Meadow leaned back on her hands, breath shaking. It wasn’t just today that had gotten to her. It was the years leading up to it. The last five had run her ragged. Chasing money, taking care of Ray, watching Magnolia fade, fighting off developers, trying to keep this land alive and trying to keep herself alive in it.
There were nights she cried in the shower so nobody heard. Mornings she rubbed her temples in the mirror, wondering what would happen if she stopped trying for one damn week. Holidays when she cooked the whole meal alone because Magnolia was confused and Ray was too exhausted.
Birthdays she skipped…outings she canceled...moments of joy she swallowed because she didn’t have energy for anything extra.
She couldn’t remember the last time she wanted something just for her.
Dreams didn’t sit in her anymore. They drifted around her like things she used to chase but couldn’t pick up again. She used to be full of ideas and plans and excitement about life. Now she woke up hoping for a quiet day and a calm mind. That was it.
None of this was part of the life she imagined for herself, and sometimes the disappointment felt like another weight strapped across her shoulders.
“I’m just…tired,” she admitted,“ like tired in my bones. Tired in ways I don’t even talk about.”
Zaire trekked closer to her.
She looked down at her hands like she could feel and touch just how fucking tired she really was. “Everybody always need something from me - the kids I coach, my Daddy, my Mama, the land, the business, the bills…I keep trying to hold everything up and…” Her voice thinned. “I don’t know if I got much left.”
“You got more than you think. But that don’t mean you supposed to do it alone.”
She didn’t look at him, afraid he’d see how much pain truly rested in her Black bones.
“Meadow,” he stepped even closer, giving each word enough weight to sit with her, “ain’t nobody built to carry that much, not even you. You deserve space to fall apart sometimes.”
She swallowed, silently agreeing.
“And when you do,” he said, his finger brushing across her face. “you deserve somebody who don’t run at the sign of the first crack.”
She wiped her cheek where his touch still lingered. “I don’t even know how to put stuff down anymore. I been holding it so long it feels normal.”
“Then we gon’ learn,” he assured. “A little bit at a time. Piece by piece, baby. Can’t be harder than learning golf.”
That made her smile. “You barely know me, Zaire.”
“I know enough,” he said quietly, squatting down to take a seat on the floor. “Enough to not walk out while you hurting.”
Meadow stared at him, breathing unevenly, realizing something she didn’t want to confront.
He wasn’t soothing her because he wanted something. He was soothing her because he knew what pain felt like too.
Meadow sniffed and wiped under her eyes. “You act like you got me all figured out.”
Zaire leaned back on his palms, staring at the slanted ceiling for a long second, wondering if he was safe to share pieces of himself with her. “I don’t, but I know tired when I see it.”
She looked over into his soft, pain-filled eyes. “Because you’re tired too?”
His shoulders rose slow and fell even slower. “Hell yeah, cuh.”
“You ever get to a point where you so tired you don’t even know what rest look like no more?” He was desperate to know like he needed an ally in her.
Meadow licked the salt from her tears off her lips. “Every day.”
Zaire nodded, like that answer hurt him a little. “Yeah, that’s where I’m at.”
Exhaling hard, he rubbed the back of his neck. “Everybody look at me like I’m built for pressure. Like I’m supposed to carry everything ’cause I got talent, ’cause I’m strong, ’cause I grew up where I grew up. But that shit don’t make you immune. It just make people expect more from you…constantly.”
Meadow listened, her heartbeat slowing to match his rhythm.
“I got a Mama who still worry even when she acting like she don’t,” he sighed, like saying it out loud relieved some of the pressure. “A Dad who’s locked up but trying to stay present in any way he can. A neighborhood that put they hopes on myback. Sponsors who see a number before they see a person. Fans who love me when I’m winning and talk crazy when I lose.” He swallowed, looking down at his hands. “And the crazy part? I don’t even get mad at none of them. I just…let it sit on me until I can’t sleep…until golf feels heavy instead of peaceful…until I look in the mirror and don’t recognize myself without the game attached to my name.”
