Sam found himself at the top of the visitor’s bleachers, alone. The rest of the team began the routine of stretches and drills in unison on the grass below.

Rain lurked in the gray sky that matched Sam’s state of mind. An oppressive gloom settled-in, suffocating all that mattered to him.

Somehow he had survived the first day of school in spite of feeling numb and lost. He had felt like a stranger among people he’d known all his life. Some had offered their condolences, others looked away unsure of what to say, while most just stared at him with sad eyes.

His father’s death…the crazy vision under the water— he wished he could just erase it all. He wished for his life back.

Giant raindrops suddenly pounded a spastic rhythm of thuds and pings on the wooden bleachers and metal railings as dry surfaces became scarce. The familiar smell of fresh rain on hot asphalt invaded Sam’s nose.

He didn’t budge. Neither did the team. Practice continued in spite of the rain, and in spite of his absence. The cadence of counting out their drills echoed in his ears like a soldiers’ rally before war. He wanted to be a part of it all, he wanted to be down there in the mud with his friends, but without his dad cheering from the stands, everything seemed pointless. And there was mom and the market. She needed him and he knew she would never ask him for help.

Letting the rain saturate him like an abandoned couch in an alley, the sounds finally drilled into his mind, getting the better of him. He bolted down the bleachers, unaware of his destination, just anywhere but there. As he rounded the storage shed by the edge of the track, he thought he was flying under the radar when he slammed into Coach Benson.

“Hey. We’ve been looking for you. Suit up.”

With stringy, wet hair sticking to his face, Sam avoided eye contact with the coach. Instead he just stared a hole through a ride-on lawn mower parked in the mud by the shed.

The coach let out a deep breath. “I know it’s a hard time for you, Sam, but I need to know if you are going to play…or should we go ahead with the backup quarterback, Nick Laird? I can only save your position for so long.”

Sam couldn’t believe what he was hearing.

A backup? Nick Laird? They’ve already replaced me? Not Nick.

“I’ll give you until tomorrow to let me know.” He put a hand on Sam’s shoulder. “Your dad would’ve wanted you to play. I do, too.” He let go of Sam, turned and walked away through the steady rain.

Sam just stood there, still staring at the mower. He didn’t know what he wanted.

Turning away from the team, he took off in a sprint like he was headed for an end zone, but instead he pounded his way home, Coach Benson’s words echoing through his numb mind.

When he arrived in the back alley, it was still pouring. No one was in sight as he tried to catch his breath.

Back up quarterback?

He leaned over his knees, breathing heavy. The anger inside of him magnified until he picked up a metal trashcan and threw it like a javelin several times against the brick wall. And then, raising it over his head, he brought it crashing down before him. It had nearly caved in completely. After a succession of kicks to its side, he leaned over his knees, his breathing still labored.

An odd feeling prompted him to look at the back door to the market. Two figures stared at him, mouths slightly ajar at what they’d witnessed. On one side was his mother. To the left of her stood Hayley holding a plate of baked goods tied up with a bow.

He froze, unable to explain himself. He hadn’t seen her in weeks. Now she probably thought he was a monster. He was sure he must’ve looked like one.

Hayley gave the plate to Deb, turned and left without a word to Sam.