Hail Mary

by C. C. Galloway

  She and Mary became friends in college when they were two of the few females in the math department. Graduation separated them, with Mary returning to Michigan and Calleigh to Oregon. They stayed in touch through email, IM chats and bi-weekly phone calls. When Calleigh called to offer the job to her, she’d informed Mary that she was the first person she’d thought of when the position opened up. It didn’t take long for Calleigh to convince her that the position offered her a teaching opportunity that sounded as though it had been tailor-made for her interests and strengths. They split the Geometry loads with Calleigh also teaching remedial Algebra and Mary teaching Calculus and Trig.

  “How was your weekend? You do anything fun?” Calleigh’s bright red-lipstick imprinted itself on her coffee cup as she kicked her foot back and forth and waited for Mary’s response.

  “Not really, but you might get a kick out of this.” Mary was rearranging her folders and grade books that were already organized by class as she fiddled with the pens and pencils on her desk.

  “Do you know who Michael Santiago is?” Mary asked.

  “Hello? That’s like asking if Mother Teresa knew who the Pope was. Of course, I know who Michael-Defensive-Player-of-the-Year-Two-Years-Running-and-2008-MVP-Santiago is. You’d have to live under rock to not know who he is,” Calleigh responded as she continued nursing her coffee, and watched Mary.

  Feeling a little out of sorts, Mary reorganized the folders she’d recently straightened. Again.

  “How do you know him, Mary? And where in the world did you run into him? ‘Cause wherever it is, I want to be there.” Calleigh’s smile revealed even white teeth while her eyes telegraphed her interest. Calleigh was a serious sports fan, like her.

  “I knew him at Wisconsin.”

  “How did I not know him? I knew you,” Calleigh questioned.

  “I knew him casually. He was a friend of a friend.”

  Which was sort of true.

  So long as you considered Michael a friend of Dr. David Luidens, then Chair of Wisconsin’s math department.

  At Wisconsin and after she graduated when “Michael Santiago” became a household name, Mary never broadcasted her relationship with him. While there wasn’t anything for him to be embarrassed by, she never told Calleigh, her other friends, or even her roommates about the quiet athlete she met in October of her senior year. She also met him two times per week through finals to make sure he passed Calculus II. He was prideful. He took care with his notebooks, textbook, study sheets, and practice quizzes. She never asked, but she assumed others didn’t know about their tutoring sessions. While he was only a freshman at the time, his quiet reserve, refusal to talk about anything other than Calc II, and focused intensity led her to conclude he was upset about his need for help and preferred to keep it private.

  “Oh my god. This is fantastic, Mary. You’ve got to get him in for College Career Day. He’d be perfect.” In her excitement, Calleigh jumped off the edge of Mary’s desk and grabbed Mary’s arms by the biceps.

  “If we could advertise Michael Santiago was coming to CCD, we would yield huge turnout, especially with the boys. You know how much trouble we have getting them to take college seriously until it’s too late. Michael graduated, right? I can’t think of a better speaker this year.” Calleigh’s eyes were alight with possibilities. Nothing excited her more than seeing her students prepare for college.

  Walker hosted College Career Day every fall. While all students were invited, it was focused on sophomores to help them select the right college prep classes and juniors who were taking their SATs and ACTs that year and would begin preparing their college applications the following fall. The majority of Walker’s students didn’t have two parents who were still together and even fewer who had attained college degrees. Education was not a priority for many of the households where survival was the name of the game. Too many students didn’t realize the importance of planning for college early-- selecting the right courses and studying hard so that when senior year rolled around, they had a solid foundation for college admission.

  Mary laughed at Calleigh’s exuberance and mimicked her grip on Calleigh’s biceps. “I don’t know how to contact him. We didn’t exactly exchange numbers in the Safeway deli section last night.”

  Mary removed her arms, and tried to think of the easiest way to extricate herself which would be difficult considering Calleigh’s general level of stubbornness. “Seriously, I have no way of reaching him and because our contact way back when was casual, I’d feel like I was intruding on him. I’m sure he gets a ton of requests for appearances and I don’t want to be a bother to him.” As she opened her lesson plan, she hoped Calleigh would let it drop.

  She should have known better.

  “Mary Jane Richardson! Listen to yourself. This isn’t about you and this isn’t about Michael Santiago. This is about getting our students to understand and appreciate the value of hard work and an education. If you won’t do it, I’ll call on your behalf.”

  “How do you plan to accomplish that, Ms. Stuart?” Mary added the formal title as her students began trickling in; their headphones glued to their ears and their backpacks the size of mini-suitcases--sufficient for Europe for a summer or a four-person family traveling to Disney World.

  Calleigh’s Cheshire cat grin spread across her face. “Easy. I’d call the Tide’s main office, ask for public relations, tell them I’m you; I know Michael and I’d like him to take part in our College Career Day. The Tide will eat it up and be jumping all over to get him to do it. They need all the good publicity they can get.”

  Mary was trapped and she knew it. Grace was the only exit.

  “Fine, I’ll do it.” Mary began putting up the day’s lesson on the chalk board. “But don’t say I didn’t warn you when he refuses to do it.”

  Calleigh’s smile could have lit up Alaska all through winter. “Perfect!”

  Mary shook her head, steeled herself for her students, and tried to concentrate on how she was going to explain proofs and not think about Michael Santiago.

  ~ * ~ * ~

  Hearing him swing through the gym’s revolving glass doors, Michael immediately saw David zoom in on his target, him. David planted himself at his feet, his shadow looming over him, and waited.

  Michael allowed him to wait.

  And waited.

  And waited.

  And waited some more.

  After what he deemed an appropriate amount of time, Michael put the bar up, sat up straight, and took a long pull on his bottled water, never once bothering to meet Shalvington’s eyes.

  “The public relations department received a call this afternoon from a woman who claims she knows you,” Shalvington began, waiting for any acknowledgment.

  Michael remained silent.

  “Mary Richardson? Do you know her?”

  Finally, Michael bothered to make eye contact and contemplated how painful he could make this for Shalvington. His disdain for Shalvington had grown proportionally every year since he’d been drafted by the Tide, with no signs of slowing down.

  “I know her.” It was all he would offer. Anything more, Shalvington needed to work for.

  “Anyway, she requested you take part in Walker High School’s College Career Day. From what I understand, it would require you to show up and talk to the students about the importance of graduating not only from high school, but attending college and getting a college degree. It’s next Tuesday. I’m sure if you’re interested, Coach will make an exception for your attendance at practice.”

  Michael remained seated on the bench, wiped his neck with his towel and took another long pull from his water bottle, all the while taking in Shalvington’s shiny wingtips, dark blue suit, red and blue striped tie. Once again, Shalvington’s presence served as a polished reminder that this was a guy who’d never had to fight for anything a day in his life. Or have any other fight. Unless the fight was aimed towards keeping his players among the lowest paid in the league. Now there was a f
ight the Tide’s general manager would have all day, every day.

  The guy had never even bothered to talk to him.

  Until now. It was clearly only because he wanted something from him.

  Fucking figures. It’s how all the suits worked.

  “I know her, but I’m not doing any career day,” Michael uttered as he lay back down on the bench and returned to work on his pecs.

  “Would it kill you to ever do something for someone else? Or something for your team?”

  Michael remained focused on his bench presses, never changing his pace or his form to indicate Shalvington’s words had struck a mark. He did plenty for the team.

  “I don’t even know why I bothered. I knew you’d never do it, but I guess hope springs eternal.” Shalvington shook his head and walked away as three Tide players strolled in from the track, their sweat and soft odor accompanying them. Tamar Johnson, Shaun Gilweather, and Leslie Murray.

  “Well, well, well. If it isn’t the man who I will be replacing by the end of the season,” Tamar smirked as he sauntered over to Michael, juiced from his run and dropping the load of shit that comprised the substance of all of his interactions with him. “Good thing you’re working out. ‘Cause when the Tide trades your sorry ass, ain’t no team gonna want an aging D.E. with fewer muscles than my grandma.” Tamar laughed at his jokes while Murray and Gilweather rolled their eyes and went to work on their triceps.

  Michael knew the little punk was gunning for his job and was chomping at the bit to prove worthy of his first round draft selection. As long as he stayed healthy, Tamar was staying on the bench. He had at least ten good seasons left in him, maybe more.

  They’d have to cart him off in a body bag before he’d relinquish his starting position to the rookie punk.

  “Hey, Tamar? Would you be interested in working with high school students?”

  Michael thought Shalvington had taken off, but evidently not. Oh, fuck.

  Shalvington wouldn’t do what he thought he would do.

  Would he?

  “Of course, my man. You know I’m all about giving back to the future of our country. And high school students fucking love me. They worship me. They see me living the dream. What can I do?”

  Motherfucker.

  “Perfect. A friend of Santiago’s who teaches at Walker High, a local high school, wants a Tide player to come and talk to the students about college. Pretty basic stuff. If you have a minute, we can go call her.”

  Oh no.

  Oh hell no.

  No way was that little mouthy fuck getting anywhere near Mary. Fucking figured Shalvington would play him like this.

  Michael sat up, internally cursed, and gave in.

  “That won’t be necessary, Shalvington. What do I have to do?”

  ~ * ~ * ~

  Mary was running from her Quiz Bowl coaching session to spin class Thursday afternoon when the phone started ringing. She searched in her monstrous bag for her cell phone, found it, opened the car door, fired up the Volvo wagon, and flipped it open without checking caller ID.

  “Hello?”

  “Mary? It’s Michael. Michael Santiago.”

  As if she wouldn’t recognize his voice. Even with the coughing and some clearing of the throat. He could be continents away calling on a cell phone with its last bar and she would still recognize the distinctive tones--deep and smooth, practically silky.

  “Oh. Hi.”

  “I got a message about some college day at your school?”

  “Yes. Thanks for calling. I teach math at Walker High School and every fall, we host a College Career Day for all students, but mainly sophomores and juniors. The goal is to get the kids focused on doing well now and figuring out where they want to go and what they want to do so that when they apply to schools as seniors, there aren’t any surprises. We try and maximize their ability to be admitted into the schools of their choice and communicate the importance of graduating with a college degree. I normally wouldn’t have called you about it, but when I ran into you the other night, it dawned on me that maybe you’d be open to doing something like this. I don’t mean to intrude on your time, but it’s an important event for our school.” She paused to take a breath after her rushed speech.

  “What would I have to do?”

  “Show up next Tuesday and deliver a speech to the student body. Ideally, you’d focus on the importance of studying hard now, so that the kids can get into college, and once getting there, staying focused on graduating with a marketable degree.” Mary waited while Michael digested her words as she pulled on to I-5.

  “Why me? I’m not exactly a poster-boy for higher education.”

  “Nice try, but you and I both know you actually have your B.S. in Electrical Engineering and unlike some other professional athletes, you earned your degree.”

  “But I don’t use it now.”

  Mary tried to squelch the inner sigh dying to make its way out. “Even if you don’t currently use it, we think you’re one of the few men who our students, particularly our male students, would listen to and identify with. All I need is for you to be sincere in your belief that a college education is important.”

  The pregnant silence made Mary want to say something to fill the void. The quiet made her twitchy. Uncomfortable. After what seemed like several minutes, an exhaled breath whispered through the line and Michael spoke up.

  “Ok. I can do that. When do I need to be there?”

  Mary released the breath she hadn’t realized she was holding and gave him the details.

  ~ * ~ * ~

  As Michael jogged up the steps leading into Mary’s school, memories of his Larson High School days, home of the Pirates, floated through his mind. He’d only been there for a couple of years before Catholic Central High School saved him, but a decade later, images of his former classmates crystallized in his mind as though it was yesterday.

  Don and Sue Ellen had been heavy smokers and the Santiago household was ripe with cigarette smoke, fried onions, grease, dirt, and basic human filth. It wasn’t until he left that he understood why his classmates made fun of the way he smelled.

  Whenever he entered Larson High School or simply roamed the halls, clusters of kids pointed at him and refused to meet his eyes. Michael always wore long-sleeved shirts and jeans at all times. He had to cover up Don’s work. Even if a single day passed without a collision between Michael’s body and Don’s fists, bruises dotted his arms and legs. When he wasn’t playing football in the off-season, he knew enough to prevent any teachers, coaches, counselors, or staff members from seeing his body. During season, he shrugged off the multiple contusions all over his arms and legs as part of the game.

  And ensured his teammates never saw his back. No rational explanations could explain that. Not ever.

  Like his son, Don had been a high school football star in Texas until he knocked up Sue Ellen during his senior and her sophomore year. His first familial memory was watching his father back-hand his mother in the kitchen with such force it not only knocked her head full to the side, but it sent an entire pan of scrambled eggs flying through the air until they landed like a Picasso print on the wall.

  He’d been four years old.

  Michael wound through Walker’s halls, pulling his collar to the side a couple of times, yanking his tie twice, and felt fresh sweat break out on his brow. Was his deodorant still working? He rubbed his hands over the short, precise trim he took care of himself every other day and hoped he could make it through the day’s event. To do that, he’d do what he’d been doing for years by pushing everything to the back of his mind and focusing on the task at hand.

  Approaching Mary’s classroom, he found himself excited about seeing her and wondered not for the first time what she thought of him. Quick as the thought flared, he suppressed it. No point in going down that road. He jangled his change and keys in his pockets and felt like a fraud in his suit. Sort of like Santa dressing up as the Easter Bunny except he sure as shit wasn’t bri
nging gift baskets and candy to anyone. He looked down at the folder Shalvington and the blonde in P.R. had put together for him including directions, details regarding the history of College Career Day, Mary’s classroom, and some talking points for the speech the blonde chick suggested.

  “Just in case you don’t have time to prepare any remarks,” she’d reassured him in the morning when he’d dashed to the front office to check in to see if there was anything else he needed before he left. Yeah, right. More like she and Shalvington didn’t think he could articulate anything on his own that wouldn’t embarrass the Tide. He was about a half hour early and realized he needn’t have worried about being late. But if he was doing this, he was doing it right. No late appearances. No fucked up, embarrassing speeches. He’d stayed up until two a.m. the night before practicing. His goal today was the same as every time the Tide’s defense took to the field. Three-and-out. Go in, get the job done, and go home.

  Taking Mary in before she noticed him, Michael thought that Walker’s high school boys and their hormones undoubtedly stood up and paid attention when entering her class. And who could blame them? Today, she looked fantastic. Her shoulder-length dark hair spilled softly on her shoulders and sparkled in the sunlight streaming through the windows. A red v-neck sweater clung to all of her curves while a straight black skirt hugged the bottom half of her feminine form and showed off gracefully chiseled calves that any adult male who considered himself a leg-man would appreciate. She had a body he’d always favored. Full in all the right places and perfectly feminine.

  This had to be the perfect job for her. She had endless patience and a self-deprecating manner. She was funny even though he had always ignored her jokes during their tutoring sessions and steadfastly refused to laugh for reasons he couldn’t recall. She never got frustrated explaining the ins and outs of differential equations. He was surprised she wasn’t teaching at a more prestigious school, or at least a private school with better pay.

  Whatever. He had no business wondering about Mary’s decisions that brought her to Portland and to Walker.