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Ira completed a piece of me, and since he’s been gone, I’ve been left searching for what else will fit in his place.
The first few weeks after that phone call were rough. I did absolutely nothing but mope around and feel sorry for myself. I couldn’t even build up the courage to attend his funeral, for God’s sake.
It was in Houston, halfway across the world, and in the middle of the football season, which I selfishly used to rationalize my decision not to go. I told myself I couldn’t possibly leave my team. Not when they needed me most. I’d told myself Ira would understand, that he’d assure me I made the right decision…and maybe he would’ve.
But a part of me believes that the real reason why I chose not to go was because I wasn’t ready to say goodbye. Just like I hadn’t done that last night.
Because of that, I’ve learned that you never know when a goodbye will actually be the last.
A few weeks ago, I ordered a memorial picture of Ira. It was a photo I’d carefully selected, considering he “stopped aging” at forty. The photo finally arrived on my desk last night. It brought some emotion to my eyes, but thankfully, I was alone, and no one could see just how impactful it was.
“Where do you want to put it?” my assistant coach, Alfie Lewis, also known as Alf, asks me, holding the photo up at different angles around the team’s tunnel.
Alf is a vet when it comes to football. He played professionally for many years before retiring(un-injured)and opting to jump back into the game from the sidelines. We’re more alike than I’ll admit. That’s why I like to push his buttons most days.
“Try a little higher,” I call out, watching as Alf, a mere five-foot-seven, fully extends his arms up higher along the wall.
“Higher,” I add, waving my hand upward and watching as he stands up on his tiptoes, trying to push the photo up along the wall. “Higher, higher, higher, c’mon Alf!” I have to bite back a laugh as he loses his footing and stumbles slightly.
“Alright, Park.” He pulls back, the old grump side of him finding its way out. “Now you’re just taking the piss.”
I cross my arms in delight, a playful grin taking over my face. This is why we work so well together.
“What? Do you need a step stool or something?”
Alf grumbles to himself for a second before he reaches to the side and grabs a chair to stand on.
“Remember, I’m doing you a favor, Park.” He grimaces. “It’s not like you know how to turn a screwdriver.”
I see this as the perfect opportunity to take things one step further. “Yeah, but I do know how to screw your wife.”
Alf shoots me a glare, ready to step down from the chair. “I swear to God, Warren?—”
“That’s it! Place it right there,” I shout, and Alf freezes in his tracks as he holds the picture in place.
“Don’t move!” I demand. “Put it right there.”
Despite our banter, Alf secures it against the wall and hops down from the chair.
We both take a step back, intently admiring it for a moment. “Do you think he’d like it?” Alf asks, peering up at me.
“Probably not,” I joke. “That's too bad, though. I like it,” I admit. “Besides, now he’ll always be with us—before we start a match and after. In approval or not…”
“Heyo, Coach!” The now team captain, Wilks, runs down the tunnel, patting me on the back as the team follows suit. “Are we starting practice any time soon, or are you and Alf too busy playing home makeover?”
Wilks is a total smart ass, true-and-true—I’m Alf in his eyes. It’s a vicious cycle. Wilks irks me, and I irk Alf.
What can you do?
“You know what, Wilks?” I throw my arm across his shoulder as the rest of the team joins us. “Weareabout to start practice. And because of you, the whole team can warm up with ten laps around the pitch.”
His face falls flat. “Oh c’mon, Coach?—”
“Go on.” I shoo them away, nodding in the direction of the field. “Alf and I have to decide what color we’re painting the walls. Don’t we, Alf?”
A smirk is plastered across Alf’s lips as he shakes his head, and the lads drag themselves onto the field, groaning in annoyance. “You’re a real dick, you know that?” He laughs.
“I know.” I place my whistle between my lips. “And I wouldn’t have it any other way.”
