The Game Changer The Final Score - By L.M. Trio Page 0,27
as it was when I left. Mikey and I made it our home while we were here and it’s still comfortable, familiar.
I feel jittery as I head to my bedroom, I wonder if Mikey made any changes since I left, especially since I had the larger room. JJ was a frequent visitor back then. Again, I open the door to my bedroom slowly, halfway expecting it to be Mikey’s room now, but as I look around, I note that everything remains in its place; just as it was the last day I was here. I can tell the room is freshly dusted and cleaned, but not disturbed. It’s strange to see clothes I wore then, laundered and folded neatly on my bed. The walls are still covered with sketches and paintings from JJ, notes she had written on post-its are still pinned to the bulletin board. My hand traces over her handwriting. Framed pictures of the two of us are scattered throughout the room.
The check I gave to Mikey that day in Atlantic City sits on the bureau untouched. There’s a small envelope on top. I empty the contents into my hand. Out falls the sparkling ring I had given to JJ, here, on her eighteenth birthday. I thought it was gone for good the night she had thrown it at me in the crowded bar. I roll it around in my hand as I read the inscription on the inside of the band, “I’ll love you always, Luke.” I sit down on my bed, clenching the ring in my fist. Those words are just as true now as they were then.
I slowly walk to my closet and open the door. Sitting on the floor is one of my old equipment bags. I rummage through the bag, remembering my season with the Stone Crabs. Mikey and I were having the time of our lives, living on our own for the first time, fulfilling our dreams. JJ visiting every chance she got and the two of us planning our future. I look up at the clothes hanging in the closet. A few of her things remain hanging. I reach for one of her dresses, hoping to catch the scent of the perfume she used to wear.
Feeling somewhat overwhelmed, I sit back on my king size bed, taking it all in. A while later, distracted by the growling of my stomach, I head to the kitchen to search for a menu to order something to eat. On the counter, I find a note scribbled from Mikey.
“Glad you’re back. I stocked the fridge. See you in a couple of days. Don’t do anything stupid (like stalking someone). We’ll talk when I get back. – M”
Mikey’s away playing for a couple of days on a road trip, and that’s exactly what I was planning on doing. It sucks having someone know you so well. I laugh out loud, thinking about it. I don’t care, I’m doing it anyway. I have to see her.
I rummage through a huge pile of mail stacked on the counter. I come across an invitation to the Frank Simone Art Gallery, my heart races as I read the invitation:
Please join us to honor the works of our local featured artist: Jesse Martell.
A reception will be held on Saturday, October 6th at 7:00 pm,
8th Avenue, Ybor City. Hor’s d’orves and wine will be served.
Other artists’ works on display: Christopher VanHorn and Elizabeth Goldman.
The chills run up and down my spine as I read the invitation over again, “local featured artist: Jesse Martell.” October sixth is only a couple of days away. Mikey has an early afternoon home game that day. I’m assuming he’s planning to attend.
I immediately pick up my cell and dial De’s number. Just as I’m about to hang up, she answers. I ask about the invitation, De says that she is flying in to attend with Mikey.
“You mean you are both planning to attend and you didn’t tell me?” I ask.
“We didn’t think you would be back so soon. You just told Mikey you were coming back two days ago.”
“You still could have mentioned it.”
“Mikey was planning on talking to you about it when he got home. He was supposed to leave you a note,” she says, sounding annoyed.
“He did leave me a note, it says, don’t go stalking anyone, and that he’d talk to me when he got back.” I laugh.
“He is such an ass. Before you go and do anything stupid, talk to him first,” she