Second Down - Chapter 1

1994

I opened my eyes, trying to adjust for a moment. I finally realized the sound I was hearing was my alarm clock. I reached over and slapped around for it a few times until I hit the button to make it shut up.

Everything felt... wrong. Out of place. Damn. That dream hit so hard. I blinked a few times, hard, trying to shake off the feeling of it. The dream had been so vivid, like one of those where you go through your whole day just to wake up and realize you hadn’t done it yet, except this hadn’t been ‘just a day.’ It had been a whole life.

I’d been so old at the end of it. And man, had my life sucked in the dream. Like, really sucked.

I sat up and swung my feet over the edge, feeling the carpet in my room and hoping to ground myself a little bit. It was just a dream, but it had been so real. More vivid than any dream I’d ever had. I could also remember so much of it. Normally I didn’t remember my dreams for shit, so this was a weird feeling. It’s like every day of a life I’d never lived was just stuck in my head.

I rubbed my face. Man, I hope this faded, ’cause it was messing with me. Looking over at the clock, it kicked reality in and at least got my brain working again. It was eight-forty five and I was supposed to meet the guys at the high school football field at nine-thirty. We lived just on the edge of town, which meant town was walking distance, since the whole place was small, but it was mid-August and hot as hell.

Today was the first day of practice and tryouts for high school, and I’d been so excited. High school football was a big deal in Texas, and a gateway to the NFL and everything I’d dreamed of. I’d been in Pee-Wee and played in middle school, but those were nothing compared to the next four years. I had a real chance to do something, and it all started today.

Another flash of memory almost hit me, but I pushed it down. It was so weird, I remembered last night, playing on my Game Boy, too excited to sleep. Just as clearly, I remembered being old, lying on a bed, and talking to a priest.

Man, I was screwed up.

I could hear Mom and Dad moving around downstairs and the smell of coffee, which meant Dad was up. Mom never drank it cause she said the caffeine gave her headaches.

I got dressed in comfortable clothes, knowing I was going to be running in the heat all day. I put a few things in my small gym bag, and headed downstairs.

I headed downstairs, still trying to shake the feelings off. Josh and Mom were sitting at the breakfast table already, eating. For a kid who never did anything, Josh always got up early, which was weird to me. I’d sleep till two if I didn’t have anything to do.

As I got to the bottom of the stairs and walked into the kitchen toward the breakfast nook, Dad walked in from the living room already wearing his uniform for work. I froze in place the moment I saw him, a wave of sadness crashing over me so suddenly and intensely that I had to grip the doorframe to steady myself.

“Whoa there, champ,” Dad said, reaching out for me. “You okay? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

I blinked once, and then twice, shaking off the feeling. “Yeah, I’m good. Just... didn’t sleep great.”

“Today’s a big day, Blake. You need to be on your A-game for those tryouts.”

“I know, I know. Excited, I guess. Couldn’t really settle down last night.”

He slapped me on the arm and gave me one of those smiles of his. Damn, that dream really messed me up. It was so intense.

I went to the cabinet and grabbed a bowl and poured myself some cereal, using the moment with my back to everyone to collect myself. I was feeling kind of righted when I turned around and went to sit down. I couldn’t help sneaking glances at Dad. He was right there, alive and well, sipping his coffee and leafing through the morning paper. Why was I feeling like this?

“Yeah, gotta be at your best to run around and bash your head into other idiots,” Joshua said, looking up from where he was reading the back of the cereal box.

God, he was such a pain in my ass. He was almost three years younger than me and was starting middle school this year. He’d been annoying as a kid, but ever since he started hitting puberty, he’d become a raging asshole.

“Shut up. All you do is sit in your room and read comics like some kind of loser. You have no idea what it takes to play football.”

“Yeah, it’s real hard chasing a ball around. You’re the fucking loser!” he said, screaming that last part, going from zero to sixty in a heartbeat like he always did.

I turned to Mom, expecting her to say something about Josh’s language. But she just sighed and rubbed her temples.

“Blake, leave your brother alone,” she said, sounding tired.

“What? He started it!” I protested. “Did you not hear what he just said?”

“I said knock it off, both of you. I’ve got a headache, and I don’t want to hear it.”

I clenched my jaw, frustration bubbling up inside me. Of course, Josh was getting away with it again. He always did. I was about to argue further when I caught sight of Josh’s face.

There was something in his eyes, something cold and empty. For a split second, I saw him older, sitting in a courtroom wearing an orange jumpsuit. The him in my dream, as the judge listed off crimes too despicable to even think about.

It was just a dream, but the look in Josh’s eyes … there was just nothing there.

I let it drop.

“Whatever,” I muttered, shoving a spoonful of cereal into my mouth.

Dad set down his paper and picked up his coffee cup. “So, how’re you feeling about tryouts, champ? Think you’ve got a shot at quarterback?”

He was playing mediator, like he always did when the rest of us started shouting. Maybe it was because of the stuff he saw at work, but he never let any of our petty stuff get to him. He was always the one to calm everyone down and back in their own corners.

I always admired that about him.

“Yeah, I’m pretty sure I’ll get the starting spot for the freshman team. Unless I totally blow it, you know?”

“Good. I like that kind of confidence.”

“I don’t know if it’s confidence,” I said through a mouth full of cereal. “Just know the competition. There was this kid from Midland who was supposed to give me a run for my money, but I heard his family’s moving to Houston. So that helps.”

“What about JV or varsity?”

“Maybe JV, but I doubt it. And varsity?” I shook my head. “Kenneth Ward’s still got that locked down. He’s a senior this year, thank God. Otherwise, I’d be warming the bench till I graduated.”

“Hey now, don’t sell yourself short. You’ve got talent, Blake. If you work hard, who knows? You might surprise yourself.”

I just kind of shrugged, but when I met his eyes, the wave of sadness hit me again. It was so strong I had to look away, pretending to be super interested in my cereal. How long was this dream going to screw with me?

“I’m going to go lay down. I put your lunch in the fridge. Make sure you grab it before you go,” Mom said as she got up, set her dishes in the sink, and headed for their room.

She’d had it rough in my dream, too; although I didn’t have the sadness when I looked at her, as when I looked at my dad. I could remember things about her from the dream, but for whatever reason, they didn’t hit as hard.

“Thanks, Mom,” I called after her.

Dad glanced at his watch. “Speaking of going, I’ve got to hit the road. I can drop you off at school on my way to work if you want.”

I nodded, grateful for the chance to spend a few more minutes with him. Plus, it was already hot as hell and I didn’t want to make the ten-minute walk into town.

“Yeah, that’d be great.”

As I stood up to clear my bowl, Josh muttered something under his breath. I chose to ignore it, not wanting to start another fight. But I couldn’t shake the uneasy feeling in my gut as I looked at him.

“You coming, Blake?” Dad called from the front door.

“Yeah, just a sec!” I shouted back, grabbing my bag and lunch from the fridge.

As I headed out, I caught one last glimpse of Josh, hunched over his cereal bowl, but looking at me, a creepy assed smile on his face. The image from my dream flashed again … him in that orange jumpsuit. I shook my head, trying to clear it.

It was just a stupid dream, right?

***

They had a person out in front of the gym directing us where to go. We had temp lockers where we could drop our stuff, although they had no locks on them, so they warned everyone not to leave anything valuable.

I had left my wallet at home for this exact reason. I didn't know they'd let us put our stuff in the locker rooms, but even if they hadn't, I wasn't crazy about the idea of my wallet just sitting in my bag on the bleachers. Then I had this strange thought where I almost asked where we could leave our cell phones when I realized that was nuts. No one our age had cell phones! The per minute costs on those things were crazy. Hell, I'd never even seen someone with a cell phone, except on TV.

And yet, I had a distinct image in my head of holding this... rectangular screen kind of like a big calculator, and I knew it was a cell phone, even though it was nothing like the cell phones I'd seen on TV.

Then it hit me. The image was from my dream, again.

I shook off the thought. So weird!

After dropping our stuff, we headed out to the field. They had two sets of bleachers, and they had the freshmen go to one side and everyone else go to the other. Most of the coaches went that way, while two followed us up to the bleachers.

I recognized pretty much everyone on our side of the bleachers since the whole county only had the one middle school and one elementary school, so we'd all been together since we were little, for the most part. We all played in the same pee-wee league and on the same middle school team.

I knew these guys better than I knew probably anyone else. There were a few exceptions. There were about four faces I didn't recognize and two faces that were missing, although both those kids I'd known were moving near the end of middle school. The new faces were probably people who moved into the area over the summer or whatever. We didn't get a lot of transfers in, but every couple of years, a kid would show up. The four I was seeing were more than I remembered at one time, but middle school to high school was a big leap, so there was probably a reason.

Equally surprising was the coach who followed with us, carrying a clipboard. Especially since he was followed by Mr. Plummer, who owned the feed store in town, which serviced just about every farm and ranch in a seventy-five-mile radius.

"Alright, listen up!" the younger guy said. "I'm Coach Heidemann, and I'll be leading the freshman team this year. Helping me will be Coach Plummer, whom most of you I'm sure know from the feed store. He's volunteering his time to help out this season. While you may know him as the guy who helped your grandma figure out her azaleas last year, when he's on this field, he's a coach! You will respect him as such, is that clear?"

We just kind of looked from him to Mr. Plummer.

"I said, is that clear!" Coach said again.

"Yes, Coach," we all responded.

Mr. ... or rather Coach Plummer chuckled in that genial way he always had about him and said, "Glad to be here, boys."

"Alright. Now, I know you're all itching to make JV or Varsity, but with very few exceptions, you'll be starting on the freshman team. This is where you learn the Wheaton way of football and how things work at the high school level. Now I know you were hot stuff in middle school or club ball. This, however, is five-A football. It's a whole different kind of ball than you're used to. It's gonna be harder, faster, and more aggressive than anything you've played before. The guys who excel in this program go on to D1 and D2 schools in college. We've even had a few make it all the way to the pros."

He paused to let that sink in. I think we all had dreams of getting recruited into a good program, which was the next step on the way to the big goal. The NFL.

"Now, don't think of being put on the freshman team as a sign that you're less important or not good enough. This is your training ground. We're bridging the gap between playing as kids and playing like men."

When he paused, Coach Plummer said, "Y'all are gonna learn a lot here. More than just football."

Coach Heidemann nodded. "The next two weeks are crucial. We'll see who's cut out for this and who's not. You'll be run hard and taught our system, and those of you who fit will make the team."

I wasn't worried. I knew he was probably right, and this was going to be a whole other level of ball, but I knew I could keep up with anyone on these bleachers. Some of these guys, though, looked nervous. Especially the four new guys.

"Alright," Coach Heidemann clapped his hands together. "First things first - we warm up. Let's run!"

For the next three hours, we ran drills. It was the middle of August and it felt like we were practicing under a heat lamp as we ran, did footwork, and basic fundamentals. So far, everything was stuff I knew, although I hadn't really played much since the season ended the previous fall, and hadn't done any drills since middle school ended.

I probably should have spent a little more time conditioning and a little less time goofing off all summer because we were only halfway through and I felt wrung out.

We all sat on the bleachers and pulled out our lunches. Thankfully, the school had Gatorades and water, so we at least had something cold to drink. I found a place with my friends from middle school and pulled out the sandwich Mom made me, starving.

"Did you see that new kid eat it during sprints?" Elijah, my best friend, snickered and elbowed Hunter.

"Yeah. Fucking hysterical. He was, like, two seconds from crying," Hunter laughed as they both looked down at the guy, who very clearly heard them.

Normally, I thought Elijah was hysterical, but for some reason, he was rubbing me the wrong way. They were just kind of being jackasses for no reason. The kid, Miguel I think he said his name was, didn't do anything. Yeah, he'd fallen down, but he wasn't the only one. Jake, who was part of our group, tripped on the tires and no one said anything to him. They were also being a lot louder than normal, I think so he heard them.

"Guys, lay off," I said before I'd really even thought about it.

Elijah looked at me like I'd grown a second head, but then kind of shrugged and switched topics.

"Did you guys see Brenda? Man, her ti…"

I more or less stopped listening. For once I was hungry and just wanted to eat. But also, everything he was doing, stuff I knew I would have added on to before, was now annoying me, and I honestly just didn't want to deal with it.

I also started having the weirdest sense of déjà vu all of a sudden. I could almost remember the first passing drills, which weren't even starting until the afternoon session, and feeling sick as a dog. My passes sucked and I wasn't hitting anything. Again, it took me a second to realize I was remembering that stupid dream. It felt real though, and Gabriel was here.

He'd sat on the bench seventh and eighth grade, only playing when I needed a breather or we were up enough to let the B team go in. He wasn't a bad guy, he'd just never had … it. And yet, in my dream, he completely outthrew me that day, while I struggled. I remembered halfway through running to a garbage can and throwing up.

He'd managed to get the starting slot, only to lose it to me during the second game when he threw five interceptions in the first quarter. I remember, or dream me remembered, how everything clicked after that and I'd gone on the next year to JV with a clear path to Varsity my Junior year. I also remember always wondering what happened on the first day of tryouts that made me so very sick and almost screwed it all up.

I don't know why, but just then something else hit me, but not from the dream this time. I remembered Joshua's eyes and how he'd looked at me this morning. That creepy-ass smile of his. I don't know what made me think of it, but I sniffed the sandwich, then I lifted up the bread and put my nose right next to the ham and sniffed again.

It was incredibly faint. So much so that I barely noticed it over the smell of sandwich, sweaty guys, and fresh-cut grass. The smell of bleach. It was so faint I had to sniff twice to figure out the smell, but it was definitely there.

There was no way that was an accident. Not so little that I couldn't smell it without putting my nose right up to the meat. The little son-of-a-bitch poisoned my fucking sandwich. I would have been sick as hell, although it was so little maybe it wouldn't have put me in the hospital.

I was hit again by the dream memory of feeling sick and throwing up, ruining my first day of tryouts.

"What's wrong?" Jake asked, one of the other guys in my group of friends, asked, seeing my face. "Bad mayo or something?"

I didn't say anything for a moment, shaken. "Uh, yeah. Think it might have turned. I'm gonna toss it and grab something from the vending machine."

He shrugged and went back to his sandwich as I got up and tossed my whole lunch in the trash, even the sealed bag of chips. I'd have to start making my own lunches from now on. I went into the locker room and pulled a few loose bills I'd stuffed in the side pouch of my bag, in case I got hungry.

More than anything though, I was having trouble shaking the dream.

The chips and candy bar from the machine weren't really enough to get me through the rest of practice, but I'd live. Besides, we were breaking out into groups in the afternoon and I was passing to some of the wide receivers, which was so much better than footwork and fundamentals.

I was in my element and feeling confident.

I was up first and Elijah was up to run the first route. We'd done this a hundred times in middle school and even a bunch of times over the summer to get ready, although we hadn't gone hard enough to actually stay in shape.

"Alright, let's see what you've got, Sims!" Coach Heidemann called out.

I grabbed the ball and dropped back as Elijah took off, running fifteen yards out and cutting left hard. It wasn't a hard pass, and he was undefended, but I nailed him right in the numbers. We reset and went again, each time one of the guys would run out a little further and bamm, I'd hit him running.

Honestly, I was on fire. I couldn't miss, although the new kid, Miguel, the one who'd tripped earlier, fumbled two of my passes. I could hear Elijah and a few of the others laughing at him loudly, making comments, but I could see the guy was nervous.

"Hey, you okay?" I said as he came running back and handed me the ball.

"Yeah, just…"

"I get it. Just get your hands on it and pull it into your chest. You're leaving your hands out, which is way harder. Just pull it in and use your body to hold it in place."

"Yeah," he said. "I knew that. Stupid."

"Hey, no. I get it. It's kind of nerve-wracking, with everyone watching. You've got it this time," I said and then yelled at coach. "Can we try that again?"

Coach gave an 'after you' gesture and we set up again.

"Hike," I said and Miguel took off.

He was fast, I'd give him that. He got down twenty-five yards and cut left, turning just as the ball was coming in. He got his hands around it and pulled it in, hard against his chest, completing the pass.

Slowly, he held the ball up in victory and I gave him a little nod. He had pretty good hands, he was just a little nervous. Elijah had shut up at least, which was something.

We kept running plays, with me and Gabriel switching off. I'd like to say I hit every pass, but at least I'd hit most of them. Gabriel did okay close in, but anything over twenty-five yards or so and his accuracy became questionable. With that, he'd be able to do some short dinks, but he was never going to make serious passing plays.

We switched it up, with multiple runners, where we were supposed to look at one, and then throw to the other, or look at two, and throw to a third. Then they put in some of the defensive guys, who'd been off working on their own, to try and block the passes.

That's when things got really interesting. I was killing it, cutting balls in just out of their reach, dropping them down where they couldn't be touched, something I'd learned last year. Even with defenders, a majority of my passes were finding a runner.

After about an hour, Coach Heidemann blew his whistle. "Sims! Neiva! Over here, now!"

I jogged over, Gabriel falling in step beside me. Coach's expression was hard to read.

"What's up, Coach?" I asked, still riding high on getting to throw the ball again.

"Sims, what the hell was that out there?"

"Uh, passing drills?" I said, a little unsure of what he was getting at.

"That wasn't passing drills. That was playground nonsense. You're running around like a chicken with its head cut off, improvising instead of throwing to your assigned man."

I opened my mouth to say something, but then shut it again. Which might be the first time I ever shut up when being called out on my plays. In middle school, I'd been something of a loudmouth, always arguing with the coach.

I don't know why I shut up this time.

"Look, that might've flown in middle school, but this is high school ball. There's a right way and a wrong way to play, and what you were doing out there? That's the wrong way."

"I... uhh…"

"I'm not trying to chew you out, and I could see how much fun you were having out there, but this isn't about fun. This is about learning the system, and you're not doing that. Trust me, this come-to-Jesus moment happens every year to our freshman QB. That's why I brought Neiva over too. You both need to hear this."

Gabriel looked like he was about to barf on his shoes.

"You've got some good natural ability, Sims, but if you want to progress, you need to learn how to play real football, not just backyard ball."

"Yes, sir," I said, but it happened again.

Deja vu. I'd had this conversation with Coach Heidemann in my dream, only a little later in the year. Then it hit me, Coach Heidemann was in my dream, as was Coach Plummer. Hell, all of the coaches were. I knew Coach Heidemann was hired last year so maybe I saw him at a game, but I thought they'd said this was Coach Plummer's first year helping the freshmen, so how was he in my dream?

So weird.

Coach pulled out two small binders from his bag. "I'm sending you both home with these. It's what we give all our freshman QBs. We're gonna start simple - reads and progressions."

He handed us each a binder. I flipped mine open, seeing diagrams and play breakdowns.

"Sims, this is what you need to focus on," Coach said, tapping the binder. "Understanding where to throw the ball and why. Each play has its own read and progression, and it's there for a reason. Neiva, I want you to look at this, but the first thing we need to do is work on your mechanics. I'll see about getting you both some time with Coach Easley when he starts working with the JV QBs on this stuff."

"Sounds good, Coach," Gabriel said.

"Alright, we're about done for the day, so both of you get out of my sight. I want you both ready to come out tomorrow and work. Really work. Got it?"

"Yes, Coach," we said in unison.

"Sims," he said as we both started to walk away. "I saw what you did for Hernandez out there. That's the kind of thing I like to see. I can teach you everything in that binder, but leadership, that's where it's at. You're the QB and I expect you to lead the team. I wanna see more of that out there, got it?"

"Yeah."

"Good man. Alright, get lost," he said, swatting me on the leg as I turned and jogged off the field.

I had managed to put it out of my head while I was playing, but on the way back to the locker room, it all hit me again. The sandwich, the speech, the faces I knew that I didn't actually know.

It was all so weird. And the dream still hadn't faded. It had been all day and I could remember every moment of it just as well as I could when I had woken up.

What the hell was going on!?

I was still in my head as I got to the locker room. The whole morning had been so weird, it was honestly hard to keep focused. I was amazed I’d done as well as I had during the practice, but then I’d always been able to focus once I started playing football.

Coach had always told me that’s what gave me my edge. Or was that, my coach would tell me that. It was honestly hard sometimes to keep my memories straight and the dream memories straight. I needed to get my head screwed back in place.

I was still thinking, going round and round about everything, as we got back into the locker room and started changing shoes. The other stuff I could wear home, since there was no reason to use a locker room shower if you didn’t have to, but I wasn’t going to walk out on the asphalt in cleats. A good pair was hard to break in, and I didn’t want to wear them out any faster than I needed to.

The locker room was divided just like … like it should have been, with guys who played together last year all kind of grouped together and the freshmen were pushed off into one corner near the showers. When we’d been checked in and they’d directed us to this corner, they made sure to tell us none of these spots were permanent. Teams had their lockers together, so we’d get our assigned locker once we got placed on a team. That was true for everyone, even those who knew what team they were going to be on already, like some of the seniors or basically all of the freshmen.

I was putting on my shoes, and going slow as hell as I was thinking about the locker I would have this year in my dream, since I was on the freshmen team then, too. Then I saw Elijah walking up to Miguel, the guy who’d tripped during practice. He was cocky as hell, practically strutting, flanked by Mason and Hunter. I knew that walk, and the look he had on his face.

As he walked by the bench where Miguel had his stuff, his arm swept by, knocking Miguel’s bag on the ground, upside down, all the stuff pouring out.

“Sorry,” he said, not even bothering to hide his laugh.

“Watch it,” Miguel said, going down to a knee to start scooping his stuff up.

“You watch it, fucking wetback. What are you even doing here.”

Miguel shot up to his feet. “What the hell did you just say?”

“You heard me,” Elijah sneered.

Miguel stepped over the bench and got right in Elijah’s face. “I’m here to play football, jackass. Same as everyone else.”

“What you’re gonna be doing is riding the bench. You better not even be thinking about trying to take one of our spots.”

He gestured at the rest of us, including me in his sweep. I am not even sure why I did it, but I half slid down the bench, away from them, as if to make it clear I wasn’t a part of any of this.

“I’ll do any damn thing I please. If you think you’re better, then you need to be better,” Miguel said, and shoved Elijah hard.

Elijah stumbled back, more surprised than off balance, I think. He was pissed. He launched forward, slamming a forearm into Miguel’s chest, pushing him hard against a locker, almost causing him to fall backward over the bench. A little to the right and that could have been a lot messier, since the bench was close enough to the locker that he definitely would have hit his head on it. The clang of Miguel hitting the locker was loud enough to get the attention of everyone else in the locker room, at least with clear sight of our corner, to stop what they were doing and look down at us.

Miguel’s fist cocked back, ready to fly, when two of the other freshmen, I think their names were Jamal and Tyrell, came up from the side and grabbed him, pulling him back from Elijah. After a beat, Mason did the same thing, although the look on his face, I think he was hoping one of them would push him while he ‘pulled Elijah back,’ so he could get in on the fight.

Mason liked to fight and had been in the vice-principal’s office a bunch of times in eighth grade.

“What the hell’s going on back there?” one of the coaches yelled from the other end of the locker room where their offices were.

Miguel, not breaking eye contact with Elijah, responded without hesitation, “Nothing, Coach.”

Mason moved closer, stepping into Miguel’s space, crowding him all three of them. “You better watch yourself. You and your boys.”

We could all hear what he meant by ‘boys’ and Jamal clenched his fist. Instead of holding Miguel back, it looked like he wanted to throw down with him. Tyrell at least had better sense, pulling both of them back.

“They’re not worth it,” Tyrell said quietly as he pushed both of them out of the confrontation.

I just sat on the bench, sneakers half laced, watching. Well, watching and remembering, as more memories hit me. These weren’t dream memories though, they were my memories. In middle school, I would have been right with Elijah and Mason. Hell, I would have been leading them, making sure Miguel knew his place.

I’m not sure I would have put some of the overtones on it, but I definitely would have enjoyed the game of it. Jockeying for position, making sure my place was staked out in the social hierarchy. It would have been fun.

Then I had another memory, this one clearly from my dream, as I was older than I was now. Maybe in my twenties, but who knows. I saw myself on a construction site, looking tired and annoyed as a few of the older guys made comments they thought I couldn’t hear about peaking in high school. Years of memories of being the butt of jokes.

I remember hating every minute of it. Yet, when it had been my turn, I hadn’t thought about it twice. Had I been a dick?

“He won’t last a week,” Hunter said to Elijah, pulling him and Mason in the other direction now that it was clear the confrontation had died down.

“Blake, you coming?” Elijah asked as they got to the doorway, headed out to the parking lot.

“Yeah... in a minute.”

He shrugged and walked out with the other guys. I looked from them back to the walk-ons, and Miguel caught my eye. I gave him a weak smile, hoping he saw it as a silent apology. He just shook his head and turned away from me, back to the other guys.

As I walked out, I felt a little sick. I’d always thought I was one of the good guys. Realizing I wasn’t, was a serious reality check.