Lisa Schroeder - The Bridge from You to Me

“Is he going to be all right?” I asked Mrs. Lewis when she sat down next to me and told me the news. That he’d finally woken up.

“There’s still a lot we don’t know,” she said. “We have to wait and see. It could be a long, hard recovery.” She tilted her head. Looked at me with nothing but love in her eyes. “Colby, I know this whole thing is eating you up. I can see it all over your face. But you listen to me. You have been a fine and faithful friend. You have nothing to feel guilty about. Nothing to feel bad about. Whatever happens now is out of our hands. He’s a strong kid. A fighter. Hold on to that, have faith, and then, let the worry go.”

I got that funny feeling in my throat, and I choked the tears back. I didn’t want to cry. Not when I needed to be strong. Strong for her.

“I don’t know how to do that,” I whispered.

She pulled me into her arms. “Oh, honey. You have a life you need to live. It’s time to learn.”

I head home after practice because I have homework I’ve been neglecting. I tell myself that if there was news, good or bad, Benny’s mom would have gotten in touch with me. It’s probably still too soon to know what lies ahead.

Gram and Grandpa are surprised to see me for dinner. Lately, I’ve been coming home after they’re in bed and I just heat up a plate of leftovers. But not tonight.

“You’ve lost weight, Colby,” Gram says. “You’re not taking care of yourself.”

I sit down, and my stomach growls because I’m starving and everything smells delicious.

“I’m okay, Gram,” I tell her as she passes me the bowl of mashed potatoes.

I’m about to say something else when Dad walks in.

“Oh, how nice,” Gram says, getting up to set another place. “We’re all here together for a change.”

“Good to see you, Paul,” Grandpa says.

“How are you feeling, Dad?” my dad asks Grandpa as he takes a seat.

“I’m doing just fine.”

Dad turns to me. “Colby, how was your day? Hopefully life’s a little easier now that we know Benny’s out of the woods.”

Easier? Give me a break. “It was fine, I guess.”

“With the good news, maybe you guys can play a better game come Friday, huh?”

I stuff a big bite of mashed potatoes into my mouth so I don’t tell him how little I care about football right now.

He dishes up his steak, salad, and potatoes and then looks at me. “Son, I know this has been rough on you, but you have

got to try and put it behind you. You have to stay focused when you’re on that field. Benny’s a strong kid. He’s gonna get through this. And you worrying about him doesn’t do him or you a bit of good.”

“Yeah. But it’s hard, you know?”

His eyes are kind when he says, “I know. But right now, there’s no room for error on that field. Until you sign a con-tract in February, anything could happen.”

I don’t say anything.

“I’m just looking out for you, Colby.”

This is where I should call bullshit.

This is where I should tell him I’m tired of him reliving his glory years through me.

And this is where I should tell him that I don’t want to play college ball. I want to go to college to study civil engineering, and that’s my number one priority.

Instead, I say, “Yeah. Okay.” And then I shovel more food in my mouth.

When mrs. Lewis calls me Thursday night, I’m thinking about all the normal things people are doing, while Benny’s lying in a hospital bed, his future uncertain.

They’re eating pizza. Watching lame reality shows on television. Griping about too much homework. While they go on with their lives like nothing in the world is wrong, some people’s lives will never be the same.

I want to punch something because of the unfairness of it all.

“We had a little bit of good news today,” she tells me.

“Benny touched his head. The doctors called it a purposeful movement, and they said it’s a very good sign.”

I lean back on my bed and breathe a sigh of relief. “Has he said anything?” I ask her.

“No. Not yet.” She pauses. Takes a deep breath. “Colby, the fact of the matter is Benny has massive traumatic brain injuries. His prognosis at this time is unknown. We need to be patient and see what happens in the coming days and weeks. The doctors have told us to be prepared for a long road of recovery.”

“Like, how long?”

She doesn’t say anything for a few seconds. I know she’s trying to keep it together, for my sake. “Honey, we’re talking months. Maybe even . . . years. We just don’t know.”

I swallow hard. “Thanks for calling me. I really appreciate it.”

“There’s one more thing I want to tell you,” she says.

“What’s that?”