Lisa Schroeder - The Bridge from You to Me

I laugh and raise my right hand. “No corn dogs. I swear.”

“Okay, then. See ya later.”

I watch as she hurries off to Stasia’s car. Then I lean against the building and exhale. I’m finally on a winning streak.

Dad’s still up when I get home, watching TV and drinking a beer.

“Hey, Dad,” I say. “Everything all right?”

He narrows his eyes as he looks up at me. “If you think playing a pathetic, sloppy football game is acceptable, sure. Everything’s fine.”

I set my bag down and take a seat in the recliner, where Grandpa usually sits.

“Yeah, I had a rough start. Just couldn’t stop thinking about —”

“Colby, three quarters is not a start . There are no excuses for how you played. None.”

I look down at my lap. There’s nothing to do now but sit here and take it.

“I think if I were your coach, I’d ask you to hang up your jersey and let some other kid take your spot. Hell, a sixth grader could’ve played better than you did tonight.”

Shame fills me. “I told Coach I was sorry.”

“And what did he say?”

“He said he didn’t want my apology. That what he wants is my dedication and commitment.”

“Of course he does. The question is whether you want to give that to him.”

I rub my face in my hands. “At least I made the play that mattered the most. Doesn’t that count for something?”

“Yes. But come on, every play matters when you’re out there this year. Every. Single. Play. What if scouts were watching tonight? Do you think any of them are going to want to have anything to do with you now?”

I look at him. “I can’t think about that, Dad. I got enough going on without thinking about that too.”

“Well, you need to find that commitment your coach wants to see somehow. Do you want to let him down?”

“No.”

“What about your team? Do you want to let them down?”

I sigh. “No.”

He stands up. “What time do you work tomorrow?”

“Uh, noon to five. Why?”

“You take your gear, and you meet me at the field after work.”

I stand up. “I can’t. I have a date.”

He picks up the remote and turns off the television. “That’s right, you do. With me. On that football field. No girls right now, Colby. Do you hear me? You said it yourself. You’ve got enough going on.”

“But, Dad —”

“No. I’m not gonna back down from this. This is for your own good. You have to trust me on this. We need to get your head in the right place, and right now, that means more time on the field and less time thinking about other things. Like the opposite sex.”

I can’t believe this is happening.

He slaps my shoulder. “After we run some plays, you and I will go out for dinner. How’s that? I know, we’ll go to Fresh Grill. Haven’t been there in ages. Get one of their big, juicy burgers, huh? I’ll tell Gram and Grandpa not to expect us tomorrow night. We’ll have a fun night out, just you and me. Like the old days.”

He pulls me into a hug. Squeezes me hard. I stand there, like a board. “I love you,” he says. “Don’t forget that. I know you’re not happy with me right now, but this is the way it has to be.” He pulls away and holds both of my shoulders with his hands. “Just for a few months. That’s all. Okay? If this girl has any decency about her, she’ll understand. And she’ll wait.”

I swallow hard.

“Good night,” he says as he turns to leave. “I’ll see you tomorrow. Five fifteen. Ready to play.”

Benny’d probably say I need to grow a pair and tell my dad where to go when he gets like that. But I can’t. Because the thing is, I know my dad thinks what he’s doing is for the best. Yeah, it’s kind of tough love, but it’s love all the same.

When you get down to it, he’s right. I did play a pathetic, sloppy game. I had one good play, where I got lucky, and that’s it. I love my team and I’d do anything for them. Like, I would never screw up on purpose, but I wonder if deep down, there’s a part of me that realizes if I play poorly, my problem about whether I play football or not next year is easily solved.

I don’t know. But I’m gonna do what my dad tells me to do because that’s what I’ve always done. It’s been him and me for so long, I don’t know any other way.

On my way to work Saturday, I stop off at King’s Doughnuts, hoping she’s already started her shift. When I walk in, she’s busy helping someone, so she doesn’t see me. When I finally catch her eye, I smile and she smiles back.

All I can think is, Please don’t let her hate me for this.

When the customer is done, I step up to the counter.

“Hi,” I say.

“Hi. Can I get you something? A maple bar maybe? Or are you an apple fritter kind of guy?”