A Game Like Ours: Suncastle College Book One

by Marissa J. Gramoll

  “Good luck.” No questions. Thank God. Her sweet smile gives me the strength I need to get into my truck and drive across town.

  The office is cold. I mess with my hoodie sleeves, pulling the bill of my cap farther over my face. What if word gets out that I’m here? Will they cut me from the team? No, no. Mindy knows I’m here. She gave me the name of this place, for Christ’s sake. Coach wouldn’t care, either. Mental health is important so I can play my best. I’ll only get cut if I refuse to be here. Just nerves. All nerves.

  My fingers drum my kneecaps through my jeans, body refusing to relax no matter how much I try to talk myself down.

  The receptionist chuckles with her coworker. I don’t know what to plan on, except raw emotional vulnerability. I can’t do this.

  I should tell Mom. I pull out my phone and text her.

  Me: Gonna be in town tonight. I’ll drop by after dinnertime.

  I don’t totally know when I’ll make it into town, but I can’t wait to see her. And give her shit for not returning my calls all semester.

  My fingers hover over the keyboard, so many words I want to say, but can’t. Mindy telling me I don’t have to go through this alone. I’m goin’ to therapy because…I sigh. Mom doesn’t need to know. Hell, she doesn’t get to know. You don’t go months without talking and then be privy to this information.

  Looking at the clock, it’s only been four minutes since I finished all that goddamn paperwork. Still not time for my appointment. I’ve been sitting here, antsy as hell for what feels like hours.

  My heart’s racing so hard. I need something to calm me. Reaching under my shirt, I feel my cross necklace. I dip my head low, closing my eyes.

  Father in Heaven, I’m strugglin’. I just need some help. Can you help? Please, God, make me more than I am. Strengthen me. Heal me from this pain, this torment, through Your redemption. I wanna be with Lexie. I wanna be good enough for her. I know I’m not. I need to meet with Dr. Rogers, but it’s so hard. I’m fallin’ apart here, God.

  I pick up my head, opening my eyes to this drab waiting room. The fact that I’m really praying and not just sending a passing thought toward heaven shows how nervous I am.

  People come and go from the waiting room. My eyes stay on my hands or my feet. Avoid eye contact. I don’t want to know why they’re here. What I really don’t want is for them to know I’m here.

  Do I look too skinny? Do I look like I’m on drugs? Do I look suicidal? Shit, I probably look like all of those things. Fucking broken. I look fucking broken.

  Looks don’t lie.

  Not this time.

  “Robert?” It’s an old guy with a long white beard. Kinda looks like a mall Santa Claus, only he’s fit. What am I gonna call him? Santa? Dr. Santa? Crossfit Santa. Yeah, there we go. Crossfit Santa it is.

  This is my fate. My doom.

  “It’s Bobby.” Do we shake hands? I look at him for a minute, ready but not sure. He doesn’t move, he’s just looking at his chart. No. Okay. Apparently we don’t shake.

  “Hi, Bobby.” He holds out his hand. Nevermind, we do. We definitely do. Okay. Just follow his lead. I can do this. I have to do this. For her. For Cody. One day, maybe for me.

  “Just this way.” He leads me down the hallway to an old wooden door that looks like it was hung crooked, and stops.

  Relax. I beg my body to obey, but there is no hope for me now, standing frozen in the doorway. Do I have to do this? Do I really have to do this?

  Lexie’s smile flashes in my mind. Her tears mixing with the shower water. I have to do this for her. For us. Because I don’t know what it would do if she caught me in one of my episodes. Because I don’t like to catch myself in them. I can’t imagine what it would do to her.

  “We keep the tigers out back.” Crossfit Santa chuckles, trying to offset my nerves. He reminds me of Robin Williams in Good Will Hunting. “It’s alright. The couch is quite comfortable, really.”

  I already feel like I’m doing this wrong. Lovely. This is just going great.

  I force myself to move and earn a smile and a nod from Crossfit Santa.

  The inside of this good-sized room is pretty basic. Some book shelves. An old rug he probably got the year he graduated from school, at least thirty years ago, and a leather couch. I take a seat on the edge of the cushion. On the edge, it’s almost as good as me not being here at all.

  The urge to run away is more tempting than a double workout. No. I have to stay on the team. I have to get over my shit. It’s about damn time.

  I probably don’t really need this. I have Lexie now. She doesn’t know what I’m going through, specifically, yet, but she gives me more than enough support. I can get over this without some sterile shrink writing down my deepest, darkest secrets on his notepad. What is it anyway? A magic notepad? Gonna somehow cure me? No, I’m better off on my own or with Lex.

  If only Mindy saw it this way.

  Shit. I have to be here, don’t I? Mindy didn’t say I’d be benched all season, but she didn’t have to. I’ve been dancing around the issue, like I dance around every issue in my life. But it’s time to change that. It’s time to get better.

  “So, Bobby, what are you hoping to get out of therapy?” He’s not from here because he has a Brooklyn sort of accent.

  “My athletic trainer sent me.” My hands are sweating. I press them against my jeans. But it doesn’t help. Denim isn’t good for curing clammy hands. “So how about you tell me, Doctor? What am I hopin’ to get out of this? Cause I dunno.”

  “That’s alright.” Crossfit Santa tries to exude a good impression, I can tell.

  “So therapy is a little different for everyone. I’m here to help you in the ways I can.” He holds my paperwork. “It’s just a matter of what you would like to accomplish.”

  We sit in silence for a long time.

  “Let me reiterate. What are your goals?” He’s looking at me, but I’m looking everywhere else. There are exactly seven pens in a cup on the corner of his desk. One pen is alone, near his laptop. There’s a jacket slung across the back of his office chair. Focusing, I see that there’s frayed stitching on the right pocket.

  I let out a sigh, pulling my hair that’s shaggy beneath my cap.

  “I don’t have any.” It’s a lie. And the look on Crossfit Santa’s face says he knows it. Shit. I don’t usually get off on the wrong foot. Who knew it was possible to suck at going to therapy?

  “Okay.” Crossfit Santa looks out the window to the park right behind his office.

  Come on Bobby. Show up. We are not here to play some stupid mindgame with an old man. My hands start shaking while my heart pounds in my chest. I need some air. “Can I open your window?”

  “Sure.”

  I pull the latches and breathe in the cold breeze, closing my eyes, trying to get some measure of control. “I wanna get better, I guess.”

  “Good place to start.” He doesn’t miss a beat. “And what does better look like?”

  Closing the window, I take my seat on the edge of the couch. “If I knew that, I wouldn’t be here.” God, I sound like a bratty kid. Something about sitting here makes me feel vulnerable, like I’m five years old.

  “Let’s start somewhere else then. What’s something you love?”

  I watch him, mouth dry, hoping he can give me something to hold onto on days when I’m sinking.

  “I love peaches.” It’s a clear moment. A break from the tension inside of me. I know the answer to that question, even if I don’t know the answer to any others.

  He smiles. “I love peaches, too. Tell you what, these local grown ones are better than anything. Forget the famous Georgia peaches. South Carolina peaches are far superior.”

  “Damn straight, they are. My parents have an orchard in their backyard. Fifteen trees. Well, one of them didn’t do so well, and it had to be cut down. But the others are thrivin’.” My chest relaxes a touch. It feels good to talk. This isn’t as heavy as all the reasons why I’m here.

&nb
sp; But then it fades, and I rub my forehead, that sinking in my gut getting bigger. “Do you even think I can work through this? The eating disorder? I want to.” I press my forehead harder, worried that I can’t. My biggest fear is that I’ll never resolve this issue that I have. That I’ll never be able to have a day when I’m healthy mentally and physically and not battling the constant push and pull that torments my mind.

  “I can tell.” He waits until he has my attention, the look on his face trying to reclaim the glimpse of connection we grasped a moment ago. “You want to get better.”

  My heart pounds in my ears. I want it so bad. But I don’t know if I can. I feel broken inside. That I won’t be strong enough to face these thoughts. No, it’s more than thoughts. It’s everything. Takes over my whole being until I’m not me anymore, I’m lost…hollow. I don’t know if I can be the kind of person to pull themselves out of such a horrible situation.

  The walls feel like they are closing in. My teeth involuntarily crash into each other. I want to throw up.

  “I know that I have a problem.” My throat catches on the words because I hate having to say them at all. Crossfit Santa looks at me, like he can see the façade I wear clearer than the Yankees cap on my head.

  Another few minutes go by before I can bring myself to continue. “The first time I, you know–” I shake my head. This is so hard. So huge. It’s like the biggest thing in the world to admit to anyone. “That first time, it was just gonna be once. I felt awful after. Well, I felt awful before, too. I guess that’s why I did it in the first place. I didn’t wanna feel that anymore.”

  The corner of Crossfit Santa’s lip rises, offering support. “What did you not want to feel?”

  “Out of control.” I stretch out on the couch and feel exhausted, like I could fall asleep right now, and shut down again, looking at the ceiling. They are those gray and white tiles in a grid pattern.. I rarely sleep well, even with Lexie beside me.

  “How was life for you growing up?”

  “Good, I guess.” I sit up because I’m not comfortable being this casual in an office.

  “Get along with your parents?”

  “Yeah, pretty well.” I nod. “They were your average Southern couple. Spoiled me rotten as a kid. So did my grandpa, Skipper. He always had lots of fun stuff for me when we went over to his house. Lots of fishing trips out on the lake. Hiking in the hilly trails.”

  “So you considered your childhood to be happy?”

  “I mean, happy is a big word, Doctor. But yeah. Things were fine.”

  “You mentioned the first time. How old were you then?”

  “Sixteen.” I lean back on the couch.

  “What did you believe about yourself? When you think back about that time in your life.”

  I look at the ceiling for an eternity. The words stick to my tongue like honey in the winter. “I’m weak,” I force out. My throat burns and I unzip my hoodie and take it off, wadding it into a pile beside me. “Not enough.” I’ve never been enough. Not for an early draft. Not for Mom. Not for Lexie. Not for anything. Nothing.

  Not for Cody.

  No, no...we aren’t gonna go there. Too dark. Too much. Come on Bobby, think about somethin’ else. Anythin’ else.

  “What isn’t enough?” Crossfit Santa’s voice is kind.

  “I’m not enough.” There isn’t a more true statement of myself. What is that thing Lexie is always saying? “My truth.” Yeah, that’s it. This is my truth. I’m not enough. Because if I was, I would’ve been able to do something.

  “It’s not all the time, ya know. This eating disorder bullshit.” I rub my goosebump covered arms, unable to decipher if I’m hot or cold. “Sometimes I’m fine. Just fine.”

  “Would you like to talk about when you don’t feel fine?” Crossfit Santa leans against one arm.

  “When? Hmm. Well, it’s when life’s too much. I stop eatin’. First to go is breakfast. Lunchtime rolls by and still nothin’. Ignore the hunger through dinner. Keeps up for days, weeks, I lose track.” I flip my cap around backward.

  “You lose track?” Crossfit Santa asks for clarification.

  “It’s gotten easy just to skip. And then when I do eat again, I hurl it all back up. Thoughts get dark. Can’t bring myself to nourish even though my apartment is filled with fruits, veggies and protein. Things I should be able to have, especially with how much I work out.” I look at my arms, all I’ve worked for. My body is a well-oiled machine. Too bad I can’t manage to take care of it. “Everythin’ becomes off limits. Can’t have it. Can’t have the calories. The sugar. Nothin’ but sugar-free grape Powerade or black coffee.” My teeth grind, all the tension in my jaw bringing a weird pain through my head and neck. “I always snap out of it at some point. Life shifts. It gets better, and I’m back to a normal diet and all that.”

  “So, right now, it’s too much.” Crossfit Santa sets his mug on the desk. “What’s too much, Bobby?”

  It feels like the world is on my shoulders. That I can’t carry it all. So many secrets I hold. So many lies I tell myself trying to cover up reality. So many that I don’t want to unearth what really happened.

  “My parents aren’t talkin’ to me.” Why is this what comes out of my mouth?

  “Oh?” He looks at me. “You mentioned that you did get along with them. Did something change?”

  “Dunno.” I grab my water bottle and chug, throat so hot, hands so cold. “I’ve tried callin’ and they don’t pick up. Mom’s busy takin’ care of a neighbor that broke her hip. But still...she used to call more. Hell, even Dad used to call. But we’re gonna stop by for the holidays.” Why am I talking about this? What the hell am I doing here? My parents have nothing to do with my eating disorder. “They say I’m just like her, ya know. My mom. They’ve always said that. ‘You look like her, Bobby.’ ‘Oh, yeah, you favor her.’ ‘Oh, that’s somethin’ your mom used to do when she was a kid.’ ‘Oh, you work out with her? That’s so cute.’” I roll my eyes. “Cute,” I scoff. “Real cute that she up and stops returnin’ my calls.” I rub my eyebrows. “She’s not normally like this. And, well, neither am I. So maybe we are the same.”

  “You may favor your mom, but you’re not the same.” Crossfit Santa seems sure.

  “I miss her. And I shouldn’t have to miss her. I miss way too many people, Doctor. Do you know what that’s like? I’m right here. I’m the constant. The one that is always there. Yet, people don’t see me. Lexie, she never saw me at all. Until a few months ago.”

  Shut up, Bobby, jeez. I was not gonna bring her up in therapy, that’s for damn sure. Not gonna talk about her. Nope. Leave her out of this. Yet, here I go, running my goddamn mouth as if there is some magic dust in the air making me talk.

  Crossfit Santa looks thoughtful. “I know what it feels like to miss people and what it feels like not to be seen or appreciated. These feelings are valid.”

  I guess that shuts me up because I don’t have anything to say now.

  He continues, “Maybe we can think of some other things to control.”

  “Slim chance.” The tension reappears in the room. Crossfit Santa looks at his desk for a moment, like he’s considering his next move. Like we are playing a game of chess, or cards. Or baseball. He’s striking out. Or maybe it’s me. I’m the one losing the game. I’m the one that should have a fucking handle on life. I’m the one that shouldn’t need fucking therapy.

  “I think I’m stuck in the past,” I blurt out, because if I’m going to sit here, I may as well get to the point. “That’s when it all started, ya know? The binging. The starvin’ myself for days.” Pain courses through me like a vibration from head to toe.

  “Stuck in the past? Can you tell me more about that?” Crossfit Santa leans back in the chair, his fingers steepling over his chest.

  “Just what I said, Doctor. He’s here in all my memories. All the time. It’s like I’m haunted, like I can’t move on.”

  “He?”

  God. I didn’t know how ha
rd it would be to say this–but my throat closes up completely, shunting any power to my vocal cords. Crossfit Santa stares at me, looking through my walls as if they don’t exist.

  “My best friend Cody died in a car crash six hundred and three days ago. It’s been damn near two years now. And I’m still broken up about it.” My insides are ablaze and my tear ducts get wet so fast I slam my palms into my eye sockets, refusing to put on a show.

  Crossfit Santa doesn’t say a word while I gather myself with a few tight breaths.

  “I could’ve stopped him. I came–” I hold an inch between my fingers. “I came this close to stoppin’ him from gettin’ in that car that night. And I didn’t.” My arms go limp and my legs feel like jello. “It’s like this darkness consumin’ me all the time. Like I want to off myself just to be with him again. And that’s fuckin’ terrifyin’, becasue I have a hell of a lot to live for.” I can’t believe I’m saying this. It will probably jeopardize any chance I have at a Major League Career, saying I’ve been suicidal. Mindy doesn’t even know about that. I’m sure that this guy will make some note. Probably file some report with the state. Not good for the press. I might as well admit to him that I’m bi. Can see the headlines now Suicidal Bisexual Baseball Player Ridden with an Eating Disorder, Bobby Anderson, Throws Away a Promising Major League Career.

  My palms smush my face again, every part of me wanting to storm from this office, but knowing full well it will only make things worse if I do.

  “Everyone who dies by suicide has a lot to live for,” he says. “Any attempts?” Crossfit Santa is serious, because he has to ask about stuff like this now that I’ve brought it up.

  “God, no.”

  “Plans to?”

  “No, no, it’s not like that.” I shake my head.

  “What is it like?”

  “It’s when I’m feelin’ really low, it’s like I don’t wanna be alive without Cody anymore. I know it won’t help if I off myself. I don’t think that’s how all this works. But I wanna fade away. What I really want is to–” I go quiet while several moments pass.