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Saturday, October 1st, 1983 – The Day After
His eyes flicker open groggily, the bedroom slowly materializing around him; football jersey, number 57, draped over his desk chair.
How did I get here?
A wave of memories crashes over him – the stabbing ache in his knee, his initial relief when Coach subbed him out instantly stifled by the crushing guilt at the feel of Mom’s sharp tap on his back, her disappointment oppressive. Insisting to Coach that he felt absolutely fine, that he should be put back in the game.
Running out onto the field.
The tension rising in his skull as he glimpsed his mother on the sidelines, her crossed arms and determined frown stark against the chaos of the crowd screaming his name. Unease creeping over him – the all-consuming fear of letting everyone down.
And then – nothing.
-
Fully awake now, Wally catches a glimpse of himself in the mirror. Huh. He’s still in his post-game clothes – not his usual choice of nightwear, but maybe he had just been too worn out to change last night. It’s weird, he doesn’t seem to feel anything – not the euphoria of a win, but also not the spiralling panic that usually follows a loss. Who won last night?
Eerie silence fills the house – no bustle of his parents getting ready for work, no wafting scent of frying bacon. He heads downstairs, into the meticulously tidy kitchen. It’s empty. Weird, but he shrugs it off – they probably just had a meeting to go to and forgot to tell me.
Wally turns to pour himself a bowl of cereal, but – now that he thinks about it, he’s not actually hungry. At all. He’s usually ravenous the morning after a game, so much so that it’s become a running joke between him and his dad. What happened last night?
He can feel it now, the familiar panic inching its way up his chest at the thought that the Devils may have lost, that his mom would make today hell for him – whenever she decided to show up.
Wait, it’s Homecoming tonight.
It’s coming back to him – the suit and tie hanging in his closet, pressed and ready to go, the plans he and Andrew had made to hang out all day before the dance, and I need to pick Maddie up at 5.
-
No one answers the first time he knocks. Or the second time. Not even the third time. Peering into the Coopers’ kitchen window, Wally can clearly see Mr. Cooper walking around, making himself breakfast, so why isn’t the door opening?
Wally knocks again, maybe a bit too loudly this time, and finally, he hears footsteps approaching the door. It opens – “hey, Mr. C” – and Mr. Cooper steps out – “is Andrew home?” – but he walks right past, doesn’t reply, doesn’t even seem to see Wally, gets into his car and leaves.
For a moment, Wally just stands, dumbfounded, then pounds at the door again, louder, bordering on frantic – even though, deep down, he knows no one else is showing up. He turns away, disconcerted – am I dreaming? or something?
He begins the walk back home; I’ll just wait for Andrew to call . He passes Mr. Avery from the ice cream parlor, smiles, says “hi”, but Mr. Avery just stares blankly ahead. Wally’s scared now, but there's probably a perfectly reasonable explanation …
Maddie’s seated on his porch steps, stunning in a crimson gown; “hey Maddie,” grin spreading across his face, “why are you already in your Homecoming dress?”
He stops when he realises Maddie’s not returning his smile – she looks drained, her eyes puffy, the tip of her nose red.
“You're the one imagining me this way.” Her voice is hoarse, strained, cracking as if the last time she spoke aloud was decades ago.
Wally swears he can feel his heart drop. “Maddie, what are you talking about, what do you mean?” He sits down next to her, brushes her hair back from her face, wraps his arm around her shoulder, pulls her close.
“Wally, do you know what happened last night?” barely audible in her misery.
“I mean, the game, yeah, I don't remember who won though, I must've blacked out after.”
Tears spilling from her eyelashes, dropping onto her cheeks. “There was an accident.”
He sits up straighter, arm tightening round her delicate frame, unsure how to respond but filled with a horrifying innate understanding of what's about to come.
“You broke your neck, Wally. On the field. You're dying.”
The world’s fading away around him, the rays of sun that peek through the trees dissipating before his eyes; his breath’s being cut off by his heart rising in his constricted throat. And yet Wally knows that this isn’t just a dream, this is real – the familiarity of coming face to face with Death Himself.
Maddie throws her arms around him, sobbing bitterly into his shoulder; he holds onto her loosely, his heart shattering.
-
Wally isn't sure how much time has passed before he eventually manages a strained “tell me exactly what happened.”
He can't quite grasp the meaning of the words coming from Maddie’s mouth as she describes the moment of his collision, the horrified gasps from the crowd as they watched him hurtling through the air, the way the sickening crunch of him hitting the ground had reverberated around the stadium. People screaming, the cheerleaders sobbing, the rush of medics carting him off the field on a flimsy-looking stretcher, the ambulance rushing him to the hospital. The way the doctors had gently broken the news to his parents that it was too late, there was nothing they could do, he was in a coma. He would never wake up.
Wally’s silent for a moment after Maddie finishes speaking, trying to force the information to sink in. “How’s my mom?” hushed, nervous to hear what she'll say.
Maddie’s face contorts. “I’ve never seen someone so devastated,” she answers quietly.
There’s a split second when, unbidden, Wally finds himself wondering how much of his mom’s alleged devastation actually comes from losing her son and how much of it just comes from the fact that he ruined the Devils’ chance of winning the Homecoming game, that he could no longer be her star. No, that's stupid, she loves me. But even his inner voice sounds shaky, unsure.
Suddenly, it hits him – “why can I talk to you” – voice flat, scared – “are you –”
“No, no,” Maddie hurries to reassure him. “I don’t know. I guess our spirits need each other. Or some bullshit like that.”
There's no amusement in Wally’s laugh.
“So what now?” he asks, despair stealing over him at the thought of being stuck in this limbo, forever unseen, unable to talk to anyone he loves. Except for Maddie. I’m so glad I have Maddie. But who knew how long she'd really be able to stick around?
Maddie sighs. “It’s not every day my boyfriend subconsciously chooses me as his guide through the afterlife. Look Wally, we don't have long until you … I mean, we have to figure out your unfinished business so you can cross over, so that you're not stuck here after …”
But her voice is fading into the background as it hits Wally that he's about to be permanently gone , when an hour ago, he didn't even know that he was dead. Dying.
Maddie’s going to grow old without me. The future that they had planned together – the home, the kids, none of it was ever going to happen. I can’t even take her to Homecoming.
“Maddie, stop.”
She looks up at him, concern evident in her expression, and he tries to smile, to lighten the mood.
“We still have a Homecoming dance to go to, remember?”
-
Wally has to give it to the Homecoming Committee, they’d done a spectacular job transforming the drab school gym into a winter paradise.
There’s so much he wishes he could tell Maddie as they walk in, her hand clasped in his. He wants to promise her that he’ll never let anything truly separate them, to remind her how much he adores her, how she’s his entire world. Some twisted, masochistic part of him almost wants to fantasise about the shared future that they won’t get anymore.
But instead, he just holds her, sways along to the music, pushes her hair away from her forehead, whispers, “I love you forever, Maddie.”
And she nods, gazing up at him, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. “Forever.”
Wally wins Homecoming King. It’s weird, the way he feels utterly empty when yesterday, he would have been elated. Just yesterday. And it’s even weirder seeing the hush that falls over the crowd when his name is announced amid useless ‘may he get well soon’ platitudes. No one’s told them, then. “I bet it was a sympathy vote,” he says, turning to Maddie, but she shakes her head.
“I think you won fair and square, Wally Clark.”
-
Morning comes too quickly. They’re sitting on the bank of the river, watching the sun paint the horizon in scarlet hues, Maddie’s head resting on Wally’s shoulder, their feet dangling just above the surface of the water.
He’d joked around about what his unfinished business might be – the “I’ll do it tomorrow” chores, or maybe going abroad, which had been the only wish on his bucket list. The sliver of relief he feels knowing that his mom no longer controls him is swamped in the soul-crushing grief of losing even the vaguest possibility of a better future, of ever having the chance to get to know himself as an individual instead of just an extension of her dreams.
“I wish I could stay,” he murmurs, lips pressed against Maddie’s hair.
She smiles sadly. “I wish it was an option.”
They’re silent for a moment, and then – “I know what my unfinished business is, Maddie.” The heaviness of knowing he can’t afford to put it off any longer.
He can feel her body tense up; her eyes meet his, scared.
“I think it’s my mom,” a barely audible whisper.
Maddie takes a deep breath. “Yeah, okay. Okay.” Another deep breath, shaky this time.
“What do I even –”
Her hand on his shoulder, comforting. “It’s okay. We’ll figure it out. Tell me about it.”
Wally’s never really allowed himself to admit it before, not even to himself – the crushing weight of constantly needing to be his mom’s star son. How much he adores her, how he wants nothing more than to mold himself into someone she’d be proud of, to keep her happy. How terrified he is of letting her down. And how, despite it all, he still hasn’t found a way to fully persuade himself that he loves football. The way he hasn’t even given himself a chance to discover what he’s actually passionate about, because he pushes the traitorous thoughts down every day when he goes to practice, he throws all of himself into each game, he plays the part so damn well . The fact that he’ll never know now.
Maddie just listens, quiet, care emanating from her gaze.
Wally doesn’t even realise he’s blinking back tears.
“I wanna burn the jacket.” His voice is low, hushed, but confident.
Maddie nods.
It’s a short walk back to the Clarks’ still-empty house. The letterman jacket is exactly where Wally remembers it being, draped over the back of his desk chair. In a last-minute decision, he sweeps up his trophies as well, the victories that were never really for him , at the end of the day. Maddie helps him set a massive bonfire in the backyard, and they hold hands as they watch it all burn. 57 in radiant white – the last thing Wally glimpses through the blaze before it, too, crumbles to ash.
“I love you, Mom,” he murmurs. “But God, I wish I got a better path away from you.”
When his mom eventually gets home, now without a son, she’ll still find his trophies on the shelves, his jacket on his chair. Wally knows they’ll bring her comfort. But his comfort is in setting himself free.
-
The door’s been in front of them for a while now, shimmering, otherworldly. He and Maddie have just been holding each other, silent, watching the last embers of the bonfire glowing red-gold, trying their best to put off the inevitable.
But Wally can feel his grip on the world weakening, can feel himself slipping away, and Maddie takes his hands in hers, kisses his lips.
“It’s okay, Wally. You can let go.”
He runs his fingers through her hair, presses a kiss to her forehead. “I love you forever.”
“Forever.”
A pause, gazing into each other’s eyes, a desperate attempt to convey what cannot be spoken aloud.
And then Wally steps through the door.
-
The piercing tone of the heart monitor fills Maddie’s heart with terror and her bones with ice. It’s over, then.
Mrs. Clark sits at the bedside, disbelief etched across her features as she stares at the body of her son, her star. Mr. Clark stands just behind her, hands trembling, tears streaming down his face, choking out sobs that he can’t quite manage to muffle. Andrew perches on the edge of the bed, one hand resting on Wally’s leg, silent, grief-stricken.
Maddie can’t help but notice how fragile Wally looks, the neck brace a grotesque frame for his blanched face, his tousled hair plastered to his forehead – a far cry from the powerhouse athlete everyone knew him as. Had known him as.
Maddie takes Wally’s limp hand in her strong one, squeezes, desperate to remind him of the depth of her love for him this last time. Her tears splashing down onto his cheeks, she tenderly tucks his hair behind his ear and presses a gentle kiss to his forehead, as he had done for her countless times.