Darcy said, “I think that could be arranged.”
“Wonderful,” said Linda. “It’s a date.” She turned to me. “Okay?” I nodded and she laughed. “My dear Sherry, at least you’re going to have fun for one night!”
I had been so busy that I hadn’t gone to group in three weeks. I keep meaning to go but after a long week of practicing soccer and working overtime and attending classes by Friday I just wanted to lie in a bubble bath or collapse on the couch with Robie.
But three weeks—and three weekends—was too long for Elaine. She informed me that she was joining me for lunch on Monday. On a brilliant blue-sky day, we perched on a Battery Park bench and munched on deli chicken-salad sandwiches as we watched the strolling lovers and scurrying suits along the promenade. Sparkly sunlight filtered through the trees and the breeze had a salty taste. In the harbor, a tour boat chugged toward the majestic Statue of Liberty.
After dreading Mondays for most of my life, it felt so good to just feel good. I knew Elaine was going to lecture me for missing group but it wasn’t like I was acting out every night. I was finally doing something productive with my life.
Trying to delay the sermon, I asked about her husband. Elaine seemed resigned to Hal leaving her as he had moved out almost all of his clothes and only rarely came home on weekdays, never on a weekend. But Elaine didn’t want to talk about it and the shock that would come when he was finally gone. She turned to me.
“Sherry, it is great that you are doing so many things. I’m just afraid that you may be doing too much. Group really should be a part of your life.”
“I know. I know. I’ll come. But being with these women is almost like group. I love their bonding, their closeness. I love so much being a part of the team. The only problem is that they pride themselves on being party girls and they want me to be one, too.”
“Tell them that you are in recovery. I’m sure they’ll understand.”
“I know. I just haven’t gotten around to it. I will.” I paused for a moment, then offered, “Know what I have been thinking about lately.”
“What?”
“Becoming a nun.” Elaine burst out laughing. “I’m serious. You know I want to teach. Nuns teach. I can do some real good in this world.”
Elaine set her sandwich on her lap. “Sherry, running from sex is not as unhealthy as running to it, but it’s not healthy. I guess you are ready to date again.”
I vigorously shook my head. “No way. It could ruin everything.”
Elaine turned to me. “It could also be wonderful.”
The moment Elaine finished speaking, I was back in fantasyland. Although I hadn’t really thought about ever dating again, suddenly, I could only think about Paul. If only I had met him now, when I was 281 days sober. Ironically, I knew that it still probably wouldn’t work. Not until Paul admitted that he also had a problem. But would he listen to me, his ex-fiancée, the slut? Not likely.
That night when I got home I looked up his number. Maybe I could help him. I dialed the phone, but then immediately hung up. Get serious obsessive-compulsive Sherry! Help Paul! Are you kidding? You fool, just listening to his voice on the answering machine would probably be your ruin! One bad day, one bad moment, and you are one day sober again! Calling Paul would be that tipping point! You can never see him again! Ever!
My hands shook as I took them off the phone.
But then I thought, what if his message said, “Hi, it’s Paul and Tracie.” Or “Paul and Susan.” If he was with someone then any fantasy that I might have would be over. I hit redial but instead of a sweet loving-couple message I was shocked to hear that the number had been disconnected. Paul had given up his dream home? That couldn’t be! But where would he go? Even if I never saw him again, I’d still like to know that he was all right. Suddenly, I felt so empty because I knew that there was finally no hope of ever seeing Paul again.
The following Friday, I went to group and suddenly realized how much I had missed it, their love, their support. I never wanted to lose that. I needed to hear them sharing their slips. Sure, my life was now the best it had ever been. But how many times had I gone from the best to the worst in just a few hours? Countless times! I was 285 days sober and one hour away from going down in flames.
For only the second time in fifteen years of recovery, Elaine shared that night. Two guests had asked her to share, her children, both twentyish and attractive but both with weight issues, one too thin, the other bordering on obese. They sported supportive smiles that barely veiled their mixed-emotions. As I listened to Elaine recounting the times that she had acted out instead of being with her family, instead of being a mother, I flinched at the pain shown on both hers and her children’s faces. Elaine wasn’t asking for forgiveness but just trying to help them understand why she hadn’t been there for them, and about an illness from which she was still trying to heal.
Listening to Elaine helped me feel better about never seeing Paul again. Paul wanted to be a father but could I ever be a mother? Could I endure doing to my innocent child what Elaine had done to hers, to scar them for life. No way. Besides, I could barely take care of myself, let alone bringing into this world a helpless human who would never ask to live a life with someone always on the edge of oblivion. Paul and his unborn children were better off without me.
The following week, Paula told us to wear our uniforms to practice. I wondered why until I saw Paula talking to a short, chubby guy with a bushy mustache and a bag marked, “Ben Bosco Photography.”
“How about over there?” He motioned toward a clump of trees and we shuffled toward to a shady spot. Everyone seemed to know their places, except me, of course. I cowered in back, wishing that I had called in sick, since I felt like I might vomit. Despite playing well all summer, I was always waiting for the other cleat to drop that would get me banned from the field, and maybe even Central Park, forever. I didn’t want this photo to be a painful reminder to the others.
Darcy, Paula, Christine and Rita were sitting in the front row. Paula glanced up at me. “Sherry? Sit here next to me.”
Was she kidding? Me in the front row? By her? I wanted to beg off but I knew better than to challenge Paula. I was even more dumbfounded when, without a word, Darcy moved over to make room for me. So I slithered down and sat crossed-legged between them, taking the ball from Paula and wanting to hide behind it, or some tuft of falling hair. But then I smiled and it was a real smile. Lousy me, Nobody Johnson, was sitting between probably the two greatest women soccer players ever. I wanted my life to end right there, at its pinnacle. I could call in sick on gameday and still have this photo forever. To walk away, for once in my life not being a total failure.
Ben Bosco thanked us and as the team scattered, he waved to me, “You’re Johnson, right?” I nodded, surprised. “Stay right there,” he commanded. I stood, staring at him. “Hold the ball higher,” he added. “Smile.” I didn’t smile and he wasn’t pleased. I tried a fake smile for his second shot and he was either satisfied or gave up. Then he pulled notebook from his back pocket. “I need some stats for your bio. You know, schools, awards, trophies, caps.”
“Caps?”
He looked at me like I was being coy. “Yeah, caps. You know, international play?”
Somehow I didn’t think that once accompanying Darcy when she scrimmaged with a team in New Jersey would count. “I haven’t played soccer since junior high,” I admitted.
He wasn’t amused. “Look, I don’t have all day.”
Paula stopped stretching and turned to us. “Benny, she just told you.”
He stared at me. “Junior high school? Really?” He tried another tack. “I hear there is a great story about you getting your nickname, ‘Flash,’ but nobody’s telling me it. You want to?”
Rita and Christine walked toward us. “You heard wrong,” Rita said. “We call her Flash because she’s the fastest player on the team.”
They stood staring at him. Christine and Rita were both tall and tough, and B
en was still short and chubby. He held up his hands. “Right. Fastest player on the team. Got it.” He waved goodbye, grabbed his bag and hurried away. Rita and Christine just laughed.
After practice, Paula handed me four tickets to the Championship Game against the Banshees. During the season, several games had been played simultaneously in the Park. Each week the crowds had gotten bigger at our games but that still hadn’t prepared me for the prospect of the Championship Game. The league financed its season by selling tickets to the game, which was being played at a local college’s soccer field. The tickets had sold out hours after they went on sale but Paula assured me, “You can buy more, if you want.”
Buy more? I didn’t know what I would do those four. Ask Elaine or Gregory to come? Adam’s wife, Lisa and their daughters had come to a couple of the games. I could probably give them the tickets. But I was haunted, as always, by the same specter. Why invite someone to watch me totally, inevitably screw up? Letting down my teammates would be enough of a horror. I handed three of the tickets back to Paula. “Give them to someone who can use them.” She shrugged but said nothing.
My lone ticket would be for Dede because I felt guilty for not telling her that I was on the team and had been playing all summer. She chided me for not telling her before and said that she was rehearsing on gameday but that she would try to make it.
Both the Wildcats and the Banshees were undefeated with one tie each, the game that I had personally failed to win. Although I thought seriously of not showing up, I really wanted to see these two great teams play and what better place to watch them than on the field. I decided that I would cruise around the field and stay away from the ball. Even a self-destructive loser like me couldn’t lose the game if I didn’t touch the ball. Both teams had such great players who knew how to make big plays. How could I realistically be involved in any loss, or even more improbably, any win?
But when I arrived at the stadium and saw that sell-out crowd, I lost my breath, and nearly my lunch. It got worse. As I nervously laced up, Paula walked up and confided, “Sherry, if it comes down to a shootout, we’ll probably need five, so the order doesn’t really matter. But you’re kicking last.”
As she strolled away, I stood there, suddenly petrified. How could she do that to me? With all the great clutch players on the team, why would she make me kick last? Why, Paula, why? I couldn’t believe it.
Yes, I had practiced penalty kicks almost every night, but that was for my therapy not to get better at them. Didn’t she know that? I didn’t even think I should be considered one of the Wildcats’ top five kickers but I sure as hell knew that if the game was on the line there had to a better choice to kick last then me. I never dreamed she’d do something like that! But it wasn’t a dream. It was a nightmare! Suddenly, I no longer cared who won or lost. As long as it didn’t come down to kicks.
As rigor mortis seemed about to set in, Darcy slapped my shoulder and smiled. “She was going to tell you on Thursday but thought you should get some sleep last night.”
I turned to her, pleading, “Would you?”
She laughed and shook her head. “You know better.” She slapped me again and said, “Let’s go kick some ass, and then you won’t have to worry out it.”
My worries seemed over quickly as it appeared that the Banshees had also come to kick some ass. They soon caught us off guard by using our prime tactic against us. Their captain was calling audible “plays.” Within ten minutes we were down 2 to 0. Although Paula was seething she soon made enough changes to stop the bleeding, and I went from cruising around to giving the game everything I had. How much more damage could I do then had already been done?
But the Banshees then went into a packed defense, making sure that no one scored, not them, not us. We attacked their wall only to continually be driven back. Paula and Darcy started shooting from outside the penalty box, trying to draw out the defense but the Banshees didn’t budge. Then in an incredible move, Darcy appeared to be taking a shot but put so much spin on the ball that it angled off to Paula who gunned it from the corner. 2 to 1.
That loosened up their defense and suddenly both teams went on the offense in what became the greatest game I’d ever seen. The momentum seemed to shift constantly as one team would make a great play and the other would come right back at them.
But with less than a minute left in the game, we were still coming up short, losing 4 to 3. While the Banshees tried to run out the clock, I managed to tackle the ball and get it out to Paula and our last attack was on. It seemed to end when Darcy kicked an incredible shot but Rachel, the Banshee’s goalie, got enough fingers on it to deflect it to the side and all seemed lost. Then Christine came out of no where to head ball in for a goal and we tied the game.
Both teams were exhausted but determined to win. In the overtime, the Banshees scored first and once more we were playing catch up. With only a few precious seconds left, Paula called a final charge. I sprinted down the field but stayed near the touchline away from the furiously fast passes between Paula, Darcy and Christine. I’m sure I was the only Wildcat willing to lose the game in overtime rather than have me single-handedly lose it in a shootout.
Determined not to give us an open shot, the Banshees closed in around the goal. With almost no time left, Darcy got the ball to Paula. Paula didn’t really have a shot but with only seconds left, her attempt was the only one we were going to get. I raced toward the goal, hoping for a rebound. But then Paula passed the ball back to Darcy, despite the wall of defenders between Darcy and the goal. Darcy didn’t even tackle the ball but kicked it on the fly. Incredibly, the ball threaded two defenders as it headed toward the far corner of the goal. I had never seen a shot like that, not on TV, not ever. I was excited that Darcy might pull off one of the greatest shots ever. But my amazement and ecstasy turned to horror when I saw that the ball was going wide, way too wide. I couldn’t believe that Darcy would miss by that much.
Until I was shocked to realize that it wasn’t a shot but a pass. To me! The defense was so bunched up toward Darcy, Paula and Christine, that I nearly had an open net. Great idea. Only I could never get to the ball! I frantically pounded my exhausted legs. But I had been right. I couldn’t make it! With the ball about to sail by me, I desperately kicked my legs out in front of me and took flight. I felt the ball brush off my toe before I crashed to the ground and somersaulted toward the goal post. The crowd erupted into a deafening roar as the buzzer blared. I didn’t know if the screaming was because we’d scored or because the Banshees had won.
Dazed and in pain, I stared through blades of grass at the goal where the ball was supposed to be. It wasn’t there and I was crushed. We had lost. Yes, I had failed again. But for the first time in my life I didn’t feel shame. I’d tried my best and had just come up short.
As I struggled to my feet, Darcy leaped on top me, nearly knocking me over. “You’re a Star, Sherry!” she screamed. “An absolute Star!” Then the Wildcats all crushed me with hugs as we plummeted to the ground. I glanced again at the goal. In the far corner was the ball. It must have ricocheted off the near goal post. I knew that the score was all Darcy’s pass. Few people on this planet could have even attempted that pass and maybe only Darcy could have pulled it off. I had barely touched the ball. But I still loved my whole team smashing me to the ground with hugs.
Then I heard Rita scream, “We’ve got them now. We’re going to win this.” And it hit me! We had only tied the game! Suddenly, the whole game, the whole season, the championship—and my whole life—was down to penalty kicks!
My worst nightmare had happened! Paula’s words throbbed in my head, “If it comes to a shootout, we’ll need five.” It can’t be! Win or lose, I don’t care. Just don’t put it all on me!
Neither team bothered to huddle. They knew what they had to do! Except me! I knew exactly what I couldn’t do. I probably couldn’t even walk onto the field!
The Banshee captain kicked first and scored. Once again, we were behind. Paula
led off for us. For what seemed like forever, Paula stood and stared at Rachel, her former closest friend and teammate on every one of Paula’s Olympic and World Cup winning teams. Paula seemed to turn her head ever so slightly, inadvertently signaling that she was going to the left. Rachel didn’t buy it. As Paula’s toe touched the ball, Rachel leaped to the right. But Paula drilled it straight down the middle. If Rachel had just stood there, the ball would have hit her in the chest. Instead she had flung herself into mid-air as the ball bore into the net. As always, Paula won. Score tied.
One shot later, the Banshees were ahead again.
Rita followed and showed why she was once a top midfielder. Smash! Tied again.
The Banshees third kicker tried to stare down Rita only to blink first as Rita deflected enough of her shot to send it over the crossbar. Score still tied.
Christine came next. She turned Rachel into a defensive player as she began a slow dance as if fainting to both sides. Then in an instant, her powerful leg smashed the ball into the right corner of the net. Rachel had barely seen it. A huge scream erupted. The Wildcats were finally, finally, ahead.
Like the others, Christine sprinted back to embrace all the kickers. Except me. I stood to the side mesmerized by these women’s cool and awesome talent. How on earth did I ever think I deserved to be one of them?
Rita got a hand on the next Banshee’s shot but not enough of it. It wasn’t pretty but it still counted. Score tied again.
Darcy strode onto the field with her eyes on fire. In the box she defiantly stared at Rachel. It became obvious that Darcy wasn’t faking left, she was going left! Was she crazy! I couldn’t believe her ego! Did she think she was Babe Ruth, pointing to the center-field fence? Was Darcy still trying to exorcize her Olympic demons? By challenging a Gold Medalist! It was too crazy for me. It had to be the ultimate fake! Darcy had to be going right! But before Darcy even touched the ball Rachel was sprinting to the left. This was going to be so close. It was! By seemingly less than an inch all around, the ball slithered into a tight corner between the goal post, the crossbar and Rachel’s outstretched hand. An unbelievably awesome kick! Wildcats up one again.
Falling in Love Page 25