Chasing Jonah Mchale

chapter one

•••

Everything moves in slow motion.

My heavy eyelids flicker open. Blinking slowly, adjusting to the harsh lights from above.

Through blurry vision I can see my coach's red basketball hat, he's yelling something at me- but the only thing I hear is a painful ringing in my ears. I blink a few more times, my teammates coming into focus around me their eyebrows furrowed as they stare down at me with worry.

Our team physician, Dr. O'Reilly kneels over me and his face comes into view.

"Jonah? Can you hear me?"

I actually can- like an echo. His voice seems a million miles away, slowly moving towards me. I try to respond but my mouth can't open, my tongue sits back pathetically in my throat.

"Should we call an ambulance?"

Suddenly I feel of rush of everything.

Of color, throbbing pain, sound- everything is too loud, too bright, too much. The stadium lights blare down on me, the bleachers filled with excited teens decked out in our school colors seem suffocating. Coach Mayor's authoritative voice pounds in my ears.

I try to hoist myself up, but Dr. O'Reilly pushes me back down.

"Don't move."

I turn my body over to the side, my body shivering and my throat aching as I vomit tonight's dinner out onto the prickly green turf.

"Better out than in." Coach Mayor says, clutching my helmet in his hands. He crouches, shielding me from view of prying eyes.

"Do you know where you are kid?"

"Football game- I'm at a football game." I say, my breath shaky as I wipe my mouth. My head falls back to the dirt in a sweaty mess.

"Okay good. Do you know who we're playing against?"

"The Edgewater Wolverines." My eyes close as another wave of nausea comes over me.

"Do you know what your name is?"

"Jonah McHale." I wince as Dr. O'Reilly shines a pocket-sized flashlight into my eyes.

"Your pupils are a little bit dilated. Can you hold yourself up?"

I hoist myself up into a sitting position with my hands. Years of training and conditioning have made me confident in my body. It does what I tell it too, we work fluidly together. Except not right now. My limbs are shaky, weak, unstable. Like as if a hit in the head has stripped me of all my physical abilities in a second.

"Give me your hand."

Dr. O'Reilly grips my hand in his and tells me to push as hard as I can. He tells me to do this a couple more times before helping me get unstably back to my feet. Two of my teammates hoist me up by my shoulders, carrying my weight as we make our way through the field. I swallow, trying to ignore my throbbing head before collapsing weakly onto our bench. Applause echoes throughout the field, even though I'm sure nobody in the student section is really sure what's going on. Either to drunk from the vodka they've hidden in Poland Spring bottles, or staring down at their phone in boredom.