Page 10 of Winter Break Up

All I remember after was writhing around in pain, and then the cloud of painkillers as I came in and out of consciousness in the hospital. It took a few days for everything to sink in, but I refused to let the depression or bitterness invade.

If I had, I wouldn’t have gotten up out of that bed. I wouldn’t have nearly killed myself in rehab to get back to a place where I could run down a soccer field. I wouldn’t have bled, sweat, and gone insane clawing my way out of a senior season I couldn’t play as my team went on to win the championship without me.

I wouldn’t have recovered after my agent called with the worst news I’d had delivered in my adult life; I would not be getting drafted. Teams weren’t sure about me or if I’d ever play again.

Instead of sinking further into myself or letting the horrible facts of where I was crash in on my head, I got angry. I wanted revenge. I wanted to come back so strong that teams would be salivating over themselves to sign me as an undrafted free agent.

So that’s what I did. I’ve been working with the best trainers and league renowned names who could get the right word out to people. Videos of my training on their pages have gone viral, and both commenters and commentators had been astounded at how good my performance looks. A particularly cool video of me taking corner kicks and sinking one after another with the previously injured knee of my kicking foot had teams calling up my agent with interest in the past few weeks.

The pros were closer and closer every day, even if the disappointment of things not working out as they should have still stung. Giving up isn’t an option, though, so I didn’t even entertain it. Even if it’s not healthy to just ignore the emotions tangled up in my injury.

Coming back to Queenwood gave me a sort of reprieve from the intense feelings this period of my life had whirled up. A nostalgic comfort settles in my chest as I drive through town. The typical gold tinsel bells are hung from every lamppost on the main drags, while the town square boasts its three fake life-size horses. I still have zero idea what the backstory is with them, but they’re a staple. For every holiday from Valentine’s to Halloween, the residents dress them up in coordinating garb. Right now, they’re sporting holiday colors for Christmas, Kwanza, and Hanukkah, respectively.

When Gramps mentioned we needed some essentials like milk and fruit, I swiped his keys from the counter and told him to stay put. He’s the most active and exuberant seventy-year-old I know, but I still like the thought of catering to him when I can. The man took me in when I had no one, raised me like his own son, and gave me all the trappings of a life any kid could want. So if I have the chance to repay him, I’m going to take it every time. As soon as I get signed to a team, universe willing, I’m paying off the house he still has a mortgage on because he didn’t count on raising a teenage boy well into his retirement years.

Bill Huxley’s, the grocery store everyone in Queenwood frequents rather than the big box chain down the highway, is still relatively empty as I get a cart and roll it inside.

“Morning,” one of the workers greets me as I make my way through the produce section, and I nod in reciprocation.

In high school, I used to do this for our household more often than not, since Grandpa worked so much to provide me with everything I needed. While he gave me all the freedom of being a kid, I still had more responsibility than most because of the situation my parents had left me in. I’m not complaining, but as the time to enter the real world grows closer, I’m thankful that I had to grow up quicker than most. I feel prepared in a practical sense, even if I am a bit terrified to move into this next chapter. Even if I want to go pro so badly, I can taste it, there is always this raw anxiety inside me at the thought of the next stage in life. It feels like I experienced that transition harder than my peers, like it took me longer to adjust to my world changing. Probably because I’ve been experiencing that far longer than they have, and from a very young age.

My cart is about half full of stuff Gramps didn’t even ask for by the time I’m through a bunch of aisles. The danger of grocery shopping on an empty stomach is that you’ll throw in anything that sounds remotely appetizing.

“Mercy? Mercy! That is you. Damn, bro, I haven’t seen you in town in a minute.”

As I turn toward the sound of my name being yelled, I see Clyde McGibbon sauntering down the aisle with cereal boxes lining his approach. It’s some small-town runway for a guy whose ego has always been too big. Clyde isn’t necessarily a bad guy, just annoying and incessant. He’s the type of person who I never want to get too close to or tell too many personal details because part of me always thinks they’ll end up in a reporter’s mic if I ever make it to the big time.

Now that I’m so close to that future, I’m even more cautious. Clyde and I played soccer together in high school, and he was constantly trying to outdo me but never quite accomplished it. Now that he’s destined for tree farm ownership when his parents retire, and I’m hopefully going to live out my soccer dreams, I feel the need to tread lightly with how many interactions we have while I’m back in town.

“Hey, Clyde. How’s it going?” I try to put a friendly smile on my face but maintain an aloofness.

Bypassing it altogether, he skirts around my cart and pulls me in for a bro hug. The guy is wearing way too much cologne for a Tuesday morning grocery store trip, and I notice the beer belly he’s sporting.

“I’m good, man. Fucking sucks to be home for a month, but at least we’re legal for these lame bars now, am I right?” His smile makes me cringe inside.

“Uh, yeah.” I scratch the back of my neck.

I didn’t enjoy talking to this guy when I had to because we were on the same team. But now? It feels like a chore, and we’re the only two people in this aisle.

“You, uh, working for your family, too? Must be nice to see them.” Finding that question felt like pulling teeth.

He rolls his eyes. “My mom is being so annoying, dragging us out to cut the trees and help customers. Be happy you don’t have to do this shit anymore.”

“Actually, I’m working at Palmers for the month I’m home. I enjoy it; the cold air feels refreshing from the humidity in Miami most of the year.” I chuckle in that way people do when they’re trying to make small talk.

Clyde’s eyes go wide, and his expression conveys that I might be a moron to talk down on my warm weather college town.

“Dude, be real, no, it’s not. Why are you even working for the Palmers anyway? Didn’t Emily like kick you to the curb?” He scratches his head like he can’t figure out why I’d want to be cordial with someone who wronged me back in high school.

“Charlie and his family are really great people, and I wanted one last season on the farm.” I give him the simple answer because he couldn’t dissect the real one anyway.

“Eh, she probably did you a favor, huh? You must get so many chicks down in Miami. Fuck, I need to take a trip down there.”

Not to visit me, buddy.

The insinuation has annoyance bubbling up inside me because he thinks I could ever replace Emily with some one-night stand. Sure, there have been girls. I wouldn’t lie and say I’ve been celibate for three and a half years. But it’s far fewer than many would assume, and none of them have come close to my first love.

“All right, well, I need to get these groceries home to my grandpa. But it was good seeing you.” I try to make my escape, but Clyde puts a palm to my chest.

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