by Anne Leigh
It would not be right for me to string Scott along when I want to be with someone else.
It would be wrong for me to continue being with Scott when all I’d been imagining these last few weeks were the arrogant smirk pasted on a face that housed those soulful dark brown eyes.
“Scott’s not going to be happy about it.” My voice was dull; my mind was already imagining the awkward conversation I was going to have with my boyfriend once he came back from his away games. Maybe I was trying to justify my actions but looking back, whenever Scott suggested a break from me, I always felt like he wanted out, but he also wanted me waiting in the wings; that I was the girl he was going to return to after he’d figured everything out in his life.
This time, I was going to be one to cut the ties of our relationship and I knew that once I did, it would hurt but I wouldn’t be coming back to him.
“Tough,” Hanna remarked, I could picture her brows furrowing and her lips pouting. “Kiki, have you ever thought about how fair it was for him to leave you hanging all the time while he tended to his business, football, and family?”
Her shirts were always soaked when Scott asked for space and the days that followed weren’t any better because I never knew when he was going to call back and decide that we were on again.
“No.”
“You know why?” She inquired though I had a feeling she already knew the answer.
“Maybe.” I sank my head lower under my pillow, feeling the wetness on the pillow case. I’d cried tears for Scott.
“I’ll tell you why–“ she said resolutely, “Because you always gave your all to him. And this time, you can’t anymore.”
In a hushed voice, I croaked out, “Why?”
I’d solved hundreds of physics questions.
I’d won Science tournaments and gained the reputation of Princess Einstein in school.
I’d stood up against my mother and sometimes my father to fight for what I believed in.
But I never claimed to be wise in the language of the heart.
“Because this time, you’ve met someone whom you actually want to give up your sense of security for.”
“What if I mess everything up?” The doubts lingered in my mind, I hated not knowing the outcome. What if Scott said no? What if I cost myself the friendship I’ve had for so long? What if my brother hated me for coming between his two friends?
“Then you mess everything up,” Hanna said matter-of-factly. “You deal with the consequences and you move on.”
“It’s not that easy,” I countered, knowing that everything I said was futile. No matter what, I couldn’t continue this façade of a girlfriend-boyfriend with Scott.
“Nothing’s easy. Not school. Not love. Not life. You, of all people, should know that.” She rifled back, I heard clanging in the background, she must be grabbing food from the kitchen. “What is that term that you liked to say in seventh grade? That you said was what happened before everything can be brought back to order?”
I couldn’t help but smile at the memory she evoked. Back in seventh grade, when my mother went on long rants about my friendship with Hanna, I’d always go back to Science to explain things and I came up with why my mother created so much havoc within me.
“Entropy,” I declared, breathing in a little easier for the first time since I came up with the decision to break things off with Scott. “In order for a system to gain thermodynamic equilibrium, it has to go through a state of maximum disorder or entropy.”
“And what does entropy symbolize for you?” she questioned. A rhetoric.
“It’s life,” I said. “Life is messy and crazy but it’s like that so that it could reach a state of peace.”
She didn’t say a word after that.
She didn’t have to.
In her roundabout way of thinking, Hanna made me see what I was doing.
It was going to be messy.
Chaotic.
Painful even.
But it was the right thing to do.
Bishop
College Game Day.
The auditorium was big, but the spectators present were larger in numbers.
There wasn’t a single seat left open.
I eyed the crowd standing in the back, knowing that they were the last hundred that were allowed inside.
For three years, I’d been able to sit in the front row and not say a word, but I’d promised Coach and Dean Friedan that I would be up on stage today; in the trenches of the wolves of college media and the blinding camera lights.
Normally, everything would be recorded in a studio, but since SDU had gained so many college sport stars, College Sports Cable Network thought it was best to air everything in front of a live audience.
It wasn’t only SDU stars who were there. Top college football quarterbacks, captains of college soccer and rugby teams, champions of swimming, diving, you name it, were in the audience. It was the biggest sports stage set without being on the field of competition.
I’d never been nervous in front of a camera.
My mother had made sure of that. She’d brought me to media training at the age of ten and playing for St. Ignatius had given me a lot of time in the limelight.
“You’re on next,” Sicily Kincade, College Sports’ most recognized sportscaster, warned me.
She’d just finished her interview with Cole Jeffers, the soccer star from Notre Dame, who had charmed Sicily and had finished his interview by kicking a soccer ball into the cheering SDU crowd.
It was a sight to take in, the boisterous crowd of people holding up banners of a variety of sports. It was the second time SDU hosted the big event and would continue to host if the crowded hotels within the ten-mile radius of SDU were to be asked.
I nodded to Sicily and lifted a shoulder. Coach had asked for the questions in advance, but College Sports had a reputation for shocking viewers so even if I’d gotten ahold of the questions, I knew there were going to be a few, if not all, of the questions that were going to be surprises.
“And now ladies and gents,” Sicily’s voice boomed in the noisy building, “I want to introduce you to your very own college hero, Bishop Cordello!”
The noise was deafening, the whistles rang through the air, and even though I wasn’t nervous, I felt myself getting warm from the heat of the spotlight on my face. The network had darkened the auditorium for maximum camera lighting.
I waved to the audience and smiled, “Thank you.”
Sicily and I were seated across from each other, making the interview seem intimate, more personal even though there were physically hundreds of eyes on me and millions of viewers judging every move, every eye twitch, or innocuous body movement.
The roars from the crowd slowly died down, allowing me a few minutes to collect my thoughts and my composure.
I’d avoided this for so long but if I wanted to leave a legacy in college rugby, this was what I had to do. At least, that’s what Coach Masterson had drilled into my head when the request came from College Sports.
“Bishop, is it okay to call you Bishop?” Sicily’s brown eyes were smiling, making me feel like she wanted me to be comfortable in front of the lights.
I chuckled and answered. “It’s my name so yeah.”
Her eyes glimmered in calculation, “Your father used to call you Boy Genius. Is it okay to call you that as well?”
I swallowed a thick lump inside my throat. She went for the jugular within seconds of the interview and even when I knew it was coming, it still caught me off guard yet I answered with a shrug. “It’s fine.”
I’d rather chew on nails than be called anything that my father used to call me, but Trista, my media trainer, once said that not giving a straight answer might lead to more questions. It was best to say Yes or No and move on.
“You’re graduating this year?” She posed the question to which I replied with a “Yes.”
“Congratulations.”
“Thank you.” I wasn’t sure where she was going
with this. I sat through the five interviews before me and she’d given them their stats and focused on the games.
“You’ve built this team up from being nowhere near the radar of college rugby’s top ten to now, the top team in the past two years, how do you feel about it?”
I answered with the truth. “I’m proud of my teammates. We’ve done a great job in creating a solid team that has brought college rugby to the spotlight. I couldn’t have done it without my teammates. They’re all an integral part of what we’ve achieved.”
“Ah. You’re very modest, Bishop,” she said, as if she was expecting me to answer differently. Then she continued, “Your teammates have said that you’re the master guru of tactics, that you have the power of predicting plays and changing tactics at the last second, what do you attribute these qualities to?”
Rugby was a team sport. I could be the best kicker or the fastest runner or the most powerful defensive player but without my teammates, I wouldn’t be able to do shit.
To Sicily, I said, “Lots of film study and just hours of practice.”
“Your stats speak for your prowess. You’re a master of this sport that has now started to gain recognition around the country. You hold the record at goal kicking, and in every game you break a record that you’ve set for yourself. Several teams in the World Rugby Union have expressed interest in you playing for them. What are your plans after SDU?”
“I’ve asked myself that question several times and right now, I have no answer. It would be an honor to play for the teams in the Union.” I kept my fingers on the black slacks I wore for the interview. Like the other players, we were required to dress in a suit even in the sweltering ninety plus degree weather, and now my navy blue suit and light blue dress shirt were feeling hot on my skin.
Sicily pressed, “Will you ever return to hockey?”
There it was. The question I had not answered in years.
I took a sip of the water that was on the small table beside me, feeling the sudden parchedness in my throat and managed to say, “Not sure.”
“You were the number one ice hockey player in high school. D1 college hockey teams were waiting for you to call them. And even if you didn’t play hockey throughout college, the NHL would be willing to draft you in a heartbeat if you say the word. With Beau Cordello being your father and one of hockey’s all-time greats, why don’t you play the sport that you were born into?” Sicily’s questioning drove a screw inside that dormant part of me. That was why I didn’t want to be interviewed. It was why for the years that I’d been asked to go on air, I’d never given the public the chance to gain insight into my life. It was also why I was now staring into space and wanting to jump from the stage.
But from the deepest corners of my mind, I knew that I had to answer her.
“I was born into hockey but I didn’t love it.” Because my father made me hate it. Because every time I think of the ice, I felt that I wanted to claw my way out of it. Because I was the best but there was something about being around the ice that made me feel the worst.
“Why not? You played it so well.” Sicily was an attractive woman and she had a lot of fans. She had a way of asking questions that were off the table, not that I’d said anything was off the table but my Coach had emailed the network that I wasn’t going to answer anything about my father. That they should stick to asking questions about me. Anything about my mother was also off-limits and definitely anything about Bridge was going to be answered with radio silence.
I let out a sarcastic laugh. “Just because I played it well didn’t mean I loved it.”
I used to love hockey.
But I hated it the minute my father took the joy out of it and made it rule his and my life.
“Fair enough.” She nodded her dark head and the green earrings that matched her suit dangled in the air. “Now the last two questions are from online viewers. We’ve picked two from our millions of followers who are watching right now.”
I nodded, relieved that we weren’t going over questions about my past that I’d rather leave behind.
She looked towards a small tablet that she was holding and smiled, “First question, what do you normally eat on game day?”
I pressed my back against the metal chair, finding it comfortable against my suit. “On game days I usually eat a healthy amount of protein and carbs for breakfast and then protein and carbs distributed throughout the day. It varies, but I stay away from high sugar snacks.”
“Is that how you maintain your excellent shape?” Sicily asked in a playful manner.
Was she flirting with me? Jose had a big crush on her so he’d Googled her since Day One. She was twenty-eight years old and was currently single after her breakup with golfer, Jay Cloud.
I bounced back with a “Is that the next and final question?” I was already itching to get out of this interview. I had no problems being in front of the camera, but it wasn’t my favorite thing to do. I could be finishing up studying Stanford who is our next opponent and number three in the standings.
“No.” She returned and looked down on her tablet, “This one should be interesting.”
“Okay.”
“Obviously you have a lot of female fans. You’ve been ranked in the top three hottest college athletes for three years in a row, the poll that College Sports holds and asks voters to vote for every year…”
My face heated up at her statement, it was a constant source of entertainment for my teammates. Ian often joked around that College Sports was biased to fly-halfs and held grudges against locks which was why he wasn’t in the top five. He was number eight this year and he was pretty upset about it because he’d fallen two places from last year.
I didn’t give a hoot about it, but if it kept rugby in the limelight then it was all good.
“It’s been rumored that you don’t have a girlfriend,” Sicily’s eyebrows were raised in disbelief.
Why it was a mystery was beyond me. I didn’t want to sleep with anyone just for the sake of fucking thought I held no judgment for those who did because it was their life. I’ve never been like that and I wasn’t going to change anytime soon.
I let her finish her question, “What’s your type? I think the fans are asking, what do you look for in a girl?”
She wasn’t in my line of sight, but I knew she was there. I talked to her briefly before I got up on stage with her boyfriend, Scott.
His hands on her waist were vital reminders that she was his.
I closed my eyes briefly, to the camera, it would look like I was blinking, but I was trying to get her picture out of my head after Sicily asked the question.
She had to have long, long legs.
Legs that could wrap around me while I drove into her.
She had to have blue, blue eyes.
Eyes that made me crazy with want and hazy with lust.
She had to have a brilliant mind.
A mind that made me think of quantum and sex.
Of course I couldn’t say any of that on air, or vocalize any of that outside of my head so I faced the camera and with a slight smile on my face, I said, “She has to have a kind heart.”
There was verity in my statement because I wanted to be somebody who had a kind heart but along with that, I also wanted her name to be Kara.
Sicily gave me a patronizing smile and said, “That’s an unexpected answer.”
I merely shrugged and she said, “Thank you for your time.”
Amid the claps and cheers of the crowd, I breathed out. A huge sense of relief lambasted me from outside of my body.
I’d answered Sicily’s questions the best I could. Maybe not with the whole truth because there were facts that I’d always keep to myself.
And only one other person knew it.
Bridge has held my secret for years. Just as I have hers.
I had returned to hockey.
Many, many times over the past years.
Intrinsically, it was inside of me.
No matter how much my father tainted the sport for me, it would always hold a place in my heart, but I wouldn’t ever play it professionally.
The call of the ice was shiny but, the grass rooted me.
It’s held me stable and solid even when the pressure threatened to crack me.
And it would always hold me.
Kara
If it wasn’t for my phone vibrating relentlessly, I wouldn’t have looked up from Horace’s hexameter verses while trying to figure out how it brought about patriotism and mistrust of imperialism in ancient Rome.
I was having a hard time critiquing his poetry since I concurred with most of his musings. Still, I had to find something to say for my paper in Ancient Rome and its Politics, a higher general education requirement that I was itching to finish this term.
“Sis.” Rikko.
I couldn’t tell what his mood was from the tone of his voice. He sounded sleepy and since Rikko didn’t wake up before 10 AM, I was surprised to see his name on my screen at 9:35 in the morning.
“Hey, what’s going on?” I’d been reading since I got out of my spin class at 7:20 and was planning to continue reading until Hanna arrived.
Yes. YES! My BFF was arriving at two o’clock and I couldn’t contain my excitement. I wanted to finish this paper so I could spend three days with her without thinking of school.
“I heard from Scott.” Rikko didn’t really say anything about my relationship with his best friend. After the initial shock and typical brother protective instincts had worn off, Rikko just told him to take care of me and to always treat me with respect.
My brother was protective of me, but he’d known Scott for a long time and he trusted that Scott would be good to me.
“Oh.” It was the only thing I could say because while Scott and my brother were best friends, what happened between Scott and I was our business.
“How are you?” Even after all these years, Rikko’s main concern was me. He could have easily gone off talking about Scott, but I was his sister first.