An Absence of Trust

Okay, this is a long one. Believe it or not when I started I was thinking it would be much shorter than usual. It isn't. There are several subplots but I think they are necessary for the story. If you are looking for a shorter story with lot's of sex, please skip this one. If you read it, I hope you like it. I enjoyed writing it.

AN ABSENCE OF TRUST

I doubt I'll ever forget that day getting off the bus from school and heading home with my little brother Richie. I remember being hungry and hoping my mom had something we could eat before dinner. Everything was normal until we turned the corner.

I didn't really understand what was happening. There were people in our yard and a big truck in front of the house. I saw my mom sitting on the concrete steps in front of our house crying. I saw my Dad looking angry talking on the phone. My Dad was big, tall, he always tried to look like he was in charge.

The problem was he rarely was.

As we got closer to the commotion in front of the house Richie grabbed my hand.

"Billy?" he asked with a tremor in his voice, "what are all those people doing at our house?"

"I don't know," I told him. I went to my Mom to find out.

When I asked her what was happening she said to me through her tears we were victims.

It was many weeks later and with the four of us stuffed into a small two bedroom apartment I realized what she had told me that day. It wasn't "victims", she had said to me. She had said we were "evicted". It took a while before I actually understood what that meant.

I suppose my Dad was around for about another year. He was always angry. Angry at whoever. It wasn't his fault that his family had slumped to this lower middle class socio-economically strata. It was always, his boss, the "idiots" he worked with, his "dumb" customers, the neighbors, the politicians, et cetera.

When he finally quit coming back to our little apartment it was actually a relief. Certainly our cash flow suffered and what small luxuries we may have had when Dad was living with us evaporated. On the other hand we didn't have to listen to his ranting of all the injustices the world had subjected him too. It was far calmer without him.

It was probably another year after he left that we heard he had died. No specific details trickled to me. My Mom wept, and I tried unsuccessfully to conjure up some feelings of sadness. He had evolved into such a small part of my life his dying didn't really seem to matter much to me.

But through my economically tumultuous childhood the one deep set memory that stuck with me was that day walking home from school with Richie, and being removed from our house. I knew I never wanted anything like that to happen again.

-- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- --

The one gift that I did get from my father was his genetics. My Dad was tall and by the time I was a junior in high school I stood six foot five. By my senior year I had grown another half inch and weighed a lean two hundred and twenty pounds. And I was fast and fairly athletic. I was good on the high school basketball team, but in high school football, I was great.

In the old days it was an accomplishment to get high school sports letters in various sports each season. In today's athletic world, if you wanted to be good, you specialized. And I began to focus on football.

My high school football team was good. We had no chance of winning it all with some of the powerhouses like Jesuit Prep and Eisenhower, but we ended up going to state and winning our first game against Capital out of Olympia. I had eight catches and two touchdowns for East Milton.

Eisenhower eventually won it all by demolishing a team from Vancouver. But I was named first team all state and I had quite a few scholarship offers. Eventually I signed with Washington State. I was tempted to play for the University of Washington so my mom could see me play, but the Huskies did not seem nearly as interested as the Washington State Cougars.

As a freshman I played in a few games catching eight passes and scored a touchdown. Our starting tight end was a senior named Wendell Washington and he was second team all PAC 12 and likely would play in the NFL next year.

Our team was middle of the pack and we went to a lower tier bowl game. But the big game every year was our rivalry game with the University of Washington. That game is called the Apple Cup. Washington was one of the best teams in our conference and was expected to win the Apple Cup every year, and they normally did.

My sophomore year they came back with a late score and beat us. My junior year they beat us by three touchdowns and the arrogance of the Washington players was only surpassed by the arrogance of their fans. After that game they trash talked and showed a complete lack of sportsmanship. I still recall standing on our sideline watching the arrogant Huskies celebrating in our stadium. That burned.

My senior year was a good one for me. I was a preseason honorable mention all league selection. And importantly, I stayed healthy. I had trained hard all winter and throughout the summer. I had broken up with my girlfriend and was 100% focused on football. I was in the best shape of my life. It was a grind but it was worth it.

Coming into our final regular league game, the Apple Cup, we were 6 - 5 and once again would go to one of the lesser bowl games. So far, statistically, I was having a good year. I'd made 41 receptions for 655 yards and 8 touchdowns. I was projected to be first team all league and possibly get some All American recognition.

The Huskies were 10 - 1 coming into the final league game. If they beat us, as everyone expected, their path was wide open to the Rose Bowl. The Huskies were led by their star quarterback Nathan Nelson. This year the game was played at Husky Stadium in Seattle. We expected a loud and hostile crowd.

Late November in Seattle is normally wet and today was without exception. As we took the field the air was full of the boos and taunts from the Husky fans. I was normally pretty mild mannered but I hated the Huskies and their fans. There was nothing I wanted more than to beat these guys.

It did not start out well. They scored immediately, Nelson ran it in. Our drive stalled and we punted. They began to have problems on offense too and by half time they were ahead 10 - 0. The weather was affecting both teams' offenses.

In the third quarter we got two field goals and they scored a touchdown. Score entering the fourth quarter: Washington leading 17 - 6.

The fourth quarter brought more rain and both offenses slowed. We caught a break when the Huskies fumbled the slippery football near their own goal line. Remarkably we were able to score our first touchdown, but we missed the extra point. Score now: 17 - 12, Huskies up.

Through most of the quarter neither team could get much offense. The ball was wet so passing was difficult. With just under three minutes left we had the ball on our own 35 yard line. Our quarterback called an out pattern to me. All the other receivers were going left, I had the right flat.

I don't think I'll ever forget this play. In fact I think this single play earned me a lot of money. It made ESPN's top ten plays for the day. I have seen the replay so many times I have the entire thing memorized.

I ran five yards off the line of scrimmage and then cut sharply out. The smaller but quicker defensive back was tight on me. As I turned I saw the crisp spiral heading toward me. The quarterback hadn't led me enough and I heard the sharp intake of breath from the defensive back anticipating the glory of an interception.

As the ball headed toward us we both jumped. He had better position, but I was bigger. Much bigger. In air, I bumped him hard and made the reception, he crumpled to the ground. I took off down the right sideline. I was well into Husky territory by the time the free safety, on a diagonal, caught up to me.

Just as he leapt to tackle me my left arm shot out in a stiff arm directly to the crown of his helmet shoving him to the ground, catapulting me forward. Moments later I crossed the goal line and this time we made the extra point. For the first time in the game we were up, 19 - 17.

Everyone on our sideline was aware of the time. A minute fifty-one left in the game. And unfortunately Washington State had a reputation for snatching defeat out of the jaws of victory. It was a brief nervous celebration on our sideline.

We kicked off and almost as scripted the Huskies offense came alive and they marched steadily down the field. The roar from the stadium was deafening. Finally with 24 seconds left they were on our nineteen yard line, fourth down and they brought out their field goal team.

Our coach called a timeout, we huddled.

"Billy, I want you right behind the nose guard." Coach said, looking at me, "We've practiced this. Watch the angle, Jump as high as you can to try to deflect that fucking kick!"

I nodded. I was the tallest athletic guy we had. We had practiced this situation. We'd just never had to use it yet.

As we lined up we could hear the trash talking from the Huskies.

"This is our house!", "Fucking Coug'ing it again". "Go home to your farm!" etc, etc.

We were silent.

It was like everything was in slow motion for me. I was hyper-aware. The ball was snapped, the holder spun the laces, and the kicker angled in to make the kick. I think the miserable weather affected the trajectory of the kick, it was low. I timed my jump perfectly so I was not even surprised when I felt the ball hit my finger tips.

The tipped ball went straight up and I cradled it as it came back down. I curled fetal-ly on the ground with the ball protected in my arms.

We had won and I was the hero. The late touchdown and then the blocked kick. For a couple of days I was a national celebrity. I was asked for interviews on some of the national sports shows and the semi-famous game winning plays were replayed repeatedly over the next week or so.

For long afterwards in the eyes of Washington State and University of Washington fans I was either a legendary hero or the asshole that kept the Huskies out of the Rose Bowl. Either way my minor celebrity-hood was often recognized by either side.

The thing that surprised me the most was the polarizing effect the outcome of this game produced. Years later I would be briefly celebrated when interacting with a Washington State fan. And, yes, I was met with the exact opposite negative reaction when the Husky fan recognized who I was and what I had done.

-- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- --

I was drafted in the third round by the San Diego Chargers, made the team and was given a three year salary that averaged $825,000 per year. After my agent's fee and taxes I took home slightly over one half of the gross amount.

For most of the first year I barely ever got into the games. Special teams or to block, but certainly no plays were called for me. But that all changed with four games left.

Our starting tight end tore his ACL and the backup damaged his shoulder in the first quarter of his first game as a starter. Suddenly I was starting.

I expected the NFL players to be super-human athletes, much faster and much stronger than me. And to some degree they were, but very shortly I realized I could compete with them and do well.

Through the final 4 games I recorded 11 receptions, 127 yards and 2 touchdowns. I was getting noticed as a contributor.

I played consistently my second year as our starter recovered from knee surgery. Towards the end of that year my agent said the Chargers wanted to sign me to a contract extension. This was good news.

What we finally negotiated was a three year deal worth six milli up front and guaranteed. My agent said I could probably get more but I was just so happy to sign for that amount I quickly signed.

The first thing I did was buy my Mom a house. The old memories of the eviction were deeply burned into my brain. I paid cash for a small house in Lynwood for her and my brother Richie. No one would ever take this house away from my family.

Unlike many of my teammates I made no other lavish purchases. No fancy exotic cars, no gaudy jewelry, no upscale condo in La Jolla or Coronado. I still wore jeans and tee shirts. I shared an apartment with two non starting teammates, and I drove a used Toyota Tacoma.

The only other big purchase I did make was a house for myself in a decent neighborhood in West Seattle. Pretty quickly Richie and a buddy of his moved into that house. They paid me rent. The balance of my money was handled by a financial planner, a guy I'd gone to high school with, Danny Murphy.

Throughout that year I didn't start, but I played a lot. By the second to the last game I'd had eighteen catches and four touchdowns. I was turning into a reliable serviceable journeyman. I envisioned a long NFL career. I knew, by doing the numbers I could have a good income that would set me up nicely for the rest of my life. I began to think about a new vehicle and to splurge a little.

Good thing I didn't.

It was early December and we were on the road playing in Baltimore. The Ravens were good, led by their physical defense.

Midway through the third quarter our quarterback called Z19triple. Three receivers would go long and I would cut straight across the middle. The Ravens dropped both safeties and I had an outside linebacker on me.

I lost him with a head fake and was open across the middle. Our quarterback threw high and I leapt to catch the pass. I came down on my left leg. Unfortunately, at the same time as my leg met the ground that was when I felt the impact from the Ravens middle linebacker Miles Tillman.

I heard the crack of snapping ligaments and shattered bone. I howled in pain as I crumpled on the ground (still holding the ball). I had never felt so much pain. Quickly the stretcher took me to the waiting ambulance.

The collision was so gruesome they wouldn't show the replays. When I finally saw the play I was surprised I didn't lose my leg. It had twisted so unnaturally on the impact with Tillman.

I spent several days in a Baltimore hospital and had long discussions with the surgeon about my football career. One conversation made a significant impact on my decision on my future.

"Son," the orthopedic surgeon said to me, "I can rebuild the knee and you can try to play again if you really insist, but I've seen guys go back to playing with injuries much less than yours and by age 40 they can barely walk."

The choice for me was pretty obvious. As he left the room my decision had been made. I did some mental budgeting. I had saved most of my NFL money and invested it wisely. After buying my house and my Mom her house, I had just under 4 million that Danny managed for me.

The Ravens game was the last time I played organized football. I spent most of the next year in physical therapy, rehabbing my knee. Fortunately this was all done at the Chargers expense using their medical and training personnel. I was progressing and I had receive encouraging long term prognosis for my injured leg.

-- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- --

Nearly a year later I barely had a limp. I had spent the year concentrating on physical therapy and getting my leg healthy. The Chargers were contractually obligated to finish paying me for the year. That was the way my contract had been negotiated. So at this point I didn't have a job and didn't need the income. That would change pretty quickly.

I was living in the house I purchased in West Seattle with no mortgage payment. Contrary to the advice my financial guy, Danny, gave me, I paid cash for it. That deep seated experience as a child of having our home taken from us had made a lasting impression.

When I moved back from San Diego my brother Rich and a buddy of his, Dallas Crenshaw, were living there. They each paid me $500 a month rent, a good deal for them. They were supposed to take care of it too.

I hadn't been back in my house in nearly a year. I was surprised at the condition.

"Rich," I addressed my brother. Dallas was on the couch playing video games. "This place is a dump. I asked you to keep it clean. There's shit all over the place."

I grabbed a black garbage bag and started picking things up.

"Chill Billy," Dallas called to me from the couch, eyes riveted on the video screen,

"we'll get to it." He casually said.

I said nothing and glared at him. I took a deep breath and limped toward Dallas and his video games.

Rich saw the look in my eye.

"Billy!" He exclaimed.

Three strides later I grabbed the gaming console out of Dallas's hand and threw it across the room.

"Hey man!" Dallas protested and started to get up.

I had to give him credit to try and challenge me physically. He was probably no more than 5 foot 9 and 160 pounds. I towered over him.

As he tried to stand I shoved him back down on the couch. He shot back up. I was much bigger and stronger than Dallas but he didn't seem intimidated in the least bit. He was in my face. After a fifteen second stare down he sat back down.

"What the fuck you doin' man?" He angrily asked me.

"I'll tell you what I'm doing," I said. "This is my house and you, Dallas, are a tenant. I can evict you whenever I want." Not technically true, but he didn't know that.

"So as long as you're here, you abide by my rules. Understand?" I was leaning over him, finger in his face,as he sat on the couch.

He didn't reply, just briefly nodded his head. A simmering ferocity evident in his expression.

"Good." I said. "Rule 2 is keep the house neat."

"What's rule 1," Rich asked me.

"Rent payment is always on time." I told him. "Now, clean this place up. And I mean now!" And I threw the trash bag to Dallas.

I was a little harsher than necessary but I wanted to send them a message, especially Dallas. This was going to be a tight ship. And if I started off letting them slide it would likely only get worse.

After that initial blow up the three of us got along fairly well. I still had to get on Dallas occasionally, but he slowly got better. For me, having roommates was not ideal but for now it was acceptable. I knew things needed to change soon.

I was the one that had to make the largest adjustments. Since high school, football has always been a huge part of my life. Now, obviously, I can no longer play. I also had no job and my paychecks from the Chargers would soon end.

As I assessed my life I knew I had to have some type of income. I also knew at some point I wanted to have some type of female companionship.

I'd had a girlfriend, Chrissy, through most of my sophomore and junior years at WSU. She was a varsity cheerleader and I met her through football. Chrissy was a year older than me and had graduated at the end of my junior year.

She had a job in Denver and wanted to continue our relationship. At that point I was less committed to the relationship and we broke up. Not some messy emotional breakup more of a situational decision based on where we both were in life. Truth be told I think she still wanted to try to make things work, but my senior year I was focused on football.

Though there were many nights I thought of Chrissy, her shapely body wrapped tightly in her cheerleading outfit and then memories of that same body without the outfit on. There had been more than a few times I thought of calling her but then I recalled our final conversation.

-- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- --

"It can work if we prioritize things correctly," Chrissy said to me, her eyes searching mine with a pleading expression.

"Cris, honey," I said to her, "My priority now is football. It's my senior year, I could play pro ball. I can try to see you when I can but I've got to think of the

future."

I remember looking at her and her looking back at me. I was hoping for some type of look of understanding from her, but she just stared at me blankly. And then the silent tears streamed down her cheeks.