I’m all good, but thanks for being concerned.
That’s what friends do.
Wait? Am I really claiming friendship with my sister’s nemesis?
“What is wrong with you, Val?” I muffle a scream into my pillow.
9
Jabari
Thankfully the crowd noise muffles as I insert my Loop earplugs, because Raimo blocks a goal from the visiting New York team, and the fans roar. Ever since my concussion, headaches have plagued me off and on. I’m really hoping they’re not a permanent fixture in my life.
“We’re back on offense heading toward their goal,” Noah says.
All night long, the injured goalie has been giving me updates on the game as we sit in the team suite. He has an idea the action is difficult for me to follow, and I hate it. Are reporters speculating why our heads have been close the whole night? Maybe they think Noah is just another Chatty Cathy.
I tug on the hem of my Fendi suit, feeling like I’m under a microscope. Too bad I can’t see if I actually am. Since the moment the announcer said my name as one of the injured players, I’ve felt uncomfortable.What kind of advice would Val givefor this situation?
My lips turn up on their own accord. She’s been really supportive. She texts me audio messages now, so I don’t have to use the screen reader. I never imagined hearing her voice early in the morning or late in the evening could soothe me so much. Something inside me settles at the sound of her voice. It’s like I canfinally breathe again, and the weight of my diagnosis no longer presses heavily against me.
Soon as I get home, I’m going to send her a voice text asking her how to cope with the curiosity surrounding my injury. My agent really wants me to put out a press release. Four weeks of rest from the concussion has come and gone. The Warriors merely reiterate how cautious they’re being. Unfortunately fans are beginning to ask the question, What’s wrong with Jabari Hall?
People are speculating I have a TBI—not wrong. Others say I simply need more recovery time and call for grace and understanding. There have also been claims of debilitating migraines, amnesia (which, really, would I show up to games if I’ve forgotten who I am?). My favorite: my frontal lobe is injured, and I no longer know how to skate. It’s a pretty funny assumption, I must admit.
Will Val encourage me to tell the truth?
My only fear with that is if it’ll force the Warriors’ head office to make an official decision about my career. Do they cut me? Force me to retire? I have a guaranteed clause in my contract that allows me to get paid for the rest of the season if they do cut me. Same with retirement. But I think they’re hoping this can be reversed or improved enough to allow me to see well enough to play.
Hence the appointment I have with a leading specialist in macular degeneration tomorrow at ten a.m. I’m trying to be present at the game and not wonder whether my poor eyesight can somehow be restored when the disease is incurable. Guess nothing ever hurt from getting a second opinion.
A whistle shrills, and I blink.
Noah leans over to tell the reason for the referee pausing the game. Apparently there’s a fight between Trevor and a New York player. Our defense player acts as the bruiser when necessary and a New York forward just aimed a pour shot at Raimo. No one messes with our goalie, and any man on the team would happily fight to protect him.
“Trev just pulled off his gloves and is boxing the other guy.”
A smile crosses my lips. Not because I’m happy about the fight, but there was a time when Trevor didn’t feel a part of our team. The fact he’s defending Raimo without a thought shows me how much that’s changed.
Before long, the three-period game ends, and we’re in the locker room celebrating another win. I clap my hands as Coach finishes his speech.
Footsteps sound near me, and silhouettes cast over me. I angle my head up and to the left.
“You coming out with us, Crank?”
Ah, Raimo. “I’m not sure, man.”
“I’d be happy to give you a ride. You don’t live too far from me.”
I snort. “Maybe not in mileage but how about when you factor in traffic?”
Raimo is one of the guys who owns a huge house in Great Falls because he and his wife plan on having a big family.
“McLean is on the way home, so I don’t mind.”
“Come on, Crank. You haven’t been in a while,” Trevor says.
They’re right. I hate not attending the celebrations, but I’ve been feeling weirdly disconnected lately. Being on the injured list has me noticing how much of a nonentity I am. Still, I need to maintain my friendship with the guys. We’re a family.
