When you get down to it, he’s right. I did play a pathetic, sloppy game. I had one good play, where I got lucky, and that’s it. I love my team and I’d do anything for them. Like, I would never screw up on purpose, but I wonder if deep down, there’s a part of me that realizes if I play poorly, my problem about whether I play football or not next year is easily solved.
I don’t know. But I’m gonna do what my dad tells me to do because that’s what I’ve always done. It’s been him and me for so long, I don’t know any other way.
On my way to work Saturday, I stop off at King’s Doughnuts, hoping she’s already started her shift. When I walk in, she’s busy helping someone, so she doesn’t see me. When I finally catch her eye, I smile and she smiles back.
All I can think is, Please don’t let her hate me for this.
When the customer is done, I step up to the counter.
“Hi,” I say.
“Hi. Can I get you something? A maple bar maybe? Or are you an apple fritter kind of guy?”
“I’ll take two of those pumpkin spice,” I tell her.
She raises her eyebrows. “Really? Well, what do you know, a guy after my own heart. Those are my favorite.”
As she bags up my doughnuts, all the nervous feelings I felt last night come rushing back. It’s crazy how much nerve it took to ask her out and now I have to find even more, except this time, there’s nothing good waiting at the end of it all.
She hands me the bag, and I give her a five-dollar bill. “Lauren, I have some bad news.”
As she gives me my change, her smile disappears. “Oh no. Is it Benny?”
“No, nothing like that. It’s just, I have to cancel. I can’t make it tonight. Something’s come up. I’m really sorry.”
“Oh. Right.” She crosses her arms. “I’m sorry too.” She pinches her lips together like she’s deciding if she should say more. I wait, because I don’t know what else to say. “Can we reschedule?” she asks.
God, I want to say yes. I almost say yes. But what am I gonna do, lie and sneak around behind my dad’s back? I can’t do that. Besides, maybe they’re right. Maybe Benny and my dad are right. Too many distractions, and I can’t focus. I don’t want to let my team down. It was too close yesterday.
My eyes stare at the register. “Probably not until the season’s over.” I meet her eyes again. “I’m really sorry, Lauren.”
Another customer comes through the front door. “Yeah,” she says. “Me too.” She looks past me and says hello to the person who’s just walked in. That’s my cue to leave.
I hold the bag up. “Thanks,” I say. “I’ll see you around.”
“See ya later,” she says, not even looking at me.
As I leave, I glance at a picture hanging on the wall. It says YOU CAN’T BUY HAPPINESS, BUT YOU CAN BUY DOUGHNUTS, AND THAT’S KIND OF THE SAME THING.
Man, I wish that were true. Because although I’m leaving with two doughnuts, I am not leaving happy, that’s for sure.
THERE’S ONE Chinese
restaurant in the entire
town of Willow.
Inside, the red booths
and tacky light fixtures
confirm what Stasia’s
told me about the place.
A person looking for
authentic Chinese food
would be sorely disappointed.
Small-town America,
they say to know you
is to love you, but the
qualities you possess
kind of make me laugh.
Still, Stasia takes me
to Ming’s after work
because she’s crazy
in love with their egg rolls.
I tell her she’s smart
to be crazy about
them instead of
a stupid boy because
egg rolls can’t really
break your heart.
“Eating the last one is pretty sad,” she says.
The thing is,
there’s sad,
and then there’s
feels-like-a-punch-in-the-gut sad.
I’m sad it’s raining today.
I’m sad I can’t afford the jeans I want.
I’m sad the egg rolls are gone.
or
I’m sad my mom made me leave.
I’m sad my brother isn’t with me.
I’m sad it ended with Colby before it really began.
I’m so tired of
all the sadness,
I want to dump it
in the river and
watch it float away.
I glance over at a couple
who’s been staring at me.
They quickly go back
to their plates of chow mein
and sweet and sour pork.
It’s not the first time
I’ve felt eyes on me or
heard whispers about me,
and yet, tonight,
for some reason,
it gets to me.
I put my head in my hands
and sigh.
“We need to find a party,” Stasia tells me.
“To cheer you up.”
The Towne Pump is
our first stop, to see if
anyone’s hanging around,
but the place is dead.
She texts a few people
but has no luck with
that, either.
We drive around,
listening to tunes,
trying to decide what
to do next, and the
town feels so small
in that moment, I feel
like I’m suffocating.
When we go past
the high school, Colby’s
truck is in the parking lot,
and when I point it out,
she doesn’t even ask.
She just stops.
It takes us a while,
but we finally
figure out what he’s
doing there.
He didn’t cancel
because
he wanted to.
He canceled
because
he had to.
I don’t know
who I feel more
sorry for,
me or him.
SUNDAY AFTERNOON, I head to the hospital. When I ask if Benjamin Lewis can have visitors, I’m thrilled that the lady tells me he can, and directs me to his room.
I take the elevator to the fourth floor and am walking down the hall, toward room 412, when his mom steps out.
She pulls me into a hug when I reach her. “So good to see you, Colby. Before you go in there, let’s talk for a minute.”
We walk out to the small waiting area.
“How’s he doing?” I ask as we sit down.
“He’s talking some, which is great. They say that will improve every day now. But he has a lot of work to do.”
“Work? Like what?”
She lets out a long breath. “He’s going to have to relearn most everything — how to walk, how to brush his teeth, how to put his pants on. You know, everything we do without thinking about it and take for granted.”
I look down at my lap and close my eyes. She can’t be saying this. I don’t want her to be saying this. I don’t know what I was expecting. A miracle, maybe.
She continues. “Soon we’ll have to move him to a rehabilitation center. We’re trying to decide what to do. The best one in the country is all the way in Atlanta, Georgia. Insurance would pay for most of it, but one of us would have to take time off from work so we could go with him. And living apart, with only one income, I’m just not sure we can do it.”
I look up. “I had no idea. I thought he’d go home with you. I guess I didn’t know … how bad it really is.”
She pats my arm. “I know. I wish he could go home too. But no.” She looks at me, tears welling up. “He might not seem like the same Benny, but he’s in ther
e. Don’t worry if he doesn’t say much to you, okay?”
“Okay.”
“Russ can hardly stand to see him like this. He’s only been by once since he woke up. He’s pretty upset about the whole thing. I guess what I’m trying to say is, I know it’s hard. But it’s important for him to know we’re behind him.” She sits up straight and blinks a few times before she smiles. “I’m so glad you’re here. Are you ready?”
“Yeah. I’m ready.”
When I walk into the room, there are cards and flowers spread out everywhere. Benny’s in his bed, watching television. He’s wearing a knit hat, with a big bandage around his head that the hat doesn’t fully cover. Mr. Lewis gets up from the chair he’s sitting in and shakes my hand. “Thanks for coming, Colby. I know Benny’s glad to see you.”
“Not as glad as I am to see him,” I say.
He sits back down, and I turn to Benny. “Hey, man. How’s it going?”
“Okay,” he says slowly. Methodically.
I look at Mrs. Lewis, suddenly aware of how awkward this is. What am I supposed to say? Does he want to hear about the team, or will that make things worse? The last thing I want to do is depress him because he’s in here and I’m out there, playing the game he loves more than anything else in the world.
“Don’t you just love all of these cards and flowers?” she asks. “Every day, more and more come. Letters too. All kinds of letters, telling him to stay strong and that people are praying for him.”
“Yep,” Mr. Lewis chimes in. “Some people even send money, if you can believe that. There’s some mighty fine people in this world, that’s for sure.”
I go over to the bed and look at my friend. He looks at me.
“One of the finest, right here,” I say. I grab a chair and pull it up to the side of Benny’s bed. “So, you wanna hear about Friday’s game?” I ask him.
“Is … the Hulk … green?”
I laugh. Tears fill my eyes, both happy and sad ones. Benny’s mom is right. He’s in there. “That would be a yes.”
And so, I start in. I tell him about the game, leaving out the part about how I messed up so much because I couldn’t stop thinking about him not being able to play.
He has a lot of work to do.
“We won the game for you,” I tell him after I’ve given him the quarter-by-quarter rundown. “We can’t wait until you’re back out there with us.”
The look in his eyes tells me he’s not so sure about that. I know the chances are slim to none, but doesn’t he need something to work toward? Something to fight for?
I stand up, grip his hand, and hold it firm. “I believe,” I say. Because the thing is, when it comes to Benny, I do.
If anyone can come back from this and make a full recovery, it’s him. He’s strong. He’s tough. And he’s got a team of believers behind him, and we will not let him forget who he is and where he comes from. He can do it. I know he can.
“You know the rule,” I tell him. “You gotta say it.”
It comes out softly. Hesitantly. “I … believe.”
I sit back down, glancing at his mom and dad as I do. They’re both smiling. “Awesome. That’s a good starting place, right there. Coach would be proud, Benny.”
The corners of his mouth turn up just slightly.
“Yep. He’d be proud.”
Dear Colby,
I need to talk to you. Will you meet
me at lunch? On the football bleachers?
Please. It’s important.
Lauren
I TELL myself I won’t go. Because that’s the easiest thing to do.
I read the note Monday morning, after Stasia passes it to me in the hallway like we’re fourth graders. I crumple it up, toss it into my locker, and tell myself to forget about it. Whatever she has to say, it won’t change anything.
But as the day goes on, and lunchtime draws closer and closer, my resolve softens. And when the bell rings, and kids stream toward the cafeteria, I realize there’s no way I’ll be able to stay away.
First of all, I’m curious. And second of all, I like her. Damn it — I really like her.
It’s gray and cloudy, but no rain. I head toward the field and see Lauren walking a ways ahead of me. At least I think it’s Lauren; she’s got the hood up on her pink sweatshirt, like she wants to be incognito for this meeting.
I almost turn around and go back inside. No, I tell myself, I need to face her. Get it over with.
I follow her through the parking lot and onto the field. She starts climbing the bleachers, and I watch as she goes all the way to the top.
When she finally turns and sits down, dropping her backpack beside her, I wave and then take the stairs up, slowly. I went for a long run yesterday, after talking to Benny, hoping it’d clear my head. My body probably could have used a day of rest, now that I think about it.
“You look like you’re in pain,” she says when I reach her.
I stand there, looking down at her. Her eyes are warm. Kind. She seems concerned. “Nah. I’m okay.” I push her backpack down to the step below and take a seat.
She unzips one of the pockets on her bag and pulls out a sandwich. “You want half? It’s turkey and cheese.”
“No. You eat it. I’ll grab something from a machine on my way to class.”
“You can’t have lunch out of a vending machine,” she says.
I smile. “Says the girl who practically lives on Bugles.”
She tries to hand me the sandwich. “But you’re an athlete. You need real food.” My hands stay in my lap. She raises her eyebrows and asks in the sweetest voice, “Please?”
I take it and say thanks. While I inhale my half in about three bites, she gets a bottle of water and two apples out of her bag.
“Wow,” I say, picking up the water. “You thought of everything. It’s like a picnic or something.”
She hands me one of the apples and sets the other one in her lap. “I really wanted to talk to you and figured lunch would be the best time.”
I stare at the apple because it’s easier that way. “Look, Lauren, I know I said it before, but I really am sorry. About Saturday. It’s just —”
“Please don’t. Colby, I know. I know what happened. Saturday night, Stasia and I were driving by here, and we saw your truck. So we got out. We saw you and your dad on the field. At least, I assume it was your dad?”
I look up at the sky and exhale slowly. Suddenly it feels like I’ve swallowed a brick. How can I possibly explain how obsessed my dad is when it comes to football and me?
Her hand gently squeezes my arm. “Hey. Please don’t be embarrassed. It’s okay. I understand weird parents. Trust me.”
I look at her. “Yeah. It was my dad. He wasn’t happy about how I played Friday.”
“That’s why you canceled?”
“Yeah. He says I’ve got enough on my plate. I need to stay focused.”
We sit there in silence for a while, while she eats her sandwich. I take a few bites of the apple.
It’s getting more and more awkward by the second. Why did she ask me here? What else does she want me to say?
THERE ARE a million things
I want to say.
I’ve liked you since I met you.
I’m pretty sure
you have no idea how
much I like you.
I don’t think I even knew myself
until Saturday, when my
hopes of spending more time with you
flew out the window as you left.
Maybe I’ve fallen too fast.
Maybe I should just let you go.
Maybe I’m stupid, sitting here,
trying to find the words to
tell you what you mean to me.
That day, when you handed me
my key, it was like fate stepped in
and said, “You two need to meet.”
I think fate got it right.
I don’t want us to get it wrong.
Who
knows what’s
going to happen
next week or
next month?
All I know is, I don’t
want weeks or months
to go by without
talking to you again.
These are all the things
I wish I could tell you.
Instead, what comes out is,
“Can we at least be friends?”
“FRIENDS?”
“Yeah,” she says as she stuffs the empty sandwich bag into her backpack. “I mean, with Benny in the hospital, you could probably use a good friend. Right?”
I hand her the water bottle. As she takes a drink, I think about that. Friends. With a girl. Nothing else.
“Do you think that’s possible?” I ask.
She nods. “Absolutely.”
“Really?”
“Of course,” she says confidently.
“I don’t think I’ve been friends with a girl since, like, second grade. This girl, Vy, lived across the street from me, and we’d run through the sprinkler together in the summer. And eat Popsicles. And play with potato bugs.”
“Oh, yeah. I love potato bugs. The way you pick them up and they roll into a ball? So awesome.”
“Yeah.”
She looks at me. “So, is that a yes?”
I shrug. “Sure. Why not? Benny’d probably give me hell for it, but whatever. I guess he doesn’t have to know. For now.”
“How’s he doing, anyway?” she asks, like a friend does.
“Okay, I guess. I saw him yesterday. Sometime soon, they’re going to move him to a rehabilitation center. The one they want to get him into is in Atlanta, but it’s going to take a lot to make that happen. Financially, I mean. I wish there was something I could do to help them.”
“Then let’s help him,” she says. “You and me. We could do a fund-raiser, right? I bet people here at school would get behind it. I think everybody’s dying to do something to help, they just don’t know how.”