“It’s whatever, dude, let’s just move the ball,” I said.
On second down Blaine threw an incomplete pass, so Coach called an I-left twenty-eight toss on third down. I got the ball on the toss and again I was surrounded by cardinal jerseys with Arkansas stretched across the chest. Just as I felt myself being pulled from behind, the ball came out of my grasp and rolled behind me. I tried to recover it, but the Razorbacks surrounded the ball like it was hog slop. Arkansas defensive end Marcus Harrison recovered on our eleven. I walked dejectedly to the sideline. I had not fumbled since my sophomore year.
Arkansas running back Felix Jones scored a touchdown after two plays and we were down 7–0. We got the ball back on the twenty, my number was called again, and I gained five tough yards following the left tackle. The second play, Blaine passed short for three yards. It was third down and two and again my number was called. I was determined to find a hole and outrun the Arkansas defense, but again something didn’t feel right and the Razorbacks’ safety, Michael Grant, stripped the ball from me for a second turnover. This was a nightmare and I had to wake up.
As I walked toward our sideline, Delmar came up to me and hit his helmet against mine. “What’s up, B? Are you all right?”
“I’m cool. You just need to block that dude wearing number fifty-two,” I said as I took my helmet off. When I reached the sideline, Coach Hale came running toward me shouting, “Come on, Bledsoe. What the fuck is going on? Get your head out of your ass!”
Another first and it wasn’t even halftime. Coach Hale had never cursed at me.
As the game went on, things went from bad to worse. Our dreams for an undefeated season were spoiled by an inspired Arkansas team as we lost 31–3. Hog running back Darren McFadden, also a Heisman candidate, riddled our defense by running for 231 yards. Good-bye, SEC Championship game. Good-bye, Heisman Trophy. I couldn’t do anything right, and Coach benched me in the fourth quarter after I had gained only 22 yards. If it hadn’t been for freshman running back Koi Minter, we would have been shut out. He gained 63 yards in the fourth quarter alone against Arkansas’s second-team defense.
I sat in the visitors’ dressing room with just my Under Armour bottoms on and cried like a baby who needed his mommy. But I was too stubborn to make that happen.
CHAPTER
29
Barrett’s Baby
Barrett had just finished a blunt and a naked shot of vodka when her cell rang. She looked at the number and heaved a sigh of disgust. It was her mother.
“Hello.”
“I need more money,” Lita said without even a simple greeting.
“What?”
“You heard me. I need more money!”
“For what?”
“I don’t need to tell you how I spend my money. Just tell your business guy to send me at least a thousand dollars more,” she said.
“I’m not going to do that until I know that you’re using the money I give you to take care of Wade and not for alcohol or drugs,” Barrett said.
“Well, I can’t wait for you to do your little research. I need that money and I need it now. Don’t act a fool with me, girl. Sometimes I don’t think you got the sense that God gave a dog, but you think you’re so damn smart.”
“Are you going to use it to gamble?”
“Naw.”
“Drugs. Are you using again?”
“Why in the hell are you asking me all these questions?”
“I got to go. I don’t have to take this shit from you,” Barrett said. The liquor had given her a dose of courage.
“Don’t you talk to me like that, you no-’count bitch,” Lita said.
“’Bye, woman,” Barrett said.
“Don’t you hang up on me, little girl. I will tell you when this conversation is over,” Lita said.
“If you don’t stop talking to me like this, I can certainly make sure you don’t get any more money,” Barrett said.
“Yeah, you do that and I will be down at that basketball boy’s place and I’ll bring him to your ass. Not only will you get a good ass whupping but you and your friend will spend some time in jail. I’m not as stupid as you think. So don’t mess with me,” Lita said.
“Don’t you dare,” Barrett said.
“Then just try me. Now, this conversation is over, Raquel,” Lita said and she clicked off the phone.
Dear Diary:
One of the things that I’ve learned from Brady is that it’s easy and natural for boys to love their mothers unconditionally. If I ever have a baby boy with Nico, will the hatred I have in my heart for Lita prevent him from loving me the way Brady loves his mother?
I wonder.
I don’t hate Lita because she’s a whore and was a lousy mother to me. I hate her because of what her addictions did to Wade.
My baby brother was born with Fetal Alcohol Syndrome and it has haunted him his entire life. He won’t get to play football or date beautiful girls like his big sister. Wade’s almost twelve years old, and still can’t read. Can’t really communicate. He’ll never have friends. He didn’t ask to be born this way.
Would Wade still love Lita if he knew what she did to him?
I don’t think so.
CHAPTER
30
Carmyn’s Texas Tears
It’s raining.
But that’s not the reason I can’t seem to get out of my bed. I’m so depressed that I called both of my salons and told the assistant managers I wouldn’t be in because I wasn’t feeling well. Of course, the truth was I couldn’t bear to face anybody. Not just yet.
There would be questions about why Brady had played so poorly on Saturday, and I didn’t have the answers. While watching the game on television, I started several times to get on the first thing smoking and go comfort my baby. But Brady made it perfectly clear he didn’t want me in Arkansas.
I just lay in bed with the television on mute, gazing at Martha Stewart and Patti LaBelle cooking and acting like they were best friends.
I turned my face into the pillows, and my mind wandered back to Texas and Woodson as a helpless sadness covered me. I couldn’t stop thinking about that night, and I felt like I needed to get professional help to be released from my bad dreams and real-life memories.
I remembered the form-fitting red dress I wore and the string of pearls my parents had bought me for my debutante ball. Woodson and I had made love right before we left for the party, and I was so proud walking into the Renaissance Hotel on his arm. It was close to Christmas and the hotel had lights that adorned the entryway, twinkling and welcoming us and the season.
We walked into a beautifully decorated two-bedroom suite where there were only two other women and about fifteen young men. Woodson greeted a couple of his teammates before he turned to three young men who lingered by a huge window that overlooked the state capitol.
During the drive to the hotel, Woodson had told me how this was the most important recruiting weekend in Texas Longhorns history. As team captain, it was crucial for him that everything went well. Seven of the top ten players in the country were visiting Austin, they needed to make a good impression on them, and he needed my help. When I asked him what he wanted me to do, he simply said, “Just be nice to them, Carmyn.”
As the evening wore on, some of the high school boys looked at me as if they were lions and I was a tasty piece of meat. I wanted to leave, but instead I had a couple of drinks to relax and even took a couple of puffs of a joint—something I’d never done. I remember a glass of a creamy brown liquid that tasted like a milk shake and how I sipped it and felt the muscles in my shoulders relax as I fell back into the sofa and its feather-filled pillows. I held court with the handsome young men and listened to their dirty jokes and stories of off-the-field exploits with girls just like me. I laughed at every one of them, sipping and puffing like I did this every day.
Woodson smiled and winked at me, then went out the front door. When I asked one of his teammates where he was going, he told me
Woodson was making a liquor run and poured me another drink. It tasted different and I told him I shouldn’t mix my liquor, but he smiled and told me everything would be okay. And that is where my memory ends.
The next morning, I woke up nude in the hotel suite, Woodson staring down at me. The most disgusted look I’d ever seen in my short life was on the face of the man I loved.
That was the start of the worst day of my life.
Now here I was twenty years later, still paralyzed by that night. By not telling Brady the truth, my life once again became a nightmare.
For three days I’d been wearing the same black silk pajamas, and all I’d eaten were smoked almonds and orange slices. Even Whitney Houston’s Greatest Hits couldn’t pull me out of my mood, so I knew I was going to have to do it myself.
I dragged myself out of bed and went to the kitchen to cook breakfast, but just before I reached the kitchen, I heard the doorbell ring. When I looked out the peephole, Sylvester was standing there holding flowers. I didn’t feel like flowers or Sylvester.
I decided to ignore him and then heard Sylvester say, “Carmyn, if you don’t answer the door, I’m going to call 911.” The last thing I needed was EMS at my house, so I opened the door.
“Carmyn, I was so worried about you,” Sylvester said as he tried to hug me.
“I haven’t been feeling well,” I mumbled pathetically, staring down at the dusty teak floor in my foyer. I looked a hot mess.
“What’s the matter? Have you seen a doctor? Do you want me to take you to the emergency room?”
“I’ll be fine,” I said.
“I’ve been sending you text messages for days. Why haven’t you answered them?” Sylvester asked.
“I turned my phone off,” I said.
“Carmyn, I’m so happy you’re okay, but please don’t scare me like that again. I was afraid something bad had happened to you.”
“Sorry, Sylvester,” I said. “I’ve just had a tough couple of days.”
He came close to me and put his hands around my waist, but I pushed him back.
“You know I care about you,” he said.
I lowered my chin, shook my head in shame, and said, “Not if you knew what I did.”
“What are you talking about?”
After a heavy silence, I said, “I’ve been living a lie and now it’s come back to haunt me.”
“What’s going on? Does it have to do with Brady? I noticed he didn’t play well on Saturday. I always check out his statistics on my computer,” he said.
That surprised me, because Sylvester didn’t strike me as the computer type.
“I know, and it’s my fault entirely,” I said as tears began to spill down my face.
“Let’s sit down, and tell me what happened.”
We sat at my dining room table, where the easy flow of tears continued and I struggled for the right words.
I told Sylvester about Woodson, that awful night, and how he treated me the next morning. I told him about the letter Woodson wrote to me and that I’d kept it all these years like some form of punishment. I also told him how my parents reacted and that I felt I needed to protect Brady from their judgment.
“Carmyn, time has passed. This guy might not feel the same. He was a young guy, and sometimes they make rash decisions. It sounds like it’s just as much his fault as it was yours.”
“He had every right to be upset with me. I mean, who wants a slut for a girlfriend, especially when the whole campus knows what happened?” I said.
“You’re not a slut. Anyone who meets you can tell what kind of woman you are. Besides, he’s the one who left you in the room with those guys. And even if it’s true, it’s only one night of your life, Carmyn.”
“I should have known better. I wasn’t raised that way,” I said.
“Have you ever tried to get in contact with him?”
“No. Why?”
“To tell him he has a son.”
“Sylvester, don’t you hear me? I’m not certain that Woodson is Brady’s father. It could be any of those guys,” I said as shame covered me again.
“You think he’s still in Texas?”
“I don’t know. When my parents made me leave Texas, I promised myself I would never return.”
“If he continued to play sports, he could be found easily. I bet you could also get a list of names of the guys who were there for the recruiting trip that weekend. The university has to keep that type of information.”
“Why would I do that?”
“So that you can find out once and for all who Brady’s father is. He has every right to know.”
“I don’t know,” I said sadly.
Sylvester took my hands, looked me straight in the eyes, and said, “Don’t you want your son back?”
“Of course I do.”
“Then you have to find his father.”
“How am I going to do that? I would need to find every guy who was in that hotel suite that night.”
“I can help,” Sylvester said.
“How are you going to do that? I mean, you work all the time.”
“I know people,” he said confidently.
“What people? What are you talking about?” I asked, wondering how an hourly worker could help me with all the expense and time it was going to take to find Brady’s father.
“Look, Carmyn, I haven’t been totally honest with you.”
“What?”
“There are some things about me that I haven’t shared,” he said as he looked away.
“Are you going to tell me? I’ve just told you the biggest secret in my life.”
Before Sylvester could answer, a female voice called my name. It was Kellis. She walked into the kitchen and looked shocked at seeing me there with my nightclothes on and Sylvester holding my hands.
“I used the key you gave me. Is everything okay?”
“Hey, Kellis. I’m sorry I haven’t called you back,” I said.
“Yeah, I understand. Looks like we’ve been busy,” she said in a teasing voice.
“This is Sylvester,” I said.
“And I was just leaving,” he said as he got up. He extended his hand toward Kellis and said, “Nice to meet you.”
“Likewise, I’m sure,” Kellis said.
“Carmyn, I’ll call you later. Promise me you’ll take care of yourself,” he said in a voice full of concern.
“I will. Thank you.”
Sylvester walked out of the kitchen and down the hallway. Kellis sat down with a smirk on her face and said, “So, Carmyn, what have you been keeping from me?”
“Nothing really,” I said. “He’s just a friend.”
“Yeah, right. So this is why you don’t have time to meet any of my friends. Looks like you’re doing fine all by yourself. He’s real handsome. He looks like someone I saw in a magazine or something. Is he a model?”
“No, he works as a clerk at the Croissant Corner,” I said.
“A what?”
“A clerk, and before you say anything, please don’t.” I didn’t need Kellis judging Sylvester.
“Who, me? Honey, if he’s rocking your boat, then that’s all that matters. But he just looks familiar.”
“Maybe you saw him at the Croissant Corner,” I said.
“I don’t ever go in that place unless I’m with you, but I’ll figure it out. Is he married?”
“No, I don’t think so.”
“You mean you didn’t check? Honey, I get the social security number of every man I meet and run a credit and background check before I get serious about him,” Kellis said.
“It’s not that serious,” I said.
“Looks that way to me.”
“Trust me, it’s not.”
“So where have you been? I’ve called and called. Is everything okay?”
“How much time do you have?”
“I ain’t got nothing but time,” Kellis said.
“Then let me put on a pot of coffee and make you some breakfast. I got
a story to tell you.”
CHAPTER
31
Brady’s Baton Rouge Beat Down
Don’t you think you’re being pretty tough on your mother?” Lowell asked.
“I don’t know, what do you think? She’s lied to me my entire life,” I said. I didn’t want to sound sarcastic or ungrateful. I was halfway through a double cheeseburger Lowell had cooked for me after practice. I knew he had invited me over so that we could discuss my current relationship with my mother, but I just didn’t want to talk about it. Right now my main concern was getting my football mojo back after running for only fifty-five yards against LSU. The second straight game where I’d failed to run for a hundred yards and we’d lost.
It was one of those November evenings that was neither hot nor cold. Lowell and I sat on his deck with only long-sleeved T-shirts on. If my mom was here she would tell me to put on a jacket.
“Have you sat down and tried to find out why she decided not to tell you? She’s had a really hard time,” Lowell said.
I took another bite of my burger and said, “Lowell, I know you mean well, but I have to work this out by myself. I got other things on my plate.”
“Like what?”
“You’ve heard how badly I’ve been playing the last two weeks. We only have three games left, not counting a bowl game, and I got to get back on track and help my team.”
“What do you think the problem is?”
“I don’t know. Well, yeah, I do. The stuff with my mom and then trying to keep up with Barrett,” I said.
“How’s that going?”
“I’m a goner. So sprung,” I said.
“What is ‘sprung’?”
“It means I’m in love. Real talk,” I said.
“How do you think she found out that information about your father?”
“Does it matter?”
“Yeah, it does. Your mom only shared that with me, and I didn’t tell anyone,” Lowell said.
“Would you have told me?”
“That’s not my place, Brady.”
“Do you think I should try and find my father?”
Just Too Good to Be True Page 22
