I could start a podcast.I could talk about soccer things, but also about life after soccer, when the time comes.Maybe I could try out different jobs and talk about my experiences.I bet a lot of people would be willing to let a professional athlete shadow them for a day.It could help drive business to those places.I immediately think of Rachel’s account for Oh Crap!I could use my name for good, especially helping small businesses.
Would anyone even tune in?Yes, I think they would.Even if I was bad at a job.Especially if I were bad at the job.I’ve been the butt of jokes for so long that this wouldn’t even be a stretch for me.My videos of my teammates have hit all-time high views for me on ClikClak.I record a note in my phone to talk to Leora, our public relations person.She might have some ideas for me.Joey might be able to help, too.Maybe we could do the podcast together.
Putting notes in my phone is new for me, too.The simple act of recording the note helps me remember that I have a task to do.Look at me, getting my shit together.
This is killing an entire flock of birds with one stone.
As soon as I talk to Joey and Leora, I’m calling Rachel.I’ll have a plan.A direction.An adventure to go on that she can ride shotgun for.Or maybe she drives sometimes, too.It’ll be a journey we can take together.Our own bucket lists.
I step out of the shower, energized by my brilliance.This is going to be great.Then I hear it.There’s a thumping sound.It takes me a moment to realize it’s the door.Someone’s knocking.
Dripping wet, I fasten the towel around my waist.No one ever knocks on my door.Ma has a key and lets herself in.This can’t be good.I yank open the door, expecting to see police or something like that.
I do not expect to see Rachel standing there, her feet planted, trying to make her petite frame seem big.She doesn’t say anything.Her eyes do a slow blink, and her jaw goes slack.I glance down.Oh yeah, I probably have that effect.
"It’s not like you haven’t seen it before," I offer.
"Yeah, but it’s wet and … hot."She licks her lips.She’d better stop looking at me with so much lust in her eyes.This towel isn’t forgiving, and my reciprocated feelings are about to become very physically evident.I turn around."Give me a second."
In my bedroom, I grab the first thing I see, which are my gray sweatpants.Why is she here?What does she have to say?Will she listen to me?Will she give me another chance?I slide them on without even bothering to put on underwear.
"Yeah, I don’t know that’s much better.Can you at least put a shirt on?It’s hard to think with all that"—she makes a circle motion with her hand—"on display."
"Fine."I stomp back to my room and grab a T-shirt.She wants me fully dressed.That doesn’t bode well for … anything.I pull the shirt over my head.She wants something from me.No matter what it is, I’ll give it to her, even if it means letting her go.
Rachel is perched on the edge of the couch."I deserve love," she announces before I’m even close to her.
I cross the room and kneel in front of her."Of course you do."I want to take her hands in mine, but they are knotted tightly in her lap.Her body language is screaming, "Don’t touch me!"I have to respect that.
"I am worthy of love."Her voice breaks.
"Of course you are."
"Will you just let me finish?"She stands up and brushes past me.She starts pacing the length of my living room and then takes a deep breath.Her voice still shaking, she says, "I deserve love.I am worthy of love.I am lovable.I’m ready for love."
I wait for her to continue.
She turns and looks at me."I deserve love.I am worthy of love.I am lovable.I’m ready for love."
Almost imperceptibly, I nod.
Rachel throws her hands in the air."I’m ready for love!Ready for love with you.To love you and to be loved by you.And maybe we’re not there yet.Maybe we don’t know each other well enough yet, but the keyword there isyet.So maybe you’re not ready for love.Can you be ready for yet?"
I wait for a minute to make sure she’s done.The silence fills the apartment.Okay, I think she’s done.
"Can I talk now?"
She nods, those big, hot fudge eyes taking up her whole face.
Now I’m pacing.Then I turn back to face her.I have to see her expression when I say this to her."Before I met you, I was lost.I didn’t know who I was or where I was heading.I was stuck in an endless cycle of doomscrolling and self-pity.Turns out, at least if the team psychologist is to be believed, I’m having an identity crisis, which is totally normal for athletes toward the end of their careers.My whole life has been soccer, and it’s going to end within the next few years.I don’t know what comes next.I’m in a little bit of an anxiety-depression-panic cycle because of it."
"I can relate," she says flatly.
I smile."I bet you can.You just unknowingly jumped into the middle of my downward spiral.And all I could think of was that I wasn’t enough.It turns out that it’s not really because I’m not enough, it’s just that I don’t know who I am yet.Outside of soccer, obviously."
"Obviously," she echoes.
"And how can I be with you if I don’t know who I am?"
