Page 117 of Your Play to Call

Maybe I’ll call her? Fuck. I don’t know.

It’s game day and I’m dressed in a jersey, joggers, and still have the sling. It feels bizarre to be here and not suited up, since I’ve never missed a game due to injury. For the last game, I stayed home instead of traveling. I don’t like it, but I have realized something. I dowantto be back out there.

It’s the first time I felt good about trying to play this season. I think I tricked myself into thinking it was the right decision, but right now, on the sideline, I feel it.

I turn to see the suite. My mom sees me and waves. I told her she didn’t need to come, and she was adamant about supporting me, even though I won’t be doing anything.

My heart drops when I remember the last time I looked at the suite before the game. Lo and I had this ritual. The memory stings.

We’re up 24-7 andthe second quarter is running out. Coach comes over and puts his arm around me.

“Hey, need you to stay out here for half time. They’re doing some PR shit and I thought you’d be perfect for it. They’ll tell you what to do. Don’t sweat it.”

“You got it, Coach.” I have no idea what it could be but I’m not one to argue. Especially when I’m trying to stay in the organization’s good graces.

The quarter ends and the team goes into the locker room. I stay out, like I was asked, with a few members of the coaching staff and assistants.

The announcer’s voice fills the stadium, “For today’s halftime festivities, we have a special guest. Please direct your attention to the fifty-yard line.”

I’m sitting on a bench near our end-zone. I look to the fifty to see someone walking out. Not someone. Willow. With a guitar.

The crowd goes absolutely wild. I can feel the screams to my bones.

Willow waves to everyone up until she hits her mark, where a microphone stands. She’s wearing my jersey with a yellow peony pinned to it.

A lump forms in my throat. I’m trying to make sense of what’s happening. I thought I’d be mad, seeing her next, but there’s no anger to be found. It’s almost like relief.

“Wondering if you’d mind if I play you a song? From my new album? One that I’ve never played live for anyone before. Would that be okay?”

I don’t know if I’ve been anywhere louder. This game is sold-out, and people didn’t anticipate a Willow half-time performance. My heart races, watching her start playing the guitar.

“I wrote this song after one of the best weekends of my life. The kind of weekend you wish you could re-live over and over again.” The clapping is so loud I’m amazed we can hear Willow over it. “This song is called Our Secret Cove.” Willow starts playing the guitar.

I’m mesmerized from the first note. The first word. The song is about our weekend getaway. I try to hold on to each line, each verse, but my mind is tripping over itself. Why is she here? How is she doing this? How did my coach know?

I close my eyes and try to take this in.

Our silhouettes on the sand

Under the moon

Beneath the skylight

Hearts intertwined

You feel the rush as we stand

Only truth, me and you

There’s no better life

You look at me that way

Falling more in love with you

Uncovering something new

Nothing more that I want, than I need

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