by Brock Law
and kicked the hard wood beneath his feet. His heart pounded as he rubbed off the dribbling sweat from his forehead.
“Who can I tell about this?” Will yelled into the empty house.
He picked himself up and trudged into the living room. The couch caught his fall as he tipped over the arm rest and descended face first into the cushions. Pillows were dashed aside as he lashed at them with his fists and sprawled out on the seat.
His phone buzzed in his pocket. Will jolted up and angrily snatched it out. When he saw it was his mom he growled again.
“How does she always know when something is wrong?” Will shouted at the device.
He accepted the call and took a deep breath.
“Hey, Mom,” Will said with a sober tone.
“Will! The Coxes just called me. They said they saw a police officer going into our house. Are you okay?” Mrs. Mith squealed.
“I’m fine,” Will grumbled. “Someone just tried to break in.”
“Oh my God! Joe, Will said someone tried to break into the house!” she yelled across the beachside cottage at Professor Mith. “Are you okay?”
“Yes, I’m fine,” Will snarled.
She snapped right back, “Did they take anything?”
“No,” he said abruptly.
“Joe,” she screamed again through the cottage, “pack everything up, we’re going home. Will, we’ll be home soon.”
“No, no, you don’t have to come home. Everything’s fine,” Will attempted to assuage her.
“See you in two hours honey,” Mrs. Mith ignored him. “Girls, get up and pack your bags!”
A Little Rebellion Now And Then Is A Good Thing
The mid-morning sky was overcast, the remnants of a violent summer thunderstorm the night before. It was the only thing that made football practice tolerable, because the climbing heat was so strong that the field had already dried out. Will stood idly on the sideline, blankly staring at the action. The blur of players shifted back and forth, leaving him in a meaningless daze.
The impact of what he knew, or didn’t, or was fooled into believing, or really fooled into questioning, made it impossible for him to analyze the play. All morning he’d been drifting in and out of practice, dropping balls, overthrowing and misreading every play. He stood alone. The rest of his squad gathered away, having gotten frustrated with his lack of presence. They kept looking over at him, occasionally slapping him on the back as they walked by, but nothing brought him back from the parallel universe where he was now living. Everything going on around him felt inconsequential. It didn’t really matter. What did matter was just as elusive.
“Mith. Mith!” Coach yelled. “You’re up, let’s go! What’s up with you today? Come on, focus!”
Will looked over at Coach and nodded emotionlessly. Coach’s mouth furrowed with doubt. Will jogged out to center to meet his unit, which was lining up without him.
“Nice of you to join us,” a receiver mocked as Will went past. “You going to get it out this time?”
“I’ll get you,” Will said without inflection.
“Whatever’s got you down, man, you better sort it out before Coach benches you,” the receiver encouraged.
“I got this,” Will fired back. “It’s my start.”
“Glad to hear you say that,” the receiver punched his shoulder. “Now let’s get down there.”
Will took his position behind the center, who turned to give him a long, inquisitive stare before squatting on the line. Will eyed him right back, leaned over, and put his hands out to receive the ball. Turning back around, the center pushed the leather into the dirt, twisted the laces around, huffed and waited for the call.
Looking over the linemen’s shoulders, Will watched the defense. His eyelids fluttered to keep out the beading perspiration. His focus faded on his teammates until the sign above the field house distracted him, the hazy letters of Franklin Field.
“Hike!” Will barked.
The ball shot back into his hands, crushing from the strangling hold with which he clamped. It bulged from both ends as he trapped it and burst with the powdery puff of a muffled pop. He waved his hands and stepped back as whistles started blaring.
“Stop! Stop! Stop!” Coach screamed from the sideline. “What the…? Are you serious?”
Angrily, Will tossed the leathery banana peel away. Everyone looked back at him with collective surprise.
The receiver’s face reeled with fright. “Damn, I’m glad you’re not covering me.”
“It’s about time for some aggression, but, Jesus, Mith, save the good stuff for opening day,” Coach exclaimed.
An assistant coach tossed out a new ball.
“Ok, let’s try it again,” Coach blared.
The team repositioned themselves, most shaking their heads. The center ducked down and the receiver dug his heels into the turf. Looking over, Will saw Coach cross his arms and cock his head. He dialed back in, studying his defense’s structure for a moment, and stuck his hands out.
Before ordering for the ball, Will looked over at his coaches on the sidelines. He perked up, eyes wide, when he recognized a familiar face behind them. However, it wasn’t one he wanted to see.
Resting against the fence at the corner of the field was the old German man from the tour at Independence Hall. He watched Will intently. Once he saw that Will had noticed him, he grinned malevolently and winked.
“Come on, man,” the center snarled.
Paralyzed, Will looked off field with terror. Once the center’s words seeped into his brain, he shuddered. Again the call, and again a ball came spiraling back to him. He jumped back a few paces as the line barricaded. The defense came clamoring, crashing against the line with a spout of anguished curses. He rolled over, looked right, and was rebuffed by tight coverage. He dodged back and looked left. His receiver was breaking lose down field. Hands flew up obscuring his vision. The impending collapse of the pocket loomed. He dropped back, trying to reconnect with his target. The shadow of the defense continued to approach in his fringe. He pumped once, weaving around to view the play down field. A cry flared as the line broke.
“Will!” the center called out.
One of the defensemen tripped and, falling forward, stumbled past the protection. He bounded straight for Will, trying to reestablish his footing, but continuing to reel with his hands flailing. The distracted quarterback looked over as he felt the enveloping mass. He locked eyes with the bumbling defenseman just as they collided.
They crashed, and the defenseman bounced to the side. Will went flying and skidded across the dirt. Doing a summersault before finally wiping out flat, he cracked his helmet on the ground and blacked out. His body flopped right where it hit, making no initial movement. Though distant and ethereal, Will could hear general commotion coming from the sideline. Everyone came galloping over.
“Will! Will! You ok?” the defenseman said as he crawled over.
The center strode up. “Come on Mith, pay attention. Where’ve you been all day?”
Will didn’t respond, though his mouth hung open. He blinked skyward, watching the clouds shift and part. The sun pierced through with a single, pinpoint ray and pried open the blanketing shade. The hole in the atmosphere widened and blasted into Will’s face. It blinded and scorched him back to life. His eyes snapped shut as the coaching staff arrived and crowded around.
“Mith!” Coach said frantically. “Are you okay? Can you move?”
“Damn it, that was a full hit,” the assistant coach scolded the defenseman.
“No contact, means absolutely no contact with the quarterback!” Coach yelled behind him. “Will, are you awake? Don’t move your head. This is not how I wanted to start the season. If he’s got another concussion he’ll be out for weeks.”
Blood started moving through Will’s arteries again, bringing a tingling ripple through his body as it rerouted to the offended parts of his anatomy. Hands and feet twitched, and a corporeal shutter caused his spine to arch. His empty lu
ngs suddenly ballooned outward as he took control of his respiration. He collapsed again and relaxed on the dirt.
“Weeks,” Will mouthed, “time.”
“What’s he saying?” The assistant coach butted in.
Will’s eyes opened, just as the sun was swallowed up by the threatening sky. The clouds swirled around in an iris-like vortex as they shut out the light. Will’s hand reached up, gripping Coach’s arm with deadly pressure.
“Time,” Will repeated.
Coach grabbed hold of Will and pulled him up on to his feet. The quarterback teetered for a moment, shivered and then looked over at the fence.
The assistant coach turned and pushed back the team, “Come on everyone, back up. Sideline, now, gather up. Let’s give him some space.”
“He’s done,” one of the players said lowly.
“Talk to me, Will,” Coach said.
Will searched the fence line for the old German man, but he was gone. Sternness returned to his face. His eyes reflected the gray heavens, and assumed a determined countenance as his chin gradually turned towards the coach. His play caller jerked back, wary of the quarterback’s sudden severity.
Will’s jaws grinded against each other, parted, and finally he said, “My ears are ringing. There’s drumming in my head.”
Power Must Never Be Trusted Without A Check
Will, Greene and Wayne huddled around a white-clothed table in the window of a restaurant across the street from Independence Mall. Sandwiches and small salads cluttered the surface. None of the men were all that eager to eat, however. Each had taken a few