The Last Bell

Frank sat dejectedly in his room, grounded by all the times he mischievously claimed innocence. But those past discretions had gone unnoticed neither by his hysterically laughing parents nor by indifferently passing time. He changed the channel on the 35” LCD Samsung television he received as a gift on his last birthday to a game show he used to watch. The host wooed contestants with his melodic voice; he grinned with mocking omnipotence at their nearly unbelievable ignorance. Frank’s finger found the menu button, and he scanned the other billion channels that were playing nothing of note. He considered a war movie but decided he wasn’t in the mood. The television thus landed on the NFL Network; he watched as the overconfident Joe Namath relived his greatest moment and changed the game of football forever.

The television neglected to hold Frank’s interest for long. Instead, he daydreamed, as was his custom, about his childhood. He had played basketball in the schoolyard every chance he had and until his mother rang the bell she had installed for the purpose of calling him back home. He rarely listened to that bell. But when he heard ‘Francis Morgan Flanagan’ he knew it was time to go. In the winters, he ventured to the pond on the other side of town with his skates and stick ready to lay people out on the ice. He played and joked and traded barbs for hours, occasionally even going toe to toe with a newcomer. He didn’t win those fights often, but his tenacity earned him respect.

A knock came at his door, startling him. ‘Come in,’ he said feebly.

‘We’re taking off for a little while. Stay in here until we get back.’

‘Where else am I going to go?’ he asked sarcastically.

‘We’ll be right back,’ she said, ignoring his commentary. She shut the door behind her.

He heard the car start and then zoom away. He felt the fire of his teenage angst, stoked as it was by the interchange he had just had. The television crooned about the Steel Curtain, but he wasn’t paying attention. Instead, he planned his escape. He knew where the keys were hidden, and he remembered the neighborhood well enough. They weren’t going to keep him locked up.

Frank went into the master bedroom and fished out the spare key from the top drawer of the bureau. He slipped on a sweatshirt and some sweats. He slowly navigated the stairs into the basement and opened the garage door. He peaked outside to survey the area. Sometimes, they enlisted the neighbors to spy. But there were no cars around that he could see. He slinked into the driver’s side, inserted the key in the ignition, and started the car. His lead foot revved the engine.

He pulled out faster than he intended and stopped hard; he shifted and slammed his foot on the gas again, barely missing the mailbox as he turned. He stopped again and fastened his seatbelt. His foot found the gas pedal a third time but was more gentle. He took a right on Ramble Drive and made his way to Farm Run Road. It once had farms on it, not the he remembered, but the land had since been converted into suburban sprawl.

With fits and starts, Frank made his way to the town where he grew up. Once there, he sought out the house where he had lived and the court on which he had played. When he found them, he reflected on how different they looked. He didn’t linger long. Instead, he traveled to the other side of town to the pond on which he had played hockey. He was surprised to find the pond smaller than he remembered, not to mention polluted. He got out of the car and rounded the lake. He sat on a decrepit green bench. The cool breeze floating through the trees soon put him to sleep.

‘Sir. Excuse me, sir,’ came a young man’s voice. ‘Sir, can you hear me?’

‘Huh, what, yeah?’ Frank stammered.

‘Sir, can you hear me?’

‘What? Who are you? Where am I?’

‘Sir, I’m going to call an ambulance.’ The young gentleman placed the navy blue jacket over him. ‘Sir, do you understand?’

Frank nodded and shivered uncontrollably. The sweatshirt and sweats were little comfort in 20 degree weather.

Soon, the flashing red and white lights approached. In an out of consciousness, Frank struggled to understand what had happened. In what seemed to be his next conscious moment, he opened his eyes to a familiar face, although much older than he remembered it.

‘Dad, I told you to stay at home. You can’t drive anymore. You just can’t.’ She seemed on the verge of tears.

‘Don’t worry, pumpkin, daddy’s here,’ he tried his best to comfort her. ‘I just wanted to go play hockey with the boys.’ He smiled his gregarious smile and then slipped again into unconsciousness.

He heard, then, a bell. ‘Just a few minutes more,’ he told his friends, ‘until I hear my name.’