is crawling. Laying around all day is not in my DNA. For more than a decade, I’ve been putting in two-a-days and spending hours in the gym, building endurance and strength.
Now, after a few weeks of rest, I can already see the difference in my muscle tone. I hate it.
The green expansive yard extends at least half the length of a football field and would be perfect for a pickup game. “Let’s throw a ball around,” I suggest to my brother. My fingers itch to grip that smooth, dimpled pigskin. “I’m sure I have one in my room.” I head off in that direction.
Walker stops me. “Nah, man. Let’s just sit out here. I don’t think you should be putting that much pressure on your knee.” He cracks open a beer and watches me warily.
Frustrated, I mope, walking around for a few yards to get my blood flowing, before eventually dropping into a cushioned patio chair next to my brother. It’s an older set, but like everything in the house, it’s clean. I let my head fall back, exhaling as the setting sun warms my face.
“I’m going crazy, Walker. I can’t just sit around all damn day. I’m going out of my fucking mind.”
“You just have to be patient, Jude. You can’t risk compromising the healing process of your knee, or you’ll completely ruin your chances of ever playing again.” He says it in that annoying older brother tone he used to take with me when we were kids and I tried to do something stupid.
“I know,” I grunt. I do know, and that’s why this is all so infuriating. I feel like I’m trapped inside a broken body. A body that’s not even mine. There’s so much I want to do physically, but this body won’t let me.
“Just take your time. Listen to the doctors. Follow the therapy, and soon, you’ll be back to your old self.” He speaks carefully. Walking the fine line between being optimistic and giving me false hope. Still, it’s nice to know this brother hasn’t written me off completely. He’s open to the idea that I might be able to pull through this thing.
He reaches over to hand me a beer. I shake my head. “I’m not supposed to mix alcohol with my meds.” I’m still on painkillers. “And besides, I’ve got my tea.”
He shakes his head. “You and your weird-ass tea.”
“Bro, do you know how many people have avoided an ass-whooping from me over the past few months because of my tea?” I take a sip and look out over the lawn just as the automatic sprinklers flick on.
Walker leans back in his chair and laughs. “All thanks to the calming effects of chamomile, huh?”
“Damn straight.” I grin.
My brother and I recline and talk shit as the evening wears on. It isn’t lost on me how much I appreciate his company. My time in Crescent Harbor has been quiet so far. Much more quiet than I’m used to. Aside from hanging with my family, I’ve pretty much spent all my free time by myself. Which is good for a little introspection, I guess.
After leaving half a dozen messages for Kirk, I finally got to speak to him yesterday. The conversation was short. After a few minutes of small talk, he asked when I expect to be back in the game. And because he and I used to be damn close at one point, I let my guard down and confided in him. I told him I may never play football again. The conversation fizzled out quick-fast after that. He claimed he had papers to grade or some crap. It was a slap to the face after confessing to him something I haven’t even told my parents. When I invited him to grab a drink with me, he sort of gave me the brush-off, saying he has a lot on his plate right now. All right. Be like that, Fucker. I can take a hint. At least now I know where he and I truly stand.
I really wanted to have a man-to-man with him and let him know I’m Iris’s new roommate but if he can’t make an hour to shoot the breeze with me, then so be it. What happens happens with that shit.
Anyway, Walker is cracking his third beer open when the back screen door creaks open. I don’t have to look in that direction to feel Iris’s presence.
“Hey, Walker,” she greets my brother, offering him a friendly voice. “How’re you doing?”
He