Free The World: According to Graham by Layne Harper

hand with the bad. The time one of my players failed a drug test and I had to suspend him, or when I had to tell one of my favorite players that his mom didn’t make it out of surgery. Those memories are so vivid and overshadow the disappointments that come along with the game, like losing a championship.
    I say goodbye to the sport that helped shape my life to this point. Without lacrosse, I would have never made it to Virginia and met Max and Jake. There would have been no Sons of Liberty, or Rachael for that matter. Lacrosse will always be my first love.
    Climbing down from the bleachers, I walk to the center of the field. Bending down, I pick a tuft of grass, bringing it to my nose. I’m sure it’s just my imagination, but I can smell the sweat and determination of my guys in the dirt. The plug slides easily into my pocket. One last memento of the game that made me.
    “Play hard, boys,” I yell to the universe. Then, I turn and make my way back to the yellow cab.
    As I duck through the door, the driver asks, “Where to now, man?”
    “Home,” I reply, as I settle against the seat.
    I haven’t seen my house in almost a month. The place still looks the same. There are four outside walls, a driveway, and trees in the front yard. It was purchased with the Sons of Liberty in mind. After looking at hundreds of homes with my realtor, I finally found one that had a room that could work as a studio. Now, it houses Rachael’s extensive shoe collection, her business suits, and office. It was a small gesture on my part, but one I hope she sees for what it truly is. An olive branch. My way of showing her that I want her as a part of my life.
    From the outside, my home looks similar to all the others. Each house is a shade of red brick, one-story, with four windows across the front. But what makes my pulse beat in my ears is knowing that she’s inside its four walls, waiting for me.
    The key slips easily into the lock, and I open the front door with care not to disturb the sleeping souls inside. Despite my best efforts, George comes bounding down the hallway to greet me right inside the front door. Poor guy has been in boarding all of this time.
    “Hi my big, silly boy,” I greet him.
    Sinking to the floor, I take his enormous head in my hands and give his ears a good scratching. He whines in appreciation and keeps nudging my hands with his nose if I try to stop. “I’ve missed you so much. No more awful kennel for you. We’re going on a road trip. We just have to convince Rachael to join us,” I tell him.
    Finally, George lets me stand and make my way into the house. I throw my coat over one of the arm chairs and make myself a drink in the kitchen. After the day I’ve had, I deserve something strong. The burn of the whiskey makes my mouth pucker, and I wince from the heat.
    It’s so damn strange to be back in my house .
    I take the bit of earth from the lacrosse field out of my jeans pocket and place it in a zip-lock bag. It looks out of place resting on my kitchen counter, so I open my junk drawer and drop it in. That feels awkward also, but at least it’s in safekeeping.
    The place that I’ve called home feels foreign to me. Yes. This is where I live, but it seems colder, vacant. I’m not sure why, but I don’t like it. The air smells musty, not like it did when I lived here.
    There’s a pile of mail on the counter, and I am thankful that Veronica sorted through all the junk and just left me the things that I need to look at. Most are bills. I guess I need to forward them. To where? A tour bus? A hotel room? The thought is depressing. There’s a graduation invitation from one of my former students. I check the date and know automatically that I will not be able to attend. Not sure what city I’ll be in, but it’s a Saturday night.
    The thought heaps on to my already foul mood. I haven’t missed a graduation ceremony since I began teaching. You’re not a teacher anymore.
    Finishing my whiskey, I leave the