XLI
And I watched all of this from the stands. Bib’s victory wasn’t mine to celebrate. No matter how joyous his mood, I deeply doubted that he would want me holding his butt in the air.
Besides . . . I have a dance to get ready for! And a victory of my own, hopefully, very soon!
I stood up, stomped twice to get my feet circulating again, and wondered if I should go offer my services to Flip. But then I saw an ambulance had arrived, and that the paramedics were already checking him out. And . . . hmmm . . . they appeared to be frowning at his foot. Which can’t be good. So, no. Leave it alone.
I took a final glance at Bib, happily held aloft, receiving the glory he’s certainly due, fending off the groupies, and suddenly finding himself the object of much interest to the dozen or so college football scouts who had come to check out Flip but decided that he was, in fact, the better catch.
Oh, poor Flip.
Poor little lamb . . .
Those scouts! This game! It meant EVERYTHING to him!
It was his WHOLE WORLD! The Twenty-Year Plan!
Why, he just lost EVERYTHING tonight! His WHOLE HOUSE OF CARDS came tumbling down on him!
I felt his horror.
I was gripped with sympathy panic.
His whole future had been unceremoniously ripped from him. . . .
WHAT WOULD HE DO?
WHERE WOULD HE GO?
WHAT WOULD BECOME OF HIM NOW?
I wanted to run over there. Help him through this. But no.
No.
He probably wants some time alone to process everything. He doesn’t need me around right now. Poor little thing . . .
I looked over at him.
Then looked again.
What was that?
That look?
There?
That strange look on his face?
Was that . . . ? Was he . . . ?
HAPPY?
What? What?
Why, that’s CRAZY TALK.
Why would he be . . . ?
But THERE IT WAS!
LOOK! LOOK!
A slight smile played upon his lips—yes!—even as he was lifted onto the stretcher. . . .
That was the look of happiness. Yes!
But why would he be happy? Had he lost his mind? Flipped his lid?
Or was it something else . . . ?
Look at him. That expression. There was something else. . . .
Something mixed in with that happiness. . . .
A slumping satisfaction, a loosening of tension . . .
RELIEF!
He was RELIEVED!
But why would he . . . ?
WHY, YES! OF COURSE! He was relieved because THE PRESSURE WAS OFF! HE CAN BE WHATEVER HE WANTS TO BE!
Then it all came pouring down on me.
Wait, Billy . . .
If that was true . . .
Think . . .
Think hard . . .
If he felt that way . . .
You think that he . . . ?
NAH.
He couldn’t have . . .
He WOULDN’T HAVE . . .
Did he lose the ball on purpose?
Did Flip take a fall to free himself from that all-devouring future of his?
He looked over at me from across the field, and I looked wonderingly back at him. Before the doors of the ambulance closed, our eyes locked. He smiled. We connected. And I knew—yes, I just KNEW—that’s exactly what had happened.