3 years ago1,000+ Views
You are a professional football player, or at least you were, or at least that's what your wife tells you -- or is she your sister? You wake up every morning and reach for the journal that rests on a the small table next to your bed -- is that called a "nightstand"? -- and read the first page.
You slowly, very slowly but somewhat surely remember almost everything. You stare at your own penmanship and your note to yourself, "Yes, this is unfortunate. You may not recover. But you must stay alive. You must not end your life." You do not understand why you would ever end your own life. But you can understand why you would want to.
You take a quick look around your room after putting on what are called "glasses" (they help you see) and notice many small yellow pieces of paper on objects in the space around you. You walk into the bathroom and this room is also littered with small yellow pieces of paper.
"Toothpaste, you put this on the toothbrush (there is an arrow pointing at toothbrush) and brush your teeth"
You spend your afternoon sitting in a brown chair that has a small wooden piece attached to it and when you pull on it, the bottom of the chair ("recliner") comes out letting you put your feet up. You stare at the small box that displays moving images. There is a certain time of day when you really enjoy sitting in front of this box ("television").
The particular set of images you enjoy involve four people, a man behind a podium with a mustache, three men or women behind their own podiums -- with their names written on the front -- who must speak questions to the mustachioed man in order to win money. You do not understand how this game works but there is something about it that reminds you of a time before you could not understand anything.
At another time of day, she -- your wife or sister -- comes into the room and places a small plate of food in front of you. This, you remember. But sometimes, your hands don't move the way you want them to move, so she -- wife? sister? -- helps the food into your mouth. You are happy she does this for you and you wish there was something you could say that would tell her this but instead you smile and nod.
It is later in the day now, the light outside is mostly gone. That's okay, though, because you hardly ever leave the house. Sometimes, you stare out the "window" and look at things "outside". There are large objects that pass by every now and then. Some of them make louder noises than others and they come in different shapes and sizes. You watch small grey clouds come out of the back of them and wonder what that would smell like but, ultimately, you are afraid to even open the "door".
You stand there and wait because some nights you have visitors and they don't know that you can hear them. Sometimes they say things like "it's so sad" or "he's so young" or "I didn't ask you to come with me but he's my father and I love him".
A young man knocks on the "door" and the woman opens it and he walks inside. The man gives the woman a long hug and you finally determine that she is probably your wife because the man is most likely your son because he keeps calling her "Mom" and you "Pop".
He sits down next to you on the "couch" and opens up a "laptop" with a half-eaten cartoon apple on the back of it. You try and hide your excitement because this device produces the same kind of images the "television" does but the images are a lot clearer. Your son tells you to watch a trailer (you don't know what this means but you go with it because you want to appear strong) that he found while he was on his "lunch break" (you are unsure of what this means).
You watch the images closely. You only probably, maybe recognize the man in the image. You think he was a nephew or cousin or son of someone living in giant house in California. You don't question it though. You listen to him say, "Repetitive head trauma chokes the brain". You do not understand most of this sentence, it's the way it ends that makes you feel something inside yourself.
Is that what is happening to me, you think, is my brain being choked? You know what your brain is, it is what helps you think. But these days, it hasn't been helping you think as much as it used to. You really wish you could explain it but you are unsure of which words to use. You do remember that there was a time where it worked for you and now that it doesn't you don't even know if that is a real memory. Most days you feel like you have always been like this (useless) but there's something about this "trailer" that makes you believe that you are not lying to yourself.
He has tears in his eyes while he looks at you and your wife (?). You don't understand what is going on and why he is so sad but you put your arm around him. You believe you are his father and as a father, you must take care of him. You try your best to make him feel better but it seems like he does it on his own.
He eats with you at the "dinner table" and tells you stories of things that you used to do. You don't remember taking him to the movies during the off-season, or the pictures he has of the both of you at "Disneyland", or the speech you gave at his wedding. You don't remember anything he says to you.

But you smile and you nod.

Concussion will be in theaters in December.
1 comment
Ugh. this looks so good! and the feeling you summed up is exactly what the NFL is afraid of...ugh