Bridge to a Distant Star - Carolyn Williford [46]
“My fault,” Charlie mumbled to himself.
“You say something, Charlie?” his mom asked, poking her head around the corner to check on him.
“Nothin’, Mom.” He shrugged his shoulders, grinning now. “I’m great.”
When Charlie woke the next morning, his thoughts immediately went to the game. And then to his leg. Gingerly, he moved it a little. Reaching down to feel it, he noted the area of swelling just below his knee. Not nearly as sore as yesterday, he thought. He swung his legs over the edge of the bed and heard a slight rap on the door.
“Awake, Charlie?” His mom eased the door open a fraction, peeking in.
“Hey. Just woke up.”
Fran was tying the belt of her robe as she pushed open the door with her elbows. “How you feeling this morning, love?”
“Fine.” He stretched out his leg. Testing. “It’s better, Mom. The ice must’ve helped.”
“It feels good enough to play?”
“Mom.”
“Okay, I get the point.” She grinned at him, holding her hands up in surrender. “So, eggs, bacon, and toast this morning?”
“Sounds great.”
“Charlie, if at any point you’re hurting and need to stop playing,” she hesitated, cautiously weighing her words, “well, I know Coach Henry would agree with me. It’s okay. Will you please remember that for me?”
“Sure, Mom.”
She leaned down to rest her cheek on top of his head for a few moments while she whispered, “I love you, Charlie. Whether you play and don’t do well. If you score and win the game for the team. Or if you don’t play at all. Every bit of that has nothing to do with how much I love you.” Then she tilted his head up to her so she could look into his eyes again. “Okay?”
Charlie nodded. “Okay.”
Silently, she turned and left his room, closing the door behind her.
What would Dad say if I came off the field? Charlie had not spoken the question out loud, but he might as well have. The words were just as concrete and real in his mind.
He stood up, feeling a stab of pain as he put all his weight on the right leg. But as he stretched and walked around his room, the pain seemed to ease. It was just stiff from sleeping, Charlie reassured himself. It’s better. I’m sure of it.
Donning his uniform, Charlie’s mind and heart began racing. He smiled to himself, anticipating the excitement of being on the field. Feeling the ball at his feet. Sensing—knowing when to pass. And when to shoot for the goal. It was his own pep session, his way to psyche himself for the game—mentally, physically, emotionally. By the time he was dressed, he’d mentally run through several drills. Lastly, Charlie stood before his mirror. Ran a comb through his hair, but decided it was a waste of time to wet down the untamed curls. He knew girls liked his hair, but the curls were his nemesis.
He trotted down the stairs, enjoying the aroma of frying bacon wafting its way to him, ignoring any twinges in his leg. It will only bother me if I allow it to, he’d decided.
Bradley had been sitting at Fran’s feet, eagerly awaiting any bits of food that might fall his way. But as soon as he heard Charlie, he came running, wagging his tail, demanding his morning ear rub. “Hey, Brad. Mom drop any treats for you yet?”
“Mornin’, sport,” from his dad. He was buried behind the paper at the kitchen table, but he peered around it to look Charlie over. “Your mom says your knee’s doing great, eh?”
“I did not say great.” Fran pivoted to give Charles a glare before turning back to the stove to retrieve bacon and eggs for the three of them. After taking her place at the table, she asked, “Charles? Could you pray for us, please?”
Charles neatly folded the paper, putting it beside him. “Big day, huh, Charlie? It’s gonna be a great day, I just know it.” He bowed his head, Fran and Charlie following suit. “Lord, I ask for protection for all the boys today, especially Charlie, for his sore leg. Help them to play hard, to do their best, to play fair. Thanks for this food and all you give to us. In Jesus’ name, amen.”
Father and son both gulped down the meal, despite frequent disparaging looks from Fran. She eventually gave up, realizing