Vision Quest

I Both Dad and I are pretty sure Shute is going to grind my body into the green surface of our David Thompson High School wrestling mat. We work hard to put that thought out of our minds, though. I don't wrestle Shute until after the first of the year, when the weights come up two pounds and I move down from the 154-pound class--where I'm already lean--to become probably the world's hungriest 147-pounder. I've got two weeks yet. We also put it out of our minds because today is my birthday and Dad had our 1941 DeSoto reupholstered in the original mohair. He presented it to me this morning in celebration of my eighteen years and my upcoming high school graduation. Still, he couldn't forget my impending doom. After he caressed the leather armrests, rubbed up the bristling new fabric, and spun the big old steering wheel with one finger, he noted that Carla will be able to drive me around in style and solid comfort after Shute breaks all my bones. Carla is my girlfriend. She lives with us. Carla loves the DeSoto. Today we eat our lunch in it. She spreads a red and white checkered tablecloth over the backseat so she won't drip yogurt on the mohair. I sit in front, manning our Sony portable cassette recorder, playing the Beatles' collection and the Stones' Hot Rocks, eating raw carrots and celery and hard-boiled eggs, turning to pure protein before her eyes as she hands me another carrot. I'm down to 150. Carla climbs in front and rubs the dash and window moldings with a waxed cloth Dad brought her from the store. Dad's in the car business. People in the car business call their places stores now. The name has gone through phases. When I was a little kid playing park league baseball Dad would say he was going to the garage. And then when I was in junior high playing Pop Warner football he'd say he was going to the lot. But now it's store. I see Belle walking our way as I finally open the car door to head for my English class. The wind blows hard and for a second my eyes hurt from the cold. "Hi, folksies!" yells Belle, slipping and nearly falling on the icy sidewalk. Belle, you crack, don't do any dope in our car, I think to myself, nodding at her. Belle is the gum-freeze queen of David Thompson High and Carla's best friend after me. She's wrecked a good share of the time, especially at school. She's usually holding dope and I would hate to see her nabbed for it with Carla. It seems that most of the administration and teachers and kids take Belle's space travel for the effervescence of school spirit. I suppose it's because she's a cheerleader and beautiful. There's really not much chance of her getting caught around school, but I still worry. Belle is friendly and funny and a good person. She's never done me wrong. The chance of her getting Carla in trouble is the only thing I don't like about Belle. I sound like a parent. Carla wouldn't like it if she knew I felt this way. There's probably nothing to worry about. Carla is down on chemicals and down on dope in general, and she's afraid Belle is overdoing it. I doubt Carla would allow Belle to do any dope in her presence. I'm smiling big and thinking about friendship as Carla waves good-bye with her waxed cloth. I'm also being careful not to fall on my ass. If I'm going to have my coccyx broken, I'd rather Shute did it than this transient and impersonal patch of ice. Coach Ratta passes me in the gym door. "What do you weigh?" he asks. "Fifty," I reply. I stop for a bit. We always leave out the one hundred. His eyebrows rise. "Can you beat Kuchera?" he asks, eyebrows coming down. He knows I can. What he doubts is that I can make 147 without losing strength. "Yes," I reply, thinking how much I like Kuch and how badly I can munch his body, and wishing we didn't have to wrestle off for the spot, but not wishing too hard because it will only be for this one match. "We'll see," Coach RattaTerry Davis is the author of 'Vision Quest', published 2005 under ISBN 9780385902892 and ISBN 0385902891.