Our teammates and I surround him.
Spitting out my mouthguard, I rip my helmet off. “Where are you hurt, man?” I ask, crouching to him.
His face scrunches up. He can’t even open his mouth.
Over the next few minutes, I have this strange out-of-body experience. All around me, there’s a deafening silence and the grunts Levi lets out. His eyes roll back in their sockets, and he blacks out. Paramedics rush him off the field on a gurney, and I move to go with him when my coach stops me.
“You have a game to win. He’ll be taken care of.”
Torn between wanting to be there for my best friend and the responsibility of not letting everyone else down, my chest heaves with a nod. He’s going to be fine. I repeat that to myself so I can focus on the game, ignoring the anxiety making it hard to breathe.
Worrying over Levi, my teammates turn to me for guidance, and I don the mask. The mask of invulnerability. My feelings don’t matter right now.
I grit my teeth, jaw set in a hard line. “I want you to fucking obliterate them for what they did to Levi.”
We don’t win; we decimate them. I hope these motherfuckers will remember this loss for the rest of their lives.
I clench my jaw so many times during the interviews, trying to keep my composure while all I want is to check in on my best friend.
When I finally can, I burst through his hospital door, gripping the ends of my hair at seeing how bad his leg looks. Propped up, various metal pins stuck in his leg. I have never seen this type of injury before. I gulp and he eyes me, resignation etched in his clear blue ones.
I can’t remember ever seeing him despondent until now. I open my mouth, but nothing comes out. I doubt anything can help as I rack my brain for something to say that won’t sound pathetic.
“I’m sorry, man.”
The doctor comes inside with Amelie. Her eyes are red and puffy. Levi doesn’t even acknowledge her as if he’s lost in a fog.
The doctor goes through the surgery. I don’t understand the medical terminology, but he won’t be able to play again. This drastic fact summarizes what I take from his speech.
Amelie clutches his hand while Levi nods, resembling a wandering ghost—lost.
“Are you sure?” I don’t know why I ask. Maybe there’s something we can try. Anything. I know him as well as I know myself. We live for the game.
“I want to be alone,” Levi croaks.
I nod, and then he looks at Amelie, asking the same of her. She gives in with a broken smile.
Outside his private room, I hug my sister, kissing the top of her head as she cries quietly.
“Why did that have to happen to him? It’s not fair. It’s not fair.”
We make plans, chase dreams, and then one split second derails our lives—the epitome of irony, reminding us we’re nothing in the big scheme of life. Just puppets on someone else’s strings.
“He’s going to push through. Give him a bit of time,” I say firmly, not knowing whom I’m trying to convince.
Seeing my sister in agony twists my insides. Not being able to help either of them makes the ordeal even worse.
Hours trickle by slowly as we stay with him in his room, ineptness treading through every talk. My sister overcompensates by chatting nonstop and holding on to his hand as if she’s terrified of losing him. Physically, Levi’s here, but mentally, he’s somewhere else entirely.
When my sister goes for a bathroom break, I push myself off the wall across from him and move to his side. “We’re here for you, man, but stop pushing her away. She won’t leave, and we both know it.”
“You don’t understand,” he sighs, the sound broken just like him.
“Don’t be a fucking martyr. I understand your loss, but hold on to what you still have.”
“I don’t fucking know who I am without a ball in my hand,” he shouts.
At least he is showing an emotion. It’s better than keeping it all inside. The longer you keep your emotions bottled up, the more dangerous the outlet.
