Free Jane Two by Sean Patrick Flanery Page B

up! Firefly!” Trent seemed to understand.
    So I explained my plan. “I’ll sweep around the end, same as usual, but if I’m gonna go down, let’s have someone follow me close…that I can lateral back to.”
    “We ain’t got anybody else that’s that fast,” Trent objected, and I countered.
    “They don’t have to be fast, it just has to be someone they can’t tackle.”
    “Yeah, well, who we got on the team that can’t be tackled by one’a them huge fuckin’ Red Devils?” asked Firefly incredulously, and he and the whole team looked at me like I was completely crazy.
    “T. rex the fuckers, Firefly,” I whispered across the huddle.
    “Holy shit, he’s right,” exclaimed Trent.
    And the team hollered, “Firefly, Firefly, they can’t tackle a fuckin’ T. rex!”
    His eyes lit up with pride that we all thought he could do it.
    “Okay, thirty-eight pitchout with a T. rex follow, on—?” Trent looked to me.
    “On FOUR! We’ve never hiked on four,” I said.
    “Okay…on four, READY…BREAK!”
    As the team took to the line of scrimmage, everything seemed to slow down and all the sound around me came to a complete halt. I noticed the red Firebird parked in the adjacent field. Kevin was sitting on the roof as always, watching and grinning at me. Scrawny Clatterbuck, still feeling the power of yelling cocksuckers , drew my attention back to the game when he yelled in the face of his opposing lineman, a demonic thug twice Clatterbuck’s size.
    “Watch out for T. rex, you fuckin’ tub of shit!” Clatterbuck screeched.
    I looked out at the whole field, and into the faces of each player as the play was called, and Clatterbuck’s opponent clearly had heard him, and was seething. A flag went up as Clatterbuck’s opponent flattened him, and was drawn offside by our new “hut-four” snap call. Grandaddy smiled his dragon grin, exhaling a lungful of smoke. The next play’s snap was called, and Trent pitched out to me as I swept around the eighth hole in between two defenders. I found myself running downfield along the sideline, occasionally looking left as defenders came into view until I outran them all. But one sole Red Devil defender had an angle on me. I kept on going, with widemouthed fans, parents, Mom and Dad yelling nothing, until I turned to see the defender right there. I stopped in my tracks, sending the defender flying right by, and spun completely around to find Firefly approaching fast, but still about ten yards behind. I looked at another looming defender approaching at light speed while I stood still. I waited until Firefly was finally close enough, and I lateraled the ball to him about a millisecond before I got hit, hard! As I went down, I could see Firefly continue to the end zone with two defenders on his back, his cleats churning up earth. Looking at them sideways as I fell, amidst all the sea of helmet grilles that crossed my field of vision, I recognized her. Jane. She was there. She had to be there. And she wasn’t watching Firefly tear down the end zone. She kept her eyes on me…until it all went black. When I came to, I tracked the stands for her, but only my parents and James and Mamau and Grandaddy and Lew and a lot of litter remained.
    “Sug, let’s get you home for a hot shower,” murmured Mom, soft palm on my brow.
    *  *  *
    Jane,
    I scored today. I saw you. I was Number 24.
    *  *  *
    I stole a stamp out of Mom’s butcher-block drawer in the kitchen and walked over to The Dancing Mailbox on the corner of Bentliff and Sandpiper. Mailing letters to Jane at a made-up address was like throwing a ball into the stratosphere and waiting for it to come back down. My rationale was that if she was meant to get it, then grace would step in, and the postman would do the right thing and reroute it accordingly. I was hopeful. I never told anyone about my affection for this tempestuous creature. She moved me so much that I kept on going. I learned at an early age that there