A Tale of Two Thibs

What drives the intensely stubborn Knicks’ head coach? Would you believe it’s a dream?

Late afternoon. Out of gas. Again. In the passenger seat, eyes closed, lips restless, Thibs dreams the only dream he’s ever remembered, going back to boyhood: of literal hoops heaven, a parquet paradise where the paint is always protected and the starters all play 48 minutes, because in heaven nobody gets tired. Bearded Thibs is out pacing the shoulder, yelling at a skein of geese flying overhead to “put in the work.” It’s been nearly an hour since anyone’s driven by. Bearded Thibs dreams of driving around the world between sunrise and sunset. He takes his dream seriously. It is a costly dream. 

Thibs rolls down the window. “We should walk in opposite directions. One of us is bound to find a gas station.”

Bearded Thibs shakes his head. “Someone will stop. Someone always stops.”

“Yeah? Even so, then what? It’ll be dark soon. You’re never gonna make it. Let’s get something to eat. Go to bed early. Back on the road by dawn.”

Bearded Thibs looks up at the sun, staring, unblinking.  “I thought today was it. Felt like this would be the day.”

 “You say that every day. It never is.”

***

Later, a station wagon pulls to a stop behind them. The driver is a thirtysomething man wearing thick black-framed glasses. There’s a woman beside him. A little boy and little girl lean in from their windows seats and peer out from the middle of the back, where a baby sleeps in a car seat. 

Four Eyes opens his door and he climbs out; he’s so tall it looks like he crunched himself up into a pill bug, then unfolded like a grasshopper. “Trouble, friend?” he says. Bearded Thibs nods. “I’ll ring you a tow truck.”

“Very kind of you,” Bearded Thibs answers. “No need, though. I know how to fix it. I just couldn’t do it alone. Not until you showed up.”

“I’m no grease monkey, but I’ll help as best I can. Let me just update the little lady.” Four Eyes smiles as he heads back to his family in their car, smiles so unguardedly Bearded Thibs can’t help but smile himself, a dry, cracked grin that dies once he hears yelling.

“Great Scott!” Thibs has his head out the window, shouting, “It’s the guards! It was always the guards!” His head jerks and shakes, violently. “Protect the rim by protecting the perimeter!” Something between a moan and a gargle comes out of him. Bearded Thibs tries not to break into a run on his way to the passenger window.

“What is wrong with you?” he hisses. “Keep your voice down. You’re gonna make us look crazy.”

“Don’t you see? This changes everything!” 

Softly, Thibs begins to weep. The crunching of gravel means Four Eyes is back. He looks down at Bearded Thibs, his head eclipsing the sun directly behind him in the sky. A blue-orange light washes over him. “You okay, man?”

Bearded Thibs laughs, a little forced. “He’s fine, no, he’s great, yeah. Let’s not worry about him and just get this engine patched, huh?” He turns and heads for the hood of the car.

“‘He’? I was talking about y–”

“The hood doesn’t stay, so you gotta hold it yourself. If you can handle that, I can use both my hands to fix the problem.” He pops the hood open.

“Honey?” the woman calls from the station wagon. “Do you know what you’re doing?”

“This won’t take long, babe.” Four Eyes takes the hood, smiles sheepishly at Bearded Thibs, drops his voice to a whisper. “We’re sort of on a deadline. today.”

“Me, too. Lemme grab something.” Bearded Thibs goes to the front door, opens it, takes a crowbar from underneath the driver’s seat and holds it tightly behind his back as he returns to the hood. Four Eyes reaches for the radiator hose, then makes a hissing sound as he pulls his hand back. 

“Should’ve warned you,” Bearded Thibs nonchalants. “She’s hot as hell an’ drier than nun cootch.”

Four Eyes stiffens. “How long since you changed the oil?”

“Three days.” It’s true. They never go more than three days without changing the oil. “We never go more than three days without changing the oil.”

“‘We?’”

“Whenever I downshift there’s this banging sound. And she was smoking out the back.” He shifts the crowbar to his right hand, his strong hand. As Four Eyes bends down for a closer look at the engine, Bearded Thibs raises the crowbar high above his head.

“Could be your vacuum modulator’s gone to hell. Wait, did you say you change the oil every three–”

Down comes the crowbar. Four Eyes first. Then the children. Their mother. The baby – eyes shining, bless them – never makes a sound. 

***

Bearded Thibs knocks on Thibs’ passenger door, waking him from sleep.

“We gotta go.”

Thibs exits the vehicle and climbs into the passenger seat of the station wagon. Bearded Thibs places his red-stained hands on the wheel, now wearing Four Eyes’ shirt.

“The thing with an 8-0 run,” Thibs mumbles as he tumbles into the seat the children’s mother once used, “is just that. It’s not. It’s not a run.”

“What is it, then?”

“Respiration,” he sighs. They drive in silence, content to have a dream and chase it, to wonder but never know which of them, if either, will ever see their dream come true.