Blue 42 by C.A. Rene
Chapter one
Dixon
The Memorial Stadium field shines a vivid green in the early morning sun and the smell of freshly mowed grass is intoxicating. Tonight, is my final game with the Clemson Tigers and everything I’ve worked so hard for is coming to fruition. My family needs me to succeed and I need to be the father figure my brother is so desperately searching for. The pressure would crush the typical college kid, but nothing about me is typical.
I jog down the hill and head towards the locker room, Coach will be pissed if I’m late. He’s going to have us running plays for hours, perfecting every single toss, and analyzing every catch. It’s why we’re number one in the Atlantic Coast Conference and playing our final playoff game against the Alabama Crimson Tide. We've had an undefeated season so far and I want to leave here a champion; I won’t accept anything less.
“North!” Coach snaps from his office, “in here.”
I step inside and see his forehead wrinkled in concentration.
“Sup, Coach?”
He looks at me above his reading glasses, his brown eyes narrowing, and his thin mouth pursed. “Why are you late?”
It’s five fucking minutes and I can guarantee no one else is even here, I can’t say that though because I respect the man. He’s the reason why I’m here, the reason why I am who I am, and the father figure I had so desperately been seeking.
“Sorry, sir.” I nod my head, “I stopped to look over the field.”
His eyes soften a bit and he gives me a brusque nod in return. “How’s the knee?”
I took a hit a few weeks ago and landed hard on my left knee, luckily no damage except for bruising.
“Good,” I flex my leg. “Strong.”
“Okay, son.” He waves me away, “go on and get ready for warmups.”
“Yes, sir.” I head into the locker room.
Clemson University is located in South Carolina; the weather is mild; and the team pride here is amazing. We’re number one each year for a reason. I know it’s due to our hard work but it’s also in our determination to never let our fans down and they repay us in unconditional love. The rush their screams give us, that adrenaline coursing through our bodies when they chant our names, and the exhilaration when that pigskin kisses our fingertips, sending them into a frenzy. I live for those moments. It’s sad that I’m in my fourth and final year, but I’m excited for the future.
The silence of the locker room greets me and I know I don’t have much time left to myself. Our lockers are lined in perfect rows of bronzed metal and each one has a silver plaque; our names etched into the surface. I stand in front of mine and rest my forehead against the door.
North.
One day, I will have my name on an NFL jersey, on an NFL locker, and engraved into a championship ring, I won’t settle for anything less.
I have been scouted since my senior year of high school; I decided I would never let this opportunity pass me by, and I would succeed for the people that need me most, Mom and my little brother Danny.
St. Francis Academy gave me my first taste of football and thankfully Clemson noticed, offering me the chance of a lifetime. I needed that chance because Westport, Baltimore is one of the roughest places to grow up in; crime is high, and gangs run it.
I would’ve been swept up in a gang if it wasn’t for Mom working three jobs to get my ass into St. Francis and then continuing when I needed equipment. I will forever be indebted to her and as soon as I can, I am getting her and Danny out of Westport.
Danny.
My little brother who shows no interest in sports, doesn’t like academics, and thinks ‘bitches’ are a pastime. He’s quickly becoming a victim to the streets of Baltimore and I can’t do a single thing about it right now. Mom tries to make things sound great at home, but I know they’re not, and I know Danny is on his last leg at school. It’s his final year and the principal is threatening to kick his ass out for skipping class and fighting.
Like I said, the pressure’s on and I need to get them the hell out of Maryland.
“North.” A hand claps me on the shoulder and I turn to see our quarterback, Andrew Mills.
“Hey, man,” I spin and grab his hand in mine, pulling him in for a hug.
Andrew is our team's star; he’s dedicated, and he’s pulling points scouts are salivating for. His parents are middle class New Yorkers and even though he grew up not lacking for much, he’s still hardened. He keeps his brown hair short and his green eyes are always analyzing. It’s part of who he is and what makes him a great QB. He’s a bit shorter than me and his body is leaner; but he’s quick. His skin is also unnaturally pale looking and when we have long days in the sun, he turns into a lobster.
“You looked down for a bit there,” he remarks when we break apart, “everything okay? How’s the knee?”
“Nah, everything is fine.” I bounce on my leg, “leg is strong, just pregame nerves.”
“That Buffalo scout will be back tonight,” his smile widens, “he has his eye on someone.”
“I just want that draft pick.” I grin back at him and we bump fists.
Guys begin to trickle in and my silent pleas against my locker are ended; now all I’ve got is my talent and drive.
There’s a buzz in here this morning, we’re hyped, and we’re ready to play this last game like our lives depend on it. We share the same energy and it’s swirling thick over our heads, potent in our blood.
“C’mon ladies!” Coach calls into the locker room, “let's get these drills down, and then I want to run a few plays with the Taxi Squad. We are winning this one tonight, girls!”
The guys all collectively roar around me and I stand still, letting my eyes shut and breathe in this moment. After tonight, it’s going to be gone.
The steam from the hot showers drift around me as I stand in front of the mirror and stare into my dark brown eyes. I can still see the hunger and I can still feel the desperation in my muscles. My warm brown skin is coated in dried mud and my uniform looks the same. This year I really filled out and now fit the look required for my position, wide receiver. I’m quick and I worked hard on my runs, dropping my yard times consistently. I splash water on my face and watch as the drops run over the angular slopes of my cheeks, dipping off my chiseled jaw.
I pull my gloves off my hands and stare at my long fingers; they’re nimble and Coach says the best hands he’s worked with yet. They’re like magnets, drawing that ball swiftly into their clutches, and then nestle it safely as I run my ass to the end zone. These hands are fucking magic. I run my fingers along my short, black hair, watching as the steam rises from the showers in the reflection.
“North, are you nervous?” Mills asks when he gets out of the shower.
“Not nervous,” I shake my head, searching for a way to express what I’m feeling, “I’m… psyched to finally start my life.”
“Everyone knows the scout is coming for you,” his hand claps down on my shoulder, “I’m here for another year but I’m ready to show you off tonight.”
I nod and beam at him. Andrew and I have been working together for three years now, some even call us married. We play like one unit, think on the same level, and react as one. When that ball flies from his hands, I am always in the right spot to bring it home, and we do cause quite the sensation in the stands.
He grips my shoulder before sauntering off into the locker room and I am once again looking at my reflection, I’ve only got this one chance.
It’s the fourth with ten seconds left in the game. We’ve got ten yards inside the Alabama line and we’re all tired. We’re tied at a touchdown a piece and the tension has brought the stadium down to a nervous hush. My head pulses inside of my helmet in time with my erratic heartbeats and my muscles are shaking with fatigue.
I see the look in their cornerback’s eyes as he watches me warily and he’s fucking dog tired too. But this is it, a make-it or break-it play and I won’t settle for mediocre. I give him a nod of respect because he’s working hard and he gives one back. There’s no hate between our teams regardless of what people see on the field. We just want the same things and only the best can get it.
The play is called and instead of running forward, I hop back and dart around the cornerback. I zone out what’s happening behind me and look up to see the ball sailing towards me; then my fingers are digging into the leather. My vision tunnels and the end zone is a pulsing beacon of light, everything else dims. The energy snakes up my legs and I’m bolting forward, darting around Alabama’s defensemen. I hear them behind me but it’s too late, I hit that end zone, and the elation spreads all over me. We fucking did it.
The crowd goes insane as I fall to my knees and cradle the ball to my chest, my blood pumping through my veins. I lean back and throw my face up to the sky, roaring my victory. I hear my teammates screaming as they rush towards me, throwing their helmets, and the force of their footfalls vibrating the earth under my legs.
I’m hoisted up in the air and the crowd begins to chant my name. North! North! The bright stadium lights burn into my retinas and white dots color my vision. I pull my helmet off and hold it above my head.
“Dixon North!” I scream.
