by Herman Brown
He nodded as he walked out of the room.
Even though I was exhausted, I had trouble sleeping. I lay awake thinking half the night. I wanted to change a few things about myself. I wanted to pick up extra shifts at the café and make more money so I could get Dad’s back window fixed. And I wanted to buy my own car so I could visit Mom at least a couple times a month. I decided I’d commit to a university out of state that had strong academics and an unimportant division-two football team. Those were all things I could control—ways to make my life better.
But the main thing I kept thinking about was the end of that night’s football game. I liked that part a lot.
We’d been down thirty-one–twenty-seven, with half a minute left on the clock. We had the ball at the Harvest Valley thirty-eight.
Coach called for Orlando to run a fly pattern—he was the primary target on this play. If he was open, I had to hit him. I took a seven-step drop and scanned the field. Orlando had beaten his guy and had separation heading to the end zone. But I didn’t throw it to him. I pump-faked his way, and the Harvest Valley safety bit, stepping toward him. That left Ernie open on the other side, and I threw it his way. It was a beautiful pass, a tight spiral that shined under the stadium lights. The whole stadium watched along with me as Ernie reached out his big arms, caught it, and ran it in for the win.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Herman Brown is a writer from Minneapolis.