My Heart's in Alabama

32 - Matt

Watching Kiersten walk off without me by her side hurts more than the pain radiating from the left side of my body. It killed me to do that to her, but the shame of being too weak to defend myself is eating me up inside. I can't stand the thought of looking in her eyes now that she knows the truth. I'm not the guy everyone cheers for and wants to see succeed. I'm not the star. I'm not the hero. I'm nothing but a punching bag for the real winners in life.
"Was she mad?" I ask as my dad climbs in the truck.
"No, not at all. A little disappointed maybe, but definitely not mad."
In a way, it does offer me a sort of relief. I don't want her to think she did anything wrong. It's me. It's all me. I'm the one that's broken.
"I don't want her to see me like this. It's embarrassing."
"I get it, buddy. I do. I was a young man like you once. I thought the only way to get respect was to be the tough guy. Hold it in, suck it up, be a leader, be confident, and make sure you're never weaker than the guy standing next to you. I played the part, but in reality I spent a lot of time being unsure of myself or feeling like everything I did was a wasted effort. I felt so torn between trying to live up to this idea of what a man should be and just being a nervous teenager who was scared of getting hurt. I still struggle with it now, even as a grown man. And I'm sure it'll be something you struggle with too. But I promise you, Kiersten's not going to think any less of you for being vulnerable. She cares about you too much for that."
What he's saying hits me right in the gut. He's articulated exactly what I've been feeling. I know deep down part of my hatred towards Hayden isn't hatred at all. It's jealousy. I try so hard to beat him on the field, because I know there's so many ways he's better at being a man than me. He's taller, meaner, more muscular, and he's charming enough for people to love him even when he's dead wrong. He's the type of guy I fear Kiersten is going to choose over me.
But maybe my dad is right. Maybe none of that matters to her. Maybe there's more to being a good man.
"She won't look at me differently?"
"I'm not gonna lie, some girls might, but I swear to you Kiersten isn't one of them."
With my dad's reassurance, I start to feel better. Kiersten and I have been through so much together and never once has she judged me. She's always been an amazing friend and as much as it hurts that we're not more, I'm grateful to have her in my life. I shouldn't have pushed her away because I was too embarrassed to let her help me. I shielded myself from her in hopes of keeping up this bogus macho facade, but in the end all I did was alienate someone who cares about me.
"Yeah, you're right. She's not like that. I don't know what I was thinking."
"Don't sweat it," my dad says. "We all let our pride get the best of us sometimes."
I nod my head in agreement. I know it's not the end of the world or anything, but I'm seriously kicking myself for being too proud to let her come with us. She could be here with me right now, telling stupid jokes and taking my mind off things. But I screwed it up. And what really sucks is I know I'm going to regret it twice as much when I inevitably get told my season's over and she won't be there to make me feel better.

After a long car ride lamenting my poor choices in life, we get to the hospital around 11:00 PM. We have to wait around quite a bit before we actually see the doctor, but I don't mind. The longer I can deny potential bad news, the better.
When the nurse finally calls my name, I have to get up slowly. The pain has gotten worse with time and sitting down for hours on end did me no favors. My dad watches me like a hawk as we follow the nurse to the nearest hospital bed. I lower myself as gently as possible, making a conscious effort not to make any sudden movements. When my butt hits the bed, a sharp pain shoots through me and makes me wince.
"You all right, bud?"
My first instinct is to tell him I'm fine and bury the pain, but I think back to the conversation we had in the car and how much it meant for him to validate my experience, and I decide not to hide from him anymore.
"I don't think I am. It hurts, like, really bad. Like I can barely breathe."
"Okay, it's all right," my dad says and runs his fingers through my hair. "That's why we're here, okay? So we can make it better."
The clock ticks by as we wait for the doctor. With each tiny click, I get more and more nervous. This is my first time ever being in a hospital and I can't say I particularly like it. The whole place is so white and cold. Every few minutes or so, I hear sorrowful, hopeless moans echo through the halls. And somehow it feels both incredibly sterile and yet downright tainted at the same time. God, I hate it here.
"Hello!" A young, brown-haired woman in a trench coat greets us cheerfully. "I'm Dr. Hartford. So nice to meet you both. Although I gotta say I wish it were in better circumstances."
She gives me and my dad a big toothy smile as she shakes our hands. She seems surprisingly chipper for an ER doctor on the night shift, but I chalk it up to a caffeine overdose and politely laugh at her joke that I'm sure she's said about a hundred times.
"Now, it seems you've got yourself into quite the pickle, huh? Possible broken arm and fractured ribs? That sure is a tough one."
"Um...yeah." I say, unsure whether I should feel comforted by her aggressive cheerfulness or weirded out by it.
"Mind if I take a lookie-loo?"
"Uh, go for it I guess."
"Does that hurt?" Dr. Hartford asks as she starts poking and prodding me like I'm prized show cattle.
"Yeah."
"How bout this?" she says and presses in a different spot.
"Yes."
"And this?"
"Honestly it hurts pretty much everywhere."
"Hmmm, I see," she says, rolls back on her stool, and peels off her latex gloves. "I hate to tell you this, big guy, but you're going to have to take a trip down to the x-ray room."
"So, they're broken?" My dad says, urgently looking for answers.
"Can't say for sure without the x-ray, but if I were a betting woman, I'd be putting all my money in."
I should've known from there that it was over, but call it denial or delusion or whatever, I still hold out hope. As I'm getting my x-rays done, I keep repeating back to myself, can't know for sure, completely ignoring the second half of the sentence where she basically said it was a done deal. I hang on for as long as I can before all my hopes are destroyed when the x-ray results come back.
My arm and three ribs are broken. And I've got the cast to prove it.
I only have one thing left.
"When can I play again?"
Dr. Hartford sighs in pity for my poor, sweet, naive soul.
"It usually takes up to six weeks to heal fully. I'd say two months to be on the safe side."
Two months. Mid-November. Three weeks after the season ends.
That's it. I'm done. My first year on varsity is over just like that. After all the work I put in, every mile I ran, every hour I spent studying my playbook, all that time waiting patiently for my turn and this is what I get. A couple fractured ribs, a broken arm, a team that hates me, and a losing record.
"All right," my dad says and shakes hands with Dr. Hartford. "Thank you so much."
"My pleasure. You feel better, all right?"
I shake her hand and tell her thank you too before she leaves the room. My dad pats me on the back and we walk out of the hospital side by side back to the car. I'm more than ready to go home, but right as he's about to get in, his phone rings. He looks down to see who it is and he gets kind of frantic.
"I'll be right back. Sit tight, okay?"
I weakly say okay back, but he's gone before he can hear it. He walks about twenty feet away from the truck and looks back to make sure I'm not in ear shot before he actually answers. Immediately after answering, he turns his back. Maybe I'm desperate to distract myself, but it seems awfully suspicious.