He stared down the twenty-yard line with hard eyes. As the thumps and thuds of a fresh tackle sound around him, his nerves begin to swell in his chest. The thirty-six on the back of his black and red jersey stood out upon the field of green like a lighthouse on foggy beach. The mound of leather in his hand felt like a dead weight. With fourteen seconds left in the fourth quarter, he made darted towards the goal post: His gateway to glory. His senior year was suddenly alive before him. The slide show in his mind treated him with images of the booze, the girls, the good times, and the long nights. He thought of the life that was lying before him. He aspired to write, though he would never admit it to his "boys". He had a true talent. His first love was the field, but his best friend was the notebook that lay on his nightstand. He was ready to lay the ball down, along with the party life and pep rallies, and drift off into adulthood. As though he was taking the first step into the rest of his days, he took one final step into the end zone, scoring the headline-making touchdown.
Our Boys Of Fall
September 5, 2011