All There Is

11.Matt

Strangelove // Depeche Mode

The texts started coming over the weekend. I deleted them before I could be tempted to read them. I had already gotten rid of her contact, but I knew it was her. I'll never forget that number. The one I saw pop up on my phone last year. When Jeff texted it to me one afternoon, after I finally confronted Courtney for the way she talked about Amber. After I finally pulled my head out of my ass and treated her with respect.

Looks like my head found its way back in there. I'm ghosting the one girl I really love. On the surface that makes me a prick. But deep down I know it's for her own good.

She must be on a mission because after six weeks of no contact, now she chooses to blow up my phone. After I send three calls directly to voicemail, I take drastic measures and block her. It is physically painful to do. Every single part of me revolts at the action but I follow through anyway.

And then my mom gets in the mix.

"Have you talked to Hannah recently?" She knows we broke up, but I haven't given her any details.

"No." I shouldn't have come to the kitchen to grab food before practice. Avoiding my mom while living at home is not easy to do. She's always here.

"She sounds upset lately. I think she wants to talk to you."

I shouldn't ask this, but I do. "You talk to her?"

"Well, yes. She calls every few days to see how Mark is doing. Sometimes she talks to him. She's a sweet girl."

I didn't know my mom had been talking with her. That does shit to my head. And my heart. Stuff I can't deal with right now.

"Yeah, fine. I've got to go."

"Have a good practice. The roast will be in the oven when you get home. And maybe you should give her a call. Let her say whatever it is she needs to say. Sometimes a woman needs to get things off her chest in order to move on."

Mom's words bring that shitty feeling right back. I don't want her to move on. I can't think about it. Even though that's what she should do, what she needs to do. I don't want to know about it when it happens.

***

Football sucks. I'm now off the bench and on the practice team only. We still have to suit up and attend all of the games but no play time. Life just keeps getting better and better.

Another practice over, we trudge into the locker room to wash up before the team meeting. One more requirement for everyone even though nothing applies to the practice team. We are still expected to sit through the meeting and review tape, watching for patterns and holes in our opponents and analyzing our own weaknesses.

I don't say much to anyone anymore. Gio has stopped trying to hook me up. Micah usually has his head in his phone, texting constantly. Jeff gives me hard looks anytime our eyes catch. I avoid him the most. Having a locker right next to him makes that hard as hell, but I get in and out quickly in order to steer clear.

One by one my teammates file into the media room. I sit in the back corner. No one cares too much about the guys on the practice team. I don't feel like fist bumping anyone or getting the pity eyes that still seem to float my way. Coach arrives and wastes no time rolling tape. He makes a point to highlight all of the fuck ups. Mostly Jeff's. What the hell is between those two?

"Missed sign, right here. The play was to run the ball on the right, outside of the mash up. Benson had the hand off timed right. The D line did their job, running it exactly the way Northwest is known to do. Jones, perfect execution on Drew's signature maneuver. But Miller wasn't in position." Coach looks directly at Jeff. I watch my buddy for a reaction but there isn't one. Jeff doesn't argue with authority, but he will stand his ground. I watched the same play coach was talking about. Jeff did what he needed to do. Coach is twisting it all up, blowing it out of proportion. But I have no idea why.