32.
Rich
I should have known better than to think they were going to let me off the hook so easily. A little after nine, by now my head addled with alcohol, the doorbell rings. I’m still at my desk, the floor around me covered with a fresh layer of handwritten pages like newly fallen leaves in a forest. The first time the bell sounds, I ignore it. This, of course, is followed by nearly five minutes of nonstop ringing that eventually leaves me no choice but to give in and answer the door.
“Fine!” I mutter. “Okay, okay!”
Stumbling over to the front door, I peer through the peephole. As I had suspected, it’s Jim. With him are three other teammates of mine—Ben, Tom and Michael, Michael the one with his finger on the bell.
“Richie,” he taunts. “Richie, we know you’re in there. Come on, open up, Richie! I’m not going to let go of this button until you do.”
“Dammit…” Unlocking the door, I yank it open.
“Ahh, Richie, my boy!” Michael says, clapping me on the shoulder as he steps around me into the apartment before I have a chance to stop him. Tom and Ben, two of the biggest offensive linemen on my team, follow him in. Only Jim waits for me to invite him inside.
“Sorry about this, Rich,” he says quietly. “I tried to come alone but when they figured out where I was going they insisted on tagging along.”
“Ehh, I say, giving him a resigned shrug. Stepping aside, I wave my closest friend into the apartment. “The more the merrier, I guess.”
“Ugh!” Tom exclaims. He’s in the living room, standing near the couches with his hands on his hips, a look of disgust on his face as he takes in the coffee table. It’s littered with a wide variety of takeout containers, several more on the floor around it. “When was the last time you cleaned this place, Richie? It smells like someone died in here.”
“It’s a shame, too,” Ben chimes in from where he’s poised before the big bay windows looking out upon the city. “Such a nice place. A waste to let a pig like you live here.”
“Thanks, guys,” I say with a wry smile as I watch Michael push a large pile of clothes and books and other bric-a-brac off of one of the couches and onto the floor. Plopping down, he stretches out and folds his hands behind his head. “Please, make yourselves at home.”
“Oh, my pleasure,” Michael says. Yawning, he kicks off his shoes. At 6’6, he’s much too long for the couch, his feet hanging off the end.
“Anyways,” Ben says, turning away from the window, his face suddenly serious. “We’re not here to just visit you, as I’m sure you could guess. We’re here because we want to know just what the hell is up with you.”
“Yeah,” Tom chimes in. He’s sniffing a half-eaten container of Chinese food, examining it for edibility. Deciding it’s safe, he picks up one of the many forks on the coffee table and digs in. “Jim here tells us that you keep saying you’re not coming back.”
“I’m not.” I cross the living room and go into the kitchen. From the freezer, I extract the bottle of rum and pour several fingers into an empty coffee mug. This time, I don’t bother with the coffee.
“And why not exactly?” Ben asks.
“Yeah, why not?” echoes Michael. “You can’t wallow forever.”
“I’m not wallowing,” I say as I come back into the living room.
“Uh-huh. Sure. The last time I saw a man as pathetic as you was when the Sox lost the World Series and my old man refused to get out of bed for a week.”
“I’m not wallowing.”
“Says the drunk man with the stained shirt and mismatched socks,” Ben says with an exaggerated roll of his eyes.
“Look, Coach says he’s still willing to take you back,” Tom chimes in. Only Jim has kept quiet. He’s standing off to one side, watching the proceedings closely. “Even after missing all of our practices.”
“How nice of him.” I take a sip of rum. Though it burns something fierce on the way down, I don’t cough. “Aren’t they volunteer practices?”
“Volunteer!” Michael snorts, grinning at Ben and Tom as if I’ve just told a fantastic one-liner. “Did you hear him, guys? He thinks the practices are voluntary. This man has jokes!”
“Seriously, Rich,” Tom says. He’s just about finished the first container of Chinese food and is already eyeing another. “Don’t throw it all away. You’ve worked really hard to get here.”
“Don’t forget either what you’re doing to the rest of us,” Michael says, his finger raised as if he’s a teacher admonishing an unruly child. “We rely on you just as much as you rely on us. We’re a team. Of course, you’re not the real star of the team—that’s me—but without that arm of yours we probably would have had a slightly harder time winning the championship last season.”
“You ever think,” I begin, “you ever think that there might be something more to life than football? That there might be something greater than just throwing a damn ball down a field? Don’t you ever get tired of chasing all the money and the fame and the women and the…” Seeing the guys’ expressions, I trail off. Tom, Michael and Ben are all looking at me like I’m some sort of alien. Only Jim seems to have the slightest understanding of what it is I’m trying to say. “But you know what? What do I know?”
“So you’re seriously not coming back?” Michael says quietly, the hurt he’s been hiding with his mirth now clearly evident. His joking aside, deep down the team’s star receiver was quite the sensitive man.
“I’m not.” Downing the rest of my rum in one large gulp, I walk over to Michael and push his legs off of the couch. “Anyways, I really appreciate you guys coming over. I’m sorry I have to disappoint you like this; I know how much all of this means to all of you. I guess I just need something a little more…”
I fall silent. I’ve just noticed that Ben is at my desk. He’s holding one of my freshly written pages, his eyes scanning it. As he reads, his expression grows ever more confused.
“Richie,” he says, “what is this?”
Michael is up in an instant. Leaping over the couch, he bolts across the living room and plucks the page from Ben’s hand, the hurt that was in his eyes a moment before long gone.
“Oooh,” he says, holding the paper up and wiggling his hips. “Is this poetry? Is our boy Richie a poet now? Is that what you want to do instead of football? Fancy yourself some sort of writer, hmm?” Picking up several more pages from the desk, he looks them over.
“Put those down,” I say, taking a step towards him. “Those are person—“
“Listen to this boys,” Michael says. “Your eyes limned with the dying light, sparkling like the oce—“
“I said stop it,” I growl, making a grab for papers in his hand. Twisting out of my reach, he darts across the apartment. “Sparkling like the ocean,” he continues. “My heart wheeling like the birds overhead! Haha! Oh my God, this is so good!”
Ben and Tom are chuckling as they watch the two of us race around the apartment, Michael leaping over the furniture and ducking under my arms as I chase after him.
“Stop it! I swear, if you don’t—“
“Are these about that girl? The one you met in Hawa—“
As Michael passes him, Jim snatches the papers from his hand. Without looking at them, he hands them back to me. Breathing deep to calm myself, a hard task what with all the rum in me, I go back over to the desk and set the pages down, my hands trembling. I can feel how hot my cheeks are; no doubt my face is bright red.
“Alright, boys. Time to go.”
“Ahh, Rich, don’t be that way,” Michael says. “I was only joshing you.”
“I know. It’s just…I just really haven’t been feeling quite like myself lately. You know how it is. I think I just need some rest and I’ll be alright. I’ll call you guys in a few days.”
“Will you at the very least consider coming back?” Ben asks, nudging Tom as he passes by on his way to the front door. Tom, working on his fourth container of leftover food, shovels a last forkful into his mouth and follows after.
“I will. I promise.”
“Alright,” Ben sighs. I can’t tell if he believes me or not. “Just remember you still have a week before you have to make up your mind. There’s no reason to make a decision now.”
“I know, I know. Like I said, I promise to think about it.”
I’ve corralled them all into the front entryway now. Pulling open the door, I usher Ben, Michael and Tom out into the hall. As the three laugh and joke their way towards the elevator, I turn back to Jim. He’s standing just inside my apartment, his eyes turned down the floor. I can tell from the way he’s shifting his feet that he wants to say something but doesn’t quite know how.
“What is it, buddy?” I say, whispering so that only he can hear me. At the end of the hall, Ben has Michael in a headlock, Michael shrieking as Tom tickles his sides.
“You ever think of reaching out to her?”
“Who?” I ask, feigning ignorance though we both know I know exactly who Jim means.
“Come on, Rich,” he says, nudging me with an elbow. “Becca.”
“I really don’t know what you’re talking about.”
He sighs. “Look, I could care less about football. Of course I wouldn’t mind winning another championship, but what I really want is for you to be happy. And it’s pretty obvious you’re not. I know you think she betrayed you and everything, but don’t you think you should at least hear her—“
“Thanks, Jim. I appreciate you coming. I really do. As I said, I’ll think about coming back and get back to you.”
Jim’s eyes are searching mine. I say nothing as I look unblinkingly back. Finally, exhaling slowly, he gives a slight nod.
“Sure thing, Richie,” he says, pulling me in for a hug. “If you need me, you know where to find me.”
The boys gone, I return to my desk, though no longer am I interested in writing. Instead, I just sit there, trying like hell to not think a thing.
Several minutes of nothingness elapse. My throat dry, I get up and retrieve the last of the rum from the freezer. Without bothering to find a glass, I climb into my recliner, my eyes scanning but not seeing the city beyond the window.
Is Jim right? Should I reach out to—
Stop, I tell myself. There’s no use going down that road. Hadn’t I been down it enough times already? What point dwelling on what I couldn’t change? The past was immutable. What I needed was to focus on what was in front of me, what I still had a chance to shape. Forward was the way to go. Even if some part of me wanted something different, it was the only choice I had.