Chapter 1. Images


    Cold sweat blurred his vision and stung his eyes. His legs throbbed. His breaths came in hard uneven gasps. The hot afternoon wind slammed against his helmet. Behind him, he felt a presence. He turned nothing was there but the ball falling through space. He extended his hands and missed the ball. It bounced out of bounds. Then in the heat he saw an odd shadow. At least he thought he did. He stood there immobile and frightened, staring at nothing.


    Coach Wilson shouted, “Aaron this is football not freeze tag. Get back in line so we can run that play again.”


    Angrily Joe Aaron jabbed his fingers through the grill of his helmet and rubbed his eyes. Just sweat, that was all. He tossed the ball to Coach Wilson before he lined up. The play was called, the ball smacked into quarterback, Stan Pierce’s hands and Joe ran, hard and fast down the middle. Darryl, his best friend, couldn’t catch him, no one could. They grabbed and fell. His eyes scanned for the ball. Up, up in a beautiful arc, down, down, he increased his speed, held out his hands. Sting. The ball landed with a hard thwack. He tucked it safely in his arms as he ran toward the goal. White lines passed beneath him. The shadow of the goal posts slashed across him. Touch down!


    The whistle blew. Coach Wilson shouted, “Great job! Offense do that Friday night. Defense don’t do that. Everybody, hit the showers.”


    Joe trotted toward the field house. Behind him his teammates kidded and pushed each other. Inside the locker room, Joe peeled off his jersey, pads and pants. He grabbed a towel and went to the showers. Communal showers had never been his thing. Even after all his years in athletics he still dreaded being naked in public. He stepped in front of a showerhead and turned it on. Cold water struck his body. He flinched. Slowly the water grew warmer.


    As Joe soaped up his chest, Darryl came into the showers. He took the one next to Joe and shouted, “I think we need some naked women in here!"


    Hoots and shouts sounded all around.


    To Joe, Darryl loudly whispered, "I still think Pearlman might be a girl. Bet that''s why he never showers with us." Pearlman Jenkins was their geek manager. He had yet to sprout a single whisker on his face. Darryl took a step out of the shower and said, "Maybe we should find out."


    Pearlman was mopping up water near the showers. He got teased a lot, but he didn''t let it get to him. He loved football and since he was too scrawny to play, he did whatever he could to just be part of the team. Joe said, "Darryl, leave him alone."


    “Why? He likes it when I talk to him. He thinks we''re friends."


    "Just leave him alone."


    Pissed, Darryl stepped back into the shower. "What, you don''t want me to be mean to your special friend?”


    “Shut up.” Joe rinsed off, grabbed his towel and went to his locker. After he dried off, he put his clothes on. He had left a wet trail from the showers that Pearlman would have to mop up. Feeling guilty he sopped up the trail with his towel.


    Darryl shook his head at him when he saw him. Pearlman noticed too and nodded his thanks. Inside Joe cursed himself for his niceness. As he tossed his towel into the laundry, Coach Wilson came out of his office. A big smile creased his face when he saw Joe. Reluctantly Joe smiled back. Coach said, “I got something I want you to see.”


    “Yes sir?”


    “Yep, I found it in the vault. Amazing stuff.” He had an odd light in his eyes. “I think you will really get a kick out of it.” He slapped Joe on the back, then hollered, “Get your asses out of the shower boys!’’ To Joe, he said, “Go get you a front row seat. I don’t want you to miss a second.” Joe nodded and went to the viewing room. Rows of benches filled the room. A big TV was mounted to the wall. Were they going to have to watch some inspirational football shit movie clip again? God he hoped not. He sat down on the front bench.


    Slowly the rest of the team filed in. Darryl plunked down beside him. Coach Wilson rocked back and forth on his heels as the room settled down. “Flip the lights, Pearlman.” Pearlman got up and walked to the switch. He did walk like a girl.


    Darryl whispered, “Hope this movie has naked women in it.”


    Joe asked, “Is that all you ever think about?”


    Darryl grinned, “What else is there?”


    The movie began, only it was NOT a movie it was game footage and it was old. How old? A feeling of panic ripped through Joe. Please, not that old. On the screen, Joe saw him move out of the line. Number 23. He knew his name but he had never said it out loud.


    Across an unfamiliar field Reginald Johnson ran. He was graceful, beautiful, perfect. For an instant Joe forgot he was watching Reginald, he felt like he was watching himself. He was flying, no one could touch him. Play after play was executed. Touch down! Joe watched in disbelief as Reginald did a salute to the crowd. Joe did that too. The other players began to whisper behind him. When Reginald ran off the field, he jerked his helmet off. Joe nearly gasped, but stopped himself. Darryl cocked his head sideways and whispered, “Damn.” The camera panned back to the field.


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    Joe couldn’t watch this anymore. His eyes shot from the screen to Coach Wilson. Coach smiled and nodded. No. This was his worst nightmare come true. Then, he felt Darryl’s eyes on him but he did not turn. Had Darryl figured it out too? Joe was too scared to look. Sweat seeped out of his every pore. Suddenly he felt cold and sick.


    Coach Wilson cut the TV off. “Pearlman, get the lights.” The room went from dark to light. He said, “I wanted you to see this, so you would know what you are capable of.” Though he said this to the whole team, Joe knew the words were directed at him.


    Perlman asked, “Who was that number 23? He sure could fly?”


    Stupid Pearlman! He asked too many questions, geeks always did.  When Coach Wilson said, “That was Reginald Johnson,” Joe felt his body go numb.


    Stupid Pearlman asked, “What college did he play for? I never heard of him.” Joe wanted to punch Pearlman. Why had he stopped Darryl from teasing the sissy smart ass? He wouldn''t protect him again. Inside his chest, Joe''s heart picked up speed. He had to get out of here and fast.


    Coach Wilson hesitated, before he said, “He was recruited by OU and Texas A & M. He went to Texas A & M.”


    Joe met Coach Wilson''s eyes. In his head he begged, Please stop this.


    Before Pearlman could ask another question, Coach said, “Dismissed.”


    Careful not to look at anyone, Joe stood, left the field house and went straight to Darryl’s beat up purple Ford Fiesta. The door wasn’t locked because it was busted. He climbed inside.


    When Darryl got into the car, he didn’t say anything, but Joe could feel his thoughts. He had questions, questions Joe prayed he would not ask.


    Darryl stuck the key in the ignition. "Joe, bow you head."


    Joe protested, "I don''t think lying to Jesus is a good idea."


    "IT don''t matter what you think, its what Purple Bomb believes!" He smacked the back of Joe''s head forcing him to bow. With deep sincerity Darryl began to pray, “Jesus my Lord and Savior, do me this little favor, give life to Purple Bomb and I will be your faithful one. Amen.” He turned the key. The car shook, then rumbled, then burst into rattles. Darryl punched the gas and they jerked forward. The car wobbled a little as they made the turn and roared when they hit the street.


    Joe reached for the radio knob and punched it. Loud Spanish music filled the car.


    “What the hell?”


    Darryl grinned. “Purple Bomb likes Spanish music.”


    Joe rolled his eyes. He switched it to a rock station. The reception was terrible. He turned it up even louder. It didn’t help. Darryl switched it back to the Spanish station. It came in so clearly. The stupid car was possessed.


    When they reached Joe’s apartment, Darryl cut the radio. He looked directly at him and asked, “That number 23, was he your old man?”


    Joe didn’t answer. He slammed the car door and ran to his ground floor apartment. His hand shook as he rammed his key into the door. Behind him he heard the Purple Bomb roar away. He pushed open the door. It swung back and banged against the wall. It left a mark on the wall. Mama wouldn’t like that. In his room he hurled his back pack onto the bed. It bounced off and landed hard on the floor. Why had coach shown that? Why? Did he think it would help? It didn’t help.


    In his mind, Joe could still see Reginald run. Worst of all was that moment he took off his helmet. Joe went to his mother’s room. She was at work and he wasn’t supposed to be in there. He opened her closet. Totally forbidden territory. On the top shelf was a stack of old yearbooks. He pulled the second from the top down. His fingers trembled as he opened the book. His fingertips left sweat marks on the pages as he turned them. On page 201 was a picture of Reginald in his uniform. He stood so tall, his smile big, his helmet under his arm. For several long minutes Joe studied Reginald’s face. He had never thought he looked like him, until now. It was so obvious. He had grown into his father’s face. How and when had that happened?


    With book in hand, Joe looked at himself in his mother’s full length mirror. He stood exactly the way Reginald did in the picture. The resemblance was so eerie. Like a photo copy. Joe slammed the book closed.