LEN BIAS: CROSSOVER
A novel
By: Michael D. McClellan | September 19, 2010
We sit together on the bench for what seems like days. Alyssa holds my hand and promises that the painful jolts of electricity are over, and that I won' t end up frozen like a statue again. She offers me a glass of water and when I look up there it is, another one of her magic tricks. I take it and drink. It disappears in four large gulps. I look down and it's full again.
We're just getting started. There is more for you to see, she says. When you're ready.
I am ready, I tell her. I ask her if I can hear what is being said this time. Yes, she says. She points to the night sky; hundreds of Maryland students have heard the news, and they have gathered at Cole Field House to comfort each other and come to grips with the tragedy. I recognize many of them. Friends, classmates, fellow athletes in other sports programs at the college. Familiar faces. Many of them have homemade signs in hand. Flowers. Photos. Some of them are crying. Some are hugging. Others are cheering - cheering a ghost.
The scene changes; local NBC sports anchor George Michael is discussing my death as part of a breaking news story. I've watched his segments on The George Michael Sports Machine and on WRC-TV (News 4) as far back as I can remember, segments about the Washington Capitols, the Washington Redskins, anything related to sports in the D.C. Metro Area. He's my father's favorite sportscaster. He's interviewed me a bunch of times and we've developed a friendship. I've promised him that I'd remember where I came from, no matter which NBA team drafted me or how far away from home I'd play. I've promised him that I'd always come back home, and that I'd be a frequent guest on his show. Now he's talking about me, about my death, preparing to introduce a tribute segment. He breaks down on the air.
Another pulse of light in the sky, and I'm looking at the foyer at Cole Field House. It is jammed with people - reporters, cameramen, faculty, students. Lefty is at the podium. He's a wreck and it hurts to see him like that. I love my coach. He's been such a big part of my life for so long. He's like a second father to me.
"I really don't know whether I'm up to this," he begins, "but I guess Leonard would want me to say something. I've known Leonard since he was in about the sixth grade. He's like a son to me, so I think you can appreciate the difficulty of the way I feel right now.
"I think he's the greatest basketball player that ever played in the Atlantic Coast Conference. You know, he improved from averaging seven points a game to 23 a game. But...more important than that, the last five or six years we've had a religious retreat up in the mountains...Leonard was a born-again Christian.
"My wife told me he's in a better position right now than we are. He's at home with the Lord. I really sincerely believe that, and his mother is a very, very strong Christian woman, as is his dad.
"I'm sad but not worried because I know where Leonard is, I know he's in heaven. We'll miss him. I love you, Leonard, and I miss you. I'll see you in heaven one day."
~ ~ ~
It takes some time to compose myself. I walk across the field, over to the tree, and sit on the swing. Alyssa stays behind. She'll be here, waiting on the bench, if I need anything. I ask her a lot of questions - some of them verbal, some with my mind - but she refuses to answer any of them. Not until I've seen everything.
~ ~ ~
Another pulse of light, and now I'm across the street, looking at our house. The sidewalk is busy. Two news trucks are parked out front. Reporters, photographers and cameramen mill around with curious strangers who have picked up the story, which has gotten bigger throughout the day. I see my neighbors; they're out on their porches and lawns, gossiping and pointing and speaking to journalists.
The door to our house opens. Jay steps outside. He'll be sixteen tomorrow. He's big and strong for his age, a powerfully built six-one, but I constantly tease him that he won't be as big and strong as his big brother. It's all in fun. He idolizes me and I don't let anyone mess with him. He's already a star on his high school team. Lefty wants him to follow in my footsteps at Maryland.
Another pulse. Jay walks down the steps and onto the sidewalk. A reporter approaches him. Jay summons the courage to make a brief statement, promising to play in his summer league game later tonight. He looks like his world has just come to an end. The reporter asks him why he would want to play after what had just happened.
"Because Frosty would want me to play," he responds proudly. "He always made me promise that whatever I did, I'd never leave the court."
~ ~ ~
I join Alyssa back on the bench. She has a fresh glass of water waiting on me. I drink it down, numb. I want to die, but it's too late for that. And then, a flicker of hope, one last wave of denial: Maybe this isn't real. How do I know the cocaine wasn't laced with some sort of hallucinogenic agent after all?
~ ~ ~
