When we returned from our trip, our lives felt different. Each of us knew we had something to consider, a new factor in life.
In the airport, Amaya was on her phone as we waited by our gate, and she sat in an empty section that wasn’t boarding anytime soon so she could freely yell and no one would hear her. When she finished talking on the phone, she approached the three of us and said, “I was worried something would happen with my sponsors at the end of the weekend. But after we all talked about it, they all said they understood and that they support me still and have no plans on canceling the sponsorship. But, it’s been decided that I need to start seeing a psychologist, maybe even a psychiatrist. We’ll see. But, I just wanted to share the good news with you guys.”
“Congrats, that’s amazing. Glad you still have their support,” Darren said.
Amaya’s eyes widened. “Tell me about it. If I didn’t have them, I couldn’t afford to have lost both the singles tournament and the doubles tournament.”
I nodded and smiled. “That’s great news.”
“Yeah, what they said,” Wyatt said with a hazy smile, but it was quick to stare back down at the ground.
Right after the doubles loss in New York, it was rare to see Wyatt smile, and it was almost impossible to see him laugh. At the airport, it mainly was Darren and I talking while Wyatt gazed at the floor, lost in the doldrums.
Before boarding the plane for takeoff, someone walked up beside Wyatt.
“Hey! I know you don’t know me, but I saw you this weekend! I just wanted to tell you I love your style and everything about you. You’re so good at Elite Crushers. I watched almost every one of your matches, and I hope you start playing in tournaments more often. You were so fun to watch! And-“ she gawked at Amaya. “Oh my gosh! Is that Amaya? Oh my gosh, you two are so great! I thought you would surely win the tournament, but better luck next time. I’m sure you’ll win if you play again. Dayzees has got to be scared. Can I get an autograph? Please? Of the two of you? I have my controller in my bag!”
“Uh, yeah! I’d be happy to!” Wyatt beamed.
“Of course,” Amaya said.
I hadn’t seen Wyatt grin that much the entire trip. The whole exchange resurrected his spirit. He signed the controller with the fan’s sharpie marker, and Amaya did too.
“Thank you!” she chimed and bounced away as our section started boarding.
“Wow, I was feeling like shit, and then that happened. Don’t get me wrong, I’m still bumming hard-core that I’m not gonna bring back the money I promised my mom, but at least that happened. Wow, I still can’t believe it.” Wyatt’s face lit up like a firework.
When we returned to Chicago, the summer finished. I kept working at the grocery store with Darren, and the two of us regularly played Elite Crushers together on weekdays. The weekends were reserved for Wyatt and Amaya. For Wyatt, he started scouting for local Elite Crushers tournaments and even smaller ones out of state with cash prizes. On some weekends, Darren would drive the four of us out to a tournament in support of him, and Amaya would call the place and get paid to do a signing. It was a win-win. Wyatt was winning the singles tournaments handedly, and then Darren and myself teamed up with him to win the doubles tournament. We weren’t making life-changing money but profiting enough to make it worthwhile. And it was more money than I had ever received.
My parents would even ask me once a week how my playing with the game was going. Home life was slowly getting better and better. Every day after finishing my homework and the school day, I would play Elite Crushers and train as if I was trying to get a black belt in karate. Golden-Bow became my trusted main.
As the weeks passed, my scrimmages with Amaya and Wyatt were getting closer and closer. I would even be able to steal a couple of games here and there. Then around the time the Atlanta tournament came around, Darren and I were too focused on school to do the tournament. We opted not to go. None of us talked about it during that time between New York and Atlanta. In the back of my head, I just assumed that Wyatt would probably go and Amaya would, of course, go.
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Wyatt was in much better spirits, he could pay for a plane ticket himself (from all the local tournament winnings) to go to Atlanta, and he was awfully proud of that fact. Amaya’s sponsors paid for her flight and lodging. She and Wyatt stayed together while Darren and I worked at the grocery store and then live-streamed the tournament at Darren’s house. Although, in hindsight, I wish I never tuned in to watch the match live.
After a long day of work, Darren and I got a pizza, cozied up on his couch in the game room, and watched the Atlanta tournament on his 52-inch display in glorious 4k resolution. Wooden TV table trays were in front of us where the pineapple and ham pizza sat on our plates. We had to wait a little while until we finally saw Amaya’s match, but she won handily. She was in the top 32. Wyatt also made it to the top 32, but when we saw him tumble to his chair for his match, I had to shield my eyes.
“Wyatt, who has been playing outstanding this tournament, appears to be struggling with standing and walking. Rebecca, is it me, or might he need some medical attention?” the broadcaster said.
“Yeah, he definitely doesn’t look suitable to be playing, that’s for sure, very strange considering he was fine a little over an hour ago,” Rebecca, the other commentator, said.
I could barely hear the hum of the audio from down on the event floor, but I could see Wyatt with his eyes shut, swaying like a Jenga tower that was about to—
“And he’s just collapsed on the ground! Oh my god, we are going to cut this broadcast short for right now, and we will be right back as soon as the next match is ready to go. Thank you for tuning in.”
The TV screen flipped to black.
“I can’t watch the rest of that,” Darren said, glowering at the blank screen.
I clenched my teeth and wiped my eyes vigorously with my fists. “Wow, I can’t believe that.”
We were silent for a few minutes.
“What do you think is going to happen?”
“Well, Amaya might murder him, and if she doesn’t, I will. That fucking idiot.” Darren launched off the couch and hurled over the wooden TV table, which slammed against the wall. The ceramic plate dinged but didn’t break, and then Darren stomped around the room in circles. “I thought he had everything under control! I mean, c’mon, when was the last time he drank anything at a tournament!”
I crossed my arms tightly around my chest and tried to dart my gaze away from Darren, but I had to keep a watchful eye on his beat red face. “Yeah, I thought he figured it out too.”
“He’s just so fuckin’ stupid! I mean, what’s gonna happen to him? Is he gonna be allowed in the tournament scene again? Is Amaya still going to be our friend after all this? He’s so lucky he didn’t pull this off in New York, or I woulda kicked his ass up and down 7th avenue!”
I thought about getting up and putting my hands on Darren’s shoulders to try and settle him down, but I was frozen. I sat there and clenched my shirt.
Amid his circular stomping and wiping of his forehead, he finally took a deep breath and exhaled as he stood by the door. His head turned towards the plate and TV tray, sprawled out on the ground, looking like an auto accident on the freeway. Darren took another deep breath and rested his hands on his hips. He peered over at me, sitting on the couch. He bit his bottom lip and shrugged. “Sorry,” he croaked.
“You’re good. No worries.”
“No,” his voice was gravelly and dry. “I shouldn’t have blown up like that. This is my mom’s house. I don’t wanna ruin it with my temper tantrums. It’s unfair to her, and she doesn’t deserve it.” He gazed at the ground and back up at me. “Hell, if I were you, I would never want to hang out with Wyatt again, and I would totally understand. I wouldn’t fault you for it. You could even stop being friends with me if you wanted to. You don’t deserve to hang around losers like Wyatt and—“
“Alright, I was afraid to say anything during your outburst, but you’re crossing the line now. Don’t call yourself a loser, don’t even call Wyatt a loser. You guys are my best freaking friends. And you know how much it sucks that I already lost one best friend?” my voice fell into grogginess and the outlines of my eyes felt like a misting sprinkler system. “Juh-just because Wh-Wyatt might also need some help doesn’t mean I-I’m going to walk out on you or him as your f-friend. As your best friend. This whole group that we ha-have here.” I made a circular motion with my finger as my face was now coated with tears. “It’s a-all I fuh-cking have.”
I could see Darren’s eyes twinkle from the other side of the room. His mouth was perfectly horizontal and straight, like the edge of a razor blade. He slid over to where I was sitting on the couch, and then I buried my face in my hands. Communicating wasn’t an option for me. I felt an involuntary downward shove in my throat when I tried. The warmth of a hand and an arm blanketed my shoulders.
“It’s all right, Gordie. You’re a brave person for what you said. It must be tough to talk about Michael, and I wish he was still around for you more than anything in the world, and he was hanging out with us right now. It sounds like he would have fit right in with us from all the Elite Crushers you played.” Darren exhaled a gust of helpless laughter. “We’ll see how Amaya feels about everything, and then we’ll talk with Wyatt once he gets back. I’m sure he feels awful, well, maybe not right now because I don’t know if he’s conscious, but when he wakes up, he’ll have one helluva hangover with regret and pain.” Darren sighed.