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I laugh. “Something like that. Anyway, I’ve had a few moments today where I’ve felt something start to shift inside me like maybe I might really be able to climb out of the dark because I can see the light filtering through.”
“Good. That’s so good. I’m so proud of you. Now, go play your heart out for those kids.”
We hang up, and I throw my backpack over my shoulders, stopping to look at myself in the mirror. Yes, something’s shifting. It started in the elevator, then again out on the field,and maybe even a little when one big, annoying football-playing fool dared me to actually do what I came to do.
______
Mingling is not my thing, especially in a room full of people who remind me of the life I left behind when I chose Josh. Joining the owners in their box to watch the game is like stepping into a reality show for the rich and famous.
Ed quickly greets me and then his wife, Elaine, who spends a few minutes asking me about Josh and songwriting. Both are warm and welcoming and introduce me to their family and friends. After introductions, I score a plate of food and back myself into a corner.
Unsurprisingly, it’s delicious. I mean, these people wouldn’t eat crap. I have no idea how long I’m expected to stay after the game, and if I’m going to do anything other than fall into a chair, I need the energy. Starving, I take my time savoring each bite.
After a bit, I decide I can’t hide in the corner any longer, and move out into the open-air seating in front of the box, taking a seat in the back. To my left is a group of women who look like a cast of supermodels dressed in team colors and different players' names and numbers. They stand posing and snapping pictures of each other while my eyes don’t miss that one is wearing number twenty-four.
She’s tall, long-legged, with dark, almost black hair, and looks like she just stepped off a runway. I smile. Of course, the pretty boy superstar football player I spent two hours with, having no idea who he was, has a wife or girlfriend who looks like she belongs on the cover of Vogue. She’s beautiful. Flawless.
I settle into my designated ordinary girls' section, party of one, and try to watch the game. I’m here, and this really is a once-in-a-lifetime experience. I check the score, and the Tigers are up by seven. I watch the tiny players move the ball from oneend of the field to the other, only briefly thinking about what I’m supposed to do when the game is over.
“Girl! You gave me chills!” I turn my head, and the model who belongs to number ninety-eight is looking at me. “The whole thing brought tears to my eyes.”
I watch as the group of women all nod in agreement. It’s a little creepy how much they all look alike.
“Thank you,” I say awkwardly, not really knowing what else to say.
“Seriously. It was so beautiful, and that clip beforehand. I don’t even know how you were able to do that after–” She stops.
“I’m so sorry for your loss,” Number forty-five says, tipping her head in sincerity. “What a great guy.”
Again, I have no idea what to say. “Thanks. He was.”
Number twenty-four stands. “You should come sit over here with us.”
I sit, trying to figure out how to get out of it. After all the stress and emotions, I really just want to be by myself, but knowing I shouldn’t be rude, I stand and scoot down.
Number ninety-eight looks at me. “You really have the most beautiful voice. They said you’re a songwriter? We tried to look you up. Have you released any albums?”
This I can talk about. It’s business. “Actually, I write and sell to other artists.”
“Really?” Number forty-five’s perfect eyebrows almost hit her hairline. “You should definitely be singing your own stuff. I wish I had your voice. I’d be touring the world.”
The group agrees, and their quest to spur me to stardom becomes their top priority. I’ve heard this all before, and it’s a big ‘no thanks’ for me. I let them go on and dream about the life they think I should have. Eventually, they move on to other topics, and I keep to myself.
“So, what’s up with Sean?” Number ninety-eight asks number twenty-four, who has Greyson across her back in an oversized jersey and maybe nothing else. I can’t help it that my ears perk up at this. “Tyrell said that he’s been different since being released. Are his ribs still bothering him?”
Number twenty-four straightens. “No, he’s feeling good. He’s glad to be back out there. It was hard for him to sit out. Too much downtime.”
“Well, I love Sean. You’re so lucky. He’s the sweetest guy.” Number ninety-eight squeezes her arm.
“I know.” Number twenty-four squeals and scrunches her nose like a giddy schoolgirl. “And he’s all mine.”
Yes, honey, that giant tool is all yours.
In the next breath, the primped and primed decide it’s time for more selfies, and seeing there are only a few minutes left in the game, I’m ready to excuse myself.
Back in the box, I thank the McNeils and search for Miranda so she can help me find the room with the waiting piano. Having time to warm up and a moment to myself will help put me at ease after such a surreal day.
She’s easy to find amidst the sea of people outside the box and escorts me to the large conference room, where the kids and families will be ushered after the game.
