The Crossover

The doctor pats Jordan and me on the back and says

Your dad should be fine. If you’re lucky,

you boys will be fishing with him in no time.

We don’t fish, I tell him.

Mom shoots me a mean look.

Mrs. Bell, the myocardial infarction has caused some

complications. Your husband’s stable, but he is in a coma.

In between sobs, JB barely gets his question out:

Will my dad be home for Christmas?

He looks at us and says: Try talking to him,

maybe he can hear you, which could help him come back.

Well, MAYBE we’re not in a talking mood, I say.

Joshua Bell, be respectful! Mom tells me.

I shouldn’t even be here.

I should be putting on my uniform, stretching,

getting ready to play in the county semifinals.

But instead, I’m sitting in a smelly room

in St. Luke’s Hospital,

listening to Mom sing “Kumbaya,”

watching Jordan hold Dad’s hand,

wondering why I have

to push water uphill

with a rake

to talk to someone

who isn’t even listening.

To miss the biggest game

of my life.