Ball and Chain

It was a scorching hot Sunday. The entire neighborhood stayed inside due to the extreme heat except for one boy: Johnny Brown. He’s one of my classmates at Lakeside Middle School, and he is always happy and excessively energetic. I watched him for a little bit as he played with his rainbow-colored soccer ball. He was not bad for a 7th grader, but I didn’t understand why he would go outside by himself as the sun was releasing its burning rage upon us all. I went to my room so I could finish my homework before I went back to school on the dreaded day of the week that is Monday. My mother came up to my room minutes later and said, “Why don’t you go out and play with Johnny, Tim?” “It’s too hot and I need to finish my homework,” I responded. “You never go outside, Tim. You need sunlight. Go play for half an hour, and you can finish your homework when you come back. I’ll help you.” And so, I went outside.

The second I took my first step out I felt like I was being baked like a cookie at 375 degrees Fahrenheit for ten minutes. By the second I closed the door, I heard someone holler, “TIIIIIMMYYYY!”. Johnny had a mischievous grin on his face, and he kicked the ball my way at incredibly high speeds, but I wasn’t prepared for it. I was petrified. Luckily, he accidentally curved the ball and it flew just to the side of my house. In that instance, I was safe. In the next, not so much. The ball hit our neighbor’s tree, and we heard glass shatter seconds later. There was an eerie silence for a minute. Johnny and I looked at each other and knew our playtime had ended.

Our neighbor’s wife, Sarah, died in a car crash four years ago while she was driving from her workplace She was only 40 years old and was really nice to everyone she knew, especially us kids. She would give candy to our parents to give to us every time they had a community meeting. It took a toll on the whole neighborhood when we lost such a kindhearted soul. Most of us attended her funeral. It was such a gloomy day; there were heavy rain and storm clouds throughout the day. Her husband, Ryan, was usually a cheerful person, almost as much as Johnny. His eyes looked as if he had cried out as many tears as the raindrops pouring from the clouds. He just stared at Sarah’s casket that day, barely able to say a word. He looked to be filled with regret as if he could’ve done something the day of her death to prevent her accident.

The neighborhood community created a memorial in honor of Sarah’s death on an oak tree on Ryan’s front yard. People surrounded the tree with letters, cards, posters, pictures, candles, and lots of flowers. Most people brought buttercups, since they were Sarah’s favorite flowers. Ryan found a picture of her among the hundreds that were brought to him that he took a particular liking to. He had it framed and hung it on the tree. He also planted buttercups around the tree for Sarah. Now, if someone so much as walked past Ryan’s tree on the sidewalk, he would go outside and yell at them on the best of days. It has been said that he has chased some of the other neighborhood kids down the street with his car for playing outside his house. We had broken the framing of Ryan’s favorite picture of Sarah. God knows what would happen to us.

Ryan’s heavy footsteps disrupted the silence. “You damn kids!” he yelled furiously. “Do you think my wife’s death is one of your little games?!” He picked up Johnny’s soccer ball and chucked it at him as he proceeded to approach us. Each step he took made me tremble as if he were a giant causing tremors as he walked. I couldn’t see Johnny behind me, but I imagined that he felt it too. Ryan stopped two feet away from me, outraged. My heart pounded so quickly I thought it would come out of my chest. I couldn’t believe what he did next. Sprinting as fast as he could, Ryan ran back to the tree, dug the picture of Sarah from the shards of glass, held it to his chest, and wept. I cautiously went to the tree to comfort him. Johnny went home to tell his mother what had happened and get a first aid kit for Ryan; Ryan cut his hands as he pulled out the picture. I was speechless when I sat next to him. “Why did this have to happen?” he cried. “She didn’t deserve this!” he shouted toward the sky. He didn’t receive a response.

Mrs. Brown patched up Ryan and offered to pay for the frame. He said that he would take care of it. Ryan sulked back inside his house and ever so slowly closed his door as if he would never come back out again. Johnny was severely reprimanded by his mother after Ryan had gone back. I went home like nothing had happened. Mrs. Brown told my mother what occurred the day after. I finally had the time to do my homework, but Ryan’s breakdown allowed me to realize that school wouldn’t be the greatest challenge I would face in life.