12⎜The Field

           “Here?” I demanded. “Of all the places on campus, you chose to bring me here?”

           “Yep,” the girl beside me said as we both stared emptily at the large expanse of barren green before us. It was lit up by stadium lights, considering that it did happen to be a stadium and all. There wasn’t anyone in sight—not even the odd janitor or a coach staying behind late at night. This was the place where I was supposed to be spending hours upon hours, but gave it all up, and quit.

           “Why?” I questioned, feeling my body tense up. As the memories gurgled up inside of me, I tried my hardest to suppress them, not needing to revisit that era, yet again.

           “I don’t know,” she said. And I believed her. The way that she said it wasn’t as if she was blowing me off and did actually know, but more that she truly wasn’t aware what had compelled her to do so.

           “It’s amazing,” I commented, sucking in a breath as my eyes scanned over the enchantment of the scene before me. I had seen quite a few football fields in my day, but this was different—this was Stanford.

           “It is,” she agreed, “do you ever regret leaving it?”

           “Never,” I shook my head, glancing longingly at the trimmed grass with AstroTurf around the rim.

           “Do you ever miss it?” was the next thing she asked me.

           “Every day, Ari Pomegranate,” I sighed, “every single day.”

           “I’ve never understood the appeal,” she told me, walking a few feet over to a wall so that she could lean her back against it. I copied her movements, resting my back in the space right next to her. “Why are so many people infatuated with a sport that solely consists of running, throwing an oddly-shaped ball, kicking the said oddly-shaped ball, and tackling each other to prevent the oddly-shaped ball from advancing?” she continued, but it wasn’t the type of thing meant to be answered. The tone in her voice suggested that she had more to say, so I didn’t give my input, and allowed her to continue speaking, just enjoying the calming sound of her rainy voice. “My brother played football, and my dad’s been a coach forever. I’ve never been able to love the game like they, and never understood why they loved it in the first place. It’s just football.”

           With the concluding sentence that made me breathe out a dry laugh, I shook my head, disagreeing with her completely. “See, but that’s the thing, Ari,” I began, absorbing every inch of the stadium as I spoke, “it isn’t just football. It’s everything from the opposing cheers of the spectators on either sides, to getting drenched by a bucket of Gatorade at the end of a winning game.” I smiled, recalling multiple times when that certain event had actually taken place. Adrenaline was pumping through everyone’s veins, and the sports drink was drenching their jerseys. That was football for me. “Football is about creating a secondary family from a team of boys and coaches that you practically trust with you life. It’s when you keep going, even when you have nothing left to give. Football is so much more than just a game with a non-circular ball,” I exhaled a bit, looking past Ari and all the lights and seats, but to the field. That was one of the two places I spent half of my teenage years—on the football field. “Now, I would say that football is a lifestyle, but that would make me sound really douchey, so I won’t.”

           “Scott’s said that about lacrosse before—it being a lifestyle and all. He sounded like a total tool,” Ari grinned a bit, her eyes illuminating as I could only guess that an idea had popped into her head. Without saying anything else to me, she began to jog away from the entrance where we were staying, and over to the field. I hesitantly followed behind, not entirely sure if it was allowed or not.

           Ari ran (in flip-flops—much to Kay’s dismay, she had elected the causal footwear attire instead of something fancier) over to a sideline, and then picked up a familiar object that I knew far too well. It was brown and almost a 3D oval shape, though the ends were too pointy, and was made up of small bumps. The sport shared the same name as the item, that being “football.” And with the ball tucked under her arm, Ari lazily walked back over to where I was, only the edges of my feet touching the sacred grass of the field.

           “It’s not going to swallow you up if you walk on it,” Ari told me with a small smirk, proving herself right as she casually strutted about on the green of the field.

           “I know,” I nodded, “but if I step on the grass, that just makes it so much more…real.” Going onto the field was like returning to football, without officially going back. I had quit for a reason, and didn’t really want to go back again. Realizing that what I had said didn’t make that much sense when verbalized, I brushed the thought aside. “I know that sounds stupid, sorry.”

           “No, it doesn’t,” Ari said. “It’s not stupid, I don’t know why you’re apologizing, and I get it. Facing the thing that you’ve been deliberately avoiding can be tough. I can definitely relate.”

           “Throw me the ball,” I commanded with a sigh, taking two shaky steps so that my feet were planted firmly on the field. This was happening. This was real. This was my life. Just because I was back on a football field didn’t mean that I was back to playing football or any of my old habits. Taking a deep breath, I watched as the arched ball spun as it flew in the air, headed right towards me. With two hands, I caught the ball, the grip around it feeling so familiar and comforting. “Nice.”

           “I know,” Ari said with a nod off in the distance, holding both hands out in a manner that implied she wanted me to toss it back to her. I drew back my arm with my elbow bent, and then threw her a perfect spiral, smiling nostalgically as I watched it land in her grasp.

           “Ari, do you, uh, like sports?” I questioned, really praying that she didn’t answer with a, “Yes, I love them. I’m actually one of the top ranking basketball players in the country.” But then again, when I had first met Liz, that wasn’t how the conversation about her relationship to basketball went down, either. I hadn’t known that Liz was an athlete, and assumed that she was just another suburban kid with an affluent parent who happened to move around a lot. As it turned out, she kept her basketball career a secret until the very end of our senior year when everything basically went up in flames. My world crashed, and it was probably the hardest month and a half of my life. But anyways, as long as Ari didn’t plan on entering the NBA any time soon, then I could definitely tolerate her for a little longer.

           “Actually, I hate them…well, anything that involves running, that is,” she laughed, and I grinned. “I’ve never really been one for physical activity, with maybe one exception.”

           “And what would that be?” I risked asking.

           “Boating,” she said softly, though since we were the only two in the entire stadium, I still was able to hear her. “I like to boat. I used to sail, but then, uh, my sailboat got trashed so my dad bought me a real boat as a graduation present. It’s not really a sport, but it involves the outdoors, so I’m counting it as one.”

           “What do you like about boating?” I questioned as I caught the ball she had thrown back to me.

           “The freedom—the air. I love being on the water and being away from everyone and everything else in life. It feels like all my problems just float away with the waves, even if just for a few hours,” she told me, shutting her eyelids. I restrained myself from being a total dick and throwing the ball back at her with her momentary lack of sight, no matter how tempting it was. And then, as she reopened her eyes, she completely switched topics—just like that. “Do you know why Houston and Scott invite you to all their frat events?”

           “No,” I shook my head, now taking the opportunity to throw the ball to her, “not really. My guess is that they just want to get into my pants or something. I am pretty attractive, so I’ve been told.”

           “If anyone, those two would probably do each other in a second if they suddenly turned gay,” Ari snorted, then adding, “no offense, Eric Wilson. I mean, you are pretty attractive and all, but that’s not why they’re hanging with you.”

           “Then tell me, Ari Pomegranate, why are they hanging with me?”

           “Because they want you to join their frat,” she said, and then something clicked within me. It was as if I had been missing something for the longest time, and after what Ari had said, everything made so much more sense. The barbeque. The golfing. The dinner. Everything. For whatever reason, they wanted me to join their fraternity (even if they hadn’t officially invited me yet or whatever). It made sense. “They want you to become a pledge, Eric.”

           “Why?” was all I could think to inquire. Honestly, I wasn’t all that special or great, and sure, I had a nice face and was polite, but I didn’t understand what qualities made me appealing to a bunch of fraternity guys.

           “Because to them, you’re the ideal pledge,” she told me, taking a few steps in my direction so that she only had to throw the ball a shorter distance than before. “Boat shoes, a face and body like yours, a brain, manners, and a history with football. Face it, Eric Wilson, you’re basically perfect.”

           “See, but the thing that people always forget is that I’m not perfect, Ari Pomegranate. I have flaws just like everybody else—and quite a few of them, actually,” I said, agitated that the “P Word” had come up yet again in comparison with me. Perfect. It was a stupid term, because the basis was from a scale of normal, when nobody actually knew what normal was. How could I—or anyone, for that matter—be perfect when no one knew what perfect was?

           “That’s why I said ‘basically perfect,’” Ari retorted with a roll of those dark eyes of hers. “Believe me, Eric Wilson, I am fully aware that you’re not perfect.”

           I smiled at that, knowing that Ari meant it. And then, as I threw Ari the football that we had mindlessly been passing between us, a new voice that I knew was added to our mix of two, startling me slightly. “You should be playin’, Wilson,” someone said from behind me. I slowly turned around at the sudden noise, only to face a very yellow (compliments of Kay Rodgers) Houston Walker.

           Assuming that he meant football because it was the only sport that could’ve really been played at hand, I shook my head. “No,” I said to him, “I shouldn’t be.”

           “Ari, throw me the ball,” Houston instructed. Without complaining about it, Ari did as requested, with more force than required. Houston handled the object, and then before I could process his actions, threw it to me. I caught it without a problem, and on instinct, threw it right back to him. “So, which of you wants to explain to me why y’all ditched us at the dinner?”

           “I don’t want to, but I will,” Ari volunteered, a triangle-like pattern being formed between the three of us and the football. Houston threw the ball to me, I threw it to Ari, and Ari threw it to Houston. Waiting patiently for an explanation, all Houston could do was stare firmly at Ari until she finally spilled. “I was bored, Eric was bored, and since neither of us wanted to be there in the first place, I suggested that we leave. By the way, how’d you find us, Walker?”

           “I followed y’all,” he answered with a shrug of his large shoulders. “Now, I don’t know if anyone’s told y’all, or maybe y’all don’t know ‘cause y’all are only freshmen, but under no circumstances should y’all ever leave a dinner like that again.”

           “He pulled the ‘Because You’re Only Freshmen’ card,” Ari whisper-yelled to me, making sure that Houston heard fully well. “Hate to break it to you, Walker, but just like us, your girlfriend is ‘only a freshman.’”

           “Really, Ari? You don’t say?” Houston scoffed sarcastically, shaking his head in disdain. “See, the difference between y’all and Kay—”

           “Is that you’re not screwing us?” Ari interjected. Her behavior towards Houston struck me as odd, for I had never really seen her talk back to anyone besides Scott. Normally she was quiet and accepting and reserved, but now, it was like something had imploded within her as she squabbled with her best friend’s boyfriend.

           “Is that Kay would never leave at the beginnin’ of an event like that,” Houston finished what he had began, completely ignoring Ari’s interruption. “Why are you causin’ trouble, Ari?”

           “Why do you assume that it’s me? Why couldn’t Eric have been the one to initiate the leaving? He didn’t want to there either. Right, Eric?” Ari put me on the spot, hurling the football at Houston with all her might. Much to her frustration, he caught it without a problem.

           “Uh, yeah,” I mumbled, audible for the two to hear.

           “But Ari was the one who suggested leaving, right, Eric?” Houston then pressed.

           “Uh, yeah,” I repeated dully, hating the confrontation. It didn’t make sense to me, either, why there would be such an escalated issue between the two (Ari and Houston), when they seemed to get along relatively well most of the time, and since they each happened to be pretty laid back individuals. There was something about either their history with one another or something else that I just wasn’t fully getting.

           “Ari, why are you bein’ like this?” Houston demanded, tossing the ball to me easily enough. I caught it, and then continued its course over to addressed individual.

           “Because, Houston,” she took a deep breath, allowing all of the previous venom that had once been in her voice to drain, “I don’t like bullshit. Ask him already, and accept whatever answer he gives you.” I wasn’t really sure who the male pronoun she had referenced was, but I had a strong hunch that it happened to me.

           Houston took a sigh, just holding the football in his hands tautly, and then took a few steps in my direction so that we were closer. Ari stayed where she was, merely observing the transaction in her inscrutable silence to which I was beginning to become accustomed. “Eric,” the southern boy started, his gaze transfixed on his yellow shoes for a hesitant moment before he was finally willing to meet my eyes, “I was wonderin’ if you maybe wanted to join our fraternity. All the guys would really love to have you as a pledge, and Scott and I think that you’d be a great addition. So, uh, what do you say?”

           I stole some of Ari’s taciturnity, using it as my own as I thought about the loaded question that Ari had already informed me was coming my way. Joining a fraternity. I didn’t know all too much about the inner workings of the society, and all I really was aware of was that frat guys sometimes had a reputation for being douches. Since I happened to want to distance myself as much as possible from the concept of being a douche, I wasn’t quite sure if the decision to join the allegedly douche-filled association was a good one of not. Thus, I postponed my ultimate answer.

           “I don’t know,” I finally said, Houston listening intently to my every word, “sorry. Like, maybe, dude, but I just have no clue if it’s what I want to do. Can I take a rain check on giving a solid yes or no?”

           “Yeah, totally!” Houston nodded encouragingly. “As long as you didn’t immediately turn me down, I’m fine with that!” He then turned to Ari with a pointed look, and walked over to her so that they were standing a mere foot apart. “I asked him, Ari. Kay hates when we argue, so are you done bein’ mad at me?”

           “Yeah, I guess,” she said nonchalantly, not expecting the hug that Houston then gave her. Based on my prior encounters during the evening with both Kay and Houston, I was beginning to get the sense that they were definitely huggers.

           “Okay, I’m gonna let y’all finish up chillin’, makin’ babies, or whatever the hell y’all were doin’ before I came, ‘cause if I don’t get back soon, Kay is most definitely gonna kill me,” Houston laughed, tossing me the ball and jogging away.

           “Bye, Houston,” I called after him.

           “See ya, Walker,” Ari added. He just waved to us, saying nothing else. Within seconds, he had disappeared, leaving us alone once again with only the field as our witness.

           Ari didn’t speak, and neither did I. My eyes had found their way to surveying the endless seats of the stadium, entranced by the immensity of it all. While I was still attempting to take in our surroundings, Ari had lain down on the field, her eyes closed so that the brightness of the lights didn’t affect them. I ambled my way over to where she was, and copied her position so that my head was inches away from her head, and my body was inches away from her body. At first, I tried to keep my eyes open, but it was just too bright.

           “Do you hear that?” Ari asked quietly.

           “I don’t hear anything,” I said back in an equally as soft tone.

           “Exactly. Silence,” she sighed appreciatively. “I’m always searching for it. There’s something about not being able to hear anyone or anything else that I really like. It makes me feel like I’m the only one, even if it isn’t true. That’s one of the best parts about boating, too.”

           “I like silence,” I admitted. “Sometimes it’s good to not have the influences of the world buzzing in your ear every second.”

           Ari didn’t respond, allowing the silence of the field to consume us both. It was kind of like that night with the moon, only now we were both dressed in nicer clothes (if Ari had been any other girl, I would be seriously wondering why she was willing to lie down with a white top and the possibility of obtaining a grass stain, but she wasn’t any other girl—she was Ari) and weren’t touching each other. Ari’s head wasn’t resting on my (impeccably toned) stomach, and my stomach wasn’t supporting the weight of Ari’s head. Nevertheless, something about the moment was able to encompass the same fleeting stillness and ease that had been felt a few nights ago.

           “I have a question for you, Eric Wilson,” Ari stated, instead of just posing the question.

           “Are you sure you only have one, Ari Pomegranate?” I made the lame joke, referencing something she had said to me on that night with the moon.

           “Sorry,” she apologized, then correcting herself, “I have an infinite amount of questions for you, Eric Wilson, though I currently only want to express one of them.”

           “And what would that be?” I grinned at her words. The way that she spoke had such an eloquence about it—she didn’t waste words like some people I knew, and I liked hearing her talk. It was like listening to the rain.

           “Do you want to be friends?”

           The question caught me off guard, for the relationship that she was suggesting usually happened naturally and required no formal request or invitation or assertion of the said relationship. But this was Ari Remon that I was talking to, so to her, maybe a friendship was a different concept than it was to me. Pushing my contemplation away back into the depths of my mind, I found a smile etched across my face as I lay on the field, my eyes remaining shut because of the stadium lights. “Yeah, Ari Pomegranate. I’d like that.”