Colt O'Brien Sees the Light Read online



  Colt O'Brien

  Sees The Light

  A Novel

  By

  George Matthew Cole

  Young Colt O'Brien (Book 1)

  George Matthew Cole

  All Rights Reserved

  SECOND EDITION

  Updated in February 2014

  No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the written permission of the author.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  Original cover art by Terry Smith

  Cover design by George Matthew Cole

  For more information about the author and his work, please go to https://www.georgemcole.com

  For those who remember the goal

  in the midst of kaos

  RECOGNITION

  I'm fortunate to belong to a special support

  group made up of fellow writers. This group

  was formed by individuals that attended a creative

  writing class at Highline Community College in

  Washington State. The teacher Marjorie Rommel

  has a special talent for making adult students feel

  at ease when exploring their writing potential. I

  appreciate the support of the individuals listed

  below. Without them the journey would have been

  much longer and much lonelier.

  Thanks to all

  Jeanette

  Jolanda

  Marilyn

  Marjorie

  Rob

  Sandi

  Susan

  Vera

  Wendy

  Chapter 1

  ------Email-------

  From: O'Brien, Colt[[email protected]]

  To: Jones, Bobby[[email protected]]

  Subject: Wow Computers

  Sent: Sun 10/16/1994

  ---------------------------------------------------

  Yo

  pcs r great am getting how they work

  we can start fixing them and make bucks

  am done with sprts man Dude I stopped

  growing $%#$$@$%%^

  later

  ------Email-------

  Puddles of brown water pockmarked the soccer field reflecting the bright midday sun. The recently ended downpour had cleansed the air and the earth, leaving everything smelling fresh and pure. A large pond, about six inches deep, covered much of the center of the field. Parents, brothers, sisters and friends yelled encouragement as two teams of thirteen-year-old boys slogged up, down and across the swampy play area. All of the on-watchers still wore ponchos, coats and other rain gear, even though the skies were clear. In the Pacific Northwest, a sunny sky did not guarantee that rain would stay away for long. The crimson and green, once shiny, uniforms of the respective teams were soaked and muddied. The players had difficulty handling the round white and black ball in the sloppy conditions. Flying mud and water slowed the players as each tried to gain an advantage. Neither team was able to control the ball for a substantial length time. Mud holes, slipperiness and the dreaded pond, created formidable barriers to forward progress. Goalies at each end of the field gazed off into the distance waiting for something to happen. It was near half-time and not one shot on goal had been attempted.

  Once again, the elusive soccer ball was floating in the middle of the pond, daring any player to slap, splash, kick or cajole it onto solid ground. A tall lanky boy on the green team splashed through the water toward the soaked, leather globe. With great effort he kicked the ball out of the pond toward the sideline. Water splashed up, swirling around, as it floated toward solid ground. The ball seemed to be made out of lead and landed with a thud. Another player received the pass and waited. He looked downfield for an opening as the players on the crimson team slogged toward him.

  He yelled, “Atta way, Eric. Good kick.”

  With legs thrashing and water flying, the now excited Eric lunged forward toward the edge of the pond.

  “Pass it to me. I’m open," he cried.

  The ball was waiting for Eric when he broke out of the expanse of water. He arrived just ahead of four opponents. The stork-like player methodically dribbled up the sideline. He managed to avoid the potholes and puddles, allowing him to speed past mid-field. Fans on both sidelines were surprised that any player had broken away from the pack. They started yelling words of encouragement to their prospective teams. The energized green team saw their first real chance to take a shot. Boys on the crimson team scrambled to recover and stop the tall boy’s aggressive attack. As his team attempted to adjust to this new situation, a small player wearing crimson, shot away from his teammates like a bullet in flight. The mud covering most of his body could not hide fierce, dark blue eyes beneath a head of jet black hair. He ran after the much taller Eric who was weaving past players on both teams on his way to the goal. All other players on the field seemed to be merely walking as he loped like a miniature gazelle toward the taller adversary.

  From the sideline, a pretty, blonde teenage girl yelled, “Tackle, Colt, tackle the ball!”

  Colt met Eric as he was circling toward the goal where the now, wide-awake goalie was bracing for an onslaught. Colt’s legs moved like powerful miniature pistons. They pummeled the ball and the taller boy’s legs at the same time. After a furious, but futile, attempt to ward off his attacker, Eric lost his footing. He fell forward face down, onto the muddy ground as the ball skipped out of bounds. Eric jumped up spitting and shaking his head. His face was covered with mud. There was thick, wet dirt in his eyes and mouth. He glared at the referee and yelled.

  “That was a foul ref, call it!”

  “He went for the ball. No foul. Play on.” replied the referee without making eye contact with the angry player.

  Eric looked at Colt and spoke.

  “Watch out, you little midget. It’s coming. You won’t know when, but it's coming.”

  “Bring it on, stork boy. You’ll end up in the same place, eating mud.”

  Colt walked toward Eric with a determined stare. His fists were clenched, ready for battle. The shrill sound of the whistle stopped him.

  “Half time,” yelled the referee.

  The tired boys walked to the sidelines where orange wedges and Gatorade were waiting. Colt O'Brien approached his sister, Kelly, and his father, Robert. Kelly, athletic, trim and blonde, was about the same height as Colt. Her pale blue eyes were a few shades lighter than her brother's. For a fourteen-year-old girl, she exuded noticeable confidence. She put her arm around Colt and smiled.

  “Did you hear me out there, Colt?” she asked.

  “Yeah, I heard 'tackle the ball',” he answered.

  “Good tackle. That’s the way I'd do it,”

  “Could you believe that guy was flipping me crap?” said Colt with a flash of anger in his eyes.

  “He didn’t like the Colt treatment. He went swimming,” laughed Kelly.

  Colt smiled and started eating orange wedges.

  Colt’s father, Robert, was tall, dark and commanding. His gray, perceptive eyes, displayed fearless control and a competitive nature. Specks of gray ran throughout his full head of dark hair. He carried himself like a man who was accustomed to being followed and respected. He looked at Colt with an even stare.

  Colt looked back at his father. Man, I can’t tell if he liked what I did or
not. What the hell? It seems like I never know anymore, he thought.

  “That kid was big, but you can take him. I’ll bet he's used to getting his way. Don’t let him push you around.” said Robert.

  Colt raised his chin with clenched jaw.

  “Don’t worry about that, Dad. You saw how I handled him.”

  Crap, he acts like I didn’t do anything. I stopped the goal and it’s like it never happened. What does it take?

  Soon the whistle blew and the second half began. Play continued, with neither team gaining an advantage or scoring a goal. A few minutes remained in the game when the ball was passed to Colt near mid-field. He skillfully ran around the pond, avoiding defenders, as he loped toward the goal. After using fancy footwork to keep the ball away from an opposing player, Colt focused his attention toward the goal. As he increased speed, the short, feisty boy was startled by something flashing in front of his eyes. He tried to duck, but was hit by an elbow on his right cheekbone causing a crack to ring out. The excruciating pain caused him to see swirling red and white, sparkling stars. The crowd groaned as Colt fell to the ground. For a few seconds he lay still. After shaking his head, he jumped up enraged, and sprinted toward his attacker. When he saw that it was Eric, who waited with a smirk on his face, he became even more agitated. When Colt was close to Eric, he began swinging both arms. The taller boy easily pushed him away while laughing and taunting. Colt continued to swing his arms like a perpetual motion machine, but was not able to hit his target. His frustration grew as Eric repelled him with ease.

  The referee stepped between the two boys, pushing them apart. He pulled a red card from his uniform and said, “You're out of the game, green. Get moving, now!”

  Eric smiled at Colt, who was holding a hand to his sore face.

  “Who’s the punk now? You're such a shrimp that you couldn’t get near me.”

  Colt lunged at Eric, but was grabbed and held back by strong arms. He looked up as Eric ambled away. Colt was relieved to see that his father was there to support him. Then, he was overcome with a deep dark sadness. As he looked into his father’s eyes, it was as if a window had opened that allowed the thirteen-year-old boy to look into his father’s mind. There he saw and felt the thoughts that he feared more than anything in life. Colt sensed his disappointment behind those eyes. He knew that his father wanted more from him. No audible words were needed for the boy to understand. Colt flailed away in frustrated sadness until he was free of his father’s arms.

  Through his tears, he looked at his father and spoke.

  “You don’t care about me. You just care that I'm not big and tall. Well, maybe it’s not something I can do anything about.”

  “But, but…,” said Robert.

  “Leave me alone. I’m quitting sports forever. I’ll never win,” said Colt as he walked away.

  Chapter 2

  ------Email-------

  From: O'Brien, Robert[[email protected]]

  To: Norman, Ted[[email protected]]

  Subject: Colt

  ------------------------------------------------------------

  Hello Ted

  You asked how my son Colt is doing. I guess we can discuss this in person but the short version is that he is not doing well. He was a great athlete but now he is only average. I'm sure you can see why I would be disappointed. I can’t understand why his sister keeps getting better at soccer and Colt doesn’t. Hell, I'm six feet three inches. He should be taller and bigger than he is. I'm starting to think he is using his short stature as an excuse for not performing. I think you know that I won’t tolerate that.

  Let’s talk soon.

  Bob

  ------Email-------

  Colt O’Brien sat in his bedroom wearing his soggy, soccer uniform. He looked out the window, with glazed eyes, at tiny gentle, raindrops showering down. As if in a trance he stared, trying to block out a continuous stream of images flashing across his inner vision. He saw scenes of soccer, the face of his father, his sister, and most of all a crowd of faceless, zombie-like fans. All of the scenes were colored by a mixture of frustration, anger and a heavy feeling of utter defeat. I’m sick of feeling like I’m a loser even if I do okay. I know I can be good at something. I’ll show him that I can be the best, even if it isn’t in sports. I can’t help it if every guy is passing me up.

  After a knock on the door, Colt said in a loud voice, “Nobody’s home.”

  “Honey, let me in. I know you had a bad day. I heard you slam the door,” said his mother, Leona.

  Colt smiled and, for a moment, his dark face brightened. At least it’s not the old man, he thought. After plopping down on the soaking wet chair, Colt looked at his mother. She was petite with short blond hair and bright green eyes that were accented by worry wrinkles. Her appearance was one of manicured elegance reflected in her subtle makeup and expensive apparel. It was obvious to Colt that she was concerned about him which started to nudge him out of his emotional quagmire. Here's one person who really loves me.

  Leona cringed and picked at his wet uniform.

  “Oh honey, you’re soaking wet. You need to get out of those wet clothes and warm up.”

  The boy stared at his mother with dark blue eyes that darted from side to side. His lower lip quivered.

  “I’ve been thinking, thinking a lot,” said Colt.

  “Honey, I know you think your Dad is disappointed in you, but he just wants you to be happy,” said Leona, trying to be convincing.

  Colt’s angry eyes stopped darting and peered directly at her. She stepped back a little to adjust to the glare of anguish coming at her. She hesitated trying to center herself and focus before speaking. Colt responded to her.

  “You know I can tell stuff. I know what he’s thinking. He doesn’t care about me. He just wants to brag to his friends that I can win at sports,” said Colt.

  “But honey, he’s your father. He loves you, just like I do.”

  “Nobody loves me like you do, Mom,” he said with a quick smile.

  “Listen to me, Colt. You've always had what my grandmother would call the gift. I know you can feel and see things that other people can’t. It worries me that people won’t understand your special talent. Are you still having those weird dreams?”

  Colt was now moving in another direction as his inner life came into the foreground. This was something that was his alone. It made him special.

  “Yeah, I still have the dream where I see fog in front of the sun. In my dream I try to get past the fog into the sunlight, but I never can,” said Colt.

  “Let’s keep this between ourselves. You may not know this, but very few people can do what you do. Your father definitely would not understand. Don’t give people reasons to think you're not like they are.”

  “Don’t worry. No way I'm having my friends think I’m a crazy dude.” answered Colt.

  Leona smiled as she sensed that the love of her life was starting to regain his positive outlook.

  “That’s settled then. Kelly said you did fine in the game but a mean boy knocked you down. There will be other games.”

  Colt looked up at his loving mother and felt the full force of her love but knew that his life was about to change. I won’t tell her now, but I’ve had it with sports. Kelly can be the star. She won’t disappoint Dad.

  ~~~

  Colt sat at a table in the cafeteria of Sylvester Junior High. He looked around the crowded room for his friend, Bobby Jones. He spotted the lanky boy and waved him over.

  “Dude, sit down and listen. I've got great news.” said an enthusiastic Colt.

  Bobby paused after sitting down. A quizzical expression flitted across his face.

  “Hi Colt. What’s goin' on?” he replied.

  “I got us jobs doin' the computer thing. It’ll be fantastic.”

  Bobby Jones had distinct brown eyes with light brown hair. He was thin, but not skinny. At hearing Colt's idea, his eyes became wide and he looked up in fr
ustration. His hands tightened, reflecting the tension in the rest of his body.

  “Er, uh, what thing? Man, here we go again. What did you volunteer me for?” said Bobby with a bit of frustration.

  Colt could hardly stay seated through his excitement. He smiled with a conspiratorial confidence. His enthusiasm was flowing like a deep river directly at his friend.

  “The computer tech thing, dude. We'll be fixing computers and stuff,” said Colt.

  Bobby looked around nervously.

  “But, but, I don’t know that much and you don’t either,” he said.

  “Hey, we both have computers and I know one of the tech guys. He'll help us. Hell, half the time you just reboot'em anyway.”

  “They let seventh graders do that?” asked Bobby in a high-pitched whine.

  Now, Colt could see that his friend was not as confident as he was. Damn, I need to convince him. He's getting wimpy on me as usual. After a few moments of attempting to sense Bobby’s state of mind, Colt was ready to continue. Now I know what to say.

  “Listen! If we do this we get an automatic "A" in a class. Also, we help teachers with problems. That has to be good. You know how you like getting in good with teachers,” said Colt.

  The pale, shy boy relaxed a little allowing some of the tension to release from his body.

  “Keep talking. I’m listening,” he said.

  Colt saw his window of opportunity and moved in for the finish.

  “Dude, dude, we can make money on the side instead of some dead-end job flippin' burgers or whatever. We can do this. I know we can.”

  “I’ll probably regret this, but okay. I wonder if I should ever listen to you.”

  Colt jumped up, thrusting both arms into the air, and yelled “Yes.”