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But practicing with him meant re-living a past that I wasn’t ready to face.
Chase: Grey?
Me: I can’t. I’m so sorry.
Chase replied with a picture of him in the bathroom, without a shirt. I would have loved the photo of his glorious abs and pecs if it didn’t remind me of my most embarrassing moment in the history of my life.
Me: Fine. Put your shirt back on!
My make-up had already begun to melt while I waited for Chase to meet me on the practice field. Dressed in black yoga pants, a charcoal razorback, and a pair of tennis shoes, I was ready for whatever athletic behavior the day would bring. I pulled my hair back into a ponytail.
“I seriously thought you were planning to bail.” He walked up behind me with a bag of footballs.
I sucked in a deep breath of air.
“What do you need me to do?” I threw my hands out to the side.
“You’ve caught an incredible pass. Can you throw them too?” Could I throw them? Hah! He’ll pay for that comment later.
“I’ll take your silence as a hell yes. I’m going to run to the end of the field, throw the ball to me and I’ll throw it back. Just an easy game of catch.”
An easy game of catch. Right… The game I played with my dad every day after school. The way he asked about my day and listened to the drama Olivia caused. Breathe in through your nose and out through your mouth. My chest rose and fell.
Chase took off running for the back field.
He pulled a ball out of the bag and sent it through the hair.
The throw was perfect. It would be effortless to catch.
I couldn’t. I let the ball fall.
“That’s okay. We’ll try again.” He pulled another ball out of the bag. The second throw was better than the first. I let it drop to the ground.
Chase looked off into the bleachers. “Maybe I need to be a little closer.” Chase took a few giant size steps forward.
Focus.
Catch this one.
Missing the passes felt like a giant disappointment to my dad.
“Here goes.” The ball sailed through the air.
I reached into the air at the perfect moment, grabbing the ball like a strong magnet pulling an object close. Told ya’…
“Nice one! Now, show me what you got.” He dropped into a stance, waiting to catch the ball.
I pulled my arm back, pointing to the back field with my other hand for aim. I squinted, ready. I released the ball. The spin was beautiful, just like Daddy taught me. The throw was perfect. He jumped into the air, missing the ball by mere inches.
“Again.” He sent the ball back to me. Reaching for the ball became easier with every attempt.
For Chase, it seemed to grow more difficult.
“Dude.” I flagged him over. “you’re jumping too soon. Wait a few more second then reach, or jump, whatever you need to do. You’re moving early and that’s why you’re missing the ball. Settle into your stance, and wait for the ball to come to you.”
It was great advice. I’d heard my dad tell the same thing to other players, some of which were starters in the NFL.
We threw the ball back and forth until the sun set and the stadium lights came on.
