Tucker
I spent the day watching shows again. As a professional football player, you don’t get a lot of down time… until you’re injured. Then in between numerous physical therapy sessions at home, there might be time to play catch-up on all the hot shows we heard about but never had the time to watch, right up until the therapist said we were clear to go back.
Only in my case, every day was a binge-watching day.
That was all I had to do now.
I decided to take a chance, quit the shows and try watching the news. I never seemed to be able to escape this emptiness inside nor the pain on the outside. I was beginning to suspect watching TV all day long wasn’t the answer and might, in fact, be making things worse. Perhaps the news would help me feel connected to society again?
So I went with the news. And wouldn’t you know it? There I was on the screen again, running my last run some many months ago, and I was still the news highlight of the day.
“It’s official,” a newscaster’s voice spoke while the video played. “We are sad to say the team announced that Tucker Lee’s career as a tight end is over. And it is no wonder, as you can see the footage of our hero, Tucker Lee, running into action to help a woman in a burning car. Please be advised, this footage contains graphic imagery…”
I muted the sound, yet felt compelled to keep the channel on. I couldn’t seem to turn away from the scene I knew all too well: me sprinting across the median, opening a smashed car door with a crowbar, and pulling out an unconscious woman from the burning vehicle just moments before it was completely engulfed in flames. The fact that whoever was filming the scene didn’t think to help us never seemed to bother anyone, and that boggled my mind.
Ah, and there was the part the media loved to examine frame-by-frame… The part where I got hit by a car passing by, the driver either oblivious or inconsiderate that there just might be a rescue attempt in progress. Then bam, there I go flying headfirst right back on top of the burning car. The video stops right after I roll off the flaming hood onto the pavement mere feet from the woman I had saved.
Why did the video stop there? Why not stick around for the rest? Or perhaps that was when the person filming thought it was finally time to help. I would never know. I was in a coma for a month after. I would’ve had no recollection of the accident had it not been for our thoughtful videographer and the news stations that couldn’t get enough of replaying the video.
I turned the TV off right after they flashed a picture of me smiling, a photo taken back during the good old days. They loved to show that picture, then speculate about my injuries and burns, and why I went from being the darling of our town to a total recluse. Seriously?
Damn, how I missed my team, missed the game, missed the camaraderie. We hadn’t just been teammates, we were brothers. My team had been my extended family.
Now my boys were lost to me. Sure, they visited every day when I was in a hospital bed all wrapped up in bandages, my leg in traction. But when I woke up a month later, the visits became fewer and fewer. I was drugged up and having a hard time with speech, making the visits mighty awkward. Plus, everyone had probably been wondering what visage lay beneath the bandages. I didn’t blame them; I had wanted to know too.
But when I found out, I had stopped allowing the team to visit. I didn’t want their sympathy. I knew how different I looked. I was tired of them telling me I was a hero. I didn’t feel like one. Worse, I didn’t want to envy them their careers. The thing they called my ‘leg’ was in traction, and it was useless to me now. I had almost wished they had just cut it off. Would’ve been easier than trying to rehabilitate it.
Since then, the only people I had allowed in my life were my family. Mom, Dad, Eric, and Jack. They never felt sorry for me. They let me be me. They let me take this shit day by day. I appreciated their patience with me. I was a different Tucker than they were used to, no longer the happy-go-lucky character everybody knew and loved.
I was a new Tucker. A worse Tucker. Why they were still talking to me, I would never understand. The pain made me lash out at them. My pity party was spectacular and probably quite annoying.
I loved my family so much for enduring this new me. Their daily visits with home-cooked food and supplies were probably the only reason why I left my bed. Their support kept me going.
But I knew I was disappointing them with my newfound loyalty to my sofa.
I picked up the phone and called Jack.
He answered immediately. “Hey bro. What’s up?”
“Want a large flat screen TV?”
“Uh, are you talking about your TV? That huge monstrosity in the living room?”
“Yeah. I don’t want it anymore.”
“I’m not one to say no to free stuff, but are you sure? That thing’s pretty sweet.”
“Just come get it before I rip it out of the wall.”
“Okay, okay. I’ll be there in a few.”
We hung up and I laid there, useless as ever. My leg made getting around quite the ordeal.
That was when I had a random thought. Well, to be honest, it really wasn’t random at all. It was a thought that haunted me daily. A thought that hurt worse than my beat up body.
And that thought was of Ryan.