My Name Is River Blue (25 page)

"He's right,"
said Max. "Let's do it."

Several of my
teammates gave me encouraging pats on the back, and when I looked to the
sideline to get the hand signals from Coach Riddle, he was grinning like a
crazy man. After I checked my wristband and understood the play he called for
me, I was grinning more than he was. I signed back that I understood him, and
then voiced the play to my teammates. When we broke our huddle, the whole
offense was chuckling.

With the ball on
our own twenty-five yard line, Coach Riddle had called a quarterback draw. As
our team came to the line, their middle linebacker was still jawing at me, but
I kept my focus on executing the play.

In the shotgun, I
barked the signals, took the snap, and then paused a moment to allow the
defense to come in, and my line to block them off to the sides. I saw the
opening with only the loudmouthed middle linebacker in my way. I accelerated through
the hole as fast as I could, knowing that the linebacker would expect me to
avoid him to one side or the other. Instead, I lowered my shoulder and purposely
crashed directly into Mr. Big Mouth, sending him sprawling backwards while I
somehow managed to stay on my feet. There was no way that I could have hit him
any harder than I did.

I spun out of
their safety's attempted tackle, and then shot like a missile down the center
of the field for a seventy-five yard touchdown. From the moment that I broke away
from the safety, and our fans realized that no one would catch me, they all
stood and filled my ears with a growing roar that excited me as nothing ever
had. When I crossed the goal line for the score, I was unprepared for how it
would sound to have so many people stand and stomp their feet simultaneously with
the chant of my name, "Blue." Repeatedly, I heard the perfectly timed
stomp and chant as if they were never going to stop.

I turned to face
the crowd and some of my teammates who were running towards me to celebrate. I
could never explain to anyone why I did something so out of character for me,
but I tossed the football to an official, and bowed at the waist as if I had
just finished playing at a piano recital. For the rest of my life, I would
remember the sight and sound of more than four thousand people showing their
approval of a state kid whose own mother didn't want him.

The atmosphere
was intoxicating, and I fell in love with football that night. For the first
time in my life, I found something I could do exceptionally well, and as
conceited as it sounds, it was effortless for me. It was something I was born
to do, and people actually cheered for me. At that moment, I knew that everything
Papa said was true. I had a chance to be more than a loser all my life. I
really
could
be special.

The highest
praise the Lions' coach could have given me was his notification to the referee
that he was playing the game under protest. The next day, the coach would
demand proof of my eligibility to play football for Harper Springs Junior High
because he suspected that I was too old to be an eighth grade student, and that
most likely, I wasn't even a resident. He thought Coach Riddle had probably
given the conference office a fake address in Harper Springs, when I was really
from some other area. He lost his protest.

When I returned
to the sideline, my teammates continued to celebrate and congratulate me. The
cheerleaders chanted my name, and my coaches slapped my butt, which I assumed
was the standard way that all coaches said, "Good job." I searched
the sideline for the one person I most wanted to see and couldn't find him
until Papa tapped me on my back. I forgot all about looking cool and acted like
a five-year old when I jumped into Papa's arms.

"Nice run, River,"
said Papa. "I'm proud of you, but you better be careful with all this
sappy hugging stuff before someone thinks you're a good boy."

After the Lions'
linebacker limped off the field with the help of his coach and trainer, the
game resumed. The Lions' offense looked good again when they drove to our twenty-yard
line, but that's when their quarterback threw an interception to Gary Carson in
the end zone, which gave us the ball at our own twenty-yard line.

On our first
play of that series, I handed off to Max Summers, who rushed up the middle for
seven yards. On second down and three, I took the ball from under center and
faked the handoff to Max before rolling right, looking to pass downfield to Ant.
At first, Ant was covered, and I looked for another receiver, but found no one open.
I scrambled to avoid Lions' tacklers, and I was just about to tuck the ball and
run, when I saw that the Lions' corner covering Ant had given up on the play. I
set my feet and heaved a long pass to my roommate, who caught it and ran
untouched for another score.

I thought the
crowd was loud on the first touchdown, but after Ant caught my long pass and scored,
the noise resembled a rock concert. With our pep band playing loudly, and our
fans yelling for the whole game, I wasn't sure if I would be able to hear the
next day.

That night our
team played at a higher level than even Coach Riddle thought possible and by
halftime, there was little doubt about the game's outcome with the Hawks
leading 35-7. Even with some of the other starters and me sitting out the
entire fourth quarter, we still won by a score of 56-14. I had rushed for 229
yards and three touchdowns and passed for 231 yards and three more touchdowns. Ant
caught three touchdowns passes, and Max rushed for two more scores. Even Gary
scored for our defense when he intercepted a pass and ran it back sixty-two
yards for a pick six.

By the time we played
our next game, I think all the football fans in Harper Springs had heard of Ant,
Max, Gary, and me. Most of the high school varsity team watched the second game
along with local news reporters, and many adults that I had never seen. When
the game was over, our team had dominated the other team the same as we had the
Lions in our first game.

It was routine
for the sports reporter from the local town newspaper to interview junior high
players, but there were reporters from all over the county after our second
game, and they specifically wanted to interview me. Papa had warned me never to
put myself before the team, so I politely told the reporters that I would
answer questions if they gave equal time to my teammates. The reporters were
surprisingly nice about it, and I enjoyed watching the guys answer questions and
bask in the attention.

I chuckled at
Ant, who turned speechless when a reporter shoved a microphone under his nose,
and we both howled when the same reporter couldn't get Max to shut up. Even the
reporter was laughing when Max volunteered his phone number and told him that
he wanted the girls in the county to know that he was presently available for
dating. It was especially funny considering Max was almost three years away
from a driver's license. At our age, it was important to say cool things about
girls and attempt to sound more mature than we were.

By the end of
our third game, my life had changed, and I felt the pressure that comes with living
up to peoples' expectations of a star athlete. I kept hearing that fans were
looking forward to seeing me play for the high school varsity team because they
believed that I could lead the Hawks to a long overdue state championship. For
many reasons, I wasn't comfortable with that kind of talk and did nothing to
encourage it. I wanted to focus on helping my junior high team win instead of
worrying about my future with the varsity. I also didn't want to alienate the
older guys whose support I would need if I saw any playing time on the varsity
my freshman year.

Strangers spoke to
me as if we were friends. In the hallways at school, teachers and students I
hardly knew waved or called out a greeting to me for the first time. The
popular white girls suddenly dismissed, as shallow and unimportant, the notion
that I was not good enough for them because of my background and mixed race. The
same girls brought me cookies and cakes to school, and since I rarely ate
sweets, I thanked them and gave the food to my teammates and my foster
brothers.

Carlee was not
happy with girls who gave me baked goods and flirted with me, but I assured her
that the other girls meant nothing to me. I explained my promise to Papa that I
would be polite to people, even the ones I didn't like, and that was most of
the people I met. There was certainly no chance that I would spend time with
any girls who waited until I became a popular football player to speak to me. Carlee
apologized for acting immature, but she never stopped worrying which was a
constant source of stress for me.

***

During the week
after our third win, Mr. Latham's secretary called me over the PA system to
report to the school office after last bell. When the school day was over, I
stopped by the office as Mrs. Cross had instructed. I was surprised when she
smiled and handed me a bundle of mail. There were twelve letters, and all of
them were addressed to me in care of the school. I could hardly believe it when
she explained that it was my fan mail. I was surprised that Hawks fans would really
take the time to write a junior high player, but it was more proof of how
fanatical the town of Harper Springs was about football.

Most of the
letters were short notes from adult supporters who congratulated me on my game
performances and encouraged me to make good grades so I would be eligible to
play varsity in high school. Providing my guardians approved, one man offered
to give me twenty dollars for each "A" I made.

Two of the
letters were from anonymous girls who knew very little about football but were
very specific in describing what they wanted to do with me. I'm serious. I
showed those two letters to Ant, and I'm not sure how many times he read them
before he destroyed them.

One of the
letters was from a nine-year old boy who gushed about how great I was and swore
that he was training hard to be as good as me one day. He didn't think I would
call him, but he left his phone number because he hoped I would. I did call
Jacob, and I'm not sure who enjoyed the call more. It was awesome for me to
have the power to make a younger kid feel good.

Another letter
was very different from the others. It was in a plain white envelope addressed
to me in care of the high school. The postmark stamp was from Greenville, which
covered a broad area. There was no return address. Inside, on a regular sheet
of notebook paper there was a message written very small in pencil.

"
You think you
are hot shit but you are a worthless half breed bastard. You fucked with the
wrong one. I am watching you. You will pay and you will pay more. When I
decide, you will pay it all."

I read the words
many times and tried to guess who sent the letter. I wanted to believe it was
some idiot's idea of a joke, but I kept wondering if someone was really after
me and why. I thought it might be someone from Stockwell, but I knew that a staff
member read the boys' letters before they were mailed. Every inmate knew he
would be punished and could have time added to his sentence for using
threatening or abusive language in his letters. Even Krieger wasn't that dumb.

I thought of Mr.
Carver and John Malley, my former CO. They were under strict supervision in
prison, and the staff would never allow such a letter to be sent to anyone. I
remembered Miss Martin telling me that both of them were prohibited from any
kind of contact with a former victim or any other minor.

I shared the
letter with Ant, who immediately suggested that I tell the Mackeys. They called
Miss Martin and Papa. By the next day, Mr. Latham, Coach Riddle, and the police
were involved. Although everyone knew the letter could be the hoax, they all
took it seriously and investigated it thoroughly. After a week, there was no
evidence that anyone I knew from my past or current life sent the letter.

The police
thought it was some stupid kid's prank. Maybe a jealous student who hates
jocks. However, they recommended that my guardians keep close supervision of my
activities so that I was never alone. If the school or I received another
suspicious letter, we were to call the police and let them open it before a
bunch of people ruined the fingerprints as we did with the first letter. The
police also advised us not to tell anyone else about the letter. They were
worried that if kids at school heard that it might inspire copycat letters that
would make it impossible to investigate any real threat.

My guardians
didn't need to make many changes in my schedule or my supervision because I was
seldom ever alone. The biggest difference was that instead of allowing Ant and
I to walk or jog to and from the park, Hal, Jenny, or Papa drove us. We only
went to the park if Papa was working with us that day.

After a couple
of weeks, we all began to believe the police were right and that the letter was
from some dumb kid at my school, maybe even some girl that I ignored. After a
month, I had too many other things going on in my life to worry about some
stupid letter. Hal made sense when he said that putting up with nutty people
might be part of the price I paid for fame and success.

***

The Saturday
morning following our fourth game, in which we soundly defeated another team, Carlee
and I took a walk on one of the riding trails at Deer Lake Farm. It was the
first cool morning that indicated that fall was coming to Bergeron County, and
as I looked high into the trees that lined each side of our path, I could see
the leaves beginning to turn. Instead of my normal tee shirt and shorts, it was
cool enough that I wore a long-sleeved flannel shirt with jeans. Carlee dressed
even warmer in a fleece jog suit.