Being at this school reminds me of what I lost every day. I guess that’s sort of my punishment. I deserve that. I make my way to the locker room knowing I’ll be the first one to arrive. I’m here before the assistant coaches because I want to finish typing up the notes on the players I’ve been observing. I want to come up with a plan. I also want to figure out the practice schedule for the remainder of the year. We’ve gotta prepare if we want to win.
Reaching the door to the locker room, my mind recalls the many times she waited eagerly for me to step out after each home game. She always had a smile on her face and pride in her eyes. She made me want to get back on the field and play the game over and over again.
She was too good for you, my mind tells me, but it’s not like I’ve forgotten. Me not being good enough for her was a pill I swallowed the moment we started dating and every day since. It’s why I tried to be the best boyfriend I could be. But there wasn’t much I could do to come back from what I’d done.
Nothing could salvage it. Us.
I couldn’t keep lying to myself thinking I could somehow be good for her.
I had to be good to her... And to do that, I had to let her go.
After I finally shook those thoughts out of my head, I got to work. I went into my office and started getting things ready. Between scheduling practices, film time, game time, and everything in between, there were no empty spaces left in my calendar.
With a full week under my belt, I had a chance to look at all of our players. I watched their every move, analyzing them. I wrote notes about their weaknesses and strengths. I had a personalized plan for most of them. I haven’t had nearly enough time to make a personalized plan for all of them, so that’s the next task on my list. Looking down at my calendar, I look at where I’ve circled our first game. Two weeks from now. Two weeks until we face our first opponent. Two weeks for this team to be championship ready and they will be. Their success is my success and I’ve already lost enough in my life to keep on losing.
I look down at my watch. The guys don’t get out of class for another hour, which means I’ve spent almost seven hours getting things ready. My daughter should be getting out of school around the same time the guys will be piling into the locker room.
I decide to give Mom a call and remind her to pick Ari up. I used to be able to pick her up every day, but with conflicting practice times, that’s something I can’t do anymore. The phone rings for a few seconds before my mom answers. “Hey,” she greets me.
“Hi Mom, I was just calling to remi—” she cuts me off.
“To remind me to pick up Ari from school at 2:30,” she finishes.
“Exactly.”
“I remember. I once had a kid too, you know.”
“Yeah yeah, I just wanted to make sure you didn’t forget.”
“I won’t leave my grandbaby stranded. You worry about getting Bragan High its next championship and I’ll worry about picking her up every day.”
“Thanks again for taking care of that. I’ll pay someone to do it soon,” I tell her. I’m grateful for her help, but retirement is supposed to be about her resting, not taking over my responsibilities. I just need a little more time to save some extra money before I can pay a babysitter.
“Pay someone!?! Absolutely not. This job is the best thing that’s happened to me. I get to spend more time with Ari. You will not be paying someone to do something I want to do.”
“You say that now, but eventually you’re going to want to just rest.” She needs rest. My mom’s been working hard for too long.
“I’ll rest when I’m dead.”
“Don’t say that!”
“It happens to all of us. Anyway, I gotta run a couple errands before pickup, so I’ll let you go for now.”
“Alright, thanks again, Ma.”
“Of course. You may be a man, but you’ll always be my baby and that child of yours is my child too.”
I realize there’s another call on the line when the sound interrupts the conversation with my mom. I look at the caller ID and notice it’s Ari’s school calling. My stomach drops immediately. They never call me. “Ma, I gotta go.” I don’t even bother telling her why.
I hang up on her before she has a chance to say goodbye and pick up the call on the other line. “Hi, could I speak with Christian Cole please?” A woman’s voice says from the other end of the line.
She sounds too serious, like she’s about to tell me something I won’t like. “This is he. What’s going on?”
“Hi, this is Hannah Robles calling, I’m the principal’s assistant here at Bragan Elementary. We need you to come over to the school,” she says, ending her sentence there like that’s enough information. I feel my heartbeat increase as a fear for my child’s safety creeps in.
“Is Ari okay?” I ask, getting up from my desk and grabbing my coat. I feel for my keys in my jacket pocket and rush out the door.
I run right out of the school as I wait for the woman on other end of the line to answer my damn question. Why is she taking so long?
“She was just involved in an altercation.”
All air leaves me in one breath. “Altercation?” I repeat, trying to figure out what the hell she means by that. My daughter isn’t the kind of kid to get into any fights or any trouble whatsoever.
“Is she okay?!” I ask again, hoping she gives me a less coy answer.
“She is. She was the aggressor in this case.” Aggressor? Ari doesn’t fight. We talked about this when we clarified that for her being a fighter meant not giving up. “She got physical with one of the other kids during recess,” the woman adds. If Ari physically attacked another kid, it’s because she was defending herself. That’s what I taught her to do.
I wish this damn woman would stop speaking in code and would just tell me exactly what it is that took place. “What happened?” I press, tired of picking up the crumbs she’s leaving behind and ready for her to give me the entire story.
“It might be better if you just come in. The principal would like to talk to you.”
I feel a headache start to form in the back of my head. “I’ll be there in a few minutes.”
Luckily for me, this town likes to keep the schools together and so my daughter is just down the road. I get in the car anyway and fifteen minutes later, I’m pulling into the parking lot of Bragan Elementary School.
I wrack my brain for other reasons why Ari would get physical with someone.
Maybe the call she knew I had with her mother upset her.
Maybe I missed some signals or signs that she wasn’t okay.
Maybe I screwed up.
Ari’s different than me. She’s better.
She has my eyes and other physical features, but in all other ways, she couldn’t be more different. She’s a genius for her six years of age. She’s responsible. Caring. Loving.
She’s all the good parts of life mixed together.
Stepping out of the car, I take the same path I’ve taken numerous times before to the principal’s office. Except this time, it’s not me who’s in trouble, it’s my kid.
9