Read Online Soar by Joan Bauer - Free Book Online

us in the Twenty-Third Psalm.
    Walt puts his hand on my shoulder. We prayed this before my transplant surgery. We prayed so hard.
    The Lord is my shepherd;
    I shall not want.
    He makes me to lie down in green pastures;
    He leads me beside the still waters;
    He restores my soul.
    We finish saying the psalm together.
    There’s a hush as a big teenage boy comes forward. His eyes are red from crying. He unfolds a piece of paper and stands there looking at it; then he reads.
    â€œHargie, you were my best friend. You knew that. I hope you knew I always wanted to be like you, to play like you. You always gave it all you had in every game, in every practice. We practiced for years, you and me. I’d always be the one who got tired first, and you always wanted to keep going. You always outlastedme . . .” He stops to take a deep breath. He’s crying now. “Just know this: the team and me will always have an empty place because you’re gone. Always.”
    He stands there holding the paper, then he goes back to take his seat with the Hornets. The team walked down the aisle together before the funeral began. I don’t see Coach Perkins, though. I look around, then behind me—I think that’s the coach sitting way in the back. I guess he couldn’t find a place to park.
    Pastor Burmeister talks about knowing Hargie from the time he was a baby.
    â€œI baptized him right here. He had so much energy inside him. How he will be missed.” Pastor Burmeister looks at Hargie’s parents. “Michael and Dellia, we will gather around you—this church, this town. We will walk with you through this valley, through all of the shadows of this impossible loss. We will remember your boy, our boy. We will thank God for his life.”
    One by one, people stand to say, yes, we will support you.
    We will remember.
    â—†Â â—†Â â—†
    On the local news tonight, Coach Perkins stands by Hargie’s poster in front of the Hornets’ Nest.
    â€œHargie was like a son to me. He was a brilliant boy on and off the field.” The coach shakes his head; his eyes fill with tears. “I wish it was me in the casket instead of him. Baseball has lost a superstar at every level—high school, college, and beyond, I’ll tell you that. We’re dedicating the rest of this season to Hargie Cantwell’s memory. He was a gift to us all of excellence, strength, and fierce courage.”
    A blanket of sadness covers Hillcrest.
    People light candles and put them in front of the Hornets’ Nest.
    People are quiet—on the bus, in the stores.
    The middle school plants a tree by the baseball diamond in Hargie’s memory.
    At school, there are extra counselors around for kids to talk to about Hargie’s death.
    In English, we talk about how to construct an interesting opening sentence.
    In Civilization class, we talk about ancient Greece.
    In Science, we talk about what happens when atoms split.
    At lunch, we talk about the rumors.
    Did Hargie really have a heart attack, or . . .
    Was he drunk, like some say?
    On drugs?
    Riding his bike so fast, his heart stopped? That can’t happen, of course.
    But everyone is trying to understand what happened in their own way.
    The only good news this week comes from Dr. Dugan. Walt grins as he tells me. “Your blood looks good, blood pressure is just a little low, but Dr. Dugan doesn’t want to change your meds yet. We’ll see her and the transplant team next week.” He high fives me.
    Right now I’m at the public library that’s between the high school and the middle school. It has a place to remember Hargie in one of the reading rooms—a long piece of paper hangs on the wall, and people write about their memories. There’s a bench you can sit on to think about him.
    I’m sitting on that bench, thinking about his fastball ripping across the plate.
    I’m thinking about myself a little, too.