Chapter 1 #3
Maybe because it’s shining under what looks to be a thousand overhead lights. Not to mention the flash of a thousand cameras that are all pointed toward him.
He’s sitting on a podium with a bunch of other people whom I’ve seen many times before. I haven’t met them personally, of course, but they always hover around him on events like this.
It’s an MLS press conference.
There’s that yellow and blue shiny logo of his team, LA Galaxy, fluttering behind him on a giant screen with a black and white soccer ball, and there’s his coach with the shock of white hair, sitting beside him at the podium.
For a second, I get distracted by the moving strip at the bottom of the screen, displaying different headlines.
Emerging star of the LA Galaxy injured during practice; LA Galaxy to replace their midfielder superstar with a rookie; The Blond Arrow, hailed by critics and fans as the new David Beckham, to leave the season unfinished…
There’s more of it, more headlines, the same thing said in a variety of ways.
The same thing being: he is injured. And that he can’t play for the rest of the season.
But I don’t understand…
I don’t get it.
He was fine a week ago.
“So what does it mean for the team and the rest of the season?”
I’m still reeling from the headlines on the bottom when someone asks this question. Someone off screen, and of all people sitting at the long table with black mics in front of them, it’s directed at him.
I know because he hears it.
He hears it and his jaw that I’ve always likened to a sharp and sculpted blade moves back and forth. It’s very subtle and I don’t even think that anyone notices, not in the commotion of events like this, but I do.
I do because I’m attuned to him.
And because it’s such an… atypical reaction for him.
Arrow never moves his jaw back and forth. He never gets annoyed enough to do that.
He’s patient.
He’s patient and determined and level-headed. I’ve heard this about him a number of times, at the interviews, at the press conferences.
His calm is legendary.
“What it means – obviously – is that I won’t be playing on the team for the rest of the season.”
That increases the roar around him and the team coach leans forward and says, “What he means is that it’s very unfortunate and no one could’ve seen it coming.
But Rodriguez is an excellent wide midfielder and as hard as it will be to fill the shoes he’s had to step into, we’ll be making every effort to help him.
As we will help Carlisle as much as we can with his recovery. ”
His blue eyes flash, then.
They go from a summery blue to stormy and wintry.
Again, it’s so atypical that I notice it right away.
I not only notice it but I absorb the shock of it.
Because Jesus Christ, a week ago, when I was packing my bags to leave for St. Mary’s, Leah and I, we watched his game together.
The soccer season is on and they were playing New York City FC. And okay, so they lost that game and as far as I know Arrow, it must have hurt him because he’s very competitive.
But he’s lost games before and he always comes back swinging.
He appeared fine at the press conference after. A little grim but fine. Also, he called the house to talk to Leah later that night – he always calls after every game of his – and well, I listened in – I always do.
The conversation was slightly critical on Leah’s part because they’d lost but nothing out of the ordinary. No signs whatsoever that there was something wrong with him.
I was actually mourning the fact that I wouldn’t get to watch him play all that much anymore because of the stupid TV rules at St. Mary’s.
So I really don’t get it.
What the fuck happened?
“Can you tell us how long you expect the recovery to take?”
Another question fired off screen and to him but this time, he isn’t even paying attention to them. He has his head dipped down and he’s looking at his fists on the table. He’s practically glaring at them and God, I have a very bad feeling about this.
Very bad.
What’s happening?
Why’s he acting this way, when he’s always been so professional and polite?
When the coach realizes that his player won’t answer the question – he looks kinda shocked by Arrow’s defiance too – he takes the reins.
“It’s a very typical meniscus tear. I’m glad it happened during practice and we were able to get help quickly.
It’s minor right now but we all know that knee injuries have a way of creeping up on you, especially if you play contact sports.
So we want to take every precaution that we can so it doesn’t turn into something major. ”
I swallow when Arrow still won’t look up.
His posture has gone even tighter, as if he’s repelling his coach’s words. As if he’s repelling everything that’s going on around him.
“Will you be staying in LA for the duration of your recovery?”
For some reason, it feels like the pause after this question is longer and heavier. Or maybe it’s my own anticipation of what the answer is.
My own anticipation to hear his voice, his rich, deep voice.
A voice that I dream about.
Leaning forward, he looks into one of the cameras and it feels like he’s staring directly at me.
“No. It’s been kindly pointed out to me that I need to disappear for a while, go off the radar.
So I can heal. Recover from the injury that frankly no one saw coming.
And well, I agree. So I’ll be going east…
” He trails off before his words become curt and clipped. “Back to my hometown, St. Mary’s.”
What?
No, no, no.
He didn’t say St. Mary’s, did he?
He didn’t say he’s coming back.
No, he didn’t.
He couldn’t have.
Because he can’t come back. I don’t want him to come back.
I don’t.
I want him to stay far, far away.
He was the reason I was running away that night. He was the reason I stole that money and I was going to go somewhere before they caught me and stuck me inside a cage.
So he can’t come back when he was the one I was running away from.
My Arrow, the guy I’m in love with.
My sister’s boyfriend.