Might As Well Sleep Without Washing Up
May 27, 2016 — United States, Oahu, Hawaii — Honolulu, Kahuku CDP — Kahuku High School — Football Team Equipment Shed
It was my fifth day as a member of the Red Raiders.
For the record, "Red Raiders" is the football team's nickname.
"Goddammit. Is this seriously what I signed up for?"
"Back off and just keep wiping."
"...Moi!"
"What?"
"How am I supposed to do this one?"
"Put some wax on it and rub it in gently! Then go over it once more with a dry cloth!"
From last Monday through today, we'd been shut up in the equipment shed for two hours a day, cleaning and conditioning the protective gear and training equipment.
The only person we'd seen all week was the discipline captain. Everyone else — training or otherwise — hadn't shown so much as the tip of their nose. The head coach and his staff were no different.
I'd figured out on the very first day that this was a hazing ritual. Actual practice probably wouldn't start until next week.
"Moi. Let me ask you something."
"What?"
"How the hell do you know all this stuff?"
Marcus, who'd been cleaning a helmet, tossed down his rag as he spoke.
"I mean, we've played football, so sure, we know our way around protective gear. But fixing and maintaining training equipment? None of us had a clue about any of that. Be honest with me, Moi."
"Spit it out."
"You've got family who plays football, don't you?"
For that spectacular swing and a miss, I rewarded Marcus with a fist bump. He grumbled his way back to work.
How do I know the maintenance techniques?
Well. Obviously.
Because I'm living my second life.
In my last life, we ran this exact same welcome ritual when I enrolled at Columbia, and even after I'd joined a pro team's front office, I'd worked a post that handled training equipment and the like. Maintaining high school–level gear was a cakewalk.
Honestly, it was even kind of fun.
"Ah, this little punk. He's humming again."
"Stop it! I'm going insane over here!"
"What? It's actually pretty fun. It's soothing."
"Somebody take that guy to a hospital."
For the guys who couldn't stand mindless labor from a seated position, this was surely torture — but I was genuinely enjoying it. I suppose you could say I was feeling what it meant to be reborn.
It wasn't that I'd simply traveled back to the past, so up until now I'd barely tasted any of the advantages of a second life. Acting on memories from a previous existence was nearly impossible here — this was a completely different world, with not a single point of overlap.
If there had been, I would've played the stock market. Or invested in something.
All I'd really had was a maturity beyond my years. Acting a little shrewd. That was the full extent of it.
But the moment I joined the football team, all that useless knowledge — the kind that had no purpose outside of actual coaching — started proving its worth.
Right now it was only this much. But from here on out, it would keep growing.
"You... you actually finished all of this?"
"Oorah!"
"..."
Enock, the discipline captain, looked utterly dumbfounded. Truth be told, that had been his expression every single day.
On the first day, after dumping us in the shed, the only words Enock had left us with were: "Make this place sparkle."
That was truly it.
Under normal circumstances, he'd have watched us fumble around helplessly, chewed us out, and reluctantly walked us through things one at a time — but with me there, it was he who ended up with nothing to do.
I'd received exactly one punishment since Monday. It happened because Marcus tried to make a run for it. He'd only stepped outside to catch his breath after hitting his limit with the manual labor, but for the captain who'd been lying in wait outside the shed hoping somebody would slip up, it was excuse enough.
After that day, Marcus started listening to me a lot better.
Friday, 11 a.m. We were finally liberated from the mindless labor.
"Damn—! It's finally over."
"It was a drag, but honestly, it was kind of relaxing."
"Don't mention it."
Five days of being locked in a shed together, two hours a day, had let me get close to every single one of my classmates. Even now we sat together at the bus stop. It was the weekend, so everyone was heading home.
Marcus and Sol-Jay would catch the same bus. I'd be taking the one to Honolulu. Kaonohi was just keeping us company — his house was right nearby.
"Bus is coming. I'm off."
"Yeah—"
"Good work, man."
"See you Monday."
"Yeah."
After bumping fists with each of them in turn, I boarded the Honolulu bus and found a seat. My classmates were waving through the window, so I waved back with a smile.
Once the bus pulled away, I turned on my phone. I needed to check in with Aunt Mel. Then I spread open the book I'd stashed in my bag — Take Your Eye Off the Ball 2.0, a book of football strategy written by a man named Pat Kirwan.
It was subtle, but the schemes in this world ran slightly differently. Nothing was ahead or behind its time — football had always been like that, after all. On the gridiron, a scheme older than thirty years could pop up as a surprise card in the biggest moment, while a strategy declared dead a decade ago could suddenly become the flavor of the era.
Until now, I'd focused entirely on building my body. You could say I'd been so busy enjoying the blessed physical gifts of this life — something I'd never experienced in my last one — that my mind had been left to idle. Being fast and strong was an absolutely thrilling thing.
But from here on, I had to feed my head too. I was a quarterback.
"..."
So absorbed in the book that before I knew it, we'd arrived in Honolulu after the hour-long ride. Aunt Mel was waving from outside. Time to hop off. Beep beep—
With a bright smile and a light step, I got off the bus.
May 29, 2016 — United States, Oahu, Hawaii — Honolulu, Kahuku CDP — Kahuku High School — My Lodging
My family didn't like the idea of me going to school on a Sunday. Aunt Mel had offered to drive me up at the crack of dawn, but I told her I was fine, had lunch, and headed straight up to Kahuku.
And there was someone waiting in front of my cabin.
Not alone. Three of them.
"Who—?"
From a distance, I'd wondered if they might be the Huamatus. If it was them, the people who didn't exactly welcome me with open arms, there was a good chance they'd come to do something about my lodging, sitting as it did right next to the football field.
But it wasn't them. They were girls.
"I hear you~ live out here~"
The blonde girl let her words trail off in a long drawl. Was she from L.A.? That was a West Coast cadence if I'd ever heard one.
"And?"
"Just~ figured I'd~ introduce myself ahead of time~ Oh, by the way~ I'm Stephanie~ Junior on the cheer squad~ And next year I'm gonna be captain."
"Is that so? Nice to meet you, Stephanie."
Listening to Stephanie's drawl, someone came to mind. My third— no. Was it my fourth wife? By the time we divorced, I couldn't stand the sound of her voice, and listening to this stretched-out, syrupy drone was already souring my mood.
And of course — the total lack of social awareness was identical too.
"So anyway~"
"Whew—"
"Why don't you~ come grab a coffee or something with us~? Or~ you could invite me into your place~ Of course, these two wouldn't be coming along~"
If I let her inside, I could roughly predict how it would go. Never mind anything more — the rumor would spread instantly. Dwayne Moi Stone and Stephanie What's-Her-Face are dating. The two girls flanking her were presumably there to seed exactly that kind of gossip.
And honestly? I wanted none of it. Not because I lacked desire. Just... no.
Still, making an enemy of a senior like Stephanie would do me no good, so I resolved to turn her down nicely. Which is to say — I lied.
"Your father's coming~? Well then, I suppose it can't be helped~"
"It was nice meeting you, Stephanie."
"You'll invite me next time, right?"
"We'll see. Well then — bye."
Keeping a pleasant smile plastered on my face, I slipped inside the cabin while doing my best not to look like I was fleeing. A little, but I was sweating.
Girls like that were best left untangled. And it wasn't as if I'd only just met the type. I'd watched promising young talents — good reputations, real ability — spiral straight into the gutter after getting tangled up with the wrong woman, time and time again.
If I were a genuine, green sixteen-year-old, the story might be different. Thankfully, the current me came equipped with the patience that only years of experience can buy.
Only long after they'd gone did I lift the curtain and scan the outside. The girls were nowhere in sight — completely gone. Finally, some peace.
Just like before, I'd have to watch out for girls like that. There were probably quite a few who'd come charging at me without a second thought. Among the cheerleaders and the popular girls of the school, dating the football team's quarterback was something of a privilege. It made you the queen of the school overnight.
Why hadn't I thought of this? I must have been so drunk on the idea that I was living in a parallel world that I'd been treating my past-life memories like nothing more than a novel I'd once read.
This wouldn't do. Knowledge was meant to be used properly — and not just for football, either.
But before any of that — the reason I'd come here on a Sunday. For that, I headed back to the equipment shed.
Dwayne Moi Stone's enrollment had been the talk of not just the football team but the entire school. This was, after all, the boy who'd sat for an ESPN interview at all of thirteen years old — a kid hailed as the greatest talent in the entire history of American sports.
So some people had assumed certain things. That Moi would be lazy. That he'd be arrogant. Of course, everyone hoped otherwise, but athletes who'd been in the spotlight since childhood generally walked around with their noses in the air. And of all sports — football. Quarterbacks, especially.
But this case was different.
Thud—
Thud—
Tamati Uta'i, the security guard at Kahuku High School, turned his footsteps toward the sound coming from the football field. And what he saw was—
Thud—
—a large-framed boy down on one knee in a corner of the field, tossing footballs.
Tamati realized it was Moi.
On a Sunday?
Thud—
Thud—
A large plastic tub lay on its side, wedged firmly in place on all sides with this and that so it couldn't roll away. Moi kept firing balls into it, and whenever there were none left to throw nearby, he'd grab a basket, stand up, gather the scattered footballs from all around — and then do it all over again.
This scene.
Tamati watched it as if under a spell.
Thirteen years working security at Kahuku High. He'd seen plenty of freshmen come and go, but not one of them — not a single one — had ever run solo drills on a Sunday the way Moi was doing now. Not even the upperclassmen.
Thud—
Worried that he might accidentally interrupt the kid's training, Tamati rose onto his toes and walked as carefully as he could. He was far too distant for his footsteps to be heard anyway, but somehow it felt like something he simply had to do.
And it made sense, because—
"You're kidding me. The kid's insanely focused."
"Yeah? Wow—"
"I figured he was just some reckless hothead coasting on natural talent. But maybe that's not it at all."
"Well, we'll see."
Hearing his coworker still doubting Dwayne Moi Stone, Tamati felt the urge to argue back. But he swallowed it and only nodded. Then he thought to himself:
Soon, they'll all find out.
The image of Moi, silently gathering and throwing footballs out there on the field, was burned hard into Tamati's mind.
Knock knock—
Late at night, a knock sounded at the door.
Instinctively, I wrapped my hand around a baseball bat. Yes, there was a security guard — but you never knew. Carefully, I approached the door.
"Who is it?!"
"Moi? It's Tamati! I'm the security guard here!"
"What's going on at this hour?"
"Well now, could you open the door first?"
"..."
With the latch still fastened, I eased the door open a crack. Through the gap, I could see a man in a security uniform. Only now did I relax a little.
"I did some baking at home — care to have some?"
Pie? And now that he mentioned it, he was holding something. And something smelled wonderful.
Completely dropping my guard, I told him to wait just a moment, shut the door, and slipped the latch free.
Click.
"My wife baked a pecan pie."
"Whoa. I'll dig right in. Thank you."
"Don't mention it. By the way — anything giving you trouble?"
"Nothing like that, but there are a lot more bugs than I expected."
"That'll be the lighting. I'll see to it separately tomorrow."
"Thank you. But... um."
"Yes?"
"Don't tell me — you came all the way out here to bring me this?"
"I did."
Tamati answered as if it were the most obvious thing in the world, touched the brim of his cap in a little salute, and turned to go.
Oh. I should say something.
"Hey—!"
"?"
"I'll really enjoy it! Thank you so much!"
"Finish it up and leave the dish out front! I'll come by for it!"
I watched Tamati's receding figure for a moment — then spotted a moth fluttering madly around the porch light and hurriedly shut the door. Then I walked over to the table, sat down on the floor, and unwrapped the cloth bundle.
The dish was still warm — he must have baked it just before coming.
"It smells incredible."
I'd grown up eating plenty of my mother's pies, so one whiff was enough to tell me roughly how it would taste. This one was going to be genuinely delicious.
"Ah— fork."
Suppressing the urge to dig in with my bare hands, I walked over to the small display cabinet. Mom had bought it for me — and along with it, forks and knives and the like, insisting that even out here I ought to live like a proper human being at the bare minimum. Looking back now, I was glad I'd listened. Otherwise I'd have been eating with my hands.
"Mmm— that's the stuff."
The flakiness of the crust, the delicate hint of butter. How far the pecans had been toasted. Even the ratio of brown sugar to cinnamon. This was a pecan pie made by a truly skilled hand.
I demolished one slice in no time flat, then flopped straight down onto my bed.
I'd trained on my own all day, and after finishing, I'd cleaned every piece of equipment thoroughly and put it back in its proper place. A pleasant kind of tiredness, topped off with pecan pie—
There was no fighting sleep on this one.
Even mid-melt, it occurred to me that I still needed to turn off the light, so half-dreaming I dragged myself up, flicked the switch, and dove back under the covers.
Tomorrow was finally the real start. I'd be meeting the entire team.
Might as well sleep without washing up, right?
Ah— whatever. I didn't trust a single fingertip to move.
The flutter of anticipation for my first real day of practice. The thought of facing the Huamatus. Right now, all of it was simply being devoured by the sandman.
And I didn't resist. I let him take me.