It

could eat just about all the raw green stuff you wanted and not gain weight. So one night my mother put on a salad with lettuce and raw spinach in it, chunks of apple and maybe a little leftover ham. Now I’ve never liked rabbit-food that much, but I had three helpings and just raved on and on to my mother about how good it was.
‘That went a long way toward solving the problem. She didn’t care so much what I ate as long as I ate a lot of it. She buried me in salads. I ate them for the next three years. There were times when I had to look in the mirror to make sure my nose wasn’t wriggling.’
‘So what happened about the Coach?’ Eddie asked. ‘Did you go out for track?’ He touched his aspirator, as if the thought of running had reminded him of it.
‘Oh yeah, I went out,’ Ben said. ‘The two-twenty and the four-forty. By then I’d lost seventy pounds and I’d sprung up two inches so that what was left was better distributed. On the first day of trials I won the two-twenty by six lengths and the four –forty by eight. Then I went over to Coach, who looked mad enough to chew nails and spit out staples, and I said: «Looks like it’s time you got out on the circuit and started picking corn. When are you heading down Kansas way?»‘
‘He didn’t say a thing at first — just swung a roundhouse and knocked me flat on my back. Then he told me to get off the field. Said he didn’t want a smartmouth bastard like me on his track team.
‘»I wouldn’t be on it if President Kennedy appointed me to it,» I said, wiping blood out of the corner of my mouth. «And since you got me going I won’t hold you to it . . . but the next time you sit down to a big plate of corn on the cob, spare me a thought.»
‘He told me if I didn’t get out right then he was going to beat the living crap out of me.’ Ben was smiling a little . . . but there was nothing very pleasant about that smile, certainly nothing nostalgic. ‘Those were his exact words. Everyone was watching us, including the kids I’d beaten. They looked pretty embarrassed. So I just said, «I’ll tell you what, Coach. You get one free, on account of you’re a sore loser but too old to learn any better now. But you put one more on me and I’ll try to see to it that you lose your job. I’m not sure I can do it, but I can make a good try. I lost the weight so I could have a little dignity and a little peace. Those are things worth fighting for.»‘
Bill said, ‘All of that sounds wonderful, Ben . . . but the writer in me wonders if any kid ever really talked like that.’
Ben nodded, still smiling that peculiar smile. ‘I doubt if any kid who hadn’t been through the things we went through ever did,’ he said. ‘But I said them . . . and I meant them.’
Bill thought about this and then nodded. ‘All right.’
‘The Coach stood back with his hands on the hips of his sweat-pants,’ Ben said. ‘He opened his mouth and then he closed it again. Nobody said anything. I walked off, and that was the
last I had to do with Coach Woodleigh. When my home-room teacher handed me my course sheet for my junior year, someone had typed the word excused next to phys. ed. and he’d initialed it.’
‘You beat him!’ Richie exclaimed, and shook his clenched hands over his head. ‘Way to go, Ben!’
Ben shrugged. ‘I think what I did was beat part of myself. Coach got me going, I guess . . . but it was thinking of you guys that made me really believe that I could do it. And I did do it.’
Ben shrugged charmingly, but Bill believed he could see fine drops of sweat at his hairline. ‘End of True Confessions. Except I sure could use another beer. Talking’s thirsty work.’
Mike signalled the waitress.
All six of them ended up ordering another round, and they talked of light matters until the drinks came. Bill looked into his beer, watching the way the bubbles crawled up the sides of the glass. He was both amused and appalled to realize he was hoping someone else would begin to story about the years between — that Beverly would tell them about the wonderful man she had married (even if he was boring, as most wonderful men were), or that Richie Tozier would begin to expound on Funny Incidents in the Broadcasting Studio, or that Eddie Kaspbrak would tell them what Teddy Kennedy was really like, how much Robert Redford tipped . . . or maybe offer some insights into why Ben had been able to give up the extra pounds while he had needed to hang onto his aspirator.
The fact is, Bill thought, Mike is going to start talking any minute now, and I’ m not sure I want to hear what he has to say. The fact is, my heart is beating just a little too fast and my hands are just a little too cold. The fact is, I’m just about twenty-five years too old to be this scared. We all are. So say something, someone. Let’s talk of careers and spouses and what it’s like to look at your old playmates and realize that you’ve taken a few really good shots in the nose from time itself. Let’s talk about sex, baseball, the price of gas, the future of the Warsaw Pact nations. Anything but what we came here to talk about. So say something, some body.