Authors: Tim Green
Unstoppable (14 page)
HARRISON KEPT THE WORRY
off his face. Hiding his true emotions reminded him for the first time in many weeks of his life with the Constables, people with whom he hid his true feelings on a daily basis. It made him uncomfortable to revert back to his old habits, but Harrison had heard Coach scolding the other players often enough to know that football was a game that required one to get over the discomfort of little bumps and bruises.
He kept as quiet as he could at dinner, but when Coach or his mom asked a question, he was careful to reply with a flowery enthusiasm that disguised his concern. He knew how much Coach was counting on a win, so he waited until his mom was taking a bath and Coach was in his office, lit by the ghostly light of his video screen, before sneaking into the kitchen to fill a plastic grocery bag with ice from the freezer. With the covers over his legs, Harrison sat in bed, reading and icing his knee.
The cold made the joint ache even more, until after about fifteen minutes, when everything went numb. He got lost in his book, and when his mom came in to kiss him good night, he made a tent of the blanket with his other knee so she wouldn't notice the lump from the ice bag. When everything was quiet, he slipped into the bathroom and dumped the melted ice into the toilet before flushing it down and stuffing the wet bag into the bottom of the garbage.
From time to time in the middle of the night, the dull pulse of pain in his knee would wake him up, but he could always drop right back off. Friday's practice was a walk-through, with no real running, so Harrison was able to disguise his discomfort. He iced the knee again Friday night and felt better by Saturday morning.
Then, on the bus ride to Clayton Parkâthe neutral site where the game was to be playedâthe knee began to throb once more. When he saw the banners flapping in the breeze, though, and the bright-colored cheerleaders' pom-poms in the sunshine, Harrison nearly forgot about the pain.
The pregame talk Coach delivered to the team helped him as well.
“This is a tough game,” Coach growled at them right before kickoff as they crowded around him. “It's for tough people, tough men. That's rightâmen. It's time. You're not boys anymore. You're young
men
, and that's how I need you to play. . . . If you do, we'll be playing in the championship next Saturday, so dig down deep and play like a
man
.”
The entire team went wild, and the emotion carried them through the kickoff and into the first defensive series, where they crushed the Larsonville offense. After a punt, Harrison took the field with the rest of the Brookton offense. The first play was a toss sweep to Harrison, and he forgot all about his knee. He dashed for the sideline at the snap. The quarterback pitched the ball to him. He snatched it from the air and turned on the speed. The defenders came at him like a video game, but Harrison dodged and weaved like a man among boys. One final defender dove at his legs before he crossed the goal line, but Harrison leaped through the air and landed in the end zone for the touchdown.
The jolt in his knee cut through the excitement. Harrison gritted his teeth and tried not to limp. His teammates swarmed him, cheering. He jogged with them to the sideline.
Coach grabbed his arm. “Great run. Are you hurt?”
“I'm fine,” Harrison said. “Tweaked my knee a little, but I'll walk it off.”
“You sure?”
“Sure. Fine.”
Harrison dug deep and played like a man.
As the game wore on, the ache in his knee got worse. Harrison was able to mostly ignore it and comfort himself with the fact that they were winning and he could ice it all next week before he had to play again. There was no way he couldn't gut it out for seven more days if it meant winning a championship and getting Coach the job he always dreamed of. Coach deserved that.
Harrison ran for five touchdowns and Brookton won 42â20. The dull throb in his knee cut through the celebration on the bus ride home, not because of the pain, but because it made him worry that something might really be wrong. Harrison thought of the look he wore in the Constables' milking parlor to keep from getting whipped andâas he'd done so many times in the pastâkept a false smile plastered across his face. It scared him that for the second time in a few days his thoughts had wandered back to his past life. Sickness and dread flooded his body and mind. He closed his eyes and prayed it didn't mean something bad.
AT HOME, HARRISON PRETENDED
to be exhausted and used that as an excuse to go to bed early. He packed his knee between two bags of ice he'd managed to smuggle out of the kitchen. The pain was like a little toothache in his knee, not enough to keep him from sleeping, but he didn't sleep well. The next morning his bed sheets were soaked from the leaky bags. He gobbled down three Advils in his bathroom and tried to force himself to walk downstairs without a limp.
“You okay?” Coach sat at the breakfast table and looked up from the morning paper.
“Sure.” Harrison slipped into his seat. “A little sore from the game.”
“What a win, right?”
“Awesome.”
When his mom appeared, he could tell by the look on her face that something was wrong. “Um, Harrison? I don't want to embarrass you. Things happen to everyone sometimes. Did you have a problem last night?”
He shook his head. “No.”
“Well, your sheets are . . . um, wet.”
His face felt hot. “I didn't . . .”
“It's okay. If it happens to you sometimes, I just want to know so I can put something underneath the sheet. I don't care, I just don't want the mattress to get ruined.”
“I didn't wet the bed, Mom.”
Coach and his mom stared at him.
“Well, how come your bed is all wet?” she asked.
He shook his head. “I'm fine. It was just some ice.”
“Ice for what?” Coach set the paper down.
“My knee is a little sore, that's all. It's nothing.”
“Why didn't you say that?” his mom asked.
“Coach said to play like men. I played with it. I just wanted to ice it a little.”
“Let me see.” His mom put her hands on her hips.
“I'm fine.”
“So, I can see.”
Coach stood up and came around the table. “Harrison.”
Harrison sighed and slid back his chair. Coach knelt down and rolled up the leg of his sweatpants. Harrison winced.
His mother gasped. “Oh my God.”
THE KNEE WAS RED
and swollen like a grapefruit.
Coach poked gently at the puffy red skin.
“Play like
men
?” His mom didn't hide her disgust.
“It's okay, Mom.” Harrison poked it too. “It barely hurts.”
Coach ignored her. He asked Harrison to get up and move around. Harrison stood and bobbed up and down, dancing across the kitchen floor, refusing to wince.
“See?”
“That doesn't hurt?” Coach asked, with hope in his voice.
“Just a little. It's a little ache is all. I can run with it, though. We've only got one game left, Coach. Then I've got all off-season to rest it.”
Coach opened his phone and dialed. “Doc? Yeah, it's Ron Kelly. I hate to bother you again on a Sunday, but can you take a look at Harrison's knee for me?”
Harrison worried about his knee on the drive over to Doc's, wondering if this would be the thing that returned his life to its original gloom. He comforted himself with one good thing, though, and texted Becky to let her know he'd get to see her. They went into Doc's office and Harrison sat on the edge of the exam table. Doc came in, dressed in church clothes. Becky followed him and stood in the doorway. Harrison grinned at her until she blushed.
“Okay, you,” Doc said to his daughter as he gently closed the door, “you said hello. Now go help your mom and let me take a look.”
Doc asked Harrison to walk back and forth across the exam room floor.
“Okay, not too bad,” Doc said before pointing to the table. Harrison hopped back up and the paper crinkled beneath him. He tried to ignore the sterile smell of alcohol. Doc poked at the knee. He took the leg in his hands and gently bent and turned the joint. When he twisted it one certain way, Harrison winced and grabbed it.
“Sorry,” Doc said, gently returning Harrison's leg to the exam table. “Well, I think you may have a small tear in the cartilage.”
Harrison felt a jolt of panic, until he saw the relief on Coach's face.
“He can play with that, right, Doc?” Coach said.
“Oh, sure. He moves fine. We may want to rest it and ice it this week, take it easy. Saturday's the championship, your last game, right?”
“It is,” Coach said.
“It's not going to feel good, but if he rests it and ices it, I think there's a good chance he can play,” Doc said. “Then we can take some time and determine whether it needs surgery or not. What I do want to do, though, is send him in for an MRI. I'm pretty sure it's just the cartilage, but it's always better to take a look, in case I'm missing something.”
“Sure, Doc,” Coach said. “No problem.”
A knock at the door revealed Becky, her face still blushing, or blushing again. “Mom said I could show Harrison my new Koi fish when you're done.”
Doc twisted up his lips. “Okay, but show him quick. We've got church and they're going to the hospital.”
Harrison was proud at the expression of shock Becky wore at the word
hospital
because it proved how much she cared about him.
Coach and Doc shared a glance between themselves. Coach smiled and said, “He's fine, just a precaution.”
“Can you play in the championship?” Becky asked.
Harrison hopped down. “For sure. Come on, show me that fish.”
Becky led him around back to the decorative pond that was part of the pool area. A fountain trickled into a large, shallow stone basin filled with fat lily pads and what appeared to be oversized goldfish. Becky shook a handful of pellets into her hand before tucking the jug away in the outdoor cupboard at the base of a small cabana. She tossed the pellets into the pond and the water thrashed with fish fighting for the food. Among them Harrison saw the new one, white, pale and sleek, bigger than the rest, a length of living muscle. Its fins waved through the water like bed sheets on a windy line. It cut a wide path among the other fish.
“He's kind of like you on the football field.” Becky stared at the Koi. “The new guy, making everyone else look bad.”
“It's not just about making people look bad.” Harrison remembered Justin's words. “It's about scoring touchdowns and winning games. There's skill, too.”
“You know what I mean.” She slipped her hand into his, intertwining their fingers. “You're the best, that's all.”
Doc called Becky's name and their hands flashed apart. Harrison followed her around to the front, got into the pickup with Coach, and waved good-bye, his eyes holding on to hers until the bend in the driveway.
“How was the fish?” Coach smirked at him.
“Big.”
“Uh-huh.” Coach nodded his head and turned on the radio. “Doc got us right in.”
The hospital was forty minutes away. Coach called Jennifer to tell her what was happening. Harrison rode with the window down and flexed his hand in the current of air. For the end of October, it was a warm day.
The MRI took nearly a half hour, and Harrison had to lie still in a banging tube. He felt like a hot dog in a bun, but they played music for him and let him choose the station. It seemed like every other song reminded him of Becky, and Harrison wondered if he was too young to be in love.
They were back in the truck and on their way home when Coach got a call. He kept driving and answered it. After identifying himself and giving a couple of one- word answers, Coach slowed the truck down and pulled over to the side of the road.
His hand clenched the phone, and his face lost its color. “Are you sure? Could it be a mistake?”
Harrison felt a brick in his stomach. He wasn't sure why.
“Yes,” Coach said, “we'll be right there.”
When Coach looked over at him, the tears in his eyes scared Harrison more than anything in his life, ever. The image of Mr. Constable and the belt flashed across his brain.
“What? What's wrong, Coach?”
Coach reached out and pulled Harrison to him. “Oh, my son. My beautiful son. I love you so much.”
Coach was crying, and it scared Harrison so that his throat knotted up and tears began to stream down his own cheeks.
“Coach, what's wrong? Can't I play?”
Coach hugged him even tighter. “I don't know, Son. Maybe, but maybe not. It doesn't even matter.”
