Finding My Way (15 page)

“I hate school, Jojo. I hate the team, the coach, everything. I hate that you’re not there. That Mason’s not there. Everything about the place is sterile and uninviting. It’s a great campus, but I don’t belong there. I made a mistake and now I’m paying the price. Beaumont’s
golden boy
has fucked up and there ain’t shit I can do about it.”

Josie sits up, resting her head on her hand. Her fingers play with my scruff and if I didn’t know better I’d think she likes it.

“You’re one of the best quarterbacks in the country, Liam. Talk to the coach and find out why you’re not playing.”

I nod, but say nothing. Those aren’t the words that I want to hear from her. Of everything I just said to her she picks up on the football part. I want her to tell me to quit and come home. I want her to tell me that she’ll come back with me because having her there will ease the fucking anxiety I’m feeling every night when I’m alone.

She’s not alone; she doesn’t know what it feels like. She has our crew, our friends. I have nothing but an empty dorm room with bare white walls because I haven’t found an ounce of energy to decorate it. Because decorating makes everything final and this can’t be what I’m destined for. This was not the path and the great American dream. I’m on the high road to Loserville and she’ll be watching me from the sidelines, shaking her head because I fucked up.

“I don’t know, babe.”

“What don’t you know? They recruited you. They wanted you to play. Yes it sucks that Mason pulled a fast one, but it’s not like you guys were a package deal.”

“Yeah, I guess,” I say to appease her. “It’s just not what I thought it would be. I don’t know, high school doesn’t really prepare you to be hundreds of miles away from the one you love, does it?”

“No, I suppose it doesn’t. But I’m here, you know that and I’ll be coming down soon.”

That’s right, I invited her down for a game, but I don’t want her there, not now. The last thing I want is for her to see me sitting on the sidelines like some has-been. It pains me enough to be there, watching the game unfold in front of me and not be a part of it. I don’t know how I’d cope knowing my girl is in the stands, watching me watch something I can’t be a part of.

I pull her back into my arms and rest my chin on top of her head. I love her so damn much it’s going to be the death of me. I can’t tell her this, of course, because she won’t understand. She’s not under the pressure I am, she only adds to it.

Chapter 24

J
osie’s in college now and loving it. I’m resentful. She’s going to parties and having fun while I’m stuck here, sleep walking my way through life. If I didn’t love her so much, I’d tell her to shut up when we’re on the phone because the constant yammering about how much fun she’s having and how she wishes I were there, is too much to take.

I know I shouldn’t feel this way toward her, but I do. I don’t want to hear about all the great friends she’s making or how last night Mason ran for his first collegiate touchdown. That’s all supposed to be me.
I’m
supposed to be the one she raves about. It’s me who should be having fun and be completely exhausted when we talk. I should be the one having to return her phone calls, not the other way around. When I call her, I want her to answer. I don’t want to leave a message and wait for hours and hours only for me to call back because she hasn’t called.

None of this college experience is going like I thought. My only solace is the open mic nights. I’ve been promoted, if you will, from the five p.m. to the nine p.m. slot. I don’t mind as it gives me a bigger audience to play in front of. Most of these people don’t even know I’m on the football team. How sad is that? I’m here, for the benefit of the Longhorns, and I’m more of a hit in the pub than I am on the football field. Isn’t life grand?

Open mic nights have become my lifeline. I don’t care about my grades or the football team. Hell, I’m not even traveling to away games. I refuse to answer any calls from my dad and the coach won’t take a meeting with me. I’m sitting here wasting away and frankly, I don’t give one shit. Except I hate
here
. I don’t hate the University of Texas, but here in general. I don’t know anyone and I’m not putting myself out there to make any friends. I can’t be bothered. I wake up, go to class, go to practice, hit the weight room and return to my room where I practice my guitar instead of doing homework. When eight o’clock rolls around I trudge across campus with my guitar on my back and into the student pub where I’ll put on a show. Most of my songs are covers, but I do play one that I wrote, the one for Josie that she didn’t understand.

Girls dance while I play. They don’t just sit around and talk to their friends. They get up and dance in front of me, sometimes with other guys or just with a group of them. I know they’re flirting but I don’t care. The only girl I want to look at me like this is in college hundreds of miles away, not giving a shit about whether or not I’m going to fall apart.

My phone rings and I roll my eyes thinking it’s my father. I should give him credit; at least he’s checking on me, but I have nothing to tell him. He sees the television. He knows I’m not playing. He’ll want to try to fix things and honestly, I don’t know if I want him to. I can get a free education while I’m here. I’m going to need it since the NFL is definitely not in my future now.

I look at the screen and don’t recognize the number. It’s probably a prank or it could be my dad calling from some far off location. This is like buying a scratch-off lottery ticket. You have a fifty/fifty chance that you’re going to win at least something. More often than not, you lose and you go on with your day. I can answer and win a million dollars or it could be my father. Either way, it’s worth the risk.

“Hello?”

“Liam?” I pull my phone away from ear and look again to see if I recognize the number. I don’t, but the woman on the other end sure says my name in a familiar tone.

“Yeah, who’s this?”

“This is Betty Addison,” she sighs, taking a deep breath. “There’s no easy way to say this so I’m just going to be blunt. I’m your grandmother.”

I pull my phone away again and look at the screen. I don’t think I heard her properly, but I swear she said grandmother. I only know my father’s side of the family and his mother died when I was young. When my Gram passed, I cried for days, she was like a mom to me. My mother never talks about her parents.

“Um… okay.”

“I’m in town this week and I thought we could have lunch. There’s a nice little café by your campus.”

“You’re here?”

“Yes, you go to the University of Texas, right?”

“Yes, but how did you find me?”

“I have my ways Liam. I’d really like to meet you, buy you lunch and just talk.”

What do I have to lose and it’s free food away from the cafeteria. “Sure,” I say and before I know it I’m agreeing to meet her tomorrow at noon. It dawns on me that she’s been absent all my life and that irritates me some. Does she know what kind of man Sterling Westbury is?

I’
m nervous as I wait for her… do I call her grandma? My leg bounces, causing the table to jiggle back and forth. When the chair in front of me pulls out and she sits down, I see an older version of my mother. Or what I envision my mom will look like if she doesn’t die from alcohol poisoning first.

“It’s so nice to finally meet you,” she tells me while studying my face. I don’t return the sentiment because I haven’t known she’s existed for more than twelve hours.

Conversation is awkward at first as we get to know each other, but half an hour in it's like I've known her my entire life. We sit and talk for hours. My grandma tells me she’s an actress, but hasn’t acted in years. When I ask about my mom and why they don’t talk, she shows me a picture of Bianca. She’s dressed as a starlet, holding a trophy. Betty says it’s her Rising Star Award. She won it at sixteen.

“She never told me,” I admit quietly, complete enamored with the beauty that was my mother. An actress – that’s what she wanted to be.

“When she met your father she gave up her dreams for his. I fought hard to make her see what she was doing, but your father was determined to have a trophy wife on his arm and your mother would do anything to please him.”

“That’s how she is, or was,” I add. “My mom, she drinks a lot and doesn’t really have any emotions. My parents…” I shake my head, but something inside of me tells me I can trust her. “They’re not good parents.”

“Why are you here at the University of Texas?”

I smile and lean forward to tell my grandma my story. It flows freely, starting in the eighth grade and until I graduated. I tell her all about Josie, Mason and Katelyn and even playing my guitar at open mic nights. She in turns tells me about my mom and I sit and listen to her stories, each more fascinating than the one before.

Betty reaches across the table and takes my hand in hers. Her smile in infectious and I can see why she’s an actress. I make a mental note to find some of her movies so I can watch her perform.

“You remind me of your grandfather.”

My ears perk up. Half of me wants to ask her everything that I’ve missed, but the other half doesn’t want to know because I’ve missed so much and I don’t know if I can bear the heartbreak of knowing that someone out there actually cares about me.

“He was a jazz musician, played the trumpet. We were married for five years.” She waves her hands as if wiping away a memory. “He liked his booze and women a little too much, but was a good dad to Bianca.”

“I hate that she has never talked about her family. I feel like I’m in the Twilight Zone here.”

“I know how you feel, but I’m here now, for whatever you need Liam, whether it’s football or singing. I want you to be able to count on me.”

I move my coffee cup back and forth. “I don’t like football anymore and…” I shake my head and lean toward her. “No one back home understands this music thing, but I feel ”

“At peace when you’re playing?”

I nod. “How do you know?”

“Your grandfather was the same way. He’d play for hours in the garage just blowing that old horn and when I asked him once why, he said because it’s the only time when the voices aren’t telling him what to do.”

I smile and agree. “That’s exactly how I feel. I lay in bed at night and the anxiety is so much I feel like it’s trying to drown me. What was his name, my grandfather?”

Betty lights up. “Charlie Page.”

“Page is my middle name,” I say and she nods. “At least my mom gave me that.”

“If you don’t like football, why do you do it?”

I shrug. “It’s hard to stop something you’ve been doing for so long, but my heart isn’t in it.”

“What’s your heart telling you, Mr. Liam Page?”

I like the way she says my name. I say it a few times in my head. “It’s telling me to try music.”

“I think you should listen.”

Before we know it, it’s dark and the café is closing. Betty follows me back to campus and sits front row while I perform. She beams with pride and claps wildly when I finish my five-song set. I walk her to the door, happier than I’ve been in a long time and thankful that I finally have someone who understands the pressure that my father has put me under. I hate that he did the same thing to my mom.

“Thank you for everything, Betty,” I say, as I’m holding her hands in mine.

“Would it be too much to hear you call me grandma just one time. I’m an old lady and I’ve dreamt of this moment for so many years.”

I lean forward and peck her cheek. “Thank you for a fabulous day, Grandma.”

She beams, lighting the room with her infectious smile. “If you ever find yourself in Los Angeles, you give me a call. I have a house on the hill that overlooks Hollywood and a room with your name on the door just waiting for you.”

“I will, Grandma.”

She pulls me close and whispers. “Follow only your dreams, Liam.”

I
lie in bed, unable to sleep. I’m antsy and on edge. I slip on my shoes and leave my dorm, walking across campus to my coach’s house. I know it’s late, but I don’t care. I need answers and I want them today.

I knock three times before he answers. He’s still in his burnt orange polo and khaki pants. Always dressed like it’s game day.

“Westbury, it’s late. Whatever you have to say it can wait until tomorrow.” His arm rests on the doorjamb as he hunches over. He’s not a man of authority, at least not right now, but the smirk on his face tells me that he’s not pleased to see me. I stand tall and square my shoulders. This moment is going to be the catalyst for what comes next in my life. I have to do it with conviction or he won’t take me seriously.

“Actually it can’t. I’ve been doing a lot of thinking and I’m stumped. You haven’t won a game all year. You’ve only scored three touchdowns in five games and yet I’m still on the bench. Why is that?”

He folds his arms across his chest. “Do you think you’re better then Rogers?”

“I know I am, but you won’t play me.” My words are matter-of-fact. I know I’m the best on the field, yet game after game I sit there watching us lose. I watch the game recap. I read the articles. Everyone’s asking why I’m on the bench and now I want to know. His answer may change my mind. Deep down, I’m hoping that it does. I want him to tell me that he’s going to start me on Saturday. If he does, I’ll stay. If he does, I go back to my dorm, call my girl and wish her a goodnight. If he does, the dream is still intact and no one has to know how close I am to breaking.

“And you’re asking me why?”

“Yes sir, I am.”

“It’s simple. You don’t want to be here, you said so yourself. I heard you that day, in the hall. At first I thought, wow, what did I do to deserve one of the top five? Turns out, nothing. When your buddy backed out, I thought for sure you would too, but here you are looking for playing time on a team that you don’t want to be on.”

I shake my head. “All you had to do was tell me you weren’t interested instead of wasting my time.”

“
I
wasted
your
time?” he says incredulously as if my time means nothing to me.