With the ball on our own twenty-five yard line, Coach Riddle had called a quarterback draw. As our team came to the line, their middle linebacker was still jawing at me, but I kept my focus on executing the play.
In the shotgun, I barked the signals, took the snap, and then paused a moment to allow the defense to come in, and my line to block them off to the sides. I saw the opening with only the loudmouthed middle linebacker in my way. I accelerated through the hole as fast as I could, knowing that the linebacker would expect me to avoid him to one side or the other. Instead, I lowered my shoulder and purposely crashed directly into Mr. Big Mouth, sending him sprawling backwards while I somehow managed to stay on my feet. There was no way that I could have hit him any harder than I did.
I spun out of their safety's attempted tackle, and then shot like a missile down the center of the field for a seventy-five yard touchdown. From the moment that I broke away from the safety, and our fans realized that no one would catch me, they all stood and filled my ears with a growing roar that excited me as nothing ever had. When I crossed the goal line for the score, I was unprepared for how it would sound to have so many people stand and stomp their feet simultaneously with the chant of my name, "Blue." Repeatedly, I heard the perfectly timed stomp and chant as if they were never going to stop.
I turned to face the crowd and some of my teammates who were running towards me to celebrate. I could never explain to anyone why I did something so out of character for me, but I tossed the football to an official, and bowed at the waist as if I had just finished playing at a piano recital. For the rest of my life, I would remember the sight and sound of more than four thousand people showing their approval of a state kid whose own mother didn't want him.
The atmosphere was intoxicating, and I fell in love with football that night. For the first time in my life, I found something I could do exceptionally well, and as conceited as it sounds, it was effortless for me. It was something I was born to do, and people actually cheered for me. At that moment, I knew that everything Papa said was true. I had a chance to be more than a loser all my life. I really could be special.
The highest praise the Lions' coach could have given me was his notification to the referee that he was playing the game under protest. The next day, the coach would demand proof of my eligibility to play football for Harper Springs Junior High because he suspected that I was too old to be an eighth grade student, and that most likely, I wasn't even a resident. He thought Coach Riddle had probably given the conference office a fake address in Harper Springs, when I was really from some other area. He lost his protest.
When I returned to the sideline, my teammates continued to celebrate and congratulate me. The cheerleaders chanted my name, and my coaches slapped my butt, which I assumed was the standard way that all coaches said, "Good job." I searched the sideline for the one person I most wanted to see and couldn't find him until Papa tapped me on my back. I forgot all about looking cool and acted like a five-year old when I jumped into Papa's arms.
"Nice run, River," said Papa. "I'm proud of you, but you better be careful with all this sappy hugging stuff before someone thinks you're a good boy."
After the Lions' linebacker limped off the field with the help of his coach and trainer, the game resumed. The Lions' offense looked good again when they drove to our twenty-yard line, but that's when their quarterback threw an interception to Gary Carson in the end zone, which gave us the ball at our own twenty-yard line.
On our first play of that series, I handed off to Max Summers, who rushed up the middle for seven yards. On second down and three, I took the ball from under center and faked the handoff to Max before rolling right, looking to pass downfield to Ant. At first, Ant was covered, and I looked for another receiver, but found no one open. I scrambled to avoid Lions' tacklers, and I was just about to tuck the ball and run, when I saw that the Lions' corner covering Ant had given up on the play. I set my feet and heaved a long pass to my roommate, who caught it and ran untouched for another score.
I thought the crowd was loud on the first touchdown, but after Ant caught my long pass and scored, the noise resembled a rock concert. With our pep band playing loudly, and our fans yelling for the whole game, I wasn't sure if I would be able to hear the next day.
That night our team played at a higher level than even Coach Riddle thought possible and by halftime, there was little doubt about the game's outcome with the Hawks leading 35-7. Even with some of the other starters and me sitting out the entire fourth quarter, we still won by a score of 56-14. I had rushed for 229 yards and three touchdowns and passed for 231 yards and three more touchdowns. Ant caught three touchdowns passes, and Max rushed for two more scores. Even Gary scored for our defense when he intercepted a pass and ran it back sixty-two yards for a pick six.
By the time we played our next game, I think all the football fans in Harper Springs had heard of Ant, Max, Gary, and me. Most of the high school varsity team watched the second game along with local news reporters, and many adults that I had never seen. When the game was over, our team had dominated the other team the same as we had the Lions in our first game.
It was routine for the sports reporter from the local town newspaper to interview junior high players, but there were reporters from all over the county after our second game, and they specifically wanted to interview me. Papa had warned me never to put myself before the team, so I politely told the reporters that I would answer questions if they gave equal time to my teammates. The reporters were surprisingly nice about it, and I enjoyed watching the guys answer questions and bask in the attention.
I chuckled at Ant, who turned speechless when a reporter shoved a microphone under his nose, and we both howled when the same reporter couldn't get Max to shut up. Even the reporter was laughing when Max volunteered his phone number and told him that he wanted the girls in the county to know that he was presently available for dating. It was especially funny considering Max was almost three years away from a driver's license. At our age, it was important to say cool things about girls and attempt to sound more mature than we were.
By the end of our third game, my life had changed, and I felt the pressure that comes with living up to peoples' expectations of a star athlete. I kept hearing that fans were looking forward to seeing me play for the high school varsity team because they believed that I could lead the Hawks to a long overdue state championship. For many reasons, I wasn't comfortable with that kind of talk and did nothing to encourage it. I wanted to focus on helping my junior high team win instead of worrying about my future with the varsity. I also didn't want to alienate the older guys whose support I would need if I saw any playing time on the varsity my freshman year.
Strangers spoke to me as if we were friends. In the hallways at school, teachers and students I hardly knew waved or called out a greeting to me for the first time. The popular white girls suddenly dismissed, as shallow and unimportant, the notion that I was not good enough for them because of my background and mixed race. The same girls brought me cookies and cakes to school, and since I rarely ate sweets, I thanked them and gave the food to my teammates and my foster brothers.
Carlee was not happy with girls who gave me baked goods and flirted with me, but I assured her that the other girls meant nothing to me. I explained my promise to Papa that I would be polite to people, even the ones I didn't like, and that was most of the people I met. There was certainly no chance that I would spend time with any girls who waited until I became a popular football player to speak to me. Carlee apologized for acting immature, but she never stopped worrying which was a constant source of stress for me.
***
During the week after our third win, Mr. Latham's secretary called me over the PA system to report to the school office after last bell. When the school day was over, I stopped by the office as Mrs. Cross had instructed. I was surprised when she smiled and handed me a bundle of mail. There were twelve letters, and all of them were addressed to me in care of the
school. I could hardly believe it when she explained that it was my fan mail. I was surprised that Hawks fans would really take the time to write a junior high player, but it was more proof of how fanatical the town of Harper Springs was about football.
Most of the letters were short notes from adult supporters who congratulated me on my game performances and encouraged me to make good grades so I would be eligible to play varsity in high school. Providing my guardians approved, one man offered to give me twenty dollars for each "A" I made.
Two of the letters were from anonymous girls who knew very little about football but were very specific in describing what they wanted to do with me. I'm serious. I showed those two letters to Ant, and I'm not sure how many times he read them before he destroyed them.
One of the letters was from a nine-year old boy who gushed about how great I was and swore that he was training hard to be as good as me one day. He didn't think I would call him, but he left his phone number because he hoped I would. I did call Jacob, and I'm not sure who enjoyed the call more. It was awesome for me to have the power to make a younger kid feel good.
Another letter was very different from the others. It was in a plain white envelope addressed to me in care of the high school. The postmark stamp was from Greenville, which covered a broad area. There was no return address. Inside, on a regular sheet of notebook paper there was a message written very small in pencil.
"You think you are hot shit but you are a worthless half breed bastard. You fucked with the wrong one. I am watching you. You will pay and you will pay more. When I decide, you will pay it all."
I read the words many times and tried to guess who sent the letter. I wanted to believe it was some idiot's idea of a joke, but I kept wondering if someone was really after me and why. I thought it might be someone from Stockwell, but I knew that a staff member read the boys' letters before they were mailed. Every inmate knew he would be punished and could have time added to his sentence for using threatening or abusive language in his letters. Even Krieger wasn't that dumb.
I thought of Mr. Carver and John Malley, my former CO. They were under strict supervision in prison, and the staff would never allow such a letter to be sent to anyone. I remembered Miss Martin telling me that both of them were prohibited from any kind of contact with a former victim or any other minor.
I shared the letter with Ant, who immediately suggested that I tell the Mackeys. They called Miss Martin and Papa. By the next day, Mr. Latham, Coach Riddle, and the police were involved. Although everyone knew the letter could be the hoax, they all took it seriously and investigated it thoroughly. After a week, there was no evidence that anyone I knew from my past or current life sent the letter.
The police thought it was some stupid kid's prank. Maybe a jealous student who hates jocks. However, they recommended that my guardians keep close supervision of my activities so that I was never alone. If the school or I received another suspicious letter, we were to call the police and let them open it before a bunch of people ruined the fingerprints as we did with the first letter. The police also advised us not to tell anyone else about the letter. They were worried that if kids at school heard that it might inspire copycat letters that would make it impossible to investigate any real threat.
My guardians didn't need to make many changes in my schedule or my supervision because I was seldom ever alone. The biggest difference was that instead of allowing Ant and I to walk or jog to and from the park, Hal, Jenny, or Papa drove us. We only went to the park if Papa was working with us that day.
After a couple of weeks, we all began to believe the police were right and that the letter was from some dumb kid at my school, maybe even some girl that I ignored. After a month, I had too many other things going on in my life to worry about some stupid letter. Hal made sense when he said that putting up with nutty people might be part of the price I paid for fame and success.
***
The Saturday morning following our fourth game, in which we soundly defeated another team, Carlee and I took a walk on one of the riding trails at Deer Lake Farm. It was the first cool morning that indicated that fall was coming to Bergeron County, and as I looked high into the trees that lined each side of our path, I could see the leaves beginning to turn. Instead of my normal tee shirt and shorts, it was cool enough that I wore a long-sleeved flannel shirt with jeans. Carlee dressed even warmer in a fleece jog suit.
Carlee was unusually quiet as we walked hand in hand, and I didn't have to guess what was wrong with her. She was still struggling with my popularity and the fear that other girls might take me away from her. I stopped walking, placed my arms snugly around her, and held her eyes with mine. I wanted badly to convince her that I was telling her the truth about my feelings. Her insecurity was driving me nuts, and I was beginning to wonder if she was worth the stress. Everything in my life was going so well that the only real damper was my time with Carlee when she was in one of her jealous moods that made both of us uncomfortable.
From discussions with Ant, I knew that Tina was nothing like Carlee. Ant and Tina had fun together without all the drama of one of Carlee's moods in which I had to guess what she wanted me to say, and then say it enough that she believed me. The problem was that she was so paranoid that I could never convince her, and it really pissed me off to tell her my honest feelings, and then have her question my sincerity. Had it not been for Ant's advice, which came from Tina, I would have lost my temper and told her to do something tricky with her anatomy.
According to Ant, Carlee needed me to reassure her, not because she didn't trust me, but because she didn't trust other girls. Ant gave me an example of how paranoid Carlee was. Tina and Carlee had been friends for years, but really became best friends about the time Carlee met me, and the main reason for that was that Tina was an African-American girl, who preferred African-American boys. Tina liked me, but she could never like me the way she did Ant and that was exactly what Carlee wanted in a girlfriend and confidant.
"Carlee, listen to me." I held her head in both my hands and brought my face close to hers. "You're the only girl I care about, and it upsets me that you doubt me. What do I have to do?"
"I'm sorry," said Carlee. Her eyes were wet. "You know, we've never said what we are to each other."
"What we are to each other? Sometimes I think I need a girls' dictionary."
"Well, you've never asked me," she said. Her eyes dropped to the ground as if she couldn't bear to look at me.
I contemplated her words and wondered if there was an obvious answer, or if it was encrypted code used by junior high girls. My head began to throb, but I thought about her words and took a shot. "You mean I never asked you to be my girlfriend?"
Carlee remained quiet and continued to stare at the ground between us.
Her silence answered me.
I got it right.
I felt like a game show winner.
"I thought we both understood, but I guess I was wrong. Carlee, you're the only girl I want. Will you be my girlfriend?"
Carlee leaned up and softly kissed my lips. I squeezed her tightly in my arms and kissed her long and hard until I had to fight myself to pull away. There were times when I feared our private moments on the farm because I worried that one day, kissing would no longer be enough. When I was away from her, I thought even more of the consequences of us making the same mistake that I believed my parents might have made.
"River Blue is my boyfriend," said Carlee as if testing the sound of it. "There are other girls who want you because they think you will be rich and famous one day, but I'm the one who really loves you."
"Now that it's official, you still can't tell everyone and risk your parents knowing. If he knew the truth, your father wouldn't worry about being politically correct for the sake of his businesses. He would forbid you to see me."
"As long as I know the truth, I think I can stand it. One day I'll be old enough that it won't matter what my father thinks. He'll still be mad, but one day after we're
married, he'll come around when I tell him he's going to be a grandfather."
I didn't say it, but I thought Carlee's plans were silly. "I’ve heard grandkids can make a difference, but it would probably depend on whether they looked like you or me.”
"I'm not worrying about him. He's not as bad as he sounds and anyway, when I'm eighteen, I can do as I please. What's he going to do? Kill me?"
"Of course, not,” I said. “He would never kill his baby girl. He would kill me."
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Manuel "Manny" Mendoza Flores, who was "Manny" to us, was the manager of Deer Lake Farm where he supervised the six full-time and five part-time workers in every aspect of the horse farm business. Manny lived on the farm in an upstairs apartment over the first barn, and there were two other full-time workers, Mexican-American brothers, living in a mobile home about two hundred yards away.
Manny's father and mother were Mexicans, who were working for Papa's parents and living on the farm when Manny was born. Although Papa was a little older, the two boys became playmates and best friends. When Manny was six years old, his little brother was born. I heard from Louis, one of the full-timers, that Manny's brother was only twenty years old when he died, and although Manny stayed on the farm, his parents moved back to Mexico not long after their youngest son's death.
Ant and I were part-timers and when it came to our jobs, Manny supervised us the same as he did the others. There was work that Manny did not assign to us because of the stringent safety rules for kids our age, but that still left us plenty of chores that farm kids in our state could legally do. Manny was good to us, but we understood that we were not privileged characters because of our relationships with Papa. Papa assured us that Manny's word was law, and if Manny decided to fire us, his decision was final.
My Name Is River Blue Page 21