Page 80 of Playing By Ear

“Sure,” he choked out, knowing it would take a miracle to move an appointment with the nation’s best retinitis pigmentosa specialist.

“When I could no longer make out words on a page,” she said, “it was frankly a relief. No more eyestrain headaches.”

Always the bright side with her. Always the stiff upper lip.

“You’re a therapist,” Perry said. “Your best words are spoken. I’m a writer, a writer who can’t read.” His voice broke at last, and his eyes overflowed. He didn’t bother wiping away the tears. It would be like bailing out a sinking submarine.

“Shall your dad and I pop over to see you?”

Through the phone Perry heard the dull clank of a cast-iron pan against a hob. Dinner preparations. “That’s not necessary.”

“You sure? It’s no bother.”

“I’ve got plans on with Jamie.” No, he’d told her Jamie was at the party. “Later tonight.”

“All right.” She sounded skeptical. “If you change your mind, we’re here for you.”

“I know.” Why did others’ support so often feel a threat? “Thanks.”

“And we’re so proud of you.”

He forced out another “Thanks,” then hung up.

So it was happening. Another lurch forward in this worst of all road trips.

What was he going to do about it? Sit in the dark, choking on self-pity? Rage impotently against the literal dying of the light? Or stuff it all down and go on as if nothing had changed?

These were shit options. He would choose acceptance and adaptation, as his mother had always done.

He would choose action.

Alllll bow to the Waaaaarriors

They’re ever victooooorious

Jamie could barely hear himself think over the singing in Fergus and John’s flat. The Rainbow Regiment had been invited to share the celebration, as the Warriors couldn’t have won without the support of the folk who’d sat or stood beside all pitches in all weathers.

Lord Andrew, ever the center of attention, was leading the fans in a progression of dubious rhymes to the “Seven-Nation Army” riff.

Our strikers are fucking notoooorious

Scoooring big goals so gloooorious

Jamie joined in the delirium, dancing and chanting and of course downing beer after beer until all past and present worries seemed but a hazy dream.

Two giddy hours later, he joined his fellow defenders near the flat’s balcony door, which sported a handwritten sign, DO NOT OPEN in large red letters. Underneath, in smaller black print, it read: Lest you fall and die, followed by a smiley heart.

Liam grinned when he saw Jamie. “Your top’s still wet, mate?”

“Aye, it is.” He’d been splashed during Evan’s “baptism” in the shower, a rite presided over by Liam and Robert. Evan’s equalizer was his atonement for making them lose the previous two quarterfinals. “Hopefully I got some redemption on me for giving up that penalty in the first half.”

Katie gave his shoulder a soft punch. “That was bogus, and everyone knows it.”

Our defense is pure meritooorious

They’llllll transplant your coooorneas

Jamie glanced at the chanting Regiment members, then decided not to judge their lyrical prowess. It was the thought that counted.