Dream Catcher (Excerpt)

Of all the New England sports teams Wynne had developed a particular connection with the Boston Celtics. He loved them, loved to hate them when they lost and loved to love them when they won. His own zeal for the team was so contagious that Faye herself had become a Celtics fan almost through osmosis. Some of her earliest memories involved watching her dad scream at the TV when they missed a key shot, or jump up and down when they hit one. Since she was a child of six or seven, she had rarely missed a game. Either watching alongside her dad or, after the divorce, texting each other the play-by-play. 

Harry’s Hole in the Wall was a local dive-bar on the outskirts of Providence. This was where Wynne spent most of his time off work when he wasn’t with Faye. However, with their weekly visits during the basketball season, and occasionally the football season, Faye became as much of a regular as her father. Technically, a seventeen-year-old girl wasn’t allowed in the bar past eight o’clock at the risk of the bar losing its liquor license. But one of Wynne’s first jobs in the area after going private was for the owner of the bar, Harry, whose daughter was being harassed by a coworker with a spotty past. Ever since then, Wynne could do no wrong and was welcome whenever he wanted. This extended to his daughter who, out of respect for Harry and the limb he was going out on to let her stay, never compromised this luxury with an illegal drink. Not even when the numerous offers from obvious predators came her way anytime Wynne left the table. 

No, Faye wouldn’t risk it. She loved these nights too much. Nights where she could sit with her dad and enjoy something they both loved. They would yell, scream, and cheer in unison. Faye, not as gifted magickly as her father nor as irreverent in her demeanor, never felt as close to him as she did when they sat and watched the Celtics together. Shoulder to shoulder, hooting and hollering, that was when she felt most like her father’s daughter. 

The shot-clock was no longer a factor as the half would be over in twelve seconds, the Celtics were down fifty-three to fifty-one to the Utah Jazz. Coming off a timeout, they would probably hold the ball and go for one final play to either even it up or take a slim lead going into half. Faye and Wynne each sat with bated breath, most of the bar barely cared, but the two Tellers couldn’t take their eyes off the action.

The inbound pass came a little late, they held the ball with simple passes before Tatum took an off-balance shot from three. It arched, dropped, and rattled in and out of the rim. A wrestle for the loose ball ensued but ultimately the Jazz Power-Forward came away with it and tossed the ball across the court as the half ended.

“Fuck!” Wynne shouted.

“Damn it!” Faye yelled.

“Terrible fucking play.” Wynne said, shaking his head at his daughter. “I swear, Tatum has it all, but he’s got to get out of his own head.”

“Brown was open.” Faye shrugged.

Wynne barely heard her as he continued his tirade.

“It’s only half, but that’s the type of thing that kills you. It’s momentum they don’t have and points they left out on the court. Bad play, just awful.”

“Brown was open.” Faye said again.

“Damn straight.” Wynne nodded. He looked at his glass and found his Old Fashioned was empty. He stood up and gestured to the bar. “I’m getting another, you want anything kiddo?”

Faye shook her head. “I’m good.”

She watched her dad mosey over to the bar, his natural swagger becoming exaggerated after his fourth Old Fashioned. The smile on her face, which had been there since they entered the bar to the many happy greetings of other regulars, was now slipping away. It was true, she loved these nights when she could cut loose with her dad the way she had since she was a child, but they were rapidly becoming predictable. 

This next drink would be his fifth, he’d finish at least that before the next half started. About midway through the fourth quarter he’d be too drunk to speak clearly or sit up. By then, she would be watching the game by herself and the night would end with calling Lex to give them a ride home. Dad drinking was not the concern for Faye, it was the escalation. He had always been a drinker, even before Syd died or mom left him. Whatever shadows plagued David Wynne Teller behind closed eyes, Faye was sure they were there long before she was born. Demons which only quieted when drowned beneath copious amounts of alcohol. Faye had long ago accepted that. However, he used to cope with them better. What was now drunk by the fourth quarter used to be drunk after getting home. What was now drinking whenever he wasn’t working had once been a night of romantic drinks with his wife on the weekends. 

Faye could see it; he was crumbling and fast. Tonight was supposed to be the night she told him. Told him about mom’s plan to move out west and take Faye with her. Far from all of those painful memories and reminders; far away from him. Where Faye could learn about herbs and hopefully blossom into a first-rate healer like her mother. Without Wynne there to distract her from the safe path, the best path. Now, Faye wasn’t sure she could do it to him. How could she? While her dad was all smiles, jokes and laughs, she knew he was tortured. Losing his grip on something that she knew little to nothing about. 

Wynne returned to the table, drink in hand. He fell into his seat and looked over at his daughter, his eyes already a little glassy. 

“You sure you don’t want anything? Not like a drink, drink, but just a soda or water…something?”

“I’m sure, dad. Thanks though.” Faye said, looking at the television screen without really watching it. She was still considering what to do, but she felt her dad’s eyes on her. He had always been good at seeing when something was bothering her. 

“What’s wrong, Faye? You know you can talk to me, right?” Wynne said, his words only mildly slurred.

Of course, dad. Faye thought to herself. I always could. You’ve always listened. Always been there.

“It’s nothing, dad. Nothing we haven’t talked about before.” She lied. “Just feeling a little lost, is all. Just hungry for some direction, I guess.”

Wynne looked at his daughter with boundless understanding.

“Stop stressing yourself out, kiddo. Being lost is part of life. Not a single person in here knows where they're going, not for certain. In my experience, you don’t know where you’re headed until you get there.”

Faye looked about the room at the many browbeaten men and women in the dimly lit, cheap bar. Wynne, even a little drunk, saw the issue in his words.

“Well, this place is a bad example, but you get my point. Hell, my job is to find people, might be the only damn thing I’m good at, and even I’m lost half the time.” He looked at his daughter with a warm smile. “You’re not going to wake up one day having found yourself, Faye. You’re going to spend the rest of your life figuring that out. Because the moment you think you finally glimpsed who you really are, you’ll change too quick to keep up. It’s better that way. Trust me.”

Faye looked at her father and smiled, “Thanks dad. I’ll try and keep that in mind.”

Halftime ended and the game quickly found its rhythm again, an unfortunate rhythm for any Boston green teamers. Faye tried to find comfort in her father’s words but couldn’t help feeling a bit hollow. Her dad had always been full of little gems like that, moments of wisdom and guidance, but look where he ended up. He wasn’t some tourist in the land of the drunk and destitute, not like he once was. With every passing day, Faye watched her father wither and soon he would look just as at home in Harry’s Hole in the Wall as any of the other patrons. Proof to that point came in the fourth quarter when, as predicted, Faye turned toward Wynne after an especially nice lay-up drew a foul for Marcus Smart. She found him slouched in his chair, his head back and mouth agape. 

“Dad?” Faye said, less irritated than she might have been a year or two ago.

He roused awake and looked around.

“What’s… what’s the score? Are we… did they…?”

His words were stunted and choppy. Faye held back her disappointment as she spoke.

“Still down. Only by two. They’ve got time.”

Wynne nodded slowly, but it was unclear how much of what she said he actually retained. Faye was watching him now, not the game. She saw a faint glimmer in his eye as his drunken stare remained fixed to the television. While his eyes were aimed at the TV, his mind- as often was the case -was somewhere else entirely.

“You should play ball again. You were good.” He said to Faye.

“No dad, Syd played basketball. I played soccer.”

Wynne turned his head toward her, seeing past his own inebriation he found his youngest daughter looking back at him. Though painful memories flooded his thoughts at the sight of her, his face lit up with a loving warmth.

“That’s right. Sorry kiddo.” He turned away and after a long silence, “You should play again. Soccer, I mean. You were good.”

Faye shook her head and brought her attention back on the television. Another missed three from the Celtics. They were shooting under thirty percent on the night from beyond the arch, the writing was on the wall.

“No, I wasn’t dad. I was terrible.”

Wynne snickered. 

“Yeah, you were pretty terrible.”

Faye laughed and only laughed harder as her dad began to drunkenly recall stories of every clumsy foul or missed shot in her brief and underwhelming sporting career.

Wynne sighed, “… You had heart though kid. Always have. Always will.”

“That’s what every parent tells their kid when they suck at something. ‘you tried really hard out there, sport.’” Faye laughed.

“You know I wouldn’t bullshit you like that. If you didn’t try, I’d say so. No daughter of mine is going to half-ass their way through something. If you start it, you finish it. Plain and simple. As far as I’m concerned, Faye Donna Teller can be anything she wants in the whole wide world, except a quitter.”

Faye had to hand it to her old man, even drunk he had a way with words.

“Besides…” Wynne started up again, with a snort and a sigh as he adjusted poorly in his seat. “The only damn goal you ever scored was…”

“In my first-ever playoff start. I know dad. I remember. It’s not like you’d ever let me forget. It dropped at my feet, the pass wasn’t even for me, just a lucky bounce off of a defender. I leaned back and put my laces through it. The form was terrible, the placement was worse, the only good thing about that shot was that it found the back of the net.”

“Yeah…” Wynne said quietly, pride lit his eyes as he thought of his daughter’s surprised face and then roaring joy when she realized she had scored the goal. “You came through when it mattered most, because you have heart, kiddo.”

Faye watched the Celtics struggle for another in-game minute. They had fallen back into a seven-point deficit when she finally spoke again. 

“It’s funny. I think I only look back on that goal with pride because I know how much it means to you. Mom never brings it up, sports were never really her thing. But half the people in this bar know that story just ‘cuz you won’t shut up about it.”

She turned with a giggle toward her father. His chin was resting on his chest, his stomach slowly rising and falling. He was asleep again, this time likely for the night.

“Thanks for that dad. Thanks for everything.” She looked at him with a loving softness and decided she would let him have tonight. She could tell him about California another day.