Page 21 of Ancient History

Swell.

6

HUTCH

It was weird eating lunch in silence. I was so close to Amos, yet so far. I missed how easily we could talk to each other. We weren’t that high school couple who only fooled around, though we did plenty of that. We could talk about anything and make it feel like everything.

But after two days of caf duty and our no talking rule, I was starting to get used to it, though I still hated it.

Amos walked around the cafeteria stopping now and then to chat with students. I respected his boundaries and didn’t check out his ass. Though his fitted pants made it a challenge.

The kids loved him.Hey Mr. Bright! Mr. Bright, check this out!While teachers were removed from student social standings, he was definitely more popular now than in high school. No more cute wallflower. It was wonderful to watch. His joy at being a teacher shined through. He loved it here, and I didn’t want to ruin that. I didn’t want him to feel uncomfortable in what was obviously his happy place.

If he wanted us to be only colleagues, then only colleagues we would be, even if it was a cold fist around my heart.

Aside from school-related questions, we didn’t talk. Not even mindless chit chat about the weather. I actually did need help with the coffee maker in the faculty lounge during seventh period, but I asked another teacher.

Whenever we passed each other in the halls, I only gave him a terse nod of acknowledgement, which he reciprocated. It was like when we were secretly together, only this time, there’d be no feverish making out in my car during free periods.

After school, I called my first meeting with the soccer team. Things hadn’t changed since I was a Husky. Freshly painted lines over freshly cut grass with large goals at both ends adorned the soccer field. I ran my hand over the goalpost, the familiar grooves of the paint sending me back in time.

This was my happy place.

I inherited a solid lineup from Coach Legrand. He briefed me on the players, their strengths and weaknesses, so I wasn’t going in cold. They sat on the grass, looking up at me, the man who was supposed to have the plan.

“Gents, I’m Coach Hawkins. I used to be sitting where you are right now. Ten years ago, I was a Husky. I learned everything I know from Coach Legrand. Whatever happened last year is in the past. Missed shots, missed saves, all of it. Leave it on the field. It’s a new season.”

I had everyone go around and introduce themselves, then we broke off into drills. It felt good getting back to soccer. The guys raced back and forth across the green, the ball gliding in smooth passes and tap-tap-tapping on their knees. I watched every player closely, cataloging their skills and what needed to be improved. I pulled players to the side for fly-by coaching, giving them pointers on their dribble or defensive strategies.

Soccer was my zone, a game filled with the uncomplicated mission to get a ball into a net.

Practice was cut short by a sudden rain shower, the kind that comes over the mountains in a rush. We hightailed it to the men’s locker room.

As soon as I entered, the rank stank hit me in the face like a warm hug from a gross uncle. I was home. It was here in the Huskies locker room that I bonded with teammates and celebrated victories, and I wanted to create the same environment for the guys.

I thought about my old teammates and the shenanigans we got up to here. Except for Seth, I wondered what they were up to. Some had reached out over the years, but I felt so uncomfortable about what happened with Seth, that I figured it was best to keep a healthy distance.

The locker room had gotten an upgrade in the past decade. Rusty lockers were replaced, new floors put down to match the school colors. But the odor of dozens of teenage boys sweating would live on forever.

And then there it was, the Coach’s office. I would come visit Coach Legrand all the time, for advice on my dribbling, for advice on life. It was a shame we couldn’t work together, but he was only a phone call away if I needed him. I planned to let the guy enjoy his retirement.

His office (or rather, the soccer coach’s office) was a windowed room with two chairs and a metal desk. This room was mine for the rest of the season. Crazy to think. Different coaches shared the office depending on the season, so the walls were filled with a mix of schedules and posters for soccer, basketball, bowling, and hockey. It was its own organized chaos, and now it was mine.

I plopped into the wheely chair, which squeaked for dear life when I leaned back. Another sound that transported me back a decade.

“Knock knock,” said a tall, Nordic blond guy before he knocked twice on my door.

I sat up straight, as if I’d gotten busted or something. “Hey. Come on in.”

“Hutch, right?”

“Guilty as charged.”

He stepped forward, and I suddenly felt very small. With his thick blond hair and strapping chest, he could’ve played the rich kid villain in some 80s movie. He even had a cocky smile to match.

“Raleigh Marshall. Football coach and fellow gym teacher. Looks like we’ll be working together.”

“Hutch Hawkins.” We shook hands, each trying to make the other guy wince.

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