Always Upbeat / All That (15 page)

“Yeah, I'm straight,” I said, kissing her full on the lips. “What we have is working for me. No strings or rings, just fun!”

The fun ended when I felt an intense shove on my back. My first thought was that it was the thugs from around Leo's way. However, when I turned around, it was my cousin who was heated.

“How come you treat her like that, man? Charli really cares about you, and you just break her heart? Telling her to get the hell away from you like y'all never really had anything,” Brenton blurted out, clearly showing his hand.

It was no secret that he liked Charli, so I let him vent. When he shoved me the third time, I pushed him. It was on. The two of us were tussling in some stranger's house. I was not trying to break anything. I was not trying to hurt Brenton. I was not trying to cause a scene, but it did feel good punching him. Actually, it felt good getting punched too. So much was wrong, but the violence felt right. I had all that pent-up hostility and anger. Though Jackie made me feel better in one way, I still was pretty messed up about all that was going on with my mom. So scrambled was my brain that I could not even go home.

“Man, what are y'all doing?” Landon said, as he came in and broke us apart.

We were going at the blows pretty intensely. Leo put my hands behind my back. My boys stepped in and helped us not kill each other.

I grabbed Jackie's hand, and said, “Let's go.”

Wiping my bloody nose, she jerked her hand back and said, “Some of my girls are here. I can get home. Maybe you need to be alone. Just go.”

I was not going to argue with her. I threw my hands up, and I was out. I had never fought Brenton before. I truly hated that it had to come to that. I could only hope that he'd forgive me. Jackie must've thought I had been a jerk to her too. We'd had an intimate moment, and now I walked out on her. I was smart enough to know that I was not really supposed to leave. She wanted me to chase her, but I didn't have it in me. I was broken, but hopefully my nose wasn't; it felt awful. My world was pretty tumultuous.

The last place I wanted to go was home, but that was where I drove straight to. My dad's car was not there, but my mom's was. When I walked into the house, I tried to head away so she could not see me.

I must have appeared worse than I felt because she said, “What in the world?”

“It's nothing, Mom. A door just hit my face,” I said, looking away.

“A
door
? And I'm supposed to believe that. Come here, boy. Sit down,” she said, as she went to the bathroom, came back with a cold rag, and told me to hold my head back. “What is going on with you? Jail, hanging out all hours, now fighting? This isn't like you, son. Your sister comes back tomorrow, and I need you to be strong.”

At that moment I took the rag and said, “Mom, how can I be strong when you might be leaving me? How can I be strong when I know I might not have the person who loves me more than anything around? How can I be strong when you've got cancer? Come on, Ma, tell me, seriously? Knowing that you're dealing with all that you got going on, you really expect me to be strong. If I lose you …”

“Shhh,” she said, as she put her fingers to my lips and held me. “Your dad has been going through this too. He's a football coach. He deals with big, mean boys. He tells them to be tough at all times, but he doesn't know how to deal with a little illness either. Cancer's not gonna beat me. I'm going to beat this disease.”

“Ma, you're just saying that because you want me to be okay. It doesn't matter what you want, cancer has a mind of its own.”

“No, son, I've been doing a lot of research. When you're going through this disease, you must believe that you can beat it. A patient must want to believe it. I certainly have a good reason to want to live. I've got a son who I love and who's doing amazing things. The clashing is for the football field and not the person you got in a fight with. That's not you. Going to jail, that's not you. And letting all these girls do who knows what to my son who was taught values, that's not you. I'm not going anywhere. I need to be here for you,” she said to me with a penetrating glare. Then she cradled my face in her hands and said, “But if I'm not physically here … I need for you to be here for your sister and your father because between the three of you, you're the strongest. You don't just wear a Lions' jersey on Friday nights, you are a lion through and through. You have tremendous courage, so quit making stupid decisions, quit drinking, quit whining, and quit tryna work that thing in your pants.”

“What you talking about?” I said, wondering if she knew this was the day her little boy became a man.

My mother said, “I know when you're getting too big for your britches. I'm your mom. Quit fighting. Quit being so grumpy. And quit crying. Be the Blake that I'm proud of. Man up.”

O
h my gosh, you guys. I had so much fun in New York! It was the best. I got to go to the opera. I danced with some of ballet's finest, and at my performances I got standing ovations. You're looking at a rising star. Can I go back right now, Mom? Please?” my sister Lola boasted and begged.

My sister had not been on Georgia soil two minutes, and she was already talking about going back. We had picked her up from the Atlanta airport, and she kept repeating herself about how great everything was for her in New York. She didn't just say it a couple times. She kept saying it over and over and over, as if she was some broken record, and that was all she could say. Never once did she ask, “How was your summer, Blake? Dad, what's going on in your world? Mom, are you okay?” Nope, none of what was happening to us even entered her mind, and it was probably for the best.

My dad did not want Lola to know all that was going on with my mom, but my mother insisted. However, Lola was so into herself she thought that when we went to Pascal's, an upscale restaurant near the Georgia Dome, that the nice dinner was all about her. I wondered if my parents were going to stop her from talking, but they let her continue to ramble. I guess they thought that if she was extremely happy, the blow she was going to receive when she found out her world was not as solid as she thought would be cushioned. We ate our appetizers, our salads, and our entrées. Heck, we were practically through dessert.

I finally said, “Are y'all going to just tell her?”

My dad looked at me like he wanted to whack me upside my head. I was remembering the fact that my mom told me she wanted me to man up. My sister needed to know.

“Why are we prolonging the inevitable?” I asked.

“What are you talking about, Blake? Tell me what?” Lola questioned, finally getting that this evening out had more to it.

My dad looked down. My mom's eyes watered. Then my sister nervously put her hand to her mouth.

She shouted, “Oh my gosh. You're not getting a divorce or anything like that are you?”

She had not been home a day, and we could tell she was much more dramatic now than before she went to the Big Apple. She did not even let my parents explain. She just believed her own scenario and played it out in her mind.

“Because then that means I'll have to choose which parent I want to live with. Dad, I can't stay with you because you'll never let me date. Mom, I can't stay with you because you won't take me shopping enough. In the event of a divorce, I don't know what I'm going to do. You guys have to work this out. Divorce is not an option,” she ranted, getting on everyone's nerves at the table, especially mine.

“Okay, okay, Lola. Hush, honey,” my mom finally said. “It's not our relationship—”

Cutting our mom off, Lola demanded, “Well, what is it, Mom?”

My mother looked away as the tears started falling faster. My dad rubbed her back. I wanted to hug the cancer away.

“Lola, while you were gone, your mom had not been feeling that well. She's gone through a few tests and it looks like um,…” my father paused still not wanting to explain, “that she's been diagnosed with breast cancer.”

“No!” my sister screamed out dramatically, though this time I knew her emotions were real.

Lola got up and hugged my mom. They both cried right there in the restaurant. I realized the waiter was staring, and a couple seated at the table next to ours was teary. People were looking on, and I saw in their faces that they were sympathetic to us. The manager discreetly delivered the check.

Nothing could be said to make Lola feel better. Telling her did not make the disease worse, and as annoying as my sister was when she was all cheery, I would have given anything to see her smile endlessly like that again. During the entire ride home, there was no joy in the air. There was no happiness to be breathed. There was no glee passing from one person to another. We were all somber.

I knew my mom loved playing board games. Mrs. Strong was the family game-night queen. If it wasn't Monopoly, she wanted to play Sequence, Chinese checkers, or Taboo. She told me she needed me to step it up and make sure I held her up so she could get through this. I knew this whole ordeal was getting my dad down in a way I could not imagine. My sister was as fragile as a flower in a hurricane. Clearly, she was not stable.

As soon as we got home I knew I needed to lighten the mood. I said, “Game on! Mom, last I remember me and you beat Dad and Lola in spades. She's back home; let's beat them again.”

Just that challenge made my dad step up to the plate and grab the cards. “What? Lola and I always hold it down. You and your mom get ready for a spanking. Baby girl and I are going to beat you guys.”

My dad started shuffling the cards. Lola was unsure. My mom put her arm around her.

My mom looked at her sad daughter and said, “I know you're not going to take sympathy on me. You're dad's talking trash. Think he's right, and you guys can beat us? It would mean a lot to me, baby, to play.”

They hugged and we played. We had so much fun laughing as a family, not thinking about sickness, disease, or things out of our control. We only focused on each other and what was important, and that was family. If we were intact, we could battle anything. The best football team doesn't just win the Lombardi trophy because they are lucky; they win because they are a well-trained unit, and so was the Strong family, a strong family and tougher than ever.

My sister and I had a Jack-and-Jill bathroom we shared. I had gotten so used to going in without knocking that I actually forgot she was home and just barged in. I caught her crying.

I put my arm around her and said, “It's going to be okay.”

Sobbing, she asked, “How do you know it's going to be fine? Mom's got cancer.”

“Because she told me, come what may, we're going to be fine. And you've got your big brother here. You're not going to have to worry about nothing,” I told her, and I believed every word.

She buried her head in my chest, and I knew whatever it took, I was going to make her happy again. I loved Lola and she loved me. My mom needed us to be strong for my dad. After she was cried out, she stepped back and looked up at me.

I said, “Aw, it's going to be okay. You know that, right?”

She nodded. “Thanks, Blake. Because of you I can sleep tonight. Because of you I have hope. Because of you I'm not broken. Thanks, big bro.”

We had a bus ride ahead of us. Then it was time to suit up and play. Though it was just a scrimmage we were traveling to, we knew it was an important game. Word would be out around the metro Atlanta area whether we were punks or players based on the game's stats. My dad seemed like a whole different person. He was real melancholy, laid back, and not over-the-top excited, and the team fed off of his gloomy mood.

Our starting running back, Wax, was the only one talking junk. “I'ma have two thousand yards this season. No defender is going to be able to hold me back. I'm holding on to all of the balls, not putting nothin' on the ground. First-team All-American, baby. Look for the name Jason Waxton. That's wassup.”

Jason, that was his name—not that I was wracking my brain trying to figure it out—but I really didn't know his name. I was tired of his bragging about all he was going to achieve without anyone's assist on the team. No kicker was talking about how many field goals he was going to score or what field position his kicks were going to put us in. No defensive lineman was talking about sacks. No linebackers were talking about force fumbles and tackles. No DBs were talking about interceptions, though we really did not have anybody in the secondary anyway. Actually, we were weak at safeties and corners. The whole team, except for Wax, wasn't saying a word. Landon, who loved to talk junk, was silent. Tuning out Wax, it was too quiet.

Wax wanted everyone to stare at him. He liked to try and showboat. I was sitting in the back of the bus, and I knew I had to lead them.

So I stood up and said, “Look, I know Wax is irritating.” He looked over at me like I said something wrong. “But he's keeping it real. He's trying to do something big this year. You got to be hyped if you're here to win. I'm not going to play with a bunch of scrubs, so let's get out there and hit somebody, block somebody, run, catch—”

And someone yelled out, “And throw, punk!”

I shouted, “Oh, you ain't got to worry about that, partner. I got mine.”

Two hours later we were coming out of the locker room ready to take on our Fulton County opponent. It was a new school with state-of-the-art equipment. Word was they could throw down.

Before we ran out on the field, my dad grabbed my facemask and said, “I know you got a lot on your mind, son, but let's go do this. You talked a good game on that bus, but can you back it up?”

“Yes, sir,” I said, jogging to the sideline.

We won the coin toss and elected to receive. After the special teams play positioned us on our own thirty-yard line, I knew I had seventy yards to take the ball down the field. On the first play from the line of scrimmage, I moved back and held the ball as I waited for Landon to get into position. Finally, when he looked back, I threw a bomb pass to him just as I got nailed by the other team's big, nasty lineman. Landon was fifty yards down the field. He was perfectly positioned to run in a touchdown after the catch. However, the ball went straight through his hands.

A linebacker from the opposing team got up in my face. “I almost had you sacked.”

“I'm a little too quick for you, bro. Better lay off the greasy food,” I said, pointing to his round stomach.

I could not believe Landon missed a perfectly thrown ball. He was taking his time getting back to the offense. When we got to the huddle, I went off.

“Dang it, Landon. You almost got me killed with you not turning the route quick enough. You knew the play. Execute and run, doggone it. What? You got grease on your hands? Catch the ball. Freaking idiot.”

I looked over at my dad, and he called a running play. I could've screamed. I knew that's what they were going to expect but being obedient, I handed the ball off to Wax. Unlike the smack he talked about not dropping the ball, as soon as the defender knocked him down, the ball was out. Thankfully, I scrambled to recover it.

“Dang. What I got to do? Play all the positions? I guess I got dumb and dumber on my team today,” I said when we got back to the huddle. “I got to be the quarterback, the lineman, and the running back too. Can y'all handle anything? Shucks!”

“Just throw me the ball,” Landon yelled, clearly annoyed with me when he needed to be upset with himself.

I looked over at my dad. Thankfully, at third down and ten yards to go, he called a passing play. I nodded and smiled. That was what I was talking about. This way Landon and Wax could run a short route, and I'd have two options of throwing a short dump pass. However, before I could throw the ball in the air, the same linebacker who had talked junk a couple of plays earlier knocked me on my tail. His big body would not get off of me, and everything in me was hurting, especially my shoulder.

Unfortunately, it was my right shoulder, and that was the arm I threw with. I felt like my world was over. Like everything I worked for meant nothing. Like all my dreams were gone and dashed in an awful second. I had opened my mouth about Landon and Wax not giving full effort, but I was the one lying there helpless. My teammates rushed over to me. Tears filled my eyes as I knew my season was gone.

I yelled like a loud cheerleader, “I broke it. My bone is shattered.”

The home team was responsible for the paramedics. Their trainers came out onto the field with the emergency folks and the gurney. My dad, Coach Grey, and our trainer were out on the field too.

“Just relax, Blake. Quit fighting the pain, son,” my father said, holding my left arm still.

I kept pounding and pounding and pounding it in the ground. My dad grabbed my fist and made sure it did not move.

I could not believe this, and as I was being carted away I heard Waxton say to the offense, “That's what he gets, non-supportive self. Now who's on the ground, acting like a b—”

Landon cut him off and said, “Dang, man. He's hurt. You got to go there?”

Wax fussed back, “You should want to. He was saying you ain't got no skills. He's supposed to be your friend, and he talks to you like he's the doggone coach. Well, Mr. All That might as well get used to not being in the spotlight. He'll be on the sidelines.”

At that moment I realized I had been over the top. I should not have been so cavalier with them. I could not tell my teammates, who I needed on my side, anything hurtful and unnecessary.

My dad was standing beside me as I was helped on to the gurney. The paramedics started asking me questions and checking me out. For him it was like adding insult to injury. I knew this was more than he needed right now. Feeling the pain in my shoulder, I knew this was more than I needed too. Half or all of my season would be gone with a broken shoulder. It was more than I could bear.

I saw all my dreams disappear before my crying eyes. I was devastated, knowing that an injury to my throwing arm could ruin my future. The dream of me having a break-out junior season and attracting major college scouts, was gone. The chance of being offered entry to several D1 college camps next summer vanished. The opportunity to start my senior season listed as a first-team All American was snatched away. Signing a D1 college scholarship in my senior year and having the opportunity of playing on Sunday nights at a D1 school was not in my favor.

As they were starting to wheel me off the field, I moaned, “I'm sorry, Dad. I'm sorry.”

My dad said, “Injuries happen, son. You were playing your hardest. I'm not mad at that. Son, if you broke your arm, man, … seems like you would be in a lot more pain.”