Freedom [43]
“Where’s my girl? Where’s my leader?”
“I don’t have it tonight.”
“You absolutely have it, you just have to find it. It’s in there. Find it.”
“OK.”
“Scream at me. Let it out.”
Patty shook her head. “I don’t want to let it out.”
Coach, crouching, peered up into her face, and Patty, with great effort of will, forced herself to meet her eyes.
“Who’s our leader?”
“I am.”
“Shout it.”
“I can’t.”
“You want me to bench you? Is that what you want?”
“No!”
“Then get out there. We need you. Whatever it is, we can talk about it later. OK?”
“OK.”
This new transfusion poured straight into the hemorrhage without circulating even once through Patty’s body. For the sake of her teammates, she stayed in the game, but she reverted to her old habit of being selfless, of following plays instead of leading them, of passing instead of shooting, and then to her even older habit of lingering around the perimeter and taking long jumpers, some of which might have fallen on another night, but not that night. How hard it is to hide on a basketball court! Patty got beaten on defense again and again, and each defeat seemed to make the next one more likely. What she was feeling became a lot more familiar to her later in her life, when she made the acquaintance of serious depression, but on that February night it was a hideous novelty to feel the game swirling around her, totally out of her control, and to intuit that the significance of everything that happened, every approach and retreat of the ball, every heavy thud of her feet on the floor, every new moment of trying to guard a fully focused and determined Bruin, every teammate’s hearty halftime whap on the shoulder, was her own badness and the emptiness of her future and the futility of struggle.
Coach finally sat her down for good midway through the second half, with the Gophers trailing by 25. She revived a little as soon as she was safely benched. She found her voice and exhorted her teammates and high-fived them like an eager rookie, reveling in the abasement of being reduced to a cheerleader in a game she should have starred in, embracing the shame of being too-delicately consoled by