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My playbook in my lap, I’m reading through the scribbles of my shockingly bad handwriting. The pictures mean nothing except to me and Coach, and then I’ve added the words from Coach after we’ve analyzed the plays.
This book is probably the most precious thing I own at eighteen.
Before we leave the bus, I will hand it to Coach, and he’ll keep it secure for me until we are back on the road home. If there is one thing the opposition would love to get their hands on, it’s this playbook. I don’t trust leaving it in the locker rooms while we aren’t in there.
The scenery racing past outside the bus window is blurred. I’m not sure if it’s the speed of the bus or that my mind is on other things.
Part of me wishes that Coach hadn’t pulled me aside last night after training to tell me that the college football scouts have already shown interest in me, and they’re coming again today. The pressure I feel pushing on my chest is not something I’m used to. Like my heart is so tense it’s not beating like it should. I just wish the elephant that is sitting on the middle of my chest would move so my lungs could start breathing properly again.
When you grow up with a dream, and you’ve had it squashed by the people closest to you all your life, it’s hard to give yourself the space to see the vision.
For as long as I can remember, all I’ve wanted to be is an NFL quarterback.
Standing in front of the television one Thanksgiving at my uncle Pat’s place, the football game on and half the room glued to it, it was like an epiphany. I was maybe five or six at the time. I hadn’t seen a game before. My parents weren’t into football at all back then. Not that much has changed now.
I was mesmerized by what was on the screen.
It’s safe to say football was my first love affair.
The older I got, the more the plays clicked in my head and made more sense than half the things I was being taught at school. Every afternoon I would spend the time until it got dark in the park across the road from our house. My arm started to develop, and the strength I found I could harness behind a ball was way above others my age. Sending it spiraling, long and hard, and hitting whatever target I was aiming for became a regular thing.
It was easy to do this every day, as my parents both worked late, and my brother was a computer nerd back then. It was his job to babysit me, being seven years older than me. He didn’t care what I did, as long as I didn’t annoy him and was home before Mom and Dad got back from work. They’ve never said it, but I think I was the mistake baby, the one you aren’t expecting but you love regardless. I’ve never doubted my parents’ love for me, and I love them too. It’s just our views on football and my dreams have never matched, and I’m guessing they never will.
Yet they come to some games. They smile and appreciate the other parents congratulating them on my achievements, but it means nothing to them.
If they had a choice, I would be headed for some academic career like my brother Lance. He is a computer programmer just like my mom. So, all those years of playing video games all night when he was supposed to be sleeping paid off for him.
Lance is now working for some big IT company making really good money, according to my father. I’m sure that’s supposed to inspire me to look for a similar career. I’m happy for my brother, but it’s just not me. Dad’s an electrical engineer who works for the same company as Mom. It’s where they met.
In their eyes, football is dangerous and not a stable income. It’s not that they don’t like the game, it’s just they have no interest in it. I’m not sure they even understand it or have taken the time to even try.
Last night when I got home, I wanted to tell them about the talent scouts that are coming today, but I just couldn’t bring myself to open my mouth. I didn’t want them crushing my hopes that maybe, just maybe, if I can show them enough in today’s game, I might get my chance at the bigger stage of college football. A scholarship to one of the big football colleges is like the golden ticket to be seen by the NFL scouts. I couldn’t sit still at home, so I told them I was heading over to Xavier’s to work on some homework. Mom just rolled her eyes at me but didn’t say a word. Not sure I’ve ever spent a night working on homework with Xavier in our whole time in high school.
He wasn’t home, which is no surprise for the Casanova.
Instead, I spent a few hours sitting on the steps of his front porch with Natalie, his twin sister. It should have helped to settle my nerves, however it sent them into a whirlwind, swirling around, and just gave me more to think about. Now I’m looking at things in a way I had never thought of before.
“Hey, Nat, is Xav here?” The screen door opening, I step back a little, and her smile catches my attention. Where Xavier is the confident people person who can hold an audience and have them laughing just by being in the room, Nat is totally his opposite. Quiet, conservative, but she still has her own confidence, it’s just not on show for everyone. It’s like their personalities were split in half.
“Hi, Jordan, I thought he would have told you. He’s out with Georgie Sorrenson.” She just rolls her eyes at me, knowing exactly why he is out with her.
“Damn, yeah, he did, I just forgot. I don’t know why he bothers. She is never going to settle for any of us. We aren’t in her league. Xavier will never meet the high standards of her family.” As I lean back against the railing on the front porch, Nat joins me. We both start laughing. “Not that he’s planning on hanging round long enough anyway, let’s be honest.”
“Well, in the meantime, what’s up with you?” Leaning closer, she bumps me with her hip.
“Watch out, lady, can’t have the quarterback put out of the game by one of the cheerleaders. Remember, I’m precious merchandise.”
“Tell someone who cares about your big ego, mister. Now stop deflecting. Your shoulders are tense, those little worry lines between your eyebrows are scrunched together, and the nervous energy is oozing from you.” Walking over to the top step on the porch and taking a seat, Nat pats it with her hand, signaling for me to sit with her. Who am I to say no to Nat?
“That obvious, huh?” Mumbling, I slide over beside her after I sit, and we both stare out at the street.
The Lanes live in a typically suburban street just like mine. Some houses are single-story, mixed with the occasional double-storied houses. Front porches, paths out to the street, manicured green lawns, and American flags flapping in the wind off the porch pillar. Even though they don’t all have white picket fences, they may as well. This is what I picture my parents want for me too. I just can’t seem to tell them it’s the furthest thing from my mind.
Nat’s hand resting on my arm jolts me from my daydreaming.
“Even if it wasn’t obvious before, the silence now is a big red flag. Not often you are stuck for words, Jordan Brandon.”
She is spot-on, but how do I tell her that?
