Jimmy

by Robert Whitlow

  Jimmy returned the stool to its place beside a large grease board used by the coaches to diagram plays. In the equipment room, he found Chris making two piles of uniform items and equipment.

  “Coach Nixon will let a player pick his number if it’s not already taken. This player wanted eighty-one,” Chris said. “Why do you think he would pick that number?”

  Jimmy stopped and thought a moment before picking up the pile. “A player whose grandpa is eighty-one years old. If he’s wearing jersey number eighty-one, his grandpa will be able to see him on the field and know that his grandson loves him.”

  Chris shook his head. “The real reason is that he’s a wide receiver, but I like yours better.”

  It took two trips for Jimmy to put everything in locker eighty-one. He hung up the practice jersey and football pants and placed the helmet on a smaller shelf at the top of the locker. Coach Nixon insisted that the players keep their lockers neat. Jimmy could have opened almost any locker in the room and found everything in the correct place. He returned for the second player’s equipment.

  “According to the uniform, this guy is huge,” Chris said.

  Jimmy looked at the pile. Shoulder pads, football pants, and helmet. He looked inside the helmet and saw the number. It was the biggest one in the equipment room. Jimmy put it on. It swallowed his head.

  “You’d have room for two of your heads in that one,” Chris observed. “This guy is going to be number fifty-one. Why would he get that number? It’s probably too old for one of his parents and too young for a grandparent.”

  Jimmy picked up the massive shoulder pads. They hung down to the ground. “That’s easy. Mama says that big parents have big children. Maybe this player’s father played football and had number fifty-one on his jersey. His son wants the same number.”

  Chris’s mouth dropped open. “Whoever says you’re retarded—”

  Jimmy stepped back as if he’d been hit in the stomach. He turned and ran from the equipment room. He heard Chris’s uneven steps behind him. Jimmy reached the doorknob and yanked the door open. Chris reached him, put his hand against the door, and slammed it shut.

  “I want to go outside,” Jimmy said, his voice trembling.

  “I’m sorry,” Chris said, continuing to lean against the door. “That was wrong for me to say. It’s not true. You already do a better job than the boy who worked with me last year. You’re going to be one of the best managers ever.”

  Jimmy looked away and held on to the doorknob. Chris put his hand on Jimmy’s shoulder.

  “Please, come back so we can finish. Don’t you think I know what it’s like to be different? People have always called me names and made fun of me behind my back.”

  Keeping his head down, Jimmy released his grip on the door.

  “From now on, I promise to be careful what I say,” Chris added. “Don’t you want to keep being a manager?”

  Jimmy glanced sideways. “Yes.”

  “Why didn’t you say ‘yes, sir’?”

  “Because you’re not an adult.”

  Chris smiled. “Correct. And I bet you’re also right about number fifty-one.”

  JIMMY’S HURT DIDN’T LINGER. BY THE TIME THE COACHES and players began to arrive, his outlook had brightened with the morning sun. He started filling up coolers with ice from the ice machine located near the front door.

  “Good morning, Jimmy,” Coach Nixon said when he passed by.

  “Good morning,” Jimmy replied.

  Each of the coaches either spoke a greeting or patted him on the back as they entered the room. Chris brought over two more empty orange coolers.

  “These are the last two,” he said.

  “You were right,” Jimmy responded. “I’m doing a good job as manager. The coaches like me.”

  Coach Nixon stepped over to the grease board and blew his whistle. The sound was loud in the full locker room.

  “Listen up!” Coach Bolton barked. “Coach Nixon wants your full attention.”

  The players, some in full uniform, others partially dressed, stopped and turned toward the head coach. Coach Nixon didn’t speak until everyone in the room was quiet.

  “We have two new players with us this morning,” he began. “One is a transfer from Villa Rica. Some of you may remember number eighty-one and the seventy-five-yard touchdown pass he caught when we played them last year. His family has moved to Cattaloochie County, and we expect double that from him when we play Villa Rica in October. This year he’s going to be wearing number eighty-one for us. Stand up, David Noonan.”

  A lean black teenager stood and smiled. The players around him pounded him on the shoulder pads in greeting.

  “Our other transfer student isn’t as quick on his feet as Noonan, but if he hits you once, you won’t forget it. He played last year for San Marino High School in California. He’ll be wearing number fifty-one, the same number his father wore when he played professional football. Stand up, Zeke Thomson.”

  An enormous young man rose to his feet. Only one other player on the team, a senior who played center, matched him in size. Zeke flexed his arms, revealing surprisingly well-defined biceps for a heavy player. One of the Cattaloochie seniors hit Zeke on the shoulder pads. Zeke turned around and reciprocated the blow. The other boy grunted and stumbled backward. Coach Bolton laughed. No one else touched the new player.

  “We’ll have our first game in two weeks against Dake County. Most teams don’t play a big rival the first game of the season, but the opener against Dake County has been on the Cattaloochie schedule since some of your fathers played for the Captains.”

  Jimmy thought Coach Nixon looked in his direction but couldn’t be sure. Coach Nixon’s face became even more serious than normal.

  “Last year Dake County beat us at the end of the game. Before we go out and start hitting this morning, I want each of you to remember how you felt after that loss.”

  Coach Nixon paused. Jimmy had been to so many Dake County games that they ran together in his mind. He knew the Dake County football team wore green-and-white uniforms, and the school mascot was a goat. The Dake County cheerleaders brought a live goat with them to the stadium for home games and kept it tethered to a metal stake driven in the ground. When Dake County scored a touchdown, one of the cheerleaders would unhook the goat and run with him in front of the cheering fans. Once, Jimmy spent most of one quarter watching the goat eat pieces of popcorn thrown by fans returning from the concession stand. A nice cheerleader in green and white saw him watching and told him the goat’s name was Popcorn. People fed the goat popcorn because they believed it would help their team win. Coach Nixon interrupted Jimmy’s daydream.

  “Hal Sharpton!” he barked, his voice cracking slightly. “How did you feel after we lost to Dake County last year?”

  Jimmy looked at the tall senior quarterback. “It was the worst night of my life since I started playing peewee football.”

  Coach Nixon lowered his voice. “No more fumbles in front of our own end zone at the end of the game?”

  The room became deathly quiet.

  Hal looked startled. “No, sir.”

  Coach Nixon stared hard at the quarterback before shifting his gaze to another player. “Pete Gambrell! What about you? How did you feel after we lost last year?”

  The stocky running back shifted his broad shoulders and glanced toward Hal before answering. “I was mad, Coach.”

  “Mad enough to go hard after a fumble in a pileup?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “And Brian Brown. Where were you when we lost to Dake County last year?”

  Jimmy stood near the second-string quarterback and saw a look of fear come into the young man’s eyes. Brown’s voice quivered slightly when he answered.

  “I was sitting in the stands, Coach. I played in the junior varsity game and didn’t dress out for Friday night.”

  “If you want to be on the field with the varsity this year, then zero mistakes is your goal. Do you understand?”
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  “Yes, sir.”

  Coach Nixon slapped his hands together. “Good. Let’s go out and have a good practice. You’re going to get so tired of hitting each other during the next two weeks that when we go into Dake County’s stadium, you’ll be ready to unload with both barrels on every green-and-white jersey that comes in your sights.”

  Jimmy picked up one of the orange water coolers and headed for the door.

  “Jimmy!” Chris called out.

  Jimmy turned as the other manager limped over to him and pointed to Zeke Thomson’s enormous back exiting the room.

  “You were right about him,” Chris said. “His daddy wore number fifty-one.”

  BOTH MAMA AND DADDY WERE IN THE CAR WAITING TO PICK up Jimmy following the morning practice. He opened the back door. Mama spoke before he was on the seat.

  “How was practice?” she asked.

  “More like a real football game. The players wore their uniforms, and they did running plays and passing plays. Max got to be the quarterback, and he threw the ball to a new player, who scored a touchdown. Do you believe Max will get to be the quarterback this year?”

  “No,” Daddy answered, as he backed up the car. “Coach Nixon never plays ninth graders on varsity.”

  “Tomorrow I’m going to learn how to hold the poles the men use to show how far the team has to go for a first down.”

  Jimmy glanced out the window as they passed the drive-in where Grandpa bought him ice-cream cones on summer afternoons. Jimmy loved soft-serve vanilla dipped in melted chocolate. They rode in silence for a few moments.

  “Do you think Grandpa will watch the Dake County game?” Jimmy asked.

  Daddy looked at Mama, who shook her head.

  “If he does,” Daddy said, “he’ll have the best seat in the stadium.”

  — Thirty-two —

  Before school started, Mama took Jimmy to the high school several times to show him the rooms where his classes would meet. At the end of the first day, he and Max met at their lockers. Jimmy was trying to cram all his books into his new blue backpack.

  “Do you have homework in every class?” Max asked.

  “No. I don’t have any homework. Mrs. Forrest, the special education teacher, helped me with my homework here at school.”

  “Then leave your books in your locker.”

  “But Mama likes to see my school books.”

  Max nodded. “Then take two home tonight and two different ones tomorrow.”

  Jimmy selected two books for his backpack and slipped it over his shoulders.

  “Let’s walk to football practice together,” Max said.

  “Are you ready to play in the Dake County game?” Jimmy asked as they turned into the main hallway.

  “I don’t think I’ll even be wearing a uniform,” Max replied. “You’re the only person on earth who believes Coach Nixon is going to let me play. My mother may not even come to the game.”

  “She’d better be there, and Coach Nixon has to let you play so the Captains will win.”

  Max laughed out loud as they exited the building and began the short hike to the locker room.

  “I’m the third-string quarterback behind Hal Sharpton and Brian Brown. They would have to move away or get kicked off the team for me to play.”

  “But they don’t want to beat Dake County,” Jimmy replied.

  “They’d better, or the coaches will wear them out in practice next week.”

  They reached the locker room along with a stream of other players. In between running errands for Chris and chasing balls for the field-goal kicker, Jimmy watched Max efficiently run a few plays with the second-team offense.

  THE DAKE COUNTY GAME CAME AT THE END OF THE FIRST full week of classes. The entire student body focused on the upcoming football game. Students from each class stayed after school on Wednesday afternoon to work on banners and signs that would line the hallways Thursday. The messages were split between encouragement for the Cattaloochie Captains and threats directed against the Dake County Rams. As a manager, Jimmy didn’t have time to participate in art activities, but he spent so much time admiring the banners on the walls that he arrived late for Mrs. Murdock’s class. His favorite banner had two panels. In the first, a Captain and a Ram, both with heads down, were running full tilt toward each other. In the second, the Captain stood in triumph over his fallen foe, who lay on his back with his legs up in the air like a dead bug.

  Wednesday football practice reached a new level of intensity. It was the last full-contact practice of the week, and the sound of grunts and the smacks of high-speed collisions reached the sidelines. Chris wasn’t too friendly, and he wore his own version of a game face. His instructions to Jimmy were short.

  “Take a mesh bag of balls and give them to Hal and Brian. They’re going to be working with the receivers on plays from the thirty-yard line.”

  Jimmy dragged the bag behind him. He wasn’t sure about the location of the thirty-yard line, but he saw Hal and Brian standing next to each other with receivers split out to either side. Jimmy stood between them holding the bag open so they could easily retrieve them. The two quarterbacks alternated throwing balls. Hal grabbed a ball and tossed it to Brian.

  “We have our meeting after practice.”

  “Where?”

  “In the parking lot on the other side of the gym. He’ll be in an old white Ford pickup.”

  Brian threw a pass. He perfectly led the receiver, who caught the ball on a dead run in front of the goalpost a couple of yards into the end zone.

  “I still can’t get over Coach Nixon’s speech,” Brian said. “Why did he single us out?”

  “Who knows, but it settled everything for me,” Hal responded. “If I had any doubt, that took care of it.”

  It was Hal’s turn to toss a pass. He released the ball, but it barely made it to the five-yard line.

  “It slipped,” he said. “Intercepted.”

  “Not a very good act,” Brian answered. He glanced at Jimmy. “Dump out the rest of the balls. You don’t need to hold the bag for us.”

  “My grandpa used to drive a white pickup,” Jimmy offered. “He climbed poles for the Georgia Power Company.”

  Hal looked at Jimmy as if seeing him for the first time. Brian pointed to his own left temple and shook his head.

  “Good for him,” Hal said.

  “When is the snake man going to give you a thousand dollars?” Jimmy asked.

  Both players stopped and turned toward him. A husky tight end running a short pattern turned around to catch a ball that remained in Brian’s hands.

  “What did you say?” Hal asked.

  “The snake man. I’ve seen part of the snake on his arm but not the head.”

  “How did you, uh, what are you talking about?” Hal asked.

  “You, Pete, and Brian were talking about it in the equipment room. If you don’t want to beat Dake County, do you think Coach Nixon would let Max be the quarterback? I know he wants to win.”

  Brian’s voice seemed scared. “Did you talk to Coach Nixon about this?”

  Jimmy shook his head. “No.”

  “Sharpton! Brown!” the offensive coach yelled across the field from the sideline where he stood beside Coach Nixon. “End the tea party and get back to work! Mitchell! We need some water for the offensive line players. Move it! Now!”

  Jimmy immediately started running toward the water jug. He didn’t want to make Coach Nixon or any of the assistant coaches mad.

  “Mitchell!” Hal called out. “See me in the locker room after practice.”

  The first-team offensive and defensive lines were practicing blocking drills. Jimmy stayed away from the flying bodies. He kept running back and forth to the locker room on errands for the coaches and to fill cups with water. He’d learned where each coach kept his gear, so when Coach Bolton ordered him to bring his red notebook, Jimmy knew exactly where to go and what to do.

  Practice ran long, and Jimmy saw Daddy’s car parked in th
e gravel area at the far end of the field. Jimmy followed the coaches and players as they trudged up the hill to the locker room. Jimmy had an empty water cooler in one hand and a bag of footballs draped over his shoulder. Inside the locker room, he reported to Chris for further directions.

  “Return the extra gear in that corner to the equipment room,” Chris said, gesturing toward the rear of the room. “Do you think you can figure out where everything should go?”

  “I can do the helmets,” Jimmy replied. “But I’m not sure about the other stuff.”

  “Look inside the pants for the size. The numbers for the shoulder pads are behind the neck. There isn’t much. I’ll check on you as soon as I finish everything else.”

  Jimmy moved the pile into the equipment room. He wanted to work as fast as possible so Daddy wouldn’t have to wait for him. Jimmy sorted the pants and shoulder pads and then took the helmets to the rear area of the room. He lined the helmets in a row from smallest to largest. He felt a tap on his back.

  “I’m almost done, Chris,” he said.

  The hand spun him around. It was Hal Sharpton. Behind him stood Brian Brown. Both boys looked very serious.

  “You had no business spying on us, you little retard,” Hal said.

  Jimmy’s eyes opened wide.

  “I need to go,” he said. “My daddy is waiting on me.”

  Hal put out his arm to block the way. Jimmy could see that the equipment room door was closed. Brian stepped forward.

  “You’re not leaving this room until you tell us who you’ve been talking to.”

  Frightened and confused, Jimmy blurted out, “I don’t understand.”

  “What did you hear?” Brian asked.

  “Nothing.”

  Hal pushed him in the chest. “Don’t lie to us. Who did you talk to?”

  Jimmy frantically searched for an answer. “Uh, Mrs. Forrest, my teacher,” Jimmy blurted.

  “What did you tell her?”

  “That I would do my homework after supper because we had football practice.”

  “This is ridiculous,” Brian said. “He’s an idiot! There’s no telling what he’s done.”

  The equipment room door opened, and Chris came in.