Page 115 of On Merit Alone
When I checked again at half time he still wasn’t there. Not when I had a string of bad plays and another of outrageous fouls either. Usually he was right with me to grumble at bad calls and to gesture for me to calm the hell down when I was getting too worked up. He’d come to every game he could since that first one, and I guess I’d gotten used to him being there. Used to looking over and knowing he would be sitting there rooting for me.
I guess I’d gotten too comfortable, because the feeling of disappointment that coated every part of my body after not having him there when I thought he was going to be, was not one I liked. The feeling that I was stupid, after the entire game passed and his usual spots never filled up, was even greater. I even snuck off to check his locker room, where he usually called me after the game thinking maybe he decided to watch from the box since it was so crowded. It was locked.
After we won, it was like the world sped up. Like everything around us was pumping like an incredible heartbeat that wouldn’t stop drumming. The moment I realized Ira didn’t show at all, it was like the opposite. My excited teammates felt like slow motion figures around me. The sounds of the world sounding muffled and slow, and this feeling thick and hard and sinking to the bottom of my belly.
I tried to be happy alongside them. Iwashappy—I knew I was. I was just also so disappointed.
So much so that I didn’t know what to do with myself. Instead of doing what I usually did when I got home, like watch movies (because Ira had told me I was not to watch family videos alone anymore) or play with Cash or talk to Grandma and Grandpa on the wall—I pulled out my phone and searched things I never searched for. An inkling of where Ira might have been tonight.
He was always in some type of media, but never for anything scandalous. Mainly, it was from social media tags of fans whohappened to see him out and snapped a photo or were brave enough to actually ask him for one together (he always said yes).
I half expected not to find anything when I went searching for a clue of where he might’ve been. I should just text him. Or better yet call him because I missed his voice. But something was stopping me from doing that too. Something that felt a lot like dread.
How could I both want and not want to hear his voice? The confusion of it all made me want to cry. But I would not be doing that. What if he was sick? Or if someone in his family had gotten hurt? If it was something like that, I would understand. I would’ve, but it turned out I didn’t have to.
Not if the picture posted byMarkBenford96at around 8:06 PM didn’t clearly show Ira at some dinner table in the middle of some restaurant. With some woman.
I would not cry. I would not cry. I would not cry.
And I would not answer the text I just got from the man in question asking a casual, “What’s up?”
I was going to bed. Because that was the only way to be sure I wouldn’t break down right then and there.
The knock on my door was loud and strong, and maybe a little urgent. That’s how I knew it was Ira and not the pizza delivery person with the food I had just ordered.
I opened the door but didn’t look at his face as I immediately turned around and moved back into my apartment. I heard the normal sounds of him walking in, greeting Cash, and sauntering in after me.
He didn’t take off his shoes. I guess he wasn’t staying long. Figured.
“Merit?” I caught myself glaring at his feet as he called for myattention. Upon hearing my name I redirected the stare to his face. His eyebrows pulled together immediately. “You stood me up?”
“Stood you up?” I asked, my voice sounding weird. That hard knot of anger and disappointment had never left my throat from the day before. We’d had an entirely new game, winning that one too, and still the tight ball remained.
“Yeah,” he said slowly. “In the locker room. You always come to see me after your games, but you didn’t. I waited for you.”
“Oh,” I said, as casually as I could. I moved away from him, heading over to the fridge to grab a bottle of water. I needed to move this ball of frustration somewhere. It didn’t budge though as I gulped the cool liquid. “I didn’t think that was happening, since it’s not like an every time thing, right?”
He looked at me confused. “Yeah it is an‘every time’thing, Merit. I thought I made it clear that I wanted to see you.”
I swallowed, my emotions already beginning to betray me as I remembered the other night and how the excitement and hope and happiness I had been ready to share with him just died at the edge of the court, when he didn’t show up for me.
I took a breath, looking away from him. “You didn’t make it clear.”
He looked at me for a second. I could feel his eyes on me as he surveyed my person. Then he took a step in my direction. I wrapped my arms around myself. “I’m not following, Six. Can you please just?—”
“What’d you do yesterday?” I asked, suddenly wondering if he would tell me. If he even saw anything that I was so upset about as something wrong. “Anything fun?”
“Just hung out. Had dinner with a friend—Is this some kind of a test? Because I’m not hiding anything, Mer,” he said, sounding perplexed.
“It’s a question,” I said evenly. “I was just wondering because Ididn’t see or hear from you before my game… and I know what you were doing after it, so.”
Ira’s eyebrows scrunched together, and he looked down at his watch. He darted his eyes over to the fridge where a team calendar with my schedule hung. They darted right back to me.
He took a step. “Oh shit, Six—New York.”
I didn’t say anything, just wrapping my arms around myself tighter, trying desperately to hold in the emotion clawing its way free.
Ira took another couple steps toward me, and I held my hand up to stop him. I couldn’t have him in my space right now. I wanted him, don’t get me wrong, but if he got close he would be sweet and convincing and I wouldn’t be able to think straight. I mean, that’s how we got here in the first place, wasn’t it? I’d fallen for his sweet words and soft touches, and I’d lost sight of what reality looked like.
