The Boy Who Saved Todd LaPorta

Flash Fiction

Photo by 𝓴𝓘𝓡𝓚 𝕝𝔸𝕀 on Unsplash

“Coach, I think I left my bag in the locker room.”

Kent Withers sighed, turned on his heel, and headed back toward the high school. “Well, we better go get it. Come on.”

“Sorry, Coach,” Todd LaPorta said.

“You’re killing me, Toddie,” Kent said in an exaggerated fashion. Todd laughed.

The two walked side-by-side toward the rear entrance of the gymnasium by the locker room. They talked quietly. It was pitch black out, right around 10:00 PM. The Stallions had won their away game and everyone else—all the other players and coaches—were gone. Even the bus driver had hightailed it out of the parking lot ten minutes ago. Todd was still waiting for his ride.

Todd was a talented sophomore—a hard-hitting, no-nonsense safety who was a natural at both stopping the run and dropping into coverage. He was a straight-A student, polite, and kept his nose to the grindstone. The only thing working against him was that his mom was out of the picture and his daddy had a drinking problem. Todd was too young to get his driver’s license, so he was often at his father’s mercy. Kent had to wait on the man most nights. Practice or game, it didn’t matter.

Kent swiped his badge at the door, and it clicked. He opened it and waved Todd inside. Kent touched the flashlight app on his phone and guided Todd toward the locker room. When they reached the door, it was wide open, and one of the night custodians stood nearby. He wandered over toward Kent.

Todd opened his locker, grabbed his bag, and pulled out his phone. He turned on his own flashlight.

“Thanks a bunch, Coach. I’ll go wait out front.”

“Hell of a game tonight, Toddie. I’ll see you Monday, okay?”

Todd thanked him again and left as the night custodian, Samuel, came over.

“Hey man, you guys win tonight?”

“Barely. Twenty-eight to twenty-four.”

“A win’s a win in my book.”

“Can’t argue with that, my friend. Listen, you have a good weekend, okay, Samuel? I gotta get home.”

“You too, boss. I’ll see ya around.”

When Kent turned to leave, he caught a glimpse of something in the locker room. Movement. Someone’s shoulder? It gave him goosebumps. “You see that?”

Samuel looked. They waited a few seconds. Kent shone his light back in the general area—and there it was again.

A shadow. A teen. An apparition.

Samuel stepped back, dropping his broom to the floor in a loud clatter. Kent gasped.

The shadowy figure bolted silently across the locker room toward the gymnasium and out of sight.

“The hell was that?” Samuel said, bending over to pick up his broom, hands shaking.

“That. . . was a fucking ghost,” Kent replied, throat suddenly dry.

“Jesus. That was a kid, wasn’t it?”

“It was something.” The men stood in silence. “What time does your shift end?” Kent asked.

“Now. . . I ain’t staying till eleven. This shit’s spookin’ the hell out of me.”

“Me too. I’m out of here, man. You good?”

“I’ll be all right. Just gotta lock up the west end and arm the building. I’m not hanging around.”

Kent shook Samuel’s hand. “I’ll see you Monday.”

“See you, Coach.”

Though the men would continue to work together under the same roof for another twelve years, they never spoke of that night again.

When Kent stepped outside, Todd was still waiting on the front steps of the school building.

“I’ll be in my car, buddy, okay? Did you get in touch with him?”

“Yeah, he’s on his way.”

“Alright, Toddie, enjoy your weekend.”

Kent unlocked his truck and climbed into the driver’s seat. The season was off to an exceptional start at 3-0, but damn, he was exhausted. Kent started the engine and waited for headlights.

He pulled out his phone and clicked on the Google icon. He searched, “Student death Cedar Mills High School.” To his surprise, the first article to pop up detailed just that. In 1982, a high school senior named Devon Martinez went into cardiac arrest in the gymnasium. Apparently, it had happened during a basketball practice. The coach and players had administered CPR, but it wasn’t enough. By the time the paramedics arrived, Devon had already taken his final breath. They attempted to resuscitate him, but it was to no avail.

“Devon Martinez,” Kent whispered. Saying the name gave him goosebumps all over again. He saw the slender shoulder in his mind.

Kent had never heard anything about a student death here in Cedar Mills—inside the school, no less—but then again, he hadn’t grown up here. He was still a bit of an out-of-towner despite having lived here for the past decade.

When a pair of headlights came into view, Todd stood and walked down the steps. He and Kent exchanged a final wave before they parted ways that night.

On Monday, Kent made sure the AED was on the sideline. He’d admittedly been a little negligible in the past. Not anymore. He brought the AED out Tuesday, and Wednesday—every day, for the remainder of his coaching career. It was always within reach.

Two summers later, on a sweltering August afternoon, Todd LaPorta, the all-star captain and all-state safety went into cardiac arrest.

The AED was there on the sideline, and Kent and his coaching staff were immediate in their response. It was a hell of a chaotic scene.

The next morning, Kent sat at Todd’s bedside in the ICU, leaning in, talking to him. He was fully conscious and responsive. Todd’s father, Bryant, was present, too—and by the grace of God, he’d been sober for a year.

“I’ve got a little story to tell you, Toddie, if you’re up for it,” Kent said, biting his lower lip.

Todd made eye contact with Kent and nodded.

“You sure? You ready? Well buckle up, buttercup. Here it goes. . . it all starts in 1982 with a boy named Devon Martinez.”

Thank you all so much for being here and for reading “The Boy Who Saved Todd LaPorta” today. I really appreciate it.

If you missed last Friday’s Fifties by the Fire post, please take a look! It features John Lightle’s photography contributions from this past year.

Take care, everyone. Have a wonderful week!