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Encroachment
Tuesdays and Thursdays on the dead-end off Wendover it was two-hand touch
after school: some twenty-odd kids and a minimum of cars. Mark wasn't great,
but for a guy with average speed he could surprise you, run a post and
manage to come down with it. Most days, I didn't mind having him on my team.
He was decent enough.
Scully, Mark and I lived in the same direction, so we walked together when
the setting sun killed off our games. Scully was big and easily excited by
Mark's bragging; seems his new hobby was lifting wares. Each weekend he
tried for bigger and higher-dollar items.
When I ran into Mark that Sunday at Sears, I was checking out some free
weights while my dad was over in hardware comparing Die-Hards and looking
for replacement drill bits. My eye caught upon this little rubber thing you
could use to build your grip and hand muscles. It was a buck ninety-nine.
Mark saw me gripping it through the plastic packaging.
"Want that?" he asked.
"Was thinking maybe, yeah," I answered.
"Meet me outside in five minutes," he said.
"You sure?" I asked.
"Piece o'cake."
Seemed like I had nothing to lose, so I grunted my assent. Five minutes
later I stood outside the rear exit, my dad still probably figuring how some
super-duper new design windshield wipers could make his life better. Mark
came up and pulled the rubber-grip thing from inside his pants. Thankfully,
it still was wrapped in plastic. As he handed it over, a beefy hand clamped
down on my neck.
"Store Detective," the man said. "Come with me, gentlemen."
This guy knew how to make kids sweat. Ten minutes later my dad was there,
getting an earful from Mr. Detective Man about his delinquent son. Mark had
to call his mom, but my dad spoke with her and agreed to drive him home. Dad
just shook his head, and I could tell he was steamed. I felt pretty stupid,
and angry at Mark. For a buck ninety-nine piece of molded rubber, I was
banned from Sears for life. The store dick said if he ever saw my face there
again he was gonna write me up.
My dad didn't hit me, but he sure looked like he wanted to. I explained my
stupidity and apologized. He told me to expect big-time punishment.
From then on, I refused to be on the same team as Mark. In fact, I went out
of my way to cover him directly. Two-hand touch didn't allow much chance for
physicality, but one time I "accidentally" pulled him down onto the asphalt.
He got up slowly, shaken, and tried wiping away tears. He gave me a glance,
and our eyes locked. Mark turned and left in the middle of the game, even
though there was plenty of sunlight left.
—Gary Glauber
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