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“I haven’t gotten the chance to finish furnishing it yet.”
“How long have you been living here?”
“About a year,” I admitted. “But you know how it is during football season. I’m on the road half of the time. Then, when I’m here, all I want to do is fall asleep on the couch playing PlayStation.”
“I guess some things never change,” he said with a smile.
“I guess not,” I said, relaxing.
Putting down his travel bag, we headed back out to get something to eat. This was going to be my first chance to convince him not to leave me forever. I had to choose precisely the right place.
“Is this a Tennessee-themed bar?” Claude asked, scanning the decorations lining the walls.
“Bluegrass Bourbons,” I said proudly. “It’s a whiskey bar. Doesn’t it make you feel at home?”
Claude looked around at everything from the vanity license plate that read ‘TN2STEP’ to the miniaturized whiskey barrels in the lit glass case.
“It makes me feel something,” Claude said hesitantly.
“Everything’s fried here. It’s amazing.”
“Do they have a salad?”
“A fried salad! But you should try the catfish. It’s so good,” I said enthusiastically.
“When’s my workout?”
“I’m sure it’s not for a few days,” I said, reaching for my phone. Reading the message from Papa, I said, “It’s tomorrow morning at 9 AM.”
“Wow, that’s quick,” Claude responded nervously.
“It is,” I admitted, hearing the deafening footsteps as the end of our friendship approached. “Maybe this isn’t the best place. We’ll come here for our celebratory dinner after you make the team,” I said, further building his expectations.
Leaving there, we found the healthiest restaurant we could. Claude ordered two skinless chicken breasts over lettuce while I ate something with flavor. An hour after that, we headed to the park to loosen him up.
There was no point in doing drills past throwing the ball around. He wasn’t going to gain anything from one practice 18 hours before the workout. The best we could hope for was for him to get a good night’s sleep. So, that’s what we did.
Getting back to my place before dark, I set Claude up with sheets and one of my pillows, and then headed to bed. I desperately needed sleep, and again it didn’t come. By the time the sun shone in through my window, I felt like I was going insane.
All night, I kept thinking about what would happen if things didn’t go well today. I had just gotten Claude back. I wasn’t ready to lose him again. Everything had to go perfectly. I couldn’t be sure what I would do if they didn’t.
Dragging myself out of bed, I met Claude in the living room. He was sitting on the couch dressed with his folded sheets and pillow next to him.
“Sleep well?” I asked, sounding like I had swallowed a frog.
“I got a few hours,” he replied, not looking rested.
“Was the couch not comfortable?” I asked in a panic.
“No, it was fine,” he reassured me. Then he closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and said, “Thoughts.”
I wasn’t sure why, but him saying that made me feel a little better.
“I get it. How do you feel? You feel ready?”
His head barely moved as he nodded. He wasn’t going to let me in. Even now, as I felt like I would explode, he was a locked box of emotions. Nothing got out.
Or, maybe I was putting more weight on this than it deserved. Maybe he truly didn’t give a shit whether things went well at the workout. Maybe he had seen enough of me and my child-like life to know that he wanted no part of it or football.
