Page 16 of The Perfect Game

“Now, now. Errand boy makes it sound bad. How about my personal servant?” John chuckled, the sound even deeper than before. “It looks like you two know each other.”

I nodded. “From school.”

John grabbed some cords from the machine next to me and peeled off the plastic square attached to two square pads. He placed them above and below my ankle, the cold from the pads making me jump a bit. He turned to the machine, pressing the arrows upward. The pads created a few pulls, like a massage to my ankle.

“Let me know when to stop. You don’t want it to be stabbing pain, just enough to stimulate the muscles.” His finger slowed down, waiting a few seconds in between. The massaging turned to stabbing, and I cried out. “Okay, let’s go to the level below that.”

I leaned my head back on the small pillow, trying not to glance at the boy still standing to my left.

“Clark, how’s the wing feeling?” John asked him.

Ben bent his arm and then waved it around in circles. “Feeling good. I was going to talk to you about that. I, um, we have a tournament this weekend, and we have to leave Thursday night. Can I come in during the morning shift?” Ben bit his lower lip, his whole body tense. It seemed odd to be so worried about a job, but then again, I’d never had one.

“No problem. Just make sure Nancy knows to change it on the schedule.” John clapped Ben on the back and pointed to my ankle. “I’ve got to help Shirley for a few minutes. Once the machine beeps, take her over to the wall and work on a couple of stretches.”

John walked away, and I stared at Ben, my mouth dropped open. “You’re going to help me?” I tried to avoid the guilt I felt at seeing his expression drop.

“Uh, k-kind of. John will be right next to me while we go through your drills. He’ll just be working with the older lady across the room.” Ben pointed, and I turned, trying to locate the woman he was talking about.

Several people were spread out around the room, some on the tables for the electric stimulation to their injuries, like mine. Others were in the area with balls, boards, and bands, all working to strengthen muscles that were injured. The last group was in the hot and cold pools, one guy even submerged up to his neck in the cold. John was standing next to a frail woman.

Curious, I looked up at Ben. “How did you become an intern here?”

Ben shifted his weight from foot to foot, a flicker of emotion playing across his face. “If it were my choice, I’d just be doing schoolwork and baseball, at least until I graduate. I, uh, well, my dad told me I needed a real future, that I couldn’t just rely on baseball for a career. He wanted me to intern at his law office, but I, uh, I’m not good with sitting behind a desk. I like helping people, and this is what I want to do if baseball doesn’t work out.”

He avoided my gaze, and his words hit home. “I can’t believe you already have an internship. I haven’t even thought about what I want to do with my life.” I inspected my fingernails, sadness sweeping over me. At least his dad cared enough to give him direction. I lifted my gaze. “I’m sorry. My mom feels the same way about volleyball.”

His eyes lifted to mine, the deep blue of them causing my stomach to flip. Traitor. “Really?” The hope on his face made me smile.

I nodded. “My dad is supportive, except for the showing-up-and-cheering-me-on part. My mom wishes I would be a supermodel or something like that.”

Ben gave me a small smile. “My mom and brother come to all of my games. I think my dad has been to two games my entire high school career.” He paused, and I saw his shoulders relax. He’d made it through thirty seconds without stuttering. “He came to the semi-final game this year. The one we lost.” He shook his head, the emotion apparently just as raw as it could have been the day of the game.

“If your dad is anything like my mom, he probably rubbed in the fact that ‘sports aren’t a sure thing’ and that you ‘need to find a passion that’s more stable.’ I just wish she could see how much volleyball means to me. I mean, maybe I should have a better motivator to keep my grades up, but that’s why I practically killed myself trying to get all the assignments done at the end of the school year.”

Ben turned and leaned against the edge of my table, folding his arms across his chest. “It’s amazing what the loss of something we love can motivate us to do. I like it here, though. This is what I’d like to major in when I get to college.”

“You want to watch people in pain?” I asked, grinning at the small joke.

“I think it’s cool how people can come in broken and eventually leave healed. Or as good as possible.” His eyes had a faraway look, and I suddenly wanted to know more.

“What caused you to want to go into physical therapy? Have you been hurt before or had some kind of surgery?” I shifted to a sitting position, surprised at how curious I was.

He shook his head. “No injuries or surgery, although working here gives me a chance to strengthen my arm against injuries. Daniel, my brother, he, uh, had a lot of trouble with motor function and being able to walk when he was younger. Therapists would come in several times a week to work on activities to get his muscles strong enough to walk. I always thought that was so cool, like they were changing a life.”

I paused, trying to figure out what to say. “That, that’s awesome.” I’d never had anything like that impact my life. The most excitement I’d ever experienced was moving to Pecan Flatts when I was five so my dad could join the Texans. Ben’s story made me long for something similar—a purpose in life other than just playing volleyball and getting mad at my parents for neglecting me.

Ben stared at me for several seconds, and as I reviewed everything we’d talked about, a connection filled me. As much as I loved my group of friends, they all had people to support them in all their decisions. I’d just found someone who understood what it was like to want something so bad and not have anyone to cheer me on when I finally got it.

The machine next to me beeped several times, and Ben pulled off the gray heating pad, laying it on the table next to my ankle. I watched as his long fingers moved quickly to pull the pads off my ankles, his fingers brushing my skin causing a tingling sensation. There was so much that made up Ben Clark, and something pulled me to him, like I wanted to keep needling him with questions to learn more about him.

I hopped off the table like nothing was wrong with my ankle, and the pain shot up in waves. It took a few hops for it to ease, and I found myself able to breathe normally again.

Ben caught me under the arms. “Let me help you.”

I grasped onto his upper arm, leaning on him as we covered the distance between the table and the area where John was. We were close to one another, and that same scent from the play wafted up to my nose. I breathed in slowly, not wanting him to think I was some creeper. He just had good taste in cologne.

Once we made it to the area with medicine balls, stretching bands, and Styrofoam rollers, I was out of breath. “Thank you. I didn’t realize it would be that hard to make it such a short distance without the crutches.”

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