Maze

CHAPTER 1
Brandon
Sunday, 8/23/19

    I sit at the table silently, shoveling mashed potatoes into my mouth while dad argues loudly with someone on the phone. I'm already feeling full, but I still have a mountain of food in front of me and I know dad won't let me leave the table until it's finished. I was blessed-or perhaps cursed-with an extremely fast metabolism, and I have to eat 5,000 calories a day if I want to gain any weight at all. My dad finally hangs up the phone and walks back to the table with a scowl cemented on his face. When he sits down across from me I swallow my mouthful of food and give him a questioning look. "Was that coach G?" I ask. He nods slowly, sneering like a child who just got put in time-out. "Guess he's too high and mighty to put a good word in for you at your new school." He growls sarcastically. I'm starting at a new high-school tomorrow for my senior year, and my dad doesn't want me to miss a beat as far as football goes. I've been a starter on the team for two years now, and I'm already being looked at by multiple D2 colleges. My team in Texas was one of the highest ranked teams in the state, which is no small feat when you consider the circumstances. Highschool football is like a religion for most Texans, and as soon as my dad discovered my talent for the game, he kind of took over my life.

    When he got word about his promotion that would require our family to relocate to Michigan, he immediately started researching the highschools with the best football teams. Michigan is no Texas, but it might very well be the closest thing to it, at least when it comes to highschool football. The closest available school was Lapeer. My dad wanted me to go to Muskegon, the number one ranked school in the state, but my mother shot that idea down quickly. It would be a much longer commute, and I would undoubtedly struggle for a starting spot. Additionally, my mother is very adamant on making sure I keep my grades up during the course of the season, which makes a lot of sense to me. I don't see a professional career in my future, though my father seems to be fully invested in the idea. It would be nice to have a backup plan so I can still enjoy my life if this whole football thing doesn't work out.

    I've already met with coach Wilson twice, and he seems quite hopeful for me. "I've seen your tapes, and I can't deny you've got more talent than most of the other DB's on our roster. But just like everyone else, you've gotta earn your spot. Nothing's given, and I'm sure you're used to that kind of philosophy, comin' from Texas." He had said to me, and he was right. Competing for a starting position at my old school was brutal. Coach Wilson seems articulate and intelligent, much different from the coaches I had back in Texas. Not that they weren't good coaches, they were just more of the inspiring type. I remember how much our DB's coach used to scream in my face, veins popping out of his forehead and spit flying everywhere. He used to grab me by the facemask and shove me on my ass when I would blow a coverage or give up a costly penalty. Even when he was commending me, he would shove me around and scream at me. Sometimes, I honestly couldn't tell the difference between the two. I got used to it eventually, and after a while it started to actually resonate in me. I had this dog-like mentality whenever I stepped out on that field, and it made me feel powerful. I remember one occasion where I got burned by the receiver and gave up a 45 yard reception, and coach chewed me out so bad I wanted to quit the team. But instead of getting discouraged, I let the rage build within me. I indulged in the malicious ill-will until I became hungry for violence. It was one of the most euphoric experiences of my life.

    On the following play, the quarterback threw a seam right down the middle to their 6'6, 245lb tight end. I had an open line of pursuit, and as soon as the receiver turned his head to receive the pass, I knew this was going to be the biggest hit I'd ever had. I barreled through his abdomen at full speed, and I could feel the heavy momentum of his body yielding to mine, slamming him to the turf instantly. His long and heavy body took much more power and forward momentum to uproot than it would for most receivers, but once his feet were off the ground the rest of his body whipped after them, causing his helmet to launch off of his head.  When I stood up, I stared down at him menacingly, not at all concerned by the fact that he was out cold. I couldn't help it, I had a powerful malevolence surging through me that needed to be expressed. His teammates shoved me aside, kneeling alongside their unconscious teammate as I trudged to the sideline. My teammates were staring at me, not knowing if they should slap me on the back or move out of my way. Our linebacker's coach approached me first, clapping me on the helmet excitedly. "Mays! That's the #1 ranked tight end in the country, and you just knocked his fucking lights out!" He boasted, looking to the giant monitor in the center of the field.