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“It sounds a bit toxic to me.”
I wince. “Why do you say that?”
Dr. Forrester puts down her pen and leans against the desk. “Do you want my honest opinion?”
“Sure,” I say while nodding.
“How did you get into drugs in the first place?”
“I told you. Millie took me to a party and then Jerry-“
“No, no,” says Dr. Forrester while holding up a hand. “Let me rephrase. How did you get addicted to the pills?”
I make a face, knowing where she’s getting at, but not really wanting to answer. She stares back at me, waiting for my response. Sighing, I lower my gaze, giving into her intent expression. “I injured my shoulder and Coach gave me the pills.”
“Why did he give you the pills?”
“To get me back into the game without any downtime.”
I chance a glance at her, thankful she isn’t writing anything down. She’s shaking her head with a disappointed look on her face, which I know isn’t directed at me. “Why didn’t your coach want you to have any downtime?”
I wince. “Because I was his star player.”
“And then what happened?”
I can feel my fingers trembling as memories of the past surface, taking me back to last semester when day and night blurred; when one minute I would be dancing and the next minute I would be slamming onto the floor. To a time when I didn’t know who I was or what I wanted.
“I was solving my problems through the pills,” I finally say. “And when that didn’t satisfy me, I turned to harder stuff.”
Dr. Forrester nods and I watch her turn her attentions to my file. Several minutes pass in silence, which tick by so slowly I feel like I’ve spent hours sitting in this chair.
“Are you sure you want to play football?” she finally asks.
“It’s all I’ve ever wanted,” I breathe. “Football is the one thing that still ties me to my mother.”
Mom never played football, but she always loved coming to my games and my practices. Before she got sick, we would invite over all the relatives and play in the yard before Thanksgiving dinner. She would invite over all my friends during the summers, and while we played, she would make us lemonade or slice watermelon for us to eat as a snack. She always seemed so happy for me.
I can still hear her voice cheering for me.
“Then I would set your teammates and coach to the side,” says Dr. Forrester, drawing me back to the present. “And play football for yourself.”
I make a face, feeling uncomfortable. “But,” I start, “I need to prove myself to the team.”
Dr. Forrester shakes her head, making me feel even more uncomfortable. I already made a plan, a good plan. “You don’t need to prove yourself to your team.”
“But-“
“The only one you should prove yourself to is you,” she says while pointing at me.
I blink back at her, feeling slightly stunned.
“Your coach and teammates may never be happy with you and that’s alright,” says Dr. Forrester while closing my file, signaling our time is nearly up. “What’s important is that you’re happy with yourself. Do you understand?”
I nod vigorously, my lips lifting into a wide smile while I rise from the couch. There’s an extra pep in my step as I leave her office, her words repeating in my head. She’s right. I should work hard for myself. I should get into the NFL for myself and for no one else. As I exit into the fresh air, I close my eyes, knowing that this year I am going to work my ass off harder than all the years before. I am going to be the first one at practice and the last one to leave. I am going to train like I’ve never trained before.Although, not like Seth, I tell myself. I won’t go the crazy route with it.
But I will get off that bench. And when I do, I will be the one that takes us to the Subdivision and get us that trophy; proving not only to everyone on that team, but to myself, that I can rise above my mistakes.
5
