Chapter 6: Friday Night Lights
505 Words
Daniel POV
The moment I enter the field, the lights in the stadium are blinding me.
They are not as cold as they ought to be, they are meaner, like they are trying to tempt me to do something wrong. Crowded, crowded, the booths, red and white everywhere, the lightning of the pawing of the ground of the Crestwood. Instinctively I scan the bleachers and before the whistle is blown the heart is already thunder clattering.
Elena’s not there.
I tell myself she’s just late. Traffic. Parking. Something normal.
“Reyes!” Coach shouts. “Focus!”
I nod, jog into position. It has the odour of wet rubber and air freezing and the treads are crushing my feet. The ball bursts and hunchback comes in. All this becomes movement, tracks, the crash of colliding bodies.
I play hard. Harder than I ever have.
Every catch earns a roar. Evidence is the testimony of every yard, that Walker was not false, that I am ready, that this is the truth. I can feel the eyes on me and the calculations being made and I am being stared at on the side-lines.
When I am running to the bench during the half time, I can even feel that my neck is dripping with sweat. I look up again.
Still no Elena.
I vibrate my hands and take my phone out of my locker.
You here yet?
Sent. Unread.
The second half starts and I no longer check.
The game is blended with adrenaline and noise. I drag the hook which all will drag. The crowd explodes. My teammates are all pushing over me, hits, shouts, laughter, all other noises are blotted out.
The final whistle screams.
We win.
The stage is submerged, the pupils, cheerleaders, the cameras are ablaze. Walker is near the fifty yard line, and applauding.
Then that is what I had to know, says he, crying over the noise. “We’ll talk Monday.”
I give a nod with a natural smile of the breast that swells.
This should feel perfect.
I search the crowd again.
Nothing.
And, outside the locker room, outside the congratulations, outside the sound left to the ringing silence, I venture out into the cold night alone. The snow has now fallen on the bleachers and has not been touched by anything.
My phone buzzes.
Not Elena.
A text from my mom.
The arts academy had received a call made by one of the women. Asked for Elena.
My stomach drops.
Once again I type her name in my messages. Nothing. Still unread.
All the doors of the auditorium are open in all parts of the town, and the light is spilling onto the snow, I am listening to music of a low swell upon the wind-gentle, gracious, old, As the swell of a throb in my breast.
I turn toward the sound.
Towards that locality which should have been Elena.
And suddenly, she has chosen something on the first time of the night, which is a first time.
- Writer
