𝐌𝐎𝐎𝐍𝐋𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓- ᴄ. ᴄʟᴀʀᴋ

05

*— NARRATIVE, MESSAGES
ALTERED FROM ORIGINAL

I stepped out of the black SUV, security ushering me through the private entrance to the Indiana Fever's stadium.  It had only been a week since I had returned from France, exhausted from sitting in a stuffy hospital room and watching my mother's sleeping body.

  Some days she was active and energetic, always ready to talk, but others were dreary and darker.  I fell asleep to the sound of the heart rate monitor, watching the single line spike up and then die down repetitively.  In my dreams, I would imagine it suddenly stopped, flatlining with a screeching noise, and I woke in haste, sweat accumulating on my back as I glanced frantically to see the woman in the same place as she was before, her heart still beating slowly.

  After 2 months of horrible nightmares, constant worries, and weak coffee, I talked to Augustin and we agreed that it was time I head back to New York, while my brother stayed back until some other family member came to replace him by the bed.

  In the time I was in France, I had shut down almost all online communication with friends.  Only Taylor and I talked once every other day, with my other friends texting occasionally but knowing I wouldn't say much.  Caitlin was the only one I could spend more than 10 minutes talking to, with her funny pictures from practice, constant joking, and caring kindness being a crutch I found myself leaning on more every day.

  She knew the basics of what was going on.  My mother was diagnosed with brain cancer, they went to do surgery but she had a massive bleeding that caused immense damage to the part of her brain that could physically function, like walking, talking, and simpler tasks.  This year, almost 3 years after the surgery, they found a tumor in her brain that worsened the effects of the brain damage.  Ever since the procedure, it has been backbreaking work to communicate, take care of her, anything.  It was only recently that we heard she only had a few more months to live.

  It was hard to arrive and even harder to leave.  Racked from the constant worry, grief, and stress, I had to take a step back.  I had watched the WNBA draft from the hospital room, cheering softly when Caitlin was picked as the number 1 draft pick, signing with the Indiana Fever.  I had sent her my congratulations and flowers.

  I was led through a long hallway, security walking beside me.  I had put on a black hoodie and baggy dark jeans and opted to wear the 22 jersey over the hoodie, the dark blue matching the sneakers I had bought just for this occasion, which I had regretted ever since the purchase.

  But then again, you only live once.

  I could hear the cheering of anticipation as I approached the entrance, the crowd's chanting echoing through the building.  I was led out through the final archway and a narrow pathway between the large stands, keeping my head down at the bright lights.

  I felt my feet hit the wooden court, one at a time, one step after another, till I had sat in my seat courtside, security guards on each side of me.  Those long, boring hours at the hospital had allowed me to begin to write, and though it was choppy, it was the seed of an idea.  I hadn't hinted at much, yet the fans online could sense something was brewing, a storm just over the horizon.  I could sense it.

  There had been a feeling, like the odd butterflies that burst into flames in my stomach whenever Caitlin and I spoke.  The dance my heart did when she gave me that wide grin that reached her eyes, or the warm arm around my shoulder, or the hand on my back that kept me grounded.

  Slowly rotting away from boredom in a hospital created a space for my feelings to run wild in my mind, for my thoughts to be released unfiltered before I shut them down, shaking my head at such stupidity.  I was not a teenager in high school anymore.  We were both adults and in no position to fool around.  Yet the more I talked to her and watched the videos or highlights of her latest games, I further fell deeper into the water.