“Still there,” I said.
The hall is a massive, flying saucer of a building located on the southwest side of the school in what had once been, no doubt, a stark field. Illinois is the Prairie State, and most of it is as flat as a pancake, especially the campus of its flagship university. Consequently, winter winds in Champaign were brutal; they came howling out of the western plains in January and February with malicious intent, and there was nothing to break them, except, maybe Assembly Hall.
“Ethan, see that?” I lowered the windows and turned off the van. The parking lot was empty, and the afternoon was turning hot. “That’s where they play basketball. Illini hoops.”
“Hoops! Go Illini!”
“Right, hoops.”
“Me. Play.”
“Not today.”
“Yes. Ma’am.”
“No, ma’am.”
I pointed at the hall. “Daddy used to play there. I played in twenty games in three years. I scored a total of fifty-eight points, got three rebounds, had four assists, and committed one foul on a guy from Michigan. He made both his free throws because they were in the bonus.”
Ethan began to pick at his fingernails.
“In high school I was All-Conference first team, All-State Honorable Mention. I got scholarship offers from the University of Toledo, the University of Wisconsin at Milwaukee, and Loyola of Chicago. But I decided to walk on here. I wanted to play at Illinois. Big Ten, big stage.”
“Go. Now.”
“I quit my senior year. Coach Hensen persuaded me, said I wasn’t going to see the floor anymore. Robby Kleinschmidt was transferring in. He was very nice about it though. He offered me a Coke afterward. ‘Hey, John, would you like a Coke?’ he said. He was a nice guy.”
“I. Starving.”
“I should have stayed anyway. Finished what I started.”
“Pee-pee.”
“Or maybe I should have gone to one of those smaller schools. Probably Loyola. I would have played a lot, really learned the game. Who knows what could have happened? Maybe I could have played in Europe afterward. Basketball, that was my passion. I should have stayed in the sport somehow, found a way to stay involved. Down deep I think I really wanted to be a coach, not a teacher.”
“Do. Now?”
“A coach. But they make even less than teachers. I probably could have done both, though. Maybe taught driver’s ed. I’m an excellent driver.”
I sat and studied the hall, its metallic, silver roof shimmering in the sun. At one time that building was the center of my universe.
“I’ve been gone for more than thirty years, you believe that? Thirty years.”
“Pee-pee.”
I sat and continued to stare out the window, my obligation to feel reflective, to experience an epiphany, strong. It had been years since I had seen Assembly Hall; it might be years before I saw it again, if ever.
“It goes quick, dude-man. It goes quick. I think about everything’s that’s happened since I left. Everything.”
“Eat.”
I turned toward Ethan. “Hey, let me ask you something since, you know, we’re just talking here: what do you think of me? Man to man. I can handle it. Tell me the truth. Am I a good guy, or am I full of shit?”
Ethan continued to pick at his nails.
“What’s that? Didn’t hear you.”
“Poo-poo,” he said softly.
I was a little stunned at the appropriateness of this response. “Wow. Well, you certainly tell it like it is.”
I gave the hall one last long look, then started the van. But as I was pulling out of the lot, still immersed in memories and thought, Ethan did something he almost never did—he reached over and briefly put his hand on top of mine.
3
Mary called me at the Marriott Courtyard just outside of Indianapolis, at six the next morning.
“Where are you now?”
Even in the happiest times, the hand-holding in public, sex in the shower, notes-in-lunchbox years, Mary never said, “Good morning, good night, good-bye.” Never called just to ask, “How are you, how was your day, how’s it hanging?” Never called me “babe” or “honey.” (Note: she was maybe the only woman on earth who didn’t like foreplay before sex. “In me or off me” was her motto.) This heat-seeking missile approach to life, this ability to get right to the heart of things, was honed at a city law school, then perfected during years working in a windowless office as an assistant state’s attorney, dealing, I suspect, with other foreplay-hating, I-don’t-have-time-for-bullshit non-bullshitters.
“Good morning,” I whispered.
“Where are you?”
“Where are you?” I countered.
“I’m here.”
“Charleston?”
“Got here yesterday. Where are you?”
“Indianapolis, Indiana.” I tried to mumble that.
“Indianapolis? That’s it? That’s not far!”
“Oh, it’s farther than you think.”
“I know where Indianapolis is. This is your daughter’s wedding. Her wedding, John. We have a rehearsal dinner on Friday. Friday, John.”