The Fumble Of A Quarterback

Chapter 20: Ouch Nojo

Under mom's watchful eye, I start to feel better.

The sun raises the next day and this time, my stomach isn't what wakes me. Instead, it's the sun, shining in, hitting my face. The bathroom doesn't call me and as the morning bleeds on, I know I will feel 100% soon.

My bed doesn't hold me captive. Instead, I sit on the couch, next to Mom. Together, we watch TV reruns. She eats snacks as I suck on ice chips and saltine crackers, fearing I will get sick if I eat anything more.

She occasionally updates me on what Dad sends her. I hang on every word she says, wishing I am with them.

Finally she pauses the show. "Your dad is calling again. The match is in an hour, but I'm sure he's only thinking about you." She answers it with a simple hello then puts it on speaker.

"Nora, are you ok?" Dad's voice rings out.

"Yeah, I'm better."

"Thank the heavens. Just wanted to give a quick call to my MVPs before the game."

I smile as I sip some water. My phone buzzes and without wasting a second, I pull it out to see a text from Tad.

Mom pulls the phone off speaker and starts a more privet conversation with Dad.

"Are you doing alright?" - Tad

"Feel like death, but I'll survive." I respond.

"I'll be cheering for you to get better ASAP." -Tad

"Thanks. I'll be cheering for that too."

"Nora, want to say anything else to Dad before I let him go?" Mom asks as she puts the phone on speaker again.

I hold back a chuckle, knowing there is nothing he can do from Toledo. "Tell him not to stress about me. I'm fine. Just crush that game today."

"We'll crush it like those tomatoes we used for the pasta sauce the other day," his voice rings out.

"Just with less of the mess, right?" I ask. If I remember right, I still have a stain on my white shirt because of it.

He chuckles. "Yeah, less of a mess. But, hey, I need to go. I'll be back in Columbus in a flash."

Mom puts her phone back into her pocket then turns the show back on. As the episode wraps up, she turns to a sports channel. "Want to watch the game?"

A yawn escaped my lips. My eyes grow heavy. I still feel like I need to recover from the poor sleep I had the night before. Football is nearly the lullaby I need to put me under. "That sounds fine to me."

Mom gets comfortable in her seat, staring intently at the screen, afraid to miss anything. It makes me realize that I don't know how she came to love the sport her husband coached.

"Have you always loved football?" I ask her.

She turns her attention to me and shakes her head. "Nope. There was no way I watched a single game before I met your father. But as we dated, and I realized the love he had for the sport; I grew to love it myself."

"Dad would love you even if you didn't love the sport."

She laughs. "I know. But the more time I spent with him, the more I liked it."

"What do you find interesting about football?"

"The plays your father makes. It seems like every game they're different and intricate like a knitted blanket," she says as she pulls out a blanket from the top of the couch and drapes it over us.