to Sky Grey in the morning.

It was raining about 4 when I got up. Dark, too. I was in Sky Grey at 6. AM. Remarkable. People really work at this time of day? Night?

I wondered why I was driving out on these secondary roads at 55 or 60, no one else around, to see a woman I hardly knew, was much more serious than I, with a mixed race kid (I didn't even want to think about the problems involved with that), and who intimidated me. I had to admit that Colleen made me question my goals (no, not goals), ethics (no not ethics), maturity (yeah, definitely), and purpose (yup). I think she made me think I had had no purpose to this point. I wondered, what was the point of my life to now? I caught throws, most of the time. I threw balls to other men. I tried to hit balls with a stick. Yeah, some grounds for a worthy life. I shook myself out of it as I drove and thought.

But there was purpose. It was entertainment, and in our society, right or wrong, entertainment sometimes paid well. I was part of the economy, I helped other players make their lives and families richer, I brought some skills to the profession. It may not be important, I may not be a doctor saving lives or a policeman protecting people, but it was not nothing. I was 38 and having an identity crisis. What would Piaget or Bruner or Erickson say? Maslow would say I was not self-actualized yet.

The Starbuck's was in a strip mall on main street, with plenty of parking for all the transients stopping in. The coffee was good, and the company was also. "Hello, Catcher," Colleen called out as I entered her Starbuck's at a little after 6 a.m. There was one other customer, a man in his 50s waiting on a bar drink from the kid working the espresso machine, and he looked over at me. I smiled at Colleen and the man, nodding. "Ex-catcher, and I earned that title," I corrected. The older guy recognized me then.

"Mr. Kowalsh, I thought that was you," the old guy said. Okay, he wasn't old, but he had 20 years on me. I smiled more, "And your name?"

"Kirk Ingle," he said, or something akin. We shook hands.

"Glad to meet you, Mr. Ingle, and please call me Serge."

He smiled, "Well, I'll tell the faculty I met a sports star in Starbuck's this morning." I laughed at that, "You're into hyperbole, huh?" Nice guy that he was, he just kept smiling. I looked at Colleen. "Venti, dark, Ma'am."

"Are you a teacher then?" I asked Kirk.

"Principal, over at the high school," he said.

"Oh? My sister teaches at the middle school. She taught Colleen's kid last year, I hear," I said. He was surprised.

"Your sister is...?"

"Joan McManiss," I finished.

"I know Joan! She's got quite a good reputation with the principals," he said. "I had no idea her maiden name was Kowalsh."

"She's been trying to live it down for a long time now. I'll tell her that about the rep," I said, raising an eyebrow, feeling some pride despite the years I'd neglected the relationship. "She can always use a pat on the back."