Page 62 of Sweet Little Lies
Sounds reasonable. I couldn’t agree more. I nod my head but don’t say anything, uncertain of what he’s looking for, because I feel like he has more to say. And he does.
“But from what I’ve observed in just this short period of time, you haven’t bothered showing up. Your ass is dragging. I don’t see any energy or even motivation being demonstrated out there on the court.”
I open my mouth to argue, but he holds up his palm, shutting off my response.
“We don’t know each other well, Lance. I get that and can appreciate your reticence. I’m new and that makes me the outsider. But let me explain what I see from an outsider perspective. There’s something going on with you. All I have to do is watch footage of you from last year compared to now and I see it.
“So, I need to know what’s going on. Help me help you. Because it’s not just about you on that court, but you do play a huge role. If something’s weighing you down, it weighs our entire club down. You feel me?”
As anyone in my position would do who’s been confronted with something like this, my hackles go up and I turn into a rabid beast who’s been cornered. I become defensive. My posture turns stiff as my facial expression turns cold.
Deny.
Deny.
Deny.
“Nothing’s going on, Coach. Everything’s cool. I don’t know what you want me to say.”
Coach Parker just stares at me for a few moments, dissecting me with his eyes like I’m a puzzle piece that he’s trying to fit somewhere. Analyzing my words and the tone to determine if I’m telling the truth or lying through my teeth.
After a minute or so, he sighs and then throws me for a loop.
“Lance, I know from your file that you lost your mother last year and that’s a fucking blow to anyone’s psyche. I lost someone I loved very much, too, and it’s like nothing I’ve ever felt before. There’s this hole in your stomach that won’t go away. A rage that simmers on the back burner ready to explode at any given minute. We can’t get back what we lost, or go back in time to do things differently, but we can do something to help ourselves. I’ve found talking with someone helps. I’ve been going to a counselor for the past six months to help me cope,” he blinks, running a hand through his short, light hair. “I’ve made some bad decisions in my life, but I’m working to get back in the driver’s seat. So, if you need someone, Lance, you let me know. You don’t have to go it alone.”
There’s a lump in my throat that feels like a boulder, stuck there; choking me. My eyes sting with unshed tears that lodge in the creases. Half of me wants to break down; open up; cry like a motherfucking baby and shed this layer of self-hatred and loathing.
And the other half wants to tell him to ‘fuck off’ and worry about his own life. Go blabber to his psychologist, not me. Don’t pull me into your ‘woe is me’ mind fuck party. I can handle this. Iamhandling this. I don’t need him, or anyone else for that matter, to tell me what to do or how to think or how to act.
Like he said, he knows nothing about my situation and we aren’t friends. He hasn’t earned my trust and for all I know, he’s just a washed up, has-been star now turned assistant college basketball coach. He’s not my spiritual guru or guidance counselor.
From where I sit, I don’t have to tell him shit.
On the other hand, I can’t disrespect him because he’s my coach. He calls the shots. He could easily suspend me, or bench me, or even worse. Deciding to take the high road, I straighten my spine, man-up and offer my gratitude, telling him what he wants to hear.
“Thanks Coach. I appreciate your concern. Yeah, it’s been tough. Things are definitely different now with my friends gone and the new guys coming in. Maybe I have been slacking a little just trying to get back into the swing of things. But don’t worry. I’m good. I’ll start putting in more effort. I won’t let you down.”
Even as the words come tumbling out and hang in the air between us, I feel that lie burn in the back of my throat; charring my soul.
Because I know the truth.
Ialwayslet those I love and respect down. It’s just who I am.
I’m sure I’ll end up doing it to him, just as I did it to my brother and my parents.
And at some point, I’ll probably do it to Mica.
