Page 10 of Ancient History

I bristled at the slight limp in my leg as I shuffled to the bathroom to shower and shave. Four years on from surgery, my knee was ninety percent back to normal, but there were those moments, like getting up in the morning, when pain flared up. I made peace with the fact that it’d never be one hundred percent again. I would forever be oh-so-close, but never quite there.

I pulled out the can of shaving cream from the medicine cabinet. Was that the same one I used in high school?

When I opened the cap and saw the rust on the nozzle, I got my answer.

“Pop, do you have any shaving cream?” I yelled as I went into his bathroom. Our house wasn’t big, which I felt self-conscious about as a kid but appreciated now that I was slightly less mobile.

I’d forgotten how tiny his bathroom was. Barely enough room to sit down and take a shit. Crowding the corner of the counter were orange pill bottles, making my heart sink. When I was young, Pop was stronger than Superman. He could hold me on his forearms as I pretended to be an airplane. I might’ve walked into my past, but the pills were a grave reminder that time only marched forward.

After getting myself clean and purdy, I came back to my room to get dressed. I’d unpacked all my clothes into my closet already; for being a small closet, it had surprising depth. It went back so far I thought I’d wind up in Narnia or some shit. Boxes lined the floor and were stacked behind the rack, cardboard reminders of my past lives.

While procrastinating on picking the right first day of work-at-school outfit, I opened the box at my feet. Senior Year. There was my yearbook, pages crinkled with signatures. Old posters people had made for our soccer games. Underneath those, something caught the light. I fished out the crown from senior prom.

My insides crumbled like a glacier falling into the ocean.

I couldn’t take back the past, but I could still hate myself for it. My fists curled around the ridges of the crown. I squeezed, willing it to shatter in my hands. This fucker was stronger than I thought, not the five-cent plastic crap.

Maybe it was for the best that I didn’t break it. It’d be a reminder of past mistakes.

I didn’t know what to expect when I saw Amos at school. I hadn’t looked Amos up on social media; I never wanted to intrude on his life since I’d already caused enough damage. Everything happened so fast with me coming back home and taking the coaching job that I didn’t have time to come up with a game plan for possibly running into my ex-boyfriend.

Amos was even more devastatingly cute ten years later. He’d filled out some since we were teenagers, but his sweet smile, playful mop of curls, and fiery green eyes hadn’t changed. His face was ridiculously expressive, so full of life and curiosity when the rest of the world seemed to exist on autopilot. He had the power to turn this tough jock into a cuddle slut. I loved the way he felt in my arms, holding onto me like I was a shield.

Having him stare at me the other day like I was a monster was deserved, but brutal. As if my confidence wasn’t already diminished, his refusal to talk was a shotgun blast through my heart. He had no idea that a day didn’t go by when I thought about him, when some random thing would spark an Amos memory. Hell, just passing by a vending machine with Famous Amos cookies was enough to conjure the memory of him.

I fucked up so bad. I knew that. He’d moved on, and rightfully so. I was no longer the popular star athlete of our youth. What could I bring to the table?

Downstairs, Pop read the paper while eating his heart healthy Cheerios. A second bowl was set up at my seat ready for eating. Light reflected off his bald head. His back had a weary hunch to it, but a hearty twinkle sparkled in his Frank Sinatra blue eyes.

“Hey.” I kissed his chrome dome and took my seat.

“You’re gonna miss the bus.”

“Funny.” I pulled the milk from the fridge and joined him at the table. I rubbed my hands together. “Breakfast of champions.”

“I can make more if you want.”

“Nah, I’m good.” When I was playing soccer, my breakfast was like a mini-buffet of cereal, toast, omelet, and fruit. Since I wasn’t burning all the calories anymore, I had to reign it in.

I drenched my Cheerios in milk.

“Nervous?” he asked.

“Nope.” I was never nervous about the first day of school. I was one of those weirdos who liked high school. It was the place where I could hang out with my friends and chat with my favorite teachers and play the greatest sport in the world. Learning stuff was merely the cost of doing business.

School was also the place where I had gotten to see Amos five days a week.

“You’re going to whip those guys into shape.”

“I’m following in hallowed footsteps. Coach was a legend. He taught me everything I know.”

“Now you’re the coach, and you’ll do the same for your team.”

Coach Legrand retired last year. He taught physical education as well as coached the soccer team to multiple champions. Originally, he was going to come back to coach part-time in the spring, but after a winter down in Florida, he and his wife loved it so much they decided to move down permanently. He was the one who put me up for this job, yet another time he’d given me a chance.

“I want to do right by him. I don’t want to be one of those coaches who comes in and can’t earn the respect of the players and can’t keep up the cohesive unit.”

“The players are going to respect how much you care. If they see you give a shit, then they will, too.”

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