Football star Dallas Gunther has everything any 18-year-old boy would want - a fast car, good grades, supreme popularity, and most importantly, unparalleled athletic talent. But after a cocktail of injuries, pressure to perform, and teenage drama se...
There were clauses built out in athletic scholarship contracts in the event of talent-altering injuries, and "behavior detrimental to one's character." In true Dallas Gunther fashion, I did it all excessively, even when I failed. Check all the boxes.
I thought I'd be more okay about it all. I knew it was completely my fault, and there was nothing I could have done to change it. I'd be lucky if I could walk like a normal person again, let alone play football at an elite level. But one week into rehab, my father visited me and gave me the official ruling that Clemson had revoked my offer. I was still in a wheelchair, and as he draped a blanket over my lap, the glazed look in his eyes was unmistakable. Everything in me shattered, like someone had taken a bat to my fragile, glass persona.
I cried, I sobbed, and he just let me. I'd let all my pain become audible, and I wasn't sure that the sounds coming out of me were even human, but he just held me like I'd unravel if he let go. I wasn't sure how long we sat like that, but enough time had passed for the sky to go from blue to orange as we sat in my room and gazed out the window, out to a town that suddenly felt so unfamiliar. A town that wanted to keep me despite everything I'd said and done, and a town that I'd shunned but wasn't about to shun me. The irony was palpable.
But that night, I had the most restful sleep I'd had in a very, very long time.
✗✗✗
One of the first things I learned in physical therapy was how to move forward and let go. I couldn't make progress if I didn't think I would, and holding onto whatever had happened in the past doesn't heal my wounds - the superficial and the emotional.
The first thing I learned in real therapy was making amends. Not just to other people, but to myself.
Chris and I said our goodbyes while I was still in rehab, since he had to be down in Tuscaloosa for training camp at the end of July. I didn't know when I'd actually see him again, other than College Gameday Saturdays on ESPN. A bittersweet taste welled up inside of me, but I thought back to what Jordyn had told me during prom. If you really love someone, the only thing you end up caring about is seeing them happy. Chris Thompson would become the superstar I'd never get the chance to be, but that was alright. He deserved it.
By the time I made it home at the end of August, everyone was gone, leaving nothing but the ghosts of who they were in this town behind. They'd all grow and flourish somewhere else, while my roots would only dig themselves deeper into the ground. I'd learn to thrive off the energy that gave me instead of letting it poison me.
"Well it's nice to see you up so early," my mother said as she set down my usual eggs and coffee breakfast. I'd been home for a few days, but she still did her nervous hovering and lingered at the sink with the water on even though there was nothing to wash.
"Yeah well, the only appointment they had available for my haircut was 10:30, and I want to get a run in this morning."
She shut the water off and turned to face me, leaning back against the counter. "If you're not ready, you don't have to do it."
I scoffed. "Mom, Dr. Lanski cleared me for physical activity a week and a half ago. I just..." I paused and heaved out a sigh. "I just haven't yet."
"Okay," she leaned over and planted a kiss to my forehead. "Don't push yourself, Dallas."
"I won't, I won't," I said as I stood up from the table with my hands held up in surrender. "I've learned my lesson, don't worry."
My street was far too quiet for a summer morning as I sat on my front lawn, adjusting the elaborate knee brace I'd become accustomed to wearing. It had just rained, and raindrops still clung to the last bit of flowers that bloomed on the oak tree in front of my house.
My physical therapist said my mental toughness was what helped me recover the way that I did, which was ironic to me because I realized how my lack of mental toughness was what got me here in the first place. I'd need a brace for any kind of exercise for the next six months or so, but that didn't mean I shouldn't. I tied and retied my sneaker laces, giving myself the smallest bits of time to change my mind, but I couldn't. I was ready, and I knew it.
The silence of the morning was punctuated by the whistling of a summer breeze through the trees as I stood in the middle of my street, staring down the stretch of cement in front of me. I took a deep breath, and I wanted to stop time.
When I saw rays of golden light slip through the trees and onto the street, I picked a puddle of sunlight and ran towards it. Then the next one, and the next one. I picked up the pace, my sneakers slapping against the pavement still damp from the rain, and my heartbeat thundering in my ears, but I just kept running.
There was no pain. There was no hurt. I could move. I could let go. Towards the light.
Go. Go. Go.
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i keep my heart on fire as i climb through the marigolds it feels like i'm getting close but now i hold on tight through all these nights at least i'll try
the best part of letting go / the dangerous summer
