Page 21 of Say Something
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“I take it the four of you had fun last night?” Mom asked, glancing over at me, Melissa, and Michael.
Sitting on the bleachers alongside field three of the rec fields—a large recreational sports complex at the edge of town between Oak River and the university—we were a sight to see, all decked out in sunglasses and comfy clothes. Melissa and I were in yoga pants and sweatshirts to ward off the morning chill, and Michael was in jeans and a long sleeve t-shirt. Bryan was down on the field next to Karla with Emma and Evan. He looked perfectly fine, though; probably because he drank nothing last night. I supposed that having three kids aged three to seven meant you didn’t have time to be hungover. To be perfectly honest, I envied him that, but in a good way. My brother had a wonderful family and I loved every bit of the happiness reflected on his face.
Maybe someday I’d get to experience that same kind of joy.
“So much fun,” Melissa said, trying to sound chipper, but falling flat.
“If you were home I could have fixed you a Bloody Mary for breakfast. Nothing cures a hangover like a little hair of the dog that bit ya.”
The three of us turned our heads to gape at her. “Mom,” I teased with a smile.
She shrugged her shoulders, hiding her grin. “I was young once, too.” We shook our heads and returned our eyes to the field. It didn’t matter how old we were or how human we knew our parents to be, learning certain things about them—like the fact that they had a hangover cure—was still weird.
***
Have you ever watched five-year olds play soccer? Chaos, plain and simple. There were eleven players from each team on the field at a time, so over twenty kids at once. All of them were charging for the ball at the same time, kicking their little legs like tiny Rockettes in shin guards. The goalie didn’t stay in the goal, either. Oh no, he or she ran after the ball like the rest of them, not wanting to be left out. You couldn’t see the ball from the bleachers, but you knew where it was because of the cluster of twenty-two kids that moved around the field like a herd of small cattle. They scored on their own nets and played the ball right off the field—sometimes onto other fields—all the while being as adorable as ever in their little uniforms and pads. I couldn’t be more proud of Luke. I was, however, interested in seeing if the seven-year olds were any better; Emma’s game was next.
I was about to get up and get another coffee from the concession stand when activity on one of the larger fields beyond the soccer game caught my attention. It wasn’t children’s soccer being played on that field, but larger humans in way more padding. They were playing…football, or at least preparing to play. And I would have recognized the green and gold team colors on the practice jerseys any day. Those were Oak River High School players, which meant…
My eyes sought him out before my brain could command it not to. Danny was standing on the sidelines in black track pants and a white t-shirt with a green and gold Oak River ball cap on his head and a whistle around his neck. He looked like a coach. A sudden and overwhelming sense of pride filled my chest for him. It was his dream come true.He was doing it. And he was doing it at a school he loved.
I decided to skip the second coffee—for now—and stare at him unabashedly. I couldn’t see the expressions on his face, but I could almost picture them from his body language. I knew him well enough to pick up on certain cues, like when he ran one hand through his hair, he was frustrated. If he ran both hands through his hair, all bets were off and you’d better just get the hell out of his way. He did that a lot at the end of our marriage…I made him do that a lot was more like it.
He was doing a lot of the single hand hair swipes as he paced the side of the field. I loved seeing him in his element…seeing him so complete. Growing up, he knew he hadn’t wanted to play football professionally. He played well enough in high school and got a scholarship to college, where he played all four years. He’d always planned to coach though. Coach and teach. He received his bachelor’s degree in education, and even continued on for a master’s degree in physical education at night while I was in law school. We didn’t see a lot of each other those days, but things were still mostly good. Coaching football was always Danny’s goal though. And he’d achieved it. I never got to see him coach. He taught high school English when we were married; he hadn’t landed a coaching job when we were still together. Deep down, I think he was holding out forthisopportunity. At our old high school. I was so happy for him, and I wished things weren’t so…damaged, so I could celebrate that accomplishment with him.
But I lost that right when I lost my husband…when I let him go.
***
I spent most of Emma’s game, which luckily for my lazy butt and wandering eyes was on the same field as Luke’s, watching Danny and the football team practice. It brought back memories of when Danny played and I was a cheerleader. Our practices would run simultaneously, so the drills I witnessed were vaguely familiar. It didn’t surprise me that Danny had his boys using some of the same playbook he had, especially considering his team had made it to the state championship our junior and senior years.
When the game ended, I said goodbye to my family, deciding to walk home. I told them I needed the fresh air, which was the absolute truth. I did need fresh air, only it wasn’t due to the hangover as they’d assumed. It was because of Danny.
Seeing him after so long, three days in a row, in an element that was so familiar, made me feel things I hadn’t felt in a long time. It wasn’t just the sadness, it was the good things, too. I remembered the wonderful times we’d shared. There were so many to choose from. Moments where Danny made me feel like I was the most special girl in the world. He tried to make me feel that way straight through the end, but my body’s refusal to do what it was meant to do killed any positive image I’d ever held of myself. I couldn’t possibly be special if I was damaged…worse than that…if I was broken. Danny never implied that, though. It was my own twisted cognitions. I realized that now, and I probably knew it then, too, but there was no going back.
One end of Main Street to the other was about four miles, stretching the length of Oak River. I only had about a mile of the road to walk before I’d make the turn onto the side road that would take me back to my parents’ house. As I approached that side road, I decided to go straight and head to the park about another half mile down. It was a small children’s park, mostly abandoned for the larger and more colorful plastic playground structures at the elementary school, but it held a lot of fond memories of me and Danny.
The soft sound of my footsteps on the old wood chips echoed between the trees. It was so quiet, I could hear my heartbeat if I listened close enough. I paused at the edge of the park and looked around. The paint had faded over time and the jungle gym was no longer the vibrant colors of my teen years. The wood was nearly black from years of wear and tear. Some spots were rotted. Paint had chipped off the metal monkey bars and scattered ladders. I absently wondered why no one had ever torn it down, surely it was a hazard. Nevertheless, I was grateful it was still there. The old, metal swing set looked sturdy enough, and that’s where I was headed.
I sat on the cold, rusted metal seat and kicked off, gathering my rhythm pretty quickly, and bending and swaying accordingly. I leaned my head back and looked up at the sky, picturing moments in the past, just like this one. Only in my memories, Danny was behind me, his hands caressing my waist or shoulders on each backwards swing. He was always sneaking in a touch, innocent and...less than innocent.
Oh, how I missed his touch. I’d stopped letting him touch me at the end of our relationship, even going to far as to flinch away from him. How I must have hurt him...
The sky and the trees became blurry, and it was only then that I realized I was crying. I stopped pumping my legs and the swing slowed. Damn those memories. Damn me for screwing everything up. Damn me for being broken and—
Something touched my back as the swing stilled near the bottom…a hand.
And not just any hand…hishand.
