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I didn’t let his comments get me down or bother me. I also didn’t worry too much about whether he was being overbearing because I’d recently learned his secret, or if it was because I just took his shit. Regardless, I listened to what he said and took it all in stride. I wasn’t going to let myself take it too personally.
When the end of practice rolled around an hour later, I was already expecting him in our usual spot, and he didn’t disappoint.
Skipping the obvious, I asked as I approached, “Ready?”
“Yes,” he answered.
That familiar silence followed us as we got inside and continued as I drove for a little bit.
Two minutes was as long as I could contain my curiosity before I broke down. “Do you miss it?”
Not a total idiot, he asked, “Playing?”
“Yeah.” As much as I tried to reason how he’d made it so long, I still couldn’t really comprehend the idea of not playing. I couldn’t.
He slid his gaze over to me as he nodded, so honest and straightforward it caught me off-guard. “I miss football every day.” Just as quickly as his gaze had moved to mine, it moved back as he swallowed.
So… “Why haven’t you, then?” I asked before I could talk myself out of it. What was the worst he would do? Not answer? Tell me to mind my own business?
Curiosity killed the Sal. Let it be said I went down in a blaze of glory asking Reiner Kulti about a secret I wasn’t sure he would share willingly.
Why he’d decided to share it with me, I still wasn’t positive, but I’d take what I could get.
A slow steady exhale made its way out of him. “Do you know why I retired?”
He’d torn his ACL for the third time. There’d been rumors from the prior tear that he wouldn’t come back one hundred percent, or even ninety or eighty or seventy percent. He was too old, people had said. When it finally happened, stacked on top of arthritis in his toe, and other small injuries that managed to add up over the years, everyone thought it was inevitable.
Reiner ‘The King’ Kulti had announced his retirement shortly afterward, ending his legacy.
Was I going to say that? Definitely not.
I settled for a nod and a “yeah.”
“It took a long time for me to heal,” he said. Then he didn’t say anything afterward.
I found myself slowly turning my head to give him an incredulous look I realized I had no right to give him. “Okay. Then what?”
He shrugged.
Reiner Kulti shrugged like ‘oh, my ACL took a long time to heal’ was reason enough to explain why he hadn’t played his beloved sport in two years. He wasn’t fooling me. He still loved it. You didn’t give up a great love so easily. I could tell by the look in his arrogant eyes when he watched the team. He looked at some players like they were complete pieces of crap he wished he could shake until they got things right. You didn’t look like that unless you still cared.
He wasn’t fooling me.
“That took what? Six months? Eight months?” I asked, blinking at him slowly.
When he said, “It hasn’t completely healed,” it was proof enough for me he was full of shit. He didn’t strike me as the type to want to make a big deal about his injuries.
So I said something I would have said to any other player I had a decent relationship with—he didn’t exactly count—“Bullshit.”
“Excuse me?”
I laughed. “That’s bullshit. Your knee still hurts? Come on. Do I look like I was born yesterday? I’ve been in some sort of pain since I was sixteen, and I’m sure you have been too.” I shook my head and laughed again before focusing back on the road. “Jeez. Next time tell me to mind my own business instead of telling me something so ridiculous.”
What the hell else had I been expecting? He’d said more than I would have bet my life on to begin with.
“You don’t know anything,” he snapped back.
Once again, another thing I shouldn’t have been surprised at. “I know enough.” Because I did, his bullshit was evident from a mile away.
