Page 85 of Your Play to Call
Plus, he’s had an iffy few days with his anxiety. It really takes a lot out of him to travel for away games. I think of him alone in the hotel room, having a panic attack, and my heart breaks. I hope he’ll always call me if he needs me.
I’ll never forget the night he called me. The way his voice sounded on the other line. How I was actually able to help him. How he needed me.
I pick the sewing back up and do a few more patches with my initial on them.
“Wow, those look so much better,” Wendy says, looking at my most recent patches. Now I know how dismal my first few were.
“You’re a good teacher. What do you do with patches like this?” I ask.
“Oh, you can sew them into any fabric really. Put them on a corner of a pillow, a blanket, a top.”
Just like that, I have an idea.
Me
FJ – hey, I need your help with something…
Fritz (FJ) Cosmos
I’m listening
Chapter 45
Tripp
Being tired before thegame kicks off is a bad sign. I couldn’t sleep last night. Thankfully, I was anxious but didn’t have any full-blown panic attacks. The only positive.
We’re in California and I don’t think I could ever live here. The traffic makes no sense. I don’t know how anything the city offers could make up for the fucking traffic. I hate sitting in a car going nowhere.
Between the time zone and my overactive brain, I didn’t get much quality sleep.
Today is going to suck.
“Earth to Tripp,” Zack says, waving an arm at me in the locker room.
“Sorry, just beat.”
“Well, get un-beat. We need you today!” Zack says, trying to get me hyped up.
“You need me every day,” I shoot back.
“Exactly. Get it together.” He claps his hand and reaches for his jersey and pulls it on over his pads.
I do the same thing just as Fritz comes up to me.
“Tripp, there’s a hole in this one.” He points to my jersey.
I look. There are no holes. Fritz seems a little jumpy. Definitely nervous.
“What are you talking about? This jersey is fine.” I stand with my arms out, inspecting the front.
Fritz has a small pair of scissors and reaches for the bottom of the fabric and cuts it with one swift snip.
“What the fuck, Fritz? Have you lost it?” I ask and look down at the jersey that will certainly not get me through a game. The thing about a hole or a cut is that it will fray with a few tackles.
I’m too tired for this shit. If this is some prank, I’m not into it.
“Today isn’t the day for this,” I say to him as he hands me an envelope and a new jersey. It must have been on the chair behind him.