Colorblind

Bittersweet

George POV

I stare at the eggshell phone that hangs from the wall. I take a deep breath and pick up the phone off of the receiver. Before I can think about it too much I punch in the numbers and listen as the phone rings.

"Hello?" A male voice says abruptly ending the ringing.

Panicked; my voice catches in my throat and refuses to release. I open my mouth in an attempt to make words come out but instead nothing.

"Hello?" The voice says again.

Standing there in my kitchen, mute and opening my mouth like a fish out of water. I shift my weight from my right side to my left in an ineffective attempt to make the words come out

"Right then, I am hanging up." He says.

"Hello." Blurts out my mouth so fast it reminds me of a gunshot.

It's as if the panic of him hanging up was enough to dislodge the words that got caught in my throat. Truthfully, I know that if he hung up I wouldn't have had the courage to call back.

"Hello, who's calling?" The man asks.

"Hi dad. It's George. Can you hear me alright? I know the guys said that the reception can be kind of bad out here." says George.

"George! Thank goodness. It's so nice to hear your voice. Your mother and I were starting to get worried. We haven't heard from you since you left. What have you been so busy doing that you couldn't call? How's Notre Dame? Better yet how's football going?" My father asks.

I scratch the back of my neck and say "Sorry, practice has been so time-consuming. Coach has an extra intense schedule for the quarterbacks. I am even separated from James. They separate us by position and strings. I am the first string so my group has the most intense schedule. It's just that I have been super tired or too sore to make the walk over to the phone. I live on the opposite side of the building."

"Oh that's good that you are practicing in the first string. Your ankle injury hasn't set you back any right? If so, keep pushing through. We'll get it looked at by the best doctor in Macon when you get back if we need to. Is that something we need to do when you get back?" He asks.

I stand there silent and puzzled for a second. Ankle injury? James didn't tell me anything about an ankle injury.

"Oh yeah, it was just a twisted ankle. They just take things seriously here and want to make sure their players are well taken care of. It's fine. I am fine. Nothing major at all and it hasn't set me back any." I say without fully thinking about it.

"Good. You know how important it is that you come out playing in the first game. You need to make sure that you are a star player if you want to go to the NFL. Stars with their name in lights, athletes on the Wheaties box and Superbowl players don't make it there by sitting on the sidelines-" My father starts.

My father's voice begins to become low background noise and eventually fades into nothing as I let myself divulge into my imagination. I close my eyes and imagine myself on the field with bright stadium lights and a large screaming crowd. I hear them cheering me on as I clutch the football in my hand, hunched over in the starting position.

"And hut." I say.

The defensive line springs to life and I pop up looking for the best player to throw the ball to. I look left and right. Then suddenly I see James wide open and ready. I can't see his eyes but I can tell that he is ready to catch the ball I am about to throw to him. I cock my arm back and then pivot to throw it forward putting my body into it. I watch as the ball swirls and cuts through the air. And for a second I can't hear the crowd; nothing but the ball as it hurdles through the air clean and towards James. He catches the ball and the crowd erupts into cheers. I run towards his direction as he has a clean trek to the touchdown zone. He runs and makes the touchdown. I jump up and the crowd goes wild.