by John Goode
I tried to convince myself that Carol liked me because I was on the basketball team and gaining in popularity, which of course reflected well on her. I tried to, but to be honest, she was a really nice girl. The thought of using me for popularity would never cross her mind, and I knew it. I was using her, and it was killing me inside. Not enough to do something about it, but killing me nonetheless. I had never had a group of friends before that I was trying to impress, and having a cute girlfriend helped me in that department immensely. According to a few guys on the team, if I wasn’t taken, there were more than a few girls who would have asked me out, which only cemented the value of having a girl on my arm.
With my personal life squared away, I was able to concentrate on basketball in a way I hadn’t been able to before. With no Cody or Tommy to distract me, I focused on the game and getting us to the state championship. I initiated a before-school jog for the team, which then led to an early morning workout session to get us into playing shape. At first they were resistant; no one liked getting up that early to do anything, much less run, but the coach backed my decision and made it mandatory. It didn’t make me popular with the guys, but after a few days, they got into the rhythm and stopped bitching so loud. After a month we started seeing results, and our results started getting compliments from the school.
There is nothing that inspires a teenage boy more than a teenage girl asking if he’d been working out.
With our workout out of the way by first period, it left us our entire practice session to work on our game. The coach began to separate us into smaller teams to work on specific skill sets. Slowly but surely we stopped being a group of teenage guys trying to play basketball and began to turn into an actual team. Seeing the guys around me picking up their level of ability took the pressure off my shoulders as we all began to realize this season wasn’t going to be just about me. Our strategy wasn’t going to be four periods of trying to trick the opposing team to either look or not look at me. I was still the best player we had, but I was no longer the only player.
Yet here we were, twenty seconds away from washing out of the finals, and there was nothing I could think of to stop it.
“So what’s the plan?” someone asked me when it was obvious I had nothing to add by the way of an answer. I looked over and saw it was Frank who asked; he was one of the seniors who had been on the team since he was a freshman.
Before I could even think about it, I heard myself snap at him. “Wow, Frank four years and you just woke up! Nice of you to join us.” He blinked a few times in confusion at me as a couple of the other guys looked down and stared at the ground. “That guy is on me like I owe him money. If I can’t shake him, we’re sunk.”
Scott, another useless senior, opened his mouth as if to say something, but the second I glared at him, he closed it and looked away. I was pissed, and I couldn’t tell you where it was directed at specifically. I glanced up and saw our time out was almost over. This was it, this was how our season ended, and I was helpless to change it.
“Just get that asshole off of me and get me the ball,” I said, ducking out of the huddle before anyone could respond.
The fact that no one said anything to me was an indication that this was not new behavior for me. As we grew more competent as a team, the harder I seemed to push them. I suppose it was a vicious circle that the closer we got to the playoffs, the more I wanted to go to state, which then made me drive the team harder, which then made us play worse and worse. Everything I tried to tell them seemed to fall on deaf ears, which just made me talk louder and louder.
After a while I was just screaming.
I think it was because I had never had to deal with a real social environment before that made me oblivious to the fact I was becoming less and less liked by just about everyone around me. I assumed the coach would pull me aside if I was doing something wrong, but he never said a word as I tore into the team week after week, no matter if we won or lost. I knew we were far from being able to take the title, and if we didn’t get better, then this would be for shit. A waste of a season, busting our ass just so we could see another group of jackasses walk away with our trophy.
And here we were two months later, exactly where I was afraid we’d be.
I went out to center court as Scott sat on the line, waiting to throw the ball back into play. My shadow was right behind me. I could almost feel him breathing on my back, even if I didn’t turn around. I saw a couple of guys scrambling around in front of me as we moved into position.
“So I hear you’re the guy to see after the game to get blown,” a voice behind me said, the sneer audible in the guy’s tone alone.
My blood felt like ice as every single hair on my neck stood on end. I spun around and found myself face-to-face with the very sneer I had imagined from his words. I saw his eyes widen as he realized his words had gotten to me, and he pantomimed a kiss at me in response. Something hit the small of my back, but I ignored it as my fist connected with his face. It was obvious he wasn’t expecting it from the way he went down, like I had just punched a little kid instead of a high school senior. Someone tackled me from my left side, which brought the rest of our team off the bench like it was a hockey game instead of basketball.
Two of their team landed on top of me, and I curled up into a ball to protect my head and junk. I could hear fights all around me as the referees, coaches, and more than a few parents tried to break us up. It took more than twenty minutes before we were all sorted out. Most of us had bloodied noses, others blackened eyes. I saw at least one guy cradling his arm in a way that made me sick to my stomach. I was kicked out of the game, and the other side was given two free throws, which gave them an eight-point lead. Twenty seconds later they had won the game.
The cheers from the court echoed to the locker room, and I felt an ache in my body that had nothing to do with my wounds.
After a couple of minutes, the rest of the team walked into the locker room. No one said a word, but trust me, the silence was deafening. A couple of guys sat on the bench staring into their lockers; a couple of others glanced over at me with a ferocity that made me wonder how I didn’t burst into flames. Five minutes into this, the coach walked in. He was as quiet as everyone else. I just kept looking down at my sneakers; I was too pissed to risk actually trying to talk right then. He stared at us for a few seconds and then, in a low voice, said, “Shower up and head home. We’re done.”
Most of us looked up at him as he walked into his office and slammed his door.
We showered like zombies. This day had started with such promise, slapping each other’s backs and saying words of encouragement. Now we couldn’t even look at each other. I was the last in, since I had no desire to strip down and stand there naked with a group of guys who were pissed at me. When I got out, the locker room was empty; everyone else had already left. As I slipped on my jeans, the coach walked out of his office. He had a glass of something in his hand that didn’t look like it was a soda.
“Why are you still here?” he asked sharply.
“Just dressing out,” I answered, grabbing a shirt, wanting to get the hell out of there.
He came in and sat down on one of the other benches. “You do know you really fucked up the game, right?” I looked over at him in shock as he kept talking. “I mean, when you joined the team last year, I really thought you’d turn us around, but after tonight—” He finished the drink and hissed as it went down his throat. “—well, I sure got that wrong, didn’t I?”
Normally I wouldn’t have said a word back. The coach wasn’t someone people tended to argue with. He was just too serious a guy for anyone with half a brain to consider giving lip to.
If you haven’t noticed, I am about nine yards short of having half a brain.
“How was that my fault?” I asked in a far harsher tone than I intended. He raised one eyebrow in response but didn’t say a word. Of course, I just went on talking. “I was your top scorer, led the season in rebounds, and was person
ally responsible for winning at least four of our games. So tell me how I screwed up my season?”
He came off the bench like he was on springs. “It wasn’t your fucking season!” he screamed in my face, the smell of bourbon almost overwhelming. “That’s why we lost,” he added, lowering his voice. “Because you went out there and thought this was your team and your season to win or lose.” We glared at each other for a few seconds. His words caused the blood to drain from my face, and I wondered if he was right or not.
“Last year you were all about the team, ready to do anything to get the team even a half step forward. I thought that kid was the best player I’d seen in a long time.” I thought he was going to hit me for a moment, but he turned away and made his way back to his office. “If that kid shows up next season, he’s on the team.” He paused at the doorway and leveled a look at me. “If it’s you who shows up, don’t even think you have a chance. I’ll suit up a group of monkeys and gladly lose every game before I let you make this team feel this bad about themselves again.”
He slammed his door shut without another word.
I sat back down on the bench and tried to figure out how he was wrong. I tried, but I couldn’t.
I was supposed to go out with Carol after the game, but I blew it off because I needed to be alone. I got into my Jeep and just drove as far as I could. I was mad. Mad at myself, at the coach, at the team, at life in general. In one season, I had somehow become an alien version of myself. Looking into a metaphorical mirror, I could not recognize the guy staring back at me. I’d started this year with so much hope, and now all I had were ashes.
The road that twisted its way between the ocean and Corpus was pretty dead this late at night. I was pushing seventy as I raced toward the back entrance to the base. I felt like I was in a horror movie, a maniac with a chainsaw right on my heels. Basketball was the only part of my life that was pure, untouched by the darkness I knew crouched just out of sight in my head. It was my public face, the one people were supposed to like and love, and I was screwing it up.
I had no idea how to fix what was happening.
The last thing I remember were headlights in front of me and slamming on my brakes.
INTERLUDE:
TIME OUT
LIFE HAS a different feeling when you’re on pain meds.
There are no real days, just one endless stream of images that never seem to connect to each other. You’re aware that time is passing, but it doesn’t mean anything since there is just blackness between the brief moments you’re awake. I knew I was in the hospital, but I was unable to generate any concern since my brain was wrapped in a nice little pillow of narcotic bliss. I remember moments of seeing people I assume were doctors and nurses and once my dad.
It might have been hours, might have been weeks, but I lay there for an indeterminate amount of time in a haze, not sure of anything at all.
Whenever I opened my eyes, it was dark, giving me the feeling that either I had been out for one long night or several days in a row, always waking up at the same time. So there was no way for me to know how long I had lain there in a drug-induced slumber when I finally regained consciousness. The room was dark, but even so I could tell I was in a hospital room. I had no clue how I had arrived here, but the second I tried to sit up, one thing became blatantly obvious.
My leg was broken.
There was a cast from just under my knee to my heel, and it was resting on a pillow tucked under my calf. I could tell my leg was screaming in agony, but it was as if it was connected to someone else. I was in a hospital gown, and there wasn’t any indication of where my clothes were.
That was when I saw her.
She was a shadow in the corner, standing there looking at me. At first I thought she was just my imagination, but as soon as I focused on her, she moved toward me. She didn’t walk as much as she floated to my bedside. Her hands were pale white against the rails. “You’re okay,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper.
It didn’t sound like a question, but I nodded just the same. “Yeah, I think so.” My voice sounded weird, like it was coming from somewhere far away. “Where am I?”
She put a hand on my forearm, and it was like ice. “You are here,” she said, her face still covered in shadows. “You need to be here.”
“I am here,” I agreed, trying to pull my arm away. “Where else would I be?”
That was when I felt my entire body shake with a racking pain.
The room burst into a brief halo of blinding light before going dark again. Her nails were cutting into my arm like she was holding on to me for dear life. “Danny!” she shouted. “Danny, stay with me.”
Now I was scared. My body was getting cold, and I couldn’t move. I looked over to the lady, my eyes no doubt wide with terror. “What’s happening?”
“Danny,” she said, the tone in her voice becoming kinder. “Danny you’re going into shock. Stay with me.”
I forced my hand to move and placed it over hers. “Where am I?”
“You have to stay here,” she said, her voice changing again. “You have to stay here.”
There was another flash of light, and the world became bright and unfocused. There were people staring down at me, dark silhouettes that looked more like alien abductors than real people. Just like the last time, the moment faded and the room went black again. In that moment I looked over to the lady in the shadows, and I knew who she was.
My whole body went numb, and I realized I couldn’t feel the pain from my leg anymore. My body was shaking from more than fear. My hand gripped hers tightly. “Please, please don’t go!”
I don’t know if I saw the hint of her smile or just imagined it, but I knew she was smiling at me. Her hand moved across my forehead, brushing the hair out of my eyes. “You have to stay here.” She sounded sad. “You can’t leave yet.”
The pain in my leg was like a fire on the horizon, a small spark indicating a distant blaze.
“Stay here, Danny,” she repeated, leaning forward to kiss my forehead. “You have to stay here.”
My arm began to throb with pins and needles, like I had fallen asleep on it for days. Again the pain was muted, far away, but this time I knew it was mine. I tried to focus past it to look at her. “I wanna go with you!” I cried as the feeling moved up my arm to my shoulder.
“Stay here,” she whispered. “Stay with your dad. He needs you.”
As the pain in my chest hiked up, I could feel myself being pulled violently away from wherever I was. From her.
With all my focus, I tried to grab at her, but the darkness was fading, and I was being pulled back toward the light.
I screamed for my mom to stay, but it was useless… she was gone.
I awoke gasping in my bed, a doctor and three nurses surrounding me. I tried to sit up. “Mom!”
I felt one of the nurses push me back down to the bed with one hand; it was an indication of how weak I was that she succeeded.
“He’s okay,” the doctor said in that same clinical way all doctors seemed to talk. “That was close.”
“I’m sorry, doctor,” one of the nurses said. “The father didn’t indicate any allergies—”
“Doesn’t matter,” he said, cutting her off. “He’s obviously reacting to the codeine. Check his scripts and change them. He can’t take another one of those.” He sounded like a jerk, but something…. I thought I saw his jaw twitch… but I lost the thought as quickly as it had come.
The nurse seemed pissed, but she was doing a pretty good job of holding her tongue. She just nodded at him and said, “Yes, sir,” before walking out.
“Danny?” he said, looking down at me. “How you doing?”
“Where is she?” I asked, each word feeling harder than the last. I was exhausted, but I needed to know where she went.
“Who? The nurse?” he asked, flashing a light in my eyes, obviously not listening to my questions. “Danny, you had an adverse reaction to the painkillers we were giving you. I
need you to follow my finger with your eyes.” He began to move his index finger to the left and right in front of my face.
I tried to slap it away, but lifting my hand seemed almost impossible. “Where is she?” I asked again, my eyelids getting heavier by the second.
“Pupil dilation looks okay,” he said to the nurse behind him. “Okay, Danny, looks like you’re over the worst part. Just try to relax and get some rest.”
“Need to know…,” I said as I fell back into unconsciousness.
CHAPTER EIGHT:
DISQUALIFYING FOUL
THE FIRST person I saw when I really woke up was my dad.
He was out cold in a chair tucked away in the corner, and he looked like he was the one who got hit by a car. He was unshaven. To Dad, being unshaven in public was like walking around naked in public would be to the rest of us. It just wasn’t done. Every memory I had of him was clean shaven, hair high and tight, and clothes clean and pressed. Seeing him looking like that drove home how bad the accident had been way more than the cast on my leg did.
I tried to sit up, but pain exploded from my knee all the way up to my hip. It was so unexpected I cried out loud before I could stop myself. I bit down on my bottom lip hard as I looked over at my dad, hoping he had slept through it.
“Danny?” he said, instantly opening his bloodshot eyes and pushing out of the chair wide awake, on alert. “Don’t move!” he commanded quietly; he knew I was holding my breath to keep from screaming. I watched him as he fumbled in my covers and came up with the nurse call button. He jammed it, like, half a million times. I tried to find a way of lying still that didn’t cause me to cry like a bitch. My hands clutched the covers, and I realized there was no way I was going to find an escape from the agony that used to be my left leg.
He grabbed my hand and held it tight as we waited for the nurse.
The pain faded for a second as I looked down at his hand holding mine. My dad had never been the most touchy-feely person in the world, and as I grew older, expressions like this grew rarer and rarer. I moved mine to grasp his and marveled at how small it seemed compared to mine. His hand had always been like a paw that engulfed my hand whenever I had to hold it, but as I held his now and tried not to break his fingers when the pain took over, I saw they were about the same size. When did that happen? He kept glancing at the door as his other hand pushed the button, which gave me time to stare at him and, for the first time in a long time, really look at him.
