Birthday(47)

“I didn’t,” Dad says. I blink in surprise. He shrugs. “I was on my way back from Nashville with the car…”

“Then how…?”

“Eric found you,” Dad says. I’ll have to process that later, because right now all I can think of are the last things I said to him, and I can’t deal with feeling like a monster on top of feeling like literal shit. “Thank god for him.”

“Yeah.”

“Now listen,” Dad says. He wipes his eyes and does an admirable job collecting himself. “I’m taking all the blame on this one.” I start to say something, but he glares at me, so I clamp my mouth shut. “I ignored warning signs. I’ve got my excuses, but I don’t accept excuses from my students and I won’t accept them from myself. I failed you, and I’m sorry, and it’s time to make it right.”

“Okay,” I say. Where did this Dad come from? There’s always been coach Dad and home Dad, and I’ve never seen them fused like this before.

“I will not lose you too.” He shakes his head and clenches his fists. “I just won’t. So you’re gonna do exactly what I say, all right?”

“All right…”

“Therapy starts next week,” he says. “Therapy for you, therapy for me, and therapy for both of us together. We’re going full-court press on this.”

I can’t help smiling despite the circumstances. Of course he’s approaching this like a coach.

“And no more football,” he says. I roll my eyes even though it hurts. He looks thoughtful. “Were you trying to get kicked off the team?”

“I don’t know,” I say. “Not on purpose. Maybe.”

“You don’t want to play football,” he says.

I turn from him and stare out into the hall. The urge to lie is still there, but as I squeeze a fistful of blanket in my good hand I realize it’s beyond pointless now.

“No,” I say.

“Why’d you start again then?” he says. I shrug, mostly because in retrospect my reasoning seems pretty insane. “Okay. Well, why didn’t you tell me you wanted to quit?”

“It made you happy,” I say.

“For Christ’s sake, son,” he says, “you being alive makes me happy. You’re my kid.”

“Okay,” I say. I suddenly feel infinitely small and stupid. He rubs his temples and sighs.

The hospital machines beep around us, filling the silence. I hear a nurse pushing a cart down the hallway. I turn toward Dad as much as I can, my cheek scraping against the rough cotton pillow. He looks straight into my eyes.

“I know there’s more to what happened tonight than just football. You can tell me that when you’re ready. But for now, let’s just get you home.”

My pulse hammers in my chest, afraid that he’ll keep pushing me. Or hopeful that he will. Isn’t that what I’ve been desperate for this whole time?

“I’ll tell you soon,” I say.

Dad scratches his chin and looks up at the ceiling, a thoughtful little rumble emanating from his chest. “Okay, son. That’s all I can ask.”

I breathe out a sigh of relief. I’m not ready yet. I need the words, and I need to figure out what stops me from saying them, but I have to get there. What other choice is there?

He stands and says, “I’ll go get Eric now.”

My head falls back onto the pillow and there’s a period of drowsy meditation, maybe thirty seconds, maybe an hour. I don’t know. Eric’s distant voice pulls me back up and I see that his shirt is a wrinkled, stained mess, his eyes haunted in a way that punches through everything to fill me with sadness. How could my Eric look that way? He’s always been so carefree, so lackadaisical, even in a place that should have ground those qualities out of him. Who would be monstrous enough to shake him like this?

But then I start to remember.

“You’re back,” I say, my voice raspy.

“How’d your talk go?” Eric says as he stares down at me. I look up into his face, half exhausted and half desperate cheer, and I can see he’s been crying. I look at my bandaged knuckles and shame adds to the crust of pain and filth clogging every part of me.

“Good,” I say. I start to ask how he found me, but what explanation could there be? He’s my Eric, and I needed him, and he was there.

“That’s good,” he says. He picks at the bed of his thumbnail, coughs, and finds something interesting in the corner to look at.

“I’m sorry.”

“I’m sorry too,” Eric says.

I take as deep a breath as I can. Maybe now’s the time to tell him. But as I try to find the courage to tell Eric, I finally understand that maybe courage was never the problem. Maybe the problem is that I hate this thing about myself, so I assume everyone else will too. But Eric? The Eric who sits through hours of movies he doesn’t like? The Eric who came over to hang out, even when all I did was lie in a field and be quiet next to him? The Eric who knew to find me? The Eric here, next to me, now?

There’s more to it, and less, and all of it through a medicated haze, but in this quiet moment I resolve that I will tell him who I really am, who I want to become. I’ll tell everyone.

“There’s something I’ve never told you.”