The Song of David

“Andre the Giant was over seven feet tall and weighed five hundred pounds,” Henry continued as we turned the page, our eyes resting on a giant who blended into the trees, his hair a huge, leafy afro, his skin weathered and brown.

“He was a professional wrestler. I used to watch old highlight videos of him wrestling Hulk Hogan,” I said.

“Who won?” he asked, looking up from the book.

I laughed. “You know what? I don’t remember. I just remember thinking how big Andre was, and how much I wanted long hair and a big gold belt like Hulk Hogan.”

“This book used to scare me.”

“Not anymore?”

Henry shook his head. “No. But I still look for giants sometimes.”

“Giants . . . or just one giant?” I asked quietly. I thought maybe I’d figured out why Millie’s mother had shown Moses the book.

“Andre the Giant died,” he said soberly. “I’m not looking for him anymore.”

I had sensed Henry knew exactly who I was referring to, but I let the subject drop.

Now, looking down at the book on Henry’s desk, the doctor’s words rang in my head.

“You have a giant mass on your frontal lobe.”

A hiding giant no one had seen. Until now.

“Giants don’t make good friends.”

Henry was right. Giants were something to be afraid of.

“When Giants Hide,” I read the title again, and Henry tossed a little, murmuring in his sleep. I placed the book back down and noticed the old tape recorder Henry had unearthed along with the book. There was a shoebox of tapes too, some used, some new. Apparently, Henry had once used them to record his own sportscasts. He had a digital recorder now, but he’d been excited by the discovery of his old collection.

The tapes and the recorder gave me an idea, and I felt a little sliver of relief, a tiny lifeline. I would use the tapes to leave Millie a message. I lifted them carefully from the desk, treading quietly as I eased back out of the room with my hands now full. I would give it all back, I promised Henry silently.



(End of Cassette)





Moses




WE LEFT FOR Vegas early the next morning. Georgia stayed behind with Kathleen, but Millie refused to be left behind. She apologized for insisting yet insisted anyway. And Henry couldn’t stay home alone. So it was the three of us in the cab of my truck, heading to Vegas with our stomachs in knots and our thoughts turned inward. It could have been awkward, but it wasn’t. We’d passed awkward a long time ago and were well on our way to being friends.

Tag’s team left at about the same time, but we had no plans to meet up. It was divide and conquer. That was the plan, though the plan lacked specifics. My goal was just to get to Vegas and get into the fight. I’d worry about the rest later.

There wasn’t a cassette player in my truck. They didn’t make them that way anymore. But Millie brought the tape player and the box of tapes, and she sat with them in her lap as if she couldn’t bear to part with them. They were a lifeline. A Tagline. Since the day before, when Tag revealed the results of his MRI, Millie hadn’t shared the contents of the remaining tapes with me or Georgia, and I hadn’t asked to listen. I didn’t want to listen. The conversation had grown too personal, the love story too ripe, the feelings too raw, and the story was for Millie’s ears alone. I wasn’t sure if she had continued listening after we parted, but I was guessing from the way she held them, she’d done little else.

About halfway into our trip, she pulled out a cassette and put in some earphones. I was impressed that the tape recorder even worked with earphones. She turned away slightly, drawing her knees to her chest, and lost herself in Tag’s voice.

It wasn’t until a half hour later that she started to cry. She’d been so resilient. So composed. But now—now she wasn’t. Something on the cassette had set her off. Tears dripped down her face, and her lids were tightly closed, clearly an attempt to hold them in.

I needed Georgia. I didn’t know what to do. And Henry sure as hell didn’t know what to do. He caught sight of his sister’s tears and immediately started fidgeting and pulling at his seatbelt, reaching for Millie and then turning away from her.

“Lou Gehrig, Jimmie Foxx, Hank Greenberg, Eddie Murray, Buck Leonard . . .” Henry started muttering and rocking, “Mark McGwire, Harmon Killebrew, Roger Connor, Jeff Bagwell . . .”

“Millie!” I raised my voice in an effort to be heard over the earphones that covered her ears.

Millie yanked the earbuds from her ears and immediately tuned into Henry.

She slid the cassette player to the floor and climbed over the seat without hesitation. She swiped at her wet face with one hand as she pulled Henry into her arms.

“I’m sorry, Henry. I’m okay.”

“Cap Anson, Bill Terry, Johnny Mize,” Henry mumbled.

“Baseball players?” I asked, recognizing a few.

“First basemen,” Millie supplied. Her lips were tight, and I could see she was still trying to force back the grief that had gotten to her in the first place. Henry’s forehead rested on her shoulder, his eyes hidden from her tear-stained face, giving her a moment to pull it together.