Sadie
The Pothole
"Okay, so you need to make sure that you don’t agree to anything just yet." I twirl a piece of my hair as I pace my childhood bedroom.
Levi crunches on whatever he’s eating, not responding to my statement.
"Are you listening?" This is clearly more important to me than it is to him.
"Oh, sorry, yeah. Just trying to get some breakfast in at the same time." He goes silent once again, and I hope it’s because he’s washing down whatever it was with a drink. "What would agreeing to something look like?"
I shake my head, trying to stuff down the groan that’s dying to escape. "Who did you promise?"
I love the guy, and he’s a great boss. But also, he’s a sucker for kids, always showing up with jerseys or promising things I will need to find a way to deliver. You’d think for someone that puts grown men in their place for a living, he’d be a little better at negotiating.
"I wouldn’t say I promised anyone specifically. But the coach from Coop’s team hinted around about having another player get the spotlight, and well—"
"That would be a no, Coach Montgomery. I know that it’s the easiest and goes a long way for your kid, but we have to spread it out.
Make it fair for other teams." I plop down on my bed, the springs bellowing from age and a bed frame that’s worn far past the point of squeaking. I wince, hoping he didn’t hear it.
Levi sighs. "I know. And look, I only said I would see what I could do." He must be leaving, likely headed to the arena, as a door shuts in the background. "We’ll cross that bridge when the time comes."
"When is the time going to come?" I shouldn’t pester him about coming back, it’s not even been a full week.
But this is exactly the reason I should be there instead of staring at the poster of a young Chad Michael Murray plastered to my ceiling.
"I need to work, and you need me to work. It seems pretty simple to me."
"About that…" Levi’s voice deepens to a more serious tone, and I imagine him glowering at the phone. Despite only being a stepdad for a few months, he’s got the dad-voice nailed down. "What have you been doing to learn to live a little?"
Giving a guy I used to tutor bloody noses? Or should I go with trying to ditch a book that’s following me around?
Straightening my shoulders, as if he can see me, I take a deep breath. "I bought a couple of books yesterday and got ice cream from a truck."
"Wow, riveting," he chuckles. "You need to embrace this whole thing, Sadie. I’m not going to get into why it’s so important, I think we both already know what happened."
"A panic attack."
"Yeah, but you need to understand why it happened. And don’t give me some lame-ass excuse like you took on too much.
I’ve seen you balance a hundred different tasks without breaking a sweat.
Sometimes we get so focused on the goal, the achievement, the fucking trophy—that we miss the whole point of why we wanted it so badly in the first place. "
I don’t disagree with him that he may have struggled with determining why he set the goals he did and what he sacrificed to achieve them.
Yet, I don’t feel that way about myself.
I’ve always been so clear on where I saw my life going—never without a solid five-year life plan.
There’s never been a moment that I've regretted missing a night out, a dinner with friends, or losing a relationship over my work schedule.
"What do I need to do to convince you that I’m ready to come back?"
Please, just give me a checklist.
I can almost hear him thinking, the gears grinding in his head. "Give up control. Get out of your comfort zone. Go do something that scares you."
I close my eyes, willing myself to be respectful. This whole thing feels like it’s way outside of what my boss can legally require of me. At the same time, it’s exactly what I should’ve expected from him. He’s a coach, on the ice, off the ice—I doubt he ever stops thinking like one.
"Fine, but you’ll let me know if you need me, like for work stuff?" Opening my eyes, my gaze immediately lands on the freaking book that Beth gave me. It was stuffed in my suitcase, and I thought I'd won. But now, it’s propped open at the foot of my bed like it’s just waiting for me.
"Sure, talk to you in a few weeks."
"Like two? Three?"
"Sadie, I’m hanging up now. Take the month." The call goes dead, and I toss my phone onto the bed next to me.
A month, fuck my life.
I pick up the pillow opposite mine, push it over my face, and scream. I’ve never felt so out of control in my life.
"Sadie, everything okay in there?" my mom shouts.
I guess the pillow didn’t muffle my frustration as much as I’d hoped. "Yeah, I’m good."
Throwing the offending feather sack to the side, I sit up and grab the book. Beth’s letter falls out on my lap, and the first words I notice are: What’s over three but less than five is a number in time. Levi said a month, what’s between three and five—four weeks.
A rush of adrenaline courses through me.
I don’t want to do this, but maybe if I do it on my own terms, if I choose it, then it won’t feel like such a burden.
I don’t know if completing a crossword qualifies as something scary, and it’s definitely well inside my comfort zone.
But submitting to it—that’s the very definition of giving up control.
"Mae, I promise I’ll be back in a few weeks. And I’m good for the rent, so don’t get any ideas about subletting my—"
A rabbit leaps and bounds across the road in front of me, stealing my train of thought and causing me to swerve.
My car jerks as I barrel into the same pothole that’s lingered on this road for the last decade—a spot the town should have fixed where loose bricks gave way to nothing but gravel.
A loud pop follows with a whistle of air that sounds like it’s rapidly escaping a too-small hole.
The whizzing drifts through my rolled-down window.
I hesitate for a moment, wondering if I’m actually hearing it, or if by chance I’m assuming the worst when everything is fine.
"Your room?" My roommate chirps at me, bringing me back to the conversation. "You think I’d rent it for three or four weeks, Sadie? Do you not remember that I have trouble taking the trash out, let alone posting an ad online?"
Realistically, her confusion is valid. Why would she rent my room for what I explained would be a long vacay? But then again, what if it isn’t—what if Levi tells me I can’t come back from what happened, that I’ve become too much of a liability and failed to find the balance he thinks I need?
My car thumps, and the puzzle book flips open to the first clue taunting me from the passenger seat. I stifle a groan as I take stock of my location and remind myself that none of this is Mae’s problem to deal with.
"Mae… I have to go. Don’t rent my room. I’ll be back soon!" I say, smashing the end call button as quickly as I can.
At least I hope I will.
The clunking intensifies as I push my black sedan further, tightening my grip until my knuckles are white, as if it will help.
The sound of what’s surely a flat tire, and a likely ruined rim, screeches and grinds against the cobblestone street, and my heart rate picks up further.
Sparks bounce off the bricks, and smoke begins to plume.
"You’ve got to be kidding me, universe!" I shout into the void, relenting as I ease onto the curb in defeat. I’m supposed to meet Howie for lunch, and now I'm absolutely going to be late.
I push out of my car to assess the damage. "Stupid, useless piece of rubber"—I mutter to myself while I kick at my deflated and all but shredded tire—"it wasn’t enough to be bad for the planet, you had to ruin my day too?"
The street is empty, aside from Mr. Holland and his vastly overweight dachshund, who I know from many run-ins is named Spencer Lee. Both the dog and the man are hard of seeing, hearing, practically everything. They’re not going to be any help.
Opening my phone, I search for my cousin's name and call him.
"Sade? Is everything okay?" He answers after a half a ring, the noise of the lunch rush at Union Tavern bellowing in the background.
"No." I release a frustrated breath. "I have a flat."
"Sade, I can’t hear you. Did you say no?"
I yell into the phone, "I’m stranded on the side of the road." Mr. Holland looks in my direction, cocking his head to the side, but continues walking.
"Why are you whispering?"
"Howard! I’m not, turn the volume up on your freaking phone!" I shout, shaking my head, annoyed that this is a regular occurrence.
"Shit, sorry. I didn’t realize it was on low. I’m leaving work now. Where are you?"
"I’m on Crow, just down from Mrs. Sullivan’s." I lean against the side of my car, banging my head softly on the window.
"I’ll be right there."
Younger than me by a couple of years, Howie and I have always been close. He was my awkward sidekick, and I was his overly anxious leader. Inseparable. I was looking forward to catching up over sushi, not dealing with more shit.
I swallow down the thick emotion that forms in my throat and decide now’s as good a time as any to start playing Beth’s little game—it’s not like I have much else to lose. I slide into the driver's seat and grab the book.
Across
1. Acting without regard for one’s self: Benevolent
There are ten empty boxes. I grab a pencil from my purse, quickly writing in selfless. Nope, not enough letters. I erase it. Unselfish also isn’t enough, and it can’t be benevolent. Charitable or thoughtful could work, but they don’t feel right.
The loud rumble of Howie’s Bronco roars as he makes his way down the street, saving me from the question. I snap the small, tattered book closed and peer out the window. He could have chosen a quieter, less conspicuous vehicle, but apparently Howie is the King of Mage these days.
His door slams, the sound echoing through the car, followed by a soft knock.
"Sade, are you ready? Let’s go."