Lisa Schroeder - The Bridge from You to Me

When i pull into the driveway and see that the lights are still on in the house, I curse my dad. I consider turning around and finding somewhere else to sleep so I don’t have to walk in there and deal with him.

I’m so tired. I just want to go to bed. I don’t want to talk about the game, what I did wrong, what I did right, how so much is on the line with every game I play.

Damn it. I just want to rest.

I get out and go inside. I tell myself the whole way I will not engage him. I will not let him talk to me right now. I will tell him I’m going to bed and I will mean it and I will do it.

I’m barely in the door, and he’s right there, like mud on a pig, “Colby, what the hell? Where have you been?”

“There’s a fund-raiser for Benny tomorrow, remember? I was helping a friend bake some pies.”

“Well, I’ve been thinking all night about that play. In the second quarter? When you missed the pass. Colby, what happened? It was a good throw. You should have had it.”

This is where I should walk away. This is where I should say, not now, I’m tired, I’m going to bed.

I look at him. He wants an answer. He wants to talk about this to death and know that I learned something from it so it won’t happen again. Even though there’s no guarantee of that, ever.

“I don’t know, Dad. The throw was a little long, and I missed it. I’m sorry.”

“We’ve talked about this before. You could have had it if you . . .”

He moves toward the kitchen table, and I follow him. We sit down. He keeps talking.

And I keep listening. Just like he wants me to.

The next morning, when I step outside, the faint scent of burning wood in the cool autumn air, I see an old car parked on the street in front of our house. It looks familiar, and yet, I can’t quite place it.

Russ steps out and waves. Of course. Now it comes together. It’s been a while since I’ve seen him. Pretty sure the last time was at Mrs. Lewis’s birthday party.

You’d never know Russ and Benny were brothers just by looking at them. Where Benny is all muscle, Russ is skin and bones. Soon as he was out of high school, he moved out, into a crappy little apartment with a couple of friends. He works at a grocery store. Started as a bag boy in high school, now he’s a cashier. Benny used to say, “Now that’s exactly what I don’t want my life to look like.”

“Hey, man,” he says as we meet in the driveway. I throw the sheet I’m holding into the back of my truck and shake his hand.

“Hey, Russ. You’re up kinda early, aren’t you?”

“Yeah, I wanted to be sure to catch you. Look, I know the bake sale is going on today, and I want to see if I can do anything to help. I can’t bake anything worth shit, but could I do something else?”

I stick my hands in my pockets. “That’s great you want to help, but they’re all set with volunteers. Besides, this is about us helping you guys. You don’t need to do a thing.”

He looks past me, toward my house. “I wish I could do more to help him. I cannot stand being in that hospital room, man. I know that’s terrible, but I’m not good at pretending everything’s fine when it’s not, you know?”

“I don’t think you have to pretend,” I tell him. “Mostly I think it’s good for Benny to know that we care about him. That we support him. Right?”

“I guess. I just want to do something. I mean, something that matters. That makes a difference.”

I say it as nice as I can. “Russ, being there for him, talking to him, that matters. More than anything.”

He sighs. “I want him to get better. I want him to be his old self.”

“Well, that’s what this bake sale’s all about — helping him get into a good place where he can work toward that. Let’s hope people open their wallets wide today, in the name of Benny and baked goods.”

“Maybe I’ll stop by and get him a cake or something,” he says.

“That’s a great idea. I bet he’d love that.”

“You sure you don’t need any help?” he asks as I pull the car keys out of my pocket.

“I’m sure,” I tell him. “But thanks for the offer.”

“All right, then. I’ll leave you to it. Thanks, Colby. For doing this for him.”

“You’re welcome.”

As I drive to Lauren’s, I think about Russ and realize if it’s hard for me to imagine Benny never playing football again, it’s gotta be even harder for his family. I think they all looked at him as the one with the real chance at greatness. And now it must feel like that chance is gone.

I want to believe there’s always a chance, though. Isn’t that what Coach has been trying to tell us with the cards and the signs and the pep talks? That believing is more important than anything. It’s what keeps you going, even when things look bad.

And I know things look pretty bad right now.

But he’s alive. He’s out of the coma. He’s talking.

And really, from here on out, things can only get better.

Just how better, that’s the question.