Surviving Us (31 page)

ROUTINE. I LIKE ROUTINE
, and order, and control, which is exactly why I’m excited for classes to finally begin and to get in the groove of a set schedule. While the last few weeks have been nice hanging out with Alyvia, Lucky, and Mo,
who have become permanent fixtures in our daily lives, and focusing on revamping the sports section of the
Daily
website, I’m ready to move forward with a new semester. I’m hoping it will also help me move on from Davis, who continues to consume my thoughts and dreams, making me question my sanity more often than I’d like to admit.

“You about ready?” I call out to Alyvia, who has been styling her curly auburn hair in the bathroom for the last thirty minutes. “You know we’re going to a photojournalism class, not a photo
shoot.”

Watching the morning sports news while drinking a coke, I’ve been ready for over an hour, as my body is still used to getting up at the crack of dawn for the early morning practices I’ve been attending the last few weeks.

“I’m well aware of where we are going, but it’s the first day of school,” she yells back. “Sorry if I want to make a good impression.”

With a roll of my eyes, I turn off the TV and stand up. “A good impression also involves not walking in ten minutes late.”

I walk in the kitchen, throw away my empty can, and grab my backpack off the table. Pausing briefly before throwing it over my shoulder, I remember the last time I used it was during my St. Lucia trip . . . and
he
pops in my head yet again. A complete purge of all of my clothes and belongings may be necessary soon for this to stop happening.

“Okay, I’m good to go.” My best friend appears from the hallway dressed in a solid black maxi dress with perfectly curled hair and flawless makeup applied. “How do I look?”

“You look great,” I answer truthfully, glancing down at my own black shorts and kick-ass Beastie Boys t-shirt I recently found at a thrift store. It’s one of those shirts that’s been washed so many times the soft fibers are barely hanging on to each other, thus making it virtually sheer and the most comfortable thing ever. My hair is piled on top of my head in a messy bun with two pencils jabbed through each side, holding it all together. “Almost as awesome as me.”

She chuckles and snatches her book bag off the couch. “To be as organized and put together as you really are, I’m not sure why you’re always so adamant about looking like a hot mess.”

“It’s my style. I call it ‘I don’t give a fuck’, and I think it’s really working for me. It pulled you in, didn’t it?” I tease as I walk out the door and bound down the stairs, anxious to get on campus.

“I felt sorry for you!” she laughs and shouts back as she struggles to keep up with me in her fancy sandals.

After Photojournalism, which is my and Alyvia’s only class together this semester, I breeze through Art History and Sociology, both of which I expect to do well in without any issues. It’s tomorrow’s Chemistry class that scares me a bit. Though I’ve always done well in school, my mind is definitely geared more towards the liberal arts instead of math and science, so I worked my schedule in a way that it’s my only class to worry about on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays.

I grab a quick salad to go from the university center before heading off to the
Daily
offices, my home away from home during the school year. It doesn’t take me long to wrap up the season preview piece I’ve been working on the last several weeks, and as soon as I schedule it to post in the morning, I hurry home through the heat to get a jump on my assigned reading before Mo and Lucky come over tonight for dinner.

The rest of the week follows a similar schedule, except for my waitressing shifts at Louie’s Wednesday through Friday evenings, which I really enjoy to be quite honest. Because it stays steadily packed, the time flies by and the tips are good, making it the perfect part-time job. Plus, w
ith the first game coming up this weekend, nearly all of the customers at my tables are abuzz with the excitement only a football season in Norman can bring. Like every year, we all have high hopes for our Sooners to go far this year.

Before I know it, Saturday is upon us, which means it’s GAMEDAY. My absolute favorite day of the calendar year is the kickoff to the college football season. I wake up even earlier than usual, eager to get to the stadium and see the entire tailgating festivities and pre-game warm ups.

In an attempt to dress a little more professionally than my usual get-up, I choose a casual khaki skirt paired with a slim-fit, crimson OU polo and my strappy brown sandals, rather than my normal Rainbow brand flip-flops. With as hot as it’s been outside, I opt to keep my hair up off my neck, but style it in a proper ponytail, in addition to applying a little mascara and lip gloss.

Once I’m completely ready, I leave Alyvia a note that I’ll meet up with her after the game, and then take off out the door, practically skipping the entire way to my car. I’ve got a great feeling about today.

Hours later, it’s finally game time, and under any other circumstances, I’d be exhausted after running around like I have all morning. However, the electrifying atmosphere inside Memorial Stadium is downright exhilarating, and I can’t help but feed off of the excitement pulsing through the crowd.

Over eighty thousand people are packed into the open-air, oval-shaped structure, waiting for the first win of the season, which by all accounts and purposes should be a cake walk against this much lesser opponent. I’m not only excited to be down on the field with my press pass, dead smack in the middle of the action, but I’m also thrilled for Mo, who has won the starting position on the offensive line.

The first half goes much like most people thought it would. We’ve dominated them in every facet of the game; neither their physicality nor their playbook is a match for ours. As the final seconds tick down to halftime, OU scores their sixth touchdown of the day, bringing the score to 36-0, and the team hoots and hollers their way into the locker room, obviously ecstatic with their first two quarters of play.

Finally getting a little break, I mosey over to one of the water stations to rehydrate myself, when I hear my name being called faintly from the stands. Turning around to see who it’s coming from, I scan the first few rows of the crowd, but don’t see anyone I recognize, most of the people blending together in their crimson and cream attire.

“Bristol! To your left,” I hear the same male voice, a little louder now.

I twist to my left, my eyes still skimming over the horde of people, searching for someone who looks familiar, when finally I see Kayden standing against the railing, wildly waving his hands at me.

What in the hell?

“Kayden?” I ask in a puzzled tone, more to myself than anyone else, as I scurry over to where he is. As I get closer, I yell out, “What in the world are you doing here?!”

I see him laugh, but can barely hear it over the buzz of crowd noise all around us. “I came to support your Sooners!” he shouts back, a huge smile covering his face. “Can we talk after the game? Grab a bite to eat?”

His being here completely catches me off-guard, but in a good way. I’m not sure exactly what the purpose of the trip is. He probably has a business trip or something in OKC and thought he’d catch a game and say hello, although I’m not sure why he wouldn’t have mentioned it when we chatted last week.

“Yeah, sounds good.” I nod my head in case he can’t hear me well. “Message me afterwards.”

After giving me a thumbs up to let me know he understood, he turns around and retreats up a few rows where he takes a seat. I spin back around just in time to see the team retake the field, without much time to ponder on his visit before I begin taking notes again of the on-field action.

The opponent comes out of the locker room with a little spark as they kickoff back for a touchdown, giving them their first points of the day. Many people are surprised when the OU starters are still playing early during the second half, but no one dares to question the highly-regarded, long-time coach. He’s always got a reason for everything.

Then, the last play of the third quarter happens, and all hell breaks loose.

Facing a third down and short, our Heisman-hopeful quarterback, Nathan Blackmon, is unable to find an open receiver, so he decides to take off running in order to pick up the necessary yardage. Somehow, his toe sticks into the turf, twisting his knee, and in the blink of an eye, his legs tangle up and send him to the ground in a heap of pain.

A collective gasp is heard throughout the stadium and an eerie silence falls over the entire crowd . . . the entire town . . . possibly even the entire state. We all watch as the medical staff rushes to his side, trying to assess the extent of his injury. When the motorized cart drives onto the field to load him up and take him back into the locker room for what I assume will be x-rays, everyone knows it can’t be good news.

The rest of the game passes in a blur, as I’m no longer concerned about what’s happening on the field, but rather trying to get information about the status of our offensive playmaker. By the time the game clock reads 0:00, nothing has been released officially, but murmurings on the sidelines indicate it’s a torn ACL, which means significant missed time. With a bittersweet victory under their belts, the team quietly leaves the field, concerned about their teammate and the rest of the season.

I trudge over to where Kayden is waiting, feeling the same shock and disbelief many other fans are experiencing right now, and not bothering to pretend I don’t.

“Hey,” I say, looking up at him, with my hand acting as a visor to shield the bright sun.

“Tough loss for your guys, baby girl,” he commiserates. “Sorry that happened like that.”

Shrugging my shoulders, I sigh. “I guess it’s a part of the game. It just seems like we always get hit with the worst injuries every year we think we’ve got a chance.”

“Let me take you out for dinner to make you feel better,” he offers with a small smile.

Part of me feels like going home and veg’ing out in my pajamas, but he’s come all the way here from New York, and Kayden has been my friend for a long time, always there when I needed someone to listen. Since we really didn’t spend much time together in St. Lucia, maybe a nice dinner out with him will be exactly what I need to cheer me up.

“Yeah, I’ve got to go to the post-game press conference, and then home to shower and change.” I glance down at my watch. “How about we meet at Seven47 on Asp Avenue at eight?”

“I’ll see you there.”

At eight o’clock sharp, I pull up in front of the restaurant, wearing one of the few dresses I own—a floor-length sundress I had bought for the dinners at Ti Kaye. I’d actually put it on and taken it off twice before leaving it on, the memories associated with Davis pulling at me, but I decided it was time to suck it up and deal. At some point, I have to let go.