Aztec Gold
Published by Jack Zatarra at Smashwords
Copyright 2010 Jack Zatarrra
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Carrigan came to the huddle with the play. The Jackrabbits were fighting for respect in the Battle for the Axe; tied, no time on the clock. Football couldn’t have been any better for this crowd on an Aztec Friday night. It was a full moon with Warriors on the hunt.
The Warriors broke when Cisneros put the call out for ‘Route 66’. He said, “Let’s take the Mother Road to glory.” Jackson and Stone tucked in on either side of Marquez. The defense was double-stacked over the middle.
The refs were intrigued; they pocketed their whistles. Cisneros raised his arms, and started the ‘chant’; the Warriors became louder as they shouted every word into the night air. Two Jackrabbits took a step back. One of the boys from the House of Pain shouted, “It looks like Jackrabbit stew is what’s for dinner!’’.
Down, Set! Snap! A great push forward in the middle; RT and RG peeled back inside, one Jackrabbit in pursuit. Schaeffer pitches to Taylor; he turns to follow the giant RT. Cisneros fell on the pile-up over Marquez. Taylor felt the Jackrabbit’s grip loosen; a Warrior ‘sacrifice’ by the QB. He planted his foot on the RT’s number; he leapt high in the air. He crashed into the end zone with Ugly Betty’s twin, on top of the Jackrabbit, wearing the number two jersey…Aztec Gold!
Blood Brothers
Chaz hit the snooze button on his alarm clock for the seventh time. A relic and rescued find of his uncle’s Marine trunk, the Ninja Turtle clock stood, wide-eyed, mocking his lazy manner.
“What the heck is your problem, Gyrene?!”
Chaz found his size-twelve running shoe and gave it a perfect pitch from two feet away. The clock went sliding off the trunk onto the carpet. A soft thud at first, twenty seconds went by. The snooze button told him he still wasn’t up. He fished his hand around the trunk and felt for the off button on the fallen soldier. He gripped the clock with one free hand, pushing the right button with a freed finger.
He didn’t let go of the timekeeper, and started flinging the covers off with his feet. It only took a couple of tries. He slowly made his way to his feet. The clock ended up back on the trunk, staring at his bed. He smiled at the memento, admiring the handiwork he created three years ago. He painted the figure, crimson and gold, the colors of his new high school. He was a miniature Barstow Aztec football warrior.
~~~~~~
He spent fifty-cents at a gum machine to retrieve a pro football helmet for his ‘art project’. His best friend, Mimic the Hawk Cisneros, (‘Mims’ to his closest friends) thought he was foolish to waste two quarters on something you couldn’t eat.
Mims grabbed the bubble surrounding the tiny helmet, and popped it in his mouth. He held out his arms wide and looked at Chaz’s dumbstruck face. Mims stood ‘six foot seven’ and was 320 pounds when he was hungry. He was 320 pounds all the time.
Chaz shoved his fist just below his sternum and forced the air out of the hungry giant. A quick, straight thrust made the plastic snack come straight to Chaz’s eyes. As quick as the thrust and projectile, Mims’s hand reached out to swat the encased treasure. The prize bounced off the store window; the plastic bubble split open, spilling the helmet onto the sidewalk. Mims stepped forward to retrieve it. Chaz was quicker; his hand swooped down to scoop his purchase.
He saw the shadow go over him and felt his body lift off the ground. He held on to his treasure as he saw his feet go to the left; he went flying in the air. He landed in a kneeling position for a moment; he continued to fall over, sliding on the cement.
Chaz found himself on the throwing end of his best friend since the second grade. He could take some of the tough things he dished out.
“Jeez, Mims, we’ll get a couple of tacos on the way home. You don’t have to get all crazy, man.”
He felt his fingers stinging. The ends of his fingers were starting to show bright red.
Mims smiled when he saw his friend’s fingers, “Don’t rub it. Throw some dirt on it, Taylor. Get back in the game, young’n!”
“Yeah, like that’s going to happen. Is that supposed to be Coach Braddock or Coach Irwin?”
“Coach Irwin.”
“That was not good at all, not good at all.”
Mims ignored the impersonation critique and held his gargantuan hand out to help Chaz up.
“You could have paid attention to English and Math and you wouldn’t have to be suffering, watching us practice without you, next summer.”
Chaz felt the power in his buddy’s arm as he flew to his chest; bounced off, landing on his feet.
“My old man is on me to keep the grades up. I got to bust my tail at summer drills without you.”
“It’s my fault and no one else’s.”
“Yeah, it is. Are you going to fix it or what?”
Chaz held up the little headgear and smiled, “I’m working on it. I’ve got some inspiration, now.”
~~~~~
The senior smiled at his creation and thought, ‘This is the day.’ The first day of summer drills, he was ready. For two and a half years, he fought the demons of studying, spending his birthday money on an English tutor to pass his classes. A scraped together GPA was good enough to get back on the team. He had made it.
Mims spent the last two years teaching him every play that the offensive line coaches created for them. The young men spent most of their time on the desert floor running the plays alone. He knew them all by heart.
Chaz changed quickly into his old freshman football shorts and ragged Aztec Phys-Ed shirt. It would have to do. Two years of taking P.E. badminton and dance, and he was only ten pounds heavier. He couldn’t even spell ‘badmitten’, but it was mandatory, and he needed his reflexes to stay sharp. The girls and the geeks hated his downward smashes. He smelled the unwashed garment as he pulled it on. He forgot to wash his clothes over the weekend.
A knock came to the door. He heard his mother’s voice say that Mims was here.
“I’m up. Where’s he at?”
“He’s sitting at the kitchen table. Where else would he be?”
Chaz looked around the room and grabbed his hard-earned football cleats. The shoes came by delivery express from his dad a month before Christmas, his first semester of junior year.
His dad was doing his second tour overseas. He knew he could get over the hump of all his hard work. He was not going to let his son fail. The shoes were one size too big. ‘A long way until summer.’ the note said.
Deployment was not difficult after the first year for Chaz. His father had sat him down after the failed freshman year to talk about ‘manning up.’ His dad was Marine-tough and meant ‘business’ when he talked…most of the time. The talk went quietly, and he sat close to his son on the couch. His father said, ’It was ‘his time’ to find his way to the end of the forest. ‘Your mind is your biggest enemy. Face your greatest fear, and the death of fear is certain’.
He looked at his father’s goodbye note on the wall above the locker. The same words he had said on the couch. It also said he could have his uncle’s locker in the attic to inspire him. It ended with ‘Good luck, Son. I love you.’
He walked over to the locker; knelt down to put his hand on the name, reverently. MSGT D TAYLOR’s stencil stayed under Chaz’s hand as he whispered, “Rough and tough. Hard to bluff. Meaner than a red ant’s butt. Hoo-ah!”
He slung his footwear over his shoulder and went to see what Mims had left him to eat. He thought, ‘It was Mims eating’. He changed his stride and hustled to the kitchen.
It was only 5:30AM. Mims was talking to Chaz’s mom. He put his hand over the two sausages on Mims’s plate; he claimed them with a ‘dibs’. One rule they never broke was ‘fair dibs’ on food.
Mims ate at Chaz’s house on a regular basis. Jeanne Taylor was very accommodating, cooking enough food for his big appetite. She thought that Mimic the Hawk was mature and polite when he came to their house.
Captain Jackson Taylor and Mrs. Taylor adored their son. His childhood ‘friend choices’ were somewhat skewed as the years progressed. They didn’t criticize his pals, but Chaz’s friends felt the strict order when they came to hang out. The ones who got bored easily, gratefully left.
Mimic the Hawk showed up at their door during the third grade after school. Chaz and Mims polished off five sandwiches each while playing video games. He instantly became Chaz’s best friend for life. His mother came to pick up Mims and met Jeanne; they felt the bond that only mothers share. Mims had created a friendship with his appetite and courtesy.
He was from Arizona and was transplanted into this town when his mother met the suave Mexican who worked for the railroad. His stepfather, Mr. Hidalgo Cisneros provided for the mother and her infant son, giving them a modest home to keep while he worked on a railroad repair crew. He was never stern with Mimic the Hawk, and watched him grow to his outstanding size with fascination.
Hidalgo knew that his father was only in the picture for a moment. He came off the reservation one payday, pursuing her with his advances. He left her with the baby boy, a week after his baptism.
He heard stories from his friends on the crew about what kind of messes they had left behind.
He saw the young mother distraught, pushing her stroller with the boy on a hot summer day. She had grocery bags tied to the baby carriage. He could see it in her face; she could not hide the feeling of dread in her eyes. He did not take pity and felt something inside telling him to offer a ride to her. He never compromised the mother and son’s dignity. He was a man of action, and words wouldn’t help her in this situation.
Mims was the embodiment of his stepfather. He could find the good in anyone. His popularity grew since kindergarten, and he grew right along with it. His class pictures showed him in the back row. People always thought he was the janitor who got in the picture by mistake. The sixth grade photo didn’t reveal him hoisting his mother up by the waist as the camera caught the class in ‘time’. She had aspired to become a teacher, and helped her son and his friends pass the sixth grade.
Chaz sat down with the sausages in his fingers. His cleats were still hanging on his shoulder. He put the meat in his mouth and started licking his fingers. His mother rewarded his empty plate with a half dozen links, a five-egg cheese omelet, and four pieces of buttered, jammed toast. Mims poured his host a big glass of milk.
“Enjoying your lunch, cowboy?”
“Lunch?”
“That’s exactly what it’s going to taste like in the middle of drills. It’s 92 degrees already.”
Chaz made two massive breakfast sandwiches out of the mess.
“I’m good.”
“Alright, don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
Jeanne looked at her son, “I think Mimic is right Chaz. Eat one and save the rest for after practice.”
“It’s alright, Mrs. Taylor, the boy has got to learn his limitations. Like I always say, I’ll take care of him.”
Chaz finished his first sandwich and chugged his glass. He was breathless.
“I’ll eat this one on the way. Mom, can you throw this in some foil?”
Jeanne reached for the greasy sandwich.
Mims put his hand over the sandwich, “Hey, cowboy, how about a ‘please’ for the chef?”
Chaz, mockingly, rolled his eyes, “Please, Mrs. Taylor, can you put this delicious sandwich that you made in a foil wrap, so I might enjoy it at a later time…pleeeeeease, Mommy?”
Jeanne laughed at the two comedian/best friends. She carefully wrapped the breakfast snack in the foil and placed it on the table.
Mims looked at the ‘cat’ clock hanging on the kitchen. “I don’t know why we’re starting at six instead of five this year. We gotta go.”
“Mom, where’s my…?”
She cut in, “On the floor by the door where you left it.”
“Thanks for the eats, Mrs. Taylor.”
“You’re welcome anytime, Mimic.”
They both got up at the same time and pushed their chairs in. Chaz shot straight away to his backpack lying by the front door. He bent over and felt the heat of the day through the door jam. He felt the sandwich in his stomach trying to get his attention. At least they didn’t have to walk the mile and a half to practice.
Mims had scraped up enough money to buy a rust bucket. Chaz helped him put in the CD/Radio player with some decent enough speakers. The girls turn their heads when they went slowly by and cranked it up. The smoke from the tailpipe was another story.
Chaz raised his voice, “Come on. We’re going to be late.”
He turned when he heard the word, “Dibs!”
Mims was holding the foiled treat in his giant hand and wiggling it, back and forth.
“Cowboy too slow.”
“Indian too hungry.”
Mims raised his voice, “Aztec Warrior!”
Chaz ran from the living room and Mims ran from the kitchen. They met and jumped up for a chest bump. They yelled, ‘Aztecs!’ as they bounced off each other. Mims landed straight down from where he jumped. Chaz was lucky enough to land in his dad’s recliner. He landed and bounced over into the wall.
Mims turned, watching Mrs. Taylor covering her mouth, laughing hard.
He held up the sandwich, “See, Mrs. Taylor, I got this taken care of. You’re little boy is safe with me.”
He walked to the front door, opening it, “You coming, cowboy?”
He went out to start the car.
Chaz collected himself off the living room floor. He took the time to give his mom a kiss on the cheek.
He dropped the backpack right where he found it, opened the door, and yelled, “Shotgun!”
Hellfire
They blasted the stereo as they drove away from the house. They could see two figures walking ahead, two blocks from the house.
They pulled alongside the walkers, cruising very slowly with the music blaring. They didn’t say a word to them. They just stared as they passed them. Chaz and Mims were wearing cheap, dark sunglasses and no smiles. The boys stopped, watching them as they went past their spot.
The skinny one shook his head, “Hey, Aztecs, that doesn’t work when you’re playing Merle Haggard.”
Chaz shouted, “I’m sorry, young man, I couldn’t hear you because this music is too loud!”
Mims sang, “I have only me to blame ‘cuz Mama tried!”
They went half a block and stopped. The boys finally caught up and climbed into the back seat of Mims’s ride. The seats were torn, and they sat on foam for the most part.
“We’re not in the habit of giving juniors a ride. Today, we are celebrating Chaz’s triumphant return to the glorious battle known as ‘Aztec Football’. There is no charge for gas today. Be at Chaz’s by 5:30, or we’ll leave your second-string, underclass butts plowing the sidewalk.
He pointed to the foil packet sitting on the dashboard, “If you are enjoying the comforts of my lavish accommodations back there, then I suggest you bring something edible for the designated driver. It’s a one-way ticket. You dig me, kids?”
He tapped the foil, “Dibs, in case you wanted to sass the driver.”
Jason and Bern held up their hands; both rolled their eyes and gave into his demand. What could they do? Juniors always gave into the seniors. It would be their turn soon enough, next year.
‘Dibs’ was an unbroken, unwritten rule allowed to juniors and seniors of the Aztec football team. Some football hero from the past put up a sign in the locker room with the word painted on. It was an old Route 66 speed limit sign that had a goldenrod painted field with the simple word in crimson.
It applied whenever there was food around. The football team ate lunch together at school. You rarely heard the word at the table as the football season grew long. The juniors learned quickly, suffering the most at first.
The seniors didn’t blink an eye, reminding them that if they stopped to shoot their mouths off, they were done eating. ‘If you’re going to be that way in the game, you don’t deserve to finish your stinkin’ lunch’.
Discipline to finish a task was the key to a successful season. ‘Dibs’ was a reminder for the juniors to have control when a situation catches them off guard. ‘Adapt, improvise, and advance’. Seniors were moving to the real world, they left it to the juniors to carry the tradition.
A Marine who shipped out to Korea in ‘19-long ago’ made the sign. ‘Dibs’ meant that when you tapped the sign on the way out of the locker room to a Friday night game, you committed to picking up your man until the play was over; no matter what. Home or away, if you got ‘Dibs’, you’d better have your man.
The line coaches were on the field waiting for the summer recruits and returning varsity players to arrive. Coach Irwin walked up to his staff. They gathered around him for his morning talk. He shook hands with the former players, thanking them for coming out and helping with the team. Football was their passion; it built character in a young man. They just wanted to give something back as an appreciation for the program.
Coach spoke, “It’s the same as last year. Some of the parents think it’s too hot to run the boys up to the ‘B’. It’s their concern, but it’s the team’s tradition. We just do as we always do. Make sure that everyone’s hydrated and watch for signs of heat stroke.
I put out a written notice to all the parents stating that I will not run them up the hill. I will declare practice over and the boys will go home. That never happens. The seniors, bound by Aztec football tradition, are going to climb that hill.”
He cracked his only smile of the summer drills session. “Who am I talking to? You guys know exactly what I mean. If we say no, they just start running on their own after practice. If you see this happen, take the jugs of water that I have in the office and follow them in your car…if you want to. I can’t follow forty guys to the top of the hill. It will look like my idea. I don’t need the headache.
Tradition also has it that they only do this for summer drills on Fridays. That is my official speech for the staff. Let’s go turn some crying, puking recruits into Friday night football stars.”
Mims pulled up to the practice field and honked the horn on his steering wheel. It didn’t honk.
Chaz sighed, “Will you never learn, Mims? Your horn don’t even go to one, ‘Cuz. You cut the wire under the dash, remember? Why do you think we have a system that goes to eleven?”
Mims grabbed his ‘dibbed’ sandwich and put it in the glove compartment. It didn’t lock. He looked back at the juniors.
Jason said, “All yours, man.”
The doors didn’t lock and he only had two windows to roll up. Both glasses were missing on the passenger side. Rain was rarely a problem. He would let Chaz suffer; it was only water.
Chaz and Mims got out of the jalopy and ran to the field. The juniors stayed behind to talk to the incoming recruits. Chaz and Mims stood at attention in the middle of the field, an arm’s length apart. Bern looked over through the crowd standing at the fence.
“Jeez.”
He pushed through the guys and ran to the sentries. He put his arm out and touched Mims’s shoulder with his fingertips to measure.
“You’re touching me, junior.”
Bern dropped his hand quickly and stared straight ahead. Jason came along and found the spot on Chaz’s side. Coach Irwin was looking at this ‘procession’ taking place. Nineteen seniors and juniors lined up without a word. Chaz was the only non-returning senior recruit standing there, besides the military transfers.
He said in a loud booming voice, “Are the rest of you trying to find handicap parking?”
The rest of the group found their spots as quick as they could. Coach Irwin walked up to Mims.
“Looks like O-line runs the show today, ladies. Run them through the ‘caleez’, Mims. Give me forty-five, water break, and drills. Make ‘em taste the hellfire, Mr. Cisneros!”
Mims pulled out of the rank he created and faced his friends. He knew everyone from either elementary or middle school, except the five ‘military transfers’ and two of the Marquez triplets. He half-smiled at everyone.
“We gonna start hard, gentlemen. Five across and go deep. Run in place until I tell you to stop.”
He waited for them to reorganize the ranks, five wide and football deep. He ran in his place and didn’t stop until he had counted to 1,500 out loud. Chaz, Bern, and one of the military transfers kept up with Mims.
The others slowed down as the count grew larger. Some of the recruits bent over, trying to breathe; trying to continue, they only succeeded in lifting their feet a couple of inches off the ground.
Mims went straight down to the drop and pop. He was quick enough to pop back up and see the group still standing there watching.
“I don’t owe the coach a lap around the field, girls.”
He heard the grunting as he went for his second. He saw a variety of drop and pops as he came back up.
He needed to find a cadence quick. They were all kinds of mess.
He dropped down and ignored the lines.
He shouted, “AZTEC!”
He stayed down until he heard the bodies join him.
They shouted, “Aztec!”
According to the football players, ‘Aztec’ had seven or eight syllables and an echo.
He popped up again.
“WARRIORS!”
The team yelled ‘Warriors’ in better unison. The living corpses were starting to feel the heat, drifting to their feet in different time zones.
“Time to tough it out, ladies. Together, blood brothers.”
He continued his drop and pops until he felt his legs tire just a little bit. The sound of the team was music to his ears. Coach Irwin looked over his clipboard at his giant player. He had found a way to shape the recruits into, at least, sounding like a team.
The remaining thirty minutes wilted some of the boys who didn’t keep a workout during the off-season. Girlfriends, ex-girlfriends, parties, and just, generally, staying-up-late drama bit some recruits in the butt. The summer drills in Barstow was going to be hell for them.
”Water break!”
An assistant coach turned on the water pig, ten minutes beforehand. It was a long, capped PVC pipe with spaced holes drilled in. The contraption served the team’s purpose well enough. It sat on welded metal shop tripod legs. The water was now cold and the ground soaked. The recruits crowded around the pipe, and held their mouths open to catch the slow stream. Someone resorted to covering the hole with his mouth to get the full effect. That didn’t last long for the new recruit.
He flew to the side; watching the stream go into someone else’s mouth. He made the mistake of laying there too long. Feet shoved him to the middle where the ground was wet. He did his best to get out. He felt feet pushing him back.
“Oink, little piggy”
The team jumped in, “Oink, oink, oink!
A senior shouted to the grounded junior, “Don’t hog the water, Eddie. This is the milk of our dear sweet mama, treat it with respect.”
Eddie got up and respectfully waited for the water pig to give him water. The coach’s whistle shrilled for the team’s attention. A few quick gulps and the water pig died with a twist of the handle. Mims chose to dive into the water pool under the pipe; drinking the last streams of water.
“Dibs!”
As the water receded back down the pipe, he followed the dwindling water, slithering, on his back. He snaked down the line until he caught as much of it in his mouth. He rolled over and looked at the team staring at the offensive lineman.
“Adapt, improvise, and advance, ladies.”
He parted the crowd and followed the second call of the shrill. Coach Irwin directed the offense and defense to separate to their respective coaches. Chaz and Mims trotted over to the offensive side of the field. Coach Braddock was there waiting for them. Coach Braddock was Chaz’s freshman coach.
“Grades are all good, Taylor?”
“2.1, Coach.”
“You didn’t eat in those two years?”
“My mom keeps inviting Mims to my house to eat.”
Mims ignored the comment, “Coach, he says he rough and tough. I think he is ready to put on a show. I got him trained to attack off the chain. He’ll give you ‘hellfire’ for breakfast. He’s my own little devil dog.
Chaz puffed his chest, “Hooah!”
The coach just couldn’t keep the smile off his face. He split the recruits into two groups, and they practiced jumping off the line by whistle. Mims spent most of the drill applying his pancake skills to several of the boys. Coach let him dictate the speed. He waited to blow the whistle. Mims was always the first one down, waiting with forearms on his thighs to ‘down set’.
Everyone on the O-line was obligated to taste the ‘hellfire’ that was served by the big man. Rotation was senior-mandatory, and no one was left hungry; there were pancakes for everyone.
Merriman Jackson waited for his turn. He fought with Mims after the whistle; he couldn’t get a punch close to his head. Mims quickly reached across and took the opportunity to relieve Jackson of his mouth guard. It hit the grass and gathered clippings as it skidded to a stop. A trickle of blood came out of Merriman’s bottom lip; it swelled.
Mims stared him down, “Dibs.”
The coach went through the various drills designed for the O-line until practice was over. Coach Irwin called everyone to the center of the field.
“Take a knee. If you’re sitting on your butt, you must be at home watching television, and not on the team.”
The three recruits rolled over quickly and took a knee.
“I only see thirty-eight guys here today. The league says we can only have forty on the team. Football math says were three men short. We’re going to drill hard for five weeks until we gel into a team that everyone wants to beat. Please don’t be late to practice. ‘Please’ is a word that I reserve for the kicker when we’re out of time and the game’s tied.
I don’t like slackers. I don’t think your teammates like slackers. If you have energy to spare because you want to give it a half-speed attempt, spend it doing cardio around the field. Get some rest, and come back with a winner’s attitude. If you have trouble finding it, look in the mirror at home. If you still can’t find it, then your team will understand why you quit. A winner’s attitude is inside you; you won’t find it anywhere else.
This will be the only fatherly advice that I will give. I am too busy trying to figure out a way to win football games. I can only teach you the plays. The coaches are here to help you memorize and understand football life, as we know it. It is only for a few short weeks, and it will be over before you know it. Find some Aztec pride for this team, gentlemen. Thank you for considering our team to join. Mr. Cisneros, take it down, sir.”
Mims jumped up and pulled Chaz up by the shirt. He lifted off the ground and landed on his cleats. They put their left and right arms around each other. The other seniors started linking their arms into a big circle and half-squatted, scrum style.
Mims watched the senior class connect. They stood still waiting for him to start their chant. He raised his head above the circle and looked around for the military transfers.
“Hey, brats! Senior circle!”
Two of the recruits stepped forward and joined the circle across from the leader.
The big man nodded, “Mims”
“Schaeffer”
“Stone”
Mims started to rock the fourteen-man circle and began his chant in a low voice,
“The moon is full, and the desert is still.
They chanted a low response, “Warpaint.”
“A jackrabbit sits in the dark with no will.”
A little louder, they said, “Warpaint.”
“Down from the mountain with blood in our eye!”
They were now loud, “Warpaint!”
“Aztec Warriors until the day we die!”
“WARPAINT!!”
Mims was satisfied with his work. He stood up and smiled at everyone. No one said anything else…except for Chaz.
“Rough and tough! Hard to bluff! Meaner than a…!”
Mims shoved his best friend to the ground into the middle of the circle.
He smiled, “Pink belly.”
Hands held him down; his shirt went up over his face. The seniors slapped his untanned stomach until it was the right color. Chaz rubbed his stomach and rolled over. He wasn’t hurt, he was sick. The breakfast sandwich came up. He managed to keep it down through practice. It volunteered without a fuss.
The seniors laughed at the offering and, in unison, shouted,”Dibs!”
Schaeffer and Stone didn’t shout, but made note of it for the next time. They laughed as hard as anyone on the field.
Coach Irwin thought, ‘I hope they play football like a team, too.’
He boomed, “Mr. Cisneros, rest from your opera performance. The rest owe me one. The fanny Flanigans owe me two. Mr. Taylor, don’t step on tradition, son.”
The team started to trot away from the coaches and the water pig to run off the debt around the field.
Coach Irwin changed his mind for the duration of the summer drills, he shouted, “Flagpole!”
He couldn’t hear the groans. Mims jumped up and ran to the front of the group. The flagpole stood in the distance at least half a mile away. Aztec football seniors planted it in the desert, a long time ago. The line of recruits grew smaller; the coaches laughed about the young men on their team. A good team needed to learn how to play good football. Were they willing to learn how to play as a team?
The coaches turned on the water pig before they left. Mims was the unofficial leader today. He would turn off the water when they finished loading their bellies. The field was left with a spouting water pig, an unassembled, homemade breakfast sandwich, and various gear bags waiting for the team to finish ‘saluting the flag’.
Everyone followed Mims at his slow pace. He drilled them hard on the field. They were relieved that he didn’t like long distances. No one dared pass him. He would remember as the summer practice went on.
The team blasted past Mims the moment his foot touched the grass of the practice field. Slaps on the back of the big O-line leader came two at a time. He kept his pace as everyone passed him. Chaz pulled up next to him.
“I’m fresh as a daisy, Mims.”
Mims smiled a crooked smile; he just kept going until he reached the water pig.
“Schaeffer, Stone, you got water bottles in your gear?”
They nodded yes. They found the bottles in their gear and tossed them to Mims. He caught both of them with each hand.
“Anyone who needs a ride home can get one if you can knock me off my feet. You get as many chances as you can handle. The fanny Flanigans will be the timekeepers. When they get back from the flagpole, time’s up.”
He tossed the bottles to two of the ‘sitting’ offenders. He kicked an ‘empty’ on the ground to the unbottled recruit.
“Fill it up and saddle up. No one wants ‘dibs’ on your extra lap. Finish all the hellfire on your plate, ladies. We’ll be playing tag until you get back.”
The three did their chores and slowly jogged to the flagpole. Mims turned to his friends and gave the ‘come and get me’ sign with his hands. No one moved at first. The boys had been playing this crazy game with Mims since the third grade. He never went to his knees one on one. It took at least six sixth graders to tackle him in weekend football. He was the Aztec beast.
Chaz got up and found his position, five yards out. He needed a running start to conquer a mountain. Every man on the team would need a good launching point if he were going to try to ‘fell’ the giant.
Two rules applied; no more than two on the attack, first one to take a knee, claimed defeat. You didn’t want to claim ‘defeat’. Chaz explained it to the ‘brats’ inviting one of them to join him. Mims’s friends had given up one-on-one in the seventh grade.
Chaz was the only one always trying to take his pal out of his shoes. Today was no exception. He charged at Mims, who stood, casually, waiting for some excitement to happen. The little guard put his head down and launched low to wrap his arms around his legs. Mims moved aside, grabbed his shirt, and flung him in a half circle. He went rolling to a dead stop.
Schaeffer and Stone stepped forward, putting themselves in the set position.
Mims encouraged, “Come on, brats!”
The young men took off from the line; Schaeffer went high, Stone went low. Mims pushed him down with his left hand. Stone felt his face in the grass. He caught Schaeffer in mid-air and used his ill-timed momentum to throw him over his shoulder. He went for a flip and landed on his back. He rolled over and shook his head. He had to put a knee on the ground to get up. He was out.
No one could put Mims to the ground. The time ran down with the approaching Flanigan brothers.
“What’d we miss?”
Mims didn’t look at them, “We were sitting around on our butts telling ghost stories.”
A senior and two juniors were stuck with the ‘Flanigan triplets’ moniker for the rest of the season.
Mims continued, “Warriors Council, second Saturday of summer drills. Go home; you’re going to make me cry just looking at your ugly faces. Don’t be late. Be in line when the whistle toots. Unless you like the laps, then help yourselves.”
The young men shuffled off to their cars; the ones that had a car. Mims and Chaz jumped into the beat-up ride and pulled out of the parking lot, going away from Chaz’s house.
Stone walked back from his car to the field and shut off the water. No one had even thought about turning off the water pig.
He whispered, “Sorry about that, Mama.”
The field was empty. The young team had tasted the hellfire served to them on the first day; it was good…five weeks of hellfire would become their favorite dish served hot…very hot.
Aztec Warriors
The rusty bucket glided past the trudging warriors as they walked up the hill. They were on both sides of the street. Mims and Chaz slapped on their sunglasses to ‘out cool’ them. The big car only went three blocks before it reached the minimart. Mims parked and dug his wallet out from under his seat.
Four teammates were going into the store. Chaz hollered after them to ‘hold up’. Mims was the last to go in. He walked straight back to the cold sodas; he opened the door and pulled out two orange sodas. He called Chaz to come take the sodas off his hands. He went to the soda fountain, filled a 64 oz. cup with ice, and raised his voice, “Jackson, what are you drinking, son?”
Jackson walked over to the soda fountain. He came close to Mims’s face. Mims was not going to move. No one could move him.
He reached for the cup in Mims’s hand. Mims moved it away.
“You got a fat lip, warrior. You probably should put some ice on it. I don’t have any problem serving you twice in one day.”
Merriman Jackson reached up and fondly ‘love tapped’ Mims on the forehead. They both started laughing.
“Mountain Dew, if you please.”
He took the filled cup from the big man’s hand. He put the cup to his fat lip and didn’t stop until half of it was gone. They talked about when they first met after Merriman came to Barstow from Louisiana. He lived with his aunt, who worked at the Marine base. Merriman had no family. He was living with his mother when a hurricane hit. His mother drowned and left her son an orphan. He never knew his father. He located his aunt with the help of the Red Cross.
Mims saw him sitting on the steps of his aunt’s house two weeks after he arrived. He invited Merriman to come play tackle football with his friends at the high school. He promised him that his friends wouldn’t hurt him.
Merriman was quick enough to earn the respect of his new friends that day. He caught everything that they threw at him. He was tough enough to handle any position. He loved football and his new football buddies.
Mims and Merriman shared the same birthday; they felt comfortable enough, one day, to share their feelings about their birth fathers. Mims thought of him as a brother. Everyone wants and needs a family, why not have the guys ‘adopt’ him into theirs.
“I got to get home before my auntie gets back from work. I was ‘schlepping’ the whole weekend and she’s on my case to clean the whole house. Auntie says no fellas until I ride the broom, dishwasher, washing machine, and the trashcan. I’m putting time in on the couch, too; but I’ll get it done before you clowns get there.”
Merriman pulled up a fist and flashed it toward Mims’s face. It stopped an inch away. Mims didn’t flinch. He knuckle bumped his ‘brother’ and told him not to be late.
Merriman walked out of the store, shouting his goodbye to the other members of the team. The guys cracked up when they heard Merriman Jackson yelling in the parking lot; the Mountain Dew was starting to kick in.
“ We’re gonna eat Jackrabbit stew, blood brothers! WARPAINT!!”
Mims and Chaz left the store and headed down the hill to their houses. The car squeaked as it went up the apron of the sidewalk onto the Taylor’s dirt driveway. Chaz tossed the soda bottle into the back seat as he jumped out of the car.
He pointed at the glove box, “Hey!
Is that going be your breakfast tomorrow or does my mom have to start at four just to make you some pancakes?”
“You’re not saying I’m the hungry type, are you?”
“My pops likes your mom’s cooking, too. He’s supposed to be home tonight. He likes it when I give him something homemade.”
Mims leaned back and saw the front door open. Chaz saw his mother with a large, paper bag coming to the car.
She pointed to her ears. Mims punched the mute button. She handed the bag to her son. She waited with her arms crossed, and told Chaz it wasn’t for him. It was for Mimic’s family.
“I know your dad is going to be home tonight. Marie and I had lunch, yesterday, at the Station. You know how your father likes my egg rolls. I told your mom not to cook tonight. Chaz and I are treating.”
Chaz waved his hands in front of him, “Wait a minute. Mims’s dad doesn’t like your egg rolls, Mims does. He lets his father have ONE when he gets in from the road.”
“Well, I suppose he can have the ones that I left for you on the stove, since he’s allowed only one. He might enjoy the ones that you sacrificed a whole lot better.”
She smiled at Mims and turned to go inside.
“Hey Mims, man, don’t let your pops fill up on too many eggrolls. See you in the ‘mannyanner’, brother.”
A quick hand slap ‘goodbye’ and Mims pulled out to continue down the hill into the desert. He drove and fished for the breakfast snack. He punched the music back on and munched on the sandwich. The dash clock was one of two things that worked behind the steering wheel.
He only needed to know if he was going too fast or if he had enough gas to go too fast. He had to settle for never being accused of speeding; he had to calculate his whereabouts, and mathematically challenge his boat to make it home.
~~~~~
Hidalgo laughed and jumped up and down when Mims brought the wreck home. It was his stepson’s money, so he let him buy a very old model, going for cheap. He knew it was a hunk of junk. He didn’t want his son to worry about the smog check.
. It was Mims’s first car; he was glad not to have to ride with his mom, his senior year. He just wanted the freedom to go to town. He reasoned, ‘Five miles both ways is ten miles always… walking’. No thank you! He now had some wheels to spin. Mims’s step dad called his friends from the crew to donate what they had to Mims’s cause.
It received two tires with actual tread, five quarts of oil, an oil filter, windshield wiper blades, and a BNSF window sticker for the rear window. They checked the wires, cleaned the plugs, and gave it a full service check-up. Done in two hours, Mims fired it up and felt like the captain of a brand new sailing vessel.
The men slapped Mr. Cisneros’s little boy on the back and shook each other’s hands. They ate the sandwiches, drank the ice tea, and celebrated everyone’s good fortune. They christened it, ‘Princesa’.
He promised the men he would treat her as his stepfather treated his mom. The men, caught off-guard, were silent; the men spoke in quiet reverence with one word, ‘Perfecto’. When he turned the key to start his ‘ship’ every morning; he fondly remembered the support of his stepfather’s friends.
~~~~~
He felt the descent in the road; seeing his house in the horizon, he felt home free. They lived away from everyone on five acres. He could barely see the next house in the distance. He slipped the car into neutral and turned off the key. His 1968, factory tan, four-door Chevrolet Biscayne, hunk of teenage pride sailed in silence.
He couldn’t tell his speed with the key off. Mims felt the hot air as he stuck his head out of the window. He was enjoying the breeze that his ‘princess’ was making. A black dot came down the hill from the opposite direction; it was interrupting his favorite part of the trip home.
He was closer to his house than the black dot. It was coming down the hill, steadily growing larger. Mims knew that it was the California Highway Patrol. He pulled his head in as he approached his house 300 feet away. He fired up his ‘sweetie’ and dropped it back into drive. The transmission did its job; holding hands with the motor.
Mims felt the speed and checked the speed indicator. 56! It was too close to hit the brakes to turn in the driveway. He pumped his brakes and tried to slow the beauty down; it slowed down only a little. The power steering fluid squeezed into place, but his speed was still too much.
It was desert surrounding the house, even though it had an established entrance for the cars. Everyone knew that the trees around the house made it an oasis for the family. No curb and gutter invited here. Mims didn’t care about that as he yanked the wheel to turn off the road. He had turned off on the other side of the house into the desert. Princesa hit the sand on her useless two ‘good’ tires and went into a flatspin. A ‘1080’.
Mims watch the house go by his window three times. He felt his ‘girl’ crunch the picnic table and benches. He was ‘death gripping’ the wheel, and he felt his feet buried into the brake pedal. He relaxed and let out a huge sigh of relief. He chuckled, stroking the dash, asking if she was okay.
The black dot revealed itself only moments later. The patrolling unit stopped directly in front of Mims, 200 feet away. The officer had on his mirror shades, staring in the boy’s direction. Mims and Princesa ended up facing the way they came home. He watched as the officer powered his air-conditioned unit’s window down.
He held up the radar unit, then putting it down; he held up two hands that revealed seven fingers for Mims to see. He let the hands slip below the window frame and slowly raised two fingers. 72!
Mims watched him throw a quick nod and power the window back up. He flashed a slow smile at Mims, creeping forward, slowly gaining speed. The house blocked his view of the patrol unit’s trip to the top of the next hill.
He got out of his car and went to gather the up-ended furniture. His stunt revealed his workload for the day. He had squashed the table, one of the benches, and Princesa swapped paint with both of them. Wood shop savvy, he could save the patio entertainment ware. He apologized to his ‘baby doll’.
The hand went into the car and brought out the large grocery bag. It landed on the kitchen counter in front of his mom. She knew it was from Jeanne. Mims said he was going to take a shower and go out in the backyard. Marie looked past him; she didn’t see the shadow of his car through the mini-blinds.
“Where’s your car, son?”
“Oh, it’s on the side of the house. I didn’t want Princesa to get too much sun. Not good for her skin.”
Marie heard the commotion earlier. Her son walked in unharmed, and the house didn’t fall down around her. She saw the patrol car gain speed as it climbed the hill to their house as she peeked out. He stated that he was going to go work on his doctor’s degree in patio furniture after lunch.
She bought the lunchmeat as cheap as she could find it and loaves of French bread instead of sliced. She couldn’t see the point of little tiny bread for her man-child. He never asked to have lunch made; he had been capable of making and serving himself meals from a young age.
“Is it okay if I spend the night at Merriman’s tonight? I want to give you and Dad some time together, tonight. He’s only here for forty-eight hours before he has to go out.”
“You can go, but you have to promise me that you don’t drive your car at night. You’re not working, and you shouldn’t be driving around for no reason. You just got your license and it’s the law. Your birthday is next Saturday, and then I’ll get off your case.”
“The team is hanging out at his house. I’ll leave the car at Chaz’s. We’ll catch a ride or walk until the morning. Will that be okay?””
“You know I’m going to check with Jeanne. Make sure you follow the rules. In thirteen days, you could get your license taken away for being reckless for just being under the age driving at night. It’s my rules until your birthday. Thirteen days is a shorter number than your 21st birthday. Is that understood? The Highway Patrol won’t hesitate to teach you that lesson. It would be easier on them.”
“Yes, Mother. I’ll do it.”
Chaz scarfed down the half dozen egg rolls as he was telling his mom about his morning. She just shook her head as she heard what happened to her breakfast effort. He said they were all going to hang out at Merriman’s tonight.
“Please wash all your clothes before you leave this house. You smell like a monkey. I don’t even want to know about your room.”
He saluted her, “Will do, Mrs. Taylor. Can you make sure and tell Dad all that happened at practice? I think the team is going to vote Mims, one of the captains this year. I’m psyched! Tell him, I said, ‘Hooah’!”
Captain Taylor found the opportunity to talk to his wife once a week, Monday evenings, Barstow time, via the Internet. He was going to miss his son’s firsthand account of summer drills. He knew that his grades would never fail him again. His son learned that he hadn’t failed himself. He had found his way out of the forest. He did it without any help from him.
At some point, a father learns to let their children fill their own shoes. If they choose, then they will fill his shoes. He smiled at the girl he married when she gave his message.
He gave it back to her laughing, “Hooah! I believe that was good enough for you to join up, Taylor.”
“I got enough going on, trying to finish up Chaz’s senior year and football. That means I got enough going on with Mimic, too. Twins separated at birth, both of them starving out of the gate. Besides, I already outrank you, Captain. I think I’ll just keep the home fires burning until you get back.
“Well, you just carry on there, Taylor.”
“Semper Fi, Captain Taylor.”
The captain leaned into the screen, “I love you, too, Jeanne.”
Chaz made two piles for his wash. His dad and he joked that the laundry came in many styles but only two piles…for a man…colors and whites. Married life, college life, barracks life, or any life where the man has to suck it up and do his own washing. The rules were simple enough not to enjoy wearing pink underwear and socks for very long.
Mims called Chaz and told him to get his gear ‘ship shape’ for practice the next day. They had to be the first ones on the field after staying up all night. He reminded the tiny ‘twin’ that he already told the O-line coach that he was rough and tough; it was time to prove it. He would be there just before sundown to hoof it to Merriman’s house.
Chaz found himself digging into his trunk for his uncle’s night vision goggles. He kept them in the camo backpack to keep them clean. Mims had asked to have them for Warriors Council.
He thought, ‘Oh man, I almost forgot his eighteenth birthday! The whole town should be throwing him a party. Everyone knows Mims.’
He went to the living room and called the seniors to plan for his birthday. He called at least five of the guys who spread the word to the team. A secret plan to celebrate Mimic the Hawk’s birthday.
Merriman put down the receiver, smiling at the thought of surprising the giant footballer. A light clicked on in his head. He thought he had the perfect surprise that all the team would want to help with. He was in the middle of cleaning the house for his aunt. He was at it for three ‘clock’ hours. It included trash hauling, dishes, laundry, vacuuming, and guarding the flat screen from the couch. He was an hour ‘on duty’ when Chaz had called about Mims’s birthday, he was on his fourth sandwich.
His aunt was glad that he found good friends in a new town. He brought home the big boy after that first football game and introduced her to his new friend. She was impressed that he was courteous and not shy. He promised her that he was going to introduce her nephew to so many people that they would think he was just another member of their families. He was true to his word with that statement. Merriman never went anywhere without his friends in Barstow in five years…and Merriman Jackson went everywhere.
Eleven of the team showed up to play Madden football, eat pizza, and shoot their mouths off at each other. Dibs was not necessary tonight…for the seniors; Jason and Bern ate six pieces, each, without saying a word. They were the only two juniors there.
Mrs. Gladys Burnett didn’t mind having so many boys over to the house. They did what a lonely widowed woman couldn’t do in the blink of an eye. Give a young man hope and direction for the future. Merriman could only go out if he kept his grades up and did not cause any trouble. His friends found out that they needed Merriman more than they thought.
Merriman was very good in all math subjects. He helped everyone who asked for it. He found ways to explain it to someone, at least a half dozen ways, until they understood it. Merriman was more than happy to help his friends. Chaz knew this better than anyone did. If it wasn’t for Merriman, Chaz would not have passed any of his math bench marks to get his GPA up. It was Chaz’s good fortune.
The evening rolled into the midnight hour. They ignored the midnight hour, and drew permanent marker goatees on the two juniors asleep on the floor. The boys rolled them on their backs. The boys didn’t want to make the mistake of leaving marks on the carpet. That would be bad for Merriman.
The boys held in their laughs as they watched the world’s worst duet perform. They snored until someone pinched their noses. They both rolled over to face each other and curled up like babies to continue their slumber.
Only Mims and Merriman played on as the rest conked out. It was 4:30. Mims threw down the controller and told Merriman he had his watch set for 5:00.
“You ready?”
“Man, we are going to die today.”
“Nah. We break ‘em down and rebuild them from scratch. It’s the Aztec way. Why do you think there are only eleven of us? The rest knew about this and ‘wussed’. They’re probably in bed with their teddy bears sucking thumb. Help me get Bern out the door and onto the porch swing.”
Merriman looked at him, thinking, ’Mims has a plan’. He helped Mims shift some people away from Bern. They rolled him onto a blanket, lifting him up as quietly as possible. They deposited him onto the porch swing as the sky was starting to lighten. They made it a point to grab his gear and put it by the front steps where he could see it.
“Nap time. Tap Chaz when I say let’s go. We got to keep the juniors separated until practice. We’ll psyche him to go without his ‘sister’ to beat everyone to drills.”
Mims promptly fell asleep for only twenty minutes. He pushed the button and shook Merriman twice. He gave him a ‘wet willy’ to make his eyes open. He found Chaz and tapped him like Mims instructed. No words were spoken and Chaz saw him flash the five sign.
He looked around for a second; he mouthed ‘Hooah’ to Merriman. He was using his cleats for a pillow; they were inside a Wal-mart bag. He quietly got up, carefully looking around at the rest of the snoozers.
He moved away from the crowd and found his tennis shoes at the front door. Mrs. Gladys Burnett’s carpet had survived another night with Merriman’s friends.
Mims whispered the plan in his ear. The three amigos snuck out of the house and stood in front of Bern. Mims shook the junior hard and woke him up. He saw the trio looking at him, unsmiling.
“Hey what the…! Oh hey, what’s up Mims?”.
”Do you think there has ever been a junior who was captain of the team?”
“I don’t know. Mims, the sun isn’t even up and I’m taking a pop quiz. Why?”
“We got to beat everyone to the field, or we can’t show them what we’re made of. You’ve been chosen. You got potential, and I say let’s go.”
Mims grabbed him off the porch swing by his T-shirt; held him up until he felt Bern find his balance with his feet. He let go.
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(Pages 1-35 show above.)