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JACKSON
NINE MONTHS AFTER THEY MET…
Sitting on the recliner in the living room, I throw the tennis ball against the wall over again and over again. Since my accident, I’ve spent so much time in this damn chair I’m surprised it hasn’t swallowed me whole. Although some days I wish it would.
The damage to my knee was so extreme the doctor refused to perform both surgeries at once. Originally, he was super optimistic. Because of my age and physical shape, he was confident I’d be healed enough to start physical therapy before Christmas. The doctor was wrong. It took eight full weeks for me to recover from my MCL surgery. Now, here we are in January and I’m three weeks post-op from having my ACL repaired. I haven’t left the house since October except to go to the hospital or follow-up appointments. The boredom is real, and it’s driving me crazy.
The rhythmic sound of the tennis ball as it hits against the wood paneling of the wall is enough to annoy the hell out of anyone. Yet, I find it soothing. Maybe I really have lost my mind. Hell, I’ve watched enough daytime television for it to be possible. On the coffee table sits the uneaten grilled cheese and tomato soup that my mom made me for lunch. The pain meds are supposed to be taken with food. But, I’ve been on them for so long now that the rule doesn’t really apply to me anymore. They no longer do much.
“Jackson, baby?” My mom calls out from the kitchen table while folding laundry. I have the recliner turned, facing away from her. “Wanna give that a rest and maybe watch a little TV?”
“No, I’m tired of watching that crap.”
“How about playing some video games?”
“I don’t feel like doing that either.”
Thump, thump, thump.The timing of my throws is spot on.
“Jackson Michael Nash, so help me God if you don’t stop throwing that thing against my wall, I’m going to smother you in your sleep with a pillow.” My mother’s hand slams down on the table, and instead of catching the ball, I let it drop, watching as it rolls under the couch. “Thank you, Jesus.”
From the safety of the living room, I mock her words. Underneath me, my phone vibrates, but I refuse to check it. When I got home from the hospital the first time, everyone from the team and school was calling and texting to check in on me. Now that my injury is old news, it’s only my closest friends and Rory. None of which I’m in the mood to talk to right now. Reaching for the pain pills, I grab the bottle off the coffee table and toss one in my mouth. It’s too early for my next dose, but I’m in pain and if I take it now, I’ll be able to sleep for a while. Pushing the back of the recliner almost flat, I close my eyes and pray that when I wake up, all of this will be some horrible nightmare.
Unfortunately, when I wake, I’m stuck in the same reality. Rubbing my eyes with the palms of my hands, I let out a frustrated groan.
“You snore.” Her voice cuts through my silence.
With an annoyed sigh, I open my eyes and stare at the ceiling. “No, I don’t.”
“Uh, yeah you do. Pretty loudly too, I might add.”
“Rory, what do you want?” Putting the chair up, I glare at her.
Sitting on the floor with her legs crossed, Rory has textbooks spread out in front of her. She has a notebook open and a pen in hand.
“I brought your homework.” She reaches into her book bag and pulls out a stack of papers three inches thick and tosses them at me. “You’re welcome.”
“I told you last time, you don’t have to do this.”
My teachers and parents are trying their best to make sure I keep up on my schoolwork despite all the days I’m missing. It’s their way of making sure I graduate on time. Like it matters anymore anyway. My grades are good, but not good enough to warrant any type of scholarships, and my days of playing football are over.
“I think the words you’re looking for are ‘thank you, Rory, for going out of your way and hanging out with me while I’m passed out on the recliner snoring like a damn pig.’ Jerk.”
“I never asked you to hang out with me.”
“You don’t have to ask me. You’re my friend. I want to be here.”
“Well, I don’t want you here. I’m tired of hearing you tell me about school and everything else that’s going on. I don’t friggin’ care. You annoy the hell out of me.”
Rory stares at me, unblinking. Her lips are pursed together and her cheeks are turning red. She’s pissed. Good.
“Since your accident, you’ve become a real ass. So, you can’t play football anymore. It’s not the end of the world,” she says while shoving her things back into her book bag before standing up.
“You wouldn’t understand. You lose the one thing that matters most to you in the world, then see how you act afterward.”
“Really?” Rory’s hand is on her hip as she glares at me. “I’ve never lost anything important to me?” Shit. That was the wrong thing to say. Unable to look at her, I stare out the window until she finally snaps. “Selfish asshole.”
Rory storms out of the room and I don’t breathe again until I hear my front door slam shut. What was I thinking running my mouth like that? To her, of all people? Reaching into the side of the recliner, I pull out my phone. I should call her and apologize, but will she even answer? Maybe a text will be better. My fingers hover over the keyboard, but I can’t bring myself to type.
