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“What’s in the box?” she questions, sitting up and criss-crossing her legs.
Swallowing hard, I reply, “My football stuff. I didn’t throw it all away.”
Olivia seems surprised and confused. I wipe my hands on my pajama pants, take a deep breath, and open it. I don’t have to rummage far to find why I got this down to start with. My football hoodie. I take it out and sit down next to Olivia, rubbing my thumbs over the fabric where I’m holding it. There’s so many memories wrapped up in this one piece of clothing. Pregame fun, the parties, time with my brothers, it’s all here. Olivia rests her head on my shoulder, a silent motion of support. It’s enough to get me talking.
“I still don’t want to wear it, but since you love hoodies, you can.”
At this, she lifts her head and I turn to look at her. “Really? You want me to wear your football hoodie?”
“Yeah, if you want to.”
She grins as if she just kicked my ass in the racing game. Olivia takes the hoodie from me and slips it on. It’s way too big, the sleeves too long, but she says, “Fits perfect.”
She does look good in it, that’s for sure. I smile and lean back against the headboard. The hard part is over.
Or not. “What else is in here?” Olivia asks as she peers into the box.
“Pictures mostly. Lucy is a sports photographer with the school, and she always took pictures of us before she moved to hockey. There’s even some from when we were younger, I think. She didn’t take all of those, though.”
Olivia glances back at me. “Can I look?”
With only a minimal amount of reluctance, I nod. She grabs a few of the envelopes, moves between my legs, and leans back against my chest. Before she opens the first one, she gently squeezes my injured knee. Then she pulls out the first set. Most of these are those Lucy took during games, but there are some from parties or dinners beforehand.
“Did Lucy take all of these?”
“Yeah.”
“She’s good,” Olivia comments as she pauses on a picture of Patrick, Jon, and me celebrating after Jon scored a touchdown. It’s hard to see myself in my uniform, playing alongside my brothers, in the pictures my sister took. I stopped playing, Lucy moved to hockey, and now Jon will graduate and won’t play anymore. We’ve fallen apart and got distant without the sport to hold us together. “Corey?”
“What?”
“I asked if this one was taken during a bad time for you.” She looks over her shoulder at me. In her hands are two pictures, both from two separate parties. The picture she’s talking about is in her right hand, based on how she’s holding it up more. Both are similar. I’m standing in the middle with a brother on each side, and Jamal next to Patrick. Funny how we always seemed to be standing like that.
The picture in question was indeed taken during a rough patch. It was one of my hardest during my junior year. I had been depression-free for two months and then it smacked into me so hard, it knocked me down for a month. “Yeah, how did you know?” I finally answer.
She holds up the pictures, side by side. “Can’t you see the difference?”
I study myself in each of them, trying to discover how she could tell when I was depressed. Then I see it. There’s a difference in my eyes. I drank more, so that doesn’t help the glazed, hooded look, but the misery is clearly shining brightly from them. “My eyes?”
“And your smile. It’s not as full in this one. That’s what gave it away for me. I love your genuine smiles, and that is definitely not one.”
There’s no need for me to reply. Instead, I kiss her temple, loving that she can tell the difference. Olivia continues to thumb through them. The next envelope is more of my college games before she finds some from high school.
“How many girlfriends did you have in high school? You were cute in the high school, boy-ish, cocky football player kind of way.”
“I wasn’t ever cocky,” I defend. “I did have my fair share, though. I’m not cute anymore, Olivia?”
“No. You’ve grown into a man and men aren’t called cute.”
Her answer makes me laugh. “Fair enough. The girls always loved the football uniform the most,” I comment, the humorous tone replaced by a more somber one. I won’t ever wear another one.
Either Olivia doesn’t pick up on it, or she ignores it. She nods and says, “I can see the appeal, definitely.” Her eyes linger on a particular photo before moving past it. “But it’s not like it’s the only time you’re attractive. Like those faded jeans you wear? Those are my favorite because,” a small sigh escapes her, “you look really good in them. This,” she holds up the pictures, “doesn’t define you. Maybe it did then, but not now. Believe it or not, you’re better because of it too.”
I softly kiss her shoulder. “Thanks.” My voice is coarse and raw with way too many emotions stampeding inside of me.
Next, she thumbs through pictures from when we were kids. I lean my head against the headboard, not wanting to look anymore. I could handle the others, but I know what she’ll stumble upon with these. And that, I’m not sure I can deal with today. Knowing the moment has to be coming, I slip my hands underneath my hoodie and her shirt to lay my hands on her bare hips, closing my eyes.
“Oh, Corey,” Olivia whispers. “Such a beautiful family.” I squeeze her hips, so she’ll know I heard her, but I don’t open my eyes or move to look. She shifts against me. “Open your eyes.” I don’t. “Corey, c’mon.” Her voice is so gentle, it hurts. A sharp, intense pain shooting right into my heart. “These are your parents. You should want to remember them, talk about them, and keep their memories alive.”
