PART 3: Stuff Being Stuff
Chris leaned forward.
“What do you mean?”
Ethan’s face tightened with frustration, as if we were making him explain something that should have been obvious.
“I wanted you guys to have fun with me.”
He wiped his nose with the back of his hand.
“Everybody keeps acting like everything has to be special now just because I’m going to die.”
I set my phone facedown beside me.
Ethan looked at it.
Then he whispered the sentence I would remember differently for the rest of my life.
“Sometimes I just want stuff to be stuff.”
Chris stared at him for several seconds.
Then he reached over and covered our son’s hand with his own.
“I’m sorry, Captain.”
Ethan shrugged, his eyes still on the plastic field.
“I know you’re sad. I’m sad too.”
Chris nodded.
“I know. But you’re still here, Captain,” he said gently. “And I’ve been acting like my job is to watch every second instead of being in it with you.”
Ethan finally looked up.
“So you’re admitting I’m right?”
Chris blinked.
“Absolutely not.”
Ethan grinned.
“Too late.”
A knock came at the door.
Leo stood outside.
Chris hesitated before getting up.
“How’s your son?” he asked.
Leo looked surprised.
“Home. Driving his mother crazy.”
Chris smiled. “Good.”
That was all.
Just one piece of good news that Chris finally let himself hear.
A few minutes later, I looked at Ethan.
“You ready to go home, Captain?”
He glanced through the glass toward the field.
I caught myself.
“What do you want?”
Ethan thought for a moment.
“Ten more minutes.”
Chris nodded. “Ten.”
We went back to our seats.
No cameras followed us.
No players came over.
Nobody handed Ethan a signed football.
The game simply carried on.
Which was exactly what he’d wanted.
Chris complained about a terrible play.
Ethan told him he had no idea what he was talking about.
Then a referee threw a flag.
“Oh, COME ON!” I shouted.
Ethan burst out laughing.
“Mom, you don’t even know what happened!”
“I know injustice when I see it.”
My hand reached for my phone out of habit.
I stopped.
Ethan noticed.
“You’re not taking one?”
“No.”
“Why?”
I looked at him. “I’m watching.”
He studied me for a moment, then nodded as though the answer made perfect sense.
Late in the fourth quarter, our team scored.
The stadium erupted.
Chris leapt to his feet.
Ethan grabbed his father’s arm with one hand and mine with the other, laughing so hard he could barely shout.
The tabletop football game slid sideways across his lap.
One little plastic player popped loose and landed under my seat.
I saw it.
For once, I didn’t immediately bend down to pick it up.
Ethan was laughing.
Chris was yelling.
I was yelling too.
And the game was still going.
Only after the cheering finally died down did Ethan look down.
“Mom! My player!”
I reached under the seat and handed it back.
Ethan snapped it into place.
“Everybody plays,” he said.
Then my Captain turned toward the field again.
So did we.
Note: This story is a work of fiction inspired by real events. Names, characters, and details have been altered. Any resemblance is coincidental. The author and publisher disclaim accuracy, liability, and responsibility for interpretations or reliance. All images are for illustration purposes only.
