Chase
“You’re going to have to take it easy with this arm for a while, Chase,” Dr. Morgan, my orthopedist, said as he put one hand on my right shoulder and the other on my right elbow. “Ready?”
I heard him take a deep breath, like he was the one about to be in such incredible pain that he may pass out from it.
I took a deep breath of my own and held it. I gave him a nod and he held the hand firm on my shoulder and started moving my arm up and down, up and down, like he was pumping water from an old well. I gritted my teeth and fought back the urge to scream. Mother f….
Just moving my arm up and down still hurt like hell, even after all this time, after three surgeries and nine screws and I don’t know how much wire or how many staples, and a month of intense rehab at this facility with the best therapists the rest of my money could buy, it still hurt like a mother fucker.
“Does that hurt?” he asked each time he moved my arm up or down a few inches.
I winced at him. Surely the pain on my face and the sweat popping out of my forehead like a cartoon answered his question. I gritted my teeth and said, “If I say no will you stop doing it?”
He gently lowered my arm to my side. The pain didn’t stop when his hands went away. If felt like my arm was literally on fire and the rest of my body was quickly catching. The sweat now covered my body. I felt nauseous, thought I was going to puke. I squeezed my eyes shut to push back the tears and swore at him under my breath.
“I’m going to let you go home today,” he said, lowering himself in the chair next to the exam table and picking up my chart from the counter to his left.
He blew out a long breath as he flipped back through the pages he’d seen a hundred times. Dr. Morgan looked old and tired. I had tested his abilities to the fullest and there was nothing more he could do for me. I knew he would be glad to finally see me go.
When the helicopter brought me into the trauma ER at Atlanta Memorial from the wreck site (I refuse to call it an accident), I barely had a pulse.
My pupils were dilated and my breathing was labored. My right lung had been punctured by one of three fractured ribs and was filling with fluid.
My collarbone was broken in two and I had a lump the size of a softball where by forehead came in contact with the airbag. I had a concussion they were afraid might lead to brain bleed, then that would be assuming that I had a brain.
Worst of all was my right arm – or what was left of it. Somehow my right hand had slid through the steering wheel and wrenched in three directions as the Porsche’s dashboard crushed against the front seat.
My humerus, the bone in my upper arm, was broken in three different places. My radius, the larger bone in my forearm, was broken in two places, and the ulna, the small bone at the back of the forearm, was in several pieces.
Bones were sticking out of my arm in three different places. I found out much later that the ER doctor suggested they just cut off the arm, but the orthopedic specialist on call said that he could fix it; or at least keep it attached to my body until the surgeon arrived.
I know, I should be glad that they saved the arm, but sitting there on the edge of that exam table with big tears in my eyes and pain shooting through me so badly that it made my hair hurt, I almost wished they’d just taken the arm.
Sometimes I think they should have just let me die. My career was over; and I defined myself by my career. I was an NFL quarterback, goddammit.
Do you know how many NFL quarterbacks there are in the world? Do you know what a small percentage of human beings can throw or run or catch a football good enough to be in the NFL? Not goddamn many, that’s how many.
I rubbed my eyes and listened to the doctor tell me again not to lift anything heavy or try to throw a football or play too much violin. Yeah, he’s a funny guy…
I told him not to worry about me. Just sign the forms and let me go. I could barely hold a football now, much less throw one for touchdowns in the NFL.
And if I couldn’t play football, I’d just as soon be dead.
As he drones on, I can hear myself breathing. I can feel the beat of my heart in my chest. I feel the pulse of my blood running through my veins, but for all practical purposes, I am a dead man walking.
My life, my hopes, my dreams, all died that night, smashed up against that tree; their remains scattered along the side of the road with the man I used to be.
Mollie
That night, I stood on the sidelines with the camera in hand, watching Chase throw touchdown after touchdown as Centerville annihilated Hoover Central.
I didn’t realize it until the game was almost over, but I was so enthralled watching Chase play that I had forgotten to take any shots of the other players. I had an entire roll of film that was just shots of Chase.
Chase was a vision to watch in his crimson jersey and white pants. After every completed pass he’d look my way and pretend to snap my picture. I saw the coach glare at me a couple of times, but I didn’t care, so long as Chase kept looking my way.
When the final whistle blew and the team came off the field and trotted toward the locker room, Chase ran over to me and tugged the helmet off his head. His long blonde hair was plastered to his head with sweat. He wiped his forehead on the sweatband around his wrist and gave me the smile that I knew I would never get tired of seeing.
“Did you get some good shots?” he asked.
“Yes, some great shots!” I lied. “And congratulations. You were amazing.”
He pretended to blush. Chase didn’t need me to tell him he was amazing. Everyone told him that. He knew how amazing he was. Which made me wonder again why he was talking to me.
His eyebrows went up as he looked at me. “So, are you up for the party?”
I made a pained face. “I don’t know, it’s kind of late.”
He rolled his eyes and laughed at me. “Come on, Mollie Carter, what are you, an old maid? It’s barely ten o’clock.”
“I know, but…”
“Mollie,” he said, his voice softening. He put a dirty hand on my arm and gave it a gentle squeeze. “I really want you to go.”
And Chase always gets what he wants. The words echoed in my head. I was no fool. Something was going on and I had no intention of going anywhere with him until I knew what it was. I crossed my arms over the chest and worked up a frown.
“Okay, what’s the deal?”
He blinked at me. “I’m sorry?”
“The deal, Chase Richards. What’s the deal?”
“What do you mean?”
I narrowed my eyes at him. “You’ve never given me the time of day, then you start flirting with me after the photo shoot and now you want me to go to a party with you?” I gritted my teeth at him. “If this is some kind of stupid football team bet, I’ll…”
“Whoa, whoa, relax,” he said, smiling again. He held up his hands as if he thought I might sock him in the nose. “There is no deal, honest.”
“Then why?” I shook my finger at him. “And don’t lie to me. I’ve got a built-in lie detector and I’ll be able to tell if you’re up to something.”
He looked around for a moment to make sure we were alone. We weren’t, of course. The rest of the team and the airhead cheerleaders were still running all over the field in celebration. But there was no one within earshot, so Chase looked deeply into my eyes and spoke the words that swept me off my feet.
“I’ve wanted to talk to you since freshman year,” he said. “Since the first time you came into Mrs. Black’s chemistry class.”
It was my turn to blink at him. I remembered that day. It was the first time I was aware that Chase was on the planet, even though I knew he was well out of my little universe.
“You were wearing a red sweater with a little Winnie the Pooh on it,” he said, smiling. He poked a finger to my chest, above my heart. “Right here.”
I stared down at the finger, just inches above my breast. I mumbled, “You remember that?”
“Of course I do.” He shrugged and pulled back his finger. My eyes sadly watched it go. “I’ve always liked you, Mollie. I just never had the nerve to say anything.”
“You have?” I knew I was stammering, but I couldn’t help it. My head was swimming and my stomach was churning. Chase Richards likes me? Me?? Mollie the yearbook nerd?? Who knew??
“So, come with me to the party?” he asked, holding out his hand. I put my hand in his and he brought my fingers to his lips and gave them a little kiss. I nearly wet my pants.
He said, “If you don’t have a good time we’ll leave and I’ll take you right home. Or anywhere else you want to go.”
“You will?” God, I must have sounded star struck.
“I will.”
I felt my head nodding. I heard myself say, “Okay, um, I’m in my mom’s car…”
“That’s no problem. Why don’t you take the car home and I’ll pick you up there after I get all this mud and dirt off of me.”
“You know where I live?”
“Of course, silly. We used to ride the same bus until I got my license. Don’t you remember? I passed your house twice a day for years.”
I did remember, but was shocked that he did. I just nodded like a total idiot and he leaned in and kissed my cheek, then scooped up his helmet and headed for the showers.
I stood there in a daze, rubbing my cheek until nearly everyone had cleared the stands.
I packed up the camera gear and lugged it out to my car. I had a stupid smile on my face that wouldn’t go away.
Chase Richardson likes me.
When did the world go insane?