Just A Game

by Dustin Stevens

  Stanson waited for the players to gather round and said, “Good practice today. That’s a way to focus and execute. Tomorrow we’ll come out and have a clean walk through, get ready to end this right on Friday.”

  The players responded in unison with a deep, “Yeah!”

  “Now tomorrow, we’ve got the senior dinner. Everybody plan on being back here at six o’clock in the cafeteria. We’ll eat as a team and when we’re done, the floor is the senior’s.

  “For you young guys that haven’t been here before, the senior dinner is a chance for everybody to get up and say as much or as little as they want. Say some thank you’s, say a pregame speech, don’t say a damn word. It’s up to them. This group has been a class act from the first day, I trust tomorrow will be no different.”

  He paused and scanned the group as a smile spread across his face. “Before we get to tomorrow though, we’ve got one last thing to take care of here today.”

  Another round of cheers went up as players pulled their helmets back on and began to move apart.

  “Underclassmen, I want two lines facing each other five yards apart!” Stanson barked. “Seniors, down on the end!”

  The underclassmen split themselves in half and stood on the forty-five and fifty yard lines of the practice field. Many clapped and hollered as the seniors walked to the far end of the group.

  Stanson emerged between the lines and said, “Alright, who’s going first?”

  Marksy stepped forward and adjusted his facemask, bobbing his head as he went. The other seniors slapped him on the helmet and shoulder pads as he stepped away from them.

  “And who’s it going to be?” Stanson asked.

  “I want Tripp!” Marksy called.

  A loud chorus of “ooh!” went up as Tripp stepped away from the forty-five and stood opposite Marksy from ten yards away.

  “On my mark!” Stanson barked, then paused a moment before blowing a single time on the whistle.

  Marksy and Tripp both exploded towards each, running as hard as they could and lowering their shoulders. They collided in a loud smacking of pads, Tripp standing his ground for a moment before being pushed back a few yards.

  Stanson blew his whistle a couple of times to signal the end as everyone cheered loudly.

  “Who’s next?”

  Matt stepped away from the seniors and said, “Give me Foster!”

  More cheers went up from the team as Matt and Foster squared off, surging forward on Stanson’s whistle. The players met in the middle of the two lines and came to a complete standstill, the only movement their legs churning in place. They stayed that way for several seconds before Stanson blew the play dead and the team began cheering again.

  “Next up!” Stanson called.

  Rich Little stepped out and jogged to the other end of the column as Lyle walked forward and took his place opposite him.

  “You guys sure you want to do this?” Stanson asked.

  “Oh yea,” Lyle said as Rich stuck in his mouthpiece and bobbed his head emphatically.

  “Alright,” Stanson acquiesced and raised the whistle to his lips. He paused for a second, then blew a shrill note and sent the brothers hurtling at one another.

  Lyle had a little more steam built up at contact and drove Rich back about a yard, the sound of their hit reverberating in the cold afternoon air. A moment later Rich dug in and drove back into Lyle, the two of them spinning out towards the ground and landing in a heap.

  Players and spectators both applauded as the brothers climbed up and slapped each other on the helmet, smiling broadly.

  The whistle barely stayed between Stanson’s teeth as he grinned and called, “Next!”

  “I guess this is me?” Goldie said.

  “You’re up,” Clay said.

  “Guess it wouldn’t look very good if I laid out the superstar quarterback in front of all these people now would it?”

  “Even worse getting your ass lit up by a quarterback in front of all these people,” Clay said.

  Goldie grinned back at him and jogged into the column. “Give me Austin. Bout damn time a kicker got hit!”

  A mixed bag of responses erupted from the team. Clay laughed so hard he bent at the waist and said, “You picked the damn kicker?”

  He could hear Goldie laughing as Austin walked from the line and stood opposite him.

  “Just remember, we need him to kick extra points on Friday,” Stanson said.

  Goldie nodded several times and raised a hand in acknowledgement. Stanson paused another moment, then blew the whistle.

  Austin got the better jump off the ball and hurtled himself between the columns as hard as he could. Goldie was a split second late and met him with a thunderous clapping of pads. The collision knocked both players back a full two yards, bringing them to a complete stop as they lost all momentum.

  Goldie began to charge again but Stanson blew the play dead as the field burst into chaos. Claps, whistles and trash talking emerged from all around as players slapped Austin on the helmet and Goldie stood yelling in the middle of the commotion.

  Clay laughed so hard he again had to rest his hands on his knees as Stanson continued to blow the whistle and players slowly returned to their respective lines.

  “Alright, last one. Who’s it going to be?” Stanson called.

  “Willie Stargill!” Clay said.

  “Kick his ass Willie!” Goldie called out as several people laughed.

  Clay stepped forward and looked at Stargill, who stared back and nodded twice. He touched the side of his facemask and Clay could see his chinstrap was tucked into his helmet but wasn’t fastened.

  Stanson blew the whistle and the two shot forward at each other. At the last second Stargill pulled up just a bit as Clay launched himself forward and buried his left shoulder into Stargill’s chest.

  The plan worked perfectly as the shot knocked Stargill backwards, sending his helmet hurtling off in the opposite direction.

  Immediately the team and fans erupted with yells and cheers, swarming Clay and Stargill and pulling them to their feet. Stanson blew his whistle repeatedly and fought his way through the team, finding them at the center of the mass.

  “Jesus! Are you alright Willie?” he called, grabbing Willie by the chin and swinging his head from side to side.

  Willie smile, laughing so hard he could barely breathe. “Yeah Coach, I’m fine.”

  Stanson’s jaw dropped for a second and he stared at him, realization dawning on him. “You sonsabitches planned that.”

  The team broke into laughter as Stanson couldn’t help but smile and continue shaking his head. “Alright underclassmen, let’s get them out of here!”

  On cue, several underclassmen swarmed each senior and hoisted them into the air, carrying them from the field to the parking lot. When the familiar sound of cleats on concrete greeted them the players released them to the ground and Matt and Goldie appeared on either side of Clay.

  “You weren’t kidding when you said you had something planned were you?” Goldie asked.

  “Well it was either that or get lit up by a kicker,” Clay said.

  Goldie shoved him away, pushing an amused Clay several feet across the parking lot. “That little bastard had a head of steam going didn’t he?”

  All three laughed hard as they crossed the last of the concrete and made their way to the stairs for the locker room. Marksy and the Little’s waited for them there and Lyle said, “One last time?”

  Aside from game time, the best moment of each week was at five-thirty on Wednesday. It marked the end of padded practices for the week, nothing but walkthrough and the game for five more days.

  Goldie walked between them and started up the first of the stairs, then turned and yelled, “What time is it?”

  “Five-thirty Wednesday!” the seniors yelled in unison. They all laughed together and clasped each other on the back, making their way into the locker room after their last real practice together.

  Chapter Twenty-Tw
o

  Six times throughout the year, the senior class got together on Wednesday nights and had dinner. The mother of one football player and one cheerleader would partner up and welcome the twelve seniors into their homes.

  Cars already filled the driveway and spilled out into the street by the time Clay arrived. He pulled past the Swanson’s house and into the neighboring driveway, then backed up and eased in behind Matt’s Honda Civic. Leaves were piled along the curb and he could hear them crunching beneath his tires as he came to a stop.

  The familiar sight of the Swanson’s house sat on his right and he paused for a moment and gazed up at it. Thick pillars supported a high front porch and large open windows framed either side of the enormous front door.

  The house was lit up from within and soft orange light spilled out into the darkening evening. Through the windows he could see many of his friends moving about, laughing and snacking on hors d’oeuvres.

  A light tapping on the glass beside him caused him to visibly flinch and he jerked his head around to see Chelsie standing just outside his door. Her face creased into a smile as she opened the door and said, “I hope Sentinel doesn’t scare you quite so easily.”

  Clay chuckled and said, “I didn’t see you sneak down the driveway.”

  “I didn’t sneak. I went out to my car to grab my phone and saw you pull up. Thought maybe I’d get a quick minute with you alone before we went inside and I had to share.”

  “Now why would you want that?” Clay asked, using his best innocent voice.

  Chelsie smiled, grabbed a handful of his shirt and pulled him towards her. They met in the middle with a deep kiss, standing on the opposite side of the truck with the interior light illuminating them.

  The sound of knuckles wrapping on glass rang out from behind them, causing them to separate.

  “Goldie?” Clay asked, his back to the house.

  Chelsie peered around his shoulder and confirmed, “Goldie.”

  “Yeah,” Clay said, closing the truck door and throwing his arm around her. The other he threw in the air with a gesture for Goldie.

  Together they walked up through the middle of the yard with orange and yellow leaves crunching underfoot. In the driveway were a half dozen cars Clay recognized from his classmates, along with Chelsie’s, Mrs. Swanson’s and his mother’s.

  Side by side they ascended the four steps onto the porch and entered through the front door. It opened into a large foyer, with an immense staircase rising before them and open doorways on either side.

  To the left was a family room with a large television playing a college game on ESPN. Marksy and the Little’s were in there with Megan Willis and Rebecca Hubbard, talking and sharing a tray of cheeses and veggies.

  Off to the right was a formal dining room with a large cherry table and matching chairs. Along the walls were framed photos of the family and down the middle of the table were several more trays of meats and cheeses, veggies and crackers.

  “You kids realize this is a family friendly event, right?” Goldie said as way of a greeting. Melissa Zantos and Matt both started laughing and Sarah Slater coughed on a carrot she was eating.

  Clay elbowed Chelsie and whispered loudly, “Ask Goldie what happens when you mess with a kicker.”

  “Oooh!” Matt yelled, mirth on his face.

  “Hey! We agreed to never speak of that again!” Goldie said, rising to his feet.

  “I remember no such conversation, do you Matt?” Clay said.

  “None whatsoever,” Matt replied. “I’m thinking more like what happened today may be replayed for the next fifty years.”

  “What happened today?” Chelsie asked.

  “Care to field this one Goldie?” Clay said.

  Goldie stared hard at Clay, trying his best to appear angry. “I may have underestimated my choice for Senior Hit Day today.”

  Sarah’s eyes grew large and her hand reached for her mouth. “You got your ass kicked by a kicker on Senior Hit Day?”

  Laughter broke out around the table as Goldie waved his hands and tried in vain to convince the room of what had ‘really happened.’

  Clay left Goldie standing in the dining room waving his arms about and went into the kitchen where his mother and Mrs. Swanson were finishing up dinner.

  “Hey, Buddy,” his mother called as he entered.

  “Hey, Mama!” he replied. “Hey Mrs. Swanson!”

  Mrs. Swanson pulled an enormous roast from the oven and placed it on the large wooden cutting board inset in the counter where an equally massive turkey was cooling. “Clay, how many times must I ask you to call me Donna?”

  Clay smiled and said, “Sorry. Sure does smell good in here. What we got here? Some roast beef, a turkey, some potatoes?”

  “We’ve got a turkey, roast beef, mashed potatoes, corn, homemade bread, gravy,” his mother rattled off.

  “And by special request we’ve got pumpkin roll and ice cream for dessert,” Donna finished.

  Clay turned, peeked back into the dining room and lowered his voice. “You know, these guys would be just as happy with ice cream for dessert. They don’t have to know about the pumpkin roll.”

  Both women burst into laughter at once and his mother said, “I’ve already got one in foil stashed in the car.”

  “Excellent!” Clay said, a smile across his face.

  Donna swung a hand at the spread before her and said, “We were going to do Italian with chicken parmigiana and lasagna, but your mother said you guys were having spaghetti tomorrow night for the senior dinner.”

  “It wouldn’t have mattered. Something tells me you would have blown that dinner out of the water. It wouldn’t have been a competition.”

  “Yeah, but that’s no fun,” his mother said. “We wanted to mix it up.”

  “Hey, I’m not going to argue with you,” Clay said, holding his hands in the air. Chelsie appeared beside him and put her arm around his waist.

  “Alright, I think we’re ready,” Donna said. “Is everybody here?”

  “Katie called a little bit ago and said she’s not feeling well,” Chelsie said. “Everybody else is here and ready to go.”

  “Clay, will you tell everyone it’s time,” his mother asked.

  Clay disappeared through the dining room and into the living room and by the time he returned to the kitchen a dinner line had already formed. The seniors grouped up on one end of the kitchen, each of them grabbing up plates and silverware. Opposite them his mother and Donna stood ready to carve turkey and roast beef. Between the two sides was a spread that steamed high into the air.

  One by one the seniors loaded their plates and disappeared into the dining room. Clay was the last to go through the line, opting for both turkey and roast beef before joining the others at the table.

  The group ate and talked for nearly an hour, touching on everything from upcoming college choices to reliving Senior Hit Day exploits just hours before. Beth Anne and Donna ate in the kitchen, dropping in every so often with more soda or lemonade.

  When the meal was completed they insisted the seniors remain seated and served them pumpkin roll and ice cream. Clay sat at the head of the table, Goldie to his right and Chelsie to his left as the evening faded from dusk to darkness. Every so often Chelsie would pat his thigh and he would squeeze her hand in return.

  After dessert everyone remained around the table for a few more moments relishing how full they were. After almost two full hours, Marksy mentioned he should be going and stood to leave.

  “Oh no! Wait wait wait!” Donna said, running in from the kitchen.

  Marksy lowered himself into his seat and said, “I was going to thank you and tell you how good it was before I left, I swear.”

  A chorus of thank-you's and compliments on the meal went up from around the table.

  “Oh, not that,” Donna said, waving off the comments with a flash of her hand. “We have something for you guys before you go.”

  She disappeared into the kitchen and Goldi
e leaned in and whispered, “Wasn’t the meal the something-before-we-go?”

  “Beats me,” Clay said. He nudged Chelsie and said, “You know anything about this?”

  “Nothing.”

  A moment later his mother and Donna each returned carrying several large gift bags of blue, white and yellow with matching streamers tied to the handles. They handed one to each of the seniors, then stood together at the end of the table as the group glanced from one to another.

  “Alright, you have to open them all together,” Beth Anne said.

  “Wha...you guys didn’t have to do this,” Clay said.

  “We know that, we wanted to,” Donna said. “Now please, everybody open them!”

  In unison the seniors pulled open the bags and reached inside. The bags held several large handfuls of tissue paper and inside it a large wooden picture frame.

  Each person around the table pulled the frames from their bags and stared down at a picture of the twelve of them together in front of the bonfire just three nights before.

  “Wow...thank you,” Sarah said.

  A consensus of agreement went up around the table.

  “You guys really didn’t have to,” Lyle said.

  “We know that, we wanted to,” Beth Anne said. “They’re from all the parents.”

  The room was silent as each of the seniors stared down at the gifts, Beth Anne and Donna smiling at the end of the table.

  Clay looked up at his mother and nodded, then looked down again at the photo. He was in the middle of the group with the still-lit bonfire rising up behind him. His right arm was around Chelsie’s shoulder and her right hand was raised to grip his. His left arm was around Goldie.

  The other nine players and cheerleaders were bunched together, all smiling. They were eighteen and fearless. Twelve people on top of the world and without a worry of their own.

  Along the bottom of the picture his mother and Donna had added a monogram.

  Seniors 2014: A Season to Remember.

  Chapter Twenty-Three