Small Miracles

I try not to think too much about my dad, but when I do, the first thing that comes to mind is the lights. And I picture him, standing down on the sidelines, wearing that stupid blue windbreaker and the baseball cap, his shadow extending down from his feet, looking like the giant I used to think he was. And maybe that's what drew him to football in the first place: the lights, shining down on the field, the smell of excitement mingling with cooking hot dogs and grass. Even after all of those badly played games, my dad still kept coming back, and the lights came with him.

That's the only memory of him I'll allow myself to have, dressed in the school colors under lights, back when he was around, back when I used to get football.

They aren't on now. I can see the football field in the distance from the back porch of my house, and everything is pitch black. It's nearing midnight on a Friday and practice had been going on a few hours ago. School starts next week and the first game of the season is only a week after that.

There's a field separating my backyard from the school, a nice big one that we share with a couple other houses in the neighborhood. I stand up and call through the screen door, "Mom, I'm gonna go for a walk."

"Okay, honey," she calls back. "Don't stay out too late. Be careful." Mom's been holding the leash a little looser than usual ever since I got back a few days ago. I'm planning on enjoying it while I can, because by tomorrow it'll probably be gone.

I walk into the field, ignoring the tall grass as it scratches at my bare legs. Since this property doesn't belong to anybody, they send someone from the town to come and mow it every few months. It's long overdue. I find a patch of it that's tamer than the rest and lie down, gazing up at the starry sky. The air is humid, settling over me like an extra blanket. Maybe if I stay out here long enough I'll fall asleep.

I've been a Teenage Asshole ever since I've been back, but I can't help it. I hate that I'm back in Texas, back in this stupid town of less than three thousand, where everybody knows my name and everybody knows my dad and nobody cares about anything that doesn't involve throwing a stupid ball around on Friday nights. Being away meant that my lungs could be filled with air that wasn't tainted by Coach Carter and stupid Falcon pride, another nameless face in the crowd. It was great.

I adjust my headphones and close my eyes. Glocca Morra is blasting in my ears, singing I remember you were moving back home, I remember coming home all alone, I’ll be dying angry, I need to get out of the city. And just listening to the words gets me angry, too, and I kick out wildly, sending chunks of dead grass flying into the air and scuffing the toes of my Converse with dirt.

Suddenly, someone is nudging me in the side of the leg. I open my eyes and see a girl peering upside-down at me, smiling wide. I pull out my headphones. "Well, I'll be," she drawls.

And oh, it's Savannah Powell. I was friendly with her last year, but we didn't keep in touch. In fact, I haven't kept in touch with anyone from Sterling since the summer started. "Hi, Savannah," I say. I hate most of the kids in this town, but Savannah's all right.

"If it isn't Julianna Carter," she says, and she smiles even wider. "How are you?"

"Good, thanks," I say, forcing a smile back. "How's your summer been?"

"Oh, it's been fine." She holds out a hand and I accept it, allowing her to pull me up. But what I don't expect is for her to tug me in close and hug me tightly. "Haven't seen you in a while! Where ya been, stranger?"

Savannah's a pretty sweet girl, the poster child of the stereotypical Southern Belle. She's got long blonde hair and a thick, Texan accent, calling people "honey" and "darlin'."

"Oh, you know," I say, waving my a hand vaguely. "Around." This is a lie, but whatever.

"Clearly not around," she answers, teasing a little. "I haven't seen you here all summer."

"I've been busy."

"That's nice," she nods. "So, um . . . how are things? With, like your mom? She okay?"

"Yeah, she's fine," I say, a little sharper than before because the conversation is moving into dangerous waters.

"And have you heard from . . ." I stare at her, hard, and she trails off.

"No, I haven't," I bite back, and silence falls between us. I hear faint shouts in the distance, and when I look around I see the outlines of people running through the field.

"I should get going," I say finally.

"Are you sure?" she says. "Somebody brought a keg to the barn across the field, and a bunch of us are goin' to check it out . . . you should come, Jem." No one has called me by that nickname in ages, and it feels weird.

I am tempted for about a second. "No, that's okay. I told my mom I wouldn't stay out too late. But thanks anyway." I try to smile at her.

She looks at me cautiously, and I can feel the anger bubbling up again. I don't want her pity. "Well, all right," she says. "If you're sure. I'll see you in school, okay? Don't be a stranger."

I nod. "I won't." Savannah smiles back at me and turns to leave, but not before she gives me another hug. I watch her walk away, disappearing into the darkness, before I turn and head back home.

Mom is sitting on the porch when I come back, waiting for me. "How was it?" she asks, like I've come back from a long journey.

I shrug. I seem to be doing a lot of that lately. She pats the space beside her, so I go and sit down, a little reluctantly, but once she puts her arm around me I relax and lean into her, tucking my head into the crook of her neck.

"Nice night out," she murmurs.

"Yeah," I agree.

"Are you nervous for school?" she asks.

"A little," I say, shrugging again. I'm not nervous, really, more just annoyed that I have to go back. At least I'll be a senior, so it's only one more year.

Mom clears her throat. "If - if you want, I can call the school and we can try and make sure . . . you know, no one says anything to you. About your dad."

The fact that she's even acknowledging his existence surprises me. Ever since he's been gone, it's like it's always been that way, like he'd never been there in the first place. "No, Ma," I say, shaking my head. "No matter what you try to do, people are still gonna talk about him. He was the football coach. People won't forget about him that easily."

Mom sighs and runs a hand through her hair. I feel a wave of sadness wash over me, because she's too young to be this tired. "I'll be okay," I say. "Don't worry."

She absently brushes a hand over my cheek. "I'm sorry, Jules," she says after a moment. "I wish I could be strong enough for the both of us." She kisses my forehead and stands up. "I'm headin' up to bed. Don't stay up too late. I love you."

"I love you too." I hear the screen door shut and her footsteps fade as she climbs upstairs to her bedroom. Then I decide to call my older brother Jase. It's only about ten o'clock in California, and besides, Jase is one of those kind of college students that never sleeps.

Sure enough, he answers on the second ring. "Mario's a-pizza, what can I-a do for ya?" he says in a fake Italian accent.

"Hi. It's me," I say.

"Oh, hey. Shouldn't you be asleep or something?" Jase asks.

"Yeah. I'll probably go to bed in a few. I just wanted to say hey and stuff."

"All right."

"So . . . hey."

"Hey." Jase clears his throat. "Somethin' bothering you?"

"I, uh . . . yeah. Um . . ." I try to say it, but my throat tightens and I can bring myself to get the words out. Jase is patient, though, waiting until I finally mumble, "I ran into some kids about an hour ago. Some other seniors."

"Didja?" my brother says. "They say anything to you?"

"Well, no." I can see Savannah's expression in my mind, careful not to let anything wrong slip out of her mouth, circling me like I was a bear about to bite. I can only imagine what school will be like. I might as well wear a sign around my neck that says DO NOT FEED THE ANIMAL. "I mean, she asked if I'd heard from . . . you know."

"She?" Jase says. "Who was it?"

"Savannah Powell."

"Aw, come on, Jules," Jase says. "You know she was only tryin' to be nice."

"That's not the point," I say, my voice coming out rough. "It's exactly what I told you what would happen. She was giving me her pity and I don't want it. Everyone's gonna walk around me like I'm made of glass and I hate it. I hate all of it. I hate football and I hate Sterling and I hate him."

"Hey," Jase says. "Come on now. You don't mean that. Look," he lowers his voice. "I know things are hard right now, but the family needs you. And it's just one more school year, okay? You can do it."

Part of me wishes Jase would agree with me and offer to fly me back out to California so I could live with him, but I know he's right, as usual. "It's fucking awful," I respond, hunching over.

"I know," he answers. "I'll try to visit when I can, all right?"

I figure that's the best I'm gonna get. "Fine."

"Okay. You should get some sleep. Love you, kid."

"Love you, too." I hang up, but I don't take his advice just yet. Instead, I lay down on the porch steps and stare up at the stars again, and for a moment, everything just feels quiet.