#good ol' stroll with the bristols | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

aleapoffaithfiction · 5 years

Text

"Love is not all about loving everything perfect, it is when someones corrosive nature is the only thing that glues you to them which you wished it were never there." ― Michael Bassey Johnson

“I heard you the first time ma.”

Curtains and dinnerware. She’d been going on and on about the need for both for nearly thirty minutes. I’d have to question my own mental capacity if I hadn’t remembered it. With the first day of fall already over two weeks behind us, she complained about the need to change all of the pale coral drapes in the house to be in accord with the season. She raved about multiple shades of red being the perfect color palette for the Brooklyn townhome she resides in but eventually changed her mind by randomly blurting out that it’s too early for things to be so Christmas-y and instead opted for brunt orange. As for the dinnerware, it specifically has to be the nearly five hundred-dollar twenty-piece lace gold Vera Wang Wedgwood set that she fell in love at Bed Bath & Beyond.

It took every ounce of energy I had left within me to get off of the couch, change my clothing, and drive over here per her request after an extremely loaded day at work, so the last thing I want to hear about is her trivial needs and yet...here we are.

“Well, I know it’ll be like pulling teeth to get you over here any other day this week, so maybe we can do a little shopping this weekend. We can pick up Celeste and take that new car of yours for a good drive around the city or maybe we can head back your way so that I can go to Walmart.” Or she and Celeste can take either one of their cars and go on their boring shopping trip without me. With mommy’s early retirement and Celeste’s somewhat loose schedule with her counseling and life coaching career, the both of them have more than enough time to be in and out of stores for the sake of having something to do.

Every now and then, they’ll pester me into joining them for the sake of the three of us spending time together, but I usually dread it. They’re the slow, look at anything and everything for no logical reason, shoppers who slowly stroll around the stores while discussing the most trivial things. And me? I’m usually trailing behind them while huffing and puffing in annoyance at it all. Celeste always deems me to be the annoying little sister who throws a tantrum when everyone isn’t doing what she wants whenever I react in that manner and I always let her know that she can kiss my black ass every single time she says it. There’s a lot more I can be doing on a Saturday besides walking around Walmart and looking at the same ol’ shit.

“Yeah, I guess so.” As she wiped her counter top in the kitchen, I broke off another piece of the piña colada pound cake she made with my fingers and dropped it into my mouth. Per the usual, the flavoring and moisture was to perfection.

“I know I thought you better than that. The spoon is right there.” I let that go in one ear and right out of the other. The only way I’d be using that spoon is if she had some vanilla ice cream to go with this cake and she doesn’t, because it’s the first thing I checked for when I arrived. She only has butter pecan. What is it with older people and butter pecan ice cream anyway?

“Are you still going back home for auntie Shelly’s birthday or are you still thinking about it?” She immediately scoffed with a roll of her eyes and began to fold up the wet kitchen towel so that she could toss it behind the faucet as she always does when she’s finished wiping the counters.

“I’ll probably be there. She’s yet to stop calling and getting on my damn nerves about it. I’ve never known anyone to be more obsessed with their birthday than Shelly. You’d think that she’s turning twenty-one years old with the way she’s carrying on. Oh, and then there’s the part about her wanting a Gucci bag as a gift. She has a lot of damn nerve. Why do people automatically assume because you live in America, that you’re made of money?” And just like that, with her frustration, came her Trinidadian accent in full swing. Though they’re only two years apart in age, both mommy and auntie Shelly clash like no other and yet will give you hell if you dare to test either one of them. Even with the complaints, I won’t be surprised when she flies to Trinidad with that Gucci bag packed with her belongings because she plays the big sister role well and spoils auntie no matter how much she nags about her ridiculous requests. My grandmother, Auntie Shelly, and mommy migrated to the United States when mommy was seventeen and though she’s been here ever since, Auntie Shelly moved back to Trinidad to be with her now husband, Uncle Winston. Supposedly, mommy dated Uncle Winston first and that’s what caused their clashing ways, but that’s a story that I’ve never cared to look into. That skeleton and whatever else involves it, can remain in the closet.

“Because people stereotype. It’s a part of life.” And that’s the truth. You won’t believe how many family members believe my bank accounts are on Oprah levels because my face is on television five days a week. I dread family events for that very reason. I’m all for putting my people on and have definitely extended a helping hand for the sake of granting people opportunities but there are so many people who have no interest in working their way up to where they want to be in life. How do you expect to be somewhere in life without a foundation under you? More than anything or anyone else, the esteem you have for yourself after having busted your ass for an achievement is magical.

“Celeste said that she’d fly down with me for the birthday party if I do decide to go. Why don’t you come too? It’ll be a nice getaway for you and I’ll be able to have both of my children with me.”

“It all depends on the scheduling. I have to warn them weeks ahead if I decide to take a trip because they have to reach out to other analysts or athletes to find creative ways to fill in for me while I’m gone. I can’t just pick up and go. If it’s a weekend thing, I can probably fly out on Friday right after we wrap up on air and just skip out on the Podcast. That should get me there by like Friday evening.”

“Sounds fair enough to me, for as long as you come.”

“I’ll look into it.”

“So how is work?” My eyes instantly widened at the question because it’s one she never asks.

“It’s going great, honesty. I can’t complain even if I wanted to. How can I? I have one of my dream jobs. I’ve always wanted to have a show on ESPN and now I’m apart of a panel for the highest rated show on the network. I’d be a fool to have a single complaint about that.”

“I’ll never be able to understand how sitting around and talking about sports all day long is so interesting but that’s who you are, I suppose.” And there it is; the condescending dismissal of what I love.

Being a tomboy was something that happened to be within my nature while I was a kid, I didn’t ask for it nor did I go seeking that identity. I had no interest in playing with dolls and doll houses, I wanted soccer and basketballs. The whole kitchen and tea party thing was more of my sister’s style. I urged daddy to sign me up for the Boys and Girls Club, every summer league in Brooklyn, and to buy me game systems so that I could play them on those rainy or snowy days when I couldn’t or didn’t go outside and play. Dresses were for church and Easter, as far as I was concerned. Jeans and sneakers were more of my thing and still are; I just sex them up whenever I feel like it because I’ve confidently come into my womanhood and can be multifaced in the way that I dress myself.

I compromised with her by learning how to cook, only because she would constantly drill it into Celeste and I heads that she refused to have her children go out into the world without knowing how to feed themselves, but other than that, all of my thrills were in exciting times like those NFL wildcard games to clinch playoff spots, Venus and Serena Williams coming up in the ranks, or that kid from Akron, Ohio who was deemed to be the greatest human being to touch a basketball while still in high school. Hell, I remember when all of the girls around my way had a crush on Coney Island’s own Sebastian Telfair, meanwhile all I wanted was to play a couple of games of one on one with the guy right in the projects where he, his older brother Jamel, and their cousin, former NBA player Stephon Marbury came up. Though us two girls were all they had, daddy would always happily boast and brag about me being his best friend because I was the best of both words all made up into one. As for my other parent, she refused to understand it and even now, the stubbornness still gets in the way of the potential for us to bond more than we do.

“I’ll never be able to understand how you sit around and watch all of those Housewives shows and yet I don’t judge that you do. If anything, you should be thrilled that I’m accomplishing my goals and doing something positive with my life.”

“Oh, I know you’re doing something positive with your life. I’m not disagreeing with what you do. I’ve told you many times that I’m proud of you, but you know that I’ve never been into those things. You are your father’s child in that aspect and Celeste and I relate more in terms of our interests.”

“That approach is silly though, because despite my lack of interest in a lot of the things that the both of you like or entertain yourselves with, I at least try to figure out a way to enjoy it for the sake of the both of you, but neither one of you grant me the same courtesy. I’ve offered for the both of you to come and visit Bristol and see the studios and you’ve yet to take me up on the offer. I’ve asked you guys to come to games or events, but you haven’t come. So, I stopped asking. What’s the point in wasting my time and setting myself up for disappointment?”

“Sarai, don’t be ridiculous. You really believe that I can sit through hours of a bunch of guys dribbling a ball up and down a court? I’m getting a headache just thinking about it.”

“You believe that I wanted to be a part of that purposeless and stupid debutante ball? I mean just think about how sexist and elitist the concept of it is. It’s a ball to present young ladies to the high society and most of all, to display her to eligible bachelors so that she can marry into a rich family. How shallow can you get with something like that? And yet I did it, for you. I hated every single minute of it, including Chase Williams, and his weird topics of conversation. I can’t believe you thought he and I would ever hit it off.”

“It was at that same debutante ball that your sister met her now husband.”

“Okay, so what?” I was seventeen at the time. I wasn’t worried about finding a husband. Shit, I wasn’t even concerned with a boyfriend. I didn’t date in grammar or high school. My greatest concern at the time was gaining acceptance into the undergraduate program at New York University’s Arthur L. Carter Journalism Institute. I wanted it more than anything else and yet during my senior year, I juggled trying to keep my grades as close to perfect as possible while obliging her erratic decisions for me. Chase Williams being my future husband was a failure, but my acceptance into NYU was a success.

Despite journalism being my major and broadcast and multimedia being my minor, I also had to choose a second major within the College of Arts and Sciences and I ended up going with computer science and economics. If the journalism side of things didn’t work out, I planned to go in the cyber security route or I was going to get rich or die trying by trying to be the next Mark Zuckerberg. Thankfully, journalism was truly my calling. I was accepted into the honors program during the spring semester of my freshman year and was given the opportunity to work on an in-depth multimedia piece over the course of one academic year that ending up being reported on by The New York Times. Arguably the best part of my undergraduate years was six rigorous weeks of a summer program in Ghana where I worked as a foreign correspondent. It was an experience that I’ll never forget.

“I wanted you to be a part of that ball to expose you to things beyond yourself. Sports aside, you were so caught up in just you. I believed you needed to see there’s a lot more to life than balls flying all over the place and the occasional outings with your teammates.”

“Yeah, that’s what family vacations are for and even when we did those, it was never anything I liked. I asked you for Knicks game tickets and you took Celeste and I to see Carmen at the Metropolitan Opera House instead. I asked you for a ticket to the U.S. Open and you took us to see Swan Lake at the American Ballet Theater. For my birthday, you told me to pick anywhere in the U.S. to go for a family trip and I chose the Naismith Memorial Basketball Hall of Fame in Massachusetts and where did we end up going? Niagara Falls.”

“You sound so ungrateful right now. This is exactly what Celeste talks about when she says that you throw silly little tantrums when you can’t get your way.”

“I’m not being ungrateful. You’re calling this a tantrum because I’m telling the truth?”

“Well, Sarai, in a lot of cases, you chose things that myself nor Celeste would enjoy so I tried to find things that I thought would interest all three of us.”

“An opera and a ballet show? For me? And even then, I didn’t even complain about it. I just figured out ways to enjoy it despite being internally angry that I couldn’t go to the places that I wanted to go. I had to get a summer job for that.”

“What about when I took you two to Disney World?”

“It was nice.” And it was. It was the first and only vacation I enjoyed.

“Okay then.”

“But, if we’re going to be technical, the only reason why I was able to see all of the things that I liked is because of auntie Shelly. I spent most of the time in the park with her.”

“Sarai, please. All that matters is we went and you enjoyed it.” In a gesture that she’s been doing in response to my complaints since I was a child, she waved me off with a roll of her eyes and turned her attention to the touch screen display on the right-side door of her brand-new Samsung refrigerator that I’d gotten her for her birthday. She threw enough hints out about the two thousand five-hundred-dollar state of the art gadget to convince me that it would be an essential part of her kitchen and I made it happen.

“Daddy would have taken me to all of those places though. That’s for sure.” I went to my first Knicks game with him. I saw my first home run at the Yankee stadium with him. We saw the Nets together back when they were still in New Jersey. We even went to a Jersey Devils game, though I wasn’t that into hockey at the time. In the summer time, we’d go stand outside the gate at the Rucker Park and watch the guys hoop while we enjoyed ice cream cones from the Mister Softee truck lingering on the corner. I had every pair of Jordans that hit the shelves and my poster collection on my bedroom walls? Unmatched.

“I’m sure he would have but he’s no longer with us and I’m not sure why you feel compelled to bring up what he would have done if he were.”

“I guess because it’s the truth.”

“Well he’s not here Sarai. I’m sorry if you don’t think I was a good enough parent for you. I had a roof over your head, I put food on the table, clothes on your back, and made sure you were in a great school. You had good birthdays and Christmas’. We went on vacations, whether you were grateful for them or not. I tried to do my best as a single parent so don’t come in here throwing it into my face what your father would have done. I did what I could and he would have been damn proud of me.”

“I didn’t say you weren’t a good enough parent. Daddy just understood me more.”

“Well guess what Sarai? He was my husband. You don’t think my time with him was cut short too? I miss him just as much as you do. While I understand that he was your everything, I don’t think he would want you to be behaving in the manner that you do. Parents bring children into the world with the expectation to raise them and then one day leave them behind to be here to make a legacy for themselves. Your father’s life was cut short, but ultimately, he was raising you to prepare for a time when death would happen. I’m not going to be around forever either.” The pitch of her voice suddenly increased as she leaned forward to align her eyes with my own.

“I attempted to break you out of that odd mold you were creating for yourself and to expose you to different things because I don’t want you to do exactly what you’re doing right now; being alone out in this world. You’re so hostile towards life itself and it’s such a horrible mentality to have. I’m surprised you’ve kept Taylor around for so long because all you do is push everyone away. You think your father would want you behaving like that? He would have given you a never-ending earful. I’m sorry that he’s no longer here Sarai, but Wesley isn’t coming back. It’s been sixteen years. You have to move on.”

The tears that were once burning my eyes, came trickling down the sides of my cheeks. Many of our conversations always end up here, with her making this point, and then dismissing any criticism that I have for her as me unfairly measuring her up to my father. It’s never been about that. I don’t believe we have a poor relationship with one another, I just know that it has the potential to be so much better than it is. It’s not even about the past, because I don’t have to bring it up, but when I do, it’s always to point out how things are still the same when it comes to her stubbornness about who I am, what I do for a living, and my interests. I’m not as extreme with my tom boyish ways as I used to be, but I’m also not a prissy girly girl either. I’m just me.

“Move on like you have?” She hasn’t. It’s been sixteen years and she’s never remarried. The government funded support groups helped with her coping skills but anything beyond that? It’s been a slow burn progress. When I do attend church with her, I see guys checking her out and smiling in her face all the time, but from her view, they may as well be speaking to a wall. She still wears her rings and his on a necklace that she always wears around her neck and there are pictures up around the house with him in them as if everything is still as normal as it was before our world came crashing down with his sudden death.

“Don’t worry about me and what I have going on. You’re still wet behind the ears with a whole lot of life ahead of you. Don’t waste your time by trying to be like me. You’d be a fool for that. Your happiness is somewhere out in the world waiting for you and it’s up to you to find it or accept it when it finds you. Dry your face.”

I could barely finish off the second slice of cake as my stomach dropped for the millionth time at the sight of the season ending injury that snapped Beckham’s ankle during their week five match up against the Chargers. The sight of him lying on the field clutching his ankle in agony as tears began to pour out of his eyes is still as gut wrenching as it was when I watched it from my couch yesterday and the many times ESPN replayed it as we reported on it this morning. It’s always disappointing to see a player injured but the manner in which it happened to him drew emotion out of me that I hadn’t expected and yet, I didn’t have enough courage to pick up the phone and check on him. I just…couldn’t.

How could I when I spent the last two weeks ignoring any form of communication that he attempted to have with me? His text messages had gone from being sweet messages wishing me a good morning and his own opinions on the segments from the show, to being filled with confusion as to why I refused to respond to him. He attempted to call me three times but I simply stared at the phone and watched it ring. I thought after the unanswered phone calls his persistence would cease, but he then reached out through a Twitter direct message where he asked me if I was alright, because he was worried. A day or so after that, I believe he’d gotten the hint that I was deliberately leaving him unanswered and he stopped.

I thought I would have successfully disappointed and discouraged him when I spoke on the conflict of interest between myself and any athletes beyond the professional setting but it all went into one ear and right out of the other, so I needed to go another route and ignoring him was that. In the midst of the necessary barrier I built between he and I, I hated that I would find myself looking at my phone in anticipation that he’d try again. I scolded myself for lying in bed wondering about him and hoping that he still watches the show. Last night, I berated myself for the tears that I shed in sympathy for what he’s going through right now.

It felt like the Giants were cursed that day. Dwayne Harris left the game with a fractured foot, Brandon Marshall and Sterling Shepard left the game with ankle sprains, and Beckham with a fibula fracture. It was somber in New York, especially for a team that wanted to redeem themselves after such a terrible season ending playoff lost in the prior season. It pained me to read off Harris being out for the season, but it completely sent my mood into a downward spiral when I had to state the same exact verdict for Beckham. As such an explosive player and someone who only gets sixteen games a season, excluding the playoffs, to play the sport that he loves, I can’t even begin to imagine his disappointment.

I spoke with Heather. When I reached out, he was still in recovery from surgery. She said it was successful and he’s okay.

I reached out to Taylor a short while ago and asked her had she heard anything about his surgery. Everything took place today at the Hospital for Special Surgery in Manhattan.

Okay, good. Thank you.

The remaining half of the additional slice of cake I was having went into the garbage. I then slipped into my jean jacket and grabbed my car keys.

“Ma, I’m leaving. I need to run somewhere right quick.”

“Will I see you this weekend?” I knew she wasn’t too far away. She was right there in the living room wrapped up into what NeNe Leakes has going on in her drama filled life.

“Yeah, I guess so.”

“Okay, then. Don’t catch an attitude when I call you.”

“I never do.”

As I neared the door, something within me told me to turn around, and I swiftly approached her and planted a kiss on her forehead. No matter how many disagreements we may have, that’s my mother, and I’m always going to leave her on a respectful note.

“Drive safely. Are you going to see a guy?” The gleam in her eyes instantly evoked the rolling of my eyes.

“Ma, don’t be ridiculous. I’ll call you tomorrow.”

My first stop was Scott’s Flowers, a florist I frequent when I feel like putting a brighter smile on my mother’s face or whenever an occasion calls for someone to receive flowers. They’re so familiar with my face that I don’t have to call ahead of time for most of my orders and today was of no exception. While swiftly flipping through a booklet of floral arrangements that weren’t impressive enough, I tossed it aside and opted for one hundred long stem yellow roses inside of a cylinder glass vase. In the corner of the room was an assortment of teddy bears that caught my eyes, so I chose the biggest one they had. I know if I had surgery, I’d want a teddy bear to keep me company. Scott slipped in a number of sly questions about who I was spending four hundred dollars on at this time of evening, but I avoided lying by diverting the subject matter. I considered grabbing some chocolates but I ultimately chose not to because I’m not sure if he likes it. The bottles of wine he raved about while I was on my way out of the door were pointless too. Wine can either be nice for a celebration or a painkiller for sadness, but it can’t be either for him because I’m sure he’s on a ton of actual painkillers.

“Tell Dominique I said hello.”

“Will do.” Yes, mommy’s name is Dominique. Mrs. Dominique Nicole Thomas-Nazaire. Trini to de bone.

The drive to the hospital was twenty minutes of bad nerves and conversations with myself that drowned out whatever Hot 97 had playing. I hadn’t even announced that I would be showing up and yet, here I am, in the parking lot, about to intrude on he and his family’s privacy as he recovers from surgery. I’ve always considered myself to be a thinker even though I think too damn much at times, but I didn’t spend much time taking into consideration all the things that could go wrong with this mission to do a good deed tonight. Who I am to even think that I may be able to slightly cheer him up with some tired ass flowers that’ll die within a few days, a teddy bear that his little brother will enjoy far more than he will, and two “Get Well Soon” balloons that I grabbed from a dollar store five minutes before arriving here? And I didn’t even take into account that it’s fucking me. I’m not Oprah known, but I’m known enough for people to make a narrative that is far from the truth if I’m seen here.

“You can be such a dumbass Sarai.” I panned my eyes over the parking lot. “Fuck it.”

I cleared my conscious as I slipped out of the car and retrieved all that I’d gotten for him out of the backseat. With the click of a button, I locked all of my doors and quickly trekked through the sliding doors and to the lobby’s information desk to get a pass.

“Good evening, how are you?” The short, stocky, and elderly woman warmly smiled at me while watching me manage to juggle the flowers, bear, balloons, and my purse.

“Hi. I’m well. I’m here to see Odell Beckham Jr.”  “Are you on the list?”

Oh. My. God. See? I’m stupid. How and why didn’t I think about there being a list? He’s only one of the most high-profile athletes in the whole fucking world.

“Um, I’m not sure.” I’m not. Obviously.

“What’s your name? Also, I have to note that visiting hours are ending soon.”

“Sarai. Sarai Nazaire.” Great. Just great.

As her fingers went to tapping away at the keyboard, I began to strategize my escape plan so that I won’t suffer in embarrassment when she tells me that my name isn’t there. While on my way out, I’ll trash all of this, because they’re obviously not going to make sure all of this gets upstairs to him due to it being a security risk.

“Sarai?” I couldn’t mistake that voice. As my head twisted to the left, Heather stopped squinting her eyes and brightly smiled at my presence. God decided to be gracious towards me today. I definitely have to go to church this Sunday with mommy. I’m not going to use cramps as a poor excuse like I did yesterday. My period ended Saturday. Lord, forgive me please.

“Hey Heather.” She adjusted the strap on her Chanel bag while approaching me and immediately engulfed me into a hug. Much like her son, I don’t know how anyone can ever become angry with this woman. She’s just one big ball of positivity.

“I’m so glad to see you. O’s going to be so happy you’re here.”

“They said that visiting hours are ending soon.”

“Oh, don’t worry about that. We’re in good standing with the surgeon. Once you’re upstairs, no one’s going to bother you. I stayed here all night long last night.”

“How is he?”

“He’s alright. He’s in good spirits even though he’s in both mental and physical pain. I know that sounds like it doesn’t make sense, but it does to me. He could be a lot of worse, you know? As I told him, it’s a minor setback for a major comeback.”

“That’s true.”

“And the surgery went extremely well. The fix is as perfect as it’s going to get so I can feel a lot of weight being lifted off of my shoulders and his, even though he’s not going to admit that right now. He has a long road ahead of him before full recovery and of course him getting back to the athletic O that we all know and love, but the fact of the matter is that he’s going to recover. There are people who do not, so he’s blessed.”

“I’m so glad to hear that. When I saw his ankle bend like that, I literally yelped out loud.”

“Oh, so did I. I just about had a heart attack. Thank God I was here. My nerves would have been shot to hell had I been back home.”

“Were you leaving?”

“Yeah, I’m going to head back to the house to freshen up and get a bit of rest. He sent everyone else home about an hour ago. I was the last one hanging around. He claims everyone needs to go and chill out for a bit, but honestly, I think he was tired of the crowd being in the room. He couldn’t get much rest himself with everyone hovering over him and doing all of that talking.”

“Oh my gosh, well then, maybe I can just have this sent up and I’ll just head out. If he’s trying to rest, I don’t want to disturb him.”

“Oh no. Don’t be silly. Please go up, I insist. Even if it’s just for a few minutes, I know he’ll be happy you came by.”

“Okay.” Maybe I’ll stick around for ten minutes.

“I should be back first thing in the morning. Oh, and thank you so much for the words of encouragement you spoke this morning for he and the other wide receivers who were injured yesterday. You’re so awesome Sarai. Truly.” Yet again we were hugging.

“Oh, there’s no need to thank me. I hate to see players get injured. It’s awful.”

“Yes, it is. They’ll be alright though. I just try to think positive. I grabbed him a light dinner earlier because he’s not fond of the hospital’s food and he has some snacks up there too, so he should be okay. He knows to call me if he needs me. You can also call me if anything comes up. You have my number.”

“Yes, I do. I’ll be sure to call.”

“Alright then. I’ll see you soon. Have a good night.”

“Goodnight.”

As she walked away, I realized that she hadn’t given the receptionist clearance for me to be able to go upstairs.

Shit.

“Sarai right? I placed your laminated pass right there. I just need you to step back a bit so that I can take a picture with the camera and print one out.”

“Oh, everything is okay?” My brows raised in confusion.

“Of course. Your name is there.” She said it so nonchalantly, it almost went over my head that my name was indeed on his visitor’s list. I’m sure the picture she took looked foolish and that was confirmed once she passed it to me. How is my name already on the list?

“He’s on the fourth floor. The room is on your pass. The elevators are right over there to the right.”

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

Flutters filled my core as the elevator ascended to the fourth floor. The feeling worsened as I stood in front of the closed door to his private room.

What will I say? If he saw this morning’s episode, then I don’t want to be repetitive with the words of encouragement. Then again, does he even want to hear that? I know I wouldn’t want to hear the cliché “it’ll be okay” after being told I won’t be able to play for the rest of the season. That’s not okay. Maybe I won’t say anything and I’ll just listen. After so much disappointment and a surgery, who wouldn’t want to vent? Either way, I came all this way, so I might as well go through with this. I’ll kick myself in the ass later on when I’m back home.

“Beckham?” I poked my head into the room. There was silence. As he lay there in bed, he stared up at the ceiling in deep thought until I interrupted him.

“Sarai?” He cleared his throat to rid it of some of the rasp as I stepped into the room and allowed the door to close behind myself. Our eyes instantly met and the glossiness within them sunk my mood even further. I could tell he hadn’t been crying but it was clear that the weight of all that had happened to him over the last twenty-four hours was on his shoulders like a ton of bricks and right now, within this moment, he feels something he typically never feels for himself; helpless.

“Yes, it’s me.”

“Wow. Flowers?” A bit of gleam filled his eyes and he chuckled at the sight of all of the yellowness in my hands. As I glanced around the room, I noticed a ton of balloons, two gift baskets filled with chocolate, but no flowers. “I’ve never received flowers before.”

“Really?”

“No.”

“Is it a bad thing?”

“Of course not. I’m flattered, honestly.” I found a nice spot near the window to place them down, so they’d be able to receive a good amount of sunlight and I placed the teddy bear on the couch just near the window.

“I figured I’d get them in yellow to bring some brightness around here. I don’t care what they look like; all hospitals are dull and glum to me. You don’t need that kind of energy around you right now. You want to hug the bear?”

“A hug from you sounds better.” It felt like someone punched a hole into my chest and knowingly squeezed my lungs once he said that. The hesitance was clear as my feet remained just about glued to the floor for a few seconds but I eventually began to inch my way over to his awaiting arms and laid my upper frame on top of his. With him laying down, I was only able to grip both of his arms as he wrapped his drawn-out arms around my body and pulled me close. The beating our hearts synced and somehow, I felt more alive than I did at any point during this befuddling day. A laziness filled me as the warmth of his body relaxed mine and the enthralling scent of his cologne coerced my eyes to close as we basked in the moment. The feeling his fingers lightly pressing into my back informed me of just how much he needed to be embraced and if that could give him just the slightest bit of comfort through this, I’m am willing to give him as many hugs as it takes.

“I ran into your mom. She said the surgery was a success.”

“Yeah, the doctor claims all is well. I have a long road ahead of me though.” Despite me sitting up to be able to look at his alluring face, I was still wrapped up within his arms.

“It takes about six weeks for bones to heel, but there’s a possibility it can be longer. We’ll just have to pace it. For the next four to six weeks I really have to chill out and keep my weight off of it as much as possible. They’re going to put me on a pain management protocol so I won’t be so dependent on the opioid medications which is great for me because I hate how all of that shit is making my body feel. I’m going to be in a splint when I get out here and I have to basically sit on my ass and elevate it ninety percent of the day. In about two weeks, he’ll take the sutures out and then I’ll get one of those boots that you can take on and off. I’ll be able to start slightly moving the ankle then and taking showers. They’ll do an x-ray in six to seven weeks to see how well the bone healed and if all is well then, I’ll be able to start putting weight on it and doing physical therapy.”

“Well, at least you really listened to all that he had to say.” I had to laugh at the way he easily listed off the way his life is going to be for the next month and a half. He didn’t sound enthusiastic about it whatsoever, but he’s certainly well informed.

“Well, yeah I did. I can’t take not being on my feet for so long. All of that sitting around is going to drive me insane.”

“It doesn’t have to. Now is a good time for you to find other things to entertain yourself with.”

“You know what’s crazy? Remember when I said to you that I was praying to God for more time to do things that are beyond the football field like spending time with my family, friends, and the dogs? Now look.”

“Well, I don’t think God decided to grant you that wish by snapping your ankle, but at least you’ll be able to gain some perspective about life in the midst of this.”

“Everyone keeps telling me that it’s going to be alright. Minor setback for a major comeback.”

“Well, I’m not going to tell you that.” His hands trailed down my back as he frowned in confusion in the same manner that I had been doing downstairs.

“What do you mean?”

“You snapped your ankle. You’re lying in a hospital bed. Despite what everyone is telling you, that’s not what you feel. This feels fucked up and pretty shitty. You’re out for the season and now you have to watch your team fight for victories without you. That feels even worse. So right now, it doesn’t feel like it’s going to be alright because it’s still all so fresh and you have the right to feel that way. Be angry, frustrated, hell, even cry if you want to. It’s alright to have those emotions because this isn’t easy. There will come a time when you do feel like everything’s going to be alright, but tonight isn’t it…and that’s okay.”

I don’t know how anyone uses those ridiculous and yet absolutely insulting adjectives such as diva, asshole, little girl, and selfish to describe this man. The majority of the time we see him, he’s covered up in a uniform and is defined by the number on the back of his jersey. For sixty minutes, people create so many false narratives of who he is based upon passionate responses on the field and his will to win. It’s beyond unjust because the person that I’ve come to know is charming, compassionate, and has elements of shyness within him. He’s composed, observant, and aware. He has a keen eye for detail, listens intently, and thinks before he speaks. He carries himself with his head held high and brings about an energy into any room he steps into unlike any other. He puts smiles on people’s faces, tells the silliest jokes to lighten the mood, and shows genuine concern for the well-being of others. He’s unique; a one of a kind Baton Rouge born royal who has made his mark and is continuing to do so no matter what negativity his naysayers speak.

“Thank you for that, Sarai.”

“You’re welcome.”

“Can I ask you something? You don’t have to explain yourself if you don’t want to. I’m just curious.” And suddenly I wanted him to let me go. I hate that he could easily feel the nervousness within my now tense fame. To soothe me, he ran one of his ridiculously huge palms up and down my back.

“Yeah?”

“Why’d you ignore me? Did I do something wrong?”

“No. You didn’t do anything wrong. Beckham, you don’t understand.”

“Help me understand.”

“This can’t…” It was me who broke his embrace as the door suddenly cracked open. With one step, I dashed backwards to create some space between the bed and myself.

“Mr. Beckham, it’s time for your final round of medication for the night. You should be able to sleep with this one. Are you feeling any pain?”

“Nah not really. The only thing I’m feeling is flips in my stomach and chills from all of the medication.”

“Yeah, those are typical side effects, especially because we’re giving it to you intravenously. Usually when medication is going straight through the vein it can cause you to have slight jitters, chills, possible anxiety, or it feels like there’s this rush happening within your body. I promise we’re not going to give you anything that is dangerous for you. We’re just trying to keep your pain under control. Remember you had surgery today.”

“I know.”

“At least your girlfriend is here to keep you company. She’ll keep your mind off of it until you fall asleep.” My mouth fell agape at her assumption and he giggled like a young school boy as she viewed his chart.

“That’s true.” If I didn’t have any sense, I would have beamed my phone at his head.

“So, this is morphine and your antibiotic. This should last you throughout the night, but I’ll be in to check on you. Do you have to use the bathroom?” She began to check his pulse and blood pressure.

“Nope, because I’m not going in that bed pan again.”

“Beckham, don’t be stubborn.” I had to butt in. He’s in here for an ankle fracture and he’ll be back for a damaged bladder if he holds his urine due to being too prideful.

“I actually don’t have to go.”

“Are you sure? Why don’t we try? I’ll get a pan.”

“I’ll step outside.” Their conversation was officially shifting into a privacy territory.

“You don’t have to step outside.” Beckham found her responses to be all too funny as I widened my eyes in disbelief. Uh, I absolutely do have to step outside and I’ll be stepping outside of the building if she continues with these assumptions.

“Nurse Meghan, I really don’t have to go. I’m okay.”

“What about number two? Have you had the urge yet?” And then it quickly became my turn to laugh at him as he frowned his face up in sheer embarrassment at such a question.

“No.”

“That’s normal. It may take a day or two for your bowels to open up but if it’s any longer than that we’ll give you a mild laxative to fix that problem.”

“I doubt I’ll need that.”

“We’ll see. Hopefully you won’t. Your blood pressure is great. I’ll check your temperature, insert your medicine through the IV, and you should be good to go. You need anything else for the night? I already showed you how to work the television. On the remote is a button for you to press to call the nurse’s station and I’ll be right here to assist you. You have water right over there if you want it. You want any extra pillows or blankets?”

“Nah. My mom brought me some from home so that I could be comfortable. I’m straight.” He lifted his tongue for the thermometer and within a few seconds she was jotting down his temperature.

“All normal. If anything should change, you know how to reach me.” I’m not sure why but my eyes followed her every move as she worked with the IV to properly insert the liquid within both syringes into the line. She was gentle enough to make sure she didn’t irritate his arm and the vein by pulling on or adjusting it.

“I do.”

“Alright then, I’ll check on you in a bit Mr. Beckham.”

And yet again, we were left alone. His eyes hadn’t panned back up to the ceiling like they were before I intruded on his thinking. Instead, they were directly on me while I leaned against the wall.

“You’re going to go to sleep soon, so I’m going to get out of here. You need your rest.”

“I don’t want you to go.” Why does he say all of the things that men don’t say but actually need to say?

“You’re going to fall asleep within the next ten minutes or so.”

“I’ll fight it. I want to talk to you.”

“You’re so stubborn.”

“I won’t fall asleep. Just stay for a little while longer.” How can I deny someone laying in a hospital bed?

“Okay.”

“So, I watched clips from today’s show on my phone. I couldn’t see the whole episode because I was in recovery and still under the anesthesia when it was on. Scott wasn’t there today, which made the show even better.” My laughter was louder than it should have been because that is one of my co-hosts after all, but gosh, he peeves so many people. There’s one side of him that deliberate does it for the sake of sparking debates and the other side is actually just his personality coming out to shine, often times, in the worst ways. He can be condescending, over exaggerated, and a large majority his sentiments causes our viewers to unleashed full on rants about him on social media but he is who he is and he’s yet to say anything controversial enough to be removed from the show. His disdain for Beckham, Tom Brady, Lebron James, and Antonio Brown never falters. We’ve all learned not to take him seriously whatsoever because if he were to meet any one of the three, he’d never keep that same energy in their faces.

“Yeah, Scott went on vacation with his girlfriend.”

“I see the way he looks at you. I think he likes you.”

“He does.” He flirts, he’s asked me out for drinks once, and his compliments can be overkill. I’m not interested nor will I ever be.

“You’re out of his league. He should know better than that.” Though he attempted to suppress it, I noticed the yawn and the way he attempted to pull the covers up over his body. I decided to help. If I felt the chill within the room, I’m sure it feels worse for him.

“How’s that?” I covered him up to the top of his shoulders.

“It’s great, thank you. So back to what I was saying, he’s out of your league.”

“Is that so?”

“Yeah. I’m sure he knows it too.”

“So, who’s in my league?”

“No one.”

“No one?” I didn’t expect that answer. I figured he’d throw in some joke about it being him. He’s good for a flirtatious moment.

“No one. You’re definitely in a league of your own, but I’m trying to work my way up to bring drafted in. With the first and only pick in the 2017 Sarai Nazaire draft, Sarai selects Odell Beckham Jr. from Baton Rouge, Louisiana and the New York Giants.”

“Shut up!” I knew it was coming. We roared in laughter because of that. He wouldn’t be himself without inserting some kind of joke into the mix.

“Sarai, you know after this you can’t ignore me ever again, right? You bought me flowers, a teddy bear, and balloons. You told me I could be as mad as I want. You were about to help me use the bed pan.”

“Oh, no I wasn’t.” The only way I would have done that is if it were truly an emergency and the hospital had not a single nurse within reach of him.

“Yeah, you were. You tucked me in. All that’s left for you to do is kiss me and then we can start talking about the rest of our lives together.”

“Go to sleep Beckham.”

“You go to sleep Nazaire.” This yawn came with his heavy eyelids struggling to stay open so that he could focus on me. He didn’t have the strength to say anything more. I looked on as he eventually drifted into the deep slumber that he was fighting against and the light snoring was a clear sign that he’d be out for the night.

The reclining chair directly next to the bed had a pillow and blanket neatly folded up in its seat and on the opposite side of the room was the couch. I had options and yet I chose to remain nearby. I’m going to assume this is where Heather slept. She did a nightshift last night, so I’ll do one tonight.

I gently lifted the yellow beanie hat covering his head just a bit and planted a soft kiss on his forehead. I, then, gave him a second one for good measure. As my eyes panned down to his slightly pouting lips, I mentally scolded myself for momentarily craving to feel them against my own. The man is laying in a hospital bed and yet I’m consumed with my own childish and temporary fantasies.

I kicked off my sneakers and curled up into the chair. I didn’t expect it to be comfortable but it isn’t as bad as I thought it would be. The cushion is soft enough to keep my back and bottom without aches throughout the night.

Lastly, I covered myself in the blanket smothered with his scent and propped up the pillow that smelled just the same right under my head.

“Sweet dreams, O.”

Within a half an hour, I was having sweet dreams of my own.

#fanfiction #fan fiction #fanfic #fan fic #odell beckham jr fanfic #odell beckham fanfic #obj fanfic

29 notes · View notes