Rocky Road

Paul had grown accustomed to his new schedule. It was quieter, slower. He even admitted to his wife Lucy – and only to his wife – that it was unexpectedly soothing.

He hadn’t been one of those people who excitedly anticipated retirement. In fact, he had always believed he’d die within months of his last hurrah. As Coach K, he had coached baseball for 25 years. He had even brought the team to a few championship games. As Mr. K he taught AP English, the most difficult – and most worthwhile – class in the entire school, and he had supervised the student paper. As Paul, he directed multiple plays and served as treasurer of the local Elk’s Club. His students and friends believed he hadn’t slept since college. And many of them silently wondered if retirement would kill him.

It didn’t. Instead of dying off – as he believed he would – he volunteered his time mentoring young basketball and baseball coaches. In addition, he redirected his patience and discipline from the classroom to his own home as he and his wife served as an inexpensive daycare for their identical twin grandchildren Alex and Caleb. He and his wife traveled incessantly. And he even wrote articles for the local paper.


The small corner market wasn’t far from the couple’s house. And the late spring night was beautiful. Paul donned his jacket and announced to his wife, ‘Honey, I’m going to the store. I’m in the mood for ice cream.’

‘Paul, you know what the doctor said.’

‘Oh, Lucy. I’m 73 years old. If ice cream’s gonna kill me, then let it.’

She shook her head but couldn’t help reveal a little smile.

‘You want anything special?’ He asked.

‘I’ll just have some of your Rocky Road.’

‘I think I may try something different tonight. Maybe vanilla. Or that Tom and Jerry type of ice cream.’ He hadn’t come home with anything but Rocky Road in over 20 years.

‘You mean Ben and Jerry’s?’

‘Yeah, maybe I’ll try something new.’

‘Okay,’ she replied.

‘Just make sure…’

He bolted out the door before he could hear her say, ‘To get the frozen yogurt.’

The neighbor’s newly cut grass evoked memories of all kinds. The smell of leather on his left hand from the battered baseball glove. Planting a bunch of flowers with his tall, slender mother. He smiled at the thought of his mother. Her face seemed to come to him more of late, as if she were calling him to come home.

He entered the market with a dreamy expression on his face.

‘Hey Coach K,’ came a voice to his right.

Paul turned as if woken from a dream and saw Gary with a box of chicken noodle soup in his arms.

‘Hey Gary, how are you?’ He motioned as if to shake Gary’s hand but thought better of it. ‘How’ve you been?

‘Same as usual. Wife and kids are good. And the store’s okay.’

Gary hadn’t been the smartest kid in the school. And he hadn’t been the best ballplayer either. But he had been a good kid and had worked damn hard. When Paul discovered that Gary had ‘stepped in it’ and had married the oldest daughter of a local wealthy store owner, he announced to his wife that ‘what comes around, goes around,’ one of his favorite sayings. (And when his wife corrected him – as she always had – by saying that it’s ‘what goes around, comes around,’ he smirked and said, ‘does it really matter?’)

Paul preferred the hard workers to those with natural talent. At the first sign that a kid wasn’t fully invested in Mr. K’s class or on Coach K’s team, that kid’s life became a living hell either until the kid shaped up or shipped out. Most did the latter.

‘Well, good to see you, Paul. I’ve got to pick up some ice cream for Mrs. K.’

‘Oh yeah, what kind?’ Gary knew very well what kind but always asked.

‘I think she wants Rocky Road tonight,’ Paul answered. ‘The ice cream,’ he emphasized.

‘I think all we have is the frozen yogurt,’ Gary answered with a smirk. He had actually stopped carrying Rocky Road ice cream at Mrs. K’s request.

Paul playfully frowned as he followed Gary to the frozen food section. He liked to play the game. He retrieved the half gallon and walked with Gary up front.

Standing at the checkout counter was a tall, bespectacled man in a blue pinstripe suit. The man was typing rapidly on some electronic device. When he heard Paul and Gary approaching, he turned and identified Gary as someone who worked at the store.

‘Hey, I’m in a hurry, get me a pack of Newport Lights,’ he casually commanded.

‘Sorry, we ran out. Delivery tomorrow. You want Newports?’

‘Shit. I always hated this lousy store. Never had what I needed.’

Gary was behind the counter looking perplexed at the reaction.

‘Richie? Richie Taylor?’ Paul asked.

Richie turned his head to look more closely at the old man. Recognition flickered in his eyes. ‘Mr. K,’ he replied. ‘Been a long time.’

‘Sure has,’ Paul said. ‘And you remember Gary Sullinger, yes?’

Again, there’s recognition, but they don’t exchange pleasantries.

Paul felt the tension and continued, ‘How’s my best reporter and his family? I heard you and your beautiful wife are expecting. Congratulations.’

Richie looked out the window absently and responded, ‘Fine. Fine. Like I said, I’m really in a hurry. Just give me whatever you got back there.’

‘Can you be a little more specific?’ Gary answered with some sarcasm that Richie didn’t appreciate.

Richie shot back a look. ‘Give me the Newports.’ He wanted to insult him but decided against it.

The market’s front door opened. An attractive olive-skinned woman was speaking into her cell phone. She paused long enough to say, ‘Rick, can you please get me some mints? I like Altoids. Something minty.’ She smiled and waved with her free hand.

The encounter left Richie shaken. His face turned brick red.

His reaction wasn’t lost on Gary or Paul. They stood in the market, Gary behind the counter, Richie facing Gary, and Paul to Richie’s left. No one said a word.

Paul moved his arm to Richie’s shoulder saying ‘It’s all…’

But Richie reacted to the touch by swinging his body. Paul lost his balance and fell backwards onto the tile floor before he could brace himself. The Rocky Road yogurt and Paul’s head simultaneously fell onto the floor with respective thuds. The ice cream rolled away.

Richie and Gary both stared at Paul’s motionless figure on the white tile.

Richie reacted first. ‘Oh my God. I gotta go.’ He turned, exited, and sped off in his car.

Gary moved to Paul’s side. ‘Coach K?’ No response. He grabbed Paul’s hand. ‘Coach?’ Still nothing. Gary dropped Paul’s hand and moved to the phone. He dialed 9-1-1.

‘Yes, hi. I need an ambulance at 413 North Center St. It’s a market.’

‘What’s the nature of the emergency?’ asked the operator.

‘A 73-year-old man was attacked by a guy named Rick Taylor. He sped off in a 2009 Toyota Camry.’

‘Thank you, sir. An ambulance is on its way.’

Gary hung up the phone. ‘Payback’s a bitch, Rich.’ He moved to Paul’s side and held the old man's hand until the ambulance arrived.