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Now we’re all poised for success, aided in no small part by the fame of our football-star father. Walking out to the field now, I can still see Mom on the porch laughing and cheering us on.
She loved her sons, even if they were wild animals, and she loved her only daughter, the light of her life.
“How was that?” Hendrix passes the ball to Jack, clear on the other side of the park, and I think of all of us, he was the most obsessed, the most like our dad. “Jack and I are going to clean the field with you two.”
“I’m playing, too!” Dylan skips sideways, holding Garrett’s arm.
“You cover Zane, and I’ll take Butt Face over here.” Garrett nods at our brother.
Jack catches the pass easily, and the four of us line up facing each other with Jack a few feet behind Hendrix waiting for the snap.
“You’re so fat, you have your own weather system.” Garrett loves to trash talk on the line.
“You’re so fat…” Hendrix falters, and Garrett straightens waiting.
“What?”
“You’re fat.”
“Bruh, your burn game is embarrassing. We gotta work on it before you leave for LA.”
“Yeah, but myballgame is strong. Watch me!” Hendrix makes the snap and shoots straight forward like a rocket.
Garrett’s on him, and I cut to the left, getting out of the clump before turning back to where Jack is looking for who’s open. Obviously, it’s me. Garrett is the best lineman I know, and Dylan’s a shrimp.
What I don’t expect is for her to be keeping pace with me, tracking my moves like a real cornerback. Jack makes the pass, and I reach out, swiping it right out of her hands.
“Dang it!” Dylan jumps up and down with the graceful style of a ballerina.
“Way to hustle.” I pass the ball to Jack before patting her shoulder.
“Seven-zero!” Hendrix yells, all fired up. “Nice try, Swan Lake!”
“Don’t be hasslin’ my girl!” Garrett lifts Dylan off her feet in a hug. “That was a good run, Dee!”
We’re back at the line, and this time Jack plays QB for Garrett and Dylan, who takes off running as fast as our younger brother. Hendrix is right on her heels, reaching easily over her head to steal the pass.
She gives him a shove, and he laughs, yelling, “Illegal contact!”
“I was the receiver!” She pushes him again, and he laughs more, running to the center of the field before Garrett stops him.
Dylan’s arms are crossed, and she’s pouty on her way back to the lineup.
“Don’t hate the player, hate the game!” Hendrix does a shuffle step, which makes her sulk more.
“Just because you’re all a foot taller than I am.”
We line up again, and I’m inclined to give Dylan a break, since she’s working so hard. Hendrix knows me too well, and insists I cover Garrett this time.
It’s how we spend the rest of the afternoon. Until the sun slowly makes its way to the horizon, and the chill in the air grows a touch more distinct. It never gets too cold this far south.
More people have stopped to watch us, clapping and cheering as each side runs it in for the score. Everyone in this small town knew our dad, and they know we’re continuing his legacy. I guess it is a little thrill to see us play, even if it’s just for fun.
With one goal separating us, our youngest siblings won’t stop until we have a clear winner. Garrett manages to keep Hendrix at bay long enough for Dylan to complete a pass and run it in, and she does a little pirouette in the end zone.
“Excessive celebration—call it back!” Hendrix yells, and Dylan flips him the bird, which makes everyone laugh.
“Looks like y’all need one more player to even things out.” Dylan’s dance partner Craig runs onto the field.
