Page 8 of Between the Pipes

Me: How do I get there without a car?

Coach B: Stop spiraling, kid.

Coach B: Uber to the arena to grab your gear. I’ll get something set up for you by the time you get here.

Coach B: Whatever you can’t fit in a suitcase, Jones will pack up and ship to you once you find a place.

Me: Find a place? Isn’t there team housing?

Coach B: Not in the PHL, kiddo. They might put you up in a hotel for a bit until they get the contract signed that you’re staying up there. The extra money offsets the housing benefit you get from us.

Coach B: I don’t expect to see you back here unless it’s to visit after the season is over

I’m getting called up.

Holy shit. I’m moving up to the PHL. I mean, yeah it’s not the NAPH, but it’s one step closer. It means I will actually be playing with guys who have played in the NAPH. I’ll be facing shots from the same guys who have played with and against some of the greatest players in the world.

I’m not exactly sure how long I’m frozen before Eric Jones, my roommate – I guess former roommate now – comes through the door.

“I see that Coach got ahold of you,” he laughs and throws his coat on the back of one of the dining chairs. “Don’t worry about getting an Uber. I can take you to the barn tonight and even drive you up to Harrisburg. It might be the last time we get to hang out, Little Prince since my call-up days are pretty much behind me now.”

In a daze, I follow Jones through to my bedroom and watch as he pulls my suitcases out of the closet and starts unloading my dresser into them. After about thirty seconds, my anxiety over him doing it wrong kicks in, and I shove him aside to do it myself. After the last few months of living together, he’s gotten to know most of my quirks. To say that my disabilities have made me a bit of a control freak is an understatement. It’s easier to cover the fact that I struggle with reading and numbers when everything is in its proper place.

Shit. Now I have to start over with another person. I don’t want to go through all of the explanations again. And what if the new roommate doesn’t understand that writing notes is not going to work for me? Jones understands. He’s got a younger brother with dyslexia.

Wait a second. I won’t have to have a roommate. I’ll be on my own and Jones will need to be…

“How can you drive me? You have to play tomorrow in Toledo.”

Jones gives me a smile before zipping up one of my suitcases and hauling it toward the door.

“My sister-in-law went into labor earlier than expected and Coach is putting me in as a healthy scratch for this road trip. I’ll be flying out to go see the happy family for a few days and can book the ticket to fly out of Harrisburg or even Pittsburgh if I need to. I can drop you off at the arena on the way and maybe catch a game before heading back down to Maryland after I meet my new nibling.”

My brain is firing too many cylinders at once to register what he’ saying right away. All I can make out is that I’m heading to Harrisburg… tonight.

The two-ish hours in the car with Jones is an experience I’m not looking forward to ever repeating anytime this century. How the man still has a license is beyond me. I swear if it was physically possible to break the sound barrier in a Toyota, he would. I’ve never gripped an oh-shit handle that hard in my life.

It’s super early when we arrive, so we grab a hotel room to crash out for a few hours before he will take me to meet my new coach and the team. It still feels like I’m missing something – like there were about twenty steps that should have taken place before I got in the car. While Jones is checking us into one of the many options for two-star hotels, I pull out my phone to try and look up what the usual process is supposed to be. Before I can open the browser, I see a string of texts from my agent starting around midnight.

Brad: Sorry for the late notice, Iz.

Brad: I’m sending a car for you in the morning.

Brad: YOU’RE GOING UP

Brad: It’s already signed off on that you’re up to stay unless you royally fuck it up.

Brad: At the very least, you’re in Harrisburg for the rest of the season. Clarke ain’t ever gonna get to play pro again.

The last message was from about fifteen minutes ago, so I figure he’s still awake despite it being almost three in the morning.

“What the hell are you doing up, Iz?” Brad bites out as soon as the call connects.

“Well, if someone wasn’t blowing up my phone, I would be asleep already,” I tell him just to listen to him sputter. He just makes it so easy to fuck with sometimes. It helps that we’ve known each other since freshman orientation at Wrenshaw.

“Kidding, B. Coach gave me the heads-up last night and Jones brought me up since he’s catching a flight to go meet his new niece or nephew later today.”

“So, no car, then? Alright. The only thing we’ve got an issue with is housing. They offered to put you up in the guest room of one of the staff until you find a place. Apparently with the holidays, the decent hotels are all booked up, and they want you rested and ready to start tonight.”

Great. I’m not only going to be encroaching on some old dude’s personal space and family time, I also get to try and not embarrass myself while trying to navigate a new city to find a place while also not falling behind on my game or outing the fact that I’m an essntially illiterate twenty-one year old.

“Can’t you find me a place?” I practically beg Brad. “I’ve never had to find my own apartment or anything before and I don’t have a clue where to even start. I don’t want to be intruding on the staff’s family more than I have to. I told you how rough it always was for me with adjusting to a new billet family back in Juniors.”

Brad sighs on the other end of the call. He’s been a part of my career since the agent Dad got me back when I was in Juniors decided to drop me when I refused to transfer to a more prestigious university. I know I’m asking a lot of him, but I just can’t do it alone. Not with also having to concentrate on the game.

“If it was Baltimore or a bigger city like DC, I would do it for you, Iz. But trying to find a place on your budget that isn’t some rando’s basement close enough to the arena that you won’t need a car is damn near impossible. Public transit in Harrisburg isn’t ideal for you. And none of the players on the team have space for a roommate. You know the salary discrepancies between the leagues. Most of the single guys are already rooming together and at max capacity.”

Jones knocks on my window to show me the room number before he heads to the trunk to grab out our clothing bags. If only Jones would get pulled up, then I would have the perfect roommate solution. He could find the apartment or house and everything could continue like how it’s been the last two months in Baltimore.

“Alright, fine. Jones got us a room at a hotel for the rest of the night. I guess I’ll meet my new host family at practice before the game.”

After a few more words, I hang up the phone and head into the building. Thankfully, Jones left the keys in the car for me to listen to the music, so I lock it up. All of my gear is still in the backseat, so I can’t risk it getting stolen. I can afford to replace it – barely, thanks to the savings from Mom and Dad – but it’s a bitch to break in new pads.