-Tide to Haggard
TIDE
“Who’s this fuckin’ weirdo sitting next to us?” I asked my sister.
Cannel looked from the soccer game where her nieces were playing soccer, to the woman next to us.
I knew exactly who the weirdo was that was sitting next to us the moment she turned and glared. I also knew that weirdo could hear us, but I hadn’t actually thought I’d know the weirdo.
Yet that didn’t stop me from needling her. Or giving her shit.
Because giving shit was what Coreline “Elvis” King and I did best.
“That’s Coreline. Her sister is number nineteen.” Cannel looked at me curiously. “Why?”
“Because she’s screaming so fucking loud, I burst an eardrum,” I grumbled, sure my little Elvis could hear that, too.
The screaming started again, and I looked up to find number nineteen had the ball, and she was dribbling it down the field.
Number nineteen was leaps and bounds better than anybody else on the field, and you could tell that the kid had talent. Even worse, everyone else could, too. Meaning she was targeted by the entire team not even a few seconds later.
There was a whole lot of pushing, and against four people, there wasn’t much the girl could do but fight the inevitable fight. The inevitable being the ball being taken away and a foul occurring.
Coreline stood up and started yelling at the ref.
“Are you freakin’ blind!” Coreline bellowed. “Number seven on the other team is going to hurt someone!”
The ref looked at her with a bored expression.
Only this time, I actually agreed with her. Number seven on the other team was definitely aggressive. As in, she was going to hurt someone one of these times.
Number seven had performed the most blatant foul, in the box, at that.
In all honesty, the kid should’ve gotten a yellow card, and a PK—penalty kick—since she’d done the fouling in the box.
But the ref was either blind or stupid.
Maybe both.
Because not even the next play the little girl made, the kids were back to fouling, and the ref was back to being blind.
“Are you freakin’ joking me, you useless pile of shit?” Coreline yelled at the ref, making me tilt my face down to hide the laughter at her words. “You can clearly see that she’s being pushed around. If one of those kids hurts my sister, I’ll literally shove my fist up your ass!”
At that point, I was full-on laughing into my hand.
My shoulders were shaking, and I couldn’t hold in the snort that was fighting its way free.
The ref blew his whistle, stopping the game.
Then he started marching across the field with purpose.
I stood up myself, torn on whether to let the ref tear into her for her words—in front of a bunch of ten and eleven-year-olds at that—or make my way over to show that Coreline, despite being the bane of my existence, wasn’t alone.
Before I could move in either direction, Coreline stormed the field when one of the girls chose that moment to push her sister to the ground.
The kid—Enola, if I could remember correctly—popped up and threw a perfectly formed fist at the girl that’d actually pushed her to the ground.
Number nine, the pusher, went down hard with her hand at her cheekbone.
Good of Enola not to hit the nose. Blood would be hard to hide.
Several other parents booed loudly, causing the ref to turn to see what the problem was, then there were even more parents storming the field, wanting Coreline and her sister ejected.
“Oh, boy,” Cannel said quietly.
I agreed.
The ref threw up a red card.
“What’s that mean?” I wondered aloud.
“That means that she’s been kicked out of the game,” Cannel whispered.
“How the hell are they going to kick a parent out of a game?” I grumbled.
“They won’t let the game resume until she’s gone,” another mom, obviously one with more knowledge of the game than my sister, answered. “See, she’s leaving. But she’s right.”
I agreed that she was right.
“Will you make sure that Toddy gets back to me?” Coreline asked the girl sitting next to her. The one that’d been reading a book the entire time. “I’m serious, Alison. Make sure you watch.”
Alison sighed. “Yes, Mother.”
“Alison,” Coreline said carefully. Quietly, as she packed up her stuff. “If you forget about her because you’re too busy being selfish, I will fuck you up.”
With that parting comment, she shouldered her bag, the can cooler—that wouldn’t surprise me if it had a White Claw in it—and her purse.
She started walking to the other team clapping.
On her way out, she flipped them all the bird and yelled, “Play hard, Toddy! I’ll be watching from the parking lot.”
“You’ll be leaving,” the ref countered.
She snorted and kept walking, not bothering to reply.
Which had me smiling, despite the fact that she annoyed the piss out of me.
“Since when does she have a sister?” I wondered aloud.