Jimmy (38 page)

“Come in,” answered a nasally voice tinged with a slight lisp.

Coach Nixon's office covered the entire end of the building. In one corner was a large grease board with black and red
X
's and
O
's on it. A standard wooden school desk sat in the middle, and in the other corner rested the small bed where Coach Nixon slept every Thursday night during football season.

Daddy and Uncle Bart spoke of Coach Nixon with awe. Sixty years old, Vance Nixon looked more like a badminton instructor than a football coach. Slightly built, the balding football coach weighed half as much as some of the team's offensive linemen, yet he had the force of personality to intimidate a massive player being courted by Southeastern Conference football powerhouses. When angry, Coach Nixon would get on his toes in front of a player and berate him in a torrent of cutting words mixed with saliva. Uncle Bart said no player dared wipe away the spit before the coach turned away.

Coach Nixon stood up from the chair behind his desk as they entered the room.

“Good to see you, Lee,” Coach Nixon said.

“You too, Coach. This is—,” Daddy began.

“No need to introduce me to Jimmy,” the coach interrupted. “I've seen him at the games for years.”

Jimmy's eyes widened. He had no idea the coach knew he lived on planet Earth.

“And,” Coach Nixon continued, “I know the sound of the horn on his bicycle.”

“Did I honk at you?” Jimmy asked.

“Yes. I was at a stoplight the other day, and you very clearly warned the drivers in all directions that you had arrived at the intersection. Are you always careful at stop signs?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Do you follow directions?” the coach asked.

Jimmy hesitated. “When someone tells me how to get to a place I've never been before, I don't always understand the right street to turn on. Mama and Daddy help me learn the way before I go by myself. But once I learn the way, I don't get lost.”

Coach Nixon smiled. “You have good parents.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Do you obey teachers and parents?”

“Yes, sir.”

“What do you know about the job of manager for the football team?”

Jimmy carefully listed the tasks he'd observed: “Carry extra footballs, give the players water, put tape on players' ankles, clean up the sidelines.”

“That's a good start,” Coach Nixon said, “but there is a lot more that happens before and after the game.”

The coach launched into a lecture about the manager's job. The longer he talked, the more nervous Jimmy became. The manager's job sounded like the most important task on the football team. The coach embellished his description with words far outside the range of Jimmy's vocabulary. Without proper hydration the players ran the risk of heatstroke, even death, he said. The wrong helmet on a player's head could result in a concussion and permanent brain damage. An incorrect jersey number could confuse the quarterback and result in a pass to a tight end instead of a wide receiver.

“Can you handle those responsibilities?” the coach asked.

Jimmy swallowed hard. Daddy spoke. “Once Jimmy learns something, it's in him forever. He's a hard worker and very conscientious.”

“Is that true?” Coach Nixon asked Jimmy.

Jimmy wasn't sure about the last word, but he knew Daddy wouldn't lie.

“Yes, sir.”

The coach reached across the desk and shook Jimmy's hand.

“Welcome to the Cattaloochie County High School football program. We start practice in three weeks.”

Daddy and Coach Nixon talked several more minutes about the team's prospects for the coming season. Jimmy didn't try to follow the conversation. He spent the time looking at everything in the office. The walls were lined with team photos from past years. He wondered which one was Daddy's team.

Jimmy had never seen the coach's whistle up close. It hung from a nail behind the desk. On a shelf beside the grease board was a helmet cracked open down the middle. Jimmy figured it was probably the result of a manager's mistake.

“Thanks, Coach,” Daddy said, standing up. “We'll have Jimmy here an hour before practice. Would it help if I stayed the first morning to help get him acclimated?”

“No, I'll put him with Chris Meadows, an experienced manager who will teach him the ropes.”

“The boy with the leg problem?” Daddy asked.

“Yes. I think he's a good choice to work with Jimmy. He's overcome a lot of adversity. He has a temper that flares up occasionally, but only when someone puts him down. I like his spunk.”

J
IMMY WAS QUIET IN THE CAR ON THE RIDE HOME AND STARED
out the window. They entered the city limits of Piney Grove.

“Are you okay?” Daddy asked.

“Yes, sir.”

“Are you scared that you'll have trouble doing the manager job?”

After a few moments, Jimmy said, “Yes, sir, but it's not like swimming.”

“Why not?” Daddy asked.

Jimmy took off his cap and looked at the captain on the front.

“It's like climbing the pole. If I work hard, I can learn how to do it.”

They rode in silence the rest of the way to the house.

“Do you believe I will be a good manager?” Jimmy asked as the car rolled to a stop.

Daddy reached out and patted him on the shoulder.

“No doubt about it. You'll be one of the best managers Coach Nixon has ever seen.”

J
IMMY CLIMBED TO THE TOP OF THE POLE TWO MORE TIMES
before football practice started. Both times, Daddy was present, holding on to the safety rope.

Early on a Monday morning, Jimmy sleepily rolled over in bed.

“Wake up!” Daddy called out.

“Where's Mama?” he asked.

“Downstairs fixing breakfast. Today is the first day of football practice. You have to be there an hour early.”

Before Daddy finished speaking, Jimmy was sitting up in bed rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

“I'll take a shower and come downstairs,” he said.

“No. You'll need a shower after practice, not before. I'm sure working as a manager is hot, sweaty work. The temperature is going to hit ninety-six by noon.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Do you know the clothes you want to wear?”

Jimmy pointed to a chair near his closet. He and Mama had picked out a shirt and socks the previous night. He had a pair of old running shoes to wear.

“Okay, that's fine,” Daddy replied. “And remember, no University of Georgia hats. What
college did Coach Nixon attend?”

“Auburn.”

“What is their team mascot?”

Daddy had taught Jimmy the mascot of every Southeastern Conference team.

Jimmy stood up and stretched. “They can't decide. Sometimes it's an eagle; sometimes it's a tiger.”

Daddy smiled. “I would love to hear you say that to Coach Nixon, but don't do it.”

“Why not?”

“He's a serious man. From now on, Cattaloochie County High School is the most important team in your life.”

“Yes, sir.”

J
IMMY DRESSED AND RAN IN TO THE HALL.
H
E ADJUSTED THE
Cattaloochie cap in the mirror at the head of the stairs.

“I'm not very hungry,” he said to Mama when he entered the kitchen.

“That's because you're excited. You need to eat a good breakfast so you won't run out of energy before I pick you up.”

Mama put a plate of scrambled eggs, bacon, and two biscuits in front of him. The smell of the food revived Jimmy's appetite. He cut open a biscuit and watched a pat of butter disappear into the hot white bread.

“I'm going to drop you off on my way to work,” Daddy said. “Mama will pick you up and take you back for the afternoon practice. Then I'll bring you home after work.”

Chewing his food, Jimmy nodded.

“It's going to be hot, so make sure you drink a lot of water,” Mama said.

“That's part of my job,” Jimmy said. “I'll give the players water.”

“And don't forget to drink some yourself,” Daddy added. “Grab a cup even if you don't feel thirsty.”

“I like hot weather,” Jimmy said.

“Not me,” Mama said. “If this old house hadn't been modernized, I couldn't live here.”

Jimmy finished scooping up his eggs while his parents talked. Daddy was going to have lunch with the Lions Club. Jimmy couldn't remember a Southeastern Conference football team with a lion as a mascot.

“I'm going to work in the flower beds while it's still cool outside,” Mama said.

Jimmy paused. “I won't be here to help you.”

“That's okay,” she replied. “You'll be doing your new manager job.”

“Could we do the flower beds tomorrow?” Jimmy asked. “I'd like to be with you. And Grandpa could use some fresh worms.”

“No, you have football practice every day for the next two weeks,” Daddy answered. “It's like going back to school.”

Mama began clearing off the table. “Or a real job.”

Jimmy put down his glass of orange juice. “I want to work for the Georgia Power Company.”

“Don't worry about planning the rest of your life just yet,” Daddy said. “Let's go to the football field.”

Jimmy's heart beat faster than normal as they turned onto the access road to the stadium. They weren't the first to arrive. Coach Nixon's little car as well as the vehicles driven by the assistant coaches were already parked on the grass at the edge of the practice field. The men stood in a casual group. Coach Nixon was not in sight. When Jimmy got out of the car and began to walk, his feet left a faint impression on the damp grass.

“The grass is still wet,” he said.

“This dew won't last long,” Daddy replied.

They approached the assistant coaches. Jimmy recognized a couple of faces but didn't know their names. The men turned toward them as they approached.

“Good morning, Mr. Mitchell,” several called out.

One of the familiar faces nodded toward Jimmy with a smile. “And you too, Jimmy.”

Jimmy didn't say anything. The men wore identical blue shorts and white T-shirts emblazoned with “Captain Football—Varsity” on the front. Jimmy adjusted his cap and wondered if he'd ever be allowed to wear one of the shirts.

Daddy moved into the midst of the group and began shaking hands and talking. Jimmy stood at the edge and watched. Being at the field was scarier than he'd expected, and the idea that he would be responsible for something related to the football team was almost frightening. Daddy turned to go. Jimmy stepped closer to him and edged back toward the car.

“Are you okay?” Daddy asked.

Jimmy shook his head. “No. I don't know what to do.”

“They'll tell you. Until then, stand here and wait. Don't worry.”

It would be a lot easier to help Mama weed the flower beds than to stay at the football field. Daddy leaned closer to him and put his arm around his shoulders.

“It's like climbing the pole.”

“A little bit at a time.”

“That's right. I told the coaches what a hard worker you are. Listen carefully to what you're told and do it.”

“Yes, sir. I'll be okay,” Jimmy replied with more confidence than he felt.

He watched Daddy's car until it disappeared around a corner. Sighing, Jimmy turned back toward the coaches and moved closer to await instructions. The men continued talking. They didn't seem in a hurry to do anything. Jimmy could see that two of them had packs of chewing tobacco in the back pocket of their shorts. Jimmy had never seen chewing tobacco up close. Grandpa had warned him that chewing tobacco was a nasty habit, a lot worse than chewing bubble gum. Jimmy tilted his head to try to see the picture on the front of the pouch. He stepped closer until he stood directly behind one of the men, an older coach with close-cut gray hair. The pouch portrayed an Indian chief similar to one in a book Jimmy had at home. Suddenly, the coach turned and saw Jimmy staring at his rear end.

“Mitchell!” he yelled.

Jimmy stepped back and turned around to see if his father had returned.

“Your daddy is gone. What are you looking at!” the man demanded.

Jimmy didn't answer. He looked up into a fierce pair of black eyes under bushy eyebrows.

“I'm talking to you, son. Answer me.”

“Coach Bolton, remember, he's slow,” one of the younger coaches said.

“No, sir,” Jimmy responded. “I'm a fast runner.”

Coach Bolton looked down at him. “Fast? Show me how fast you can run. Do you see Coach Nixon walking down the hill on the other side of the field behind the goalposts?”

“Yes, sir.”

“If I tell you something to say to him, can you remember?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Tell him Coach Bolton found the defensive playbook behind the seat of his truck.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Tell him to repeat it back,” the younger coach said. “I'm not sure he understood.”

“Don't you remember?” another coach interjected. “This is the boy who testified in the court case that led to Sheriff Brinson's resignation. He has a photographic memory.”

“What did I say to you?” Coach Bolton asked Jimmy. “Coach Sellers thinks you have a photographic memory.”

“Coach Bolton
found the defensive playbook behind the seat of his truck,” Jimmy repeated.

“What did I tell you?” said Coach Sellers.

“He's already smarter than half the boys I've got on defense this year,” Coach Bolton grunted.

Turning to Jimmy, he said, “Go!”

Jimmy started running across the field. He'd never run on a real football field before. The white lines flew by beneath his feet. He stepped on the numbers and imagined the feeling of a football player with the ball in his arms being chased by the other team. He didn't slow down until he crossed the end-zone line and approached Coach Nixon.