All the lines to cross

by Ashish Rastogi

  How do I deal with this? I won't hide behind lies. I sit beside him and hold his good hand in mine "Many times, things don't work as we want them to. Your father and I disagreed on somethings, and we decided not to see each other."

  "Why? I fight with my friends, but we always make up."

  His question and the pleading eyes unsettle me. "Children are simple and pure. Life as an adult is difficult."

  "Why do adults make life difficult? Why do we all have to grow up?"

  Nate's words make me smile. "Adults are not bad. However, as we grow older, life happens and leaves marks behind, making us who we are."

  "Is it what dad calls 'experience'? But Ms. Redford says experience makes you wiser."

  Not always. Yeah sometimes, it makes you do foolish things. No need to tell him about how we all make fools of ourselves. He will learn along the way. Life is a strict tutor. I do need to answer his question, though. How do I explain this to a seven-year-old? I can't leave him hanging. He is an intelligent kid. After a moment of thought, I give it my best shot.

  "You are an artist. When you draw, there are times when you make a mistake. You rub and redraw the lines. Have you noticed, even with the best erasers the old line leaves a mark sometimes? Life's experiences are like those lines. Only, no one can see them. When you become an adult, those imaginary lines make it difficult to redraw. They make you afraid. Take your injury today. You will recover and your hand will be normal, but you will become more careful."

  "Yeah, but I won't stop playing. I'll finish my food and eat vegetables. I will become big and strong like dad."

  He flexes his free arm. The gun show must be Hayes's habit. "Yes, you will kiddo."

  "I also want to be smart like you."

  "Oh, you are way smarter than me when I was at your age. You will be a good, strong and intelligent person. Never lose your curiosity and excitement."

  He hugs me again and rests his cheek on my arm. "I like you a lot. Daddy likes you. We both miss you. I love you, Sharon." Nate turns his head up and searches my face for a response.

  My mouth goes dry. Sandpaper dry. I choke on whatever little saliva is inside. I have no answer to this. How can I give him hope, when there is none left in me? No. Can't make false promises—raise false hopes. Unable to form a thought or words, I hold him close, rubbing his back. Nora stands in front of us, staring at me with moist eyes. I lower my head—can't get sucked into this again. I have to draw the line.

  "Nate, please forgive me. I can’t explain this to you, but know that you will always hold a special place in my heart."

  "What about Daddy?" He does not move his eyes. He is not going to make this easy. It takes a great effort to keep my eyes from watering.

  Nora comes to my rescue. "Nate, can you sit here for a while? I need to talk to Sharon for a minute." Nate is reluctant but agrees, holding on to my hand as long as he can.

  Nora takes me outside the room. "Sharon, you need to talk to Jon. It can't go on like this. You both need to settle this. If not for yourselves, then at least for Nate."

  I have to come clean, at least with Nora. "How can I settle this, Nora? A relationship needs trust. Jon has no faith in me. The shut door still haunts me. How do you expect me to go back? I agree, his career is the most important thing for him. What happens the next time there is an issue? I can't cope with another rejection. What will that do to Nate? We aren’t meant to be. I am sure Jon will find someone suitable for himself and Nate. Someone he can trust enough with himself, and who can love them both."

  "Sharon you are the most caring and patient person I have met. Please be patient with Jon and give him a chance. It is nothing to be proud of as a mother but I have to say this. Jon will test your patience. God knows how many chances that boy will need before he realizes his stupidity."

  "What about Nate? How many times do you think the child can take the hurt? Don't make me do it. I won't do it." I sound rude but it is what it is.

  Nora is disappointed, but I stand firm. I give her hand a gentle pat and go to give Nate a goodbye kiss.

  "See you in two weeks, buddy."

  Chapter 51: How Do I Go On?

  Jon

  "You are my superhero. Keep smiling, I love you." I rub my fingers over the smiley below the message on Nate's cast. This is the closest Sharon has let me be with her in all these weeks. Nate sits in my lap, his arms hugging me close. It has been a long time since Nate cuddled with me like this.

  When I returned to the locker room after the preseason game, the missed calls and messages from Mom had me worried. Mom narrated everything on the phone. I rushed home from the airport. The minor fracture was a relief.

  Soon, Nate falls asleep on my lap and I take him to my room. I come down after tucking him in. Mom is sitting on the couch, staring at the x-ray. We are alone now so I ask Mom about Sharon.

  "Was she there?"

  Mom puts down the x-ray. "Yes. Nate didn't allow anyone to come near him till she came."

  I slump on the couch next to Mom. "Was she all right?"

  Mom rubs my back, "Listen, Jon. You need to sort this out. You are hurting and she was devasted, I am sure it is as bad for her. That means only one thing, you both love each other. Why don't you tell her that?"

  I avoid looking at her. I have ruined my chance at any happiness because, in a moment of insanity, I could not get my mind, heart, and mouth to coordinate and listen to the voice echoing from deep inside me.

  My strength is failing me. "How can I, when she refuses to meet me? There is a lot I wish to say, beginning with an apology. I want to set this right. Do you think when I take Nate for check-ups, she will meet me?"

  Mom shakes her head, "No, she won't. She made me promise that I will take Nate to the hospital." Mom pats my hand when I grimace. "Don't worry, when I meet her I will try to open her heart. What you did was wrong. She is afraid it will happen again. She is worried it will end up hurting everyone. Sharon is most concerned about Nate."

  I keep my head on Mom's shoulder. "How do I make this right? It is difficult to go on like this. I made a huge mistake. I want to own up to my idiocy. All I ask is for one chance to apologize. Every day, I recall the hurt in her eyes before the door slammed shut."

  Mom does not speak. She holds my hand. I squeeze it to gather strength. "Football is my world for the last seven years. Money at this stage is secondary. The thrill of being inside the stadium and holding the pigskin ball is the passion driving me. Without it, I am lost. The fear of losing a chance to play makes me crazy."

  Mom pats my cheek, "Jon, football has given you everything. But you know what? It will not last forever. There is a life beyond football. You need to consider that part of the world too. You need someone to be by your side. Someone to come home to. Someone who completes you.”

  “Life will not give you many chances. Don't let your love for football make you lose the love of your life. I can't think of a better person than Sharon to fill the void in your and Nate's life. You won't find a person like her. She is worth making the change for."

  When I lay in bed, every word mom said reverberates around me. Nate cuddles, clutching my arm as he sleeps. My innocent and chubby boy will grow up in a few years. Football and Nate make me complete.

  Then why is this strange vacuum sucking me into an abyss? Plenty of women passed through my life before Sharon. This should be easy for me, but now I don't want to do the whole date and dump routine. Sharon adds meaning to me. My life makes sense. Mom is right, without Sharon football is not enough. Not for me and my child.

  The fatigue from the game, the flight, and brooding make me sleepy. Gosh, if only there was a playbook for this or a coaching manual that could show me the way to her. First, I have to win the games, and this time, not for myself or any trophy. This season is for the woman I love.

  Chapter 52: The Comeback

  Jon

  Sometimes, thinking in large chunks about the future is overwhelming. In the last few weeks of my life, such thou
ghts have started to intimidate me. Hence, I have begun this small exercise when I get up every morning. I think of one or two things that I am grateful for that happened the day before. It could be as simple as getting through my training without pain, or only a phone call from someone to check on me.

  Every morning, one thank you prayer is a fixture in my life. I thank Sharon. It motivates me to put my feet on the floor.

  I have a match tonight. Ten months after that fateful night, I am back on the field. My first season match, with full recovery. The team's athletic trainer and his rehab team took over from Betsy. I attended all the off-season sessions. In the past few months, I worked out with the team. After my physicals, they took me off the PUP injury list. There is a lot of speculation about my on-field performance and ability to last a match.

  I played most of the pre-season games, but not all quarters in any single game. The coach would often play me for two or three quarters. Caution is better—he did not want to risk another injury. Neither did I. It is an arduous task, maintaining fitness and avoiding injury in a competitive sport.

  When I got the chance, I gave it everything I had—competing against guys who had been working hard throughout the offseason and were in top shape with no injuries while I was trying to get there, making up for the lost time and recovering. In my mind, there was always that doubt of not being able to match them.

  I was one of the most consistent QBs for the last three seasons. The stats were proof enough, but those were now a number in the history books. At this level of competitive sport, it did not matter. What was important was, what I did today.

  I sit on the sidelines as the game against the Trojans starts. My hopes crash and frustration rises as I witness the action unfold from the sidelines. By the end of the second quarter, we trail 17-10. The Trojans have won the last 14 points to wipe out our first-quarter lead. However, our defense wins the ball back, intercepting their last play.

  I chat with Jason to keep my anxiety away. It is difficult for me to hold back the constant itch in my body to get on the field. The coach taps me on the shoulder and shrugs his head toward the field. "Time for action, big man." I hug him, "Yes, sir!" and give a fist pump. I am always ready. We discuss the next play before the action starts.

  I step on to the field to loud cheers from the crowd. The chants from the crowd pump the adrenaline I need to focus on the game.

  The ref calls play. On the first down, I catch the shotgun snap, turn to my left and find Damon darting forward, winging his way around his marker. I swing the ball to float an accurate pass over Jason's head and the Trojan defense line. Damon catches it mid-air, above his head and then sprints towards the end zone.

  Jason and Tim keep the Trojans away from Damon, tackling anyone who comes in his path. We call him Damon the demon for a reason. Boy, he runs like a man possessed, making quick work of the 40 yards. He has been fast throughout the pre-season, but this run is way above anything I have seen from him so far. We have a touchdown. With the TD and PAT, we tie the game.

  It stays that way for the rest of the quarter. The defense of both the teams is tight, not giving too much away. The ball changes hands between the teams several times. Our defense wins it back, with a minute remaining in the quarter. I make my next pass from the 60-yard line. It is a short pass to Jason, who takes the catch mid-air and then rushes towards the end zone. He sprints, dodging a few opponents, giving them his stiff arm to keep them away. However, they bring him down at 30 yards from the end zone. He holds on to the ball. We make a 5-yard gain with the first down of the next play, but none on the second and third down.

  Only twenty seconds remain in the quarter, and we are on the fourth down, giving us time for only one more play. Jason and I make a quick decision. I will have only a few seconds to connect. The coach will be furious if I don't succeed, but the risk is worth taking.

  We have done a few similar plays in practice, but never in a game. When play begins, I run back, snap the ball and drop it to the grass. By the time it hits the ground, my left leg is in full swing. My foot connects with the ball and it flies right through the uprights.

  A dropkick—a first in my professional career, and perhaps the only one I will ever get to make. Maybe the three points will help cool the coach. At that moment, I am transported to my childhood. The memory makes my eyes moist. I look at the sky to thank my father. He had taught me to kick with both legs.

  Celebrations follow, with chest bumps. Oh boy, how much I missed all this. Jason comes up and bumps my shoulder. He points to my foot.

  "What magic spell has she put on your leg? That flew like a rocket man. Welcome back, bro." He smiles and walks me to the sidelines as the quarter ends.

  His words make me conscious. I used my injured foot to kick the ball. After the injury, I practiced kicks with both my feet, but during pre-season training sessions, I focused on my right foot to avoid any strain. Only used the left foot twice, to keep it in practice.

  My heart sinks at the thought. The one reason I am standing here today, the one person who had my back is not here with me because I failed her. I rub my face and pinch my nose trying to pull myself together. Jason shakes me. I snap out of my thoughts.

  "Hey what are you thinking? Stay with us man. We have a game to win."

  Yes, bro, we do. The Trojans score a touchdown within two minutes of starting the fourth quarter. We retrieve the ball at the 30-yard line on the punt. The ball is in my hands again as I throw the first down. The play results in an incomplete pass when the Trojan center back fists the ball out of the field.

  On the second and ten, I get the snap from the center. Before I can pass the ball, I am blitzed by the Trojan defense and end up on my back with their linebacker over me. Our helmets collide. For a few seconds, I am woozy. My head swirls and I slump back to the ground. The officials start the concussion protocol. Shit! Not again. I am taken off to the sidelines.

  Sharon's words echo in my mind. "Life will pull you down. You may not be able to do anything about it, but getting up and fighting back is in your hands. If the thing you are fighting for is worth your life, then get up and don't give in."

  I steady myself and look around. The fans in the stadium and my team—this is what I live for. This is who I am. This is worth fighting for, but more than any of this, is Sharon. I take slow and deep breaths like the psychologist at B &; N taught me.

  Our team physician and the sideline unaffiliated neurotrauma consultant conduct the examination and ask me questions. I answer them all. They ask me to walk, making sure I am steady. After the video review, I am cleared to play.

  It is a relief. Going out to a concussion in my first game in this season would have been the end of me. I sit on the sideline as our defense takes the field. My nerves tingle. I am on edge. Can't let the Trojans win. This first match is for Sharon. I have to win this for her.

  God answers my prayers when our defense wins the ball. I get back on the field; it is now or never. Bringing all my experience into play, we don't let the ball out of our hands. We turn the match around. We score three touchdowns in a row by the time the fourth quarter ends. The offensive line stands firm, not letting the Trojans anywhere near me.

  This may only be a season match, but the win is bigger than the Super Bowl I won two years ago. Nothing in this world can give you a high like the one from winning a game. However, this isn't any game. This is my comeback. Even up to a few months back, no one gave me a chance. I don't blame them. Few players have played professional football after recovering from the kind of injury I had.

  However, the naysayers did not consider one important factor—a headstrong woman who stood in the way, working her magic into my leg and my heart. Thanks to Sharon, all those doubters can go suck an egg.

  Once things settle in the locker room after all the high fives, congratulations and customary pep talk from the coach, I take out my phone from my locker. I twiddle my fingers over the screen, uncertain if I should make the call. I don't have
the strength to face another rejection if Sharon doesn't pick up. Instead, I bite my lip and start typing.

  "No words can express my appreciation for you today. I am indebted to you. Forever." I add a prayer emoji and hit send with a silent prayer on my lips. Please forgive me, Sharon.

  I love her and I want her back.

  Prescription for Dr. Sharon Wells

  Diagnosis: Jon Somnia

  Severity: Critical

  Symptoms:

  1. Occasional redness and watering of eyes

  2. Mood low and irritable

  3. Frequent headaches

  Signs:

  1. Bradycardia at the mention of his name (my heart sinks)

  Prognosis: Unlikely to resolve (any time soon)

  Advice: Keep yourself busy and try to survive another day

  How, is the question staring at me? Serves me right for all the wounds I prescribed myself. Self-medication is detrimental.

  Chapter 53: The Apology

  Sharon

  The NFL season is in full swing. I was never a fan, but somehow, ever since Jon stormed in and out of my life, the world of football keeps ringing in my ears. Time keeps twisting a knife in my heart every day. Slow and steady. Football is everywhere—in the news, in the papers, and on people's lips. Every bit a grim reminder of what happened. I avoid going to public places for fear of listening to any news of Jon.

  The wall I built around myself keeps him out. I deleted all my social media accounts when it got too much. The hate mails and letters stopped once they revoked Jon's suspension. The only news that filtered in was when, on occasion, I overheard people talk about his team.

  Worse afflicted with Jonisitis was Tom. He badgered me with what he called random titbits. It does not help when your friends’ step in and stir trouble. Tom keeps brewing the broth, concocting some secret potion he believes will cure me.