Story:One on One
One on One
Written by Tazel
Tuesday, March 25th, 8:17 AM.
- Thud Thud Thud Thud*
The sound of feet running on the whirr of the treadmill echoed around the mostly empty weight room of the Lone Stars training facility. Most of the players were taking a break before flying up to meet the Voyageurs for their Tuesday game. The flight wasn't going to leave for a few hours, though, so some downtime could be afforded.
Not for Travis. Walter Billcheck, the Lone Stars' head coach, made sure the koala used every spare minute of his time in workouts, drills, and testing. In the porcupine's own words: "You won't sleep unless I LET you." And right now was definitely NOT sleep time.
So, the player had spent all morning in a vigorous cardiovascular workout, three times more intense than his normal routine. More reps than Travis could count on every machine. And this was only the second day. Ever since he asked to be pulled from the Winnipeg game, the coach had ensured he wouldn't get a moment of rest.
- Thud Thud Thud Thud*
The treadmill's whirring motor droned on and on, while Travis' OPod was playing on a business podcast he had downloaded the night before. Most people listen to music when exercising. Travis didn't have time to enjoy music, but he did promise himself he'd keep up with the 'Dollars to Donuts' show he listened to every other day.
The lights in the training room flickered on and off. That was the universal signal that someone from the team was coming in. It was used when there was only one other person in the room. Some folks got so wrapped up in their workout that a suddenly noticed entrant would shock and disrupt them. Besides, the treadmill was faced at the wall, at a television that wasn't on, so unless Travis was looking at the reflection on the screen, he wouldn't have known someone else came in.
Frank London, the veteran forward, strode through the door, his casual clothes on and his overnight bag slung over his shoulder. "Travis!" he called out. The koala pushed pause on his podcast and removed his earbuds - understandably some of the largest earbuds made, given the marsupial's auditory structure. He looked up at the screen intentionally to see London's reflection. "Hi Frank. What's up?" he panted through the next dozen footfalls.
"Just checking on you. I sent you a message inviting you earlier to breakfast with Sebastian, Buck and me, but I didn't get a reply."
Travis' eyebrow knitted, as he punched a button to slow down the treadmill to a walk. With more control, he grabbed his device, and looked at messages. Sure enough, London's message was there. He hadn't even noticed it. He should have - messages from London were rather rare, and should be treated with the respect of such uniquity. "Oh, I'm sorry, Frank. I've been in here all morning, and didn't even see it." he said, a bit crestfallen.
"That's okay, man," came London's reply, the more easygoing wolf walking up to the treadmill, the air conditioning doing nothing to affect the wolf's signature afro. "You've been pretty intense these last few days. Figured you needed a break."
A dry laugh was the reply - mostly because the koala was parched. As he reached for his water bottle, Travis nodded. "I would have liked one, but the coach has got me on solid workouts and drills till Sunday. And you KNOW he thinks breaks are for the weak."
A nod, and a chuckle. "Yeah, tell me about it. What'd you do to tick off Billcheck so much to have him run you through the gauntlet?"
Travis looked up. "I asked him to do it."
London's face twisted in confusion. "What?! Why?"
The koala turned to push the 'stop' button on the treadmill, grabbing a towel with his other paw and disengaging. "Don't you check Twitter?" he asked.
"Not if I can help it."
Travis nodded, smirking. "Smart. Anyhow, you seen my scores lately? I might as well be shooting at a brick wall. I told the coach I didn't feel comfortable taking a start spot when my performance has been so crap."
"You're just in a funk, man." replied London, walking along with Travis to the next machine, the leg press. "We all got our ups and downs. Hell, you see my performance against Huntsville? Nothing to write home about."
"You out-percentaged me in just about all the last few games. A lot of folks did." Travis began to strap himself in to the chair as he looked up. "Anyhow, the coach agreed, on the condition I hand my life over to him and his staff for the next few days." A tentative push of the koala's legs showed he was ready to start the next phase of his workout.
London just looked at him for a moment. "You could be overtraining, you know." he suggested. "I've seen it a lot..."
"Coach set this plan up himself. He must have thought I could do it. I don't intend to prove him wrong. It's better for the team when I can meaningfully contribute. " An exerted effort, and Travis extended the leg press machine to its full length, and returned to a neutral position.
The wolf adjusted his back to his other shoulder, and nodded. "Alright, man. You know what you're doing, I guess. But we'll miss you on the court. I'll see you on the plane in a few hours, okay?"
"Sure thing, Frank." Another grunt and another press. London turned around to leave, but Travis called out to him. "Hey, do me a favor? Would you turn the TV on? I'd rather just get some news right now."
London nodded again, and grabbed a nearby remote, turning on the LCD monitor. Lead Story News came up, talking about some natural disasters, as cable news networks love to do. He then left while the anchor continued to talk about a mudslide in Washington state.
Travis kept pushing his legs further and further, his muscles straining at each rep. Once Frank left, his mind began to wander with his body on automatic. Self doubt began to creep in to the edges of his consciousness, nibbling like vermin to feast on his being. The news network had switched to sports, with a handsome partridge at the desk. "The big news today, rookie FBA player Augustin Benoit has come out of Intensive Care..."
- KACHUNK*
Travis suddenly let the weights fall too hard against the machine, his legs splayed as he looked up at the news. The chipper bird continued his lead-in.
"Sources from the Tallahassee Typhoons indicate that Benoit is being treated for illicit substance usage, but he is not in danger of an overdose. Neither the Typhoon's manager or outspoken head coach Hildegard Tetreault could be reached for comment, nor could his sister, Puri."
Travis' mind went back to the sight at the 2013 draft. Being picked 13th in the first round was a source of pride, no doubt, but that picture that one photographer took - of Augustin hugging his sister while wearing the Typhoons' cap - Travis choked up at the sight.
He had heard about Augustin' background. How the man fought his way out of one of the most hopeless and despairing countries blighted with decay and financial ruin. How he worked to support his sister, to give her the medical care she desperately needed.
That picture, that moment, made Travis think. Someday, he'd like to take care of someone. Besides his folks - they can take care of themselves, and his mom preferred it that way anyhow.
His mind went forward in time to the moment he had spent with that young tern, Arnold, in the pediatric recovery section of the hospital. Had something happened to his parents, would Travis have wanted to take care of him? Could he have? Would he be a good foster father? Could he adopt someone, to help raise them, to protect them, to care for them?
And all the while he was thinking about these things, a counterthought was forming in parallel. You can't accidentally get strung out on drug use. How could Augustin had forsaken his sister like that? His coach? His team? The one that GAVE him that chance, that helped save his sister? This was how Augustin repaid them?
He was glad that Benoit was improving, but the koala's wishes for Benoit's recovery was less for HIS sake, and more for making himself feel better about the situation. Someone to blame. Everyone makes mistakes. It's how you come back from those mistakes that define you.
And Augustin has a LOT of coming back to do, considering so many people were relying on him.
Relying on you...
Truthfully, Travis was tuning out the rest of the partridge's words concerning Tallahassee's misfortunes, about Hudson's steroid frame up, and the beating of ex-coach Tazel Tawner, until the reporter mentioned the words Travis hated hearing:
"...one might say this team is cursed."
His ears swiveled towards the speaker, a frown on his goggled face. "God damn superstitious jerks!" growled Travis, as he jumped off the machine, and headed towards the attached bathroom, towel in hand. He needed to get away from this squawking idiot. Away from the thoughts that had made him lose his focus.
He went to the washbasin, removed his goggles, turned on the faucets, and began splashing his face, trying to wash away the thoughts that had been plaguing him since he heard about Benoit in the hospital. About Puri. About his own desire to protect. To be the warden. And be useful. And the one to lead Texas to more victories.
And then his thoughts switched back to his performance. His lousy shooting. The punching of the reporter. The fact that he can't be a biological father. The distaste for his dunks in the competition. The bad reaction the team gave to him bowing out for the game.
He dried his face with the sweat-soaked towel and inhaled. It's only one damn game. The way he'd been shooting, who'd have really missed him?
Travis ran his hands over his face and gazed at the mirror, his facefur dripping wet. The mirror image stood defiantly, arms crossed, completely dry, narrowing his eyes at Travis. "When are you going to tell everyone the truth?" Travis heard his voice come from the image's muzzle.
Travis rolled his eyes. "Great. I'm having one of THESE moments. Talking to myself... hasn't this trope been overused enough in bad movies?" he grumbled.
The mirror-Travis shrugged. "Don't blame me. It's your guilt putting me here. But you still need to answer my question." he demanded.
The real one sighed. "Fine. The truth about what?"
"You know damn well what!!"
Travis planted his hands on the basin and leaned forward, the image staying rock still on the mirror. "I'm improving myself for Texas." he said, firmly, aggressively.
"Bullshit," came the reply, the mirror Travis giving a look of annoyance, arms still defiantly crossed. "We BOTH know why you're doing this. You're butthurt about not being the Lone Star's 'lone star', anymore!" he continued, pointing an accusatory finger at Travis.
"That's NOT true!"
"Oh?" questioned the mirror, as Travis' image walked back and forth along the mirrored basin, with Travis himself staying still. "So, you have no problem with Lukas Sangre, do you?"
Travis cricked his neck, using the time to think of the right words. "Of course not! He's a good player. Texas needs him." came the practiced reply.
"But he's stealing your thunder. The new people who came on - Lyska, doing solid pointage. And now the Lone Stars have *THE* Mitchell Redding! When he finally gets ready to play, there won't be coverage of you anymore, will there?"
"I don't WANT coverage!" protested Travis.
"Oh COME ON!" laughed the mirror-Travis. A laugh without mirth. "Of COURSE you want coverage! You want people to laud you, put you up on a pedestal of being the saviour of the South, so you can pretend to be all humble, and all the while you're drinking it up like a milkshake! You've wanted it since you knew you were better than everyone on the damn playground!"
"Have you SEEN my percentages? MY SHOOTING SUCKS!" yelled the koala, his teeth bared at the mirror, eyes fixed on his doppleganger. "I'm not pretending it'll all go back to normal like Burgh! *I* am taking steps to *FIX* it!!"
"How noble. And being all public about 'Boo hoo, look at my sacrifice, I'm quitting a game so I can be better' on Twitter, huh?"
"That...Every fan I have out there has a right to know *WHY* I did that!" Travis replied, with a slight stutter. "I'm... focusing on my offensive abilities! So Texas can WIN GAMES."
"Again, bullshit! You want to spin it so you're seen as the knight in shining armor, when really you just want people to pat you on the back and say you're the best thing this team's ever seen!"
Travis' eyes closed, not wanting to see his own image. "The coach agreed with me that I needed work!" he countered.
The mirror image rolled his eyes. "OH, heaven FORBID you do it like everyone else, right? You could have done a more intense workout and spent more time with the TEAM. Like every other TEAM member does! But NO, not TRAVIS BUCKNER. He pulls himself from the game! He's too GOOD to train like all the other teammates!" Another look of disgust and a sneer. "Face it, Buckner. All you're doing is pouting, and it disgusts me!" spat the mirror-Travis.
The koala's fists clenched as he shook visibly. "Don't you take that tone with me, you figment of my imag..." he growled.
A similar clench of fists appeared in his mirror image. "I have EVERY RIGHT to take that tone with you!!" it interrupted with a snarl. "I've been in the back of your mind from the very beginning, watching impotently as you became better than everyone else, and watching you spout that fake humility, pushing blame back on others when they called you a jinx!"
"I'M NOT A JINX!" screamed Travis. "THEY couldn't handle the game!"
Mirror-Travis' eyes lit up, pouncing on the nugget of truth as if it were a winning lottery ticket. "Ah HAH! *THEY* couldn't handle it, huh?! It's all THEIR fault, isn't it? If only THEY knew how good you were and let you shine like you deserved, everything'd be peachy keen, wouldn't it?!" The sarcasm was palpable inside Travis' brain.
Travis put his hands to his ears to block out the sound of his own voice, with absolutely no success considering it was coming from within. "Shut UP!"
The mirror-Travis leaned forward, staring down the original. "You know what? That St. Croix character? He's got you pegged. And you ignore him because it's easy to label him a smart-mouthed know-nothing, and dodge the truth! Oh, and since I'm talking about Twitter - that anonymous guy was dead-on, too! You ARE selfish! You're a prima-donna! Every sentence you say and tweet you make is marketing and politics! YOU want the limelight more than ANYTHING!!"
The barrage of insults seemed to tear away at Travis' armor. "No, I need... I need to be better!" he protested.
"Better? No, not just better! You need to be the BEST don't you?"
"...Yes! Who DOESN'T want to be the best in the FBA?"
"And your teammates are just means to an end, aren't they? Mariam? Marcus? You build them up so you can outshine them, be the best of the new crop!"
Travis looked away from the mirror again. "No! They're good at the game! They're good friends!"
"But you don't NEED friends, do you? You NEED to be better, don't you?!"
"I... Yes..."
Mirror-Travis' eyes narrowed. "So you tell them 'Good Game' while secretly wishing they'd flop so you'd flourish! You welcome Mitchell Redding into your ranks, and hope to heck he blows out his knees again so you can climb on his carcass! You're so two faced, it sickens me!" The image's face turned away in unshielded hatred. "Oh! Oh, and you mentioned Burgh, right? All that work you're doing to bring up his performance? Why? Do you really care about him, or do you want him to do better, and then be able to brag that YOU helped him?"
It was apparent that Travis was succumbing to the onslaught of reality. "He's a friend." he offered, meekly, slumping against the sink.
"You use his brother's memory like a weapon! He's a stepping stone. Just like everyone else on this team is to you. You don't have friends! You have contacts! Resources! OPPORTUNITIES! It's a dog eat dog world out there, and you're just a hungry son of a bitch, aren't you!?"
Travis had no reply to the truth, only looking back at his image, which seemed to just become angrier and angrier having to reveal it to himself.
"How much of everything you do DOESN'T have an ulterior motive behind it, Travis? How much? 50 percent? 40? 20? Maybe it's like your shot percentages, hmm?" he intoned, the koala's inside voice dripping with malice. "You mask every self-absorbed behavior in 'professionalism'. Your work with the Cancer Center is sheer egotism, going there to share your life story about how you lost your balls, so people will remember you and cheer you as the hero! All while you punched out the reporter who brought the truth to light! Because YOUR EGO COULDN'T TAKE IT."
The image began pacing again, his hands animated as he got more and more worked up. "And you've just ANNOUNCED that you willingly ABANDONED your team in a game at which they will likely NEED you, so you can prance around and say 'Look at me, look at my sacrifice, I'm so humble'!" The image crossed his arms again, and glowered. "Well, I have no CHOICE but to look at you when you look in the mirror, and lately I'm sickened to see you. Because all I see is your hypocrisy!"
Travis stayed silent, his eyes looking away from the mirror. He was trying to think of defenses, but nothing came to his brain. The only thoughts were feelings of shame.
The image on the glass laughed again, cruelly. "Nothing to say? No sound bites? No interview verbarhhea? No convenient patsy to shunt the blame upon?" The mocking stopped as the mirror Travis put his hands on the glass, leaning his head up against it like he was trying to burst out of his prison. "LOOK AT ME, TRAVIS!" he commanded. The koala slowly looked up, angry tears on his face from his self-deprecation.
"You're too late to do anything about Winnipeg. But you DAMN well better get your shit together when San Jose comes up! And you take what time you've given to yourself. You think long and hard about why you do what you do. You better start loving the game and your team, rather than loving Travis Buckner. Because if I'm that Travis, I can guarantee you, the way you are now? Love is the furthest thing from my mind when I think about you!"
The mirror-Travis began to lower himself to the washbasin, taking on Travis' pose. "This is the only warning I'm giving you, Buckner. You have to fix yourself and your situation, or your stats are going to be the ONLY thing salvageable about you!" he said, finally, lowering his head to his arms and starting to slowly sob.
Just like Travis Buckner himself was doing.
"Frank said he was in here about fifteen minutes ago, but... I don't see him. Do you?"
"Nope. Maybe he's back at his house. Did you try his home phone?"
"Yeah, he's not answering. Maybe call the coach? Or Hector?"
"Good idea. I'll..."
Mariam Walstein was interrupted in mid-sentence, as the door to the bathroom opened up, and Travis walked out, towel in hand. He didn't notice Mariam or Marcus Knight, standing at the training room door entrance. "Travis!" called the otter. "There you are! We've been looking all over for you! We're goi..." He stopped for a moment, the ebullient lutrine grin fading. "You okay?" he asked, genuinely.
Travis turned to face the two. His eyes were reddened, and his face was obviously full of sadness. He didn't say anything for the longest time. How could he? How could he say anything to these two, who had honestly supported him since he'd been on the team.
How could he face people he's used?
"What's wrong, Travis?" asked Mariam, worry framing her face. "You look like you've been crying."
The truth. They deserve it. Travis nodded his head softly.
"What's got you down, bud?" asked Marcus as the pair walked towards him. "Something bad happen?"
Travis opened his muzzle to speak, but the sound from the television interrupted with a blare. "We repeat, Augustin Benoit has been removed from the ICU and is stable..."
The two other rookies looked to the TV, and made understanding faces. "Oh... oh, of course! You've been torn up about Augustin a lot lately, right?" offered Mariam. Travis tried to correct her, but the lump was too forcefully placed in his throat. "Oh, man, we understand, bud," offered Marcus, fitting an arm around his friend and teammate. "We heard about it earlier this morning, but didn't know it would hit you this hard."
Again, Travis tried to speak, to tell them the truth, that he was using them... but found that he needed their camaraderie more than ever right now. He looped his arm around Marcus, as the otter smiled again. "Come on, let's get you cleaned up and dressed. Even if you're not playing, you're coming with us, right?"
Travis nodded, and Mariam smiled along with Marcus. "You know what I said on Twitter - I still believe you're doing the brave thing, to improve yourself to help the team."
Once more, Travis *wanted* to say how wrong Mariam was... but now was not the time. "Thank you, Mariam, Marcus." he said, softly. "You two are great." And it was then that Travis recalled that line being the most honest he'd been all morning. All week.
Possibly all season.
The rookies walked out together from the training room, but Travis cast one last glance at the bathroom door, and closed his eyes. He had lost that battle, severely. Even if he won it, though - he would be continuing living a lie. He found his emotions climbing to the surface a bit easier, especially with his two friends.
But was he strong enough to take his conscience's demands? To improve not only his ability, but his very soul?
He had better find out before San Jose, at the very least.
Featured Characters
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