That Pretty Much Sums It Up

College isn't like high school. A lot of the guys here come from far away. Some of them settle in without a hitch, no matter what they left behind — and some of them struggle, worn down by homesickness. The days turn numb and listless. Twenty-four hours starts to feel like a weight. Life itself becomes an uphill climb.

Of course, that's not my story.

#. October 23, 2020

#-1. Athens, Georgia, USA

#-2. Kirby Smart's House

"There we go. Right here."

"Aw, damn, pasta again? G! Take your plate!"

"Why~? Pasta's delicious, isn't it? No?"

"It's fine — for someone who drowns theirs in ketchup, anyway."

"Haha. Honestly, that's a preference of its own."

"You see? If ma'am says so, then clearly he's the spoiled one here."

The woman telling us we're welcome to act as spoiled as we like is the coach's wife, Mrs. Mary Beth Smart. If I had to sum her up in a single phrase, it would be: genuinely good person. That says it all. She's such a warm soul that the boys feel free to act like children around her.

"I do NOT want to see ketchup-drowned pasta anywhere near my sight."

"Too bad~ slurp—"

"Fu… G? Don't make me curse out loud today. Not today."

"Why not? Go ahead and try. Slurp—"

George Pickens, who knows all too well that I can't stand ketchup on pasta, was teasing me from right beside me. In my heart of hearts, I wanted to unleash a whole barrage of curses, kick him square in the gut, and then grind him underfoot for good measure. But this was the coach's house. And the little ones were here. Actually little ones, that is.

"Darnell is such a good boy."

"…Yes, ma'am. I think so too."

"You as well. And you cook beautifully."

"I grew up in my mom's restaurant my whole life. I only learned by watching over her shoulder, so I could never match your cooking, ma'am."

"Are you seriously eighteen?"

"Haha. I hear that a lot."

Andrew, the coach's eldest son, likes Darnell best of all the players who come to learn football from his father. Darnell Washington. The team's tight end. And honestly, all of us like Darnell. He's a genuinely solid kid. Someone worth looking up to, even.

Darnell grew up with seven siblings. His father passed away when he was seven, and his mother was in prison at the time for a crime. The eight children ended up scattered across foster homes, and by the time his mother was released, only Darnell and his older brother Ezekiel — one year his senior — were living with her. Everything after that was a hard, grinding life. As a high school freshman, Darnell was a promising football prospect standing 6'4", but a few months earlier he'd been evicted from their rental apartment and had started sleeping in an old truck. His bed was always a vehicle parked in a Walmart lot, where he lived with his mom and brother. And let me tell you — spending a Nevada summer in a Walmart parking lot is brutal. Even after dark, the heat wrings sweat out of you like rain, and when that truck is home to three people, the inside is basically a sauna.

Why not just crack the windows? Congratulations — you're now a prime target for a robbery.

The reason a kid like Darnell could still pour himself into football and make it to the University of Georgia was the effort of a man named David Hill, the head coach at Desert Pines High School. He saw Darnell's potential and immediately launched a fundraising drive to help Darnell and his family get back on their feet. He paid the family's rent out of his own pocket, and when times were hard for him too, he still opened his door wide and took them in. That's how Darnell learned, through high school, to overcome the wounds and trauma of his childhood — and how Ezekiel made it into the Marine Corps while Darnell made it to Georgia.

Peter is a diligent, quiet model student in his own right. But Darnell is every bit as kind and decent.

"Actually—"

"?"

"I was a little surprised by Darnell's girlfriend. Because the girl who chased me around so relentlessly back in high school was Stephanie. One time she locked me in a storage room and tried to strip down and throw herself at me."

"Is that girl… even sane?"

"She was a lot."

"Did you tell the school?"

"Yup. She quieted down after that, though."

To say a little more about Darnell: he has a girlfriend — and a daughter. The pretty little girl Peter is currently holding, named Laila. The two of them started dating sophomore year, and one day during junior year, he got a message from Stephanie saying she was pregnant. Darnell told me he felt like the sky was caving in on him.

When I first heard this story, I looked at Darnell differently. Because what he said wasn't —

["The baby made my life so hard."]

["I never wanted this."]

It was —

["Because I knew our child would be born without a blessing."]

After agonizing over it for a long time, Darnell finally opened up to his mother. He braced himself for her to explode at him — but what came back instead was advice on how to become a good parent. Encouraged by that, Darnell went to his girlfriend's house and laid out the truth the same way, and she said something similar to him:

["It's time to grow up now."]

At those words, Darnell cried. And his situation got considerably better — because his girlfriend's parents offered some support as well.

"So I talked to my mom about it."

"About what?"

"Whether she could give Darnell's mom and his girlfriend jobs at the restaurant. I haven't told him yet, but Mom was really positive about it. In Hawaii they wouldn't have to worry about room and board, and they'd be able to save up some money too."

"Have you run it by the coach?"

"No. I only decided yesterday."

Everyone who came to school here at Georgia grew up in a different world. Among all of them, I count myself lucky. I was born and raised in a good home, and I never particularly had to worry about money. Maybe I was never rich or wealthy, exactly — but listening to all these different stories teaches you how to be grateful for the life you have.

"I've gotten pretty close with Darnell lately."

"You shared secrets, huh?"

"That's right."

Once the cooking in the kitchen was mostly done, I hoisted the pot and headed for the table. Tonight's menu: duck and chicken slow-cooked with a medley of vegetables, a blueberry sauce to drizzle over the top, and — last but not least — the Stone family's traditional chili, the very pot in my hands. And everyone gathered at this table was a freshman. That was the whole point of tonight.

"I get to hold Laila."

"Nope. Right, Laila?"

"Laila~ who do you like better? Hm?"

Laila looked at my face and reached her little arms forward. The table erupted in laughter. Don't ever underestimate a guy with a baby sibling — I know exactly how to charm a baby.

"Alright, boys. Let's say grace before we eat."

"G. He already ate his pasta."

"Dude! That was an appetizer!"

"Yeah, right."

I shot a grin at Pickens as he pouted, and then we bowed our heads and began to pray.

COVID keeps getting in the way of us gathering, but in our own way, the bonds keep deepening. A Friday evening, a warm dinner table. Even here, this is how I soothe the ache of missing home.

Man, I really want to go to Hawaii.

#. October 24, 2020

#-1. Athens, Georgia, USA

#-2. University of Georgia

#-3. Butts-Mehre Heritage Hall

Today was supposed to be a fishing day. I wasn't going to be able to go either way, but Alexi hated the idea. She couldn't come herself because of a family commitment — and she couldn't stand the thought of other girls being there. And honestly? Even with her complaining, I'd been planning to go anyway.

That was the plan. Until—

"Dam—mit. Are you serious?"

"Yup."

"You said we'd do something fun."

"This IS fun."

"Damn it. I got played completely."

"Come on — I'm telling you, you're gonna end up enjoying it."

Heavy rain had been hammering every corner of Georgia since morning, and Bear Creek — our fishing destination — was no exception. We'd driven out on the off chance it might clear, but one look at the reservoir on the verge of overflowing and we turned straight back for campus. I told the guys we were going to do something fun instead and brought them to Butts-Mehre, walked into the gym, and peeled my shirt right off.

"LIGHT WEIGHT, BABYYY!!!"

"Isn't that… like, painfully old-guy energy?"

"Sorry. It's a habit."

Today marked the first time we gathered as more than just individuals for a proper group lifting session. Outside of the full-team training we run in the mornings, weight work is generally each man's own choice. But someday, I want to bring this back to life. Strictly speaking it wouldn't be Kahuku, and it wouldn't be a revival so much as the birth of an entirely new culture — but still.

"Fuck. Don't forget you owe me dinner."

"Two weeks. I promise."

"Break that promise and I'll kill you."

Still, once Darnell stepped up and volunteered like this, the others had no choice but to join in. Even so, we were only five. Me. Darnell. Peter. Jordan. Willie.

Wind and rain and thunder and lightning kept hammering away outside, and somehow training indoors through all of it felt incredibly romantic.

"Romantic my ass. Romance died right there."

"Come ON — isn't this killing it?"

"The only thing being killed here is ME."

It wasn't the punishing intensity of Kahuku's Muscle Men sessions. But the feeling of friends pushing each other, spurring each other on—

"YOU'VE GOT IT!!!"

"ONE MORE!!!"

"NGGGHH!!"

"UP!! FUCK!! I SAID UP!!"

"HNNNGH!!"

"YES!! YES!!!"

That's it. That's the feeling. To become a football player who makes it — how far are you willing to grind yourself down for it?

Hustle & Grinding.

A Saturday with no game. Overflowing energy, bled off in whatever way we can.

#. October 25, 2020

#-1. Atlanta, Georgia, USA

#-2. Starbucks

It was the same in my past life, and I still can't figure it out. What on earth is this fantasy that women have about coffee shops?

In my previous life, a coffee chain called Counting Stars, which started in Sacramento, swept the entire world. In this life, Starbucks fills that exact role.

Sunday morning. I drove out to Atlanta. To see Alexi.

"I was so—O upset."

"Yeah. I bet you were."

"Right?? I prepared SO much for it. Do you know how hard I worked to make sure we wouldn't break any of the COVID protocols, and then on the day of, the screening—"

From the moment we met, she'd been fussing and sulking. Because the school had canceled homecoming outright.

Homecoming, along with prom, is one of the most important events in the life of every American high schooler — think of it as a kind of party thrown by the student body. And every imaginable kind of madness tends to break out at them.

"This is so unfair."

"I figured you'd feel that way."

"See… you're just SO good at empathizing with me."

If a woman is angry about something that isn't you — the first move is to listen and validate it. And if you can't manage that, at least fake it convincingly. Then, when she says something like—

"So? How've things been for you lately?"

—that's when the situation starts thawing. Never — and I mean never — bring logic or reason to the table when your woman is feeling raw. It will only exhaust you several times over.

"Nothing much. Yesterday I worked out all day."

"I saw the video you posted. That was awesome."

"Because I don't hang around with other girls?"

‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠

"I hate that stuff."

Honestly, it does wear on me a little. But this much is tolerable. She's still in high school, after all. And marking her territory the instant another girl comes up in conversation — well, that has its charms too. Even now she scooted in close beside me and kissed me first.

"Aren't you being a little bold for a Starbucks?"

"Let's go somewhere else in a bit."

"Where?"

"My family has a cabin out on the edge of town."

"Far?"

"No. Forty minutes."

Just as the atmosphere between us had turned thoroughly cozy, someone approached our table. A woman. Mid-twenties, by the look of her.

"Dwayne Moi Stone?"

"That's me."

"Oh—my gosh. I'm such a fan. Could I get an autograph?"

"Of course."

Of all places — a Starbucks autograph request. And the woman who walked off with my signature, despite seeing Alexi sitting right there beside me, left a napkin with her phone number scrawled on it face-up on the table. And naturally, this—

"Fwoosh! Fwoosh! F-fi, FIRE?!"

"That wretched little—"

I figured she'd drop it in her coffee cup. I did not expect her to actually set the thing on fire. Where on earth did she even get that?

"Wait. Don't tell me you smoke?"

"No. I've always carried one around, knowing this day would come."

"Oh… kay?"

That little shiver running down my spine just now — I wasn't imagining it, was I? A thought crossed my mind: when the day comes that we break up, I'd better do it properly. If I handled it clumsily, I had a feeling I wouldn't come out of it in one piece.

And yet—

"Babe?"

"Yeah?"

"Let's go. Right now. I can't wait."

It was a genuinely good thing the woman who came asking for my autograph had set Alexi's chest on fire ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠with jealousy.

Two hours later, we lay side by side on the bed.

Great job, Jane Doe. Great job.

#. 7:40 PM

#-1. Athens, Georgia, USA

#-2. University of Georgia

#-3. Vandiver Hall, Room 607

Us football players have something like a curfew. And Alexi has a curfew of her own. The couple of times she'd slept over here, it was only because she'd cooked up some other excuse each time.

"For real? As if. Let's throw a flash and move up first."

After getting back to the dorm around 7 PM, I'd started up a game with Zamir. It's called Battlefield.

"I mean, it's just a first meeting, right?"

"Obviously. I'll cover the back."

"Copy."

When I got back to the dorm earlier, the first thing I did was take a COVID test. Every time you leave and come back, you have to test — three times. Once the moment you return, once the next morning, and once the next evening. At first, the swabbing up my nose was miserable and painful, but doing it practically every day, I'd gotten completely used to it.

"On my way. Saving you now. What's the story?"

"Ah — right. Can't quite remember her name, ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠though."

A few weeks back, some female rapper had edited a photo of me into something wildly lewd and posted it on her social media. She didn't know I was born in 2001 — and once the internet flipped upside down, she scrambled to take the post down. Granted, at eighteen most states legally recognize you as an adult, but generally a woman needs to be older — around twenty-one, drinking age — before an older-girl hitting on a younger guy stops being a scandal. For the record, the rapper who made her move? Born in 1985.

Ding-dong.

"Oh — pause for a sec."

"Yup. Pizza's here."

I set down my headset and controller for a moment and opened the dorm door. Standing there were the guys holding the pizzas. Peter and Zamir. And Jermaine Burton.

"You said you weren't coming?"

"You idiot. You told me earlier you'd grab pizza at home and we'd game after. You were only half-listening again, weren't you? Too busy taking a dump?"

"Dumbass. So? You coming or not?"

Zamir scrambled to quit the game, and I walked over to the table and held out my hand to Jermaine.

"What's this for?"

"Zamir's on his way over. Pay up."

"Ah—! Come ON!! You said he had no brain!"

"You really think he has one of those?"

The truth? I never actually told Zamir to come over. Sorry, but I genuinely forgot. I did have a brief call with him that morning — while he was sitting on the toilet — but that was for a different reason. So when Jermaine belatedly remembered and realized Zamir was missing, he'd made me a bet:

Would Zamir actually catch on?

"Damn it. My twenty dollars."

"Think of it as pizza money."

"Shiiiiit."

A breather week, with no game to play. If I had to sum up my weekend — a warm dinner. A modest Muscle Men session. A girl. Pizza and games.

Yeah. That about covers it.

Not bad, honestly. Not bad at all.