Page 103 of Your Play to Call
She walks towards me. Slow. Hesitant.
“I don’t want to hurt you.” She pauses at the edge.
“You won’t,” I say, trying to reassure her.
Before she attempts to get in next to me, she stops to take off her boots. Her Cosmo blue boots which make my stomach flip. Seeing her in anything team related drives me wild.
“Those boots,” I say.
“I know, I know. They’re so impractical and I thought it’d be fun but then we were here and they’re loud and I didn’t have anything else to wear. Why would I bring a pair of shoes? I didn’t think—”
“Lo. Take a breath.” She’s spiraling. I’m sure I don’t look great, but I can’t look that bad. Can I?
She tries to take a breath and ends up sobbing into her hands. Still at the edge of the bed, I wish I could go to her. When she finally catches her breath, she gently lays in space next to me, careful not to jostle me.
“I was so scared. You weren’t moving,” she cries into my chest. I hold one of her hands with the arm closest to her. The good one. Will I now have a good and bad arm moving forward? The thought is fleeting.
“Shhh.” I try to calm her down. “I’m okay. You’re okay. We’re both okay.”
“You shouldn’t be the one doing this. I should be the one telling you these things,” she cries.
“Baby, I don’t think there’s a manual on injury protocol. You being here is enough. I promise. Let’s stay like this for a while.” I know she needs time to process this. As do I.
I don’t remember it. It was like I made a catch, blinked, and then in a span of five seconds, I was in a hospital bed. According to the doctors, I was knocked out cold, and then was in and out of consciousness from when they took me from the field to the hospital.
When I came to and was there long enough to remember, it was too much to take in. Lights flashing in and out. Jersey being cut off. Equipment being thrown to the floor. Doctors trying to get my attention.
Tripp, can you hear us?
Are you with us, Tripp?
I couldn’t answer. It’s like I knew I wanted to but then it was black. And then I was somewhere else, different people, and it was too bright.
Tripp, can you squeeze my hand?
What’s the date, Tripp?
When I told them my name, birthday, and stat line for the whole year, everyone relaxed a little. I followed up with the score of the game before I got smoked and they even laughed. I knew I had a concussion, but I was with it. At least at the moment.
Everyone relaxed a bit, but I wasn’t off the hook. The tests were extensive. Doctors were cautious.
They tell me I’ve been in and out of consciousness. I look at the clock and it’s fucking startling. Like, how did this happen.
The one mistake I made was asking to see the hit. It was like I couldn’t believe it happened. The doctor said it might help me understand.
I watched it once. A late hit which left me completely limp and on display for an entire stadium. Now, I can’t stop thinking about it. Hearing it. The sound of the hit. The commentator. The gasp of everyone seeing it in real time.
Even though it was hours ago, it feels like the hit plays on replay in my mind. I’m afraid it won’t stop. It wasn’t just me but the cut to my mom and Willow. Their faces. Pale. Holding hands. Trying to see what they could from the suite.
That hurt in a way I didn’t expect.
I can’t believe that was me. I looked like I was dead. Per the doctors, I will probably never be able to fill in the blanks. So, it’s a piece of my life I’ll never see or get back. It doesn’t make sense.
Willow squeezes my hand.
“What hurts?” she asks, her voice level.
“I feel weird. My head feels heavy, but I wouldn’t say it hurts. I know my shoulder is fucked up, but I can’t necessarily feel it yet.”
