Season 4, Episode 8
Kam kept looking down at the map on his phone, having never been on this side of campus. It was one of the luxuries of being a student-athlete as your environment was insulated, confined to the small radius that consisted of the athletic facilities, lecture halls and dorms with the occasional venture into an off-campus apartment for post-game celebrations in a season that offered few opportunities.
The building was inconspicuous, squared away in an unsuspecting corner of campus, perhaps intentional. He roamed through the halls, examining each name plate and room number until he found his target, gently knocking on its wooden door.
"Come in," said the voice, never bothering to look away from their monitor, glasses at the bridge of their nose.
"I scheduled an appointment," Kam said, with more of an inquiring tone than an affirmative one, "Kam Seidu, Seidu-Harris."
"Is that for 11?" she motioned for Kam to sit down, "Appreciate your punctuality but you're early."
"I can come back," Kam offered, looking for a potential out.
"It's fine," she sighed, finally making eye contact, "I can break for lunch early then."
Kam took his backpack off, placing it on the seat next to him. He looked towards her for guidance, instructions on how this would play out.
"How can I help you?" she asked instead, placing the ball firmly at Kam's feet.
"This is, umm, about the hearings," he managed to get out.
"Which hearing? Do you have a number, was it filled already?"
"I don't know," Kam stuttered, "The one for Amy, Amy Hastings or something?"
"Oh," she quickly realized, "All complaint fillings are private, if one even exists, so unless you've been summoned, I'm not at liberty to divulge any information."
"It's not that," Kam hurried his mind, scrambling for the right words, "I mean, she did say I was a witness but then I wasn't and I never got summoned but..."
"Again, I can't talk about this unless you're officially on the case," she reiterated, "I can't even tell you if there's even a complaint unless you're involved in the case."
"I know she went to the lake," Kam's voice rose up, cutting through the confusion, "She asked me to go with her and I said no but I know she went, she must have."
She took a moment, pondering on what to do. She had too often seen cases like Amy's come and go with no resolution, no punishment for the wicked and only agony and sorrow for the victim. As expected, they had struggled to place her at the lake which made proving an impropriety occurred there nearly impossible. There were more hearings to be had, all the way into the next semester but every witness, nearly all members of the football team, were toting the company line. Except for the young man in front of her but he wasn't an official witness.
"Look," she took her glasses off, "For any of what you're saying to matter, for it to count, it has to be on the record, in an official hearing, okay? I can work on getting you on the list but before I do that, it's important that you understand what is going to be asked of you, okay?"
"Yes, ma'am."
"You said she asked you to go," she began, "Did she tell you where she was going?"
"Just to the lake, that she was going up there."
"With who?"
"She didn't say exactly who, I guess the guys she was hanging out with."
"Who are they?"
Kam tried to put the scene together in his mind, unsure how much of it he had filled in after the fact, "I can't really say for sure, we weren't really hanging out that night."
She paused, wanting to suggest a few potential names.
"Khary might have been there," he offered, one of the players that didn't dress for the Bowling Green game, "Austin was on the trip too and he wasn't with us so it could have been him."
"I know you feel like you're doing the right thing," she stopped him, "But you can't just name people, okay? Do you actually remember any specific people going to the lake with her?"
"Well, no, like, I didn't see her go to the lake. I just know that she said she was about to and I don't know, Khary and Austin didn't play last week so clearly they're the ones she said did it and I believe her."
"It doesn't work like that," she sighed, "What do you actually know, what did you see?"
"She came over to me, said she wanted to go the lake and then left."
"Did you see her go to the lake?"
"No, ma'am."
"I appreciate you coming in," she put her glasses back on, "I really do but at this moment, there's not really much that your accounting can add to the hearing. This isn't my place but she might need character witnesses at some point and so will they, do you understand?"
Kam was unsure but the weight of the moment had him just wanting to get out of that room, "Yes, ma'am."
“I don’t have to like someone to protect them,” her voice broke, “I know what it feels like to…the world is questioning every fucking thing about what happened to you…if it even happened…did you ask for it...are you just scared of being called a hoe…I know what that feels like, Kam, and trust me, no one ever asks for that feeling, just because they regretted a bad hook up."
“I don’t have to like someone to protect them,” her voice broke, “I know what it feels like to…the world is questioning every fucking thing about what happened to you…if it even happened…did you ask for it...are you just scared of being called a hoe…I know what that feels like, Kam, and trust me, no one ever asks for that feeling, just because they regretted a bad hook up."
Season 4, Episode 9
The smell of roasted turkey and freshly baked pies wafted through the air, making his stomach rumble. The dining table was beautifully set, with a golden-brown turkey taking center stage. Jamal’s mom, Mrs. Thompson, was bustling around the kitchen, having already acquainted herself with the rented AirBnB.
“What are we missing?” Mr. Thompson perked up from his plate, having already dug in.
“I could have sworn that we picked up some cranberry,” she looked through one more cabinet before giving up her pursuit, “It’ll just have to do.”
“Jamal is country folk now,” Mr. Thompson chuckled, adopting a Southern accent, “We gonna just dip it in our gravy, is all, if I do say so myself.”
“They don’t even talk like that,” Jamal shook his head, defending the honor of Kentuckians.
“They were pretty country,” Kam remarked, sharing a laugh with Mr. Thompson, “Some of them was dressed like that Druski skit.”
“It wasn’t just parents and stuff in y’all section?” Jamal asked, having plenty of time to look into the stands during the game.
“We were in there with the regular people,” Mrs. Thompson joked, rejoining them at the table, “You’re a lot braver than me at your age, I don’t know if I would have signed up for that. Over Boston, Jersey?”
“They sound racist, might even look it a little bit but they’re pretty good people,” Jamal replied with a shrug of the shoulders.
“You’re a football player,” Mr. Thompson interjected, “If you were just a regular person, even a student, it’s a whole different treatment. Is Muncie like that?”
“It’s pretty regular,” Kam answered, “It’s a little bit like back home, probably even more black people.”
“You get out into the city much?” Mrs. Thompson inquired, picking at the bread on her plate.
“Not much of a city, really. Indy is about an hour away, some of the guys drive down there during the offseason and stuff but during the season, don’t really have much time for that.”
“You had a pretty good season,” Mr. Thompson nodded, “I’m not going to lie, it was hard to find some of your games but the ones that I did manage to catch, you did pretty well behind that offensive line.”
“Yeah, it was straight,” Kam downplayed it, a bit embarrassed about his success given the company he was in.
“Must be nice to get carries,” Jamal teased, “I wonder how that feels like.”
“I told you the Kentucky coaches were texting me before the game, after the game. Shit, probably even during the game,” Mr. Thompson commented.
“I ain’t trying to be a doormat in the SEC,” Jamal shook his head, “We at least got a chance of winning our conference.”
“I mean, they looked pretty good,” Kam suggested, “It’s still an SEC school.”
“They’re probably going to look for a back in the portal,” Mr. Thompson told Kam, “I can put you in contact with them if you’re interested since this one here ain’t.”
Kam still had PTSD about eating Jamal’s leftovers, given how everything played out with Boston College, “Thank you, sir, I’m all good.”
