The Front Porch Prophet by Raymond L. Atkins

one final attempt.
    It was and is a Southern tradition to send adolescent boys to men like Coach Crider to learn to play the game of life. A.J. was not particularly
interested
in the game of life at that point, but neither was he yearning to run laps for the next three decades or so, and Coach was not prone to idle talk. After the kickoff for the second half, Sequoyah returned the ball to their own twenty-three-yard line. In the huddle, A.J. outlined his plan.
    “Booger, take the snap and lie down. Eugene, hit him in the nuts as hard as you can. I’m going to hit him in the throat. If we’re lucky, he’ll die.”
    It was a simple plan, but it had potential. The ball was snapped, and they executed Operation Mayo. He came thundering in, and A.J. and Eugene fired like cannonballs at their targets. Charlie Trammel, the Sequoyah center, got a mean elbow into Mayo’s kidney for good measure.
    After the play, everyone got up but Mayo Reese. He was in the fetal position, vomiting while trying to swear at A.J. and Eugene. They were both standing there shaking their heads, as if it were just a darned shame the young athlete had been hurt and was now being dragged to the bench by his coaches. He wasn’t terminal, but he was out for the game. Unfortunately, so were A.J. and Eugene, thrown out for unsportsmanlike conduct. As they approached the bench, Coach Crider came up to them. They figured they were in for it for sure.
    Then Coach smiled and said, “Now
that’s
some goddamn football.” Sequoyah went on to lose forty-two to nothing, but Coach Crider didn’t seem to mind. He kept looking over at his boys, benched in disgrace. They reminded him of himself back in the golden days when he, too, had been a warrior, eager for the taste of battle and the sound of leather slapping flesh.
    So A.J. and Mayo had history prior to their encounter in Sand Valley. While A.J. was willing to let bygones be bygones, Mayo seemed to feel the need to linger over old times.
    “Let him up,” Mayo said to his companions. He pointed to A.J. “That’s the one we want.”
    A.J. stood his ground with the shotgun aimed at the crowd. He eased the weapon to his left so it pointed at Mayo.
    “You won’t shoot,” Mayo sneered. “You’re afraid you’ll hit him.” He pointed at Eugene, who was clambering to his feet. Mayo was correct in his assertion, but A.J. hoped he didn’t know that he was for certain.
    “You’ll get most of it,” A.J. replied, wishing he had stayed behind the depot. Eugene shoved his way past Mayo and asked him how his sex life was these days. Recognition flickered across Mayo’s features when Eugene arrived back at the Lover.
    “Start the damn car,” A.J. said tensely. Eugene gave his recent companions a gesture before doing as he was told. A.J. backed up slowly and got in, still holding the shotgun on the group in the street.
    “I’ll be seeing you,” Mayo said, eyeing A.J. with raw hate.
    “Not if I see you first,” A.J. replied as they fishtailed off with tires squealing. The Sand Valley rowdies made an attempt at pursuit, but the Lover was more than a match for their old Ford Galaxie, and soon Eugene and A.J. were just bad memories in the night. A.J. had acquired a headache during the ordeal and wanted a quiet ride home. Eugene, however, wanted to talk.
    “Man, that was something,” he said, shaking his head and smiling. “I’ve never seen anything like it. I didn’t know if you were going to shoot or not.”
    “I wasn’t going to shoot,” A.J. said, rubbing his temples. “Shut up and drive.” He was disgusted. All he had wanted to do was take a pee. But, no, Eugene had to run his mouth.
    “No, you wouldn’t have shot,” Eugene rattled on. “You didn’t really have the stomach for it.” A.J. turned to Eugene.
    “I didn’t have the shells for it. The gun was empty.” He closed his eyes and pressed his eyelids with his fingertips. Eugene absorbed the new information. The Lover slowed to a halt