by Alan Janney
At last the winners were announced. Hannah’s name was called. She patted my hand and went to go be crowned as Homecoming Princess. A senior named Alex, maybe the same girl who’d thrown last week’s party, won Homecoming Queen.
Andy Babington won Homecoming King. Afterwards, in the tunnel, he accepted our congratulations, and he shook everyone’s hand but mine.
Daniel Babington threw three touchdown passes while I sat on the cold bench, and following the game big brother Andy made a circuit around the locker room and graciously complimented every player on how well they played. Except for me. I sat in the corner with a towel over my head, praying the pounding in my head would cease.
Chapter Twenty-One
Friday, October 5. 2017
“Wake up, sleepyhead. Chasey? Wake up. Your room is a disaster, you know that? I cleaned it for you in May. Do I need to help you organize every few months? Ew. Which pile of laundry is clean? Wake up, silly, or I’m going to start tickling you.”
I pried open my eyes with an extreme effort of willpower. Katie stood in the middle of my room, hands on her hips.
“There he is! There’s my beautiful boy! Wow, look at all your chocolate wrappers. Did you eat all these recently? There must be hundreds!”
“Katie,” I groaned. “Shut up. Forever.”
“Here comes the tickle monster,” she sang, and started poking my abdomen softly through my t-shirt. “Tickle tickle!”
“Shhhhh!”
“Oh, sorry,” she whispered, and then much quieter, “Tickle tickle! Goodness Chase, your ab muscles are really hard,” she murmured, pressing on my stomach and chest. “It’s like you’re made of rock. When did that happen?”
“Mm,” I said.
“I don’t understand how you’ve changed so much so quickly. Are you taking steroids?”
“No. Hush.”
“But you know…you don’t look that much bigger. On the football field sometimes you look so tall! But here… you’re the same size as always.”
That’s weird. People always think the Outlaw looks really big too. But it’s not like humans can just grow and shrink.
“How do you feel?” she asked, sitting on my bed.
“This is the most tired I’ve ever been.”
“Fatigue is a symptom of a concussion,” she said, and without warning she popped a breath mint into my mouth. “Your dad told me last night that you had a concussion. When you first got hit I thought that jerk had broken your back.”
“Concussion?” I asked, sucking on the peppermint.
“Do you not remember? From last night?”
“Oh yeah,” I said, and snippets of emotions wafted through my brain like sounds in a fog. “Kind of.”
“Do you want to stay home from school today? I can get your work for you.”
“No, no,” I said. “I’m up. What did you text Tee?”
“What?”
“That text you got,” I reminded her.
“From the Outlaw?” she smiled.
“Right,” I sighed. “What did you say back to him?”
“Why do you care so much?” she teased.
“Please, Katie? I’m worried about it. I don’t think that it’s the Outlaw communicating with you. I think it’s someone else.”
“Fine,” she relented and she thumbed through her messages. “I said…’I don’t think it’s a coincidence,’ and then I put a smiley face. See? Nothing too revealing.”
“Okay. Thanks for telling me.”
She rose and I swung my feet out of bed.
“How’d you get in here?” I asked and I stood up, stretching.
“I have your spare key, remember? Yeah, you’re not that tall,” she said, scrutinizing me. “It just that on the football field, the other guys don’t look as big as you,” she said.
“Optical illusion?”
“Maybe,” she said. “But you have gotten stronger. I can tell. I don’t know how Hannah resists you.”
“What do you mean?”
“Um…” she half stammered and half laughed. “I mean…”
“And how do you know she is resisting me?”
“Lee told me. He said you told him that you and Hannah are…you know…going slow.”
“Right,” I nodded and tried to rub the sleep out of my eyes.
“Sammy and I are too,” she said quickly. “Just so you know.” I didn’t respond. I had just noticed that the toe of her right slipper was resting an inch from the Outlaw’s mask.
“I’m going to take a shower,” I said quickly to stop her from looking around the room too carefully.
“Good idea,” she said, wrinkling her nose. “You stink.”
I started to feel worse and worse throughout the day. The drone of Mr. Ford’s math explanations grew more incoherent than usual. During Spanish, Katie monitored me with anxiety and held my hand when she wasn’t copying down a second set of notes for me. The pounding in my head after class became nearly unbearable and I staggered to a halt outside the cafeteria, unable to tolerate the painful deluge.
“Chase?” A voice. Hannah’s voice. “Are you okay?”
I nodded. She put a hand on my back and lowered to look into my face. My head swelled to bursting and my stomach lurched.
“Chase? Baby? Sweetie, what’s wrong?” She grabbed my backpack as it slipped off my shoulders, and then followed after me as I stumbled down the hallway and crashed through the outer door. I fell to my knees and vomited in the grass. “Oh my gosh, Chase, poor sweetie,” she cried and knelt beside me, rubbing my back. “Baby, is it your head?”
“Yes,” I said and spit, my eyes closed.
“Okay,” she said. “Okay,” and she pulled her cheering skirt and a water bottle out of her bag. Carefully, tenderly, she pushed the hair back from my clammy forehead and wiped my face with her red garment. “It’s alright, sweetheart, it’s alright, poor Chase.”
“I’m fine,” I said, and I drank from the water bottle she put to my lips.
“I’m taking you to Coach Garrett,” she said, and she helped me stand. We walked side-by-side; she carried two bags, and we went around the north wing of the school to the field office. I started to see stars in my vision, and she warded off anyone that got too close. “Coach Garrett?” she called when we entered the field office, a secondary building close to the stadium.
“Miss Walker?” he said, walking out of his office into the common area. We were alone, otherwise. “What’s wrong?”
“My head,” I replied and I sank onto one of the chairs.
“He can barely walk,” she informed the coach. She sat beside me and placed her hand on my knee. “And he threw up just a minute ago.”
“I’m okay,” I said. “Just need some peace and quiet.”
“You’re right about that,” he said. “You shouldn’t have come to school, dealing with post-concussion symptoms. Don’t move, I’ll call one of our Sports-Medicine interns, just to be safe.”
We were left alone in the quiet building. Hannah found a washcloth and made trips to the water fountain to keep it cool and damp while she sponged my face and neck.
“…poor Chase, I knew that awful brute hurt you last night. It’s not your fault, you know. Don’t feel bad, baby, don’t feel bad. It’s not your fault. It’s the offensive line’s fault. Our offensive line is pathetic and they’ve let you get sacked too many times. Cory must motivate them to try harder. Your poor head, I’m sure it hurts,” she whispered, barely pausing to take a breath. “But you’ve been playing so well. Everyone says so. Even Daddy came to watch you last week, and he said so. All my friends think so too, and they all think you’re handsome. And that we look good together. Don’t you think so? I do. I think we look great together, which is why I was so frustrated that you never asked me out. I couldn’t wait for you to be my boyfriend. I’ve been so happy ever since. No one has been asking me why I’m single, everyone knows who you are. Poor Chase.”
Her soft stream of compliments soothed my frayed
nerves. My muscles unclenched, and the pressure in my head slackened enough that I drifted off. When I came to, Dr. Wilburn sat in a chair across from me.
“Look who I found,” Coach Garrett said, indicating the physician. “Even better than an intern.”
“So, Hannah tells us you vomited?” Dr. Wilburn asked kindly, and he held my wrist in his hand. “And you’re dizzy? Tell me your other symptoms.”
“I don’t know. My head is pounding. Light and sound hurt. I can’t think straight,” I said, and Hannah pushed the water bottle into my grasp.
“Your lovely nurse did the right thing when she brought you here,” he smiled but then grew serious. “You are suffering from post-concussion syndrome. Otherwise known as shell shock, typified by headaches, dementia, nausea, memory loss, audio and visual sensitivity, and cognitive impairment. Your brain is still suffering from the serious trauma it sustained last night.”
“How long will it last?” Hannah asked.
“There is no way to determine that,” he said simply, and now he was pumping up a cuff around my arm to check my blood pressure. “It could clear up by this evening. In rare cases the symptoms can last a year. In my experience, they should be gone within a week or two.”
“What about football?” I asked.
“Until you are no longer symptomatic, there can be no football. And no practice. This is your brain we’re discussing. We can’t put a splint on it. We can’t reset it. It has to heal. Life-long damage can occur if the brain is reinjured before the symptoms have resolved. In other words, a second concussion in the near future spells disaster.”
“What can we do?” Hannah inquired, frustration evident.
“Rest. Rest and the absence of stress are the only two known cures. In the meantime, take a lot of ibuprofen.” The air spilled out of the blood pressure cuff and he looked at me curiously. “Does high blood pressure run in your family?”
“No. At least I don’t think so. Why?” I asked.
“Your blood pressure is extremely high, and your pulse is racing. Borderline dangerous. It could be from the episode you just had, but I’m not sure that would explain why your body is working so hard right now. When is the last time you had a checkup?”
“A checkup? Years? I don’t know.”
“I’d be really curious to see the analysis of a blood test.”
When I was nine, I broke two ribs learning to pirouette on the parallel bars. My mom had been watching and she’d reached my crumpled body before my coach had. The doctor told us that the only cure for broken ribs is rest. Just like a concussion. My mom sat in my bed the rest of that day. Instead of going to the gymnasium after school, I had to come home and rest for two weeks, and my mom stayed with me as often as she could. My strongest memory of those frustrating days is her brushing my hair and scratching my back. She even did some of my homework for me. All the while she told me how proud she was of me, how smart and strong and brave I was, and that I was going to be okay.
Hannah checked us out of school and drove me home. After unloading my backpack she led me by the hand to the couch. She placed a pillow in her lap and laid my head down on it. For several hours, she combed my hair with her fingers and whispered softly to me. No television, no phone, and no lights. Soon I experienced no pain at all.
Hannah’s calm voice reminded me of my mother. She had been a driven and demanding woman, but also affectionate and positive with me. Hannah’s quiet utterances not only pacified my symptoms but also recalled sweet memories of my childhood. Since my mother’s death, Katie had been the only girl that’d touched me, and then only short hugs and shoulder massages. Nothing as intimate and affectionate as this.
Dad woke me up when he came home. There was no sign of Hannah except for a message on my phone.
>> I have to attend cheer practice and then get ready for homecoming. I hope you feel better! If you do, you should come!!!
Dad sat down heavily beside me and inquired, “How’s the head?”
“About the same as last night,” I replied.
He clapped me on the shoulder and said, “Hang in there, champ.”
“Thanks.”
“Daniel Babington played well last night,” he said.
“Yeah?”
“Three touchdowns.”
“Good for him,” I said, and I partly meant it.
“Are you going to the Homecoming Dance?”
“I doubt it,” I said and released a big sigh, composed of one part frustration and three parts relief.
“Why not?”
“Doctor said I need to take it easy. Plus I have nothing to wear.”
“Nothing to wear?” Dad barked. “Hell, you can wear one of my old suits, if you want.”
I smiled and said, “Thanks, dad. I’ll consider it.” But really, no way.
“It’s a Friday night, son. You shouldn’t be staying home.”
We ate microwaved lasagna for dinner, and afterwards Dad answered a knock at the door. I sat at the table, staring glumly at my plate.
I heard laughter and Dad called, “Visitor for you, Chase.”
Katie was waiting for me at our front door. She wore a small, strapless, pale blue dress with and blue heels. Her throat and ears twinkled with diamonds. I had never seen her wearing a formal dress before. She was more of an adult than I’d realized, with muscles and curves, and her skin complexion was perfect. She took my breath away.
Sensing my inability to speak, she flared her arms and twirled. “Do you like?” she asked.
“Katie…wow.”
“I got you a present,” she said, and she handed me the ribbon-wrapped package she’d been holding. “I picked it out, but Mom bought it. I’m off to eat dinner with Sammy and his friends. I’ll see you later, Chase!”
I tasted the distinct tang of jealousy in my mouth as she left. She blew me a kiss as Sammy drove away.
The ribbon fell off easily and inside laid a beautiful blue vest and a note.
Homecoming Dances are not super formal. Most guys don’t wear suits. You’ll look perfect in khakis, a white button-up, and this vest!! Happy early birthday!!
I waited in the car a solid ten minutes before forcing myself to get out. The Dance had been in full swing for thirty minutes, and I’d been listening to the music through my open window. Party-goers were still arriving in pairs, so I didn’t feel too conspicuous as I approached the entrance to the Hilton’s dance hall.
The entrance was closely guarded by our school’s administration and a police officer. Principal Tanner asked me how I felt, and patted me on the shoulder. One of our assistant principals, Mrs. Patina, told me she loved guys in vests, which felt kind of weird and kind of nice because she’s young.
I skipped the photo booth and walked into the dance hall, which hummed and pulsated. The spacious room had been decorated to look like the ocean floor. Strangers waved to me and asked how I felt as I pushed deeper into the room.
Over the next hour, I circulated, drank punch, and talked with the few friends I located. The dance hall was populated with at least a thousand revelers. I found Cory and Lee, but I didn’t see Katie or my girlfriend until I ventured deeper into the dancers. A song came on that I recognized, and so I hopped-one-time, cha-cha’ed, and backed it up further into the pulsing mass of humanity. Katie, of course, was surrounded by a laughing pack of partiers enjoying themselves. She didn’t seem to notice how pretty she looked, dancing and laughing carelessly.
“Chase!”
I turned around to see Hannah hurrying towards me. Her dress was actually a short metallic blue skirt with a matching one-sleeved top that left her stomach exposed. Her outfit was skin tight and enhanced her tall, eye-catching figure.
“Oh my gosh, hi!” she cried and ran into me, only staying upright because she threw her arms around my neck. “I can’t believe you’re here!”
“You look pretty,” I said, smiling down at her.
“Thank you, Chase,” she cooed and actually blushed. “You being here
makes this night so perfect.” As we spoke, the song mellowed and slowed, and the mood decelerated. I pulled her to me and we easily transitioned into a slow dance. It was a pretty smooth move and I had no idea how I pulled it off!
“Hannah,” I said. “Thank you for your help earlier today. I don’t know what I would have done without you.”
“You’re welcome,” she said. “After all, we wouldn’t want the whole school watching you get sick on the lawn. That’s a terrible image to project.”
“That’s very true,” I supposed.
“Plus we need you healthy for our next game. College scouts won’t look at you if you won’t play.”
“I wish Andy had been able to play last night, after I got hurt. He still has a chance to play for a small college.”
“Maybe,” she shrugged. “But who cares about a small college? Where’s the prestige in that? Small colleges don’t make ESPN. Their cheerleaders never get television coverage.”
“And that’s important?”
“Mmhm,” she nodded slowly, all the lights hanging above us getting caught in her crystalline blue eyes and sparkling there. “That’s not the only reason we broke up, but it didn’t help. He will never lead a national powerhouse onto a college field, Chase. He doesn’t have your raw ability. I believe that’s part of the reason Coach Garrett chose to play you instead of a JV quarterback.”
“Why would he have played the JV quarterback? I was the backup,” I said.
“The Coach usually brings up the JV player. Helps the maturation process. But he didn’t with you,” she pointed out. “He saw what I see. Potential. Height and strength. Headlines. Star power,” she said, her words growing animated.
“Coach Garrett cares about star power?”
“Chase,” she said patiently. “I forget how much you don’t know. I have my work cut out for me. Of course Coach Garrett cares about star power. Do you think he wants to be a high school coach the rest of his career?”