by Britt Morrow
We make pleasant conversation, discussing his experience as a sophomore running back for the team and the struggle of juggling both school and football. Charlie’s quiet, taking everything in. It’s hard not to be awestruck by the manicured lawns and imposing buildings, not to mention the wealth that they represent. It’s painfully obvious that neither of us belongs here. I haven’t seen a single student in scuffed boots.
Beau leads us towards one of the stately brick buildings while he raves about his experience thus far in the school’s football program. I’m sure it’s a pitch that he’s been instructed to make, but his enthusiasm over Coach Carson and the rest of the team sounds entirely genuine. He barely pauses for breath as we enter the building and walk down one of its long, wood-paneled corridors.
“Here’s the class the class you requested to attend,” Beau gestures to the door in front of us. “I’ll be back in ninety minutes to give you a full tour of the campus.”
“Thanks, Beau.”
Charlie and I remain rooted in place, watching him depart. I can tell that she’s feeling as self-conscious as I am. I motion for her to enter the auditorium first. She obliges, following a couple of students chatting about the previous day’s homework, and selects an inconspicuous spot in the back.
The lecture hall is enormous, the kind of place I would imagine holding concerts, not classes. And it’s packed - there must be at least a couple hundred students in here. The idea of this many people congregating for anything other than a football game is entirely foreign to me - especially for something academic.
It’s not long before I can see why, though. The professor is dynamic, engaging. More like the obsessively evangelical preachers I hear on the radio sometimes than the droning teachers that I’m accustomed to. But there’s nothing spiritual about his subject matter; it’s concrete science, a topic that I’ve always been drawn to. It’s been made pretty clear to me throughout my life that there’s no higher power looking out for me or providing my life with guidance. The kinematics concepts that the professor is currently discussing, on the other hand - velocity, acceleration, trajectory - can all be directly applied to football and the type of playing that I need to achieve to accomplish my goals. There’s something reassuring about the concreteness of science and the answers that it provides.
“Are you actually understanding any of this?” Charlie whispers.
“A little.” The problems that the professor is working through are beyond my ability, but I’m grasping the concepts on which they’re based.
“Geek.” She squeezes my knee underneath the table to let me know that she’s joking. As far a cry as this is from our usual lives, the normalcy of it all strikes me: this could be us, just another couple of students attending a morning class. What’s separating us from the whispering couple a few rows in front of us? All we’d have to do is switch our boots for tennis shoes, and we could blend in. I could be as carefree as everyone else here: worrying only about the next test, the next game, which afterparty to go to this weekend.
When the lecture concludes, Beau is waiting for us outside the classroom. The next stop on the tour is the dining hall for a quick meal. The building it’s housed in is another imposing brick structure that I can’t help but stare at. If I thought the building was impressive though, the meal is another matter entirely. Never in my life have I seen this much food in one place. A lot of the options I don’t even recognize. My diet thus far has consisted primarily of Wonderbread, canned meat, and processed cheese. Occasionally catfish or cornbread during one of the booster-sponsored meals for the football players. The spread here is at least ten times larger than any I’ve seen at the booster events, though.
“Coach Carson brings in a nutritionist a few times during the season to give us meal recommendations, but I cheat every now and then.” Beau winks, piling his plate with grits and ham. I follow suit, too overwhelmed by choice to make my own decisions. Charlie takes her time, surveying all of the options with wide eyes before settling on some pancakes and bacon.
Beau chats affably while we eat. He’s a junior from Alabama. A sociology major, but his real focus is football. Middle-class by the looks of it. He’s nicely dressed - unfrayed jeans and a name-brand t-shirt - but not obnoxiously so. He rolls his eyes when he talks about assignments, so he’s definitely not poor enough to appreciate just having the opportunity to be here. He’s good-humored, though; I can imagine us being friends.
When we finish eating - only a matter of minutes for me, I can’t remember the last time I ate anything this good - Beau resumes his tour. Taking us first to the freshman dorms.
“It’s definitely close-quarters, but you make a lot of friends this way,” Beau says, almost apologetically.
I don’t know what he’s talking about. The rooms are almost palatial compared to what I’m used to. And the shared showers are a lot cleaner than the ones in the high school football locker room.
“Freshmen are assigned a roommate, everyone else gets a single.” Beau continues, “You can usually get reassigned if there are any major issues.”
I can’t imagine a roommate being any worse than Brandi. I already know that there won’t be any issues.
“The rooms are nice,” Charlie comments, running her hand over an oak dresser. I wonder if, like me, she’s imagining herself living here.
“If you’re into the prison cell aesthetic,” Beau jokes, gesturing to the cinderblock walls.
The prison cell aesthetic is a huge step up from the prison cell experience of small-town life. I don’t tell him that though, instead I put on a smile that doesn’t reach my eyes.
The tour of the dorms is followed by the major academic buildings: arts, sciences, business. Then, he leads us across campus to the football facilities. I have to force myself not to appear too impressed for fear of looking like a backwoods bumpkin. The facilities are well beyond anything that I could have imagined. The stadium must have room for at least 15,000 people, and the strength and conditioning facilities are immaculate.
“And this is where the coaching staff’s offices are,” Beau gestures to a row of doors, mostly closed except for the one in the corner: Coach Carson, according to the nameplate beside the door. He’s in his office, reviewing game tape.
“Come on in, Levi,” he calls out. I’m flattered that he actually took the time to learn my name. Just having someone of his stature acknowledge me is enough to buoy me through the next few weeks of football season; no matter how tough the training is, acknowledgment from a college coach is well worth it.
Charlie hesitates at the door. “You’re welcome, too,” he tells her before turning back to me. "You didn’t bring Mom and Dad with you, Levi?”
“My Mom had to work.” The lie feels awkward on my tongue given that Brandi has never worked a day in her life so far as I’m aware, but I press on. “This is my friend, Charlie.”
“Nice to meet you, Charlie.” If Coach Carson finds it odd that I brought Charlie instead of my parents, he doesn’t let on. “How has the tour been so far?”
“It’s been great. The facilities here are amazing.” I have no problem being enthusiastic in front of him. I want him to know how excited I am about the prospect of training here.
“Well, I’m sure you would make good use of them. Your coach told me what a dedicated player you are.”
“Yes, sir. I want to give this team everything that I have.” It’s a statement I’ve rehearsed with Charlie, but that doesn’t make it any less heartfelt.
“Are there any other teams that you’re interested in?”
“No, sir. Tennessee Tech is my first choice.” I’d debated this answer with Charlie, wondering if I should play hard to get. She convinced me that being straightforward was a better approach. Maybe I should use the same technique on her. She didn’t react to me calling her a friend, but she’s too polite to say anything in front of Coach Carson. She knows how much this visit means to me.
“I’m glad to hear that, Levi. Have you t
hought at all about what major you might want to pursue? There are strict academic requirements in order to maintain your place on the team.”
“I’m interested in engineering. I’ve always been a good student; I don’t anticipate having any difficulties meeting the GPA requirements,” I reassure him.
“Your high school transcript is strong. One of the strongest I’ve seen, in fact. I like what that says about your work ethic.”
I appreciate the compliment, although I doubt the competition is stiff. Most of the players who make it at the college level are innately talented and confident enough that their only focus is to make it to the NFL. School is just a distraction.
“Thank you, that really means a lot.”
“Keep up the good work, son. I think you could make a valuable addition to our team.”
“I really hope so. I’m willing to do whatever it takes to make that happen.”
He remains stoic, but his eyes are warm. I think that I’ve succeeded in making a good impression. “That’s what I like to hear. We’ve organized a dinner for you, and we hope to have you both join us at the football game tonight.”
“Thank you very much,” I respond.
“It would be our pleasure. We can’t wait to cheer on the Eagles,” Charlie adds. She makes up for what I lack in charm.
Coach Carson stands to shake both of our hands, “I appreciate you both taking the time to come out here today. The dinner reservation is in your name, Levi. I hope you can forgive me for not joining you. I have some pre-game preparation to finish off.”
“Thank you for organizing this visit and meeting with me today. This has really solidified my interest in attending Tennessee Tech.”
“I’m really glad to hear it. Enjoy your dinner and the game tonight,” he smiles.
“Good luck!” Charlie calls as we exit the office.
Chapter 8
Beau shows us to the restaurant: an upscale place with an Italian-sounding name that immediately causes me discomfort.
“This place is great. I highly recommend the gnocchi,” he tells us.
I can’t even begin to imagine what gnocchi might be, but I’m spared with coming up with an answer by Charlie thanking Beau profusely for serving as our tour guide.
“It was my pleasure,” he replies affably. “I have to get ready for the game tonight, but I hope to see you again in the near future, Levi.”
“Me too.” I don’t think I’ve ever hoped for anything else as fervently.
Once Beau departs, jogging back in the direction of the football stadium, Charlie and I have no choice but to enter the restaurant despite my misgivings over the unpronounceable name. It’s immediately apparent that I’m underdressed. The waiters are all in dark pants and pressed button-down shirts. If they’re put off by our attire though, they do an excellent job of hiding it. The hostess leads us to our table with a bright smile.
I’m relieved once we’re seated, and my denim is hidden beneath the tablecloth. I’ve never been to a restaurant with tablecloths, and I never expected to find a restaurant with white ones. It strikes me as an overt show of wealth: covering a table with linens that probably need to be thrown out if a piece of food stains them.
“What do you think Pomodoro is?” Charlie asks, perusing the menu.
I haven’t heard of the majority of the dishes here, but, based on the Italian names, I’m assuming they’re all variations of pasta. “No idea.”
I’m equally stumped by how any item of food could have a price tag in the double-digits. A single meal here costs close to two weeks’ worth of food stamps.
She sets the menu aside. “So?”
“What?”
“Was today everything you wanted it to be?”
“Better actually. I think things went pretty well with Coach Carson. I can see myself playing for him, being a student here, befriending guys like Beau.”
“Of course it went well. This is where you’re meant to be. Surrounded by other smart, driven people.”
I’m not as convinced of my belonging as she is. Especially in a restaurant a couple of blocks from campus where I can’t pronounce half of the menu. I’ve always been adaptable, though. I’ve spent most of my life observing and emulating those around me: trying to come off like the other clean, well-fed kids. I’m sure that taking on the role of a university student won’t be that much harder. Especially with Brandi and the trailer full of shame so far behind me. And Charlie. Even after spending such an incredible day on campus, that fact still causes a sharp pang in my stomach.
“Are you two ready to order, or shall I give you another minute?” the waiter asks politely.
“I’ll have what she’s having,” Charlie replies, gesturing to an older woman at the table beside us.
“Yeah, I’ll have the same,” I order without even glancing over. Anything served at a restaurant with white tablecloths is probably good.
I appreciate the way Charlie avoided stumbling over the unfamiliar menu items. Apparently, I’m not the only one who’s spent time feeling self-conscious about my inelegance and finding ways to avoid drawing attention to it.
“People gravitate towards you, Levi. You’ll fit right in,” Charlie reassures me, unprompted. I wonder if she has some kind of psychic ability that allowed her to read my mind, or whether my insecurity is that apparent.
“What people? The guys on the team have no choice but to tolerate me,” I smile in a way that’s intended to appear lighthearted even though the truth of the statement weighs on me. I’ve always gotten along with the guys - at least with the exception of Colt - but I haven’t truly connected with any of them. Even Cody, as friendly as he is, isn’t someone I would consider a confidante. In fact, before Charlie, my only real socialization consisted of football practices and exchanging pleasantries with teachers.
“Teachers, Coaches, me. People who don’t resent the fact that you’re smart and driven, and that it’ll get you places.”
I’ve never figured out how to respond to praise without awkwardness. I’m thankfully spared the difficulty of coming up with an appropriate response by the arrival of our food. I’m equally thankful that it is, in fact, pasta, and nothing that requires foreign utensils.
We eat in near silence, devouring our food as if ravenous, even though we both ate a few hours ago. Having tasted the food, the price is more comprehensible. It’s going to be hard to go back to a life of bologna and Wonderbread consumption after tasting something this flavourful. I try to slow down and savor both the food and the moment. Who knows when, if ever, I’ll get to experience something like this again: an exquisite meal in the company of the most beautiful woman I’ve ever met. I couldn’t even have dreamed of an experience this incredible.
If I wasn’t in a place this upscale, I might be tempted to lick the plate clean. I refrain though, waiting for the waiter to clear it. “That was delicious, thank you,” I tell him when he returns. He’s not that much older than me, maybe a student. Probably not even a rich one given that he’s working. I wonder how difficult it would be for me to get a job at a place like this. Is it as simple as dressing nicely and spending a couple of shifts learning the foreign words and equally foreign mannerisms of the rich? Can slipping into an entirely different life be that easy?
“You’re most welcome. The bill has already been taken care of for you two.”
Charlie and I remain seated for a few more minutes, quietly observing the decor and the other patrons. Nobody else is paying us any mind; I guess the self-consciousness is unwarranted. Coach is always telling me that I need to spend less time in my head.
“We should probably head over to the game,” I finally say. I’m reluctant to put an end to this moment, but I don’t want to be late for the game either. I wouldn’t want Coach Carson to think that I’m not taking the opportunity seriously, and I’m sure that someone will be watching. I don’t think he’s the type to let any lapses go unnoticed.
Charlie nods, interlacing her fingers with mine
as we walk out. I want nothing more than to be able to replicate this moment in the future: the two of us leaving a great dinner. Like we’re a couple. A successful one who can afford dinners in nice restaurants. Maybe if I don’t fuck anything up, this could still be us in a few years: walking home together after a dinner replete with good food, and even better company.
On our way back to the football stadium, we walk past the row houses inhabited by graduate students that Beau pointed out on the way here. I pretend that that’s where Charlie and I are headed. Back to our shared apartment. We’ll watch a movie on the couch in the front room with some shared snacks. Share a look before heading up to the bedroom.
Charlie is looking at the houses almost as intently as I am. I wonder if she’s imagining us, or just herself.
The buzzing of the stadium is audible well before the building comes into view. The air is thick with emotion: players praying for a win, cheerleaders hoping to get noticed, students wanting to be a part of something. It’s been a long time since I’ve been a spectator at a game. In elementary and middle school, I used to attend all of the high school football games. But even as a kid, I was never this awestruck. To see this many people, making this much noise, under lights this bright, is overwhelming. I can’t imagine the buzz the players must be getting, the pressure that they’re under. I don’t know if I could handle it all; I’m anxious just sitting here.
We’ve been given great seats to the game, right at the fifty-yard line, just a couple of rows off the field. We appear to be surrounded by the players’ families: parents anxiously awaiting the start of the game and siblings looking none too thrilled to find themselves here.
The marching band and the cheerleaders start up, and the din of the stadium lessens. It’s as if everyone is holding a collective breath. When the band reaches its crescendo, and the players rush onto the field, the exhale occurs. Everyone is on their feet clapping and cheering. I take back what I said about the pressure; it’s probably worth this level of adulation. Being a university football player is virtually the same as being a rock star.