Like Barb’s work, the girls called her “Coach.” Carl was his assistant and the girls called him “Carl.” Barb knew football, knew how to make children work and love it. Barb knew how to drop a five-foot corner from the net. Carl was not particularly athletic, but he was happy to wander around, encouragement. “Good pass, Heather. Be careful, though. "

On the field, Barb was “Coach” to Carl. “Betting, Coach,” would confirm how he drilled his crossover group. “Not until you see the ball in the air!” he said for sure. She was hoping the girls thought she knew it on her own. Barb, the horsetail pushed the back of his cap, gave him a thumb up.

Basically, Carl loved being out there with the kids, encouraging them, talking about tournaments as if they were so important. Winning or losing, girls were learning to work hard, think forward, seeing themselves as winners. In three or four years they would be tied to college, probably no one to compete with each other, but with what they had learned to 14 as tools for art, engineering, medicine, wherever they were pointing.

clockwise, Carl did it right. Two late afternoon practices a week plus Saturday and Sunday when they made tournaments meant just balancing his projects.

His daughter Kathy and Barb’s Andrea were best friends, but it also happened to be the team’s scoring machine. Kathy could pass and Andrea had the feet of a coach’s progeny. Long pass, fake, goal! But as much as the coach and assistant wanted points, they also secured everyone’s play time. Sometimes a girl who had never scored had her skills together and caught him right inside.

Barb and Carl plus an eighth and ninth grade clutch together made for good football.

Carl could have expressed it in the light of helping girls, or maybe even stay fit himself, but the fact was that he really enjoyed working with (“for,” he would admit with a smile) Barb. They knew each other well. They did not know each other so well, they realized, they could come to know each other too well, the distinction “so” against “too much” is significant.

The elements were obviously there for border crossings. Divorced female. Divorced male. Exception of the game. A hug. I need to talk. Forget the margins of a game field and the game ends behind the bloody.

The elements were there for border crossings, except two who did not want to ruin their friendship. Barb knew all the lines. His divorce, he said, was because, randomly treated, such lines fade. “Don’t let this shit happen,” as she blushes, “without thinking much ahead. "

Some probably thought the two had something to do. What’s stopping two adults? They’re not going to church. So? But the people who assume that they tend to be the same to ruin their lives. Coach and Assistant Coach knew the boundaries have reasons.

But Barb also knew the frivolity of a border. A small raunchiness, never intense, never perpetuated, works well if both sides know the rules. Familiarity, of course, but in-bounds familiarity.

Carl, in turn, knew their company worked because he was careful. For tournaments that require the overnight stay, for example, would have his room and Barb would be finished with however many of the team could pack in his. Hotels never cared about their extra bed bags, since any number of girls cause less wear and tear of just two by a team of boys. But parents don’t want their girls to join a male, even a reliable man.

Once after dinner (Sizzler, the girls had voted), Barb had brought his paperback to Carl’s room to escape the hyper-teenage cluster. When she fell asleep on the other bed, she took a team to wake her up, she didn’t want to be in the position of sleeping alone. Stupid? Suggestions? Not a bit! That’s why it worked.

Carl could have fought Barb in the middle, but he’d crash on the other side. They could crawl over each other a little while when he strung in his van, sure, and she didn’t behave badly. He didn’t like a breast thrust on his arm. But deliberate brushing, he understood, could become a habit. For a male trainer in a female league, this kind of thing is noticed.

Barb said once again: “There’s no reason why mine needs that damn thing, but a boy’s eyes never stop wandering,” returning to his van to slip on his sports bra under Hawkeye’s sweatshirt. It was his look, he knew, even if he tried to overthrow them. It also seemed a little fun, as if “How about I go topless, good friend, why aren’t they much and then we’ll work the girls on the defense of the area?” He had that kind of disinvolvement for her. We’re sexual, of course, but we won’t let him overwhelm camaraderie. We’re a team that wants to have fun playing football.

Carl imagined himself smart enough to avoid obvious pitfalls. The sex he needed to have with his old right hand, he said. Not so often, but enough. Wendy, her ex, implied she was a hemp not to jump until she fucked every time she felt a little bored. He knew how to get the best sex elsewhere and in hell with him!

But Barb knew Carl better than Wendy. “You’re not gay. Shit, you and Wendy made a baby. We could compare notes, maybe,” making it blush. “You’re very curious about my underwear, right? Ohmigod, did I forget mine?” pretending horror, laughing and adding: “You’re burned, you retreat. It makes sense to me. Hang on, man. "

The girls had given Coach Iowa Hawkeye T-shirt, despite his protest that it was a Iowa Stater, a Cyclone. It’s because she never missed anything. Carl accepted.

Carl and Barb shared the tribulations of raising strong-friendly girls, PTA, Bluebirds, scientific fairs, orchestra concerts without two tuned violins quite the same. Football was the passion of girls now, but as parents, they would probably compare notes on dating rules in a year or two.

“Do you know why things work between us?” Barb asked one day.

“Respect, an exaggerated sense of what is ridiculous, understanding goalkeeping, a lot of things, right?” Carl has actually thought of understanding what a goalkeeper should do – charge against a one-on-one turn, etc.

“Of course, but why do things remain solid?” he followed.

“Why? "

“Boundaries. We know ours. "

Carl thought. “Yes, I think so.” He knew well and well what he said. He felt his breasts loading the van.

“We,” she laughed at the laugh she loved. “But shit, you know what? You’re a book of rules that you think mine is up here,” drawing a line to the forehead. “But maybe he’s here and you never get it,” he banged, it’s not some kind of barb to do, and he moved the line to his neck.

“For a lucky boy, maybe. "

“But just so you know, I know you know I’m a girl.” He roared his forehead. “A lot of people know, maybe? "

Barb took the dance bag, “Here’s a question for a math boy. "

“Fire away.”

“Say this field is 50 for 100 meters. So, if the area remains the same and we move the contact lines to 60, what happens to the distance between the target lines?” At Carl, it was the “sidi” he was expanding, but Barb knew the correct terminology.

“They approach, but I’d need a calculator. "

“Smart boy! And why is there more score? "

Carl pictured X’s and O’s on a note. “For the defense spreads, I think. "

Two out of two! Thus, in addition to the athletics, in which social activity is the goal also ’to mark’. Barb’s smile detached Carl who had been framed.

She laughed when she took the gist. “You’re terrible, especially for a woman. "

“It contributes to widening the boundaries,” Barb replied. “To mark more, I mean. Why is it so terrible to talk about football, Mr. Assistant?

Carl could never joke like that with another woman.

THE PILL

It was later in the season. “Carl”?

He knew from Barb’s voice that something weighed on his mind. Did you look too close to one of the girls? He should have done it sometime, but Barb wouldn’t have put him down for noticing, would he? He knew he wouldn’t go anywhere.

Shoot, when he and Barb joked about a “growth” player, it was usually in the context of physical attributes. “I better get that a bigger mesh,” for one fill his figure. Or maybe, “big than one down,” for one still flat with quite loose top to see football shoes from its neckline. Barb knew he noticed. He also shared Andrea’s tidbits, information to which coaches should be sensitive. Lana, a half-brother, knew she was “going too far” and was mood for weeks. “It’s not time to rage a girl on teamwork. She’s thinking a little more at home, for God’s sake. He’s afraid he’ll miss his time.” Carl better know what makes a tick girl, or in this case, what could make Lana tick a little more complex.

Barb continued to worry. “Kathy is your daughter, not mine, and you are a good father to her. "

Carl looked at his friend. Did Barb read his thoughts on his son? Not even thoughts, even noting. “It’s nothing,” he denied, admitting so.

“It can be anything,” he contrasted, “but it’s nothing,” committed to collecting the shirts of practice, obviously does not want to enumerate.

Barb was waiting for the two to walk to the parking lot. “We both know. You’re not some kind of weird. "

“I hope not,” he accepted.

Neither do you.

Carl found a strange turn. Kathy? But before he could solve the problem, Barb continued: “Sometimes you find something second hand. "

“Most of all I’ve ever discovered,” she accepted.

“Well, here’s something I think you better know… Kathy wants to get on the pill. "

“The pill”?

“You know what I mean. He doesn’t want to get knocked. "

“But she’s just… How do you know?

“Andrea told me. "

Andrea?

“My son is sexually active, Carl.” Barb’s voice was flat, almost masked. “We can’t ignore it, suppose they’ve grown up. "

Carl put his hand at Barb.

He looked down, “All you can warn is not fuck someone who doesn’t respect you. Don’t take anything. Don’t get pregnant. Guys can get tires, but I still told Andrea to get on the pill. Sooner or later you forget, or you leave or whatever. If she’s old enough, she’d better be old enough to take care of things. "

“Jesus,” that was all Carl could do.

“Probably half the team gets stuff from that health office. But if we had marched and raised hell, we wouldn’t have medical advice. "

Who? Kathy, I mean… I think I don’t have to know, but she’s my daughter!”

“With no one yet, but he decided to. "

Carl saw some light. “I’ll talk her out. You can help, I mean. "

“Carl, listen now. Each of them will start some time or another. Don’t talk to these girls about something that they know is gonna happen. It never works. It’s about not running. Listen and try to hear. "

“Look what? What do you want to fuck?” Carl was frustrated.

“But here is where it is more difficult to explain,” don’t worry about affirming your question. “I think you’ll understand why I say it sooner or later, but that’s not the point. She wants to have sex because that’s what girls do. Does that make sense? "

Sure.

And he wants to have it with someone who loves her. Is that weird? "

“No.”

“Well, then.” Barb swallowed and looked completely at Carl. “He said he’ll sleep with his father if he does. "

Carl sat stunned. With him? Of course they loved each other. Of course she found it attractive; How could he not? Of course, he probably idolized him. Sexually? Him? Your daughter? He felt pale. Where did you fail?

“It’s not that weird, Carl, that a girl wants it. Shit, it’s as common as hell. Perhaps nothing usually comes from it; Some guy puke fucks her and she halfway forgets. But sometimes, especially for a girl who goes for what she wants, it happens. She’s sleeping with Dad sometimes. So simple. Just a couple of times. They keep loving each other. "

“But Barb, she’s just a child. You know…

“Sometimes I don’t know shit about anyone. And sometimes you don’t know anything about yourself. "

“But still… "

That’s what I’m saying. Take it for what’s worth. "

Carl listened to the escape plan. Barb would know.

“The pill takes three to four weeks to get stable things. He has a lot of time to think.” Barb weighed his advice and scolded. “As if it were this great caring thing! Shit! So you got some time anyway. Pay attention to her. Preparing is a difficult time for a girl, not as a brain.” She smiled. “You’re a real father, okay?”

“All right.” But that wasn’t telling him where to go, he realized.

Barb continued, “It is his thing to understand what he wants; he must be. Maybe she says yes and you say no and you take care of it.” She smiled. “You know how to say no. You’re not a hinge brain. No sirree. "

Carl interrupted. “I have to wait to say that? "

“We don’t always know what we’re gonna say. "

“It won’t happen.”

“Don’t scare her, then,” Barb was emphatic. Leaving that much sink in, it seemed to go back. “I want you to be the boss, the father. Don’t. You’ll hurt her because you don’t know.”

“Don’t. That’s what I just said. "

“No, stupid! Don’t be the boss. Let me move the border to its rhythm. She’s not used to it, the physical part. Fucking serious shit. "

“Are you telling me? "

“Do you know how much I trust you? Enough to tell you to have sex with your daughter, forget!”

Barb was saying it would happen! Maybe in three or four weeks!

No.