the Hill (1995)

by Scott, Leonard B

“Mom, I’m starved,” Ty said, patting his stomach. “I gotta have a full tank to make the long drive to see Jay’s school.”

  Mea put her hands on her hips. “You’re going to school today yourself, remember?”

  Ty winked at Jason, then looked at his mother with a sad frown. “Yeah, but I was hopin’ you wouldn’t remember. Come on, Mom, I wanna see some highfalutin college girls.”

  Mea shook her head. “Forget it. School started two days ago, you’re behind already. Get dressed, both of you. Jason, help your brother dress, then come to breakfast. I’ll fix y’all’s favorite—biscuits and sausage gravy.”

  Ty let out a whoop and elbowed Jason in the ribs. “You heard her, hurry up and help me get dressed!”

  Jason smiled smugly. “I’m going to shave you, so be nice to me.”

  Ty swung his head to his mother in desperation, but she had already turned around and headed toward the kitchen. “Mom, Jason will cut my face to ribbons!”

  Mea wiped a tear from her eyes and kept walking. One of her boys was leaving her, and home would never be the same.

  Central State College,

  Edmond, Oklahoma

  The quarterback took the snap, spun around, and faked a handoff to the fullback. He ran down the line looking as if to run but suddenly pitched out to the freshman halfback. Jason caught the ball but was immediately hit by the defensive end and driven to the ground.

  The offensive back coach blew his whistle and leaned over Jason. “Johnson, that was sorry. You’re too damn slow. You have to be three yards farther out to get by the end.”

  Jason picked himself off the ground, his head still ringing from the blow. “Yes, sir.”

  The coach slapped his helmet. “Stand behind me and watch Simmons do it … Simmons, get in there for Johnson!”

  Jason watched as a stout young black man ran onto the field and joined the huddle. Jerome Simmons was five inches shorter than Jason, but he was twenty pounds heavier and three seconds faster in the hundred. Though he was just a freshman, he had already been given the nickname “Cannonball Express” by his coaches and fellow team members.

  Jason lowered his head as Simmons took the pitched ball and streaked untouched around the end. Today was just one more day to add to the most miserable three weeks of his life. College football was not what he thought it would be. The glamour, success, and fun of playing in high school were fond memories of another world. College ball was the big league and most assuredly not fun. The two-a-day, two- and three-hour practice schedule had reduced his body to nothing but aching bones and bruised muscles. His sense of success was derived from just getting up in the morning and putting on his cleats for practice.

  The coach blew his whistle and pointed to the goal line. “That’s it for the day. Running backs and ends, four hundred-yard sprints. Linemen, two, then hit the weight room. Jenkins, Keary, and Johnson, see Coach Duggin in his office after showers. Backs and ends first on the line … on one! DOWN, SET, HUT!”

  Ty stood in the crowded hallway unlocking his school locker for the first time by himself when he was bumped roughly by Melvin Summers. “Watch it, Nance, you can’t take the whole hallway.”

  Ty ignored the fat senior who stood four inches taller than himself. Summers, a self-proclaimed Indian hater, had plagued Ty since childhood. To make matters worse, he was the principal’s son.

  “I’m talking to you, Nance!”

  Ty took an English book from his locker and shut the door. “No, you’re not, Summers, you’re oinking at me. Do yourself a favor and quit feedin’ your face.”

  Ty turned his back on the red-faced senior and started down the hall.

  “Half-breed motherfucker,” Summers mumbled under his breath.

  Ty spun around and shot his partially bandaged hand out, sticking two pink fingers roughly into the boy’s throat. “Pig, you say that again, you won’t be able to eat for a month.”

  Summers backed up, gagging from the surprise blow, just as Becky approached. Ty turned, ignoring the pain in his hand, and looked directly at his brother’s girlfriend, who quickly grabbed his arm and hurried him down the hall.

  “Ty, don’t start the year by getting in trouble. Melvin isn’t worth it.”

  Ty relaxed and slowed his pace. “I just stole his spirit. It had to be done. It’s better we got it over early.”

  Becky shook her head. “He’s trouble, Ty. He and Billy Ray Stevens have been saying horrible things about you. Stay away from them … I promised Jay I’d watch out for you.”

  Ty stopped at the door of the English class and winked. “I’d say you’d better put on forty pounds to help me with those two fat-asses, but thanks.”

  Becky laughed and hit his arm playfully. “I’m finding you a girlfriend. That’s the only thing that will you keep you out of trouble.”

  Ty rolled his eyes and walked into the classroom. “Forget it.”

  Jason stood under the showerhead, feeling sick and drained. Beside him, Clarence Keary sat exhausted on the tiled floor, letting the gushing water beat on his back. Keary, a freshman, was Jason’s roommate and had been recruited from Rush Springs, where he had been an all-district split end.

  Keary raised his head in dejection. “Jay, he’s going to can us just like he did the others.”

  Jason turned around so the water could massage his lower back. “Those guys quit. If we stick it out, we’ll make it.”

  Keary motioned toward the locker room. “They treat us like shit. We started with thirty freshmen, and now there’s only ten of us left. Don’t you get it? They’re sifting through us to find the cream and tossing the rest out.”

  Jason turned off his shower. “We’re on scholarship, they can’t throw us out.”

  Keary shook his head tiredly. “You’re dreamin’, Jay. Half of ’em that are gone were on scholarship. They have their ways to get us out. Didn’t you read the small print in your contract? If we get hurt, it’s all over.”

  Jason felt a wave of depression creeping over him. Keary was going to quit like the others, he could see it in his eyes. “Look, Clarence, if we hang tough we can get through this thing together. Maybe we can make the special team.”

  Keary walked toward the locker room. “Come on. Coach is waiting for us. I wanna get this over.”

  Twenty minutes later, Keary walked out of Coach Duggin’s office with his head down. He looked up for only a second to acknowledge Jason and tell him he was next. Jason didn’t need to ask what happened; it was apparent in his friend’s posture. Jason stepped into the small office of the head coach feeling like he wanted to vomit.

  Duggin sat behind his cluttered desk, still wearing his blue ball cap and short-sleeved yellow coach’s shirt. He motioned to the only chair and waited until Jason sat down before speaking. “Johnson, you’re not progressing as we’d hoped. For a player to make our team he has to give one hundred percent. You’re only giving us seventy-five. The way things are going right now, we don’t think we can use you.”

  Jason held back his anger. He’d only seen the head coach twice in three weeks. He’d stayed with the varsity players on the upper practice field and left graduate assistants to coach the freshmen. Duggin had no idea how he was “progressing.” Jason’s jaw muscles rippled. “I’ll give you a hundred percent.” Duggin’s eyes immediately showed disappointment. This was not going to be as easy as the Keary kid. “Johnson, you don’t understand. You’re not cutting it. I want you to quit.”

  Jason held back the bile in his throat and stared at him. “I’m not quitting.”

  Duggin returned Jason’s stare for several seconds as if looking for a weakness, then stood up. “Okay, tomorrow you report to the red team. See Coach Stewart. He’ll be expecting you.”

  Jason got up from the chair in silence and opened the door to leave. Duggin sat down, staring at a pencil on his desk. “Johnson.”

  Jason turned around as Duggin leaned back in his chair and spoke almost apologetically. “It ain’t nothin’ personal, it’s j
ust the way things are. I can only keep the best, and I need that scholarship back so I can get the best.”

  Jason turned for the door, maintaining his stoic expression. He didn’t want to give the bastard the satisfaction of knowing he understood his twisted philosophy.

  * * *

  Ty walked out of the school building heading for the buses when he felt a rough hand on his shoulder. He turned around and looked into the jowled face of Mr. Ernest Summers, the principal.

  “Mr. Nance, I understand you assaulted one of the students in the hallway today.”

  Ty looked directly into the puffy slits of the principal’s eyes. “No, sir, there was no assault, just insults from your son.”

  Summers’s eyes narrowed, and small veins rose to the surface of his cheeks and nose. “Mr. Nance, I will not tolerate your hostility this year. Melvin tells me you started the whole unpleasant affair and embarrassed him in front of his fellow students. In light of your previous performance over the years in this school, I believe his story. Consider this a warning, Mr. Nance. I will be watching you very, very closely.”

  Ty took in a deep breath for control, knowing he was against a wall. “Yes, sir.”

  Summers released his grip. “I will also be conveying my concerns to your father.”

  Ty kept his eyes fixed. “Stepfather, not father, sir.”

  Summers turned without reply and waddled toward his office, leaving Ty with the feeling he was sinking in quicksand.

  Jason returned to his room after eating dinner in the cafeteria and found Keary boxing up his clothes to move. Jason sat down on his bed. “Do you have to move?”

  Keary tossed his books into a box. “Yeah, this floor is for jocks; I’m moving up two floors.” He looked at Jason. “He moved you to the red team, didn’t he?”

  “Yeah,” Jason said, “but it’ll be all right.”

  “No, it won’t, and you know it!” blurted Keary. “The red team is nothing but a bunch of blocking and tackling dummies for the varsity. Damn, Jay, you’re nothing but red meat for them … the injury rate is criminal on the Reds.”

  “I don’t have a choice. If I quit, I gotta drop out of school. I don’t have the money for tuition and books, let alone the dorm room and meals.”

  Keary felt stupid. He hadn’t realized his friend’s plight and wished he hadn’t been so negative. “I’m sorry, Jay, I didn’t know it was all or nothing for you. Look, you have one chance on the Reds. Beat them at their own game. Show ’em you can take more than they can dish out. Kick ass and you’ll get them off your back, and they’ll give you a shot on a special team.”

  Jason thought about the greasy garage and the disgrace of going home a loser. He knew there was no going back, no matter what happened. Keary was right; he still had a shot to show Duggin he was wrong about him.

  Ty watched the last of “Wagon Train” and got up from his chair. Mea reached out and touched his arm as he passed by her. “Bob Hope is on next.”

  Ty motioned toward the kitchen. “I’m gonna get something to drink, then I have to read a couple of chapters.”

  Mea turned her attention to the television, glad he was doing so well despite the call from Mr. Summers about the trouble in school. She was just glad Duane hadn’t been in and she’d been able to reassure the principal that Ty would behave. She would have been more concerned if the reports from his teachers hadn’t been so positive. In a way, the accident had been a blessing in disguise. He hadn’t been able to write, so he had to read and give oral reports to his teachers. At first, the reading had been boring for Ty, but later he had become genuinely interested in his subjects and had read far more than was required. He had several library books in his room that a month ago would never have been there.

  Ty walked back from the kitchen, and Duane put down the evening paper. “Ty, when you get the rest of the bandages off, ya ought to think about going to work and makin’ some money. You can have Jason’s job and make a buck-fifty an hour.”

  Ty faced his stepfather squarely. It was now or never. “No, thanks. I’m renting the hill out for grazing, and the place needs a lot of work. Thanks, anyway.”

  Duane tossed the paper to the floor. “I’m offering you a chance to make money for college. Quit thinking about that damn hill and think about your future. You can’t live with your mother and me all your life. You have to make something of yourself.”

  Ty’s eyes narrowed in anger, and he was about to answer when Mea stood up. “Leave it be, Duane. He has his own life to live.”

  “ ‘Life to live,’ my ass!” said Duane, seething. “He’s gonna end up being a moocher, just like George.”

  Ty spun around and walked into his room, slamming the door. It took every bit of resolve he had not to pounce on his stepfather and rip his throat out. The bastard could say all he wanted about him, but not about his granddad. Many Moons had been ten times the man Duane would ever be.

  Mea opened the door and stepped in. “He didn’t mean it, honey. He’s just upset that you didn’t take his offer. It was his way of making amends, and you wouldn’t accept.”

  Ty lay down on his bed and stared at the ceiling. “I couldn’t work for him, and you know it. He’d badger me like he did Jason, and I can’t take it like Jason did. I’m gonna make it, Mom. I’ll make something of myself. I just don’t want him pushing me into something I don’t want.”

  Mea sat down on the bed. “I’m not worried about your future, Ty. I’m worried about you and Duane. It’s got to end. It’s tearing you both from me, and I love you both. Try, honey, try for me to be tolerant of him. You don’t have to work for him, but at least show him some respect. He needs that.”

  Ty rose up and looked at his mother. He was in misery over the worry in her eyes. “I’ll try, Mom. I’ll really try.”

  Mea turned to go, but Ty touched her arm. “Thanks for not telling him about what happened in school.”

  Mea nodded with a faint smile and walked out, quietly closing the door behind her.

  5

  Jason sidestepped a guard’s block and lowered his head, hitting the fullback below the knees, upending him. The red defensive team yelled their approval, and Big Chuck Halloway helped Jason to his feet with a toothless smile. “That’a way ta bust his ass, Johnson.”

  Jason pounded the huge lineman’s shoulder pads in elation, then grabbed his helmet and exchanged head butts. “We’re BAD! WE’RE BAD!”

  Chuck turned to his defensive teammates, holding his arms up as if in triumph, and growled, “Ya gotta LOVE IT, CRAZIES!”

  His red team members responded fanatically. “YOU GOTTA LOVE IT!”

  Coach Duggin stomped toward the offensive huddle and threw his cap at the quarterback. “What the hell was that? You’re not thinking! They were in a five-four look, for Christ sake! You can’t run a thirty-thirty dive against a five-four defense!”

  Jason smirked. The varsity was finally getting a taste of their own medicine. Usually it was the other way around. The varsity didn’t have a game that week and were preparing for Angelo State by using the meat squad to run Angelo State’s defenses. They had walked through the different plays several times and had gone full speed on the last four. The meat squad had stopped them cold. The reason was Chuck Halloway.

  Chuck had been a first-team tackle but had flunked his business math quarterlies and was declared ineligible. Coach Duggin was washing his hands of the sophomore and had put him on the red team two days before to get rid of him. Chuck would be able to play out the rest of the season with the meat squad and wouldn’t lose his scholarship unless he quit.

  Jason lined up behind the 240-pound tackle and slapped his backside. “They’re not going through us! Hold ’em, Chuck. Hold ’em!”

  Jason glanced around him at the rest of the team and could see the determination in their faces, determination that had not been there before. Chuck had sparked the meat squad with his total commitment to bringing misery and destruction to his former teammates and the head coach
who spurned him.

  Jason couldn’t help but get motivated, seeing Chuck beat his chest and growl menacingly as he waited for the offense to line up again. Because Chuck was twenty-four and had been in the Army before coming to school, he was considered the “old man” of the team. He looked like a throwback to prehistoric times, with his heavy brow and long, muscular arms. His neck was as thick as a normal man’s thigh, and he always looked as if he wanted to rip out your heart and eat it. He was mean, vulgar, and uncouth, and the meat squad loved him.

  Before Chuck came to them, the red team had been a collection of losers. Everyone knew it was only a matter of time before they were going to be hurt. The only question was how badly. Most were like Jason, those who wouldn’t quit and were holding on to their scholarships and playing scared. Chuck turned things around with his attitude and fierce playing. At first, he was the only one who helped his teammates up with a word of encouragement and a call for more effort. He led by example, giving one hundred percent effort on every play, and was a one-man terror that no one could stop. He would get up after a tackle and deeply growl to his teammates, “You gotta love it, Crazies!”

  The day before, during a water break, Jason had asked the huge tackle why he kept telling them they had to love it. Chuck looked at Jason and the other team members who had gathered closer to listen with the eyes of an old, experienced warrior. “ ’Cause it ain’t gonna get no better. None of us wanna quit, and they know it. They just keep kickin’ us and tryin’ to break us, but they can’t. You know why? ’Cause we fuckin’ love this shit! What can they do to us if we love it? NOTHIN’! We’re fuckin’ crazy! They hit us and we hit them harder. Play after play they know they gonna get popped, and they start thinkin’ about it. But we don’t think shit, WE KNOW! We know it ain’t gonna get no better for us, and we gotta love it to survive.”

  Jason smiled to himself, recalling how the team changed after Chuck’s pep talk. It started as a joke at first, but soon they began calling each other “Crazy.” Then they started acting the part, mimicking Chuck’s actions, helping one another up, and bashing their helmets against one another. For the first time practice had become fun.