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Strawberries

May

I zone in and out endlessly during my Instrumentation lecture. God, what a snooze fest. I fight sleep every time I have this lecture. This time, I’m fighting off thoughts, too. Thoughts about the enormous pile of horseshit I just dropped on Colt.

By the time Dr Stearns utters the golden words, ‘And that’ll be all for today,’ I’m straight out of my seat and outside to the Diamond Quad. The fresh air, humid as it is, is sobering.

It’s one thing to touch another human being. It’s one thing to hook up and move on.

‘In fact, I don’t actually have to do any moving on,’ I ramble to Jordan as soon as I get to practice that afternoon, extra early. I texted her an SOS: pulling my hair out rn. i have updates. ‘Right? Because it doesn’t actually mean anything. It’s just the physical. And it shouldn’t mean anything. I can’t be distracted during post-season, right. But with him … it wasn’t. It so wasn’t. Jordan, I don’t know what came over me, but it didn’t feel casual. At all.’

‘And that’s a bad thing?’ my best friend muses as she sticks out a leg in a runner’s stretch.

‘Terrible. I know you said I should understand that he’s scared, that he’s trying, but I …’ I shake my head, tucking a knee to my chest to stretch it. ‘That doesn’t change the fact that he’ll leave in less than a month, you know. And after everything that happened between us, that kinda shit tends to come to the forefront of your attention.’

‘Well, what’d you say to him about it? This morning?’

I wince. The shame is a sack-full of massive rocks that presses straight down on my chest. ‘I said … that. I said he’d leave, anyway. And that it was all in the heat of the moment. Which it was.’

For the first time, I think, since I’ve known her, Jordan is just silent for a minute. As she clambers to her feet, she finally speaks. ‘May … you guys are the definition of right person, wrong time, do you know that?’

‘Way to encourage a girl.’

Jordan rolls her eyes, chuckling. ‘It’s not discouraging. If I were you, here’s what I’d do.’ She cocks an eyebrow. ‘I’d start by acknowledging the fact that maybe, there will never be a right time. And that if he’s truly the right person, that time is something you have to make for one another. He’s working on being real with you. Sharing his fears. Insecurities. Now, I think it’s time you do the same with him.’

‘Do you … do you remember when he left the first time? Like, the last time you saw him?’

‘Kind of.’ Jordan shrugs. ‘Here and there. Why?’

‘I replay it. All the time.’ I swallow hard. ‘How the hell do I tell him that I think about how he left all the time? And that it’s made me terrified that this will be just like before?’

‘Bye, Colt! See ya soon!’

The idiot was probably one of the most popular kids in school at that point. Objective term. He pranced through the halls like he was overjoyed he’d never have to see a shred of Prosperity High School ever again. He doled out parting waves, and a couple of hugs, easily, so I assumed either he’d said his hardest goodbyes earlier in the day, or that no goodbye was hard for him. I wasn’t sure which it was. I hadn’t got a goodbye yet.

The night before, we’d hit the ranch field together – one-on-one, as always. I’d said something along the lines of ‘Who’ll you scrimmage with in the back of a farm in Boston?’

He’d just laughed and replied, ‘Guess I could try and find someone. Won’t be the same, though.’

And that was it. I look back and think that maybe that was his version of ‘see you’, though. That maybe any other variation on parting ways would have caused the both of us a hell of a lot more pain.

It didn’t dull the hurt I felt when I stood by my locker, waiting, watching him with pleading eyes, watching him for the last time. He bumped knuckles with one of the guys on the team not far away. I steeled myself for one of the roughest goodbyes, and the most complex one, I’d ever have to give.

Colt was so close to me I could smell his cologne when he drew right past me. He turned on his heel, walking backwards as he grinned and said to so-and-so that he’d miss them or told so-and-so that he’d be back soon. But I didn’t care about that garbage. I cared about the fact that he had just passed me right over. Like my face wasn’t even vaguely familiar.

I blinked quickly to hold back the tears that were rapidly welling up in my eyes, blurring my vision. It would only be a year, I reminded myself, and then he’d be back. That was probably why he hadn’t bothered saying bye. It wouldn’t even be that long. None of those excuses did their job, for the record, and when we found out that a year would turn into four would turn into a career, the sparks of anger in my chest fanned into a blazing fire.

Three hours after the end of the school day, my phone pinged with a text message.

Hey May! Hope your senior year’s amazing. Been great playing with you all these years. Take care. Sending you strawberries from Mom’s garden. Keep in touch.

Strawberries.

I saw those damn strawberries on my front porch non-stop for the next week every time I closed my eyes.

And then, as the weeks went on, and the taste of the strawberries finally left my mouth, a new feeling wiggled its way into my body. It was a feeling I hadn’t ever anticipated having.

It was envy.

I was jealous of CJ Bradley.

He got to take off. He had options. He could leave.

Sure, we could talk about it all we wanted. Maybe we made the sorts of promises teenagers did when they were young and na?ve and didn’t know that this world was a cruel one, that this was the kind of place that was out to wrench people apart instead of bring them together. We promised that one day, we’d go pro, side by side, and that in this world that tore dreams to shreds, we wouldn’t let ours die.

But all of it was doomed to fail, anyway. Because Colt didn’t realize the luxury he had. The luxury I longed for.

As our teammates trickle into practice, and I head towards my bag to lace up my cleats, that old wound Colt left me with opens up again. Every stitch is plucked out until all I feel is an emptiness in the centre of my body. Just like before.

He’s going to leave again. That much is certain. But if I don’t get myself in order, he’s going to leave without knowing why I did what I did this morning. And if I let him go like that, I’m no better than he was five years ago.