◊◊◊
My dad helped me to the bathroom so I could shower. I quickly figured out that I would need some help in the short term because I couldn’t even put my pants on or tie my shoes without almost crying. I think if I’d just had the hip pointer or cracked ribs, I might have been able to deal with the pain when I tried to walk or move. With both, it was like trying to juggle chainsaws while walking in six-inch high heels. Every move I made felt dangerous. If I did anything too quickly or did more than shuffle my feet, I was in tears.
As a parting gift, my doctor gave me a couple of boxes of sample pills for pain. Those would hold me over until I got home and could go to the pharmacy. Mom had warned him what not to give me. It was probably best that I didn’t become chatty in the mood I was in. They put my arm in a sling and made me ride out in a wheelchair. I say ‘made,’ but the truth was I would have never been able to walk out.
“Well, shit,” Fritz said as we got close to the exit.
For Fritz to cuss, you knew it had to be bad news. I could see the paparazzi were waiting outside. I think people could almost make a living tipping them off. One of the hospital staff was more than likely responsible.
“Mom, you go get in the car first,” I suggested.
“Why?” she snapped.
How do you tell your mom that you don’t want her embarrassing you by going postal? I was sure that when the paparazzi went into a frenzy, she would have some choice things to say or might even pop a couple of them in the nose. Luckily, Dad figured it out and put his foot down. From the look she gave him, I was glad she wasn’t my wife.
Mom slipped through the crowd and got into the SUV that Fritz had brought today. She pulled it around so that we didn’t have to navigate the parking lot with paparazzi hounding us.
“Showtime!” I announced.
Fritz led the way, and Dad pushed the wheelchair. Thankfully, there was only a handful of them. That didn’t stop them from being rude and trying to push Fritz out of the way. He quickly made them realize that that wasn’t a good idea.
“David, why are you in LA? Are you and Halle James back together?” one of the paparazzi shouted.
“The usual reasons: the weather, California girls, and Mexican food.”
“Seriously?” another asked.
This wasn’t good. Frank would have my ass for blurting out something that foolish. I slowly realized my pain meds had kicked in, and it felt like I was halfway in the tank, as if I’d just drunk a six-pack of beer. Suddenly, it seemed funny, and I laughed. I was so screwed.
“No. I came on a recruiting trip to USC,” I explained, trying to get it back together.
“Are you and Halle back together?” the first one repeated.
“I’m actually dating someone else. Halle and I are close friends.”
“Does your girlfriend know you’re cheating on her?”
I made a brief scan of the area, as though looking for her.
“I did not have sexual relations with that woman,” I said in my best Bill Clinton imitation.
No one ever thought that was funny. Of course, the reference was from before I was born. Believe it or not, I’d met President Clinton when I was about six. He must have been campaigning for someone, and I’d been with my granddad. I’d liked him. The man knew how to make you feel special, and he’d taken a moment to talk to me. Later, my granddad had been joking around with his buddies, and someone had spoken the now-famous line. It had stuck in my head. It was a sad reminder that I would have to be careful about what I said around my boys. I didn’t want to repeat something inappropriate to the press.
“Sorry,” I said. “They gave me some hefty pain meds, and I think they’re kicking in.”
I made sure I looked appropriately sorry. I can be a better actor than I sometimes let on.
“So, you did cheat on your girlfriend?”
“My girlfriend was with me in the car. It’s hard to ‘cheat,’” I said, doing air quotes, “when she’s right there. I would never do that to her, anyway.”
One of them made some rude remark, and that triggered my rant.
“I sometimes wonder about y’all,” I said, pointing at the paparazzi as I drawled the ‘y’all.’ “You’re a bunch of phonies, making up things just to make the news.”
“You say people here are phonies,” the guy who’d made the rude remark retorted. “I say they come here to reinvent themselves. And I think that’s why you’re here. To reinvent yourself.”
“For some, you may be right. Still, if this is the result of how some other people reinvent themselves, I’ll pass,” I said while gesturing toward my wheelchair.
At that point, Dad decided he’d had enough. It was probably as good an exit as I could make under the circumstances. I might have pulled it off if I’d been able to get myself into the SUV. I had to have both Dad and Fritz help me climb into that monster.
When everyone got in, Dad mumbled something about how we should have let my Mom loose on the paparazzi. It wouldn’t have been any worse than what I just did. Later, I would agree with him. Now, I got the giggles.
◊◊◊
We’d stopped and rented a non-hospital wheelchair for the day. It caused quite a stir when I was rolled into the John McKay Center’s Parker Hughes atrium. The two-story video board showed highlights from yesterday’s game. Brook, Tim, and Wolf were already there with the other recruits. I was happy to see everyone was eating breakfast; I was starved. They’d saved seats for my parents and me.
“How bad is it? Will you be able to play Friday?” Tim asked.
The worry was plain on their faces. I would feel the same way if either of them was injured. They were key reasons we won football games. Not many teams had four legitimate division-one prospects starting. And at that, I was selling Roc and Yuri short because they could eventually make it too. It would depend on whether they continued to develop, which I hoped they would.
“I’ll be out three to six weeks,” I announced.
“Dammit. We could be toast by then,” Wolf said.
“David will be on the field as soon as he can, and he knows what his being unable to play means,” Brook chastised Wolf.
“Sorry, I just know you’re our leader, and … you know,” Wolf said.
“It’s not like I won’t be around.”
Their facial expressions said they weren’t sure they believed me. I wasn’t sure I believed me either. Finding myself in a wheelchair was more than a little unnerving. When I’d hurt my neck, and had the back spasms, it hadn’t hurt quite like this. With those injuries, I’d take some pain pills, stretch it out, and feel much better. This time, I was actually afraid to move too much, and every time I took a deep breath, I was reminded that something was wrong.
◊◊◊
After breakfast, Fritz, Brook, my parents, and I went to Coach Clayton’s office to talk. He ushered us in and then sat behind his desk. I’d noticed that the coaches at each school handled this differently. At Oklahoma, they’d had us sit across from each other at a conference table. Clemson’s coaches didn’t put a table between us, and they’d come across as more personable. Coach Clayton sat in a big executive chair with his desk between us. Uncle John had told me that if you wanted to show you were in charge, you would either do this or sit at the head of a table. I wasn’t sure if Coach Clayton was insecure or if he wanted to let me know where I stood. In my opinion, it was the exact wrong way to recruit.
“What happened last night?” he asked, getting right to the point. “Were you driving?”
“What are you implying?” my mom asked in an icy tone.
I think Coach Clayton realized he was about to blow his chances.
“I’m sorry, that came out wrong. Seeing David in a wheelchair with his right arm in a sling caught me off guard. Let’s try this again,” he said, then took a deep breath. “Are you okay?”
My mom eyed him but gave me a little nod.