Chapter IV: Superstar
The State Correctional Institution at Fayette is a 2,000 bed maximum-security prison located in a remote section of Fayette County, Pennsylvania in the United States. It’s located in southeast Pittsburgh. It is the only prison in the Commonwealth where Pennsylvania license plates are manufactured.
It is also the only prison in the Commonwealth that has ever held Rasheed Jones.
The visitor’s room smelled like they tried to clean the grief and tragedy from the room. A rich, chemical smell emanated from every surface. The kind that stuck to your clothes. That you could find yourself smelling hours later.
Zane hated it. It almost felt like they did it on purpose. Made sure a fresh coat was painted on for each visitation. As if the family had to pay their penance as well.
It was often he showed up for visitation in-person. His grandmother never loved taking him into a prison, and his father liked to avoid it himself as best as he could. He would say something along the lines that someone like Zane wasn’t meant to step foot in a place like this and split air with people like these.
Zane just chalked it up to shame. Seeing his father in shackles and a jumpsuit being monitored by a scowl-faced officer who was looking for any excuse to make a move.
But, it was Thanksgiving weekend. It was their annual tradition to come down and chop it up. Zane’s grandfather had opted out this year around. Apparently, Rasheed and his father had gotten into a spat about money on his books. Nothing too serious, Zane thought to himself. But, Zane’s stubbornness - as much as he liked to pretend it wasn’t there - was a gene he had gotten from the paternal side of the family.
They sat at one of the makeshift picnic tables, the chemical smell on the surface haphazardly siphoning itself his nose as they waited for the prisoners to be herded inside. He could feel his grandmother’s anxious energy next to him, fiddling absentmindedly with the handle of her purse that had been ransacked upon their arrival.
The door creaked open, the windows following filling with orange and white jumpsuits. Tears were shed, loving looks were exchanged, pure sentiments. However, Zane couldn’t help but notice the looks in their eyes, ranging in degrees of seriousness. Some looked wary and suspicious. Other looked defeated. Not even the relief of a visitor breaking up the monotony of life on the inside could cause a stir in their soul.
Rasheed Jones walked up with his practiced swagger, the way he put one foot in front of the other had a rhythm that not even a decade on the inside could take away. The ease of his gait, relaxed in each shifting of his feet. He wore a smirk that didn’t quite reach his eyes, no matter how hard he wanted it to.
“Mama!” he exclaimed, clasping his hands together and giving her a vigorous wave. Hugs and “other acts of intimate contact” were strictly forbidden in this room. “Who’s this grown ass man you’ve got with you?”
Zane shifted uncomfortably in his seat, a sheepish smile escaping for a moment. “How you doin’, Pops?”
“Ain’t no way that’s my boy; my little baby all grown up. You been lifting?” he asked, as he pulled up to the table and eased into a seat. Zane paused for a moment and took in the sight of his father. If he looked hard enough, it felt like he was looking into a mirror that projected his future.
They looked so similar, but their differences were clear. Rasheed’s locs reached the middle of his back, now peppered with enough white to show how much he’s aged. His beard, as well-kept as prison conditions could allow, was more gray than black nowadays too. The lines that defined his age deepened, especially his frown lines in his forehead. He looked weathered, almost permanently tired. Zane shook out of his stupor.
“Yeah, I’ve been working as hard in the gym as I can. Coach thinks if I can make it out to some university camps this off-season, I can get myself on some Division I radars for my senior year.” Zane explained, trying his best to keep his father’s gaze as he can, but the intensity almost felt too intimidating.
“Come on now, that’s big time. Anywhere you’re considering?” Rasheed asked, leaning forward with curiosity speckled on his face.
Zane scrambled his mind for any answers, but couldn’t find anything of note. “Not really, if I’m being honest. I never really thought going Division I was an option for me. I always figured somewhere local would offer me a full-ride so I could at least play a little longer-”
“Why would you do that?” Zane blinked for a moment. His father stared daggers at him, expecting an answer.
“Do what?”
“Limit yourself before you even get a chance? I know I haven’t really gotten the chance to truly raise you, but I know my parents, and they wouldn’t raise you to think you should give up before you even really get a chance to try.”
Zane’s mind suddenly became full of cobwebs; his ability to think now an arduous task.
Rasheed continued. “You have my genes, which means you’re an athlete. And from what Pops be telling me on our phone calls, you got that shit.”
Zane’s grandmother gave him a look, in which he held his hands up innocently, the handcuffs loose enough to move around. “Excuse my language, I’m around felons who don’t mind all day everyday.”
Zane shifted uncomfortably before his father continued. “You work damn hard. And it is clear as day that - on paper - you’ve got an opportunity a lot of your little high school friends ain’t gonna get. Get your mind right, and lock in.”
He didn’t understand why, but the tongue lashing his father was giving felt almost unwarranted. He felt locked in enough. But, he was on no scouting websites despite Upper St. Clair playing in the highest division of high school football in the state of Pennsylvania. Other than a few packages from local schools to explore their programs that almost any upperclassmen got, there wasn’t much of a sniff.
He watched Rasheed roll his shoulders back, as if he could sense Zane’s resistance to his intensity. He took a breath, closed his eyes, and contemplated a moment. He hadn’t yet opened his eyes before he spoke again. “You have something a lot of people don’t get, Zane. The opportunity to do something great. Don’t waste it like I did, by not putting yourself in scenarios to be successful because you don’t think you should be there in the first place.”
His eyes opened, and Zane could see his gaze soften, but not weaken. Their conversations had been surface level since he went away all those years ago. It’s hard to speak on the hardships of existence with an eight-year-old but seeing the real side of his father - the resentment, the guilt, the shame that flowed from him - it sat in Zane’s stomach as unease.
He didn’t know how to carry it. He didn’t want to.
The rest of the visit eased back into something more palatable. His grandmother piped into the conversation, sharing stories from around town. Rasheed smiled and nodded, even cracking a laugh every once in a while. But the tension in his shoulders never eased back down. As if he hadn’t let his concern over Zane’s lack of initiative go, but simply filed it away in his mind for contemplation at a later date.
The buzzer came, goodbyes were exchanged and assurances they would be back soon were promised. The two funneled back into the parking lot.
Zane went to the passenger side door and went to open it, still finding it locked. He peered up and found Mary looking at him, waiting for his attention.
“He might have said it wrong, but he’s not wrong. You know that right?” She said with a level of certainty that it almost knocked him off balance.
“What do you mean?”
“He hasn’t had to be a parent in a long time, so his tone and his tempo was off. But, he meant what he said. You need to go for broke. Stop playing things so damn carefully all the time.”
Zane looked skyward and took a deep breath. “I’m not playing anything carefully. I just don’t get it is all I’m saying. I’m trying my best.”
“Without stepping on anyone’s toes. You have the kindest heart for a boy who has every right to have shut it off long ago. All I’m saying is if you want it, go take it. Attack it with everything you’ve got.”
With that, she clicked the doors unlocked, opened her door, and got in. Zane looked at the empty space she once was, took a breath, and followed suit.
Invictus
-
Captain Canada
Topic author - Posts: 4987
- Joined: 01 Dec 2018, 00:15
-
Captain Canada
Topic author - Posts: 4987
- Joined: 01 Dec 2018, 00:15
Invictus
Fatherly advice.
He just don't want his child to follow in his footsteps, ain't nothing wrong with that
He's an empath. Certified good guy.
-
Captain Canada
Topic author - Posts: 4987
- Joined: 01 Dec 2018, 00:15
Invictus
Chapter V: Voices
Bianca gazed through a rack of designer clothing, no one particular garment catching her attention. Feeling the different fabrics under her fingertips had put her in a sort of trance. She was running on autopilot, going through the monotony of a spur-of-the-moment shopping spree with her friends.
She watched them dig in on each other; pressuring one another to step outside of their fashion comfort zone and opt for different styles. Every once in a while, Bianca would be forced out of her zone, prompting an "mhm" or a nod of approval when one of them would hold up an article of clothing for her opinion.
She fought off her burning urge to check her phone for what time while masterminding her excuse to cut this trip early. She knew it would be like pulling teeth to leave since he was conveniently the one who drove.
"So," Shayla started, prompting the clothes rack to shriek from the metal-on-metal contact, sifting through cropped leather jackets. "Are we ever going to talk about your infatuation with that junior football guy." Bianca raised her eyebrows, but didn't meet her expecting gaze, keeping them laser forced on the sleek black jacket in front of her.
"I don't know why, but I'm genuinely surprised you used the word 'infatuation'" she responded, peeking at the price tag before grimacing and moving on. Just because she had the money to spend didn't mean she was a fan of throwing it at just anything.
"I pay attention in English class, thank you very much. Anyways, I'm ready for all the spicy details."
"The details are as spicy as mayonnaise," Bianca retorted, finally giving Shayla a look of mild annoyance.
Shayla, her long, dark hair bundled into a messy bun on top of her head to give her diminutive, five-foot-two stature a slight boost. Her permanently-tanned skin glowed under the fluorescent light, illuminating her green eyes that looked up at Bianca's comparably giant frame next to her. Bianca, at five-foot-nine, was taller than most of her friends, but none more than Shayla Florentino.
Shayla tilted her head to the side, her curiosity getting the best of her. "You've got to give me something here. Friends share these details, girly." she sang at the end. Bianca fought off rolling her eyes that would just get her into deeper trouble.
"He's really just a friend. He's one of the few guys at school that don't think with their dicks. Which I've grown to appreciate" she breathed carefully, trying to mince her words as best as she could.
To tell the truth, she didn't know how to describe her growing friendship with Zane. She found herself texting him almost as much of any of her "closer" friends, or spending lunches or after school hanging out in her car, shooting the breeze before they broke apart for the evening. It felt easy. It felt real. No artificial preservatives added.
"Well, he's damn handsome, I'll give you that" Shayla shrugged, content with knowing that any more digging and she would most likely find herself between a rock and a hard place.
"Damn handsome" their third, Ruby piped in, waltzing over with arms full of clothes. Her platinum blonde hair sat high on her head in a tight ponytail, complimenting her southern bell demeanor she often portrayed despite never travelling anywhere other than Florida to visit her grandparents during the summer. "He's not a total pig, which makes him even more-"
"Don't even finish that sentence" Bianca interrupted, holding up her finger to halt her friend's invasive thoughts. The gaggle of girls broke into a laugh that reverberated through the store, gathering a handful of curious looks from other patrons.
Bianca couldn't hold back any longer, rolling her eyes despite finding herself also breaking a quaint smile at the ridiculousness of her friends.
Zane sunk deeper into his seat than he typically would, anxiety biting his stomach subtly. Not enough to torture, but enough to make sure you're aware that its always there.
He had been in his Coach David Shazier's office only a handful of times - when he was told that he made the varsity team, when he was told that he would be starting for said team, and once when Coach Shazier paid him a compliment on a block he made in a narrow loss early in the season. That was the last time he set foot in here.
The office was simplistic but exactly what you would imagine it being: a large, mahogany desk in the center of it, different sheets scattered through the office. A filing system that itself was flooding with sheets that probably predated Zane's own existence. Coach Shazier had been the head coach at Upper St. Clair for the last fifteen years, and didn't seem to be leaving any time soon.
He was alerted by one of his coach's in the hallway that Coach wanted to see him in his office on his spare period, not expanding at to a reason why. They hadn't shared as much of a glance since Zane had made the one-handed catch in the back of the end zone to give the Panthers one of their few wins of this past season.
Coach Shazier bustled in behind him suddenly, catching Zane by surprise. He turned to see him walk in, only a few minutes late from their "scheduled" time. He held a coffee in one hand and another folder of sheets that would no doubt find themselves joining the scatter at some point. He was a heavy set black man with a big beard that had long greyed. Kind eyes that could meet any intensity it ever needed to face. That was Coach Shazier.
"Zane, thanks for coming in on your break, I appreciate it" he huffed as he plopped into an office chair that groaned under the new-found pressure. Zane merely nodded in acknowledgement, twirling one of the grey strings on his hoodie to keep himself occupied.
"Listen, you're one of the few juniors coming back next season that played any kind of role for us this season - at least on offense," Coach Shazier began, prompting Zane to sit up in his seat a smidgen.
"I haven't given you a ton of a attention of the last couple of years, but I've always been watching. You have all of the potential in the world. It's why you've never seen a junior varsity field. I wanted you to be exposed from the get-go. To play up to your competition. But, there's a problem."
Zane blinked once and shrugged, admitting non-verbally he didn't know what Coach Shazier was speaking of.
"You have no belief in yourself."
Zane was taken aback, but tried his hardest not to show it. His conversation with his father and grandmother flooded back into his mind like a tidal wave. More people knowing himself better than he did.
"Every star I've ever coached, or Hell - played with, had this unadulterated, untouchable belief in themselves. They talked crap, they bet on themselves always. I don't see that from you. But, I want to."
"I don't really know what to say to any of this, Coach. I believe in myself."
"That you can play football? Anyone can do that. Everyone does. Even people who damn well can't play. But to be the best? To actually be a game-breaking talent? I don't think you've actually ever challenged yourself to do it."
Zane sat with it. It landed like an anvil on his head. He hadn't ever really been challenged like he had over the past week by several integral members of his close circle. He had grown comfortable. Comfort was something he sought where he could. He picked careful friends, he picked careful classes in school that he could do with relative ease. He was reliable, efficient, dependable.
Not dangerous.
He took a deep breath, the type that slowly feels your lungs to its very capacity. Like anymore and they will pop. He let it out slow, evenly.
"Tell me what to do."
Bianca gazed through a rack of designer clothing, no one particular garment catching her attention. Feeling the different fabrics under her fingertips had put her in a sort of trance. She was running on autopilot, going through the monotony of a spur-of-the-moment shopping spree with her friends.
She watched them dig in on each other; pressuring one another to step outside of their fashion comfort zone and opt for different styles. Every once in a while, Bianca would be forced out of her zone, prompting an "mhm" or a nod of approval when one of them would hold up an article of clothing for her opinion.
She fought off her burning urge to check her phone for what time while masterminding her excuse to cut this trip early. She knew it would be like pulling teeth to leave since he was conveniently the one who drove.
"So," Shayla started, prompting the clothes rack to shriek from the metal-on-metal contact, sifting through cropped leather jackets. "Are we ever going to talk about your infatuation with that junior football guy." Bianca raised her eyebrows, but didn't meet her expecting gaze, keeping them laser forced on the sleek black jacket in front of her.
"I don't know why, but I'm genuinely surprised you used the word 'infatuation'" she responded, peeking at the price tag before grimacing and moving on. Just because she had the money to spend didn't mean she was a fan of throwing it at just anything.
"I pay attention in English class, thank you very much. Anyways, I'm ready for all the spicy details."
"The details are as spicy as mayonnaise," Bianca retorted, finally giving Shayla a look of mild annoyance.
Shayla, her long, dark hair bundled into a messy bun on top of her head to give her diminutive, five-foot-two stature a slight boost. Her permanently-tanned skin glowed under the fluorescent light, illuminating her green eyes that looked up at Bianca's comparably giant frame next to her. Bianca, at five-foot-nine, was taller than most of her friends, but none more than Shayla Florentino.
Shayla tilted her head to the side, her curiosity getting the best of her. "You've got to give me something here. Friends share these details, girly." she sang at the end. Bianca fought off rolling her eyes that would just get her into deeper trouble.
"He's really just a friend. He's one of the few guys at school that don't think with their dicks. Which I've grown to appreciate" she breathed carefully, trying to mince her words as best as she could.
To tell the truth, she didn't know how to describe her growing friendship with Zane. She found herself texting him almost as much of any of her "closer" friends, or spending lunches or after school hanging out in her car, shooting the breeze before they broke apart for the evening. It felt easy. It felt real. No artificial preservatives added.
"Well, he's damn handsome, I'll give you that" Shayla shrugged, content with knowing that any more digging and she would most likely find herself between a rock and a hard place.
"Damn handsome" their third, Ruby piped in, waltzing over with arms full of clothes. Her platinum blonde hair sat high on her head in a tight ponytail, complimenting her southern bell demeanor she often portrayed despite never travelling anywhere other than Florida to visit her grandparents during the summer. "He's not a total pig, which makes him even more-"
"Don't even finish that sentence" Bianca interrupted, holding up her finger to halt her friend's invasive thoughts. The gaggle of girls broke into a laugh that reverberated through the store, gathering a handful of curious looks from other patrons.
Bianca couldn't hold back any longer, rolling her eyes despite finding herself also breaking a quaint smile at the ridiculousness of her friends.
***
Zane sunk deeper into his seat than he typically would, anxiety biting his stomach subtly. Not enough to torture, but enough to make sure you're aware that its always there.
He had been in his Coach David Shazier's office only a handful of times - when he was told that he made the varsity team, when he was told that he would be starting for said team, and once when Coach Shazier paid him a compliment on a block he made in a narrow loss early in the season. That was the last time he set foot in here.
The office was simplistic but exactly what you would imagine it being: a large, mahogany desk in the center of it, different sheets scattered through the office. A filing system that itself was flooding with sheets that probably predated Zane's own existence. Coach Shazier had been the head coach at Upper St. Clair for the last fifteen years, and didn't seem to be leaving any time soon.
He was alerted by one of his coach's in the hallway that Coach wanted to see him in his office on his spare period, not expanding at to a reason why. They hadn't shared as much of a glance since Zane had made the one-handed catch in the back of the end zone to give the Panthers one of their few wins of this past season.
Coach Shazier bustled in behind him suddenly, catching Zane by surprise. He turned to see him walk in, only a few minutes late from their "scheduled" time. He held a coffee in one hand and another folder of sheets that would no doubt find themselves joining the scatter at some point. He was a heavy set black man with a big beard that had long greyed. Kind eyes that could meet any intensity it ever needed to face. That was Coach Shazier.
"Zane, thanks for coming in on your break, I appreciate it" he huffed as he plopped into an office chair that groaned under the new-found pressure. Zane merely nodded in acknowledgement, twirling one of the grey strings on his hoodie to keep himself occupied.
"Listen, you're one of the few juniors coming back next season that played any kind of role for us this season - at least on offense," Coach Shazier began, prompting Zane to sit up in his seat a smidgen.
"I haven't given you a ton of a attention of the last couple of years, but I've always been watching. You have all of the potential in the world. It's why you've never seen a junior varsity field. I wanted you to be exposed from the get-go. To play up to your competition. But, there's a problem."
Zane blinked once and shrugged, admitting non-verbally he didn't know what Coach Shazier was speaking of.
"You have no belief in yourself."
Zane was taken aback, but tried his hardest not to show it. His conversation with his father and grandmother flooded back into his mind like a tidal wave. More people knowing himself better than he did.
"Every star I've ever coached, or Hell - played with, had this unadulterated, untouchable belief in themselves. They talked crap, they bet on themselves always. I don't see that from you. But, I want to."
"I don't really know what to say to any of this, Coach. I believe in myself."
"That you can play football? Anyone can do that. Everyone does. Even people who damn well can't play. But to be the best? To actually be a game-breaking talent? I don't think you've actually ever challenged yourself to do it."
Zane sat with it. It landed like an anvil on his head. He hadn't ever really been challenged like he had over the past week by several integral members of his close circle. He had grown comfortable. Comfort was something he sought where he could. He picked careful friends, he picked careful classes in school that he could do with relative ease. He was reliable, efficient, dependable.
Not dangerous.
He took a deep breath, the type that slowly feels your lungs to its very capacity. Like anymore and they will pop. He let it out slow, evenly.
"Tell me what to do."
