By Lewis Brett Smiler
Carlos was feeling ecstatic as everyone was calling him a hero. The teen scored the winning goal for his hockey team, and now they would be competing in their first-ever state final. Carlos was trying to get the puck close to the goal, to pass it on to a teammate, and he never expected it to land there. Yet, even as his achievement was featured in the newspaper, his euphoria quickly faded to sadness. Uncle Wayne had not been there to experience Carlos’s greatest hockey triumph. It had been almost a year since his uncle’s death, and his absence continued to sting. Uncle Wayne was not a blood relative, but that did not matter. He cared for Carlos like he was family, and his positive energy was felt at the games.
But now he was buried in some small cemetery that hardly anyone knew about. Carlos drove over to visit his uncle’s new footstone and placed a hockey puck on top. It was a way of paying tribute to a man to whom he owed so much. Uncle Wayne used to manage an ice arena and knew the sport well. And without his encouragement, Carlos was not sure if he would have made the varsity team. Anger began to set in. Uncle Wayne would not be around for Carlos’s high school graduation or to follow his hockey games in college. Carlos continued to stare at the hockey puck on his uncle’s stone. The world was not a fair place.
One day passed. Carlos was walking home from school when he saw his neighbor Mr. Breakfield sitting outside. The weather was a bit warmer that week, so neighbors were spending more time outdoors. Mr. Breakfield had various health issues and showed clear signs of aging, but his insults remained strong.
“I heard you were at the cemetery yesterday,” said Mr. Breakfield. “If I see one scratch on my wife’s tombstone, I’m turning you in. You hear me, Carlos. They will send you back home where you belong. You all think you’re Americans, but you’re not, and you don’t belong here.” There were times when the hockey star looked forward to chilly weather. Mr. Breakfield would not be outside to harass him when he walked by.
Carlos recently heard that the old bigot had a grandson in Pennsylvania who played ice hockey and was very passionate about it. Mr. Breakfield had apparently gone to some of his games. Carlos might have a great deal in common with the grandson, but his neighbor was too blind to see this. Once again, anger was starting to take over. Mr. Breakfield often made nasty cracks when he heard Carlos talking in Spanish. Perhaps Carlos should tell his neighbor in detailed Spanish how rotten he was. No, he must not sink to that level.
***
Carlos’s hockey team lost in the very competitive state final, but Carlos still played well and had another goal to his credit. Once again, he wished that Uncle Wayne were there for that moment. Carlos went to visit his uncle’s footstone a second time, placing another hockey puck on top. The teen was planning to mark every cemetery visit with a hockey puck. Yet, sooner or later, he would have to start stacking the pucks so they did not cover the lettering on the footstone. Was there a different way he could mark his visits?
He was thinking about this on another walk home from school when he noticed Mr. Breakfield was slowly coming towards him with his walker. It seemed like yesterday when this asshole could walk the length of the street unassisted. His health had definitely declined over the past year. Carlos continued to watch the old man struggle and began to feel a touch of compassion.
“That’s a nice jacket you have,” said Mr. Breakfield. “Where did you steal it from?” Carlos did not answer. “You can ignore me all you want, but you can’t ignore law enforcement. If you keep this up, they will be coming for you. You think you’re so slick, but you’re not.” Whatever compassion Carlos was feeling before was gone in an instant. He walked past Mr. Breakfield and continued on his way home. How long would it be before his neighbor needed a wheelchair? When that time came, Mr. Breakfield might stay in the house more and leave Carlos alone.
The hockey star’s thoughts would soon shift elsewhere. His sociology report was due next week, and he needed to get started. He was finishing up the first page that evening when he heard a siren. He stepped outside to see that there was an ambulance parked a few houses away. Was it by Mr. Breakfield’s house? He walked a bit closer and could see that it was. Carlos would learn later that his neighbor had had a bad fall.
***
Mr. Breakfield was discharged from the hospital after two days. The teen was passing his house again when he saw a middle-aged man standing in the driveway. Carlos could not help but notice the strong resemblance to Mr. Breakfield. Was that his son? The man was talking loudly on his phone.
“I’ve told you this a thousand times,” the man yelled. “Dad would rather be dead than in a wheelchair.” There was silence for a moment. “You can talk to him all you want, but you know he’s not going to listen. He won’t listen to anyone.” There was more silence. “I don’t know what to tell my kids. That Grandpa cares more for his pride than he cares for them?” The silence returned. “Yes, it’s a slow and painful way to die. I don’t know why the hell he chose starvation.” Carlos could not believe what he had heard. Mr. Breakfield was going to end his life. It would be an end to all that misery he brought Carlos, an end to all those vicious remarks. The hockey star would finally be able to walk the street in peace. But before Carlos knew it, guilt was starting to set in. He should not be wishing for anyone’s death.
Mr. Breakfield’s son had ended his phone conversation and was now standing silently, staring at the house where he grew up. It was hard to ignore that look of distress on his face. Was he crying? Carlos thought of how he felt when he learned that Uncle Wayne was near death. He could not count all the times he had cried since his uncle’s passing. Carlos recalled his first hockey practice and his first game since Uncle Wayne died. He could barely get himself to go to the arena. The teen thought of Mr, Breakfield’s grandson who played hockey. Would he be able to handle losing his grandpa? Carlos thought about his neighbor’s other grandkids. He knew so little about them, but it did not matter. He should make some effort to help the Breakfield family, but what could he do? What did he have to offer?
***
It was a sunny day, and Mr. Breakfield was sitting outside in his wheelchair. There were stitches in his forehead, probably from the fall. Carlos had never seen him looking so frail before. The teen wanted so much to curse at his neighbor and tell him what a demon he was, but that was not the reason he walked over.
“What do you want?” asked Mr. Breakfield. His voice was weak, and it was clearly a struggle for him to talk.
“Mr. Breakfield, I know that you hate me,” said Carlos, “and I don’t care much for you. But your family cares a lot. You’ve heard of my Uncle Wayne. He used to be very active in town. We weren’t related, not by blood, but he was still my uncle. I didn’t meet him until after he went blind. It didn’t stop us from bonding. It didn’t stop him from supporting me.
“You know that he managed the ice arena before he went blind. Even when he lost his eyesight, he still knew hockey. I’m a better player because of him, because he encouraged me. And those rare times he missed a game, I missed him. I miss him now. He died last year from an infection.” Carlos took a deep breath. It was hard not to cry. “Uncle Wayne did not have to see me to give support, to know if I was having a good or bad day. And you don’t need your legs to support your grandkids. They still want you.”
“Leave me alone,” interrupted Mr. Breakfield.
“Okay, I will leave you alone, but one more thing. I want to make it clear to you that I do belong in the United States. I was born in Puerto Rico, which is part of America, and have always been a citizen. My friend from Peru is not a citizen. But he’s a good person and a better student than I’ll ever be. He belongs here just as much as you do.” Carlos turned around and headed home, knowing that he had just wasted a few minutes of his time.
The next day Carlos was walking to the pizzeria when he saw his neighbor sitting outside again. Mr. Breakfield looked just as frail as before. As the hockey star had expected, his words did not have the slightest impact. Why should they? There was no way that Mr. Breakfield would have considered listening to him. Carlos could see that his neighbor was staring at him, but nothing was said. The teen felt badly for the family. He continued his walk to the pizzeria, eager to clear his mind and spend time with his friends. Carlos would not see Mr. Breakfield again that day.
***
It had been an entire week since Carlos last saw his awful neighbor. What had happened to him? Was he too weak to go outside or was he back in the hospital? Perhaps Mr. Breakfield had passed away. No, that was not likely. If he had died, the news would have spread very quickly.
The hockey star thought about the time he had sprained his ankle. How would he feel if he could not walk anymore? Uncle Wayne used to talk about how devastated he was when he had lost his eyesight, how it turned his whole life upside down. But he learned to adjust and became an invaluable presence in Carlos’s life. Mr. Breakfield would never be in the same class.
Carlos was taking out the garbage when he saw Mrs. Pfleiger walking her dog. Nobody knew more about the neighborhood than she did.
“Hey Carlos, did you know Mr. Breakfield?”
“I did.”
“He was such a good man, and we’re all going to miss him. He moved out of his house this week. I think he’s staying with his son in Pennsylvania. I’m not sure what the plans are, but everyone was shocked. First he wanted to end his life and refused to eat, and then he changed his mind a few days later and insisted on Chinese food. I don’t know what caused the change, but his family must be very relieved.”
***
Two weeks passed. Mr. Breakfield had been spotted at the house again with one of his sons, meeting with a realtor, but there was little news otherwise. He was no longer living in the neighborhood and no longer a part of Carlos’s life. The teen was certainly not going to miss him. Yet, he could not stop pondering what triggered Mr. Breakfield’s change in attitude. There was no way his comments could have had some influence. He was the last person on the planet whom Mr. Breakfield would listen to. Something else must have provoked the change, but Carlos was not going to guess what it was. There was so much about his neighbor’s life that he did not know.
He drove to the cemetery for his third visit to Uncle Wayne’s footstone. Carlos had another hockey puck with him to place on the stone. He parked his car by the entrance and headed towards the second row of stones. Carlos walked up to his uncle’s stone and was shocked at what he saw. There should have been two hockey pucks left from his previous visits, but now there were three. The two pucks that Carlos had left were blank, but the third puck had a logo on it. Who left the puck there? It was a small cemetery, and Carlos rarely saw other visitors. But Mr. Breakfield once implied that his wife was buried there. Carlos photographed the puck and researched the logo on his smartphone. It was for a high school hockey team in Pennsylvania, and one of the players had the last name Breakfield. Was that his ex-neighbor’s grandson? Did Mr. Breakfield place the hockey puck on Uncle Wayne’s stone? Carlos stared at the puck in amazement. There was no question that the former neighbor was showing respect for Uncle Wayne. But, perhaps for the first time, he was also showing Carlos a bit of respect.
Lewis Brett Smiler lives in West Orange, NJ, and enjoys creative writing and historical research. His stories have been published in Scarlet Leaf Review, Scare Street, Academy of the Heart and Mind, Anotherealm, Piker Press, Droids & Dragons anthology, and have been aired on the Creepy podcast.
