In My Skin (25 page)

“I'm going to come back tomorrow and talk to you,” I told her.

“Okay. You know where to find me.”

Two days later (I procrastinated because it was not going to be the easiest conversation), I went to Kim's office and found myself in that all-too-familiar spot: sitting across from her, separated by her desk.

“I came here to apologize for how I talked to you after the Louisville loss,” I said. “That was wrong.”

Kim nodded, but it quickly became clear that those texts were the least of her worries. The conversation shifted to the comments I had made in the media about the Baylor program and my frustration with the school's policy against homosexuality. Kim said she didn't understand why I had said all those things. She said I was making her look bad.

I shook my head. “I'm not trying to make you look bad,” I said. “But when I talked about Baylor and the policy, and everything I felt when I played here, that was all true.”

Kim insisted she had never said anything negative about me or asked me to take down any tweets. She said she wasn't mad at me, but that I needed to “set things right” at Baylor because I had created tension in the administration. She offered no apologies of her own, so I just simply repeated what I had said at the start, that I was sorry for the texts and for the bad blood. Then we talked a little bit more, about small stuff, and I gave her my new number. Before I left, she told me we would eventually be cool again, in a better place, but it would take time.

As I walked away from her office, I replayed our conversation in my head. What did it mean, to set things right with the administration? That felt like chasing a shadow. To make things right with school executives, I would have to accept their idea of what God believes. I would have to apologize for being me. Kim seemed to imply that I had betrayed Baylor, but whose Baylor did I betray exactly? Because my Baylor is made up of all the great friends I met in Waco, and the teammates I won a national championship with, and the fans who were cheering for me at the Homecoming game. I can't worry about somebody else's Baylor.

What I do wonder sometimes is how I can ever set things right with Kim if we can't have an honest, open conversation about the ways in which we've hurt each other. Maybe she's right that time will heal the wounds. Maybe she just needs longer than I do. All I know for sure is that I'm glad I went to her office that day, because it was time for me to move on.

I LEFT FOR CHINA
on the first Sunday of November. When I walked out of my family's home, the sun hadn't come up yet, and the morning was chilly and dark. I placed my oversized bags in my red pickup truck and drove with my parents to the airport. We idled outside the drop-off area as I unloaded my stuff. I squeezed my mom tightly, rocking her back and forth. Then I walked over to my dad, and he wrapped me in a big hug. We stayed like that for a long time, cars streaming past us.

Finally he let go of me. He wiped his eyes. I nodded. Then I grabbed my bags and walked through the sliding glass doors.

It was time to see what was waiting for me on the other side of the world.

I could not sit still as a kid. I don't know who I'm calling in this picture, but it was probably someone with a car.

This is me at age five. Sweet as can be, right? (Sometimes!)

I was usually on my best behavior when my mom and I stopped by my grandparents' house in Houston. But don't be fooled: I was a handful as a ten-year-old.

One of the few things I liked about moving to the country (temporarily) during middle school: being a badass on my four-wheeler.

That's my “big” sister Pier with me and my parents when I was in high school. We fought a lot as kids, but she watched out for me as I got older.

Even though I had grown to six foot eight by the time I was seventeen, a part of me was still Daddy's little girl.

I was so happy to be done with high school. I would have been even happier if I didn't have to wear a dress underneath my graduation gown.

My Dodge Magnum gave me freedom—until my dad started keeping track of every mile I put on it in college.

I loved coming home to Houston and hanging out with my nephew, EJ, especially when my mom was in the kitchen making ice cream for us.