I knocked on the door and could swear I heard someone crying. Alexis opened the door and immediately tried to close it again when she saw that it was me. Jess stood from her place on my girl’s bed, where it looked like she’d been comforting her. “No, let him in.” She, too, looked pissed, and me, being the clueless dweeb I am, still didn’t recognize the danger signs.
“Lisa, what happened? Why are you crying?” I moved to go to her, but Alexis tried getting in my way. Once again, Jess shook her head at her, and she stepped aside. I knelt in front of a teary-eyed Lisa, who looked like she’d been at it for hours. I started to get scared, like the kinda scared I haven’t been since hearing dad’s diagnosis. “What happened, baby? Talk to me.”
“You….” She started to speak, then seemed to choke on her words.
I looked over at the other two to get some answers. “Someone wants to tell me what’s going on here?”
Alexis marched over to her bed and snatched up her phone. “This, this is what’s going on here.”
I had no idea what I was looking at. The picture looked grainy at first until I was able to make out some of it.
Nothing much jumped out at me at first until I recognized the number on the back of the jersey, which was the only glaring thing from the photo. It was my jersey number, of course, and whoever was wearing it was in a clinch with someone who was completely hidden.
I zoomed in on the image, not quite understanding since I knew it wasn’t me; it couldn’t be. “Where did you get this?”
“Does it matter? That’s you, isn’t it?”
“No, it’s not. That might be my jersey, or one made to look like it but look at this. My jersey doesn’t hang off me like that.”
It was only visible when you zoomed in. The way the jersey hung low on the other person’s much lighter frame. “My jersey doesn’t come down past my hips, and my arms are not that skinny.” Jess snatched the phone and moved it under the light while I turned my attention back to a more hopeful Lisa.
Funny, I should be mad at whoever did this, but right now, my only concern was her. It made my heart ache as I wiped the tears from her eyes while behind me, her two friends were finding more faults in the picture they were now dissecting. “Babe, stop crying; that isn’t me. Come ‘ere.” I pulled her into my arms which only made her cry harder.
I patted her back gently the way mothers do to soothe their kids, and she was trembling ever so slightly. She’d been afraid, hurt, yes, but also afraid. Somehow that made me more upset. Lisa had never seen me angry, and it was way too soon for her to get up close and personal with my famous temper, so I gritted my teeth and kept a bland look on my face though if anyone had looked closely at my eyes, they might’ve seen it.
In my mind, I was already trying to figure out who it might’ve been. There were no real identifying markers in the photo to go on, but more importantly, as upset as she was, I figured I should put that on the back burner for now. “Come on, let’s go get some fresh air.” I got to my feet and took her hand, helping her up from the bed.
I told the others that we’d be back soon and led Lisa from the room and out to my truck. I wasn’t saying anything, and I guess now that her crying jag was over and her head a bit clearer, she realized that I was not my usual self. I felt each time she turned her eyes my way for a little peep at me but didn’t acknowledge.
You see, now that catastrophe had been averted, I found myself being a bit annoyed at her for thinking the worst of me but was also confused by whether or not I should be feeling this way. Like, what the hell is the norm in a situation like this? In the past, I would’ve called my dad for some pointers, but he had more important things on his mind these days, so I’m on my own.
The reason I even thought of calling him or was questioning myself is because I found myself just a little upset at her. I understand a picture is worth a thousand words and all that other bullshit, but shouldn’t a person be given a chance in this day of technology and photoshop to defend themselves against piss-poor behavior?
I didn’t say anything when I helped her into the truck and strapped her in, not even when I felt the heat of her gaze. I wasn’t even sure what the hell I felt as I walked around and got in. Numb is the best description I could come up with. I could be overreacting, but this is the way I feel, and I’ve never been one to run away from my own feelings.