Hail Mary (3 page)

Michael knew the little punk was gunning for his job and was chomping at the bit to prove worthy of his first round draft selection. As long as he stayed healthy, Tamar was staying on the bench. He had at least ten good seasons left in him, maybe more.

They’d have to cart him off in a body bag before he’d relinquish his starting position to the rookie punk.

“Hey, Tamar? Would you be interested in working with high school students?”

Michael thought Shalvington had taken off, but evidently not.
Oh, fuck
.

Shalvington wouldn’t do what he thought he would do.

Would he?

“Of course, my man. You know I’m all about giving back to the future of our country. And high school students fucking love me. They worship me. They see me living the dream. What can I do?”

Motherfucker.

“Perfect. A friend of Santiago’s who teaches at Walker High, a local high school, wants a Tide player to come and talk to the students about college. Pretty basic stuff. If you have a minute, we can go call her.”

Oh no.

Oh hell no.

No way was that little mouthy fuck getting anywhere near Mary. Fucking figured Shalvington would play him like this.

Michael sat up, internally cursed, and gave in.

“That won’t be necessary, Shalvington. What do I have to do?”

~ * ~ * ~

Mary was running from her Quiz Bowl coaching session to spin class Thursday afternoon when the phone started ringing. She searched in her monstrous bag for her cell phone, found it, opened the car door, fired up the Volvo wagon, and flipped it open without checking caller ID.

“Hello?”

“Mary? It’s Michael. Michael Santiago.”

As if she wouldn’t recognize his voice. Even with the coughing and some clearing of the throat. He could be continents away calling on a cell phone with its last bar and she would still recognize the distinctive tones--deep and smooth, practically silky.

“Oh. Hi.”

“I got a message about some college day at your school?”

“Yes. Thanks for calling. I teach math at Walker High School and every fall, we host a College Career Day for all students, but mainly sophomores and juniors. The goal is to get the kids focused on doing well now and figuring out where they want to go and what they want to do so that when they apply to schools as seniors, there aren’t any surprises. We try and maximize their ability to be admitted into the schools of their choice and communicate the importance of graduating with a college degree. I normally wouldn’t have called you about it, but when I ran into you the other night, it dawned on me that maybe you’d be open to doing something like this. I don’t mean to intrude on your time, but it’s an important event for our school.” She paused to take a breath after her rushed speech.

“What would I have to do?”

“Show up next Tuesday and deliver a speech to the student body. Ideally, you’d focus on the importance of studying hard now, so that the kids can get into college, and once getting there, staying focused on graduating with a marketable degree.” Mary waited while Michael digested her words as she pulled on to I-5.

“Why me? I’m not exactly a poster-boy for higher education.”

“Nice try, but you and I both know you actually have your B.S. in Electrical Engineering and unlike some other professional athletes, you earned your degree.”

“But I don’t use it now.”

Mary tried to squelch the inner sigh dying to make its way out. “Even if you don’t currently use it, we think you’re one of the few men who our students, particularly our male students, would listen to and identify with. All I need is for you to be sincere in your belief that a college education is important.”

The pregnant silence made Mary want to say something to fill the void. The quiet made her twitchy. Uncomfortable. After what seemed like several minutes, an exhaled breath whispered through the line and Michael spoke up.

“Ok. I can do that. When do I need to be there?”

Mary released the breath she hadn’t realized she was holding and gave him the details.

~ * ~ * ~

As Michael jogged up the steps leading into Mary’s school, memories of his Larson High School days, home of the Pirates, floated through his mind. He’d only been there for a couple of years before Catholic Central High School saved him, but a decade later, images of his former classmates crystallized in his mind as though it was yesterday.

Don and Sue Ellen had been heavy smokers and the Santiago household was ripe with cigarette smoke, fried onions, grease, dirt, and basic human filth. It wasn’t until he left that he understood why his classmates made fun of the way he smelled.

Whenever he entered Larson High School or simply roamed the halls, clusters of kids pointed at him and refused to meet his eyes. Michael always wore long-sleeved shirts and jeans at all times. He had to cover up Don’s work. Even if a single day passed without a collision between Michael’s body and Don’s fists, bruises dotted his arms and legs. When he wasn’t playing football in the off-season, he knew enough to prevent any teachers, coaches, counselors, or staff members from seeing his body. During season, he shrugged off the multiple contusions all over his arms and legs as part of the game.

And ensured his teammates never saw his back. No rational explanations could explain that. Not ever.

Like his son, Don had been a high school football star in Texas until he knocked up Sue Ellen during his senior and her sophomore year. His first familial memory was watching his father back-hand his mother in the kitchen with such force it not only knocked her head full to the side, but it sent an entire pan of scrambled eggs flying through the air until they landed like a Picasso print on the wall.

He’d been four years old.

Michael wound through Walker’s halls, pulling his collar to the side a couple of times, yanking his tie twice, and felt fresh sweat break out on his brow. Was his deodorant still working? He rubbed his hands over the short, precise trim he took care of himself every other day and hoped he could make it through the day’s event. To do that, he’d do what he’d been doing for years by pushing everything to the back of his mind and focusing on the task at hand.

Approaching Mary’s classroom, he found himself excited about seeing her and wondered not for the first time what she thought of him. Quick as the thought flared, he suppressed it. No point in going down that road. He jangled his change and keys in his pockets and felt like a fraud in his suit. Sort of like Santa dressing up as the Easter Bunny except he sure as shit wasn’t bringing gift baskets and candy to anyone. He looked down at the folder Shalvington and the blonde in P.R. had put together for him including directions, details regarding the history of College Career Day, Mary’s classroom, and some talking points for the speech the blonde chick suggested.

“Just in case you don’t have time to prepare any remarks,” she’d reassured him in the morning when he’d dashed to the front office to check in to see if there was anything else he needed before he left. Yeah, right. More like she and Shalvington didn’t think he could articulate anything on his own that wouldn’t embarrass the Tide. He was about a half hour early and realized he needn’t have worried about being late. But if he was doing this, he was doing it right. No late appearances. No fucked up, embarrassing speeches. He’d stayed up until two a.m. the night before practicing. His goal today was the same as every time the Tide’s defense took to the field. Three-and-out. Go in, get the job done, and go home.

Taking Mary in before she noticed him, Michael thought that Walker’s high school boys and their hormones undoubtedly stood up and paid attention when entering her class. And who could blame them? Today, she looked fantastic. Her shoulder-length dark hair spilled softly on her shoulders and sparkled in the sunlight streaming through the windows. A red v-neck sweater clung to all of her curves while a straight black skirt hugged the bottom half of her feminine form and showed off gracefully chiseled calves that any adult male who considered himself a leg-man would appreciate. She had a body he’d always favored. Full in all the right places and perfectly feminine.

This had to be the perfect job for her. She had endless patience and a self-deprecating manner. She was funny even though he had always ignored her jokes during their tutoring sessions and steadfastly refused to laugh for reasons he couldn’t recall. She never got frustrated explaining the ins and outs of differential equations. He was surprised she wasn’t teaching at a more prestigious school, or at least a private school with better pay.

Whatever. He had no business wondering about Mary’s decisions that brought her to Portland and to Walker.

She was bent over some notes on her desk when he entered her classroom and announced himself with a simple knock and “Hey.”

Mary looked up and her smile sent a jolt of warmth to his heart along with a shot of lust to his groin.

“Michael. Thank you for doing this. Come in, come in,” she proclaimed, straightening up and ushering him in. When he’d first appeared, Mary started making her way over to him while he hung back in the doorway, waiting, as though he was unsure what to do.

Michael dropped his eyes to the right, fiddled with his blue-flecked tie, and swung his eyes back to Mary’s. “Are we in here?” he asked, taking in the details of Mary’s cramped classroom.

“Oh no. We’ll be in the gym.”

“What’s the format?”

“I’ll introduce you first, then you’ll do your thing. If you have time, it’d be great if you took some questions afterwards from the audience. If not, we understand.” Mary’s eyes telegraphed her hope that he could hang around and answer questions. Nothing had ever seemed as important as pleasing her.

“I can probably do that. I’m not sure how long my remarks are, but I can hang around for awhile. I cleared my schedule and Coach doesn’t expect me back today.” This was true, although Michael planned on high-tailing it back to Tide headquarters as soon as he was finished.

“Great. Again, I cannot thank you enough for doing this, Michael.”

For once, he was doing the right thing for the right reason.

“Let’s go. Even though you’re not speaking for awhile, it’ll be good for you to see the gym, familiarize yourself with the layout and meet some of the other teachers and staff before you begin,” Mary suggested as they exited her classroom.

~ * ~ * ~

By the end of College Career Day, Mary was convinced if Michael ever traded his cleats and pads for chalk and mid-terms, all of Walker would make it to higher education. All the boys wanted to be him. He’d apparently convinced enough of them that college actually was important. All the girls seemed to have serious crushes on him. Not even her fellow teachers or administrators were immune to his quiet charm. Afterwards, Dr. Boxer, Walker’s fifty-three- year-old principal, had practically cooed when she thanked him for speaking.

After the students were seated in the bleachers and had suppressed their chatter to a manageable whisper, Mary had introduced him. He launched into his story, supplying details that were news to Mary, lending a glimpse to added dimensions. He attended Catholic Central High School in Dallas, Texas, before he was recruited by the University of Wisconsin-Madison. There, he earned his bachelor of science in Electrical Engineering in four years.

Michael had started out awkward. He was visibly uncomfortable, fidgeting with his tie, tapping his hands on the side of the podium. Not making eye contact with the audience and looking down at his notes. Walker’s student body swiftly grew restless and let him know it. While they might have been excited at first to have a professional athlete in their midst, the cell phones, sidekicks, and other PDAs had soon come out and were put to quick use, filling each others’ in boxes and text folders.

It was as if the restlessness of the crowd awakened Michael. He quit looking at his notes and started speaking from his heart. His deep voice was as rich as maple sugar but slightly raspy, as though from lack of use. The audience had been hooked.

Eventually the inevitable question had come from one of the junior boys. “Isn’t it a little bogus for you to tell us to go to college when you get paid to play football? I mean, do you even use your college degree?”

“It’s a fair question.” Michael had taken the microphone out of the podium stand and walked the length of the bleachers. “Does the name Bruce Vianes mean anything to you?” Michael asked the junior and by extension, the rest of the audience.

“No, sir.”

“I’m not surprised. You don’t know about Bruce because he never made it to the NFL draft. Fourth game of our senior season, we were playing Michigan State. Vianes, a wide-receiver, took a big hit while going up for a sixty yard pass. He broke his neck when he came down after the tackle. He’s paralyzed from the neck down. Because Vianes was a hot shot prospect both in high school and in the Big Ten, he made no plans if his professional career didn’t work out. He never worked towards any degree. He didn’t graduate and last I knew, he was living with his parents and selling stereos at Best Buy.”

Letting his message sink in, Michael took a drink of water before he finished. “Bottom line? Nothing’s certain in this life and you can’t count on anyone or anything except yourself and hard work. Hard work will get you an education and it will land you a job. Now, for me, I don’t know when my NFL days will be over, but when they are, I intend to put my degree to good use.”

Afterwards, Michael had been flooded with interested students and smitten teachers, including Calleigh whose brief introduction was interrupted by clamoring spectators. He’d shot a look at Mary that screamed “help” and she’d run interference for the next three hours--keeping the lines flowing, making sure no one person monopolized his time and no one said anything inappropriate.

“You’ve got to be bushed. I’m used to these guys and even I’m exhausted,” Mary remarked on a long exhale as she and Michael walked through Walker’s halls on their return to her classroom.

Michael looked down at his shoes as they made their way through the halls and chuckled softly. “They’re something else.”