Raf's been distracted tonight, letting balls slip from his fingers and getting himself boxed in. He's tense and combative, his lips pressed into a hard line.
He gets the ball, going up for a lay up when a boy on the other team tries to block. It's definitely a foul but as the two kids collided, Raf falls to his butt, hands braced against the hardwood floor.
Ross blows the whistles and no sooner does it ring out, Raf is back on his feet. His hands curled into fists as he lunges forward, shoving the other kid. Their voices boom through the gym, ricocheting off the walls as names get shouted and words get said. The other boys on the team take sides until they're a divided mass, throwing cheap punches and spiteful words at one another. Ross inserts himself in the middle, his voice lost over the rest of them as he pushes Raf and the other kid apart.
I should step in. I know that. But I can't get my feet to move. The increase in my anti anxiety meds have left me drowsy and in a haze even if my anxiety doesn't instantly spring to life. It's a feeling I hate but I also can't keep going at the pace I was, suffering from panic attacks and flashbacks at any given time.
"Holt!" Ross shouts at me, giving Raf a less than gentle shove in my direction and a stern look.
Raf yells "he started it!" But he sulks in my direction. "Fuckin' bullshit." He mumbles as he stands in front of me, beads of sweat dripping down his face.
"You can't start fights even if you get fouled." I tell him.
He grumbles something I can't make out and I study him as he stands before me. He reaches down for his bottle of water at my feet, his head tipped back as he guzzles water.
"I don't fuckin' care." He barks at me, the back of his hand wiping away water from his mouth.
The first hint of anxiety climbing over my meds reaches me and I suck in a breath trying to shake it back down. Ross has the other kids broken up, talking to his own small group of kids.
"What's wrong with you?" Raf asks, staring at me, his gaze narrowed.
Closing my eyes, Austin doesn't come to meet you, there's nothing really, just blackness. "Extra meds." I say.
"Things bad?" He asks.
I open my eyes and meet his gaze. The anger that had been coursing through him is gone as he stands with me, his shoulders relaxed and his face creased with concern.
I don't want Raf to feel he has to be worried about me. I'm the adult.
"Things are fine." I dismiss it, passing his question back to him. "What's wrong with you?"
His head drops, his Jordan's scuffing the floor beneath us. "Nothin'."
"Is he back?" My voice drops lower asking the question that I know digs at Raf's vulnerability but it has to be asked.
But Raf doesn't answer it, whatever is going through his mind he won't share as he stares at his shoes. I feel my heart thud hard in anticipation. If his dad is back, I have to help him. I'm just not entirely sure how.
"Raf!" Ross shouts, "come here!"
Raf looks over his shoulder at the sound of his name before back at me. His shoulders shrug as he drops his water back to the floor and before I can say anything else he jogs across the court to Ross.
———————
Birdie sends me to the porch of her dad's house with a glass of water in my hand and a promise that her and our moms will be out soon. I join Mo, settling into a chair as I look out at the suburban outskirts of Chicago. There's row after row of houses with small front yards and equally as small fenced in backyards, all the houses similar to one another with brick facades and small porches.
But after being in the city for so long it feels spacious, like I'm suddenly plucked from civilization and the fast paced city life and I feel a grip on my lungs release that I didn't even know existed.
I barely get to settle in the chair though before Mo starts to pepper me with questions.
"You look thin." He states.
I drop my head, feeling embarrassed I've gotten to this point but I nod my head.
"Eating?" Mo asks.
I nod.
"Working out too much?"
My eyes meet his warily, I've had this conversation a lot recently, with Birdie, with Dr. Trent, my parents, the new nutritionist.
"I'm on more anxiety meds." I answer.
He nods and the door opens and my dad steps out. He's grinning, full of happiness like he always is. He takes the seat closest to me, a beer in his hand.
"It's a beautiful day isn't it?" He asks, taking a deep breath as he looks out at Mo's neighborhood.
Mo hums in agreement, but he's not done. I can tell by the way his body is still tense that there's more he wants to pry at.
"How's that kid, Raf?" He asks.
"Yeah how is Raf, you haven't mentioned him in a bit." My dad joins, now interested in the conversation.
I lean forward, watching a couple ants as they scurry across the concrete porch looking for scraps.
Mo watches me and I glance at him briefly, noticing all the changes the years have caused him. He's not as fit as he once was, holding a little weight in his center, the lines in his face deeper, more stubborn and heavy. Each year that passes, Mo shifts from the coach who protected me fiercely to a man weighed down by grief.
"He thinks his dad is back." I confess and my own weight of helplessness bares down on me. "I don't know what to do."
I know what most people will tell me to do, call CPS. But I don't think I can do that. CPS didn't help me. Not really, not until the very end and even then I think it was purely coincidental that I landed with my parents and they're the people they are. I can't know all that I went through at the hands of foster care and knowingly send Raf into that.
My dad reaches his hand out across the space that lies between us and rests it on my arm. He's calm and patient and unwavering in his love but I know that all men aren't created equal.
"What do I do dad?"
——————————
Mo's back! And doing what he does best.
Also update on the ice skating. Hopefully I don't jinx myself but haven't hit the ground once. Back still hates me. My oldest is killing it and my youngest finally got brace enough to put on his skates today and after holding onto a chair for a while he let go and started skating alone!
So success all around.
