by Purple Hazel
As Samson returned to the room, he found Ozzie and Shamiso curled up in bed, with Shamiso facing toward him and Ozzie’s arm around her. They were snoozing peacefully, like they’d been out for a while. God, they were so cute! Samson couldn’t help but chuckle as he tiptoed around the room, getting himself ready for bed. Wakeup call was set for 08:00. The team would have to do films in one of the hotel conference rooms at 10:00 after they ate breakfast. Then it would be time to pack for the long trip home to Dallas. Airship departure time was 15:00 hours.
After Samson brushed his teeth and got ready for bed, he glanced over at Shamiso one more time as she snored softly. It occurred to him once more how much she looked like her beautiful sister whom he’d met downstairs. He’d posed for pictures with Rudo. Even had her sit in his lap for a while! She was so beguiling and yet so very grateful for what he’d done. Samson had never been so turned on by a woman in his entire life!
“Girl, I swear. You and your sister look exactly alike,” he muttered to himself looking at her as he turned out the lamp on the nightstand in between the two beds. "Hell, if ya’ll ever swapped places...shit, I bet Rudo Love fans would never know the difference.”
Chapter 11
What We’ve Become
“Lieutenant! I think I found a path! This way!” screamed Ozzie breathlessly. As he raced down the cliffs toward the ocean shoreline of Kapteyn B, Ozzie suddenly noticed he wasn’t wearing his helmet. He panicked when he realized he must have lost it somehow. His head began to pound from breathing in the toxic air of that alien, forbidding planet.
Meanwhile the ground seemed to be shaking and boulders were coming loose, rolling or falling toward him. He could hear Lieutenant Kelvin screaming from the ridge above. “Look out Ozzie! Shit’s breakin’ loose! We gotta get off this fuckin’ ridge buddy! Head for the beach! RUN!”
Terrified, Ozzie sprinted a ways, then froze to a stop when he saw boulders hurtling toward him from his flank. After those passed by, he dodged a couple more of them as he scampered about thirty meters downhill. Then, as he finally reached the end of the path he was on, that’s when he became aware he was trapped. Instinctively, he turned to look for Lieutenant Kelvin to warn him.
“Lieutenant! It’s a dead end!”—gasp—“Goddammit!”—gasp—“Go back! We’re fucked, sir!”
But when he turned ’round, that’s when he noticed the path he’d been running along was—actually—the arm or foreleg of a very, very large monster which was awakening and now looking down at him! The beast had a huge snout for a nose and enormous, piercing eyes. To make matters worse, it was now opening its mouth to reveal multiple rows of sharp teeth...with a black-spotted tongue curling up in his mouth to reach out and snare him! Ozzie now realized the monster was slowly lifting its foreleg toward its mouth to eat him! That’s when he knew he’d have to decide which way he wanted to die. Should he allow himself to be swallowed? Or...should he jump…?
That’s when Ozzie suddenly awoke from his nightmare. It was nearly 04:00, according to the clock on the nightstand. Samson was snoring like a hibernating grizzly bear, and Shamiso was snoozing peacefully under his arm. Luckily, his stirring hadn’t awakened her—yet. His head and neck now throbbed and ached mercilessly. Obviously, the drugs from the night before had finally worn off, and his subconscious mind had concocted a horrible dream.
Head and neck feeling like they were on fire, ears ringing, Ozzie gently moved his arm away from Shamiso and rolled off the bed to the opposite side. Somehow, some way, even though it was dark in their room with just a little light coming in through the bedroom curtains from the city of London off in the distance, he had to find his trousers. In them were his pills.
“I don’t fuckin’ care if it does make me puke at this point,” he grumbled to himself, “I know I can’t have more ’n three ’r four of ’em in twelve hours...but shit, I gotta have another or I’ll never get back to sleep. Fuck this hurts...”
* * * *
Four hours later, a fluttering of musical notes began to sound, signaling it was 08:00. The hotel clock was sounding its alarm, though the choice for ringtone was less of a chiming bell, and more like that of an angel playing a harp. It also faded in slowly—so to gently bring the three guests awake. Shamiso and Samson aroused almost simultaneously. Ozzie did not. He was still asleep and pretty much unresponsive.
Shamiso took little notice of this however. She sat up in bed, still almost nude, and smacked her lover playfully on the thigh. It was only when Samson pointed out the severity of his injury the night before that Shamiso reacted.
“Ozzie...Love? Wake up Sweetie, it’s time for breakfast,” she said, nudging him. He didn’t move. Almost seemed he wasn’t breathing...then she noticed his chest rising. “Wow, he’s really out of it, mate,” she said to Samson, who scoffed and shook his head concernedly.
“Man he don’t look too good. Ain’t surprised. He got JACKED UP last night. Them English boys...they practically took his head off on that play. I didn’t see it happen, but I saw him after. Niggah needed ta’ go to a damn hospital, but them doctors, you know...jeez.”
“What are you sayin’, Sam?” asked Shamiso with rising suspicion. “Did my Ozzie get hurt really bad and they didn’t give him proper medical attention?” Samson got a kick out of her calling him Sam, which is what his mother used to call him. He also noticed something quite odd...about the name she just called his famous roommate.
“Yeah, basically,” he replied. “They just sat him on the end of the bench where ever-body ’d leave him alone. Put an ice pack on his neck. That’s about it. But hey, why you keep callin’ him Ozzie? That his real name? Oswald?” Shamiso was far too concerned about Ozzie’s health to worry about outing him at that moment. “Oswaldo actually,” she replied dismissively. She continued with her previous line of questioning.
“Did you speak with ’im last night? Do you think eez got ’imself a concussion?” she asked. Samson shrugged his shoulders and replied, “One good way to find out. Y’all stay here. I’ll go down to team breakfast and get him some food. If you can wake him up while I’m gone, I’ll bring him back a banana or sumpin’ and see if he can keep it down. If he can’t...if he throws it up I mean...well, we ain’t lettin’ him on that airship this afternoon. Let’s put it that way.”
Shamiso’s heart sank. Was it really this bad? Should he have been in a hospital all this time? She felt horrible, and it was starting to panic her. Concussions had practically ended her sister’s career, and here was her lover Ozzie suffering from what looked like the same injury.
“Okay Sam. Thanks mate. I’ll try waking him while you’re gone,” and when she said that, he half-smiled and sat up to get out of bed. Shamiso meanwhile was in panties and topless, a detail not lost on Samson who noticed how she didn’t seem to care one bit that she was half-naked. Given the situation, he’d endeavored to suppress his reaction to it. Shamiso then hopped up from the bed.
“But let me ask you mate,” Shamiso then added, standing up in front of him with her hands on her hips, just like Rudo Love the singer was always famous for when posing for magazine photos, “you’ve been playing a while haven’t you?”
Samson, trying not to stare lustfully at her bare breasts, looked down at the floor and then up quickly, nodding and almost snickering. “Ah yeah. Since I was a kid. Started playing in Japan. Came here first to play college ball. Then Dallas drafted me.” That’s what Shamiso was trying to find out.
“Then you’ve seen shit happen like this before, right? What...a couple times? Several times?” she clarified. Samson nodded. Of course he had. No matter how “safe” they tried making Megaball...concussions, knee injuries, ankle sprains, broken collarbones...these things kept on occurring. Players were bigger, they were faster, they were stronger, and they hit even harder—believing all along that they were impervious to damage. Not so, he’d learned, least of all at the professional level.
“In your opinion, what should I do? Should I get ’im to a hospita
l right away? Or should I wait and see what happens? I mean, I don’t wanna get me boyfriend in trouble with them coaches. He’d be angry with me for that, I suppose, right?”
Samson shook his head even faster this time, waving her off as well. He knew just what Ozzie—Ranger—was about to go through. If they put him on that airship back to Dallas, he’d be a mental and physical wreck by the time they got into DFW air terminal. He’d likely need hospitalization then anyway, and likely get cut by the team once he got cleared to play. Then he’d really be screwed.
“Don’t fuckin’ matter girl. If he’s got a concussion—a really bad one—and I bet he does—he probably oughta see a doctor. And no fuckin’ team doctor, neither. Shit...I shoulda said somethin’ last night when y’all got back to the hotel. I could tell he was glassy eyed but...I guess I just didn’t wanna mess things up for ya’. Y’all looked so...determined—know what I’m sayin’?”
Shamiso chuckled embarrassedly then looked over at Ozzie. There was only one thing to do now.
“Alright then, mate. You go get ’im some food ’n we’ll see if he can keep it down,” she said, then she bent down and kissed Samson on the forehead, allowing her boobs to dangle in his face a bit. “Thanks Sam. We’ll see you in a few minutes.” Then Samson got up from the bed to leave, covering his swelling erection with his hands as he scampered off to the bathroom to pee and brush his teeth. He then dressed and headed downstairs while Shamiso worked on waking up Ozzie from his slumber…
Sure enough, it all checked out. Serious concussion. When Ozzie awakened, he got ill almost immediately. Fearing he was dehydrated, Shamiso had first given him some water. And this, when mixed with the nausea brought on by taking too much sumatriptan—and zolmitriptan given to him by Neville—caused him to feel like vomiting. Shamiso flew into action and brought him the hotel ice bucket, into which Ozzie promptly puked up much of his dinner from the VIP reception the night before.
Case closed. He was concussed. Sore neck and shoulders, aching head, nausea, glassy eyes: He had all of these. There was no way he was getting on that airship that afternoon. Shamiso promptly rang her sister’s Digital Communication Device and had Neville send over a limo. They then went straight to the hospital—Neville, Shamiso, and Ozzie—together.
* * * *
“Nnnnnngh...woooh... Whuh—whuh happened, Meeso?” asked Ozzie groggily.
The doctors had tested everything: MRI, CT scan, neurological tests on sensory skills, functioning of cranial nerves, hearing and speech, vision, everything. They all came back negative. However, those doctors certainly knew a thing or two about concussions with athletes. Even famous ones. “Rest,” is what they said, “lots of rest...the only and best treatment for a concussion.”
That meant no taxing of the brain whatsoever. No reading, no electronic mail, no listening to music, no calls on his DICE to chat with his brother in Houston, and no watching Ultravision. However, when he finally came to, Shamiso was already getting quite bored and had sneakily turned on the video screen in the hospital room. It was now 16:00 hours and the rest of the Wranglers players had long-since departed Heathrow for Dallas. She had been scrolling through shows until she’d found an old movie from the 2080’s she used to love—one she used to watch onboard the Santa Maria.
By then, Samson had already covered for his friend once more by telling the coaches he’d been checked into a hospital. Once that happened, there was no way they could discipline him since it was a medical emergency. That was also a little something Samson had figured out over the years. He’d explained this to Shamiso as well, to use in reminding her boyfriend he was safe from getting the ax. League rules. Ozzie could come back to practice next week—just as soon as he was up to it, no questions asked.
“He may or not make the team,” as Samson reminded her, but he couldn’t be cut for doing this since he was legitimately injured. He had nothing to worry about.
The doctors at the London hospital had agreed with Samson’s earlier advice. Flying all the way back to Dallas for nine hours or so in an airship would have been an ordeal for a person with a concussion. He needed to be in bed, resting, sleeping, and not exposed to any stress, strain, or bright lights.
“Brains are like an old-time car engine,” said one doctor. “After blunt injury, it sort of runs out of fuel, so to speak. And only with rest does the tank fill up again. Best thing for your boyfriend is to sleep. Rest and relax until later tonight. If he’s doin’ better, we’ll release him and you can fly him back to Dallas tomorrow.” That’s how he’d left it. And after he exited the hospital room, Shamiso spent the rest of the afternoon alone with her lover—in the dark.
But now that it was late afternoon, Ozzie was slowly coming around. He’d awakened, looking around for a while, wondering why everything was so dark. He also wondered how he’d gotten here! Of course, due to the effects of the concussion, he’d forgotten pretty much the entire morning: staggering down to the limousine, Shamiso berating an assistant coach who’d tried to interfere, even all the drama checking into the hospital. Too bad, too. Neville and Shamiso were downright hilarious in the emergency room lobby arguing with the admitting nurse about who everyone really was...
“Oh...you’re up finally,” observed Shamiso. She was reclining in a chair nearby where she’d been using the hospital bed’s Ultravision remote controller to flip channels. Now she’d found just the right romantic comedy film to watch and was enjoying herself contentedly. Ozzie, blinking, looked up at the screen and tried to focus his eyes. Shamiso saw this and quickly reached over to turn off the video.
“Uh-uh, Stupid,” she commented. “You’re not to watch videos...or read, or do electronic mail...nothin’. Doctor’s orders. You took a real knock on the head last night and we checked you into the hospital this morning. Do you remember? And by the way, you’re on my shit list for downplaying the whole thing. I had no idea you went arse over tit in that match last night. Samson told me. You should have seen a doctor right after it happened. Instead, Muppet, you spent the night having red hot sex with me.”
Ozzie scoffed, “Ah come on now, you know I’d ’ve been alright. You didn’t have to check me into no damn hospital. Them painkillers worked just fine. Coulda slept on the flight goin’ back to Dallas. Besides, that shit Neville gave me got me through it okay. Showed you a pretty good time too, didn’t I?”
“That’s not the point Sweetie...and yes, you were fabulous...but you’re not supposed to take pain medications when you have a concussion. Doc told me. They thin your blood and can cause bleeding when you’ve ’ad traumatic brain injury. You’re lucky to be alive right now.” Shamiso was the only person in the world who could scold Ozzie this way and he’d do nothing but smile pleasantly.
“Alright then Darlin’. I’m sorry. I guess I shoulda told ya’. But now...what time is it? Are we gonna miss the flight home?”
“Blimey,” she reacted. “Took off an hour ago. Doc says we’ll see how you’re doin’ later tonight. Maybe send you back tomorrow. Rudo and Neville tell me we don’t need to worry. Next show is in New York next Friday. We’ve got four days off—the whole tour company—so I’m takin’ care of ya’. How’s that sound?”
“Sounds excellent! But what about the Wranglers? Am I off the team for this? They don’t take too kindly to players goin’ AWOL ya’ know?”
Shamiso explained the rules concerning players with injuries during games on the road. He could still go back to Dallas the next morning and be fine. For now, he just needed to sleep. Rest. Sleep. Relax. No stress. Satisfied, Ozzie asked, “So then...what were you watchin’? It looked kinda familiar. Didn’t we have a movie like that back on Santa Maria?”
Shamiso was touched. “Oh you recognize it, do you? Or are you tellin’ me porkies? Seriously? It’s one of me favorite films. I’d be so tickled if you knew the movie.” Ozzie was pretty sure he’d seen it before. He started detailing what he thought he remembered about the plot.
“Yeah, it’s the one where the two
people meet in school, then don’t see each other for ten years until they’re workin’ in the same city, wuddun it?” he probed, spinning a plotline that had been used probably a hundred times in films throughout human history (maybe more). “Then the gal runs inta’ the guy at some party...and they start goin’ out, right? But not immediately, of course, ‘cause one of ’em ’s datin’ somebody already...can’t remember which one. Maybe they both got somebody they ain’t broke up with yet, I’m not real sure.”
Shamiso rolled her eyes and crossed her arms with a sarcastic expression on her face. “Go on?” she said. Ozzie then chuckled, “Am I gettin’ it right?”
To this Shamiso scoffed, “Oh that pretty much describes the premise for about a dozen chick films I’ve seen mate, but please...continue.”
“Well why don’t we watch it together then? I got some of it right, didn’t I?” pleaded Ozzie, looking for a way out. Shamiso snickered a bit then decided to cut him some slack. After all, he’d already been through plenty. She’d felt so bad for him retching into an ice bucket that morning. And the pain he must have been in? Hours before? She could only imagine how horrible he must have felt. Her sister must have gone through the same ordeal years ago when she’d fallen off the stage. Now Shamiso had witnessed it in person.
“Alright, Crumpet. I’ll put it back on. But if your eyes get tired, you close ’em so you don’t exert yourself. Doctor said you were not to view any videos or reading material of any kind, so…” But Ozzie was already waving her off. He felt much better. Besides, he absolutely wanted Shamiso to watch her favorite romantic movie.
