Snapshot: This is me, in the final 20 seconds of regulation time at the Music City Bowl. I'm slumped over, still on my feet but leaning on my seat, in full, properly buttoned, band uniform with my ball cap on top of my bowed head. Amid the groans and the yells, I'm hoping that no one will notice the tears that foronceinmylifedammit I am not going to stop.
Rewind.
Sandra Bullock. The Blind Side. She's talking to Michael, encouraging him to pick his own life and assuring him that, even should he choose Tennessee to play for, she will attend every game. "But I will not wear that gaudy orange, I will not. It is not my color wheel and I'm not going to wear it."
I felt like The Blind Side was an appropriate movie for a 9 (read 11) hour bus ride taking us to a football game versus Tennessee, where we hoped for some sort of moral victory over the stadium covered in that gaudy orange (seriously, the stuff was everywhere. EVERYWHERE). As the credits started to roll and everyone readjusted their seats for sleeping as opposed to watching, I pulled out my phone from my backpack to check my messages, because whenever I have it on silent, I tend to obsessively check it for messages unless I put it away. The texts I'd been getting had been making me smile because it would tell me it was sent an hour after I received it because of the time change. I liked to think my phone was just precognizant, but whatevs.
In my phone was a text from my mother, telling me that Liz Helms had gone to be with her Lord and to pray for her family. Now, I've known about Liz for most of my church life. She went on tour with Crossflame, our youth choir, back before I was old enough to go on tours and she's always been involved with things around the church. I'd see her at F.E.A.S.T on Wednesdays and she'd let me skip through the line to go find my mother and see if she'd paid for me to eat right before I'd run off to whatever musically-related thing I was doing next and I'd see her in the church office sometimes when I ran in, which tends to be pretty frequently. I didn't really get to know her any better than that until I got to be college-aged and started going to college programs whenever I was back in Hickory, like trivia or the couple of times I went to the college Sunday school. She was always good to be around, always positive, always kind. She was a true Carolina fan as well, cheering just as hard for the football team as anything else.
I started thinking about all the things I'd miss now that Liz was gone, which is not a good idea if you want to stop yourself from crying in the middle of a crowded bus of quasi-friends and acquaintances. I thought about trivia nights and status updates from the nights when I'm not there during the school year, updates about the church's mission projects, her name among the slew of status updates after Carolina games. I'd miss seeing her at church whenever I came back, one of the many faces that was always happy to see me. I remember talking to Roy Brown before church on Sunday, when Liz was still in the hospital and talking about the things we've learned from her. She'd been in a wheelchair her whole life and wasn't supposed to live past her teenage years. At 15, she decided she wanted to get her license and so she did. At some point, she said that she didn't want people to think that when she died she'd be going to place where she could walk, she'd be going to place where it wouldn't matter. I'm going to miss that beautiful perspective.
I went through the couple of days before bowl game tearing up as I checked Facebook updates and stopping every once in a while to think and be quiet. It's remarkably difficult to think and be quiet when your days are full of rehearsals in the rain, battle of the bands in the same, epic times with the mellophone section, complete with balloon sword fights and the best shake-weight dominated gift exchange that has ever existed, pep rallies and fort explorations. I'd been in Nashville over the summer with Crossflame and I'd want to point out things to my friends but it's amazing how hard it is to explain that chaperoning a youth choir tour could have so much more tied up in it besides some sight seeing and some singing. I hope no one judged me when I stared off into space because I couldn't get away with not thinking.
Then it was actually time for the game and we walked into that orange-covered stadium and I wasn't quite sure what to do. So. Much. Orange. And Rocky Top until your ears bled. The longest first quarter ever, then the second quarter, then almost half time, running down the stairs to fist-pound Rameses and stand near the field, jumping up and down for last-minute touchdown, marching on the field, marching off the field, wishing Tennessee's band good luck, back up the stairs, sit. Third quarter, roll eyes at the ref for six seconds back on the clock, holding up our game time, no scores, fourth quarter, no scores, no scores, roll eyes at ref for putting one second back on the clock, no scores, Tennessee touchdown, extra point missed! Drive, drive, 4th and 20, come on, comeoncomeoncomeoncomeon, INCOMPLETE, ARE YOU KIDDING ME? Slump. Less than two minutes left in the game and a field goal from tying. Scream Defense! until your lungs break apart. Thirty seconds left and we get the ball back and the magical hope is back and 3rd and 3 and INCOMPLETE and the ref comes on the field. We started out our story today in the midst of the mess of all of this.
And I was so angry. I mean, you know, I know it's just a game, but it would have been more than just a game anyway. This was my last football game ever as a collegiate Marching Tar Heel. For once in my life I wanted to walk out of football season with a smile on my face instead of trudging out of a stadium having listened to the other team's favorite songs played in their lengthy, soul-crushing entirety. I still never want to hear Country Roads again. After 2 losses in Charlotte, it sure would have been nice to feel like the curse had been lifted and to win a bowl game for once. On top of that, in my heart, this game was for Liz and all those disappointments, thinking that just for once, it might be nice to have something go my way, to go the right way, all of that came crashing down on me and in the middle of that never-quiet stadium, I was done. Feel all of that, all those emotions and hopes and fears and dreads and smiles and promises, and tell me that it's just a game.
Then people start holding up one finger. Now, if there's one thing I hate, it's that dumb 'We're number one!' finger that everyone holds up when the camera points at them. No, you're not, and even if you were, it's pretentious to remind everyone that you are. I roll my eyes. Then I realize what's going on and I start yelling with everyone else for Tennessee to go back to their bench because holler praise the game's not over. One second. I have one hand in the air, holding up a one and the other one behind my back, fingers crossed, hoping again. One second. One second.
Then the ref comes out and there's one second and Casey kicks a field goal (Casey Barth, I may love you forever and if I am ever to see you on campus, you best be expecting a hug attack and be grateful for it because I don't even like hugs) and then it's overtime. Of course, the rest is football history, though at some point someone needs to chronicle Gertrude Wocket's vital role in the victory since she's clearly more powerful than Red Vines. And Butch is all like, "How 'bout them Tar Heels!" and the players are all like, "How 'bout them Tar Heels!" and then it's tag again and leaving the stadium and a happy bus ride back to the hotel.
Now, I know that God doesn't take sides in things like these. I know that He loves everyone on both teams the same. I know that even during basketball season He loves Rat Man as much as He loves me and that, my friends, is a feat of unimaginable wonder. (I would also like to state at this juncture that I do not actually believe that one person is intrinsically better or worse than anyone else based on their collegiate athletics team preferences and that I'm sure that Coach Krzyzewski is not a legitimately terrible person.) All joking aside, I know that it is ridiculous to believe in supernatural blessings or curses on athletic programs of any kind. I know that games are won on skill and the good graces of the referees and a thousand little intangibles from the lunch the players ate to the temperature outside to the loudness of the crowd might have some effect but they won't sway a game one way or another. I know that it is a rational world in which we live, despite my rather irrational actions every game day.
But...
Thanks for the extra second, Liz.
"At some point, she said that she didn't want people to think that when she died she'd be going to place where she could walk, she'd be going to place where it wouldn't matter."
ReplyDeleteGreat line about Liz... really great line!