The stench of burned beans filled the apartment. Joe felt sick. He never should have eaten that canned chili before a game, but he was too lazy to fix anything else and now he was paying. His stomach gurgled. Nerves, just nerves and chili, he would be fine, he had to be fine. Tonight was the first game of his journey toward a State Championship. The words beneath Reginald’s picture flashed through his mind. All District, All Region, All State. He wanted those same words beneath his picture in the yearbook. He wanted all the chances Reginald had blown.

A horn blasted outside. Purple Bomb had arrived. Joe grabbed his gear and locked the front door.

Purple Bomb was rocking to Salsa music when he climbed into the car. “Do we have to listen to that shit?”

“Si.” Darryl pulled away from the curb and cranked up the music. Purple Bomb shimmied to the rhythm. The motion did not help. The closer they got to the stadium, the worse Joe felt.

Darryl asked, “You okay?”

“I had chili for supper.”

“That was stupid.”

“Could we stop by the nursing home. Maybe Mama’s got something that will make me feel better.”

“I guess, but don’t expect me to go in there with you.” Darryl turned the wheel and they headed toward the bay. Around the next corner was a big sign that said, “Welcome to Shady Acres by the Bay.” It was a tan brick building that had seen better days. There were only a few cars in the parking lot. Darryl pulled into a space near the front door. As Joe climbed out he said, “Don’t be long. I don’t want Coach blaming me cause his precious Joe is late.”

“I'll just be a second.” Joe slammed the door and braced himself to enter the nursing home. He hated the place and he had never understood why Mama liked working there, but she did and she had for the past 15 years. The instant he opened the glass door, the smell hit him. The awful smell of antiseptic and old people. Old people smelled bad, they all smelled bad. His stomach made a peculiar sound. He shouldn’t have come here. Just as he turned to leave, a familiar voice called out, “Hey Joe.”

For an instant he hesitated, he could pretend not to hear.

“Joe?”

He turned. It was Morrow Anderson. She pushed her glasses up and smiled. He said, “Uh, hi.”

“If you’re looking for you mom, she’s with my grandpa. Follow me.”

Joe did not want to follow, he wanted to get the hell out of there, but he couldn’t. Mama would wonder why he stopped by without saying hello. Then she would worry about him the rest of the evening. Reluctantly, Joe followed Morrow down the hall and into a room. The room stunk worse than the hall.

Mr. Anderson sat propped up on pillows. Once he had been a big man, now he was all bones and blue skin. In a chair beside him, Mama sat in her bright orange scrubs slowly feeding Mr. Anderson something green and squishy.

Mama turned and smiled at Joe. For an instant he forgot about his stomach and his nose. He always felt better when Mama smiled.

Mr. Anderson coughed and spit food all over his bib. Apologetically, the old man smiled and said, “Sorry you had to see that son.”

“Oh, it’s okay.” Mama began to mop the goo off Mr. Anderson. “He’s seen worse. Haven’t you Joe?”

Though he had not, Joe nodded.

Mama asked, “You need something, Honey?”

“Got any anti-acids?”

“In my purse, I will get it for you when I’m finished.”

“Uh, Darryl is waiting for me. I’ll just get something from Coach Wilson.”

Mama stopped cleaning up Mr. Anderson. She leveled him with her gaze. “You make sure it is just anti-acids. I don’t want them giving you anything else.”

“Mama, the coaches don’t hand out drugs.”

“They used to, when Reg—“ she cut herself off. She had almost said Reginald’s name. She never said Reginald’s name. Abruptly she changed the subject. “Let me give you a kiss for luck.”

Morrow said, “I thought you didn’t believe in luck, Miss Aaron.”

“I don’t, I just want to kiss my son.”

Embarrassed Joe and allowed her to kiss his cheek. At that moment Mr. Anderson cut one. It smelled like a dead cat two days past ripe.

Mr. Anderson chuckled, “Sorry folks. It is amazing what old age does to your bowels. Used to have control, now-” he paused, and let another one rip. “Now, I’m thinking about taking up butt kazoo.”

“Grandpa!” Morrow turned red. She grabbed hold of Joe’s arm and pulled him out of the room. Outside she wrinkled her nose and said, “I’m sorry. Grandpa thinks farting is funny, he always has.”

“Uh, I gotta get to the game.”

“I’ll walk you out.”

“Okay.” If she wanted to walk him out, she was going to have to walk really fast. Joe turned on his heel and headed down the hall. What he really wanted to do was run, run fast out of this death trap. Crazy old people lined the halls in their old people diapers. The doors were in sight. Had he lost Morrow? He didn’t know. He turned, she was there, striding beside him. He pushed through the doors. Air, clean and untainted filled his nostrils.

The doors swung closed. Morrow touched his arm. He looked down into her eyes, for the first time he noticed they were sky blue. “Joe,” she said softly, “You are going to do fine tonight. Just trust yourself. My mom says nerves are good, they keep us sharp.”

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“Thanks.”

She let go of his arm.

Darryl pointed at his wrist, which had no watch on it and shouted, “Time to get the heck out of Dodge.”

To Darryl, Joe said, “I’m coming.” Then he asked Morrow, “You going to the game?”

“I might.”

Joe climbed inside Purple Bomb.

Through the window Darryl yelled, “Pray for my car!” Morrow bowed her head. Darryl twisted the key. The dumb thing roared to life, Salsa music and all. Above the noise Darryl shouted, “Morrow, you got the power!”

*

The sky was big blue and changing as the sun neared the horizon. The lights on the scoreboard were set at all zeros. As the game began, Joe was vaguely aware of the heat, the band music and the crowd. He kept his eyes off the cheerleaders. He must stay focused. The grass was slick and the line was fidgety. Across the narrow strip of turf, the white and red jerseys of Baytown Lee supported angry helmeted faces. After Baytown’s failed field goal attempt, the Tigers had the ball. Stan called the play. It was the one they practiced yesterday. He heard the ball hit Stan’s palms and he took off running his appointed path. Stan spiraled the pass to him. Joe extended his hands. Smack. He had it. His legs stretched out, his felt his speed increase. Faster, so fast, flying. Pure flight. One white line, then two passed beneath him. Someone was near, they were coming closer. He didn’t look back. He would execute this play the way he had in practice. Another line crossed, then another. He could hear the crowd. The noise throbbed through his body. The goal posts were fast approaching. The roar of the crowd increased. Joe wished he could run forever. He crossed over the final line. TOUCHDOWN! People were on their feet screaming and cheering for him. Him. He saluted to the crowd, and then his mind spewed out the image of Reginald doing the same thing. A chill went through him.

A voice broke into his thoughts. “Son, I need the ball.”

Embarrassed Joe tossed the ball to the referee and lined up for the field goal. A soccer player named Sam, booted it in. The number 7 appeared on the scoreboard. Joe ran off the field, Darryl was still on the bench. Big as he was he didn’t play much. He would rather watch the drill team or the cheerleaders than get all sweaty. Joe sat down beside him. Darryl pointed at Christy. “She has not taken her eyes off of you, look.”

She waved.

“I bet if you go over there she’ll talk dirty to you. I hear she can talk rrreal dirrrty.” Darryl pushed him and said, “Go on, get up. She’s waiting for you.”

“I’d get in trouble.”

Darryl shook his head. “For somebody who never, NEVER, gets in trouble you sure do worry about it a lot.”

“I got to stay focused.”

“Oh yeah, the scouts might be watching. Wouldn’t want to blow your big future.” Darryl got up and went to the sidelines.

Joe’s eyes strayed to Christy. She was watching him. It made him feel good and uneasy all at once.

The game moved at an easy pace. By fourth quarter the Tigers were ahead 21 points. Darryl was finally on the field for the last seconds of the game. Baytown snapped the ball. Slowly it arced into the sky. Joe saw Darryl take off running. He had never seen him run like that before. His eyes were locked on the ball. Damn, was he going to try to intercept the thing? Darryl stretched out his arms then his whole body. He lunged forward. The ball grazed the end of his finger tips. Darryl’s big body fell with a hard thud. His helmet rammed into the grass. The clock ran out. Angrily, Darryl stood and swung his head around. Bits of turf flew from his grill. Joe heard Coach Wilson say, “Never seen him run like that.” When Darryl came to the sidelines Coach patted his shoulder pad and said something. The anger left Darryl’s face and he grinned.

He ran to Joe and said, “Did you see me. I flew.”

Joe laughed, “Yeah, straight into the ground.”

Dark anger returned to Darryl’s eyes. They went to shake the other teams hands, Joe hated this final act of the game. Once he had palmed what seemed like 100 Baytown players, he headed for the field house. Christy Thorton stopped him at the goal post.

“I am having some people over why don’t you stop by?” The wind caught her hair and sent it flying all around her face. It looked so soft. Joe wanted to reach out and touch it.

She frowned and asked, “You coming?”

From behind Darryl chucked him upside the head. He said, “Only if he can bring a friend.”

Christy wrinkled her perfect nose. “Uh, sure, I guess.”

“Okay, he’s coming. Now, where do you live?”

“6300 Bay Road.” Christy reached up and touched Joe’s cheek. A strange sensation tore through him. “See YOU in a bit.”

Joe watched her walk away. She had a nice swing to her step. Darryl was watching too. He muttered, “Rich Bitch.”

“Shh, she will hear you.”

“Hey its true. But man don’t you think she has a nice ass?“

Joe did, but he wasn't going to say it out loud. He grinned to himself. This might be a better night than he ever imagined.