Rising from the Ashes: A Copper Horse Short Story

“Rising From the Ashes”

A Copper Horse Short Story

"Rising from the Ashes" (Part One)

What does forgiveness really mean?

I'd thought about forgiveness for months. Studied it from every angle as much as my muddled mind would allow while serving a self-imposed exile inside a 12 by 12 room for over 8 months.

All of my efforts to discover its secret while aided by a variety of man's best medicine did nothing to clarify the mystery of forgiveness. I know that people have spent their lives trying to make some sense of it. In fact, Christianity is based on this concept. Yet, I was one of many on the planet grasping with the nuances it offered in every shade of black, white, and gray.

The funny thing about my life is that it took an animal, a silly little black and tan beagle with his cold black nose and stocky little legs to succeed where every drug and human had failed. A dog, who couldn't speak a word, taught me my first lesson in forgiveness. The lesson which brought me to this darkened room inside a pub on yet another rainy day in Liverpool.

My life was saved and I began my rise from the ashes of my ruin like a phoenix risen in the fairy tales of old once I realized that another living thing could forgive me for my unforgivable actions.

Back at the institution, I wouldn't allow myself to be forgiven for being the cause of my wife's death. Boon broke through the barriers I'd erected to keep out Needle Nick, Dr. Winterbourne, and every other human from my past, including those who loved me the most, like the man who was coming to meet me tonight. Boon had shown me that life could be lived in the present and that it was okay to do so. That by living in the present, it was impossible to regret the past because the future depended on decisions made in the immediate moment. Boon had little stress in his life and even less baggage because he trusted in his own instincts to keep him out of harm's way and relied on his short-term memory to clear away the cobwebs of regret from the bad decisions that did occur.

Mistakes get made and, more likely than not, pain is the consequence. However, at the core of it all, getting up and moving forward requires one act of forgiveness after another. The acts are made collectively by everyone involved. They include self-forgiveness and the forgiveness of others both those who are estranged and those who are familiar, even if death is the end result of those actions.

Sitting in the pub, I imitated Boon the best I could while I waited for my former boss and father figure, Bobby to show up. I desperately wanted to rebuild the relationship that I'd destroyed following my wife's death. Robin had been behind the wheel of her automobile trying to avoid a drunken stranger who'd wandered into the street outside an obscure pub. I found out later that her life wasn't the only one lost due to a terrible twist of fate. The accident also took the life of our first child, still in the womb and less than three months old after our conception.

I'd been the bad dog responsible for biting the hand which fed me during my time at Blyth. The year and a half I spent had been crazy indeed. I'd thrown myself fully into the work like a premiership manager hoping to out manage the best like Rob Ridgway. I'd lived my dream that was born back in the States while I was just a boy. The single dream which grew as I did and matured when I became a man. The youth coaching experiences at my local high school sharpened my desire and stirred the passions so fervently that I'd realized, eventually, I wouldn't be satisfied stagnating in high school athletics.

I was infected with a fever that was only cured in England. I'd come across the Atlantic to this nation as a pilgrim and was treated by the natives with the same scorn and disrespect that my forefathers had shown to the indigenous peoples surrounding Plymouth Rock, Jamestown, and all other places in between.

Bobby Bell, maverick owner and stubborn scoundrel, had a bone to pick with his Blyth Spartan Board. In this very pub in Liverpool, he'd offered me the chance to visit his obscure club in the Northeast country by the sea outside Newcastle. In his mind, too many coincidences to shove a stick at made it possible. My wonderfully supportive wife, Robin, who'd been working in a teacher exchange program at the time, fell in love with the codger and encouraged me to say yes when Bobby offered me the position as manager.

On April 6, 2008, I stepped into a world of which I was fully unprepared. The Blyth Spartans were fighting a relegation battle in the Blue Square North and I'd been the heretic chosen to convert the tiny club into a supportive bunch of believers.

I'd saved the club, but not by my own accord. It was by the grace of other teams and fortuitous circumstances some believed too strange to be true, that the team was saved on the last day of the season by Kettering's result. The same team which, when we faced them the following season, was the location of my first and only heart attack. Robin had nearly lost me then and made sure that things needed to change.

It was ironic that all those managers who mocked me at the awards night in 2008 for being the only manager who hadn't won a match that were some of the same ones in 2009 who watched me win Manager of the Year after I'd lifted Blyth to the title with a record number of points on the legs of the 'Boro Boys (the Premiership team most hated by Bobby as a schoolboy lad). The other irony was that they didn't watch me accept the award, nor was I able to get any satisfaction from my success because I'd lost Robin just before the awards night and was on compassionate leave at the time.

I'd never recovered. Bobby lost the battle with his board and I was sacked. Well, officially, I'd resigned, but Bobby and I knew the difference. My unorthodox ways and management style were too much for the traditions of the populace of financiers and they'd made life so difficult that I'd taken the easy way out and quit, especially as I'd chased the rumors of bigger clubs and larger payoffs with substantially more transfer kitty's to spend. It wasn't until I'd been snubbed by all of them, the Macclesfield's and Lincoln City's of the leagues consisting of full-time professional clubs, that I'd realized the error of my ways, but far too late for forgiveness.

I tried to come back to Blyth, begged Bobby even to take me back. He couldn't do a damn thing about it. My replacement was already in place and was believed by the Blyth Board to be destined to do great things in the Blue Square Premier. None of them went fulfilled. Martin Hayes had resigned at the end of the 2010 season after getting our beloved Blyth relegated from the Blue Square Premier. Unlike me, who'd been ignored by every job for which I applied, even those in semi-professional ranks, Martin Hayes was scooped up immediately by Worksop Town who'd also competed in the Blue Square North, the same league as Blyth.

I'd begged Bobby again to take me back and help lead Blyth back to the Blue Square Premier. Bobby was still paralyzed and helpless, suffocated by the financial strains suffered by the ruined attempt to stay in the Blue Square Premier. He'd delivered me a message unspoken, but completely understood. “You're not wanted.”

You're not wanted....

Those three words summed up my spartan existence which followed. Pain was my refuge of choice and I'd drunk myself nearly into oblivion, packing on weight like a post-football Maradona. Something, however, still flickered deep inside me. Instead of taking my life like I'd wanted to do many times over, a bit of hope I'd called Robin's Ember, would rescue me time and time again. I checked myself in at the institution and lost the battle of wits against a senior citizen and his four-legged best friend, aptly named Boon.

My war against forgiveness raged for months, costing me three shattered mirrors, two broken hands, and a scrapbook full of painfully bittersweet memories lovingly compiled by my soul mate in a scrapbook of memories of the most magical and intimate time of our lives.

Winterbourne broke me like a horse, but Boon nurtured me through my ruin. Boon's forgiveness paved the way for me to forgive myself. Winterbourne's forgiveness lit the way for coming out of my darkness and into the lights of Liverpool. Now I sat on the pub stool, sweating out my palms profusely, that Bobby would be able to forgive me like the biblical tale of the prodigal son. I'd hurt Bobby. I'd rejected his love out of my own ignorance and want. My ego had ruined all my past relationships and now I relied on Bobby's forgiveness to restore my humility.

Would he fully forgive me for all the wrongs I'd committed against him, his club, and his beloved seaside community? The sports reporter on the television was rambling on about the Ashes, a cricket tournament of which I couldn't care less. My mind was lost in the grays of forgiveness and all the potential acts of contrition I could offer as my penance for the harm done to my mentoring father-figure, Bobby Bell.

Some footsteps behind me and a familiar, tentative voice broke through my darkness.

“Copper?”

“Rising From The Ashes” (Part Two)

The voice greeting me was one I'd thought in the past that I'd never hear again in the future. I'd buried so many hatchets with the blades turned up I never expected him to live.

Bobby Bell, the man who'd given me my dream, tentatively stood behind me wary of the man I'd become since I'd left him in my torn past. I'd hoped to say something profound in this moment. Something that would have captured the moment of my humility in an appropriate way. In fact, I'd practiced it nearly nonstop after my phone call to him during my institutional release procedures. But now, seeing his weathered face, I was rendered speechless.

I offered Bobby my hand, hoping he'd accept it. He didn't accept my lame gesture. Instead, his own eyes welled up with tears, he grasped me tight for the embrace I'd never provided him before I'd abandoned him. Bobby's strength had weakened some since then, but he was three seasons older.

Scanning his face, it showed. Not that I had anything to brag about. I'd still not shed all of the weight I'd gained and still hoped to remove the next twenty pounds in order to return to my managerial weight. My hands, covered with tracks of criss-crossed scars suffered from mirror shards, hugged him tight before retreating from his back and slowly down his arms to his hands as I removed myself from his forgiving embrace.

Bobby broke the silence. “We've both seen better days, eh Copper?”

Still battling the cat who'd got my tongue, I nodded my simple agreement in return.

Bobby's bright eyes studied me intently. His body might have gotten softer, but his gaze had sharpened. I felt awkward being judged by him, but knew that Bobby's judgment was the precursor of much more to come as I tried to put the pieces of my destroyed life back in some semblance of an order. I'd committed incredibly disloyal acts against him and many others who'd been vital to my success. If I couldn't stand before Bobby with a humble spirit, I might as well check myself back in at the clinic and beg for Boon to continue his rehabilitation.

The frog in my throat cleared away, “Bobby, I'm sorry. Will you forgive me?”

This time, Bobby took a moment's pause before looking away toward the barkeep. “Give me two pints of Carlsberg and keep them coming. Tab's on me.”

The barkeep nodded assent. He poured the two drafts and carefully placed them in front of us. Bobby nodded thanks to the man and sat down beside me. Then he raised his pint and said, “A toast, if you will.”

I cleared my throat and raised the pint between us. I noticed his eyes catching sight of my hands and pausing, almost surprised by what he'd just seen. He blinked his vision away and refocused it on my sad eyes to say, “To Copper, the best damn manager I've ever had the privilege to hire!”

My sudden emotions brought on by Bobby's too-kind accolades prevented me from adding a “hear, hear” to his proclamation. We clanked glasses and turned them both bottom up until they were drained completely.

Smacking them down on the bar, the wooden sound signaled our intent to the barkeep and he returned nearly immediately with another round.

I offered the second round toast, the malty beverage finally freeing up my voice box to speak for the second time tonight. “To Bobby, the man who was more than my boss, but my father.”

My heartfelt toast left Bobby speechless. We filled the emotional silence with action, draining our second pints dry at the same time.

When the glasses smacked down on the bar top again, the barkeep's eyebrow raised in surprise. Bobby gestured for a third round, which was dutifully brought with quick precision.

Together, Bobby and moved away from the bar and found a smaller table in the back where we'd ordered some fish and chips and began the painful process of catching up.

Whenever the awkward silences arrived, we relied upon Carlsberg to fill in the gaps. Eventually, the alcohol smoothed over the rough patches and we reminisced about the glory days. The Escape in 2008. The Title in 2009. The 'Boro Boys.

The dinner hour slid into last call while Bobby shared his exclusive perspective on the seasons following Robin's death.

Martin Hayes had been hired three days after I'd left. His claim to fame was his tactical prowess on both sides of the ball. He was as ambitious as they come and talked a great game in the Board Room.

Bobby relayed that Martin did well to bring in the players he did, but the gap left in the squad by Seb Hines, Herold Goulon, Jonathon Grounds, and Tom Craddock was too enormous to overcome, despite the new arrivals from Middlesbrough the following season. Martin Hughes brought in twenty players on free transfers, including 3 loanees while showing 11 more out the door. Not a single coin spent or earned by their arrivals and departures.

The revolving door stuck policy helped Hughes reach 17th place in the Blue Square Premier before sliding back down the table and getting relegated, finishing his season in 21st place on 45 points at the end of the 2009-2010.

Blyth's Board moved to sack Martin immediately. This time, hastily giving Ian Baird the reigns for the 2010-2011 season. Ian's regional reputation involved legendary discipline along with an equivalent tactical knowledge, particularly regarding defensive schemes.

Ian pushed his agenda, giving 21 players from the previous season walking papers without any cash coming in for their sale. He'd persuaded the Board to bring in 10 new players on free transfers, including 2 loanees from Middlesbrough. Then, Baird put the new players through the paces of a bitter season, almost getting them relegated in the process and finishing in 19th place of the Blue Square North at the end of the 2010-2011 season.

Bobby said that the Board was keen on the new man they'd just hired. He even went so far as to say that he thought the Board might have gotten it right this time, promoting Rob Newman from assistant manager to manager.

Rob Newman had been brought in by Martin Hayes to be assistant manager following my assistant manager's departure. Neil Baker was a victim of another manager who's ego rivaled mine against Graham Fenton, Blyth's loyal steward for 6 seasons who'd been sacked ungraciously in a fit of anger because he couldn't forgive me for sacking 14 of his friends and teammates and tried to wreck me.

I'd recalled Neil Baker fondly. He'd been a huge mentor for me, his experience and unflappable spirit balanced out all my mood swings and emotional outbursts during my time at Blyth. He'd been picked up by Farsley Celtic to be their assistant manager. Baker had helped Farsley to an 8th place finish that season as well as a 2nd place finish in 2009-2010 respectively before Farsley collapsed the following season finishing even further down the table than Baird's Blyth. Now, Neil was trying to get Farsley back into the Blue Square North after last season's relegation.

Doing the calculations in my yeast addled mind, I counted Blyth's managers. Five managers in six seasons was no way to build stability with the players and, especially, with the community.

Listening to Bobby's dismay at the injustices suffered by the community while his Board battled behind the scenes was the saddest thing I'd heard in some time. It was clear that Bobby had been distraught and I knew from all those discussions facing out the window in his office that his dearest wish was having Blyth heal the community in ways the failing economy could not.

Both of us gutted and melancholy, we'd finished the last of our drinks at last call. He'd invited me to stay with him at a hotel he'd booked nearby and I'd agreed. Both of us stumbled out into the rainy night ready to render our dismay inert in our inebriated state.

Bobby mumbled just before we passed out, “Copper, we're going home.”

Home? I didn't deserve Bobby's forgiveness, but I vowed I would one day.

“Rising From The Ashes” (Part Three)

“Once you leave, you can never go back.” What did the author mean when he wrote this originally? What could have possibly happened to him to make this thought an historic one that has become part of modern thought?

The drive across England from Liverpool to Newcastle was a road taken many times before, however, not by me. Robin, my soul mate, whose dream it was to teach in England had made this trip many times for me because she loved me unconditionally.

Robin had put aside her own desires so I could coach back in the States. After I'd resigned my coaching job out of frustration, she'd finally been able to pursue an opportunity overseas as part of a teacher exchange program. She'd considered it her dream deferred and I couldn't argue against it.

We'd arrived in Liverpool and made the most of it. She was thrilled to be in a place where the culture was thick with history. I was determined to sacrifice for her like she'd done for me all those years.

It had worked. We had a magical time going to museums, taking field trips, and making the most of the sightseeing opportunities Liverpool had to offer.

Then winter arrived. A most miserable time of nearly non-stop gray days and bone-soaking chilling rains a man can stand. With the change in the weather, I'd experienced a similar downturn in my mood. I'd tried to mask it the best I could, but there was nothing that was lost upon Robin. She saw through my actions and knew that I was becoming despondent. I'd not had anything to occupy my time since she was the only one with the work permit.

When Bobby offered me the job, it was Robin who pushed for me to take it. It wasn't until much later that I'd realized how much she loved me by pushing me to accept Bobby's grand offer.

“Copper?” Bobby's voice intruded upon my recollections. Sitting in Bobby's passenger seat, the feel of the soft leather interior underneath my aching body, both of us had been nursing our hangovers in respectful silence until now. “You okay?”

The concern in Bobby's voice was touching, as I'd been mostly nonverbal since the sunlight stabbed me in the eye through the crack in the curtains first thing this bright morning.

“I'm fine, Bobby. Just feeling a bit queasy still. Thanks for asking.” We'd both skipped breakfast as neither one of us had much of a stomach after last night's drinking and purging session. He'd driven his luxury sedan and I was grateful to be outside the grounds of the institution and totally free to move on to the next chapter in my life. One filled with uncertainty and penance.

Bobby nodded affirmatively and offered me his insulated cup of coffee, but I declined his offer. My stomach still wasn't ready for the black liquid, especially as strong as he preferred to drink it.

I adjusted the seatbelt and leaned my face against the window to feel the rhythmic bumps of the road gently rock me to my reflections. What was I going to do with my life? I didn't have a job, my money was running out, and I couldn't go back to Blyth. I know what I wanted to do, but also knew that the likelihood of my return to management was scant at best.

I'd turned that idea over in my head countless times. When Winterbourne gave me the Blyth Spartan Home Kit to wear and it wouldn't fit my bloated body, I was humiliated into action. It had been a carrot dangled in front of me and we both knew it. But, at the time, what Winterbourne knew and I didn't was that giving me that kit was a temptation I couldn't resist. It was as if my therapist had known that being a football manager was something so instinctive within me, I couldn't deny who I was, even if I was as shattered as the mirrors in my bath.

“Bobby?” I kept my eyes closed and my cheek pressed against the glass.

“Yes Copper? What is it?”

“How will the people at Blyth respond to seeing me?” It was an honest question and a fair one to ask at that. I'd left Blyth with unfinished work. Many people, including the supporters, had offered me kind words of support and encouragement in the beginning. Unfortunately, their steady stream of notes and flowers sent to me soon became a flood of misery and I'd thrown them out, many of them unopened, because my grief couldn't be appeased by their support.

“I don't know, Copper. But we're going to find out together.” Bobby's show of solidarity meant a lot to me. It was more than I'd deserved, but deep down, it felt like he'd already begun to forgive me.

“Bobby?” I had something important to ask him. Something vital to my future and it seemed like the right time to call in my monumental favor.

“Yes Copper? What is it?”

“Will you take me to the club straightaway?”

His response “I'd love it. I've planned something special. Are you ready?”

I nodded affirmatively and we resumed our ride in silence some more. As we neared Newcastle, my painful memories returned with greater acuity. Too many of the familiar sights brought back memories of the wonderful times Robin and I spent together on our dates that Bobby had forced me to take.

I'd been working apart from Robin during my first few months with the club while she wrapped up her school year. Every weekend, she'd commute from Liverpool past Newcastle and on towards Blyth. Our separation hurt Robin. She wanted me close and to share our daily lives together. However, she sacrificed her own desires for my spirit to come alive. In her mind, I was worth it.

It pained me to see the open pastures because so often, she'd made it a habit to suddenly stop and have an impromptu picnic beside some less traveled road. It was in those hours of undisturbed time that she came to learn just how deeply I was committed to being the best. It was in those hours of me neglecting her side of the conversations so I could rant about the struggles I faced with the Spartans that she'd fully understood how much I'd been transformed by my experiences.

Robin's love for me ran so deep that she gave up the thing she loved the most to give me the chance to do the thing that I loved the most and I s**t all over her every day because I was too ignorant to see it.

Robin's presence in the 2008-2009 season helped me to be successful at Blyth. Her uncanny sense of character, her amazing perceptions to see through the double-talk offered up by others was the key to Blyth's record-breaking run on the way to automatic promotion and the championship.

Robin's ability to keep me calm and talk sense to me when no one else could, coupled with her tag team efforts with my foul-mouthed assistant manager, Neil Baker, made it possible for me to be the egomaniac who drove the players to achieve what the odds-makers predicted pre-season to be nearly impossible.

Bobby and I skirted Newcastle's city limits and pushed on toward the seaside community he loved dearly. Waves of nausea rocked my body with every new recollection of how awful I'd treated Robin. The hours I'd neglected her to stay at the club going over tape when all she'd wanted is for me to come home and cuddle on the couch. The times I'd left her home-cooked meal sitting cold and uneaten on the card table in our flat because I'd grabbed a sandwich hastily at the office before leaving. The moments in bed at night when I'd stop her tender caresses so I could start bitching about Graham Fenton or some other conflict during the day.

This self-loathing and hatred was something I'd not considered when I called Bobby pleading for our meeting in Liverpool. Nor was it something I'd fathomed would occur when I asked him to bring me to the club straightaway on our return to Blyth. The strength of my emotions left me feeling like I was teetering on the edge of a cliff above the turbulent waters crashing into the rocky shore below and the wind whispering encouragement at my back, urging me over.

Bobby wound his way through all too familiar streets, then carefully navigated his car down the last crowded street before turning into the parking lot and stopping in the parking space reserved especially for him.

Bobby's car stopped. I threw open the door and heaved up everything.

“Rising From The Ashes” (Part Four)

Bobby afforded me the all the dignity required of my grand return to the ground where my English managerial career began, despite the disrespect I'd just shown. He'd assumed it was my hangover and commented as such. I allowed it as I was struggling mightily to keep from being overwhelmed by my past.

Bobby led me into the building where I'd spent the majority of my time. The office complex where originally I'd been welcomed by him with open arms, then threatened by Fenton and the still unknown horse vandals, and eventually run out by the Board when my tenure ended looked the same outside. Inside, all of it was changed.

Entering the lobby, I'd noticed the team photo taken of our championship winning side. Seeing the faces, young and old, who'd believed in the ideas I'd offered up with the help of Neil Baker and the rest of the coaching staff kindled a spark of joy inside me. I'd never seen the photo as a finished product. I'd only been present when the picture was taken and then my world fell apart before the photo was finished for display.

Bobby introduced me to the staff working as we passed through the office. The faces had changed in the few years since I'd been gone. It helped to ease my discomfort in returning to the familiar surroundings. It seemed as if I was just another investor or a new recruit getting the tour of the facility before making the decision to invest my money or my life, depending on my purpose.

The staff was friendly enough, but not a single one recognized me. I knew things about me had changed, but I'd assumed it was due to the weight I'd gained and hadn't had time to lose. But, maybe it was more?

Their fake smiles and polite platitudes fell on me like a light snow, there for a moment, but gone immediately and completely forgettable. I followed Bobby's lead whose smooth and easy steps removed me from harm's way with the skilled grace of experience a maverick like himself had always done when courting.

Bobby ushered me past the open door where his gift to me used to hang on the wall. I glanced inside at my former office and it had been transformed almost entirely from what it looked like when I used the space. All the trappings and furnishings of a professional office space were apparent and the place seemed showy and overstuffed, almost pretentious in its air.

I didn't like it at all. But, I didn't have to like it because I wasn't going to be working here. In fact, I was unemployed and didn't have a clue as to what I would do for money once Bobby and I were finished with my strange visit, whenever that would end.

Bobby stood waiting for me at his own door, nearly buzzing with energy. He'd extended his hand for me to enter before him. I followed his orders as I'd done as his manager and walked to the designer's table beside his desk.

I pulled the stool from underneath and sat on it, ignoring the newspaper on its top, and stared out the window. Bobby closed the door, walked to the intercom and buzzed the secretary. “Hold all my calls, I'm not to be disturbed at all. Is that clear?” The tone of his voice was commanding and the voice on the other line made no mistake as to his intent.

I soaked up Bobby's vision of happiness outside the window and bathed in his energy filling the room. My body tingled with anticipation and I quickly called up one memory after another of all the different times we'd shared together in here looking out at the main stand where the supporters would gather for home matches to proclaim their love and support for something larger than themselves. For those moments when the team's success would remove all the misery of their own sorry lives to give them a vicarious sense of hope which carried them through another horrid week.

My memories stirred up something else. This time, it was absolute remorse for rejecting Bobby's dreams of healing the community with the team that trained and played its matches in the stadium outside.

Why did I ever leave Blyth? Whose dream was chased? The answer grabbed my weakened hard and squeezed it in its vise-like grip. Robin suffered so much for my selfishness. Bobby suffered similarly. I'd chased my own damn dreams at the expense of others'. I'd change so much in the future if I'd ever get the chance. A whimper whispered its way to the surface before I could squelch it.

I felt Bobby's energy move behind me. His hands rested on my quivering shoulders and said softly for me to hear, “Copper. Forgive yourself. I do.”

My soft whimper exploded into a keening wail forcing Bobby to embrace me fully so I wouldn't collapse off the stool. He'd wrapped me in his arms until I could finally support my own weight, thus freeing me, both in deed and in word.

After I'd composed myself, I realized that he'd been crying too. I apologized for my emotions, but he'd replied, “It was necessary, for the both of us.” Then he scooted spryly over to the side of the room eager for something.

I'd wiped my eyes, accepted the stiff drink he'd offered me from his private bar, and taken a second bolt just for good measure. The fiery liquid cleared both my nose and my thoughts, thus returning me to the world of the living. Well, at least some sense of it.

I'd turned back to the desk and noticed the headline of the rumpled newspaper resting there.

The paper was dated June 24, 2011. It had been folded open to the second page of the sports section where the headline read, “Graham Heathcote Resigns from Billericay.”

The paper was from three days ago.

I looked up from where I sat, speechless for the second time in as many days. The eyes looking back at me blazed with a fiery intensity befitting the man who stood before me. The man who'd given me my dream in the past, and then, as thanks for destroying his, forgiven me in the present.

Bobby rubbed his hands together in his familiar way, childish glee radiating from his whole frame. “Here's a riddle for you, my American son. What does a does a true cowboy do when he gets bucked off the rodeo bull in the arena?”

Automatically, I replied, “Get back up on it.”

“Shall I make a call? No promises. No guarantees. You hear me?”

Panic gripped me. What the hell? I couldn't comprehend Bobby's maverick motives, especially after what my selfishness had put him through.

“Goddammit Copper! You know you want it as bad as I want it for you!”

Bobby was right. I spoke the words both of us required. “Let's do it.”

“Rising From The Ashes” (Part Five)

A single question flashed to mind after Bobby's pressuring. I couldn't be sure of its answer, but suddenly, all of Bobby's behaviors this trip seemed to take on a different shade of meaning upon my reflection.

Bobby's agreement to meet me in Liverpool, his forgiveness then, his invitation to come back to Blyth, the three day old newspaper conveniently located for me to see now, the gentle nudge to forgive myself and move forward.

“Bobby?” I'd interrupted his intercom meeting with the voice in the lobby and he held up his finger, requesting me to wait a moment.

“I want the number for Billericay's chairman as soon as you are able. Do you understand me? It's urgent. Connect me immediately. Thank you.” Bobby turned back to me and asked, “What Copper?”

“You set me up didn't you?” My tone was firm, less of a question and more of a statement once I'd seen the familiar, defiant look on Bobby's face.

The mischievous glint in his eye revealed the truth of the matter more so than his response, but he remained silent. It angered me. To know that I'd been played. To know that this entire trip was an orchestrated attempt to get me back here and see this headline.

I asked him again, “Aren't you going to answer my question?”

Bobby sized me up, not sure of how I'd react to whatever he might decide to say next. His neutrality incensed me. Being back in this building, with a stranger in my office and a team full of players I'd not signed, brought back some of the dormant spirit that I'd had before when I was the man in charge.

I accepted the emotions as they came. It was like riding a bike. I'd been off it for years, but as soon as I got back on, everything happened naturally.

“Damn it Bobby! You owe me an explanation!” I shouted at him. Mad and hurt by all that he'd done to me since I'd called him. I let him have it. How dare he hold back the truth from me. It wasn't right. He did owe me, considering how much we'd been through. I wasn't giving in either until he told me the truth.

“WHAT did you say, Copper?” Bobby's tone matched mine in its ferocity.

I said it again and stepped closer to him, my emotions cooking up a boil.

“Simmer down and sit down!” Bobby stepped fully into my personal space and pointed his finger right at me.

I was at full steam but what Bobby did next threw me completely off. With every word he spat, he poked me in the chest and backed me up until I was cornered against the designer's table. “I OWE YOU? WHO LEFT WHO?”

Bobby's accusation sucked all the air out of the room, but he still had enough to continue. “Who brought you to this club? Then and now? Who was there for you every step of the way when you couldn't win a single match? Who paid your rent when money was short? Who put food in the clubhouse when your home had none? Who was with Robin when you'd had your heart attack?”

Trapped against the table with Bobby in my face stabbing facts into my heart with his mere index finger, I grew smaller with every inquisition. But he wasn't finished with me.

“Copper, I owe you nothing. If anything, you owe me!” Bobby strode back to the bar and yanked the stop on the carafe, pouring the crystal liquid into it's crystal glass. Then he tossed the lid to the ice chest across the room like a frisbee and slammed the cubes into his glass spilling the precious liquid over the side. “Dammit! See what you've done?”

I did see, but what I saw was much more than the spilled drink. I'd seen that Bobby was right. He didn't owe me anything. It was me who was wrong. Like all the other times before in this office when my immaturity or ego got the best of me, Bobby had found a way to spin my perspective in such a way as to help me see where the real responsibility of my emotional outbursts fell. On me.

Mad at myself for being the same man I'd been while at Blyth, the same man I tried to destroy with the bottle, overeating, and excessive amounts of self-inflicted physical pain, I threw him the only olive branch I could. I tried living in the moment, took a cleansing breath, and offered him an apology in the most humbled, sincere tone I could give.

Bobby accepted it and composed himself too. We remained silent for a few minutes, both of us staring out the same window at the same main stand, but from different places in the room and also differing perspectives within our minds.

When it felt like both of us had returned to calm frames of mind, I took a second chance to find an answer to the question which still nagged at me, especially after my eye fell on the paper still resting on the table. “Bobby?”

“What Copper?”

“Will you please explain to me how this 3 day-old paper came to be open to this very specific headline before our arrival today? Was all of this planned?”

Bobby studied me for almost a minute before speaking, “I think it's best you know this sooner rather than later, especially after all you've overcome.”

So, my instinct was right after all this time apart from him. I'd sniffed it out and awaited his reply. He downed what was left in one gulp, shook his head clear of the burn, and began his explanation.

After I'd called him out of the blue, he knew he'd get the chance to put into motion the plan he'd hoped and prayed he'd one day get to execute. The plan had been a long time in development and had cost him plenty, especially after I'd seemingly dropped off the planet following my hasty departure from Blyth and the lengthy list of rejections from clubs at which I'd been rumored to be one of the candidates for hire.

Bobby'd become increasingly frustrated as he watched the list grow of clubs who'd selected another of my cohorts to lead their clubs instead. He'd tried putting in good words on my behalf whenever he could get an audience, but many of them had read the papers or overheard stories of my alternative management style. Every time they'd reject me, he'd felt it too.

Then his sources informed him that not only had I stopped applying for jobs, but I'd also started my downward spiral into oblivion off the fast track of managerial life, even if it was obscure clubs like his own. He'd known that despite his best efforts on my behalf, my own choices and antics lay waste to my budding career, despite the promotion I'd earned as a result.

Bobby lost track of me via his usual methods eventually, but he'd still felt horrid for how I'd been forced out of Blyth. He'd felt he was to blame for yielding to the pressures of his Board and keeping ownership of the club he'd grown to love in the community he'd cherished instead of fighting for me.

When Martin Hayes wasn't the manager he'd claimed, it was evident the Board was going to make another change at the end of the season.

Bobby admitted he'd lost a piece of himself after I'd been dismissed. He'd realized that more and more with each passing week as the team remained in the relegation zone despite Hayes' efforts to the contrary.

When I'd applied for Blyth's open managerial position following their relegation, he'd lobbied especially hard for my reinstatement. However, the Board had also heard news of my downward spiral and threatened to not only pull their investment but also wage a PR battle Bobby couldn't possibly win.

Bobby had compromised his beliefs and caved in to their threats. Ian Baird arrived on the scene after our heartfelt discussion regarding my rejection. Bobby confessed that he was distraught over the loss because he'd been a coward when fighting for his club. But what was unforgivable in his eyes was that he'd felt like he'd lost the son he'd never had, especially after I'd vanished from the public eye without saying goodbye to him. That was the worst. Feeling like he'd driven me away forever because he'd chosen his club over me. Not once did he mention my poor treatment of him.

For a New Year's Resolution, Bobby vowed to find me and reconcile, if I'd forgive him. He'd hired a private investigator and, a few weeks later, learned that I'd been institutionalized.

Bobby admitted, that like any parent who's lost a child, he'd tried everything he could to make contact with me. However, the damn laws of the land regarding confidentiality prevented him from making direct contact because he wasn't family. So, he'd tried to do it covertly.

I was gobsmacked. Never once in all the time that I'd pushed the world away did I think that it pushed back because people cared about me.

Encouraged, Bobby continued. He explained that he'd taken a tour of the facility as a prospective patron ready to donate money for some capital campaign they were planning . While there, he'd hoped to catch a glimpse of me. When I never materialized, Plan B was required. He'd planned to push at the weakest links in the chain of command and see where that would take him.

Bobby said he'd followed one of the custodial workers out of the facility, trailed him until he stopped at a pub off the grounds, plied him with plenty of alcohol and bribed him for information regarding my status. Eventually, he hit the right price and Seth promised information in the near future.

Seth earned his five hundred dollars by giving Bobby the name of the nurse who'd assisted in my care.

He'd cornered Needle Nick and offered him a similar deal for a steady supply of anonymous information regarding my status. Of course, Nick accepted the under-the-table money and let slip that he'd be using all the extra cash to buy Everton season tickets. Nick gave up weekly reports regarding my progress.

I'd finished off my own glass of the hard stuff and sat opposite Bobby, disbelieving the lengths to which Bobby went to find me and then stay involved in my life, given the illegal nature of his activities.

“Bobby, please stop.” I begged him off his tale. I didn't want to hear anymore. “Please answer me one last question.” I asked. When Bobby nodded, I said, “Why? Why all the bother to find a man who wanted to be lost?”

“Copper.” Bobby's voice softened to match his eyes. “Listen carefully.”

The intercom buzzed. The voice said, “I'll connect you to Steve Rose now.”

Bobby's demeanor snapped to attention, he thanked her and picked up the phone.

Ten minutes later and yet another financial offer I was embarrassed to hear, Bobby hung up and said, “Copper, it's done. We've got the chance to head south towards London and then head east to Billericay. It's a long drive and I've got to make arrangements with the Missus. If you don't mind, we'll resume this discussion in the car. We leave in 30 minutes.”

“But Bobby, I don't have anything to wear.”

Bobby walked to his closet, opened the door, and tossed a garment bag on his desk. Wear the suit. It fits. He walked out without another word.

Dumbfounded still, I numbly checked the clothes. Damn! They looked like they would fit indeed. Feeling ashamed for all that I'd done to push Bobby away, I was humbled to learn that, like Doc Winterbourne, Bobby was another man responsible for my care and provision who had pulled all the right strings to make me dance like a puppet.

The man I used to be urged me to rebel. The man I wanted to become required that I accept. I had a choice to make and no time to think it through.

“Rising From The Ashes” (Conclusion)

Speeding down the highway I looked like a poster child of professionalism. In the thirty minutes I'd been given to prepare, I'd showered, shaved, eaten, and dressed in the suit Bobby had provided.

Still buzzing with excitement like a kid in a candy store, he'd left word with the secretary that he'd be away until tomorrow night. He reminded her to call his mobile phone if something urgent came up which required his attention.

I'd stepped around the vomit still puddled on the tarmac and hated myself for the emotional weakness I'd demonstrated in spewing so easily.

Back inside his luxury sedan, my full stomach digested on the food and my mind digested all the circumstances surrounding an opportunity I failed to see as anything more than a formality. Bobby had other ideas and began working me.

Bobby briefed me the best he could regarding Billericay Town, a small club with big aspirations east of London near Brentford. He'd said that they'd been promoted to the Blue Square South last season.

How did Bobby know they had big aspirations? Because Billericay was a fully professional team and even smaller than Blyth.

Eventually, I'd gotten around to asking about Bobby why he'd contacted Steve Rose on my behalf. Bobby kept his eyes on the road, alert to the dangers that excessive speeding offered. “Copper, I called Steve because if I didn't, you wouldn't.”

“What's that supposed to mean?”

“It means that you don't believe in you like I do. Sometimes, it means that someone takes a risk on you that you aren't willing to take yourself.” Bobby paused his speech in order to pull out and pass another slow moving vehicle. The engine purred at the urging and submitted to Bobby's will without question.

I should have followed the car's lead, but I didn't. “Bobby, why'd you offer him money for this interview?”

My former boss laughed. “Copper, if we were damn near broke as a semi-professional team, how important is cash flow to a full-time professional club at an organization one third the size of Blyth?”

“Is this club going to even make it?”

“I didn't think we were going to make it until you showed up and made the miracle happen. Who the hell knows, maybe lightning will strike twice?”

I considered the sanity of what Bobby had done. He'd offered Steve Rose 1,000 pounds to give me an interview. Steve had agreed on a few conditions. The most important one being there were no guarantees I'd be hired. The next priority one was that the money was to be paid in cash.

Bobby had bribed another man to get what he wanted on my behalf. I wasn't comfortable with it, but what choice did I have? I hadn't bribed anyone nor had I been in any kind of position to offer one even if I'd be given the chance.

I didn't know if I was prepared to manage again, but I also had no work prospects. I'd need the money sooner rather than later and, like a dog wanting to go for a run outside, I'd have to take what I could get, even if that meant I couldn't do what I wanted to do or go where I wanted to go because others had a leash and collar on me.

I recalled Boon, that wonderfully delightful dog who'd taught me so much about living life in the present. Boon made the most of whatever opportunities came his way. He'd not liked being on a leash anymore than I would have liked it had the roles been reversed, but being controlled by another didn't really stop Boon from being Boon. It just gave him a different set of options. And, most importantly, Boon was happy.

I'd resolved that if Boon could be happy on a leash, then I could too. It would be good training for becoming the man I'd wished to become under Winterbourne's supervision.

For his sake, Bobby knew what he was doing too, even if he was mad as a hatter for trying to help me out. He insisted that he give me an interview on the way down. I'd resisted. He'd stopped the car and ordered me to get out. Told me that I may as well quit right now and give up on ever managing again in England. Asked me if I'd wanted to give up on Robin too.

I swore at him up one side and down the other. How dare he bring her into this. He cheered my spirited response and encouraged me to channel that same energy into my interview, which, judging by the time and distance left to travel, was going to be near midnight.

I couldn't deny him his Robin Angle. He was right, even if I hated him for bringing it up. If I quit now, like I'd given up on myself before time and time again, I'd be letting her down. I'd had an opportunity I'd not earned practically handed to me on a silver platter and I was willing to give it up without trying? Hell, I hadn't deserved the Blyth job either, but it worked out for them.

I agreed to Bobby's conditions and we spent a good portion of the trip practicing for what questions would surely be asked as well as many Bobby thought might be asked.

Some of them were easier than others. Some of them needed to be revised and practiced over and over until I could answer without becoming overwhelmed with anger or grief. I was damn near wrung out by the time dinner arrived.

We'd stopped for a quick bite and pushed on towards London. Passing near one of the most important cities on the planet, I couldn't help but start imagining the possibilities. With huge clubs like Fulham, West Ham, Tottenham, Arsenal, and Chelsea nearby loanees might be a bit easier to attract than in the far north.

Bobby had stopped interviewing me after dinner, preferring to leave me alone with my thoughts. I'd taken the opportunity to consider my future as honestly as I could. Bobby had given me more chances than I'd deserved in my season with them. He'd been a father figure protecting me from the bullies at school. He'd been a gardener nurturing me from a seed all the way to maturity, along the way pulling weeds and tending to my every need so I could survive.

There was no way that I could ever repay Bobby for the life he'd not only given me when we'd first met in the Liverpool pub, but also the one he saved me from after I'd lost my way. Some folks get second chances in life whether they deserve it or not. I felt like that right now. I was getting my second chance.

In familiar silence, Bobby and I pushed on into the night. But inside my heart, like all the other times in my despondent past when the darkness overwhelmed me, Robin's Ember sparked and gave me the hope I required to rise from the ashes of my ruin and cling desperately to the hope of a brand new day.

One prevailing thought came to mind as I turned my body to watch my mentor maneuver his vehicle safely past all the obstacles in our path. I had no clue if my interview with Steve Rose at Billericay would be successful, but it didn't matter. There were plenty of times with Bobby Bell at Blyth when I'd been clueless too. I figured those times turned out pretty well too, despite my best efforts to the contrary.

Besides, if Steve didn't believe in me, it was perfectly clear that Bobby did. And that was good enough for me.

What does forgiveness really mean?

The past two days of being with Bobby and resuming our relationship right where we'd left off despite all the lost time, the harmful misunderstandings, and the inaccurate assumptions we'd made, was something that I didn't fully understand.

I knew I needed more experience and didn't know if I'd ever be successful at discovering its full meaning. However, I also knew that forgiveness was like football too. The more I learned about the game, the more it taught me that I still needed to learn even more.

I had a second chance at living. A chance I didn't feel I deserved. However, I had it for better or for worse. Steve was going to challenge me, of that Bobby was sure. However, I was sure of something too. I was sure I would give my second chance the very best I could. For me. For Bobby. For Robin. For all of us.

Readers, this is the conclusion of the short story, "Rising From the Ashes". I hope you enjoyed it.

I hope to write more short stories involving Copper Horse in the future and I hope you'll come back to read them too. Thank you to all for your support and encouragement.

Cheers.