The World Played Chess (25)

In the third quarter Serra scored on a pass to the tight end. With the successful point after, they led 14–7. The defense hadn’t given up a score. Beau made tackle after tackle, and I couldn’t help but glance over my shoulder at the college scouts, wondering if any paid attention.

As the clock ticked down to the end of the third quarter, Beau made another tackle, but a Bellarmine player dove at the pile after the play, spearing Beau in the back of the head with his helmet. The referees, deciding the hit had been intentional, ejected the Bellarmine player, but I didn’t care. Beau was on the ground, not moving.

Elizabeth had her hands over her mouth in silent prayer as the team doctor tended to Beau, then, unable to stand there, she bolted from the bleachers. Beau was her baby boy, and he and Elizabeth had always had a special relationship. She taught him to snow-ski when he was eighteen months, to water-ski in Lake Tahoe, and to ride horseback on his grandparents’ farm. I hurried after her as Beau was helped to the sideline, clearly groggy. The team doctor examined Beau under a tent. Elizabeth and I went inside. I heard Beau say, “I’m fine. Where’s my helmet? Give me my helmet.”

The doctor looked at me. “His pupils are dilated and his eyes are not focusing. He could have a concussion.”

“I’m fine,” Beau said again. “Dad, I’m fine.”

The doctor stared at me. Elizabeth stared at me. Beau tried to get off the table, stumbled off balance, and nearly fell over. “I can play. I’m fine. Where’s my helmet?”

In my day, guys played through concussions all the time, because we could not diagnose them as well, and we didn’t know the repercussions of head trauma caused by football. Elizabeth had been reluctant to let Beau play, but he had been adamant he wanted to play with Chris, and we had relented.

I looked at Beau. “I’m sorry, son.” To the trainer I said, “Take his helmet.”

Beau looked at me in disbelief. “Dad. No.”

“Take his helmet,” I said again, struggling with emotion. I knew what this game meant to Beau and to his teammates, but I knew what my son meant to me and Elizabeth, and I couldn’t live with myself if anything happened to him. I thought again of William, and of what had transpired that summer we’d worked together, how one instant could have forever changed his life and the lives of others.

“I’m sorry, Beau. I know—”

But Beau turned away and stumbled from the tent, without his helmet. He stood on the sidelines watching the game as Elizabeth and I returned to the stands and told the other parents what had happened.

Without Beau spying on Phillips from his middle linebacker position, Bellarmine’s running back gained huge yardage. He scored twice in the fourth quarter to give Bellarmine the win, 21–14.

I watched our son walk off the field with his head down, utterly dejected. The team doctor came to the sideline and put a hand on my shoulder. “I’ll check him in the locker room. But you made the right decision,” he said.

I nodded.

“Keep an eye on him. If he gets sick, starts to vomit, can’t answer simple questions, take him to the emergency room.” He handed us a card. “This is the concussion clinic at Mills hospital. Call that number and give them my name. They’ll get Beau in tomorrow.”

Beau exited the locker room with Chris. They had shed their pads and jerseys, carrying them with their helmets. Each wore cutoff T-shirts, football pants, and flip-flops. Both looked dejected, but particularly Beau.

“Hey, Mr. B. Hey, Mrs. B.,” Chris said. “Hey, Mary Beth.”

“Sorry about the loss, Chris,” I said as Elizabeth and Mary Beth tried to console Beau.

“We played well,” Chris said. “If it wasn’t for the cheap shot, we would have won.” He put his hand on Beau’s shoulder. “We have more games to play. The season isn’t over.”

I knew for Chris there would be many more games, but for Beau that was far from a certainty.

“I’ll drive Beau’s car,” Chris said.

“We’ll follow you to our house and I’ll drop you off,” I said. “Let’s go, Beau.”

Beau never looked at me. He looked to his mother. “I’ll ride with Chris.”

I started to object, but Elizabeth gave me a quick head shake. Then to Beau she said, “We’ll meet you at home.”

In the car, I said to Elizabeth, “Did I do the right thing?”

She looked at me like I was crazy. “Of course you did the right thing. If you hadn’t told them to take his helmet, I would have hit you over the head with it.”

“I’m not sure he’s going to get over this. I know what this game meant to him.”

“It was a game, Vince. Just a high school football game. Don’t make it out to be more than it is. He’ll get over it. If this is his biggest disappointment in life, he’ll be damn lucky.”

“Tell that to Beau.”

“I will,” she said, defiant. “And someday he’ll realize I’m right. No one died out there. No one was seriously hurt. Beau’s coming home tonight. That’s all that matters.”

I blew out a held breath. She was right, of course. William’s journal reinforced that.

She continued. “You know Beau. He never stays mad long. He’ll get through this, and he’ll forgive you.”