Hourglass

Hourglass

By Matt Carroll

 

It’s my birthday so they have to listen to me.

            I tell them about the championship game and how everyone actually paid attention to me, back when I was interesting, and back when people cared. I know they really don’t want to listen to me, but I continue anyway.

            The stadium was packed and the roar of the crowd made the entire stadium shake. The grass was manicured to perfection. Our uniforms were neat without wrinkles. My face was put on the front page of the newspaper a million times that year. We were supposed to lose, but our fans didn’t care.

            I am an old man now. I can understand why it’s so hard for them to understand I used to be strong because of the wrinkles age bombarded me with, or the weight I gained. I am so weak and fragile now.

            I was a hero then. When I walked into the room I commanded respect. When I went to the dances I never stood alone. After a good game I got pats on the back from people I never met in my life, but they all knew my name.

            I called the cadence at the line-of-scrimmage. I was the quarterback and the captain. My eyes scanned the eight man box at the opposing team. I checked the coverage the defensive backs were trying to hide.  They couldn’t stem me this game because the whole world was slow to me. This is my world.

            We called it the zone back when I played football, but no matter what the name is today I was in it. The ball was snapped. The world became slower. It was like I knew everyone’s intensions. I saw everything. The score was 17-21. A field-goal wasn’t enough and a touchdown would win it. 4^th and Goal on their ten yard line. Five seconds left in the game. It’s every quarterback’s dream and worst nightmare. I wanted the football. I wanted to win this game.

            I checked my first option in the right corner of the endzone. He was covered and I could feel the blitz coming as the pocket of offensive linemen started to collapse around me. I checked my second option and he had fallen to the ground. My third option was nowhere to be seen.

            The defender lined up to tackle me. He was bigger than me, but I lowered my shoulder, tucking the football away, and attacked him head on. The collision sounded like a thunderclap and he fell to his back. The stadium roared and shook.

            They all held their breath as I ran for the goal line. The entire defense was after me like a pack of wild dogs attacking their prey, but I wasn’t scared because I had been in this situation a million times in my life. Always the underdog everyone adored.

            I collided with bodies and fell to the ground diving forward. I was unsure if I crossed the goal line, if I broke the plain, but once I heard the gasps of the crowd followed by cheering that made my heart beat faster I knew I made it. We won the game.

            Standing to my feet I saw the fans rush the field. I was their hero.

            I blew out all seventy three of my candles after my long winded story. They may not have cared, but they are my family and it’s my birthday so they have to listen to me.

            Later in the night I clutch my cane near the dance floor. It’s hard for them to believe their old father and grandfather was once someone important. That I was someone who was proactive and made decisions that solely decided victory or defeat. I’ve made a lot of those decisions in my day, but the football days are the ones I miss the miss.

            Yes, I was a grandfather and father to some of them, but to one of them I was a great grandfather.

            My great granddaughter is five years old and in my old age she sees something different. She sees a sage where everyone else sees an old man. She sees someone who knows so much more than she could ever know. She loves me and to her I am strong.

            I was alone when she walked up.

“Papa, dance with me.” She insists. I am sitting at a table near the hardwood dance floor.

            “Okay my dear.” I smile at her. I clutch my cane again as I stand. My knees are aching, but I don’t care when I see her smile.

            She stands on my feet as we dance. At least to one person I am not a frail old man who rambles about the old days. It’s not interesting to you at all because you’re thinking about your old dreams.

            Even when the song changes she still wants to dance with me.