Just Too Good to Be True (21 page)

CHAPTER
27

Carmyn’s Orange Crush

A
round 5:30
A.M.
, I was awakened from a restless sleep. The first thing I did was call Brady, but my call went straight to his voice mail. I wondered if he had slept at all and when I would see him.

Over my black coffee I felt like a wreck, as memories of the conversation the night before played over and over in my head. As I got up for a second cup of coffee, I was suddenly back in Houston, walking down the hallways of Jack Yates High School. In my mind’s eye I saw him, Woodson Crutchfield, dressed in all white, which made his ebony-smooth skin look even better. He looked like a black prince when he flashed a smile of bright white teeth that could put a set of the finest bone china to shame.

I was a sophomore in high school when I first met Woodson, and my mother and father didn’t like the fact that he was a senior. They also weren’t fond of the fact that he had dropped his steady girlfriend, Daphne, to date me. Throughout our first years of dating, my very strict minister father and mother watched us like wardens in a maximum-security facility, but when I entered the University of Texas all bets were off: I lost my virginity to Woodson the first night I spent on campus. My first time was kind of painful, but by the end of September I was pushing Woodson for sex. I loved Woodson and I loved sex. It was like a drug, and I would neglect anything in my life that didn’t have to do with Woodson or sex. I rarely went to class, and I wouldn’t miss a football game or a party for all the money in Oprah’s bank account.

Woodson loved me deeply, but all that changed after a night that has lived inside my memory like a ghost. And I realize how the aftermath of that night has also haunted the one person I promised never to disappoint: Brady.

I tried to reach Brady again before I went to the shop, and all I got was his voice mail. I called his apartment. After a few rings, Delmar answered the phone.

“Yo, thanks for callin’ the house of beauty, speaking to Cutey.”

“Good morning, is this Delmar? Has Brady left for class yet?”

“Yo, what’s good, Ms. B? Let me check his room,” Delmar said.

A few moments later, he came back and said, “I don’t know what’s up, Ms. B, but Brady ain’t here. It looks like his bed hasn’t been slept in.”

“Are you sure, Delmar? Brady always makes up his bed,” I said, trying not to think the worst. Had Brady had an accident or something?

“He just makes up his bed when he knows you’re coming,” Delmar said, laughing.

“Okay, Delmar, please tell him to call me. I’m worried,” I said.

“Aw, don’t be worried. I bet Brady is with ole girl,” Delmar said.

I started to ask him who ole girl was, but I knew, so I just ended the conversation by saying, “Have a good day, Delmar.”

“You too, Ms. B.”

When I hung up, I tried Brady’s cell phone again without success. Then I called Lowell, and when he answered I started crying.

“Carmyn, calm down. What’s going on?”

“That girl told him. How did she find out? You didn’t tell anyone, did you?”

“Carmyn, now come on. Who would I tell? I don’t know Barrett like that. Besides, I would never betray you,” Lowell said.

“Are you sure?”

“I should be pissed off at you for even thinking that, but I know you’re upset. What did Brady say?”

“I don’t really remember. All I know is he’s really upset with me. He rushed out of the house, and I haven’t been able to reach him since,” I said.

“Have you called him?”

“Like a stalker. I even had Delmar check his room. He said Brady didn’t come home last night. I know he’s with that little tramp. I still can’t figure out who told her.”

“I’m the only one you’ve told?” Lowell asked.

“Yes.”

“I don’t think she knows where I live, so she couldn’t have been at the door listening to our conversation,” Lowell said.

“Right now I’m not real concerned about her. I’m just worried about my baby. Will you go up to the football complex this afternoon and make him call me?” I asked.

“What time does he practice?”

“Around three
P.M
., but Brady always gets there around two-thirty.”

“I can do that. You need to stop worrying. Carmyn, everything will be just fine.”

“Thanks, Lowell. I pray to God you’re right.”

A little after 2:30
P.M.
Kai walked into my office carrying a blow dryer. I hadn’t been able to work all day. I just played solitaire at my computer and listened to my iPod. George Benson’s “This Masquerade” played over and over again, and finally I realized that that song described my life the last twenty years. My tears would not stop falling.

“Ms. B, there’s a lady out front to see you,” she said.

“Who is it, Kai?”

“Some white girl who says she was a skin-care saleswoman and that she’d talked to you about carrying her line in the shop,” Kai said.

I raised my eyebrows and vaguely recalled talking to someone about a new line of makeup developed for African American women and told her to bring by some samples. My cell phone rang as I walked to the door, and it was Lowell.

“Kai, tell her I will be out in a few minutes. I need to take this call. Hey, Lowell,” I said.

“Carmyn. Hold on a second,” he said as he passed the phone to my son.

“Hello.” It was Brady. My stomach suddenly filled with nervous energy.

“Brady, where have you been?” I asked.

“I been here,” he said.

“Why haven’t you returned my calls?”

“I don’t feel like talking. I have a lot on my mind,” Brady said.

“I just want to make sure you’re all right. I was worried you might have had a wreck or something.”

“I’m cool,” Brady said. He didn’t sound like my son.

“When can we talk?”

“I don’t know. I just need to sort things out.”

“I understand. Maybe we can talk in Fayetteville,” I suggested.

“Mom, I don’t want to talk before or after the game,” Brady said.

“But I’m going to be there, and we have to talk sooner or later,” I said.

“I don’t think you should come to the game.”

“What? Brady, I never miss your games,” I said. Tears were forming in the corner of my eyes again.

“Things are different now. Please don’t come to Arkansas. I got to go. Practice is getting ready to start.”

The next voice I heard was Lowell’s. He asked me if I was all right.

“Are you sure that was my son?”

“Yes, even though it didn’t sound like him. Even his body language was different,” Lowell said.

“What am I going to do?” I cried.

“Stop crying, Carmyn, please.”

But my tears wouldn’t stop.

CHAPTER
28

Brady Gets Hog Tied

A
nother Saturday arrived. Game day. I walked through the tunnel with Delmar at my side and my other teammates crowded around me, but I felt so alone.

As we neared the exit, I heard the roar of the crowd; I kept telling myself to put the stuff with my mother out of my head so it wouldn’t mess with my game. But I couldn’t seem to do it. I thought about how my mother had lied to me and if Barrett hadn’t been there for me I might not have made it to the game.

Coming out from the tunnel, my entire team started to yell, trying to get hyped for the game as we ran out onto the vast and beautiful green field for pregame warm-ups.

It was a perfect November day for football. The sky was a deep blue canvas; it looked like one of Chloe’s paintings had come to life. The air wasn’t cold, just brisk, but a nervous chill ran through my entire body as me and my team took our place on the sidelines.

We looked up into the stands and there seemed to be nothing but a deep sea of frenzied Razorbacks fans, all wearing red, shouting, screaming, and pumping their red pom-poms in unison.

This would be one of our hardest games of the season. The Razorbacks were undefeated in conference play and ranked in the top five in the country. But I knew that a week ago and I wasn’t worried; I never worried, because I always knew my mother would be up in the stands supporting me. Going back to Pee Wee football, in all the games I’ve played, if I ever got nervous or ever made a mistake, my mom always had my back and all I had to do was look up in the stands. She would be looking down on the field telling me with her gentle smile to calm down, mouthing to me that everything would be just fine. But now—I scanned the stands again, hoping that I would spot her, even though I knew she wasn’t there.

My team started hitting shoulder pads, banging helmets together, getting themselves psyched for the game. We started our calisthenics and my body felt unusually tight.

“Yo, B, you ready for this or what!” yelled Reggie, one of my offensive linemen.

I yelled back, “You know I am!” But I didn’t believe myself. He slammed the flats of his fists down hard on my shoulder pads, almost knocking me to the grass.

“Yeah, boy!” he yelled, then started yelling at another player.

I felt lost all of a sudden. I looked up one last time—no sign of my mother. I glanced back toward the tunnel leading to the lockers. The thought of turning back there darted through my mind. I felt queasy all of a sudden. Not since my first Pee Wee game had I felt like this. I didn’t know what was happening.

“Brady,” someone said, grabbing me, spinning me around. It was Delmar. “You all right, bay-bee?”

“Yeah.”

“You sure? You look like you about to fall out. This is a big game and I want you in there, but if you ain’t right, you know I’ll run the rock for you. I got your back.”

“I’m straight, D,” I said, trying to find the strength I needed to convince not only him but myself.

“All right, then, fool! Let’s go out there and whoop some Razorback ass!”

“Jags on three,” I shouted.

“One…two…three…Jags,” my teammates shouted.

All my teammates roared around me as we took off, running onto the field, chasing our cheerleaders, and pumping our fists at the 3,000 CGU fans located at the ten-yard line. The sounds of boos from the Razorback fans were thunderous. I didn’t think I’d ever been in a stadium where it was so loud.

I walked to midfield with the other two captains for the coin toss. I called heads, and when it landed on tails, Arkansas captains Jamal Anderson and Chris Houston chose to defend the north end zone and kick off to us. I was ready to get it on.

Arkansas kicked it out of the end zone, so we started on the twenty. As the kicking team came off the field, I tapped Delmar on his backside and said, “Let’s do this, D.”

As I got into my stance, I glanced over at the Jaguar fans and felt sick again because I knew my mother wasn’t there. She had never missed one of my games. We wouldn’t get to talk about how loud Razorback Stadium was or what a beautiful place it was. She wouldn’t be able to tell me about how the popcorn, turkey legs, or hot dogs were. I had been very clear about not wanting her to come to the game, but just before the first play I suddenly wished I hadn’t been so tough. This loneliness was my fault, because I had told my mother to stay away. I took a final glance into the stands, but I knew she would respect my wishes.

Blaine West, the quarterback, handed the ball to me and I looked for the hole. There wasn’t one, and I was tackled by Jamal Anderson for a two-yard loss. The crowd roared even louder.

Back in the huddle, Blaine pointed out that Arkansas had eight defensive players in the box, a formation designed to stop the run. He looked at me and said, “I guess they heard about you, Brady. I’m going to throw.”

“It’s whatever, dude, let’s just move the ball,” I said.

On second down Blaine threw an incomplete pass, so Coach called an I-left twenty-eight toss on third down. I got the ball on the toss and again I was surrounded by cardinal jerseys with
Arkansas
stretched across the chest. Just as I felt myself being pulled from behind, the ball came out of my grasp and rolled behind me. I tried to recover it, but the Razorbacks surrounded the ball like it was hog slop. Arkansas defensive end Marcus Harrison recovered on our eleven. I walked dejectedly to the sideline. I had not fumbled since my sophomore year.

Arkansas running back Felix Jones scored a touchdown after two plays and we were down 7–0. We got the ball back on the twenty, my number was called again, and I gained five tough yards following the left tackle. The second play, Blaine passed short for three yards. It was third down and two and again my number was called. I was determined to find a hole and outrun the Arkansas defense, but again something didn’t feel right and the Razorbacks’ safety, Michael Grant, stripped the ball from me for a second turnover. This was a nightmare and I had to wake up.

As I walked toward our sideline, Delmar came up to me and hit his helmet against mine. “What’s up, B? Are you all right?”

“I’m cool. You just need to block that dude wearing number fifty-two,” I said as I took my helmet off. When I reached the sideline, Coach Hale came running toward me shouting, “Come on, Bledsoe. What the fuck is going on? Get your head out of your ass!”

Another first and it wasn’t even halftime. Coach Hale had never cursed at me.

As the game went on, things went from bad to worse. Our dreams for an undefeated season were spoiled by an inspired Arkansas team as we lost 31–3. Hog running back Darren McFadden, also a Heisman candidate, riddled our defense by running for 231 yards. Good-bye, SEC Championship game. Good-bye, Heisman Trophy. I couldn’t do anything right, and Coach benched me in the fourth quarter after I had gained only 22 yards. If it hadn’t been for freshman running back Koi Minter, we would have been shut out. He gained 63 yards in the fourth quarter alone against Arkansas’s second-team defense.

I sat in the visitors’ dressing room with just my Under Armour bottoms on and cried like a baby who needed his mommy. But I was too stubborn to make that happen.

CHAPTER
29

Barrett’s Baby

B
arrett had just finished a blunt and a naked shot of vodka when her cell rang. She looked at the number and heaved a sigh of disgust. It was her mother.

“Hello.”

“I need more money,” Lita said without even a simple greeting.

“What?”

“You heard me. I need more money!”

“For what?”

“I don’t need to tell you how I spend my money. Just tell your business guy to send me at least a thousand dollars more,” she said.

“I’m not going to do that until I know that you’re using the money I give you to take care of Wade and not for alcohol or drugs,” Barrett said.

“Well, I can’t wait for you to do your little research. I need that money and I need it now. Don’t act a fool with me, girl. Sometimes I don’t think you got the sense that God gave a dog, but you think you’re so damn smart.”

“Are you going to use it to gamble?”

“Naw.”

“Drugs. Are you using again?”

“Why in the hell are you asking me all these questions?”

“I got to go. I don’t have to take this shit from you,” Barrett said. The liquor had given her a dose of courage.

“Don’t you talk to me like that, you no-’count bitch,” Lita said.

“’Bye, woman,” Barrett said.

“Don’t you hang up on me, little girl. I will tell you when this conversation is over,” Lita said.

“If you don’t stop talking to me like this, I can certainly make sure you don’t get any more money,” Barrett said.

“Yeah, you do that and I will be down at that basketball boy’s place and I’ll bring him to your ass. Not only will you get a good ass whupping but you and your friend will spend some time in jail. I’m not as stupid as you think. So don’t mess with me,” Lita said.

“Don’t you dare,” Barrett said.

“Then just try me.
Now,
this conversation is over, Raquel,” Lita said and she clicked off the phone.

Dear Diary:

One of the things that I’ve learned from Brady is that it’s easy and natural for boys to love their mothers unconditionally. If I ever have a baby boy with Nico, will the hatred I have in my heart for Lita prevent him from loving me the way Brady loves his mother?

I wonder.

I don’t hate Lita because she’s a whore and was a lousy mother to me. I hate her because of what her addictions did to Wade.

My baby brother was born with Fetal Alcohol Syndrome and it has haunted him his entire life. He won’t get to play football or date beautiful girls like his big sister. Wade’s almost twelve years old, and still can’t read. Can’t really communicate. He’ll never have friends. He didn’t ask to be born this way.

Would Wade still love Lita if he knew what she did to him?

I don’t think so.