Lisa Schroeder - The Bridge from You to Me

“She was always worrying about me,” Grandpa says. “I should have been paying more attention. Made sure she was taking care of herself too. Did she even have a physical this past year? I can’t remember. Damn it. I don’t remember.”

He rubs his face with his hands, and I wish I could say something to make him feel better. The thing is, I feel bad too. How many times did I ask how Grandpa was feeling, never thinking to ask Gram? We all just assumed she was fine. Took her and everything she did for us for granted.

I stand up and stretch. I’m tired of sitting. Tired of this waiting room, where I’ve spent far too much time the last few months. Tired of being reminded how things can change on a dime.

“I’m gonna go outside,” I tell them. “Get some fresh air.”

Grandpa jumps up. “I’ll go with you.” He looks at Dad.

“If you hear anything, come and find us?”

Dad nods. “Of course.”

We make our way to the courtyard, passing all kinds of different people. One thing’s for sure. None of them look very happy to be here.

Grandpa opens the door when we reach the outdoor space. We step out, and the first thing I notice is that everything’s wet, since it’s been raining on and off all day. That includes the benches and chairs. It’s a nice space, flower beds landscaped among the concrete.

“Do you want to sit down?” Grandpa asked. “I can go get some paper towels and wipe a bench down for us.”

“I’m tired of sitting,” I say. “But if you want to . . .”

“No. I’m fine. You’re right. It’s good to stand for a while.”

We make our way to the very middle of the courtyard, and I look up. Nothing to see but gray sky.

“You’ve seen too much of this place lately, Colby,” Grandpa says.

I stuff my hands in my pockets. “That’s for sure.”

“How’s Benny doing?”

“I talked to him this morning. He sounds good.”

“That’s great. I bet he’ll be back home in no time.”

“I hope so.”

“You know, I’m proud of you, Colby,” he says. “These last few months haven’t been easy, and look at you. Going to state. Choosing a college soon. You didn’t just keep it together, you’ve excelled.”

“Grandpa, right now, I couldn’t care less about that championship game.”

“I understand. But there are a lot of people in this town who do care. A lot. And you know your gram and I will be there, cheering you on. Nothing will keep her away.”

“We don’t know that,” I say.

We’re quiet for a minute. Then he says, “You know, when bad things happen, it’s good to have something else to think about. Something to believe in. Whether it’s a terrible motorcycle accident, or a heart attack, your team and the dedication you all show to one another and this town reminds people that there is more good in the world than bad.”

I shake my head. “I know how much our town loves us. But sometimes, when I’m thinking about it, and all the other stuff going on in the world, I want to scream at people, it’s just a game. Find something better to believe in. Something that really matters, you know?”

“Oh, Colby. You know it matters. It matters because it brings the town together in a way nothing else does. Friends and family, all together, sending their love to one another, and to you. All of you, on that field, representing us. It’s not just a game. It’s a community, and everything that represents. And you may leave here someday and never look back, I don’t know, but I can tell you one thing. You will always remember this town and what it was like to be a part of it. Maybe now it feels small and stifling, but I bet someday, you’ll see it differently. Tight-knit. Cozy. And most of all, home.”

I look at my grandpa, trying so hard to convince me that what I do on that field matters. Because it’s not just everyone else in this town that needs something to believe in, I need it too.

But what if I can’t anymore?

I reach back and pull out my wallet. I read the card I’ve read when I’ve went to buy gas for my truck or a slushie at the Jiffy Mart or something for Gram at the grocery store, so I’d save her a trip.

I believe.

I believe in myself.

I believe in the team.

I believe it’s our time.

Maybe it’s these words that got us to state.

But when state’s over, what happens then? What the hell am I supposed to believe in then?

A mild heart attack. After tests and more tests, that’s what they called it. With medications, a good diet, and regular walking, the doctor says Gram will be fine.

She stayed at the hospital a couple of days for monitoring, and then they sent her home.

Dad took the week off from work so Grandpa wouldn’t overdo it, taking care of her. The doctor said Gram would be tired the first week, but she should still get up, get dressed, and should not lie in bed all day.

I’m pretty sure when he said that he didn’t know that lying in bed all day is about the last thing my gram would ever want to do.

With everything going on, Dad doesn’t mention the big “college decision,” and I certainly don’t bring it up. I’m thankful for the reprieve. My plan is to get through the final game, and worry about the rest later. Cross that bridge when I come to it, so to speak.

By the second week, Gram seems back to her old self, though we only let her cook dinner for us, while we take care of our own breakfasts and lunches. We’re also doing our own laundry, which bugs the crap out of her, because none of us does it the “right” way.

I honestly don’t care if I pull my wrinkly jeans out of the dryer after they’ve sat there for two days, but Gram cares. And she lets me know it.

I just smiled when she told me how I should have been doing it, and when she finished giving me my laundry lesson, I said, “I’m so glad you’re feeling better, Gram.”

She replied, “Well, honestly, I’ll be glad when I can do your laundry again, so it’s done right. You deserve better than wrinkled pants, Colby!”

I gave her a big hug as I laughed about it.

Now it’s Thursday, and we’re dressing for our last practice of the season. Tomorrow night, we’ll be up in Portland, in a big fancy locker room, getting ready for the game of our lives.

I jump when I hear Coach holler, “Gather round!”

“What’s this?” Derek asks. “The big motivating speech comes tomorrow night, doesn’t it?”

Coach smiles. “Yes. It does. But this afternoon I have some good news to share. I just got off the phone and wanted to tell you we’ll have some special guests at the game tomorrow night.”

We look at one another, question marks floating over our heads.