Iron Chariots

Most of the time like all teenagers Elias lived in the moment and football was his focus. He was a gifted running back in a Texas High School and was accustomed to seeing his name in the local papers. He was a jock who expected the privileges and attention that came with the sore muscles and bruises. Although he didn’t know it because of a lack of pictures in the house, he had the tall good looks that closely resembled his father and his grandfather. Only his coloring was darker like his mother’s side of the family while his father and his father’s father had been fair skinned and blond.

He vaguely remembered coming home from ball practice one Thursday afternoon to find Frank Doyle cooking steaks on the grill in the back yard. Not an unusual occurrence: it was a Thursday night ritual since Frank had been dating his mom. Friday nights were taken up with High School ballgames.

Frank was a detective, but not on the Beaumont police force. Frank and Elias’s mom, Carina, had met at some charity social function put on by the police force in town. They had been spending time together for three years, when their schedules allowed, and that had always been fine with Elias.

As habit, Elias dropped his practice pads and cleats in the hall closet and crossed the patio to the back deck to see Frank in an apron. The apron was dark blue with a star at the top, a picture of a gun pointing at you on the bottom, and the words sprawled in bright yellow across the middle “I cook: You clean: No arguments.” Elias looked up at the muscled, graying man, wearing shorts in spite of an autumn chill and could feel the cold waters of a January lake rush over him. In the voice of a small child, he helplessly looked at Frank and spoke of that day for the first time in years. Help me Frank. . . My Daddy’s dead and I can’t get him out of the water. Oh, please, help me. I can’t get him out. They killed my daddy, Frank.” Elias looked down at his hands and back up at the rugged cop who had dropped the spatula and was already closing the gap between them as Elias fell forward into his arms. He cried unashamed for the dad he had forgotten for so long. Then the memory gate slammed shut and not opened again. When he got out of bed on Friday morning, he barely remembered the episode and played the best Friday night football game he could recall.