Blindness

Trevor puts sports radio on in the car—countdown to the game. He’s explaining things to me during the drive, talking about key players being out this week for the Vikings and quarterback match-ups. Normally, I’m smiling and nodding because I don’t really understand a word of it, but today I’m plastering on my false enthusiasm because I’m not even listening. I’m lost in my head, worried about Cody and what I’ve done to him—worried about what he’ll do or what he’ll say, especially now that I’ve smelled him.

I’m thinking about Jessie, too. I finally made a friend, a real one, and I’m pretty sure I’ve lost her by the look on her face last night and this morning. The drive isn’t long enough into the city, and we’re pulling into VIP parking two hours before kick-off. I want to throw up from my anxiety, but I guess this is my punishment—this is what I get for breaking Cody’s heart.

The irony—less than 48 hours ago he told me his punishment was that he gets to love me, but can’t have me, and now here I am exactly where he thought he was.

“Whhhoooooooaaaaa!” Trevor yells out the window as we pull up next to the Sumners’ car. Kevin is grilling some food along with another man I’ve never met. While I usually stress out having to get to know new people, I’m thankful for this stranger today—I plan on spending the next two hours getting to know him.

“Charlotte, what can I cook for you?” Kevin hollers over a booming radio parked a few trucks away.

“Hot dog’s fine,” I say, forcing a smile and finding myself a seat atop one of the coolers.

“Whatcha drinkin’,” asks Kevin’s friend.

“Oh, uh…Coke, I guess?” I’m not really feeling beer today. He tosses me a freezing cold can and comes over to introduce himself.

“I’m Rob, I went to school with Kevin. We go way back, all the way to grade school,” he says, reaching out his hand for a shake. I meet him in the middle, and we do the typical business introductions.

“Charlotte, nice to meet you. You’ll have to tell me some embarrassing stories about Kevin,” I wink, also planting a seed for a good 30 minutes of stories, hoping he’ll monopolize my time.

“Oh, I’ve got stories,” he says, immediately looking at Kevin and laughing. Just as I hoped, Rob launches into a fraternity story from college, something about a prank, and dyeing someone’s hair pink.

I’m half-listening, the rest of me focused on Trevor and Cody bumping fists. I see Cody pick up a Coke from one of the coolers, and I also see him add a little of whatever’s in his flask to his drink. Jessie is quick to grab the flask from his hand, but he quickly grabs it back, and I can make out his mouth as he says, “Fuck off!” She gives him the finger and whispers something to Gabe, no doubt telling him to keep an eye on Cody. I’m relieved that they’re watching him, but I also know that no one is on my team right now.

The next hour drags; we all sit around and listen to Kevin, Rob and Trevor tell stories about Washington, and politics, and law. I’m barely interested, if at all, and I can see the boredom written on everyone else’s faces. Things pick up when some teen races by on a skateboard, and Gabe talks him into letting him ride for a few tricks. He gets on and starts flipping the board with his feet, always landing on it the right way—like a cat.

Gabe is amazing to watch, and it catches everyone’s attention finally, and the boys all take turns attempting to do what he did. Even Cody does a few simple flips, but I notice how he stumbles, not from his injury, but from the sleepiness in his eyes from what I’m pretty sure is vodka.

The game of stunts manages to pass the rest of the time, until we pack up the cars and head into the stadium. I pre-arranged the suite tickets, giving myself the seat in the front corner and putting Trevor next to me, hoping I’ll be able to hide—or stare at the field and never once look behind me at the very least. When we get to the suite, though, I’m the only one that actually pays attention to the number on the ticket. Everyone else gets comfortable wherever.

“Dude, Cody, check out this cheesecake tray!” Gabe says, pulling the plastic lining from the dessert platter and sliding out an entire piece on a paper plate. “Mmmmm, damn. Seriously, Cody, this shit is good. Here, try.”

Cody just turns his face from Gabe and shakes his head. I watch him walk over to the opposite corner from me, and he props his feet up on the railing as he sits back in his seat. For the first time today, we make eye contact, and my body is rushed with the sensation of jumping from a high bridge. I can’t look away, and Cody doesn’t. But he doesn’t smile, either. In fact, his face is completely void of any emotion at all—he could be looking out a window at nothingness. He reaches into his jacket, still holding his gaze on me, and pulls out his flask and unscrews the lid slowly. He finally raises it up to me in a toast and curls his lip up the tiniest bit before taking a big gulp.