• • •
I don’t know what comes next. . . .
“Mom.
“Mommmmmmm.
“MOM! MOM! MOM! MOM! MOM! MOM! MOM!”
“What is it, honey?”
“STROGANOFF.”
“Did you do your morning things?”
“WHAT?”
“I said, ‘Did you do your morning things,’ Brian?”
“Oh. No.”
“Do your morning things, hon. Then I’ll make you breakfast. Okay?”
“Okay.”
I got off the bed. I looked at the picture by my bed. The picture was me. It had a red “1” on it. The picture was me brushing my teeth. The picture said, BRUSH TEETH—TWO MINUTES. I went to my sink and brushed my teeth. I counted two minutes. Then I spat out. I walked back to bed.
There was another picture. It had a red “2” on it. The picture said, PUT ON CLOTHES—THREE MINUTES. I took off my jammies and put them in the basket. I put on shorts and my blue Bulldogs shirt. No socks because I wear Crocs now. The Crocs are blue like my shirt. I put my clothes on in one minute. So fast.
“MOM!
“MOM!
“MOM!
“MOMMMMM!”
• • •
The doctors told me the next part. . . . They say I should’ve told someone. . . . They say I shouldn’t have played. . . . It’s my fault I’m like this. . . .
We were running together . . . me and D. . . . He got past the marker. . . . He got a first down. . . . We were near the out of bounds. . . .
I got my bell rung at Grease Pole. . . . Nesto fell off Tua. . . . Tua fell on me . . . crushed my head. . . . I didn’t want them to know. . . . I lied in Coach’s office. . . . I hate when people hate me. . . .
DeSean wanted me to play. . . . Coach let me lie. . . . USC, UCLA, Oregon . . . Nikki wanted me to play. . . . My team wanted to win. . . . My dad wanted another gold ring. . . . I wanted it. . . . I wanted to win. . . . I wanted to be a legend. . . . What if I never played . . . ?
I couldn’t see it coming. . . . The guy was behind me. . . . I got pushed in the back . . . tripped over my feet . . . I fell because I’m fat . . . I fell like a tree. . . .
I should have stayed on the bench. . . . I should have kept it safe. . . . I didn’t want to play. . . . I never liked football anyway. . . .
My head hit like, wham bam . . . all over again. . . . My bell got rung. My bell got rung. . . . I wish I remembered. . . . My life went black. . . .
• • •
I went to the kitchen. Mom was there. She was standing up. Dad and Kyle were at the table. They were eating eggs.
“What would you like for breakfast, Brian?”
“Stroganoff.”
“Stroganoff isn’t a breakfast food.”
“STROGANOFF, DAMMIT.”
“Okay, okay. I’m sorry, honey. Don’t worry. I’ll make you stroganoff.”
I farted really loud. “Good.”
I sat by Dad. He was looking at his paper.
“Why are you reading that?”
“Oh, this is the sports section. I’m reading about your friends on the Bulldogs. Looks like they’re not gonna qualify for CIF this season. They sure missed you out there, champ.”
Mom walked fast over to me and Dad. She put her hands on my hand. “But we’re really glad to have you at home, Brian.”
Dad put his paper down. “Oh yeah, of course. We’re so happy you’re here, buddy.”
Kyle held his fist for me to bump. I gave it a bump. We blew up our fists. “Love you, dude.”
“We love you more than words.”
“You’re doing so great, Brian.”
“We’re so proud of you, big guy.”
I looked at them. All of them were smiling. Big smiles. Big fat happy smiles.
“Okay . . . ,” I said. “Time for school?”
• • •
Mom says I fell asleep. . . . My brain was all bleeding. . . . Dad says I slept two days. . . . He didn’t sleep one bit. . . .
They cut my head with a saw . . . the doctors . . . The blood got stopped, they said . . . the flow, they said . . . “second-impact syndrome” . . . Everyone said prayers. . . . My brain swole up huge. . . . I basically was dead. . . .
Mom called the pastor. . . . They all thought Big Mack was gone. . . . At least they thought my brain was mush. . . . I wish I saw them missing me. . . . I kinda wish I went to heaven. . . .
But then it was so random. . . . I remember it all, clear as day. . . . I randomly woke up. . . . I was like, Why am I in bed . . . ? My parents were crying. . . . Kyle was crying. . . . The doctors were crying. . . .
I saw my scar. . . . I was like, Why am I Frankenstein . . . ? The doctors said I’m lucky. . . . The nurse said someone’s watching . . . watching over me. . . . Dad said protecting my blind side . . . I wonder if that shit is true. . . .
I wonder if I’ll get better . . . like better for real . . . like good at sports again . . . good at school . . . I wonder how long I have to be like this. . . . Will I always have this scar . . . ? Will I always trip and fall . . . ? Will I always talk all slow . . . ? Will Nikki make more brownies . . . ? Those were amazing. . . .
• • •
I remember the hospital.
I remember it crystal clear. Those are my first good memories since the game. I was there so long. I was at the hospital forever. My thing happened on homecoming and I didn’t go home till after Thanksgiving. I liked the hospital a lot. Better than home. I miss it. I miss how everyone was so nice.
Sometimes my friends came to see me. For a long time my teammates used to visit a lot. It was freaking tight-ass shit.
“The Big Mack is big pimpin’!” my friend Ernesto said. He liked my nurses. He liked how I said thank you to them and how they smiled and said thank you back.
“Dude, I heard about this thing called Florence Nightingale syndrome,” said my friend Tua. “You got to get busy with some of these honeys, dawg!”
“Or maybe just get the Moaner in here,” said my friend Scrotes. He was pushing the buttons on my bed and making it go up and down. “She could have some major fun on this thing. And she’d totally still do you, Big Mack. She got that fetish, yo.”
My friends gave me a football they all signed with gold pen. They brought pictures of kids at school wearing my Bulldogs jersey with MACK 69 on the back. Also they gave me a bracelet. They said everyone at school was wearing the bracelet. It was Bulldog Blue and it said #PRAYERS4BRIAN. Right before the times they left my room, my friends all got super-serious. They touched their bracelets to my bracelet and said stuff, like “You got this, man” and “We’ll never abandon you.” I told them stop being so gay.
My other hospital friend was Nurse Wanda. She is a big black lady with curly hair. I used to do acting with her son, back at Dos Caminos. She watched movies with me. Lots of them. She showed me Singin’ in the Rain and The Wizard of Oz, movies like that. She said those are her son’s favorites. Sometimes when we watched them, we sang the songs.
“Wow, Brian, you have quite the stage presence,” Nurse Wanda said to me one time after we sang the good morning song. She bumped my fist.
“Thank you, Nurse Wanda,” I said.
“You know, one of these days, we’ve really got to get you back out in front of some folks.”
“Thank you, Nurse Wanda.”
I liked those memories. I liked them a lot. I liked seeing my friends from the team. I really liked singing with Nurse Wanda. Those were good times. Good times, bitches.
But they weren’t my favorite memories. They weren’t my best day.
The best day of my whole hospital time was when DeSean and Nikki came to be with me. It was so special. They brought me presents. I still have the presents. It was so fun.
But they never came back. They came to the hospital one time but no more times after that. They said they would see me again. They said they would come hang after school. But they didn’t. I never saw the
m ever again. I wonder why.
• • •
“Mom.
“Mom.
“MOM!”
“Yes, Brian?”
“I wanna go to school.”
“I know, honey.”
“Home sucks. It’s boring.”
“Okay.”
“Home sucks. It’s gay.”
“Don’t say that, Brian.”
“I wanna go to the hospital.”
“Well, you’re done with the hospital for now.”
“I hate home. It’s shitty.”
“I know.”
“Where are my friends?”
“I don’t know, but how about this? Why don’t we invite some of them over?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“I don’t wanna invite. I want them to come.”
“Okay . . . well, you know, I actually heard that some of your teammates have been practicing the past few days, for the Male Ballet. Why don’t we stop by the Greek and pay them a visit?”
“NO.”
“What do you mean, ‘no’?”
“I don’t wanna stop by. I wanna STAY.”
“Brian, we’re trying our best here—”
“No, you’re not.”
“Yes, we are—”
“No, you’re not.”
“Brian, we love you so much. All we want is for you to be happy—”
“I wanna go to school.
“I wanna go to school.
“I WANNA GO TO SCHOOL.”
4. NIKKI FOXWORTH
Come on, babe.”
“No, thanks, I’m tired.”
“Tired? What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Just not right now.”
“But when?”
“I don’t know, not yet.”
“But, baby—
“Sweetheart—
“Baby—”
This was how it went for weeks and weeks. After school, DeSean would pick me up from dance practice. We’d drive over to the spot. We’d mostly be quiet on the drive, not talk about football or friends or anything like that. As soon as we parked at the site, we’d start doing stuff—make out, touch each other all over, and some other stuff too. The one thing we never did, though, was go all the way. Over and over I told DeSean I’m not ready, I’m tired, I’m nervous, I’m still not ready.
“What’s your deal? I thought you wanted to. You said it was all you wanted.”
“When did I say that?”
“You don’t remember? After you gave that slacker kid a pep talk. Before homecoming.”
“Yeah, but then homecoming . . .”
“Dammit, not the Brian thing again—”
“Well, I can’t stop thinking about him.”
“And he has anything to do with us . . . why?”
“I feel guilty.”
“Too guilty to do it with your boyfriend?”
“It sounds stupid when you put it like that.”
“Well, if you feel so guilty, why don’t we go back and visit him again?”
“No.”
“Come on, babe, I don’t understand—”
“No.”
DeSean paused for a moment. He looked at me with soft eyes. He extended his hand. He placed it on my chest and massaged there, softly. And it felt nice, it did, but the way it felt, it also reminded me of—
“No.”
• • •
I never wanted to visit Brian in the first place.
“Nik, we gotta say hi. It’s been two weeks. All the other guys, they’ve already been.”
DeSean and I were in the hospital waiting room. The nurse had just given us the go-ahead to walk on in. I didn’t budge from my seat.
“I don’t know,” I told D.
“What’s your problem?” he said. “Don’t you care about Big Mack?”
Of course I cared. That was exactly the problem. I had this mental image of Brian—who he used to be, what he could have been. And I wanted him to stay that way. I couldn’t bear the thought of him being any, well, different.
“Aw, screw it,” DeSean said, grabbing the toy from the magazine table. “I’m showing love to my friend.” He stood up and strode straight to the room.
I hurried after him, feeling like a coward.
“Brian,” the nurse said, opening the door. “Your friends are here to see you. . . .”
I hadn’t thought he would be allowed out of bed yet, but as soon as we walked in, whoosh, Brian came flying off the mattress, and whomp, he wrapped DeSean and me in a massive three-way hug, clutching us tighter than a pair of kittens in a snowstorm.
“Nikki! D! Nikki! D! Nikki!”
“Aw, yeah, it’s us all right,” DeSean said, stepping out of the hug and rubbing his hands together. “And guess what? We. Brought. Presents.”
Brian’s mouth fell open. He shot both fists in the air. I swear to God, I’ve never seen anyone so happy.
“Mine first,” DeSean said, pulling the action figure out of his pocket. He handed it to Brian.
“It’s a . . . what’s that? A little naked guy? With a hat?”
DeSean grinned at me. He patted Brian on the back.
“That’s Tommy Trojan. Do you know why I’m giving him to you?”
Brian was already playing with Tommy, making the figurine do baby steps up and down his left arm.
“He’s the USC mascot. I just found out the other day that I have an offer to play football there next year. It’s all I’ve wanted, my entire life, to wear that red jersey, to run through that Coliseum tunnel. And I never could have achieved it without you blocking for me all these years. So thank you, Big Bri. Thanks for everything, bro.”
Brian wiggled the tiny, manly piece of plastic between his fingers.
“Wow,” he said.
“And, ah, Nikki . . . she’s got a present for you too.”
DeSean looked at me. Brian looked at me. Nurse Wanda, standing by the door, she looked at me. I looked down. I felt it, between my hands, behind my back. The gift I definitely had to give Brian but that I desperately didn’t want to. It made this whole thing way too real.
“Well,” I said. “Okay . . .”
“Come on,” DeSean said.
“I want it,” Brian said.
“Okay,” I said. “Okay.”
I held it out and presented it. The golden crown.
Brian took it gingerly out of my hands, as if it were actually forged from precious metals. He studied the crown closely. He pressed it against his cheek.
“Whoaaa,” he said under his breath.
“Brian, do you remember the homecoming dance?”
He locked eyes with me. He slowly shook his head.
“Well, I know you couldn’t make it there because you, um, weren’t feeling your best that night. But, you know, we were all thinking about you. The entire time. And at the end of the dance, something very special happened.”
“What?”
“You were voted homecoming king, Brian, and it wasn’t even close. Congratulations. And that’s not all. Guess what else?”
“What else?”
DeSean handed me my crown, the glittery silver tiara. I put it on.
“The night before, at halftime of your game, I was named queen. And you know what that means?”
Brian scratched the back of his head. “No.”
I flipped my hair. “It means you owe me a dance.”
I removed Brian’s crown from his grip. I placed it atop his head. DeSean pulled his phone out and tapped the screen. The song “I Don’t Want to Miss a Thing” began to play. I took Brian’s hands and brought them down to the small of my back. I placed my fingers up and around his neck. We began to sway back and forth to the music.
And it was lovely, really.
Brian was so gentle, so innocent with that smile of his, so cuddly and cute in that crown. As the two of us danced, I caught a glimpse of Nurse Wanda. She placed her palms together and awwed. I peeked at DeSean, r
ecording us on his phone. He put a sleeve to his glistening eye.
I stood on my tiptoes, reaching close to Brian’s ear. I lowered my voice to a whisper. “We’re all praying for you.”
“Thanks,” Brian whispered back. Then he added, “You look nice.”
I felt safe in his arms. I honestly did. In that moment, he felt exactly like himself. If I closed my eyes and just focused on the way he felt—his big soft arms, his relaxed breathing, his teddy bear tummy—it was sort of like nothing had happened all.
Brian leaned down. He said something else. “You feel good.”
And it did feel good. It felt really right being there, thinking, Hey, awful things may happen, but maybe, just maybe, they don’t have to ruin everything. I mean it could be that accidents and mistakes present the clearest opportunity for you to see life as it really is. The bad times let you embrace who you are deep down and focus on what definitely matters, which is caring for others, whether you’re slow dancing next to a hospital bed, or even making love to your partner, because maybe those kinds of connections are all we should value and everything else is just nonsense, and—
That’s when my eyes shot open.
That’s when I felt Brian Mack groping the bejesus out of my breasts.
“You feel good,” he said, pawing at them like a clumsy beast, trying to grab ahold and squeeze. “Mmm, Nikki, you feel good.”
“No!” I shouted, ducking away, covering up. “No, no! That’s bad, Brian! That’s wrong!”
“Yo!” DeSean screamed, throwing himself between us. “The hell, man?!”
“I’m sorry,” Wanda said, dragging a confused Brian away, sitting him back on the bed. “I’m so sorry. He does that.”
I yanked my crown off and shook out my hair. I reached for my sweatshirt and threw it on, zipping up to the top. DeSean said a quick good-bye and the two of us rushed out the door. We hopped in the car and I never looked back. I haven’t told my friends about the incident. I told DeSean he’s not allowed to bring it up either. I never want to think about it. I never want to dwell on that night again.
Needless to say, I haven’t seen Brian since.
• • •
“What’d you do that for?” DeSean said at the spot this afternoon. He was staring at his hand, which I’d just removed from my shirt. I scooted slightly away from him.
Two Roads from Here Page 9