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She’s pissed at Patrick.
She’s annoyed by the crowd.
She’s infuriated with Art.
When he’d said that her opponent today wasn't going to be worth her time, Patrick would have been right. Had it , of course, not been for the awful headspace those boys had put her in.
Tashi wasn't in love with Patrick, she didn't need to be. But for Art to imply that he was sleeping around was a blow to her confidence. The conversation rang in her head as Patrick looked down on her, A member of the fanclub , unimportant lip service from a man child squandering his talent.
But , a voice whispered, tennis is love, and if he isn't a fan of my game, then how can he really care?
If he wasn't a fan of her tennis then he wasn't, couldn't, be in love. He couldn't respect her, couldn't know her, not truly. Not the way she needed him to. She didn't need to be in love now, but knowing that he didn't understand only spelled doom for the future.
Her head was barely in the game, her only saving grace being that her opponent was a minnow in a shark tank.
She respected Patrick’s confidence, his surety, his honesty, but she could scarcely tolerate him. Love and hatred, in her mind, existed as two sides of the same coin. Heads. Tails. The day he had won her number it was as if someone had flipped that same coin into the air and she had to wait and watch it spin as it came down. She felt too strongly for him for it to be anything else, but there was no telling which way it would land.
The argument from earlier had her ready to bet on tails.
Her eyes caught a glimpse of Art in the stands. Tashi couldn't decide if it was worse than if Patrick had been up there as well. She was almost unsure of who deserved more of her ire.
No matter.
There was one return between her and victory.
The girl across the net put all of her strength into her swing, sending the ball flying far enough to the side that Tashi knew she had to run for it. It was something she had done a million and one times before. She ran for it.
The universe came to a halt.
Something was wrong.
She tumbled to the ground as pain shot up from her leg. She was almost afraid to look. She couldn't look. For the first time in years tears clouded her vision, and a sob broke free from her mouth. Tashi couldn't remember the last time she had allowed herself to succumb to any kind of emotion in front of a crowd.
She was scared.
There was someone telling her to calm down, but it wouldn't register over the fear flooding her system. Someone was pulling at her ankle, attempting to force her leg to straighten out so they could get a better look at her knee, but she found herself unable to let go. Curled around her leg as if she could save herself from whatever came next.
Feet pounding the concrete.
Someone jumped the net.
“Oh god”
“Tashi”
“You’re going to be okay”
Art.
For all the irritation that had been swirling through her system earlier she could have cried harder at the sound of his voice. She felt herself relax minutely, enough so that the coach at her feet could get a better look at her knee. Her vision goes black.
-
She comes in and out of awareness, conscious but miles away, can feel them raise her on a stretcher. She can hear the ambulance. They do not put her in it, but the people who work on it come with them to the locker room to examine her.
She comes back to herself as they say 5 perfect words.
It's going to be okay
-
In another life the kinesiology student volunteers who man the locker room cannot stop themselves from gagging. The EMTs that respond to the 911 call speak only in whispers. The Doctor cannot meet her eyes. No one utters a word. No one says anything is going to be okay. And it won’t be. Not ever.
In this life she is filled with emotions that battle for first place. Rage, shame, despair, panic, hysteria. Her leg is wrapped with endless gauze and tape.
Her life is over.
They haven’t said it but she knows.
She will be able to walk normally within the year.
Her life is over.
Her tennis career is finished before it can even begin.
She might as well be dead.
-
Her arm is raised to cover her brow. The tears have long since stopped flowing but her face is hot and the pressure behind her eyes is immense. The various professionals have been rotating her leg in as many directions as it will allow. The fact none of them look too horrified is giving her hope beyond measure
It’s going to be okay
She feels like she's on a tightrope. Until someone directly says to her what has happened she cannot falter.
Art pokes at her elbow and whispers to her to get her to look. Lowering her arm she finds the Doctor they had called in. He smiles at her. She can’t return it, not yet.
“Hello Ms. Duncan, my name is Doctor Cruz,” The man says as he looks into her eyes.
He holds her fate in the palm of his hand.
“On the court today you went a little too hard”
She swallows down the nausea that threatens to overtake her.
“But the good news is that it's only a sprain,” He says, “ A grade 2 knee sprain, you should be up and running before the semester is up”.
She can hardly breathe.
The Doctor continues to speak yet there is nothing in her ears but static.
She's not dead.
She hopes Art is listening for both of them
Even if it had been worse, a career ending injury she would have technically survived.
She would have been dead.
Her life would have ended.
Something finally cuts through the noise. Feet pounding the pavement, no net to leap over. They almost miss the door, just barely running past it before turning around. She hears him before she sees him.
“Tashi, I’m so sorry”
-
It's Patrick.
In another life, hers has ended. The emotions warring inside her finally elect a victor.
The rage is all-consuming
She needs someone to blame.
Her life is over.
She cannot give in to despair, he has killed her soul, her love, but if she gives into despair she will die by her own hand. Perhaps she has already. Rage it is. Blame it is.
“Get out”
“Tashi, please”
“Get out, Patrick!”
“Please”
“Get out!”
-
It’s Patrick.
In another life the only thing she can feel is anger.
There is not enough anger left for this life, only relief.
Her head whips up to meet his eyes. She can see the fear on his face, the shock. How did he know? Did he hear it from someone in the audience who had vacated upon the match being called? Did they even tell him directly, or was it a whisper in the wind?
~
Patrick Zweig is sitting on a bench at Stanford.
He’s staring at the sky, hands wrinkling the fabric of Tashi’s gray shirt.
He should be in the audience, watching again. He loves watching her play.
Maybe he’ll apologize.
Later.
Once the match is over, he resolves, I’ll swing by her room.
Skipping the match is petty, but that’s how they are.
He can practically imagine the glare she’ll give him later.
It almost forms a smile.
“That tennis thing was awful, poor gal”
It does form a smile.
Tashi must have decimated her opponent.
He goes to get up.
“Yeah when she screamed I literally jumped”
His Tashi, he thinks, shouting her celebration to the sky.
“Poor Tashi, I hope it wasn't serious”
Patrick stills.
“The way she was crying and grabbing at her knee? I don’t know man, it might be over for her”
He runs.
~
“Tashi, I’m so sorry”
In another life her wrath would have consumed them.
In this life, she's scared.
Relieved, but scared.
That fact that she knows she’ll recover leaves her room to finally feel the fear.
Her parents have been notified, but there's no way they can be in until the next day. The weight of the injury, the knowledge that her knee would be okay, is crushing. Her relief burst forth in the form of more sobbing. She had stopped crying the second they lifted her from the pavement, holding it all in as she awaited the news. She knew Patrick had never seen her cry. He didn't seem like the comforting type, and neither was she, not really.
But the realization hit her. She had yet to make friends. She only hung out with Art when their lunch schedules matched, given he texted her first .Her parents were hundreds of miles away. But Patrick was here.
And as much as he had hurt her earlier, she also missed him when he was away. She couldn't help a smile when she saw his texts. She pretended to be annoyed when he called, but always made the time to answer.
She was 18, her life had ended and restarted over the course of half an hour, and she was crying on an examination table. She was crying and she wanted someone to hold her.
She wanted her boyfriend.
So for the first time in a long time, she reached out first.
He was by her side in an instant. In his effort to get close, he hip-checked her to the side of the exam table by about half a foot. It would have made her laugh had she not been busy burying herself into his side. He was only halfway seated, but it was more than enough for her to wrap her arms around his neck and begin to sob even harder into the shirt he had stolen. His arms were tight around her back and waist as if to shield her from the rest of the room. They weren't so different in that respect, the fewer people to see her cry the better. To see them cry, she supposed as drops hit the side of her neck.
She wondered what he had heard.
“I’m so sorry, Tashi”
His voice is wavering. He’s never sounded anything other than self-assured in the entirety of the time she’s known him. It feels like love.
“I should have been there” He cries quietly.
“A member of the fan club?” She laughs softly through the tears.
“For you?” He says, “ Always .”