I DISMISSED CLASS, GRADED QUIZZES FOR ALMOST an hour, then packed my bag and slipped out. Crossing the yard to my truck, I got curious, so I wandered over toward the fence. The football team was practicing on the far eastern side of the field. I threw my bag in the back and walked through the gate toward the scrimmage. I didn’t necessarily want to see it as much as I wanted to smell and hear it.
As I was walking, I heard a voice behind me.
“You singing, Professuh?”
I turned around to see Russell towering over me like Goliath.
“Who, me? No, I’m just, uh . . . ” Okay, I lied.
Russell smiled. “You was singing, Professuh.” His eyes widened, and a grassy, sweaty smile cracked his face.
“Not really,” I dodged. “Who do y’all play this week?”
“Professuh, that singing sounded good.” Russell raised his eyebrows and tried not to smile. “Sing some more.”
“Russell, I can’t sing my way out of a wet paper bag.”
“My daddy loved to sing. He liked blues and old hymns. Sang both so much he got ’em mixed up all the time. One minute he’d be singing ’bout a girl he once knew, the next it was the coming glory.” Russell’s smile came back, and he raised his eyebrows once again. “And you still ain’t answered my question, Professuh. Was you singing?”
“Russell, it’s ‘Were you singing.’”
“Okay, Mr. Professuh, sir.” Russell had little quit in him. “Were you singing?”
“Yes, I was,” I admitted, my eyes scanning the practice field.
“I thought so. Now, what was you singing?”
The last thing I wanted was a casual conversation with Russell. In class is one thing. Out of class, that’s another. Students can’t differentiate. Pretty soon, they start wanting to have out-of-class discussions in class. At that point, the idea of you as teacher, and them as students, hops on a ghost train and flies south. Never to return.
“Russell.” I gathered myself. “I was singing a song my wife, Maggie, used to sing to our son before he was born.”
“How’s it go?”
“Russell, aren’t you supposed to be out there somewhere, hurting somebody?” I pointed to the field.
“Professuh, you ain’t answering my question.” He put his hand on my shoulder.
Russell has a contagious smile. About like Pastor John’s. It absolutely destroys any walls you throw in its place. You could rebuild Jericho, and Russell’s smile would bring it crumbling down.
“Russell, let me put it to you this way,” I said, looking at his hand on my shoulder. “There ain’t no way in God’s green earth I’m singing you a lullaby.” I stepped up toward the fence, crossed my arms, and kept my eyes on the scrimmage, appearing intent on the action on the field.
“Professor,” he said in his best English, “‘Ain’t’ is not a word.”
I laughed. I walked back toward him, stepping over pieces of wall as I went.
“Professuh, you don’t laugh much, but when you do, it’s a good laugh. You oughta try it some more.”
What is it with these kids? I’m walking around here half-naked tripping over wall rubble.
Russell continued, “So how’s that lullaby go?”
“No.”
“Now, Professuh.” Russell started talking with his hands. “They’s no need to start getting huffy. We jus’ having a friendly conversation, and you was about to sing me a song.”
“Russell, go away. Go hit somebody. I’ll see you in class.”
“I ain’t gonna do dat, Professuh. Been hitting people all day. That’s how come I’m standing here. ’Cause I’m good at it, and all those boys over there ain’t. Now come on, I heard it when I walked up here.”
“How’s your term paper coming?” I asked.
“Professuh, don’t change the subject. We ain’t in school. This is football, you see.” Russell used his hands to paint along with his words. “In case you ain’t never seen one, that’s a field. That’s a ball. This is grass. These are pads, and this is sweat. School is over there, and this is here. Let’s keep ’em separate.” His smile grew bigger. “Now are you gonna sing, or am I gonna bring this up in class? I am bigger than you, and . . .”
“Yes?” I said. “And what? I can flunk you in two shakes.”
“I’m waiting.” He tapped his size-fourteen cleats on the grass.
Every time I stood in Russell’s presence, I noticed how big he was. He stood maybe seven inches taller than me, weighed at least 290 pounds, and had very little fat. Maybe 8 percent. With shoulder pads, he was huge. I was glad I didn’t have to tackle him.
“If you ain’t in there,” the coach hollered, tobacco juice oozing out the corner of his mouth, “or standing on the sideline, I want you on a knee.”
I sat down on a nearby bench, and Russell took a knee. He faced the scrimmage, one ear trained on the coach and one on me. He knew how to look as though he were paying attention. Sweat was pouring out of every pore, and Russell was in his element. Heat, pads, pain. Paradise.
I gave in and sang.
I sang Maggie’s sweet lullaby, and maybe I wanted to hear it too. At first I murmured, barely above my breath, but Russell would have none of that.
“Professuh,” he said, keeping his eyes pointed toward the field, “that don’t count. I can’t hear you.” He cupped his hand to his ear.
So I sang it for real, as if I were singing to Maggie’s tummy. I finished my song, blinked away the glisten, and looked down at Russell, expecting chiding.
“Professuh,” Russell said, strapping on his helmet, “you awright.” He buttoned his chinstrap and didn’t look at me. “You awright.”
I don’t know if he looked away because he didn’t want to see the water in my eyes or didn’t want me to see the water in his.
“See you in class, Russell.”
“In class,” Russell said with his back toward me.
I heard the second snap of his chinstrap, and Russell jogged off. Man, he was big. Powerful too. Whatever his folks fed him, it worked. There’s no telling how much it cost to feed that kid when he was coming up.
I walked off the practice field, pulled the door of my truck closed, cranked her up, and headed for the hospital. As I was driving over the old tracks, I glanced back across the field and spotted Russell. He had rejoined the scrimmage, tackled the running back, and was now holding both the ball and the running back’s helmet. The running back lay on his back, dazed, shaking his head, surrounded by three trainers.
Minutes later, I caught myself humming.