And all wore smiles. Each and every participant here brandished a smile on their face. It struck Sydney as she watched them find their seats that it was true what they said: they’re all winners in the Special Olympics. Not because they all walked away with awards whether they won or lost, but because each and every one felt like a winner inside. What was the motto? Sydney searched her memory. Let me win. But if I can’t win, let me be brave. Let me be brave in the attempt, she added and thought yes, that’s it. Let me be brave in the attempt. She’d seen it written throughout the venues, heard it quoted several times and realized that’s what made these athletes different. Intensely competitive, yet they never lost sight of the reason they were here. Let me win. But if I cannot win, let me be brave in the attempt.
It was about overcoming challenge in life. Doing that which others believed you couldn’t, and proving to yourself you could. The notion gave her pause. As an athlete, she understood the meaning of challenge. Looking closer at the faces around her, the expressions of elation and joy exhibited varying degrees of mental disabilities she believed they did as well. Each athlete here boasted pride and gratitude. They felt good about themselves. They felt part of something greater than themselves. One boy danced around in line as his team walked to their seats, the jig-style dance drawing a smile from her. Looking further, Sydney noticed the sense of pride and joy wasn’t limited to the athletes. Everyone here seemed on top of the world. But she had seen that over the course of the last week, hadn’t she? The enormous number of volunteers on scene, the families and friends, the strangers that joined in to cheer on athletes they never met.
Sydney dropped her gaze to her notes in hand. Q was right in wanting to give praise to this organization. It helped not only him, but countless others involved, whether directly or indirectly. An echo of pulse galloped through her chest. She would make sure they heard him. She would be his voice
Sydney felt a tap on her knee and jerked her head up. It was the girl from opening ceremonies. Passing by with her Miami team, she caught Sydney’s attention and waved, then shot a thumb up. Tears pricked. The girl was giving her encouragement. Again. Sydney waved and returned a “thumbs-up,” perturbed by the fact that her arm was shaky and weak. She pulled it quickly to her lap. Why was she so darned nervous? Other people could stand on stage and speak. They didn’t have a nervous meltdown. They were calm and cool, comfortable and confident. What was her problem? Why couldn’t she do this? All she had to do was speak, for God’s sake. She’d been doing it for years now. Speak. Speak! That’s all you have to do.
But rather than ease her stress, she felt like an old dog incapable of learning new tricks. It was humiliating. The music swept into big band tones, signaling the official commencement. Ceremonies were about to begin. Her heart was pounding so hard she swore people had to be able to see it! She glanced around and a vacuum of sound formed between her ears. The music had muffled, the audience had calmed. Sydney could only hear the beat of her heart. Thump, thump, thump. The rate at which it was pumping was almost painful. She might have a heart attack right here, in front of everyone!
But no such luck. Time passed in a blur of videos and music until Sydney was called to the stage. Her legs were liquid sticks of goop incapable of scaling the stairs, yet somehow she managed. Notes in hand, she squared her shoulders and looked across the stage at the podium. Heart thundering, her pulse shot out through her ears. Fear hammered into nausea. Would she be able to speak once she got there?
Sydney managed to cross the stage, tried to smile in polite acknowledgment at the man who introduced her, but met with skepticism, the concern etched in his face, she abandoned the effort. What he thought about her, whether wrong or right, didn’t matter. She was here for Q, not him.
With a marked tremor in her hands, she unfolded her notes and straightened the paper against the angled podium top. Instinct made her look out into the crowd, as though she could see past the glare of stage lights, past the haze of special-effects smoke. She couldn’t. “Good evening,” she said, her mouth uncomfortably dry. “My name is Sydney Flores. I’m here tonight on behalf of Q Rutledge.” A low rumble of disinterested conversation rolled across the arena. “Q was supposed to be standing here tonight as your global ambassador, but unfortunately he is unable to be here…” Her tongue threatened to swell her mouth closed, but she pushed out, “due to a seizure during his last event.”
A hushed murmur blanketed the crowd.
Sydney paused, held tightly to the podium’s edge and glanced around. There was an enormous number of people in attendance tonight. Thousands. Athletes. Coaches. Families. Strangers. She tried not to think about it. Just say your piece and be done, she cautioned herself. Just speak. Tears bridled within her lids, undermining her poise as she said, “He’s okay. He’s doing well,” she added quickly, cleared the shake from her throat. “And he looks forward to seeing you all in Rio.”
Applause broke out across the stands, marked by shouts and hollers. Sydney waited through it, cursing the fact that she’d spoken out of order. She wasn’t supposed to mention that until the end! Panicked, she scanned her notes. She tried to pick out which line she left off but the lines blurred into a block of black and white scribble. “He has asked me to say a few words on his behalf,” she stalled. But unable to make sense of her outline said, “First...” The audience settled, awaiting her next response. “He would like to thank the Special Olympics board for their organization and commitment,” the words scratched out against her vocal chords, “without which these events would not be possible.”
Applause erupted again, combined with more cheers, hoots and hollers.
Sydney prayed they would stop. Let me finish! Did they think she wanted to stand up here all night? Through the haze lingering in the air, she saw a sea of faces, heads. They were faceless heads, judging heads. Read the words typed, she told herself. Nobody cares if you use your notes. Just read the words. “These events have meant so much to Q, personally,” she continued. “They’ve helped him develop and mature and he no longer sees the things he can’t do.” A few people shouted from somewhere high in the stands. “He only sees the possibility of the things he can do.”
Someone barked out from the lower arena, “Go, Q!”
Distracted by the sound, Sydney looked toward the voice but had no idea where it came from. She returned to her notes. “As a fellow athlete, I understand,” she fumbled slightly. “Winning is about more than practice...it’s about your heart, your mind.” Fleeting thoughts of her father flittered in. Images of him tapping his head, his chest, followed by his smile of encouragement... She remembered the day he believed in her, cared about her win. Like Clay, he had urged her forward. But unlike her father, Clay remained a dad first and foremost, Q his number one priority. “Q has great determination,” she said, recalling her visit in his hospital room. “...his drive, competitiveness...”
But Q wasn’t the only one with the desire to win, to conquer the challenge set forth. Admiration shot steel into her spine. “You all have amazed me with your enthusiasm, your sense of teamwork, your sheer joy and passion in all that you do...” She shook her head. With a brief glance across the crowd, she squinted to see, to connect, but remembering her talk, locked back onto her notes. “The outpouring of support from volunteers means so much to the athletes and holds a lesson for us all. You give your time and love without asking anything in return.
Q wants you to know how grateful he is, not only for the volunteers, his friends and family, but his fellow athletes as well. Without your support, he wouldn’t be where he is today.”
Sydney heard a swell of young voices cheer at their mention. Were those his teammates? She couldn’t make out anything. No color, no familiar faces. She could only turn in the direction of the noise to acknowledge them. “You never gave up on him and for that, he thanks you.”
Through the subsequent applause, Sydney thought about how these athletes never gave up on themselves, either. She looked out over
the crowd and remembered bits and pieces of events throughout the week. There were young swimmers she feared might drown before they made it to the other side. A few kids that ran track without any semblance of rhythm or coordination, she felt certain they’d hit the ground in a scrape of skin and bruises. Volleyball players that missed every return...
She chuckled. But everyone turned out fine. No one drowned, no one fell on their face, no one quit or cried in defeat. Except that one. She recalled the child’s face as though he were standing in front of her now. He’d cried in defeat. And she had wanted to cry with him. Not once, not ever, even if they were the last ones out of the pool or a full ten minutes behind the other racers did they give up. They persevered to the end. Except Q. Angst trickled down her spine. He could have drowned, if it hadn’t been for the quick action of his father. Sydney folded the paper in her hands. She was finished here.
“You all are an inspiration,” she said. “Each and every one of you is an inspiration to all who come in contact with you. You have shown such courage, such spirit, that I as a fellow athlete stand here in awe of you.” Tears stung. “Thank you for the honor of hosting the National Games in my city. You’ve touched our community in ways you’ll never know, ways that will last a lifetime.” An image of the young girl who gave her encouragement after her speech during opening ceremonies and then again tonight formed in her mind. “You’ve touched me in ways you’ll never know.” She paused, swallowing against a painful lump in her throat. Gone were the nerves, the batter of pulse. Gone were thoughts of anything but the people in this room. Only gratitude remained. “Q wants you to know how much he’s appreciated your encouragement and I want to say thank you as well. Especially to the young girl out there tonight from my hometown who took the time to give me encouragement.” Tears spilled onto her cheeks, but she didn’t care. Sydney only cared about speaking her piece. It suddenly dawned on her, that the arena had gone silent. “This young athlete saw that I was nervous and took the time to give me some words of kindness. Her smile was all I needed.” Sydney broke into one of her own, wrenched by a despair that rocked her. “In fact, all of you have the most amazing smiles I’ve ever seen.” She laughed through her tears and the crowd joined her.
Unashamed, Sydney took one last look around the arena before taking her leave. “Thank you,” she ended. “Thank you...”
The final words drifted quietly from her lips.
Sydney navigated the stairs without issue, took her seat and watched the proceedings continue. Speaker after speaker followed, videos played, recapping the events yet she only registered the overwhelming satisfaction churning inside her. Intense joy, relief, respect for each and every person in attendance tonight streamed through her veins. For the first time she felt as though she truly understood. The Special Olympics were not about disabilities. They were about the strength of commitment, the power of inclusion, the enthusiasm and hope that burned eternal in the human spirit. There was no obstacle too great to overcome. There was no physical condition capable of rendering an individual worthless.
No. There was nothing that could stand in their way. Like her, these athletes understood sweat equity and dedication. They understood what it took to win. Sydney was proud to be counted among them.
As she watched the flame be extinguished, Sydney felt the vibration at her waist. She pulled the cell phone from its case hidden beneath her blouse and read the text from Clay.
Meet me in the lobby of the Biltmore in a half hour.
A twist of nerves zipped through her stomach. Sydney texted back that she would, then slipped the phone back into her pocket. She mentally played out the scene in her head. The Biltmore was a romantic location. Yes, his parents were staying there but Sydney didn’t kid herself for a second that Clay didn’t choose the place for its ambiance. He absolutely did. Would they kiss? Would he try? This was to be his opportunity to convince her they had a chance. But she had decided against it, hadn’t she? Baggage and distance were not in her future. Glancing about her, she glimpsed a small boy in tears. On the far side of the arena, he grasped for the hand of an older athlete on his team. A twinge of longing wound through her heart. Was he sad that the events were over?
She was. A future without Clay would mean a future without Q, without the happiness coursing through her now.
# # #
Riding high from the closing ceremonies, the positive nods from Special Olympics management and several city officials, she entered the Biltmore lobby and her heart surged at the sight of him. Standing by a wide round marble column, its top intricately carved and lifting into groin vaulted ceilings painted midnight blue, Clay appeared serene. The lobby was quiet at this hour, with a single couple huddled together on an overstuffed couch beyond him. As she neared him Sydney smiled, unable to squelch the excitement building inside her.
Clay waited until she stopped. He took both of her hands within his and said, “I heard you slayed the crowd.”
She laughed, instantly self-conscious. “I don’t know about all that, but I didn’t fall flat on my face.”
“I heard you were incredible. My parents videotaped your talk so they could show it to Q.”
“They did?” Sydney was stunned. Why had the thought not occurred to her?
“Said Q would be so proud.”
Tears sprang to her eyes. Heartbeats pelted her chest. After all was said and done, tonight had been about him.
“And he is. He’s thankful you accepted his request and told me he’s proud to call you his friend.”
Tears caught in her mascara. “He’s an amazing kid, Clay.”
He nodded that he knew. “And so are you. You’re amazing.” The breath caught in her chest as he brushed the moisture from her eyes. “You mean a lot to me, Sydney. A lot to Q and a lot to me.”
“Clay—” She loved hearing the words, but she was afraid of being pulled in, pulled under by a swell of temporary joy and satisfaction.
“I want to talk to you about where we go from here.”
Yes. Yes, she knew that’s why they were here. Staring into his eyes, the face that was becoming much too familiar, too desirable, she murmured, “We don’t have a lot of options.”
“Of course we do.”
“Clay, you live in South Carolina. My home is here.”
“So... No law against moving.”
“I don’t want to move.”
“You don’t?”
Did she? It dawned upon her that in the course of their relationship, her job had driven her single-minded focus around the fact she couldn’t move. But if she wasn’t employed by JL Conventions? Couldn’t she? Shouldn’t she?
“Okay... I can move.”
“What?” Her pulse shot through her skin. “Just like that? You can’t move—you have too much at stake in South Carolina with Q and your family. You can’t uproot him from his life like that. It wouldn’t be fair.”
“Is that it? Is it Q?”
“What? No, it’s not Q,” she defended quickly.
“I realize he requires more attention than most kids and it may be a challenge for you to see yourself taking part in his life.” He seemed to stumble and reached for her hands again. “I mean, let’s be honest, hanging around hospitals is no joyride. It’s no place anyone wants to be—”
“Q’s great,” she cut in. It’s not Q.”
“Is it me?”
Peering into his eyes, Clay seemed in near disbelief it could actually be him. That there was even a remote possibility she didn’t want him. She tamped back the flutter of amusement in her chest. Probably because it was true—she’d be insane not to want him.
But she did want him—very much.
Clay’s cell phone rang. He pulled the phone from his belt and glanced at the number, then muttered, “I have to take this.” He yanked up the phone and jammed it to his ear. “What’s up?” His gaze sliced away from her.
Clay didn’t have to say a word. Sydney knew it was Trish.
“Yes, yes. Fine.
Whatever.” He shot her an eyeful of frustration. “If you have to leave, call my parents.”
Listening to them work out the details of their son’s care reminded her of the one reason she didn’t want to be with him.
Displeased, he ended the call. “Now where were we?”
The edge to his voice only underscored the unwelcome reminder of his ex-wife that rose between them. Longing blew hope to a million shards of regret. “I think it’s best we let it go.”
“I can’t do that, Sydney. You mean too much to me.”
“It’s been two weeks, Clay. We’ve known each for all of two weeks. I can’t mean that much already. I think we can move on, and put this behind us.”
“Maybe you can, but I can’t”
The statement felt like an insult. “I don’t understand.” Nor could she make out the rigid set to his jaw, the hard edge lining his eyes. “We barely know each other. Why are you acting like I’m so important?”
“Sometimes it doesn’t take time to know it’s right. Sometimes it only takes a touch, a feeling.”
Sydney shook her head. She knew it was true, that it was possible, because she felt the same. This felt right. It felt good between them.
“Is this about my ex? Are you jealous of her?”
“No,” she lied.
“There’s nothing for you to worry about when it comes to Trish. Trust me.” He grabbed hold of her arms. “She’s nothing to me.”
“But she’s the mother of your child. She’ll always be in your life.”
“So.” He paused, and something inside him softened. “Hopefully you will be, too.”
Sydney hesitated. What felt good, couldn’t always be trusted. Clay’s fingers dug into her triceps. Emotions relied on hopes and wants, wishes and dreams. They didn’t deal in facts. They weren’t filled with wisdom, objectivity. Sometimes, feelings betrayed you.
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