friday night lights

He considered stopping for directions to the field, but as he continued the drive along the straight, flat highway, he saw it, as he saw them all, rising out of the horizon, the football field, the stadium lights, soon to be illuminating the night for miles and miles. He wondered, for a moment, what this great expanse would look like from the sky – nothing, nothing, nothing, then one here and one there, south Texas football, floodlit. What to do, where to go on Friday nights in the lower Rio Grande valley, and he wondered if this was what the writer meant by “Friday Night Lights,” that book about big-time Texas high school football. This wasn’t, where he was headed, that is, big-time Texas high school football. This was low country bragging rights played by teenagers named Juan and Carlos and Hugo – ooo-go -- and Rodrigo, with a few Dustins and Erics tossed in for small measure. But it was what they did on Friday night, nonetheless. And it was under the lights, always. For now, anyway.

because

There was a shooting at school, the police officer said, then said, your son didn’t make it, and she tried to slow the room from spinning and her world from crashing, but the best she could do at the moment was to fall forward into the arms of the detective and try to keep her heart from either pounding through her chest or stopping, completely, and she remembered the last thing she said to him when he left for school, that morning. It was: I don’t want to hear any more from your teacher about you not paying attention, and she suddenly wished she hadn’t said that, but instead had said, I love you. His name was Henry and she was a single mom, because she’d made a mistake and had decided not to make everything worse. Henry had a dog, one she’d given him on his eighth birthday. Henry had named the friendly beast Butterfly, because, he said, just because.

Hank

His name is Hank and his master is the drive-thru taker at Chik-Fil-A, where the action only lags on Sundays, here, when it is closed in deference to the local churches, which might be nearly empty if the place were open, such is the popularity of the fast-food emporium. But back to Hank, who always waits near the door for his master to return, when it is time for him to return, that is, because Hank has a clock's sense of time, as do many dogs, though we don’t know that, because dogs are good at keeping some things secret. Anyway, tonight, Hank is getting a bit nervous, because his master, whom he only knows as Ed, is late, again, for the fourth straight night. Hank will keep his calm by going to Ed’s closet and foraging for a used sock with a good scent. Having found such a security item, Hank will curl up with it and wait, like the good dog that he is. Ed is 43 and single. His favorite food is pizza. (Hank does know these things.)

the game

When they were, well, younger, he was on the field and she was in the stands, watching him, hoping for him, hoping with him. It seemed so much simpler, then, because it was so much simpler. Everything seemed to be right in front of you, she thought. Now, things circled about, whispered around, snuck in under the cover of darkness, sprang on or upon when you least expected it. Now, things were different. She couldn’t help think that, as she sat in the stands, today, now, wondering just what had happened to them. Maybe they’d just been too young. Maybe they’d just dreamed too much. Maybe they’d not known enough to work at it, or been willing enough to work at it. The man next to her, he dressed in the team’s colors, yelled, “Kill ‘em; c’mon, kill ‘em,” and she remembered when they would yell that at him. She felt a need to leave, but she didn’t. There was a need to stay, also. So, she did. Her name was Grace. She had a dog named Waldo. She was resigned to living the rest of her life alone.