Deadweight
Royce limped his way into a nearby AnyTime Fitness. The scene of sweat and disinfectant wafted through the air as someone exited, nodding at him with a polite smile. He nodded back, forcing a grin through the bit of pain that he was feeling already.
The parking lot was half-full, a mix of early birds and lunchtime warriors getting their workouts in. It’d only taken him a couple days to agree that Tyrell was right. If he stuck to the doctors’ timeline, he wouldn’t be back to normal until he was 30 – and that would be a far different normal than what he was used to.
Instead, he’d drive his own rehab by hook or crook.
He’d never been in a chain gym before, either hitting the weights in Terrebonne’s weight room or doing some half-baked hood exercises in someone’s front yard. But now, AnyTime would be the proving ground. It would be where he’d have to face whatever was his new reality.
The cacophony of clanking weight, whirring treadmills, and grunting exercisers enveloped him. The front desk attendant, a perky blonde called out a cheerful greeting. Royce nodded in return, his gait slightly uneven, although it seemed to get better each day.
Royce walked to the main floor, staring at the squat racks and leg press machines – equipment that he once used to go toe-to-toe with Romeo on. That might be a bridge too far for now.
He found an empty bench and sat down, putting a pair of earpods in and finding the playlist he used to workout to on his phone. He flexed his left hand, unsure how lifting anything would feel against the surgically repaired muscle and bone.
He stood up and counted the plates already on the bar. 145 pounds. Something that would be easy for him to lift. Should be easy for him to lift. Yet, he hesitated, debating whether to remove some of the plates.
In the end, he did. Dropping it to an even 100. Telling himself it was only a warm-up to get back into it.
Laying back on the bench, he placed his hands on the bar. It felt heavier than he remembered. Taking a deep breath, he pressed the weight upward, a twinge of pain shot through his hand. He gritted his teeth, focusing on the ceiling above him.
Each rep felt like a battle, not just against the weight, but against the doubt creeping into his mind. The voice that whispered he’d never be the same again. By the time he finished the set, his arms were shaking and not just from exertion.
He racked the bar and sat up, wiping sweat from his brow. He resisted the urge to give up. To give up on getting back on the field. There were kickers who could rep 100 pounds with ease. He was supposed to be a linebacker.
“Fucking get it done, Royce,” he said to himself under his breath. He put another 10 pounds on the bar and laid back under it.
He powered through three sets, increasing the weight by 10 pounds each time. His arms felt weak when he was finished, but he moved on to another exercise. And another. And another. Focusing on his upper body, still unsure of testing his leg.
The familiar burn in his back and arms was comforting, a reminder that not everything had change – albeit his ability to lift heavy had seemingly disappeared. He closed his eyes, losing himself in the rhythm of the movement, the steady in-and-out of his breath.
But as he worked through the sets, the doubts remained in his head, getting louder with each jolt of pain. What was the point of doing all this? The coaches had made it clear they weren’t interested anymore. The scholarship offers, few that they were, have evaporated. Was he just going through the motions, clinging to a dream that had already slipped away?
Sometimes, most of the time, it felt like other people believed he would play again more than he did himself.
Royce finished his workout and felt his phone vibrate in his pocket, a pair of texts popping up on the screen. One from Toni and one from Arianna. They were pulling up to Rana’s and were asking him where he was.
He typed out a quick reply, asking them to pick him up from the gym.
Taking a deep breath, Royce looked up at the mirror in front of him. He may have seen a flash of his old self – strong and determined. But reality set in when he glanced down at his legs. The slight favoring of his right leg, the hint of atrophy in his left, the shadow behind his eyes that spoke of dreams deferred.
The contrast was a jarring before-and-after picture.
But he’d gotten one workout in. It was a start.
Shouldering his bag, he headed out.
~~~~~~~~~~
“Deshawn was telling me that he got a scholarship from the navy,” Toni said as she, Arianna and Royce sat in the dining room. “I don’t know how that works, but it has to be a good thing, right?”
Royce absently spun a fork on the table. “That nigga ain’t get a fucking scholarship from Navy. That negro is enlisting in the navy. Going sail the seven seas head ass.”
“That’s what I was trying to tell her!” Arianna shouted, laughing as she dodged Toni attempting to hit her arm. “You need all kinds of shit to go to one of those academies and not too many people from Houma gonna have that shit.”
“Y’all just hating,” Toni said, rolling her eyes.
“Nobody hating on your man, girl,” Arianna said, shaking her head. “That motherfucker sound like he’s trying to dip on you anyway talking about any ‘I’m going to Navy.’”
Royce chose not to say anything on the slim chance that Deshawn had actually gotten a scholarship offer from the Naval Academy. It would be a much higher honor than anything he’d gotten in the past, and definitely better than anything he had at the moment.
There was, in fact, a little hating in his comment.
“He was talking about us going to the same school for college for a little while, but I guess he changed his mind on that,” Toni said.
“I would never follow some nigga to a specific college,” Arianna said, scrunching up her nose as she spat out the words. “The last thing I’d do is find myself in podunk ass West Virginia because he got a scholarship somewhere.”
“He says all these athletes like that damn near.”
Royce sucked his teeth. “Never in my life have I told a bitch to go to college where I was going to college to play ball. Not that it matters anymore since I can’t play fucking ball. If I go anywhere, it’s probably going to be BRCC or some shit.”
“I’m probably going out of state. I’m thinking an HBCU. Florida A&M or Bethune Cookman, maybe,” Arianna said. “You should check those out, Ro.”
“What I look like going to FAMU? Don’t they be doing some crazy shit out there? Sticking shit in dudes’ asses and all?”
“Maybe, but I ain’t no dude so I don’t have to worry about that,” Arianna said, shrugging.
“If they do it to men, they definitely do it to women.”
“Stop raining on my parade, nigga.”
Royce held up his hands. “I’m just saying.”
“I’m thinking somewhere up north if I don’t go where Deshawn ends up,” Toni said. “I applied to a couple schools around Chicago and NYU. I just want to get out of Louisiana and see the country before I end up getting stuck here.”
“Girl, I hear that.”
Royce felt a flash of irritation. He knew they were just talking about their future plans, but the doubts about his future were beginning to creep up again, especially after his lack of communication with the coaches who were recruiting him.
He let their chatter fall into the background as his mood soured. The college question irked him before. It would only get worse as he entered his senior year.
“Oh, Ro. You know who we ran into the other day?” Arianna asked, bringing him back into the conversation.
“Motherfucker with the winning lottery numbers?” he asked.
“Shit, I wish. But no, Britni. That girl’s still fucked up about Rome.”
“I don’t know what for. She spent years trying to change him. She probably thinks that him dying is just proof that she was right all along,” Royce said, sucking his teeth.
Toni shook her head. “She really loved your brother, Ro. I couldn’t imagine how that would feel. One day, you got this great relationship and the next day…”
“Yeah, we told her she could reach out if she ever needs someone,” Arianna said.
Royce waved his hand at the thought. “Y’all could do that. I ain’t never liked her ass and I ain’t going to start now. But we could change the subject, yeah. I’m not trying to talk about that.”
“Alright, alright,” Arianna said before she started laughing. “Rana told us when we got here that you be having all kinds of white girls coming here.”
“Damn, Ro. You starting that up again?” Toni asked, laughing.
“She caught me in here with one girl a few days back. That’s it,” Royce said, shaking his head.
“Nah, she said that girl you brought to Houma with that one dude and Jonah be coming here all the time, too,” Arianna said.
Royce raised an eyebrow. “You remembered Jonah’s name but not Malik’s?”
“Oh,” Toni said, shaking her head as she burst into laughter. “You got something you want to tell us, Arianna?”
“Don’t try to turn this around on me! We’re talking about Royce!”
Royce shook his head as the three cousins began joking with one another about their dalliances.
Dying to Live
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Caesar
Topic author - Chise GOAT
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Soapy
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Dying to Live
too slow to be a DB, too weak to be a LB. isaiah simmons special
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Caesar
Topic author - Chise GOAT
- Posts: 16845
- Joined: 27 Nov 2018, 10:47
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Caesar
Topic author - Chise GOAT
- Posts: 16845
- Joined: 27 Nov 2018, 10:47
Dying to Live
Arch Sold Separately
The satisfying thwack of the club striking the ball perfectly punctuated the end of Royce’s swing. He watched as the ball sailed through the air and fell into one of the furthest targets, nearly dead center.
He, along with Malik, Alix and Jonah, had decided to have an impromptu night at Top Golf. They’d been there for hours already, their competitive spirits fueled by the drinks Malik had somehow procured and playful trash talk.
As the digital scoreboard flickered with their latest round’s results, Royce remained in the lead – as he had been all night.
“Y’all making this shit boring,” Royce said as he sat down. “How y’all letting someone with one leg beat y’all ass?”
Malik looked at Jonah then jabbed a thumb in Royce’s direction. “This nigga think he Tiger Woods or something, huh? I hope he don’t think I wouldn’t take a golf club upside his head on some Tony Montana shit.”
“Don’t be pout because you suck,” Alix said. She glanced over at Royce as she chewed on the straw in her cup and winked at him. She’d been stealing glances at him all night when she thought no one was looking. He’d mostly ignored them.
“You got the worst score,” Malik said, gesturing to the scoreboard.
Alix shrugged. “I’m here to make this less of a sausage fest, not to be good at hitting a golf ball.”
“Then you should’ve brought a couple friends to even it out,” Jonah said as he stood up to take his turn next. “Especially Sarah. I’ve been trying to talk to her for a few weeks, but she always shoots me down.”
“Asking Alix to be a wingwoman gotta be a crime. Sarah probably don’t like you because she tells her what we say in the group chat,” Malik said.
“I don’t have to do anything to make girls think you’re a dickhead, Malik. You do that all on your own,” Alix shot back. “I don’t know what she’s got against you, Jonah. We aren’t that close anymore.”
“She fine?” Royce asked Malik.
“Big ass titties,” Malik said, nodding.
Alix rolled her eyes. “She’s alright.”
Jonah hit his shot, and it flew almost perpendicular to where he was standing. He cursed and walked back to the table, picking up his phone.
He sighed. “Alright, I got to get out of here. Poochie wants to use the stu to lay down some tracks.”
“Why don’t you just tell his ass that he fucking sucks?” Malik asked, laughing. “I don’t know who told this man he could rap enough that he thinks it’s worth doing all this shit. That boy better stick to football and them books.”
“With some of this shit niggas listen to these days, I know at least one motherfucker out there hollering ‘Poochie the greatest alive,’” Royce said.
“And he still trash.”
“I’ll let him know,” Jonah said, gathering his things. He gave a mock salute. “See y’all later.”
The remaining trio watched as Jonah disappeared into the elevator. Barely ten minutes had passed when Malik’s phone chimed. He looked at the message then cursed, standing up abruptly.
“I gotta go. I forgot I’d set something up tonight,” he said, downing the rest of his drink.
“Set something up?” Alix asked, her eyebrow raised.
Malik paused as if debating whether or not to elaborate, specifically to her. After a moment, he shook his head. “Yeah, set something up.”
Royce looked up from his phone, what was happening registering. “How the fuck am I going to get home then? I rode with you, nigga. You could’ve told me this before you came pick me up.”
“You could come with me, and I’ll run you home after, but I wouldn’t suggest it,” Malik said, the look on his face telling Royce all he needed to know.
“Bruh, bring me home first and then go.”
“I’m under a bit of a time crunch, my guy. You can’t get your sister to come get you?”
Royce glanced at his phone. “It’s midnight.”
“Get an Uber or something,” Malik said, starting to walk back toward the elevator. “I’ll owe you one. Just do me this solid this one time.”
“I’ll take you home,” Alix said.
Malik hesitated. “You sure?”
Alix waved at him mockingly. “Goodbye, Malik. Tell her we said hello.”
Royce looked at Malik and shrugged, not knowing how to get them out of a situation that was clearly making Malik uncomfortable.
“I’ll hit y’all up in the morning,” Malik said, hitting the elevator button a few times as if it would speed it up. He jumped inside the elevator as soon as the doors started sliding open.
And then there were two.
Alix got up and walked to the opposite side of the table to sit next to Royce. She leaned over to him. “Who’s he going see?”
“I don’t know. He might be going see his pastor for some late night Bible study for all I know,” Royce said with a shrug. “Why it matter anyway? You’re the one that always points out y’all not together.”
“Because I want to know if I’ll like the bitch if he decides to start bringing her around. The last thing I need is to have drama in my life because my ex starts messing with some annoying bitch,” she said, standing up and walking over to the hitting station.
“You could run down there and stop him if you really that bothered. Then I can catch a ride home with him.”
Alix grabbed a club, a mischievous glint in her eye. “I’m not giving him any impression he’s got another chance. And why are you trying to get rid of me? You got somewhere better to be?”
Royce had thought about texting Bree earlier but thought better of it to not give her any indication he wanted something serious with her.
“Not that I know of,” he shrugged.
“Good,” she said. “Now that they’re gone, I’m going to show you that I’ve really been holding back on how good I am at this shit.”
She took her stance, drew back and swung. The ball veered dramatically to the left, barely making it past the first marker.
“Even Helen Keller could see that you ain’t good,” Royce said, laughing.
“Everyone can’t be PGAers. I didn’t even know you golfed,” Alix said.
“I don’t. I went once with Rana’s fiancé, and he showed me how to swing the club so you aren’t taking out someone’s kid on the side of the course.”
Alix held the club out to him. “Come show me how to do it then.”
He stood up and walked over to her. She held on to the club for a moment, staring into his eyes, when he grabbed it then brushed against him as they traded places. She only smiled at him as he looked at her before he took his stance.
“Back straight, knees bent, shoulders over hands. Look at the ball, read it, hit it,” Royce said, repeating the instructions Tyrell had given him. He swung the club and got a clean connection with the ball. He wasn’t going to be winning any tour events anytime soon, but even he was surprised at how natural hitting the ball felt to him.
Alix nodded and took the club back. “Alright, I got it. Stay right there to make sure I’m doing this right, though.”
Royce leaned back against the railing as she stepped up to take the shot. She placed her feet too far apart, almost squatting down. He tapped her foot with his.
“You’re hitting a golf ball not playing catcher,” he said, pushing her foot closer to the other one.
“Oh, my bad,” she said. She replaced her legs being too wide with them being too stiff.
Royce laughed. “This why people say white people can’t dance. Why you so stiff? Bend your damn knees.”
Alix sighed and stood up straight. “Just show me how to do it again.”
Royce held his hand out for the club.
“No,” she said. “Show me how to do it.”
He hesitated for a moment what she meant clicking in his head. He glanced over his shoulder toward the elevators despite knowing Malik was likely halfway across the city by now, racing down I-10.
“You stand there any longer and I’m going to start thinking you’re afraid to touch a girl, Royce,” she said, her tone sounding like a challenge.
“You funny,” Royce said as he pushed away from the railing.
His first thought to maintain a respectable distance between them was quickly dashed as she backed up against him as soon as he positioned his arms over hers.
“How’s my posture?” she asked innocently, though there was nothing innocent about the way she pressed against him.
“Your back ain’t straight,” he said. “You’re hunched. You’re not Taylor Swift taking dick, you’re swinging a golf club.”
“That’s definitely not me,” she said, going from hunching her back to arching her back.
Royce cleared his throat, not expecting that but not being against the visual. He pushed on her shoulder to get her to straighten her back.
“Relax,” he said, the word having more than one meaning in the context.
They swung together, the ball sailing directly into the barrier net on the right. Alix turned around, looking up at him. “I might need some more practice.”
Their eyes met, and for a moment, neither spoke. The air between them filled with tension.
Royce’s phone vibrated on the table. He cleared his throat and walked over to pick it up, seeing a text from Malik apologizing again for leaving him stranded.
As he tapped a quick reply, Alix rolled another ball in place. He looked up just as she perfectly swung the club and launched a ball down the range.
“What the fuck?” Royce said.
She turned around and shrugged. She smiled, a slow, confident curve of her lips. “Marc works at Exxon. Every man that works at a plant plays golf around here. You want to put something on the last round?”
He shook his head. “I don’t think you know how hustling works. You make the bet first before showing that you know how to do the thing.”
“Oh, we already made the bet,” she said, winking at him.
The satisfying thwack of the club striking the ball perfectly punctuated the end of Royce’s swing. He watched as the ball sailed through the air and fell into one of the furthest targets, nearly dead center.
He, along with Malik, Alix and Jonah, had decided to have an impromptu night at Top Golf. They’d been there for hours already, their competitive spirits fueled by the drinks Malik had somehow procured and playful trash talk.
As the digital scoreboard flickered with their latest round’s results, Royce remained in the lead – as he had been all night.
“Y’all making this shit boring,” Royce said as he sat down. “How y’all letting someone with one leg beat y’all ass?”
Malik looked at Jonah then jabbed a thumb in Royce’s direction. “This nigga think he Tiger Woods or something, huh? I hope he don’t think I wouldn’t take a golf club upside his head on some Tony Montana shit.”
“Don’t be pout because you suck,” Alix said. She glanced over at Royce as she chewed on the straw in her cup and winked at him. She’d been stealing glances at him all night when she thought no one was looking. He’d mostly ignored them.
“You got the worst score,” Malik said, gesturing to the scoreboard.
Alix shrugged. “I’m here to make this less of a sausage fest, not to be good at hitting a golf ball.”
“Then you should’ve brought a couple friends to even it out,” Jonah said as he stood up to take his turn next. “Especially Sarah. I’ve been trying to talk to her for a few weeks, but she always shoots me down.”
“Asking Alix to be a wingwoman gotta be a crime. Sarah probably don’t like you because she tells her what we say in the group chat,” Malik said.
“I don’t have to do anything to make girls think you’re a dickhead, Malik. You do that all on your own,” Alix shot back. “I don’t know what she’s got against you, Jonah. We aren’t that close anymore.”
“She fine?” Royce asked Malik.
“Big ass titties,” Malik said, nodding.
Alix rolled her eyes. “She’s alright.”
Jonah hit his shot, and it flew almost perpendicular to where he was standing. He cursed and walked back to the table, picking up his phone.
He sighed. “Alright, I got to get out of here. Poochie wants to use the stu to lay down some tracks.”
“Why don’t you just tell his ass that he fucking sucks?” Malik asked, laughing. “I don’t know who told this man he could rap enough that he thinks it’s worth doing all this shit. That boy better stick to football and them books.”
“With some of this shit niggas listen to these days, I know at least one motherfucker out there hollering ‘Poochie the greatest alive,’” Royce said.
“And he still trash.”
“I’ll let him know,” Jonah said, gathering his things. He gave a mock salute. “See y’all later.”
The remaining trio watched as Jonah disappeared into the elevator. Barely ten minutes had passed when Malik’s phone chimed. He looked at the message then cursed, standing up abruptly.
“I gotta go. I forgot I’d set something up tonight,” he said, downing the rest of his drink.
“Set something up?” Alix asked, her eyebrow raised.
Malik paused as if debating whether or not to elaborate, specifically to her. After a moment, he shook his head. “Yeah, set something up.”
Royce looked up from his phone, what was happening registering. “How the fuck am I going to get home then? I rode with you, nigga. You could’ve told me this before you came pick me up.”
“You could come with me, and I’ll run you home after, but I wouldn’t suggest it,” Malik said, the look on his face telling Royce all he needed to know.
“Bruh, bring me home first and then go.”
“I’m under a bit of a time crunch, my guy. You can’t get your sister to come get you?”
Royce glanced at his phone. “It’s midnight.”
“Get an Uber or something,” Malik said, starting to walk back toward the elevator. “I’ll owe you one. Just do me this solid this one time.”
“I’ll take you home,” Alix said.
Malik hesitated. “You sure?”
Alix waved at him mockingly. “Goodbye, Malik. Tell her we said hello.”
Royce looked at Malik and shrugged, not knowing how to get them out of a situation that was clearly making Malik uncomfortable.
“I’ll hit y’all up in the morning,” Malik said, hitting the elevator button a few times as if it would speed it up. He jumped inside the elevator as soon as the doors started sliding open.
And then there were two.
Alix got up and walked to the opposite side of the table to sit next to Royce. She leaned over to him. “Who’s he going see?”
“I don’t know. He might be going see his pastor for some late night Bible study for all I know,” Royce said with a shrug. “Why it matter anyway? You’re the one that always points out y’all not together.”
“Because I want to know if I’ll like the bitch if he decides to start bringing her around. The last thing I need is to have drama in my life because my ex starts messing with some annoying bitch,” she said, standing up and walking over to the hitting station.
“You could run down there and stop him if you really that bothered. Then I can catch a ride home with him.”
Alix grabbed a club, a mischievous glint in her eye. “I’m not giving him any impression he’s got another chance. And why are you trying to get rid of me? You got somewhere better to be?”
Royce had thought about texting Bree earlier but thought better of it to not give her any indication he wanted something serious with her.
“Not that I know of,” he shrugged.
“Good,” she said. “Now that they’re gone, I’m going to show you that I’ve really been holding back on how good I am at this shit.”
She took her stance, drew back and swung. The ball veered dramatically to the left, barely making it past the first marker.
“Even Helen Keller could see that you ain’t good,” Royce said, laughing.
“Everyone can’t be PGAers. I didn’t even know you golfed,” Alix said.
“I don’t. I went once with Rana’s fiancé, and he showed me how to swing the club so you aren’t taking out someone’s kid on the side of the course.”
Alix held the club out to him. “Come show me how to do it then.”
He stood up and walked over to her. She held on to the club for a moment, staring into his eyes, when he grabbed it then brushed against him as they traded places. She only smiled at him as he looked at her before he took his stance.
“Back straight, knees bent, shoulders over hands. Look at the ball, read it, hit it,” Royce said, repeating the instructions Tyrell had given him. He swung the club and got a clean connection with the ball. He wasn’t going to be winning any tour events anytime soon, but even he was surprised at how natural hitting the ball felt to him.
Alix nodded and took the club back. “Alright, I got it. Stay right there to make sure I’m doing this right, though.”
Royce leaned back against the railing as she stepped up to take the shot. She placed her feet too far apart, almost squatting down. He tapped her foot with his.
“You’re hitting a golf ball not playing catcher,” he said, pushing her foot closer to the other one.
“Oh, my bad,” she said. She replaced her legs being too wide with them being too stiff.
Royce laughed. “This why people say white people can’t dance. Why you so stiff? Bend your damn knees.”
Alix sighed and stood up straight. “Just show me how to do it again.”
Royce held his hand out for the club.
“No,” she said. “Show me how to do it.”
He hesitated for a moment what she meant clicking in his head. He glanced over his shoulder toward the elevators despite knowing Malik was likely halfway across the city by now, racing down I-10.
“You stand there any longer and I’m going to start thinking you’re afraid to touch a girl, Royce,” she said, her tone sounding like a challenge.
“You funny,” Royce said as he pushed away from the railing.
His first thought to maintain a respectable distance between them was quickly dashed as she backed up against him as soon as he positioned his arms over hers.
“How’s my posture?” she asked innocently, though there was nothing innocent about the way she pressed against him.
“Your back ain’t straight,” he said. “You’re hunched. You’re not Taylor Swift taking dick, you’re swinging a golf club.”
“That’s definitely not me,” she said, going from hunching her back to arching her back.
Royce cleared his throat, not expecting that but not being against the visual. He pushed on her shoulder to get her to straighten her back.
“Relax,” he said, the word having more than one meaning in the context.
They swung together, the ball sailing directly into the barrier net on the right. Alix turned around, looking up at him. “I might need some more practice.”
Their eyes met, and for a moment, neither spoke. The air between them filled with tension.
Royce’s phone vibrated on the table. He cleared his throat and walked over to pick it up, seeing a text from Malik apologizing again for leaving him stranded.
As he tapped a quick reply, Alix rolled another ball in place. He looked up just as she perfectly swung the club and launched a ball down the range.
“What the fuck?” Royce said.
She turned around and shrugged. She smiled, a slow, confident curve of her lips. “Marc works at Exxon. Every man that works at a plant plays golf around here. You want to put something on the last round?”
He shook his head. “I don’t think you know how hustling works. You make the bet first before showing that you know how to do the thing.”
“Oh, we already made the bet,” she said, winking at him.
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Soapy
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Caesar
Topic author - Chise GOAT
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djp73
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Dying to Live
That’s his homies leftovers
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Caesar
Topic author - Chise GOAT
- Posts: 16845
- Joined: 27 Nov 2018, 10:47
Dying to Live
Wheels Back
“Fuck!” Royce shouted as his hand slipped off a bolt and scraped against the air filter housing. He looked at his hand and pulled the now hanging skin from what would soon be a cut. “Fucking piece of shit.”
After months, Rana had gotten his car towed to Baton Rouge. However, it needed a once over before it would be ready for the road again after not moving since the day before the shooting. And there was only so much car knowledge one could learn from a series of YouTube videos.
That did nothing to diminish how committed he was to get it in tip top – or as tip top as one could consider it before – shape again. He needed the freedom of being able to come and go as he pleased. Even if he could already sense the ghost of memories with Romeo inside.
If only they’d gotten the car to him a week ago, he’d have one fewer complication in his life.
Tyrell walked out of the house, bag of chips in hand. He came to a stop next to Royce and stared into the engine bay.
“I know what’s wrong with it,” Tyrell said as he pulled a chip out of the bag.
“It’s a piece of shit?” Royce asked.
“Ain’t got no gas in it,” Tyrell said, his voice flat for a moment before he started laughing.
Royce sucked his teeth. “You a little too old for internet jokes, huh?”
“You’re always talking like I’m fifty years older than you. Me and Rana are the same age.”
“My bad. Y’all like twenty-five years older than me. Still gonna be in the grave long before I will be.”
Tyrell shook his head, wiping his hand on his shorts and leaning forward to check the level of the fluids in the engine. He grimaced as he worked his way through checking different components.
“Want me to show you what you need to do?” he asked, placing his hand on the hood.
“You know about cars?”
Tyrell shrugged. “I know enough to either get this running again or get it running enough for you to drive up the road to my guy Richard and he’ll hook you up for cheap. Either way, it’s going to be running.”
“I ain’t going to turn down the help,” Royce said.
“Alright, go catch me something to drink out the house. It’s fucking hot out here,” Tyrell said.
“Can’t you go get it?”
Tyrell gestured to the car. “I’m helping you with the car. The least you can do is get a brother some water.”
Royce sighed and turned toward the house to get a couple bottles of water.
…
For the next few hours, the two of them worked on the car. Or rather, Tyrell did most of the work while he explained what he was doing to Royce. It was an unfamiliar experience for Royce. Someone, especially another man, teaching him how to do something that had nothing to do with playing football.
It was a welcome distraction from the thoughts that usually plagued him while he was at home.
As they worked, Tyrell kept up a steady stream of conversation, telling Royce about the neighborhood drama that popped up on the HOA’s Facebook page or a funny story about the goings-on at his job.
“Say, Rana said you went to U-High but you were telling me you grew up in Ferriday. She confused or something?” Royce asked.
Tyrell winced as a bead of sweat rolled over his eyes. He grabbed a towel in his back pocket to wipe his face. “Nah, I did. They recruited me for my senior year. They were a lot more aggressive with that shit back in the day before the split.”
Royce nodded. The LHSAA’s select-nonselect split was spoken about in the state like B.C. and A.D. One day, the private and public schools competed against each other in the same districts. The next, they were in their own leagues.
“I bet you be mad everytime someone mention NIL since you were in college when you’d get a death sentence for ever mentioning a free sandwich or some shit,” Royce said.
“Mad because I didn’t get as much as these boys do now? Yeah, but don’t get it twisted, young brother. Those boosters still used to slap a few hundreds in your hand after a big win even at Southern. Don’t even get me started on the Classic. In that sense, mad I didn’t go to fucking LSU!” Tyrell said, laughing.
“I always thought people exaggerated about that.”
“Nah. Some of the old old heads at LSU who are still around in the community will tell you about the crazy shit boosters would offer or give them before they got there and when they committed,” Tyrell said as he poured fresh oil into the engine. “Back in the ‘70s, the players would wear big suits so when they went to those banquets and stuff, the politicians could just drop fifties into their pockets.”
“That’s some crazy shit. It had to be like the wild west. They must’ve offered Shaq a fucking house to get him to LSU,” Royce said.
Tyrell laughed. “They might’ve given Shaq a house every year he was there. But you gotta watch that shit. You don’t want to bite off more than you could chew. Boosters don’t care about the athletes at all. They’re on your side while you’re good and you’re helping the team win. Do something they don’t like and they’ll use all that money to get your ass out of there. Remember that when you get back out there.”
“If I get back out there.”
“Boy, tell that lie to someone else,” Tyrell said. He pointed to the driver’s seat. “Hop in and try to crank it.”
Royce slid into the driver’s seat. He turned the key, and the engine roared to life, settling into a smooth idle.
Tyrell walked around and leaned on the door, grinning. “And you were doubting me. See if you were a real country boy like me, you would’ve known what you needed to do!”
“I’ll let you keep that title,” Royce said, laughing.
“Now, you can go to a park or something with them little white girls you got coming to my house instead of sneaking them in here.”
“Rana told you about that?”
Tyrell pursed his lips. “C’mon, bro. I was a young dude just like you. She didn’t have to tell me anything. We got cameras, remember? That’s how you got caught in the first place. When you opened the door, it tripped the alarm.”
“I didn’t hear no alarm.”
“That’s the point of an alarm,” Tyrell said. “Remind me and I’ll show you how to temporarily lift the alarm so you can open the door without setting off the alarm. But don’t bring that girl from the other night back. You can’t trust one that’ll sneak into Black folks house. That other one might be alright, though.”
Royce sucked his teeth, knowing who Tyrell was talking about. “There ain’t no other one.”
“I was born on a day, but it wasn’t yesterday. Besides y’all people, you’ve only brought four people over here. Two of them are dudes. Again, I was young just like you before.”
“You getting old because you sound senile,” Royce shot back.
Tyrell laughed and tapped the roof of the car. “Alright, I’m heading in to beg Rana to cook something. You good?”
“Yeah,” Royce said, nodding. “Thanks for helping me.”
“No problem, bruh.” Tyrell walked back toward the house, wiping at his brow as he went.
Royce sat back in the seat for a moment, just letting the car run. He glanced at the Terrebonne High parking placard still hanging from the rearview mirror. The school year just past emblazoned on it.
Reaching up, he took it down and tossed it into the back seat.
~~~~~~~~~~
Royce sat on the sidelines, his legs stretched out in front of him, crossed at the ankles with his arms crossed over his chest as he watched the team ran through drills. The summer heat had already set in, but his body was once again getting acclimated to being under it for hours at a time.
The other managers bustled around, distributing water bottles and towels, but Royce only provided a modicum of assistance, his focus remained on the field. But now that he knew the playbook, he paid particular attention to what the linebackers were doing.
Whistles blew as a player hunched over to throw up, a younger looking kid who was likely a freshman who’d never experienced summer practices before. Two of the managers, Trevor and John, jogged onto the field with water for the other players.
“You can do something, you know?” Ashley, the only female manager on the staff, said as she passed by. “It doesn’t even make sense for you to be out here if you’re just going to sit on your ass the whole time.”
Royce tapped his leg. “I can’t run out on the field to bring no one. Doctor’s orders. You can take it up with them.”
“Looks like you walk just fine to me.”
“I’ll let them know at my next appointment that Ashley thinks I’m fine.”
She opened her mouth to say something, but seemingly thought better of it as she went about her business. Royce’s attention turned back to the field as the team resumed practice. Even at half speed and just going through the motions, he could see some weaknesses in them.
Justin, in particular, was slow. Royce was sure he had him beat in the department. Or did before he’d taken a couple bullets to the leg. Even now, he felt that he could at least keep up with him.
If he was cleared to run.
As practice wore on, he continued his silent observation. He noted the way another linebacker, Tyler, had a high motor but lacked the pass rush skills to do anything with that. It had been a bit embarrassing to watch those drills.
Each play, each drill, was a reminder of what he’d lost. But it was also a reaffirmation for his understanding of the game and its intricacies. He might not be able to play – yet – but the knowledge was still there, the instincts still sharp.
As the sun dipped toward the horizon, Coach Cunningham finally called an end to practice. Royce stood up to pick up the balls when he noticed Tyler walking toward the sideline.
“Hey, man,” Royce called. “You want some tips?”
“About what?” Tyler asked, a confused look painting his face.
Royce waved him over. “When you’re trying to get by a block, you let them knock your hands off. You gotta get your arm on them then swim through that motherfucker.”
“Man, this ain’t no Madden out here,” Tyler said, laughing.
“Nah. I’m serious.”
“Let’s see it then.” Tyler put his helmet down and got into what was a poor estimation of an offensive lineman’s stance.
Royce nodded down to his leg. “Can’t. Leg’s fucked up.”
“Just walk through it. You’re not going to get by me, anyway,” Tyler said.
Royce hesitated for a moment before taking a step closer to Tyler and getting into a stance he hadn’t done in months. It felt weird. As if he were doing something wrong.
“Go.”
Tyler sloppily tried to block Royce, but Royce jammed one right hand into his chest and then swam through with his left arm, jogging by him.
“Nah, nah. You caught me off-guard. Do it again,” Tyler said.
Royce shrugged and turned around.
“Go.”
Royce did the same move again, this time going the other direction.
“Royce!” Coach Vaughn called. “Come get these balls up so we can get out of here.”
“Ayo!” a random player shouted.
“Johnson, I’ll break my foot off in your ass, boy!” the coach shouted.
Royce sighed and grabbed the mesh bag that had he’d become closely acquainted with over the last few weeks.
“Hey, bro. You gotta show me that shit,” Tyler said, holding his fist out for Royce to bump.
“Yeah, I got you,” Royce said, bumping his fist and walking out onto the field.
Coach Vaughn walked over to him, dropping a few footballs in a pile near Royce.
“What are the doctors saying about you playing?” he asked Royce.
“Still can’t.”
Coach Vaughn nodded before spitting some sunflower seeds on the turf. “Didn’t expect you to have a good little swim move in your bag. Good shit, son.” He didn’t wait for Royce’s response before he started walking toward the locker room.
Royce nodded to himself, satisfied with the compliment.
“Fuck!” Royce shouted as his hand slipped off a bolt and scraped against the air filter housing. He looked at his hand and pulled the now hanging skin from what would soon be a cut. “Fucking piece of shit.”
After months, Rana had gotten his car towed to Baton Rouge. However, it needed a once over before it would be ready for the road again after not moving since the day before the shooting. And there was only so much car knowledge one could learn from a series of YouTube videos.
That did nothing to diminish how committed he was to get it in tip top – or as tip top as one could consider it before – shape again. He needed the freedom of being able to come and go as he pleased. Even if he could already sense the ghost of memories with Romeo inside.
If only they’d gotten the car to him a week ago, he’d have one fewer complication in his life.
Tyrell walked out of the house, bag of chips in hand. He came to a stop next to Royce and stared into the engine bay.
“I know what’s wrong with it,” Tyrell said as he pulled a chip out of the bag.
“It’s a piece of shit?” Royce asked.
“Ain’t got no gas in it,” Tyrell said, his voice flat for a moment before he started laughing.
Royce sucked his teeth. “You a little too old for internet jokes, huh?”
“You’re always talking like I’m fifty years older than you. Me and Rana are the same age.”
“My bad. Y’all like twenty-five years older than me. Still gonna be in the grave long before I will be.”
Tyrell shook his head, wiping his hand on his shorts and leaning forward to check the level of the fluids in the engine. He grimaced as he worked his way through checking different components.
“Want me to show you what you need to do?” he asked, placing his hand on the hood.
“You know about cars?”
Tyrell shrugged. “I know enough to either get this running again or get it running enough for you to drive up the road to my guy Richard and he’ll hook you up for cheap. Either way, it’s going to be running.”
“I ain’t going to turn down the help,” Royce said.
“Alright, go catch me something to drink out the house. It’s fucking hot out here,” Tyrell said.
“Can’t you go get it?”
Tyrell gestured to the car. “I’m helping you with the car. The least you can do is get a brother some water.”
Royce sighed and turned toward the house to get a couple bottles of water.
…
For the next few hours, the two of them worked on the car. Or rather, Tyrell did most of the work while he explained what he was doing to Royce. It was an unfamiliar experience for Royce. Someone, especially another man, teaching him how to do something that had nothing to do with playing football.
It was a welcome distraction from the thoughts that usually plagued him while he was at home.
As they worked, Tyrell kept up a steady stream of conversation, telling Royce about the neighborhood drama that popped up on the HOA’s Facebook page or a funny story about the goings-on at his job.
“Say, Rana said you went to U-High but you were telling me you grew up in Ferriday. She confused or something?” Royce asked.
Tyrell winced as a bead of sweat rolled over his eyes. He grabbed a towel in his back pocket to wipe his face. “Nah, I did. They recruited me for my senior year. They were a lot more aggressive with that shit back in the day before the split.”
Royce nodded. The LHSAA’s select-nonselect split was spoken about in the state like B.C. and A.D. One day, the private and public schools competed against each other in the same districts. The next, they were in their own leagues.
“I bet you be mad everytime someone mention NIL since you were in college when you’d get a death sentence for ever mentioning a free sandwich or some shit,” Royce said.
“Mad because I didn’t get as much as these boys do now? Yeah, but don’t get it twisted, young brother. Those boosters still used to slap a few hundreds in your hand after a big win even at Southern. Don’t even get me started on the Classic. In that sense, mad I didn’t go to fucking LSU!” Tyrell said, laughing.
“I always thought people exaggerated about that.”
“Nah. Some of the old old heads at LSU who are still around in the community will tell you about the crazy shit boosters would offer or give them before they got there and when they committed,” Tyrell said as he poured fresh oil into the engine. “Back in the ‘70s, the players would wear big suits so when they went to those banquets and stuff, the politicians could just drop fifties into their pockets.”
“That’s some crazy shit. It had to be like the wild west. They must’ve offered Shaq a fucking house to get him to LSU,” Royce said.
Tyrell laughed. “They might’ve given Shaq a house every year he was there. But you gotta watch that shit. You don’t want to bite off more than you could chew. Boosters don’t care about the athletes at all. They’re on your side while you’re good and you’re helping the team win. Do something they don’t like and they’ll use all that money to get your ass out of there. Remember that when you get back out there.”
“If I get back out there.”
“Boy, tell that lie to someone else,” Tyrell said. He pointed to the driver’s seat. “Hop in and try to crank it.”
Royce slid into the driver’s seat. He turned the key, and the engine roared to life, settling into a smooth idle.
Tyrell walked around and leaned on the door, grinning. “And you were doubting me. See if you were a real country boy like me, you would’ve known what you needed to do!”
“I’ll let you keep that title,” Royce said, laughing.
“Now, you can go to a park or something with them little white girls you got coming to my house instead of sneaking them in here.”
“Rana told you about that?”
Tyrell pursed his lips. “C’mon, bro. I was a young dude just like you. She didn’t have to tell me anything. We got cameras, remember? That’s how you got caught in the first place. When you opened the door, it tripped the alarm.”
“I didn’t hear no alarm.”
“That’s the point of an alarm,” Tyrell said. “Remind me and I’ll show you how to temporarily lift the alarm so you can open the door without setting off the alarm. But don’t bring that girl from the other night back. You can’t trust one that’ll sneak into Black folks house. That other one might be alright, though.”
Royce sucked his teeth, knowing who Tyrell was talking about. “There ain’t no other one.”
“I was born on a day, but it wasn’t yesterday. Besides y’all people, you’ve only brought four people over here. Two of them are dudes. Again, I was young just like you before.”
“You getting old because you sound senile,” Royce shot back.
Tyrell laughed and tapped the roof of the car. “Alright, I’m heading in to beg Rana to cook something. You good?”
“Yeah,” Royce said, nodding. “Thanks for helping me.”
“No problem, bruh.” Tyrell walked back toward the house, wiping at his brow as he went.
Royce sat back in the seat for a moment, just letting the car run. He glanced at the Terrebonne High parking placard still hanging from the rearview mirror. The school year just past emblazoned on it.
Reaching up, he took it down and tossed it into the back seat.
~~~~~~~~~~
Royce sat on the sidelines, his legs stretched out in front of him, crossed at the ankles with his arms crossed over his chest as he watched the team ran through drills. The summer heat had already set in, but his body was once again getting acclimated to being under it for hours at a time.
The other managers bustled around, distributing water bottles and towels, but Royce only provided a modicum of assistance, his focus remained on the field. But now that he knew the playbook, he paid particular attention to what the linebackers were doing.
Whistles blew as a player hunched over to throw up, a younger looking kid who was likely a freshman who’d never experienced summer practices before. Two of the managers, Trevor and John, jogged onto the field with water for the other players.
“You can do something, you know?” Ashley, the only female manager on the staff, said as she passed by. “It doesn’t even make sense for you to be out here if you’re just going to sit on your ass the whole time.”
Royce tapped his leg. “I can’t run out on the field to bring no one. Doctor’s orders. You can take it up with them.”
“Looks like you walk just fine to me.”
“I’ll let them know at my next appointment that Ashley thinks I’m fine.”
She opened her mouth to say something, but seemingly thought better of it as she went about her business. Royce’s attention turned back to the field as the team resumed practice. Even at half speed and just going through the motions, he could see some weaknesses in them.
Justin, in particular, was slow. Royce was sure he had him beat in the department. Or did before he’d taken a couple bullets to the leg. Even now, he felt that he could at least keep up with him.
If he was cleared to run.
As practice wore on, he continued his silent observation. He noted the way another linebacker, Tyler, had a high motor but lacked the pass rush skills to do anything with that. It had been a bit embarrassing to watch those drills.
Each play, each drill, was a reminder of what he’d lost. But it was also a reaffirmation for his understanding of the game and its intricacies. He might not be able to play – yet – but the knowledge was still there, the instincts still sharp.
As the sun dipped toward the horizon, Coach Cunningham finally called an end to practice. Royce stood up to pick up the balls when he noticed Tyler walking toward the sideline.
“Hey, man,” Royce called. “You want some tips?”
“About what?” Tyler asked, a confused look painting his face.
Royce waved him over. “When you’re trying to get by a block, you let them knock your hands off. You gotta get your arm on them then swim through that motherfucker.”
“Man, this ain’t no Madden out here,” Tyler said, laughing.
“Nah. I’m serious.”
“Let’s see it then.” Tyler put his helmet down and got into what was a poor estimation of an offensive lineman’s stance.
Royce nodded down to his leg. “Can’t. Leg’s fucked up.”
“Just walk through it. You’re not going to get by me, anyway,” Tyler said.
Royce hesitated for a moment before taking a step closer to Tyler and getting into a stance he hadn’t done in months. It felt weird. As if he were doing something wrong.
“Go.”
Tyler sloppily tried to block Royce, but Royce jammed one right hand into his chest and then swam through with his left arm, jogging by him.
“Nah, nah. You caught me off-guard. Do it again,” Tyler said.
Royce shrugged and turned around.
“Go.”
Royce did the same move again, this time going the other direction.
“Royce!” Coach Vaughn called. “Come get these balls up so we can get out of here.”
“Ayo!” a random player shouted.
“Johnson, I’ll break my foot off in your ass, boy!” the coach shouted.
Royce sighed and grabbed the mesh bag that had he’d become closely acquainted with over the last few weeks.
“Hey, bro. You gotta show me that shit,” Tyler said, holding his fist out for Royce to bump.
“Yeah, I got you,” Royce said, bumping his fist and walking out onto the field.
Coach Vaughn walked over to him, dropping a few footballs in a pile near Royce.
“What are the doctors saying about you playing?” he asked Royce.
“Still can’t.”
Coach Vaughn nodded before spitting some sunflower seeds on the turf. “Didn’t expect you to have a good little swim move in your bag. Good shit, son.” He didn’t wait for Royce’s response before he started walking toward the locker room.
Royce nodded to himself, satisfied with the compliment.
-
djp73
- Posts: 13183
- Joined: 27 Nov 2018, 13:42
Dying to Live
Find another doctor
-
Captain Canada
- Posts: 7856
- Joined: 01 Dec 2018, 00:15
Dying to Live
Damn. I go out of town for a few days and you pumping updates out. Just caught up. Love to see the progression