Game changer, p.24
Game Changer, page 24
I was supposed to have a final training session with Teddy, and although that might have served Leo better in the long run, I had to go to him. I brought all the money I could dig up from various hiding places around the house, as well as a fake ID, because if you were over eighteen, you were allowed to post bail. Rich me had multiple fake IDs, so they’d never know I was still seventeen. Leo, on the other hand, was a true eighteen, having had his birthday in August—making him an adult in the eyes of the criminal justice system.
Turns out it didn’t matter how much money I brought—the court was backed up, and Leo would have to stay a day, maybe two, in jail before a judge set bail. In my world that was supposed to happen much faster. Just like in my world bail was supposed to be reasonable. The only difference between my world and this one was that in mine it was supposed to be better, but lots of times it wasn’t. Which proved that no matter what world you lived in, injustice was a shitcake of many layers.
There wasn’t glass between us like there was in movies, but armed guards eyed us with suspicion from across the room.
“So what happened?” I asked.
“Broke my boss’s nose.”
“You must have had a reason for hitting him.”
“I didn’t hit him, I tackled him,” Leo said. Then he let out a bitter laugh. “Your tackle changes the world. Mine just screws up my life.”
And then he told me the whole story.
“Homeless guy. Seen him before. Something not right about him. Not strung out or anything, just wrong in the head, you know? Next thing I know, there’s this woman screaming over by the deli counter. I leave my register, run over, and this guy—he’s been cornered by my manager. The guy’s got a knife, and he’s scared out of his mind. Because my manager’s pulled a gun on him. And this guy—you know what he’s got under his arm? A goddamn roast chicken! And his knife? It’s nothing but a butter knife. The dude just wants food, and my manager’s treating him like he just skinned his mother. The guy tries to bolt, and I know—I know—from the look on my manager’s face that he’s gonna pull the trigger. So I take my manager down before he can. I tackle him to the ground, and the gun goes off, shattering the deli case. And the homeless guy gets away. And now there’s blood on the ground, and I’m thinking did someone get shot? But no, the bullet at most killed a honey ham. The blood’s from my manager’s nose. When he hit the ground, it broke. And the way he’s looking at me, I knew that if the gun hadn’t flown from his hands, he would have used it on me.”
Leo took a moment to wipe his eyes and get himself calmed down. “So I think that’s the end of it, but when I get back to my register, it’s been cleaned out. Somebody waiting in my goddamn line saw the chance, took the money, and ran. But my manager accuses me. ‘The whole thing was planned,’ he says. Me, the homeless guy, and someone else were working together. And why does he think this? Because we’re both Black. He calls me a ‘no-account s’equal.’” Then Leo pursed his lips tight. “I would’ve hit him for that, but his nose was already broken.”
“I woulda hit him anyway,” I told him. Easy for me to say, because I might have gotten away with it in a way that Leo couldn’t.
“So the police show up a few minutes later, and the manager has me arrested.”
“He can’t do that! He has no proof you did anything but save that homeless guy’s life!”
“Assault,” Leo said. “Broken nose, blood everywhere. He tells the cops I attacked him, and they haul me away in handcuffs.”
I wanted to hurt someone. I wanted to hurt everyone who had a part in this. I wanted to burn it all to the ground. “He can’t get away with that!”
“No? Then how come I’m the one in here instead of him?”
I couldn’t answer because there was no good answer.
“I’m gonna take care of this, Leo. I’m gonna make it right. Better than right.”
Then he glared at me, and suddenly I felt like the enemy. Like I was just another part of this fucked-up world.
“Always the same thing. The great white hero’s gonna solve all the world’s problems. And I was stupid enough to believe it. You had me fooled, Ash. You had me fooled.”
“I’m no hero,” I told him. “I’m the monster who did this to you. I stole your life and your future. You have every right to hate me.” The truth hurt, but I couldn’t hide from it. I made this world. All its flaws and injustices. All its brutal, unthinkable realities. Great white hero, my ass. This miserable world was on me.
Leo couldn’t hold back the tears anymore. As much as he didn’t want me to see them. “Tell me it’s different where you come from,” he pleaded. “I know your world ain’t perfect, but tell me this wouldn’t have happened there.”
And as much as I wanted to say that was true—as much as I wanted to comfort him—I couldn’t. Because it could have happened to him there, just as easily as here. Because as far as we’d like to think we’d come, we’ve barely moved the ball inches. Apathy, resistance, and self-interest hold the line, and the fumbles alone are too many to count.
So I didn’t answer him, because I couldn’t give him the answer he wanted to hear. And I thought about Teddy, who wanted me to reach down into the murky depths, alter all of human history, and make the world better than when I started. How could I not be tempted by the prospect?
“I swear to you, Leo. I will fix what I broke.”
“What if you can’t? What if broken means broken?”
“If I can’t fix it,” I told him, “then I’ll die trying.”
I had a run-in with Layton just before the game. It was ten minutes to kickoff. I was suiting up with the rest of the team, but I was distracted. Staring at my hands, staring at my feet—wondering if I had what it took to make the sweeping kind of change Teddy had been grooming me for. People trained their whole lives for far less important things. I had barely trained at all. When I finally looked up, most everyone else had gone. It was just me and Layton.
“So, did you get an earful this afternoon?” he asked. “You like listening to other people’s conversations?”
The last thing I wanted was to get into this now, but I couldn’t shake off Layton’s taunting. He was baiting me, and against my better judgment, I took the bait.
“Not particularly,” I said. Even though I hadn’t heard a thing, I didn’t tell Layton that. I let him sweat about it. “But some conversations you can’t tune out no matter how hard you try.”
“Well, Ash, I know sticking your nose where it doesn’t belong is kind of your thing, but what goes on between me and Katie? That’s none of your business.”
“Whose business is it, Layton? You wrap your arm around Katie like you want to protect her, but who’s going to protect her from you?”
Then Layton got almost, but not quite, in my face. It wasn’t rage, but a calculated, controlled threat. “You had better watch yourself. I don’t care who your father is, I swear I’ll—”
“You’ll what? You’ll hit me? Go on, do it. I want you to. Hit me so hard that it knocks me into next Tuesday. Because I know something about next Tuesday that you don’t.”
“And what would that be?”
Then I whispered in his ear. “Hit me hard enough, and you won’t be there.”
And in that moment, I would have done it. I would have slipped into Elsewhere and pushed him right into that pit of oblivion to join Ralston and his goons. No trace, no evidence.
He backed off, not sure what to make of that. “You know what? I’m done with you,” he said. “And so is Katie. Get it through your thick skull that we love each other, and I will not let you get in the way of that.”
“Love? You wouldn’t know love if it bit you in the ass.”
And to that, he gave a nasty, lascivious smile. The kind that leaves a bad taste in your mouth just looking at it.
“Maybe you’re just jealous,” he said. “Maybe you just want what she gets.”
I think I would have torn him apart if Norris hadn’t shown up at that exact moment.
“Hey, we’re all waiting for you out there. Coach is getting impatient—he wants to give his pep talk.”
I was so volcanic, I could feel myself shaking, and the angrier I got, the calmer Layton did. “That’s good energy, Bowman,” Layton said. “Save it for the game.” Then he sauntered off, like he was so golden, nothing could touch him.
I punched a locker so hard, it popped a hinge.
“So was that about Katie?” Norris asked, once Layton was gone. The fact that even Norris had eyes on the situation meant that Layton’s treatment of her was obvious, even to him.
“What else would it be about?” I snapped, but then took it down a notch. “Someone had to say something.” This was the first time Norris had spoken to me in a week. That didn’t earn him a reward, but at least I could try to be civil. And then Norris went and ruined it.
“If you ask me, Katie knew what she was getting into,” Norris said. “You date a guy like Layton, you get all that comes with it, good and bad. If she’s okay with that, maybe you should be, too.”
And you know what the most horrible thing about that was? He wasn’t just speaking off the cuff. I could tell he had given it plenty of thought before reaching that fucked-up conclusion.
“Norris, when are you gonna realize that the guy you idolize is not who you think he is?”
Norris took a moment before he responded to that.
“You’re the one I idolized, Ash,” he said. “And you’re right. He’s not.”
We ran out onto the field a few minutes later to the expected roars from the crowd, and the familiar pump of adrenaline. But today my adrenaline was flowing at cross-purposes to the game. It had been a long time since I was there to play football. My game had much higher stakes.
The stands on both sides were packed with spectators. Standing room only. Our games were always well attended, but never like that. I wanted to believe it was because the Cheatin’ Cheetahs, as we called them, were our archrivals, and this was always the most high-profile game of the season. But it was more than that.
In the stands, on both sides, I saw a fair number of rainbow flags, and people were wearing that “Live Your Life” shirt. While a lot of people out there just came to watch football, there was a large contingent who had come specifically to watch me. It made me feel angry rather than supported. Didn’t these people know I was just a lineman? Linemen are not supposed to be the center of attention. We don’t want to be. That’s why we’re on the line. And then I thought, maybe this was some sort of communal expression of the proximity effect. Maybe everyone sensed the significance of this game, without knowing why. They were rooting for me to deliver.
I know that sounds pretty self-important. Was I full of myself by this point? Maybe. I think the only way to wield a weapon is to first believe you’re capable of it. King Arthur never would have reached for that sword if he didn’t secretly believe somewhere deep down that the stone would release it for him. And make no doubt about it, being a sub-loc meant wielding a weapon. I had already used that weapon to erase three people. Now I had to redeem myself by using it to carve out a better world.
I caught sight of the Edwards in the stands. All five of them together—which was anything but inconspicuous. They were the subject of curious glances, and neck-wrenching double takes. One of them gave me a thumbs-up. Was it Teddy? I couldn’t tell. Did the other Edwards have any clue what I was going to attempt today? What would they do if they knew? If I dredged up a world better than the one where I started, surely they’d feel the end justified the means, wouldn’t they?
I couldn’t find Paul in the stands. I knew he was there, but in the sea of faces, he was lost—and that bothered me more today than ever before. When I next saw him, who would he be to me? Thinking about that made my heart sink, and I knew I couldn’t allow that. I needed to be at my peak if I was going to do this right.
Anthem, coin toss, kickoff, and I took to the field with the rest of our defensive team. Was it my imagination, or were the lights brighter than usual? Everything seemed sharper and more defined. Hyper-real.
The Cheetahs’ QB was better than Layton, although no one on our team would say that out loud. He had an arm like a cannon, and when he ran, he could weave through defenders like they weren’t there. But he rarely had to run. He could throw a tea party in the backfield if he wanted to, because their offensive line was impenetrable. But if I was going to do what I needed to do, I had to break through.
All game I tried. I tried harder than I ever had before. But by halftime, I hadn’t put a single dent in that human wall.
The score was tied at thirteen—two touchdowns and one successful extra point for each team. Two of their players and one of ours were pulled out of the game for fighting. And yeah, the Cheetahs were nasty. Flag after flag was thrown for everything from backfield in motion to holding, but in spite of all their penalties, they kept the pressure on—and our team’s anger at their poor sportsmanship worked against us. Our team didn’t want to play football now; we just wanted to beat the crap out of them. The way I had felt about Layton in the locker room.
“Do not let them psych you out!” the coach yelled during his halftime rant. “It’s what they want. It’s their strategy. Do not let them faze you!”
But since I was playing a different game, I didn’t care whether the Cheetahs followed the rules or not. All I cared about was getting through that line. And hitting. Hard. I would have broken their QB’s back if that would take me where I needed to go.
The cheerleaders put on a show, Katie all fake smiles, in spite of anything she might be feeling inside. The band marched through a weak rendition of an even weaker song from this world, and the second half began.
I thought I’d be facing the same impenetrable offensive line, but then a few minutes into the third quarter, I saw my opening. Their center—who I faced on the line—slipped when hiking the ball. Not enough to throw him off balance, but enough to rattle his focus. He recovered in an instant, but that instant was all I needed. I hurled myself into him, he went down, and I was through the line! Their quarterback hadn’t yet found a receiver to pass to because I had broken through the line so quickly.
I was a freight train in motion. Single-minded. I would take him down for a ten-yard loss—but more than that, I would launch myself into the true field of play. I was ready. I was confident.
And then it all went wrong.
22
Point Seven Three
Seventy-three hundredths of a second. 0.73. It’s the single beat of a resting heart. It’s the difference between being killed by a truck barreling through an intersection and having that same truck miss you by inches. Had Norris and I been killed that night after my first shift, the world would not have been a better place—but it wouldn’t have been any worse either. Blue would be the color of stop. Would more people die in car accidents because of it? Probably not, but different people, maybe. Likely no one you know would be affected, and even if they were, you’d never know the difference. Unless of course it was you who got killed. But then it wouldn’t matter to you anyway, because you’d be dead.
Point seven three seconds. That meant nothing to me. But it was about to mean all the difference in the world.
It wasn’t a truck that hit me on the field, it was a Cheetah. I was clipped illegally by the opposing halfback. He had seen how quickly I broke through the line, and rather than letting me take down the quarterback, he hit me from the side, low and hard, beneath my padding. I felt a rib crack. And with that sharp blast of pain came an icy cold, and darkness. I was sliding again. I was Elsewhere.
I was tumbling, off balance in pain. It was different from the pain of being attacked in the alley, because I had braced for that. This left me reeling, out of control. I had to regain control—everything rested on it—but my head was full of so many conflicting things. Leo, and Katie, and Paul, and all the people whose lives would be affected by these impossibly long microseconds.
According to Teddy, everything that I had done to this point was small potatoes, but they hadn’t felt small to me, because they had major consequences.
Don’t be afraid to look down.
Because beneath my feet would be glorious realities I could scarcely imagine. Farmlands where deserts used to be. Different nations, different languages.
“Reach for the realities that radiate peace,” Teddy had said. “You’ll feel them. You’ll know.”
And the worlds—those needy realities that were alive yet not—were awakened by my presence. They sensed that I was in pain, and compromised, and they were emboldened by it. They were fighting with one another to get to me first. To consume me.
But I would not allow it. In spite of the pain, I would take control. And so with all the determination I could muster I did what I had to do. I looked down.
Beneath me was the abyss, ever present, and waiting for me to plunge into its depths and cease to exist. But if I shut out my fear of it, I could sense the worlds Teddy spoke about. They were wildly different from the ones swarming around me—those were all just variations of what I already knew, but beneath me were truly new worlds!
I could do it! I could reach down deep to the most peaceful, serene expression of reality. I could grasp a better world!
But at that crucial instant I held back. My own fear of the unknown kept me from reaching that far down. Instead I hedged my bet and grasped a world just beneath my feet. Yes, it was a world of change, but far less change than I could have accomplished.
The moment I claimed it, my heart stopped. For a single beat. Then resumed so powerfully, I felt I would burst from the force of it.
And it was done.
Later I would have to remind myself that I chose to take hold of this world. Some part of me must have known what it would bring. Was that part of me an enemy or a friend? To this day, I don’t know.
