Hometown Legend

by Jerry B. Jenkins

  “My mama went to his last concert, and when I was born on the—”

  “Yeah,” Coach said, “that’s more than we need to know, son. Happy birthday and shut up now.”

  I was amazed to see that bar slide into the high 160s and then past 170. “One hundred seventy-one,” I said, raising my eyebrows at Coach.

  Elvis Presley Jackson smiled. “Your scale’s reading light.”

  Schuler shook his head and studied the boy. “You are without a doubt.”

  Jackson stepped down and headed for a locker. I entered the figure next to his name then glanced up in time to see him pull a ten-pound barbell from under his shirt. I caught Schuler’s eye and nodded toward the kid. Coach didn’t turn. “I know,” he said. “Anybody wants to play that bad is worth one more day.”

  Several boys later I called out “Sherman Naters!” and Tee’s boy stepped on the scale.

  “The Shermanater!” he said, flexing and growling, making both of us laugh. But the boy’s face grew tense as I edged the bar past 160 and finally to 165. As if we would’ve cut him. He was still the most impressive defensive player on the field. Naters grinned and breathed a huge sigh. “That’s right, baby!”

  • • •

  Later, on the way to my car I saw Jackson. “Where you from, boy?”

  “North.”

  “Figured that. How far?”

  “Indiana.”

  “Daddy get transferred?”

  “Not exactly.”

  “Uh-huh.” Another gold digger. Well, I for one was hoping he’d be worth it.

  By Monday Coach had trimmed the squad to forty-eight, and Elvis Jackson was still with us.

  10

  Rachel sat on the floor with other “lady warriors” at the Fellowship of Christian Athletes meeting. Some were painting fresh A’s on game helmets, while another helmet was passed, from which the girls each drew a player’s number. This would be the player each person would pray for during the season.

  Josie sat looking miserable. “One small step for Athens City football and one giant step backward for women’s rights.”

  “Uh-huh, sure,” Rachel said. They’d been through this so many times. “Nobody’s forcing you to do this. The girls who want to play sports are playing sports. The ones who want to pray for football players are here.”

  Rachel drew number 99 and passed the helmet to Josie.

  “Oh, no,” Josie wailed. “Number 40! Mandatory swap. It’s article 3, section 2 of the ex-boyfriend manual!”

  Rachel slumped. “So Brian’s your ex-boyfriend again now?”

  “I take a backseat to this lame game four months out of every year. I’m not going to do it again.” She sat holding the number in Rachel’s face.

  “I always hated blonde jokes till I met you,” Rachel said, finally trading with her.

  11

  “The moment has arrived!” I announced in the locker room after the first practice following tryouts. I set the box of game jerseys on the table and the players cheered as I pulled out the first one—number 88—and fired it across the locker room to Yash, who snagged it. “Be bout the only thing I catch this year, huh?”

  At least he was catching on. I smiled. “That’s the way the bone rolls.” I pulled out number 55. “Shermanater,” I said, and the boy stood and gathered it in. “Wear it well, son.”

  The next jersey in the box was number 40, but as I lifted it out and called “Schuler,” Elvis Jackson pounced, grabbing it out of my hands.

  “Thanks, Coach Sawyer,” he said. And as he moved past he looked over his shoulder, “I look forward to starting for you, sir.”

  Cause he wasn’t looking where he was going, he ran right into Brian Schuler, who flashed a phony smile and said, “Well, welcome to Athens City.” He looked from Elvis to some of his friends for support. “Uh, ever since I was little, I been looking forward to senior season. And ever since I was little, I been wearing number 40. Tradition is real important round here.”

  Jackson kept hold of the jersey. “Do you have any idea who wore number 40?” he said.

  Brian shook his head as if he didn’t know or care.

  “Gayle Sayers,” Jackson announced. I was impressed. Who would know that about a player who retired long before he was born? Somebody named after a dead singer, I guess. He told Brian, “The way I figure it, the fastest man on the team should wear number 40. Tell you what. You prove you deserve this, you can have it back.”

  The veterans hooted like they couldn’t wait to see what Brian was gonna do to this brash kid. I thought about making him give it up myself, but there’s nothing wrong with a little healthy competition, something to shake things up.

  “Hang on just a second,” Brian said when Jackson tried to slip past. “You’re new. I’m not. But I am one heck of a nice guy, so I’m gonna give you a little friendly advice. Don’t tug on Superman’s cape.”

  “I don’t have to,” Elvis said, yanking the jersey away as Brian reached for it. “See, I’m the one holding it.”

  Brian pressed his lips together and drew back a fist, and I started heading that way just as Coach Schuler stepped into the locker room. The two boys stood nose to nose as Schuler said, “I forgot to tell you boys to make sure they know at home about the two-a-day practices this whole month.” He started to turn away, then turned back, smiling faintly at Elvis and Brian. “And if I hear of any altercations in the ranks, well, Truman dealt more mercy to Hiroshima and Nagasaki.”

  As Coach Schuler left, I stepped between the boys. From the corner, Snoot Nino, our little kicker, called out, “Who dealt more what to who?”

  “Study your history, doofus,” Yash said.

  12

  As was their custom on the day the players received their game jerseys, Rachel and Josie and several other FCA girls stood in the parking lot, waiting to announce to each player who was his prayer warrior for the season. Rachel wasn’t any more excited about being assigned to Brian Schuler than Josie would have been, but at least they had no romantic history. She was stunned to see Brian emerge wearing number 12. Abel Gordon followed, wearing the number 99 Josie had traded for. Josie’s eyes lit up.

  And there came Rachel’s number 40. “Who is that?” she asked as Josie grabbed Abel’s hand.

  “Elvis Presley something,” Abel said, telling of the jersey confrontation and warming to Josie’s attention. The new kid apparently didn’t know anyone and didn’t have a car. He hurried past and headed toward town. Since Rachel wanted to try one more time to get Tee to put a Save Our School flyer in her diner window anyway, she followed number 40 from a distance. When he entered Sweet Tee’s, she decided to make the rounds of other businesses and come back later. It wouldn’t take long. Almost half the storefronts were boarded up by now anyway.

  13

  Elvis found the place deserted except for Tee, who was tidying up before closing. As he moved toward the counter, he heard a car door slam in the alley behind the diner. In came Sherman. He pecked his mother on the cheek and held up his new jersey. Then he threw on an apron, giving Elvis a knowing look.

  Elvis sat at the counter, and Tee said, “Sorry, son, kitchen’s closed.”

  “Can I just get a cup of hot water?”

  She raised a brow and poured him one in a coffee cup. He squirted catsup into it and added salt and pepper. “That’s all,” he said. “Thanks.”

  As Elvis guzzled his concoction, mother and son glanced at each other with what appeared to be amusement. “Want some eggs?” the Shermanater said. “Something else free to go with your jersey?”

  Elvis ignored him but wasn’t about to pass up the offer. He looked at Tee, as if to ask if it was really all right. She smiled. “How do you like your eggs?”

  “Four at a time,” he said.

  Sherman stood grinning at Elvis as if he couldn’t believe his gall, but Tee smacked him in the chest and said, “Scramble a family.”

  While her son headed back to the kitchen, Tee turned and introduced herself
. He shook her hand. “Elvis Jackson.”

  She seemed to fight a smile as she studied him. “Your folks out of work?” she whispered.

  He shook his head. “I’m on my own.”

  She grabbed a clean towel and ceremoniously handed it to him. “We close down for football games.”

  A job here and dinner every night? He slung the towel over his shoulder. As soon as he’d finished eating he found an apron and got to work. Tee and Sherman removed theirs, and Sherman clapped Elvis on the shoulder. “Nice to be able to leave early. Good to have you around.”

  When they got to the door, Tee turned, as if unable to keep it in any longer. “Child,” she said, “what kind of mama names her baby ‘Elvis’?”

  He smiled. “What kind of mama names her baby ‘Sherman Naters’?”

  Sherman looked pained, but his mother led him out the door, chortling and calling over her shoulder, “Lock it when you leave.”

  Elvis scurried about the diner, making sure everything was gathered up. He carried a tub of dirties to the dishwasher and loaded it. When he looked out from the kitchen, untying his apron, the diner looked tidy. But it also reminded him of an expansive football field. The tables were defenders he would have to elude on his way to the door. And his balled-up apron made a perfect football …

  14

  Rachel taped flyers in any window where she was allowed. When she reached the diner again, she taped one on the outside of the door and one on the inside, deciding to ask Tee’s approval rather than her permission. Rachel called out for the woman but all she heard in return was a young man’s voice.

  “December 12, 1965! Chicago Bear Gayle Sayers makes football history with six touchdowns in one game!”

  The voice grew closer, but Rachel had no time to get back out the door. With number 40’s helmet in her hands, along with the rest of her flyers, she ducked under a table. And here came the new kid, a ball of red cloth in his hands, acting out a football game with his own play-by-play.

  “Touchdown number one came in the first quarter, an eighty-yard screen pass!” He tossed the apron-ball into the air and caught it on the run, high-stepping to the other side of the diner.

  “Touchdown two was a twenty-one-yard tear through four defenders at lightning speed!” He barreled back in her direction. “Touchdowns three, four, and five are vintage Elvis, juking—who’s your daddy?—open field improv—oh, you are, Elvis! That’s right!”

  As the boy stiff-armed imaginary tacklers and strutted through the diner banging into tables and chairs, he raved, “Gayle Sayers, in his prime, wishes he could keep up with this wild buck!”

  Suddenly he stopped, hands on his knees. “But the sixth… Oh, baby, the sixth and final touchdown is a thing of beauty—an eighty-five-yard punt return.”

  It was all Rachel could do to keep from bursting out laughing as the boy tossed the balled-up cloth into the air again, caught it, and smashed into tables and chairs. “Oh, he’s got it! Touchdown! Oh, yeah, uh-huh, uh-huh, boom!” He slammed the apron to the floor and flexed, growling and grunting. When he finally knelt to retrieve the apron, he found himself face to face with Rachel and flew back on his seat, sliding across the floor.

  Rachel felt bad for him. She blurted, “I, uh, was just looking for Tee, and she’s definitely not under here.”

  15

  How dare she hide there watching him? Elvis felt such a fool! He retied his apron as the girl stood and thrust out her hand. “I’m Rachel, your FCA prayer warrior.” Elvis shook her hand quickly and reached for his helmet, wishing he could disappear. She pulled it away. “Uh, no, I keep your game helmet until Friday night. It’s kind of a visual reminder than I need to pray for you.”

  He scowled, trying to punish her with his look. “I do okay on my own.”

  She shrugged and moved toward the door, then stopped and mimicked Scarlett O’Hara. “A gentleman would walk me home.”

  So she was that kind. He just wanted her to remember his anger and forget everything else. “Let me know when you find one,” he said and headed for the kitchen.

  “Elvis?”

  He whirled around. What now?

  She smiled. “I just wanted to make sure that was really your name.”

  He shook his head, disgusted. “Cute.”

  “Well, face it, Elvis. You’re stuck with me for the season.” Then, barely audibly, “If you make it that long.”

  Why couldn’t she take a hint? Why was she even still standing there?

  “If?”

  “I know why guys like you show up in Athens City. Hate to break it to you, but Brian—the guy whose jersey you commandeered today—is a shoo-in for the scholarship. He’s coach’s nephew, you know.”

  “I know.”

  “Every one of the Schulers has gone to Bama since the days of Bear Bryant.”

  How had she turned this around? She was the one who had embarrassed him. Now she was trying to put him in his place? “Till this year,” he said, through with her.

  She hesitated. “So, what should I pray for?”

  He shook his head. If he told her, she’d pester him for the whole story. He just wanted her gone. “I don’t care,” he said. “Pray for green grass.”

  16

  You understand I hadn’t really prayed about it. It’s just that when the young woman in the copy center who puts all the material together for teachers—even one-class wonders like me—seems friendly and talkative, I start thinking God’s trying to tell me something or give me something, namely her. Don’t ask me why. Maybe Kim telling me to pay more attention to Bev—which I have been doing for months and not noticing anything different—or maybe hearing Coach talk about his wife with so much love despite everything she’d put him through. I don’t know. Maybe I was finally getting ready to move on, way past when most people thought I should’ve been ready.

  Probably it was just that this woman was really something to look at. So call me shallow. Her name’s Jacqui and she’s a good ten years younger’n me. But she’s real pretty with a nice smile and bright eyes, and she’s the type who holds your gaze till you gotta look away or smile yourself. Well, I’m not gonna do anything half-baked so I make sure the first thing I ask her is if she’s a Christian. Folks down here know that means more than just whether you call yourself one but also that you’re a churchgoer and serious about it. Jacqui wasn’t from my church but from another one up the road.

  I found myself getting more and more stuff reproduced and having to come to school a little earlier every afternoon for my geography class at the end of the day. I spent a little time talking with her each day and we learned stuff about each other, like that she studied library science and wanted to be a librarian in one of those school districts that could afford one. I can’t think of one in our area, but who knows what Rock Hill might be able to do when they combine our school with theirs?

  We got familiar enough to ask sorta personal questions without being too bashful, and I found out she’d never been married, had a couple of serious guys in the past that didn’t work out, and that some man from her church liked to sit with her but has never asked her out. I’m thinking if I’m gonna pursue this I got to invite her to my church. I mean, I’m not switching after all these years and a daughter with another year of high school, and anyway, if there’s competition, I’ve got to divide and conquer. Won’t break my heart if Mr. Timid finds out Jacqui’s visiting another church cause a fella asked her.

  I’m getting to the place where I’m gonna do something about Jacqui, but I haven’t told one soul and I feel like maybe I’m in over my head. So I go to the most logical person I can think of. Bev takes her break about a half hour before I leave from the factory for school each day, and then she’s always back a few minutes before I go so she can be sure I’m up to date on everything. Since I’m not about to all of a sudden start asking her about her personal life, I think maybe if I open up a little about myself, she’ll open up more too. So that Friday morning when she’s in and out
of my office with mail and whatnot, I say, “Bev, could you do me a favor this afternoon?”

  “A favor?” she says, like a big sister. “Between nine o’clock and five o’clock I do what I’m told.”

  I knew what she meant and I knew she thought she was funny, but I just tell her, “This is more personal than work.” She sat up like she was all ears and I said, “Would you mind spending your afternoon break with me, here in my office, so I can pick your brain?” She hesitated, looking like she had to think about it, so I said, “Course you could get your snack and bring it with you.”

  “Give up personal time for something not work related?” she said. But there was a twinkle in her eye.

  “Yeah,” I said. “Totally up to you.”

  “I’ll be here. Can I bring you something?”

  “Coffee,” I said.

  “With sugar,” she said, making a note. “Caffeine alone wouldn’t give enough of a rush.”

  I figured the mystery got to her. She wasn’t gonna say no if she didn’t know what it was about, and I thought I noticed a little pep in her step the rest of the day. That afternoon she put the answering machine on, came in with our coffees, and shut the door. I leaned back in my chair and put my feet up on the corner of the desk as she sat.

  “Need a little advice,” I said, and I told her all about Jacqui. The whole time Bev sat there sipping and peeking at me over the top of her cup. When I quit talking I took a big gulp and waited.

  “That’s it?” she said.

  I nodded.

  “You wanna know if you should be brave and ask this exciting young woman to join you at church and see where it goes from there.”

  “I knew you’d understand.”

  “I understand all right,” she said. “Finally admitting you’re lonely? You just hit the big four-oh, you’re seeing the end of the road with your daughter at home, and you’re realizing what’s ahead?”