This was the worst day of the year. Every year, without question, in perpetuity. Five years ago today, my life changed forever. I lost my wife and newborn son within minutes of each other.
They called it shoulder dystocia. I spent the next three months in a drunken stupor, researching odds that no longer mattered. Losing the baby was rare. Losing the mother was nearly unheard of. People always told me how lucky I was. I would trade all the other luck in the world to have that day end differently.
I pulled up my slacks enough to see the tattoo on my calf. I touched the inked turtle, running my finger along his shell. I moved my finger up his extended neck, resting on his head. He was leaning as far as he could, little turtle lips pressed out in a kiss. Jessica had his counterpart on her calf. It was silly, but she insisted. I loved her quirks and hadn’t hesitated for a second.
I willed myself to check my inbox. This was the first time I hadn’t taken this date off. Normally, I would be lying in bed at home today. Looking at old pictures on my phone. Today, every player was coming in to meet the almost entirely new coaching staff. I was one of the few who hadn’t been replaced, not yet at least. That meeting started in thirty minutes.
I looked through my emails, seeing if any of the players or new coaches had reached out. Usually, it was pretty quiet at this time of year. As the Saints’ mental performance consultant and assistant strength coach, most of my offseason work involved helping rookies adjust and veterans stay sharp. The initial burst of that work was already over, though. May was a maintenance month.
The ding of a new message drew my attention back to the screen.
To: Remy Broussard
From: Dale Pruitt
Subject: Quick Catch Up
Hey Remy,
I didn’t realize you were at work today. Can you head over to my office prior to the all-hands? Just want to check in. Hope you are doing well, my friend!
Thanks,
Dale Pruitt, General Manager/VP
I read the message again. I had known Dale for years, and he wasn’t the sudden check-in-by-email kind of guy. If he wanted to see how I was holding up, he could have walked down the hall. That left the other possibility. My role was niche, my contract had expired, and I was working on an extension. Dread tugged at me as I rose from my chair.
I walked down the hallway and entered the main lobby. I glanced at the Lombardi Trophy in its case and ran my fingers across the glass. We only had the one, and it was a bit before my tenure, but pride still swelled in me every time I looked at it. Katie, the receptionist, gave me a small wave from behind her counter as I walked past. Mike and Earl, the two uniformed security guards, offered friendly nods.
I entered the west hallway and spied Pruitt’s office. The door was almost closed, but cracked enough that I could hear the lo-fi focus music he always listened to while working.
I rapped my knuckles on the door, and the music cut off.
“Come in,” Dale said.
I walked into his office. I had been in here a few times over the years, but it still impressed me. One wall of his office was made entirely of glass, and he had a perfect view of the practice field. The other walls displayed several posters detailing how the Saints had helped the city after Katrina, and of course the “Dat’s Incredible!” article the Times-Picayune put on its front page when the Saints won the Super Bowl.
“Ah, Remy! Take a seat. Take a seat,” Dale said, gesturing to the pair of well-appointed oak chairs in front of his desk. His mouth parted into a smile that caused his eyes to crinkle.
Once I sat down, he came from behind his desk and extended his hand. I shook it.
“Ow. I always forget not to shake you strength coaches’ hands.”
He turned my chair’s twin to face me instead of the desk and sat. My nerves got the best of me as I awkwardly hopped my chair ninety degrees to face him. The smile stayed plastered on his face.
“Remy,” he said, his voice now lower and more serious, “are you sure you’re okay to work today? I know this day is tough, man. I can’t even imagine losing someone as great as Jessica. And the baby too,” he trailed off, looking away.
I sniffed and swallowed against the hard lump that was rising in my throat.
“I’m alright, Dale, really. I know today is an important day and I want to leave the right impression with the new HC.”
“Yeah, I thought that might be concerning you. Look, Remy…”
He still wouldn’t meet my eyes.
“I really think it would be best if you took the rest of the day off. Hell, I wouldn’t hold it against you to take the entire week off.”
I looked at my hands. They were gripping the armrests of the chair, knuckles white.
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Worst day of the year.
“Dale, what’s going on?” I said.
It felt like I had broken the silence that filled the room with a hammer. Dale locked eyes with me.
“Remy, my friend, I really think you should take advantage of our generous leave policy. Aren’t you feeling some mental distress? You know, with your tenure, you qualify for six weeks paid mental health leave, no questions asked.”
He paused.
“Well, a few questions asked, I guess. But the anniversary of such terrible grief would definitely qualify you. I’d make sure of it.”
Something snapped in the back of my brain. I recognized it for what it was: textbook depersonalization. Knowing the name did nothing to stop it from coming on. I watched myself from above, buzzing and numb. I could see the anger etched on my face, and the sadness on Dale’s.
“They’re firing me?”
My voice sounded distant and muffled. I was vaguely aware that Dale had placed his hand on my knee.
“Come on, man. I’m trying to help you get the most out of this you can,” he almost whispered.
I stood, extended my hand. Dale stayed sitting, just looked at it.
“Thanks for everything you’ve done. But I’m not going to game the system. I’ll take whatever severance there is.”
Those were the words I said, but the truth was less noble. I couldn’t stand the thought of Dale—or anyone else—seeing me as broken enough to need saving.
Dale sighed and stood up. He walked back around his desk and opened a drawer. He thumbed through several files and pulled out one with Broussard, R. on the tab.
“Here you are,” the general manager said.
He opened the file and ran a finger along it, searching for information.
“Well, it looks like we offered you a two-month extension. As I’m sure you know, it’s unfortunate that your contract was up last month. If you had a year left, like some of the folks, they would have paid it all out. We can pay you for the rest of May and June. I’ll get it all into your account by the end of the day.”
I nodded. The words sounded like they were coming through an old-time radio. They had a hollow quality to them.
“So this is it, then?” I asked.
“Unless you want to reconsider that sick leave.”
“No.”
“All right then, I can’t force you.”
He dropped back into his chair. His hands fell onto the desktop with a heavy thud.
“Remy, thank you for everything you’ve done for the organization. You kept our team in great shape, both physically and mentally. I will miss your work, but also your friendship.”
He rose and extended a hand from across the desk. I shook it, squeezing a little harder than I meant to. He winced but didn’t pull away. When I tried to release my grip, he held my hand in his.
“I really tried to get them to keep you. But the new head coach has a guy he loves. I’m truly sorry, Remy.”
“It’s not your fault,” I said. “Really, thanks for everything you’ve done for me over the years.”
Dale flushed as he let go of my hand.
“I really regret this next part, but it will be quick.”
He lowered his eyes and made a beckoning motion toward the door. Earl entered. The security guard looked at me apologetically.
“Let’s get your stuff. Don’t worry, I’ll stay far behind you.”
I looked at him and cocked an eyebrow.
“It’s protocol. Stupid, but protocol,” Dale said, not looking up. He shifted uncomfortably.
“It’s all right, guys. I get it,” I said.
I walked back to my office. Someone had placed a large cardboard box on my desk. Earl stood near the door, seeming very interested in a spot on the wall. I took my diploma from Louisiana State University and my CMPC and NASM credentials off the wall and placed their frames into the box.
I looked back at Earl. He was still trying his best not to watch me. I pulled out a key and unlocked a drawer of my desk. The sound caused Earl to look for a second, but he looked away again as soon as he saw what I was doing. I pulled out an old ultrasound and a photo of a very pregnant Jessica and me at the aquarium, turtles swimming in a giant tank behind us. Jessica smiled from the photograph, one hand resting over the curve of her stomach. I let myself look for a breath, then placed both keepsakes in the box. I dropped the drawer key on the desk and stood up to leave.
“You can put your badge there too,” Earl said, hunching his shoulders as he spoke. “I’m supposed to walk with you to the garage.”
“Sure.”
I opened my wallet and took out the small white badge. I dropped it on the desk next to the key and walked with Earl. We didn’t see anyone else in the halls except for Katie. When she registered what was happening, she covered her mouth with her hand, and tears welled in her eyes. I had always liked her. I gave her a small wave with my free hand and headed into the garage.
“I’m really sorry about this. It’s bullshit,” Earl said.
“It’s part of the gig. New coaches usually bring in their own people.”
“No, not that, man. This.”
He gestured at himself and then at me.
“I know, Dale knows, everybody knows you ain’t stealing anything. You deserve better.”
I smiled at his words.
“You’re one of the good ones, Earl.”
He made a fist with his left hand and tapped his chest twice. I laid a hand on his shoulder and gave him a rough shake.
“Take care of yourself,” I said.
“You do the same, friend. Just call if you need something.”
I opened the back of my car and dropped the box onto the seat. Then I gave Earl a final wave and got into the driver’s seat.
It was a bright and warm day. Rays of gold pierced the scattered clouds, casting an amber hue on everything as I drove down Elysian Fields. It was only 9:00 AM, and I didn’t want to go home to my empty apartment. I wasn’t ready to process today. I thought I’d head over to Lakeshore Drive and walk along the waterfront for a while. Lake Pontchartrain was beautiful this time of year. I could walk a few miles and get lost in nature.
Worst day of the year. I thought again. I shifted in my seat and adjusted the radio. The silence felt suffocating. I needed more sound.
That was when I noticed the turtle in the road. I turned my car to block a couple of lanes, stopped, and put on my hazards. Elysian Fields was a busy road — three lanes in each direction, with a grassy, tree-filled neutral ground. That little guy had somehow made it halfway, but his luck was going to run out. The car that was closest to me came to a stop behind me. The woman driving saw what I was doing and pulled her SUV into the third lane, stopping and putting her hazards on as well. She gave me a curt nod.
I undid my seatbelt, patted the tattoo on my calf through my slacks, and stepped out of the car. Jessica and I had done this more times than I could count. The smell of oil and asphalt mixed with wild jasmine and blooming magnolias. I breathed it in, some of the numbness subsiding for a moment.
I approached the turtle as someone blew their horn from behind our vehicles. I grabbed the turtle, a red-eared slider, and a pretty big one at that. Jessica and I had kept one as a pet until it got so big that we had to release it. This guy was plodding toward the median. Not much I could do about that. If I didn’t put him where he was headed he would just try again. I brought him to the grassy neutral ground and set him down. He continued his steady march, barely acknowledging he had been handled.
The horn sounded again, and I heard the high-pitched whine of an electric motor. One of those stupid-looking electric trucks swung around my car, hopped the curb, and accelerated faster than I could react. I never felt the impact. I heard my bones snap and felt the sensation of flying through the air. As far as I knew, I never came back down.