Friday Night Lights

Elizabeth had never much cared for football, let alone troubled herself to learn the rules. When her boyfriend of four years insisted she attend his opening game against a neighboring high school, she acquiesced on the condition that he would take her to a nice dinner the following evening.

She was shocked at how many spectators filled the stands. Surely their school of modest enrollment and their only slightly larger rival weren’t capable of producing such a crowd. She had never seen an audience a quarter this size at the plays in which she would star.

She purchased a bottle of water for $3 and took her place near what she’d later learn was the five yard line, a bad seat for viewing but a perfectly good one for finishing her book.

The next night, just after the server placed a basket of warm bread with whipped butter, Elizabeth’s boyfriend erupted. “How come you never care about my games? I go to every single one of your plays, and you couldn’t tell me one thing about what happened last night.”

“I star in the plays, though…” Elizabeth mumbled.

“I am the quarterback!”

Years later, Elizabeth was scrolling in bed when the news broke that Tom was retiring from football. She had felt bad when he left her for Gisele, but now she felt worse. The sport, while clearly lucrative, seemed to cost him his life.

Maybe she should have taken more care. Would it have killed her to learn the point value of a field goal, ask him a question about first downs? Still, she couldn’t shake the feeling that his only committed relationship would be with the lights. She put down her phone, nuzzled up to her philosophy professor husband, and quickly dozed off to sleep.