Unbecoming Darrell Matthews - 1. Chapter 1

It was shortly before the end of semester and Spring Break was actually in sight. Our football team, the Falcons, had just beaten the only other team in the state that stood in our way for the playoffs and we were pumped. With the semifinals behind us and a chance to stand toe-to-toe with our arch rivals – the Eagles – ahead, it was time to party. My old man didn’t want me to, of course, but the coach told us we were supposed to relax over the weekend and show up bright and early Monday morning for practice. For a bunch of teenagers, ‘relax’ meant ‘party your ass off’.

Me and my two best buddies Chuck Lawson and Tony Andrews piled into Chuck’s car (it was his mom’s, actually – a dark blue Mazda) and headed off to the house of one of our teammates where there was an after-party to celebrate the team’s win. I should mention that I was sitting in the back seat, because Chuck said he didn’t want Tony sitting back there. It was a running joke between the two of them. Chuck was our wide receiver and Tony was tight-end. Tony always sits right behind Chuck instead of in the middle of the seat and teases Chuck unmercifully about it. Chuck said he felt safer with a quarterback behind him and made Tony get in the front. If you don’t get it, I’m not going to explain it to you.

Anyway, so there we were, the three of us, heading up the canyon road to our friend Bobby’s house on the other side of the valley. We had the music turned up – not too loud – and we were laughing and playing around, still high from our win. Tony had turned around to ask me something – I don’t remember what it was – and Chuck had glanced over, waiting for my answer. I think it had something to do with one of the plays I’d made. It was because of that, I’m sure, that I was the only one who saw the semi come around the corner.

The next thing I remember was opening my eyes to find someone shining a bright light in my face. It was wintertime and there was rain pouring down – I could hear it splashing on the asphalt next to me. The light clicked off and someone asked me my name. I said, “Darrell,” but it sounded more like it had come from somewhere else. With the light gone, I could see past the guy in front of me to where Chuck’s car was. Sort of. It was half-hidden by a group of people in yellow raincoats with crosses of reflective tape on the back. I figured they were firemen or something.

“Darrell,” said the guy. “Do you remember what happened?”

“Truck,” I answered. I was getting really tired. “Came straight for us.”

He asked, “Were you boys drinking tonight?”

“No,” I said. “Coach’s orders” I figured he didn’t need to know the three of us had had every intention of drinking at the party when we got there. “Game night.”

“I see.”

I blinked against the rain and tried to focus on Chuck’s car. “They okay?” I asked. The guy didn’t answer right away. I looked up at him, but all I could see was a dark shadow against the flashing lights. “Mister?”

The crowd around the car parted. I could see the Mazda a little more clearly now and it didn’t look good. The front end was twisted and mangled beyond all recognition. It didn’t even look like a sporty little sedan anymore – more like a dark blue pile of scrap metal. I could see yellow plastic, though, covering something in what was once the front seat. I’d watched enough television to know what that meant. “Oh God,” I choked out. “No. Please… no.”

“Jerry, gimme a hand over here,” the guy said quickly. I could feel myself being lifted into the air. I must have been on a stretcher because the next thing I knew was I was being shoved into the back of an ambulance. The doors slammed shut, we started moving, and that was it for a while.

The next thing I knew I was laying on a narrow, uncomfortable bed and people were poking and prodding at me. Someone said something about me being ‘stable’ and I almost laughed out loud. My whole world had tilted on its axis – there was nothing ‘stable’ about it.

A woman’s face swam into my line of view. “Darrell,” she said gently. “We’re going to take you up to surgery, okay?”

Something was around my neck so I couldn’t nod but I said, “Parents?”

“Your mom and dad and brother are in the waiting room,” she replied. “You can see them later, okay? We really have to go.”

I was getting sleepy again and didn’t feel like arguing. I closed my eyes instead.

When I came around after that, I was in a different room and it was much quieter. The thing on my neck was gone and the head of my bed was cranked up a bit so I could look around. There was a curtain hanging from the ceiling, but it wasn’t pulled all the way closed and I could see past it into the room. My mom and dad were standing there with their backs to me, talking to a man I didn’t recognize. “Dad?” I called.

I didn’t think he’d heard me – my voice was pretty weak – but he turned around. The three of them came to stand by my bed and my mom took my hand. “How are you feeling, sweetheart?” she asked me.

I felt like crap, actually. Like I’d gone through the last game with no pads on. My whole body was one big throbbing bruise with the exception of my left leg. It was numb. “I hurt,” I said.

“We’ll give you something for that right away, Darrell,” the man said. He was standing right next to me writing something on a clipboard. “Do you know where you are?”

“Hospital.”

“Good.” He wrote something else down and then looked at me. “I’m Doctor Barrows,” he went on. “I’m the one who operated on you.”

I looked at my parents. My mom looked sad, but my dad’s face had this funny expression on it. Like he was trying not to blow up at someone. “What for?” I asked.

“You had internal injuries,” Doctor Barrows said. “We had to go in and stop the bleeding. I also put a couple of pins in your leg.”

“Pins?”

He looked at me for a second, as though making up his mind about something. At last he nodded. “Your left leg was shattered,” he said. “The pins are there to help stabilize the bone as it heals.” He paused. “Your knee was shattered as well,” he added quietly.

That explained the look on my dad’s face. Shattered knee plus shattered leg equals no more football.

Ever since I’d been a young kid, my father had been training me how to play football. He’d always wanted to play college ball – maybe even professional – but something happened and he didn’t make it. Instead, he’d started in the construction business and when I came along he started grooming me for football stardom. One of my first toys as a baby was a stuffed football, followed by the real thing on my third birthday. My room had been decorated with wallpaper covered in little footballs and helmets, and one wall had a mural of a football stadium on it. Even the carpet under my crib was regulation green.

That might seem a little harsh to some people, the kind of pressure he was putting me under, but I didn’t know any different. I thought that was what all fathers did with their first-born sons. It wasn’t until I got a little older that I realized it was unusual, but by that time football was such a huge part of my life that I didn’t really care. I was devoted to my father and if my playing made him happy, I’d do it.

My mother was a real estate agent – and a pretty successful one, too. She was gone most of the time, though, so it was usually just me, Dad and Trent left to ourselves. Dad would put Trent in a playpen in a corner of the living room and then he and I would sit and watch a game together on TV. When we got a bit older, we’d spend most of the time outside in the backyard, Dad and me tossing the ball around while Trent played in the sandbox. That isn’t to say that Dad didn’t give Trent attention, too, but he definitely spent more time with me.

All through grade school I played football with my friends – during recess, after school, in gym class – so by the time high school rolled around, I’d gotten pretty damn good at it, if I do say so myself. My dad was overjoyed when he found out I’d made the varsity team and practically had a heart attack when he heard I’d been made quarterback. He kind of changed a bit at that point, though. Our training together intensified and he almost never had time for Trent anymore. I tried to hang with Trent for a while, just so he didn’t feel left out, but he always had his nose buried in a textbook and Dad was always just around the corner with a football in his hand, ready to call me out into the backyard again.

I’ll never forget the day I got a letter in the mail from the state university informing me I’d received a scholarship to play for their team. My dad was so proud when he heard the news he’d had tears running down his face. My mom was happy for me, too, but she also told me to make sure I took some good courses that would help me later on in life. “You never hear of fifty-year-old football players, Darrell,” she’d said. “Choose wisely.”

Secretly, I wanted to be a teacher. I never told anyone – not even Chuck or Tony – but I loved my history class and really wanted to be where our teacher, Mr. Saunders, was. History fascinated me whether it was American history, modern history, ancient history – you name it, I loved it. It didn’t exactly fit in with the ‘football star’ persona, though, so I’d never said anything to anyone about it. It was my second biggest secret. No one would believe Darrell Matthews, star quarterback of the Falcons, all-around jock during the off-season, wanted to be a mild-mannered history professor. They’d laugh their asses off. It would also break my dad’s heart.

I looked up at him. He didn’t look heartbroken at the moment – he looked furious. I wondered what they’d been talking about before I woke up. My dad has a nasty temper when he lets loose. Most of the time he’s easygoing and great to get along with, but every so often something really pisses him off and then… watch out. I tore my eyes away from his face and looked back at Doctor Barrows. “How bad is it?” I asked.

“With proper therapy,” he replied, glancing at my father. “I have no doubt that you will regain full use of your leg.”

“And football?” I knew the answer, but for some sick reason I had to hear him say it.

He looked straight at me. “Darrell, I’m afraid that’s no longer a possibility.”

I could feel the tears prickling my eyes. They weren’t for me, though – they were for my dad. He’d been hoping for so long that I’d wind up playing professional ball and now it was all gone. I was disappointed, sure, but more than that I was sorry for my dad.

Doctor Barrows patted my shoulder and looked up at my mom. “I’ll be back in a little while,” he said. “The nurse will bring something for the pain shortly.” She nodded in reply and he went out.

My dad still hadn’t said anything. I looked at my mom, but she was staring down at my hand. I turned back. “Dad?” I asked tentatively.

The dam broke. “What the fuck were you thinking?” he almost shouted. “What the hell were you doing up on that road anyway?”

“We…” I needed a minute to process. Of all the reactions I’d expected from him, this wasn’t it. “We were going to Bobby’s. To celebrate.”

“Were you pissed?”

“Martin!” my mom said, looking up at him.

“Well?” he said, ignoring her. “Were you?”

“No,” I said. “We’d just left the stadium, Dad. We hadn’t touched anything.”

His face was beet-red and he looked like he wanted to strangle someone. Like me. “Was it your idea or theirs?” he demanded.

I had to think. “No one’s,” I said at last. “Everyone was going.”

He opened his mouth to say something else, but at that moment the nurse walked in. “Doctor Barrows said you were feeling some discomfort, Darrell,” she said brightly. “I’ve got just the thing for that.” She circled around behind my mom to where the IV was and injected something into it with a needle. “There you are,” she said. “In a couple of minutes you’ll be feeling much better.”

I looked at my father nervously. He glared back for a minute longer and then turned and left the room.

The nurse checked something on a machine standing by the bed and then said, “If you need anything else, don’t hesitate to give me a buzz, okay?” I nodded. “My name’s Judy.” She gave me a quick wink and then hurried out.

“I should probably go,” my mom said when the room grew quiet again. “He’ll be waiting for me outside.”

“Where…” I had to clear my throat. “Where’s Trent?”

She smiled, but it looked unsteady. “He’s in school, honey,” she said, releasing my hand and patting it awkwardly. “He’ll probably come by after.”

“Okay.” I watched her heading for the door. Something else was bothering me. Suddenly I asked, “What happened to Chuck and Tony?”

My mom paused with one hand on the door handle. Without turning her head, she said, “I’m sorry, baby. They didn’t make it.”

I stared at her in shock. “What – what do you mean they didn’t make it?” I demanded. “They’re dead?”

She hurried back to my side. “Sweetie, there was nothing you could have done. It was an accident. A horrible accident. It’s not your fault.” She wrapped her arms around me and pulled me in close. “The truck lost control… it was raining… and that road’s so dangerous at the best of times…”

I wasn’t listening anymore. I was crying so hard I thought my heart was breaking. My two best friends were dead, my father had turned into a total stranger…

“I can’t play anymore,” I whispered into her suit jacket. She’d obviously come straight from work. “What am I gonna do?”

“Don’t worry about that right now, okay?” she said, kissing the top of my head. “We’ll figure that out later. For now I want you to concentrate on getting better, that’s all. You hear me?”

I nodded. I was too weak and worn out to do more than that. Gradually she let me go, lowering me back onto the pillows. I closed my eyes. She combed her fingers through my hair for a minute – something she used to do when I was little – and then left the room. I drifted off to sleep thinking that nothing would ever be better again.