Hello Beautiful

William studied his wife, his eyes glassy with shock and sadness. He didn’t believe in words like impossible, because of what he’d been through. He believed in trying to help; that’s what he did at work — helped young athletes stay healthy and whole — and he believed in his marriage to Sylvie. She watched him try to figure out what could be done with the materials at hand, while the sun sank out of the sky behind him.

William

September 2008

When William reached the Bulls practice facility, he nodded at the security officer, then the kid behind the desk. He was aware that his breath was short in his chest; he was winded from what Sylvie had told him the night before. He felt the news only in his body; it moved in and out of his lungs. He’d needed to come here before allowing himself to absorb it fully. William headed onto the courts; the air thumped with balls hitting the floor. William walked around the edge of the cavernous space and into the exam room, where he knew Kent would be. And he was there, taping a rookie’s knee.

The rookie spotted William first and got the look that most players adopted around him when they were limping, bruised, or injured in any way. It wasn’t unusual for an injured player to catch sight of William and try to scuttle away, crab-like.

“This is a small thing, Will,” the rookie said. “Kent is confident — you’re confident, right, Doc? — I’ll be ready for the first game.”

William waved his hand. “I saw you warming up yesterday. You’ll be fine. You’ve got good wheels.”

The rookie collapsed back on the exam table, visibly relieved.

Kent laughed over the tape roll in his hands and the motion made his dreadlocks shake.

“You see things,” the kid said, still lying down. “Everyone knows that. We’ve all heard about the injuries you’ve predicted. You’re famous for being…” He paused for a moment, searching for the right words. “Clairvoyant, maybe. Or whatever a guy witch is called.”

William leaned against the other exam table, suddenly tired. “A wizard.”

“No,” the kid said, toward the ceiling. “That’s not it. But you can see when we’re not okay.”

William had no more smiles in him, but if he had, he would have used one now. The rookie was right; William’s job was to see when a player wasn’t okay.

“Most of the time what William sees can be fixed,” Kent said. He pressed the final strip of tape across the knee and studied his work. “You cowards should be begging him to look at you, not hiding from him like little kids. You can go.”

“I got good wheels,” the rookie said. “I’m happy about that.” He hopped off the table onto his healthy leg, grabbed his sneakers, and strolled out of the room.

Kent straightened up. The doctor resembled a football player more than the power forward he used to be. Due to a combination of weight lifting and an enthusiasm for food, he’d widened considerably since college. He and Nicole had divorced a year earlier, and Kent had only recently started to regain his propulsive energy and big laugh. He’d often cut onto the court on his way in and out of the building, trying to steal the ball off a player, even though he was almost fifty and his patients were elite athletes in their prime. The players ran away from William, but they wanted to be around Kent.

Kent’s face was serious, though, while he studied his friend from behind his black-framed glasses. He indicated slightly with his head, a signal for William to talk.

“Did Sylvie show you her MRI scan?”

Kent’s shoulders dropped. “She told you.”

William closed his eyes for a moment. He’d pictured Sylvie handing her medical file to Kent; he was the person they both thought of in case of an emergency. Sylvie might have thought: Maybe Kent can save me. “I figured,” William said, “that she might have spoken to you first, seen what you thought.”

“She saw the best specialist at Northwestern. I made some calls, checked him out. There was a second opinion. The diagnosis is correct.”

The air in the room felt dark, but perhaps it was just William turning dark. “She said she turned down most of the treatment. That she has something like six months.”

Kent gave a single, effortful nod, as if he had to fight the air to move. “I thought she was going to do that.”

“What do you think?”

“I’d do the same thing, in her position. It’s the brave choice. The treatment is almost as bad as what she’s got.”

William noticed Kent’s arm twitch, and said, “I don’t want a hug.”

“I know.”

William glanced at his watch, although he didn’t care what time it was. He’d gotten what he needed here. Confirmation. Sylvie’s news was real, because Kent had said so. He headed out of the room. “I have some things to take care of,” he said. “I might come back this afternoon, but I might not.”

“I’m gonna get you through this.” Kent jogged to catch up with William. “I’m not going to leave you alone. Your meds are solid. It’s going to be hard, but you’ll be able to bear it.”