Page 32 of Holding On

Why is she being so nice to me? Normally I'd say it's because of who I am, a star athlete headed for a career in professional football. That may not happen now, but even if it did, my gut tells me Becca wouldn't care. I think she's just a nice person, which I'm not used to. In my world, nobody's nice just to be nice. Everyone wants a piece of me and my future wealth.

"Do you care if I get a drink?" she asks.

"Go ahead. I'd get it for you myself but.." I motion to the chair.

"I can get it." She goes to the fridge and takes out a can of soda and brings it back to the table. "The offer still stands if you ever need me to stop at the store for you."

"Sorry I yelled at you about that the other day. I shouldn't have accused you of spying on me. I just didn't want you spreading rumors about me around town."

"I'd never do that." She sounds sincere, and I actually believe her.

I never believe anyone. Having lawyers for parents, I assume everyone's lying. But Becca seems real and genuine, like someone who doesn't have a motive. Maybe I'm reading her wrong or maybe it's just what I want to believe. Or maybe that's just how she is.

"You want another pop?" She points to my soda. I'm still not used to the people here calling it pop.

"No, I'm good." I point to her can. "You could have one of those beers you brought instead of the soda."

"That's okay." She looks down. "It was bad enough I brought them. I'd never drink it in front of you."

"It's not a big deal. I can handle people drinking. When school starts up again I'll be surrounded by alcohol so I have no choice but to be okay with it. It's just..." I trail off, not wanting to say it. Not wanting to relive it. I spend all day trying to avoid thinking about it. It's one of the reasons I sleep all the time. To escape the memories. But then they haunt me in my dreams.

"Just what?" she asks softly. "What were you going to say?"

"The brand. That particular brand is what Jason was drinking that night. He swore he was sober. Said he only had a couple beers. But I knew..." I trail off again, not willing to admit the role I played in the accident. How I should've taken his keys. Or forced him to pull over. If he refused, I could've made up an excuse. Anything to get him to pull over. But I didn't. I knew I should have, but I didn't.

I've never told anyone that. Not my parents. Not my coach. Not the cops when they interviewed me. Everyone assumes I was too drunk to have known what was going on that night. But I wasn't. I was sober enough to know that Jason shouldn't have been driving. And yet I didn't stop him. It's not something I'll ever admit. It's just something I have to live with.

Becca lightly squeezes my hand. "You want to talk about it?"

I shake my head. "No. I just wanted to explain why I reacted that way when you gave me the beer. It was the brand, that's all."

She takes her hand back and puts it in her lap. "You don't drink, right?"

"I haven't since that night. But that doesn't mean I never will. I'm sure once school starts and I'm hanging out at parties, I'll give in to the pressure."

"If you don't want to drink, then don't."

"It's not that simple. Because of who I am, people watch everything I do. They analyze what I say. Make up their own conclusions. Even if they've never met me, they assume they know me because of whatever they've read about me, or heard about me. If I show up at a party, I'm supposed to get drunk. Have fun. Be the life of the party. That's who I am, or at least what they expect me to be."

"Stop worrying about them and what they think, and do what's best for you. Didn't we just have this discussion?"

"Easier said than done. I've created this persona and now I feel like I have to live up to it."

"That's too much pressure. I couldn't do it."

I don't respond but she's right. It IS too much pressure. So much so that some days I just can't take it anymore.

I like football, but I no longer love it the way I did when I was younger. Back then, it was just a sport. A thing I did outside of school because I loved the game and was good at it. But college is different. College football is training ground for something bigger. A career that could make you millions upon millions of dollars and make you a star. College becomes less about classes and parties and more about training and pushing yourself to the limit, both mentally and physically. You're constantly trying to get better. Constantly competing, and not just with the other teams you're playing, but with players around the country. I'm competing against every quarterback in every college team in America. We're all hoping for a spot in the pros.

And if that's not enough, you have people analyzing you as a person. Sportscasters who don't even know you and have never met you are telling the world what kind of person you are. Weak or strong? Party boy or a good student? A guy who's monogamous or a guy who sleeps around? The media decides that and more, and soon they've built up a persona for you that you may or may not agree with. But once it's out there, it's hard to change, and if you don't fit the image they've created for you, people question why you're acting differently, and that starts a whole new set of issues to deal with.

So yeah. It's a lot of pressure. And it's the only life I know.

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