Page 35 of A Game as Old as Time

“I told you I can’t go!” he yelled. Peyton’s face was a mask of shock.

What did I just do!?

“Gunner!” his mother yelled as she stood up, knocking her chair on its side.

He shook his head, a searing headache setting in as he squinted to focus. His heart was pounding out of his chest, and the plate in his hand felt like it weighed a thousand pounds.

Who am I?

“Gunner, you need to apologize to your sister!” His mom was inching closer to him. His vision was narrowing.

He tried to speak, but his throat was dry. The tightness in his chest had gone up to his head, and his sister’s frightened face was all he could see.

She’s afraid of me.

“Gunner?” His mother was moving quicker now, his lack of a response indicating that something serious was happening to her son. “Gunner, what’s wrong?”

His eyes darted to the saltshaker on the table, which was decorated with a picture of him in his football uniform.

I am a monster.

“Sweetie---”

He jumped across the kitchen and grabbed the shaker. His mind acted on its own as it told his hands to throw it against the wall.

“Gunner!” his mother screamed as he fell, the saltshaker shattering across the kitchen floor.

What is happening to me!?

He could not take it anymore. He finally let go. This was not the anger he had felt on the field or the grief that he had felt during his father’s funeral. This was something different, something that had been building deep inside him. The tightness in his chest, the swelling in his eyes, and the headaches all finally just took over.

“I can’t do this!” he screamed. A sob broke from his throat, and thetears he had been holding back were finally running down his cheeks.

“Oh, Gunner!” His mother was beside him in an instant. “Gunner, baby, it’s OK.”

He shook his head violently as she tried to hold him.

“No, it’s not Mom!” he yelled, burying his head back into his legs. “He’s gone, he just---he isn’t coming back!”

He could feel his mother squeeze tighter as he continued to sob. The tears refused to stop flowing, and his legs began to shake.

He’s never coming back!

He continued to cry noisily on the kitchen floor. His mother did not speak as she held him tight.

“I just…” He finally forced his head up. His sister had joined them, down on one knee, and her cheeks were also wet. “I’m just sick and tired of everyone telling me how they felt about Dad.” His mom pulled him close and let him lie in her arms. “I know Dad was perfect. I get it. I just---” His mother began gently rocking him back and forth. “I’m not him! In fact, I don’t know who I am right now!”

There, I said it out loud!

He buried his head back in her chest as she held him tight. His emotions poured out of him, and his sister started to sob behind him.

“Gunner,” his mom said in a calm, nurturing voice. “Gunner, look at me.”

He used every ounce of strength he had to pull his head up and lock his eyes with hers.

“Gunner, your father was not perfect.”

The words stunned him. He blinked, trying to focus on her face.

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