LEN BIAS: CROSSOVER
A novel
By: Michael D. McClellan | September 19, 2010
Wait, wait, wait - there has to be a mistake. This can't be right. I'm a basketball player not a coach. And you - exactly who are you again? What's this connection all about? What's your relation to me? Don't play games with me. I know who I am. I'm Len Bias, All-American, first round pick of the Boston Celtics. I'm going to make millions. I'm going to become as famous as Michael Jordan.
"Principal Jenkins said not to worry about anything - your job will be waiting for you, and you're the head coach again as soon as you're back on your feet."
I'm Len Bias! You've got to know about me! I'm not a coach! I OD'd on coke, collapsed in my dorm room and ended up here, at Leland Memorial Hospital. Where are my parents? Where's my family? My friends? My teammates?
"I have some more good news," Emily says. She pulls up a chair, kisses my forehead, holds my hand. "I spoke with Reggie's grandparents yesterday, and they wanted me to assure you that Reggie will be back at Waynedale when school starts this fall. They don't want him going back to Cleveland with all of the drugs and gangs and crime. They want him with them in Apple Creek. Reggie's hating it, but he's going to stick it out. There's just one more year of high school left, and then he can go play basketball for any college in the country. Well, if we can keep him in class and out of trouble."
This can't be happening - wait, it's not happening, I decide quickly. I'm still tripping. There's no other way to explain this. Lying here in this hospital bed, unable to respond, listening to nonsense that doesn't apply to me, this stranger pretending to know me, her talking as if I'm supposed to be the coach of some team from Waynedale. Tripping. Yes, that's it. Has to be. Tripping on all of that cocaine. I'm probably sitting in my dorm room, and this stranger isn't really Emily at all. It's really Trib, and he's talking about how good I'll be in the pros. Telling me that I'm going to dominate against NBA-level talent, just like I dominated in college. This hallucination will all go away if I just stop now and don't do another line. If I just wait long enough for what's left in my system to flush itself out...
Water.
I'm suddenly thirsty. Desperate. My mouth feels as dry as the desert. My lips feel cracked, chapped. There's a clear plastic cup sitting on the mobile table across the room, half full of water, and Emily goes for it as if she's reading my mind - except that she places the straw between her lips instead of mine. She closes her eyes and drinks. Tripping. Tripping hard. I'm tripping like a big dog.
"We've gotten so much support," she says at last. "We've had so many people come all the way up here to see you, even though they aren't allowed on this floor. Good people like the Fitzgeralds. They've sat with me downstairs. They've brought food, magazines, clothes. You've gotten tons of cards. Flowers. Balloons. John flew in today. He's downstairs, eating. He should be up here soon."
I stare at the Waynedale banner on the wall across the room. For the first time it hits me - I'm able to retain everything that Emily has just said. Doesn't matter that not a single word of it means squat. As she she sits there in silence, holding my hand, I'm able to play back her entire conversation to this point. It's actually sticking, and better yet, I'm actually aware that it's sticking. David and Josh want to go bowling. Donald is concerned about the two transfers heading to Dover. Reggie is coming back when school starts. These things have no meaning to me, but until now everything she's said has disappeared from my memory like vapor. Poof. Gone. Like erasing a tape as soon as the words are recorded.
But now...
"I brought my journal," Emily says. She walks over to the window sill and plucks it from between two flower arrangements. "I totally see the point in this now. Doctor Smithson wants me writing in it every day. He says it's for both of us - that it helps me stay connected to you, and that it will help you regain your memory faster once you've made it back to me."
Emily opens the thick, leather-bound journal, flipping slowly through the pages before starting a new entry. The room grows quiet, at least in relative terms; the IV machine has started to beep again, and a cluster of nurses have congregated outside of the doorway. One of them is talking about an upcoming vacation in Orlando, Florida. Their first family trip to Disney World. The kids are excited to be staying at the hotel inside the park. The husband is still trying to figure out how they're going to pay for it all. They talk for a few minutes and then continue their rounds. A pair of orderlies roll past the doorway, pushing a bed with a female patient strapped down, immobilized. I intercept a brief comment about the Cleveland Indians, and in a flash the orderlies disappear, too.
"We've got some big dates coming up," Emily begins again, still jotting down notes. She flips to a blank page. "The Fourth of July is on a Monday this year, and we always host the Schuler Family Reunion over the Fourth, remember? It's going to be different this year, much more different if you're still in the hospital, but we're going to celebrate it wherever you are. Joey's still coming in. Frank and his family are going to make the trip from Missouri. Everyone wants to see you."
What are you talking about? Stop messing with me...
"That's a big date, but the next one's even bigger - our six-year anniversary is August 1st. Six years! Can you believe it? I love you, Jason Schuler - I thank God every day that he brought us back together, that you asked me to marry you. I want to grow old with you. Six years, sixty years. No one could ever make me feel the way you do."
