Standard disclaimers applied. See Chapter 1 for further details.

Author's Note: Just wanted to say how touch I am by everyone's response. To those who haven't seen FNL before, NBC is running the show again this summer, every Sunday at 9p.m. I'm just catching up on old episodes as I'm writing these chapters.

CHAPTER 2: Wide Opened Eyes to a New Day

In a single game play, everything changed. He went down like a dead weight and felt numb. The pain came gradually. The voices floated in and out, like the white noise that was found in between tuning radio stations. His mind didn't register what had happened that resulted with him lying on the football field. His eyes faced heavenward. All of sudden, there was just an eerie silence and he succumbed to the darkness.

Bright lights assaulted his senses. He winced and found that he was immobile. His head was held in place by a traction. Metal braces are attached into his skull to hold it in place. A nasal prong was placed in his nostrils. He heard the sounds of a heart monitor from somewhere above his head, but he couldn't turn to see it. The beeping from the machines increased in speed; he felt as though his heart was thumping against his rib cage.

Someone came in from the side of his peripheral vision. "Jason?"

Again, he was annoyed by the fact that he couldn't move to meet the voice. "What happened to me? Why can't I move?"

The incessant noise from the machine continued. "Jason. You are in the hospital right now. The reason you can't move is because you are in a traction. It's holding your head in place." The human voice appeared in front of him. It belonged to a nurse who was probably in her early 30s.

She reached over to silence the machines and spoke again, "Jason, I just need to grab your charts from outside the room. Will you be ok for a few moments?"

"What? Why?" Again, he let the darkness overwhelmed him.

They had him on morphine shots. The meds helped to dull the pain, but he knew by now, that a certain degree of numbness will always accompany him. The neurosurgeon laid it all out: he suffered from a C7 break, he was paralyzed for life. With time, he would regain most of the movements prior to the accident. Most ... but never football ... he won't ever walk on his two legs again.

His parents had been at his bedside all the time. His mother cried constantly and promised that she would never let anything else hurt him again. His father tried to keep a brave front, but Jason could see the sadness and the injustice reflected in Mitchell Street's eyes.

His girlfriend Lyla Garrity had been here everyday, bringing with her cards, gifts and pictures. Her hair tickled his ears and face as she leaned down to kiss him on the lips. He tried to move to bridge the distance between their faces, but was impeded by the stiff collar that held his neck and head rigidly in place. Lyla proceeded to talking about everything and anything to feel the silence. He was just content to follow her voice, as he no longer could with his eyes.

Mostly, Jason wanted to know what was happening with the Team. How was Matt Saracen doing as the starting Quarterback? What were the Coach's thoughts and strategies for the next few games? Dillon Panthers still had games to win.

"Where's Tim?" he thought to ask. Tim Riggins, the fullback for the Dillon Panthers was more than just another team member, he was his best friend and brother-in-arms. They had toasted to God, to football and good friends living large in Texas ten years from now.

"Tim will be here, Jason."

Yeah, but where is he, now?

"Jason, you know that I love you? We'll get through this. You can walk again and we'll get married and everything will be just like we plan."

"Lyla, I'll never walk again."

"Don't say that. I'll come take care of you. Everything will be perfect. We just need to get through this."

"Lyla."

"No, Jason!"

He listened as she ran from his side; the sounds of her footfalls became fainter as she escaped his room ... escaped from this new reality. He sighed as he once again stared heavenward. He studied the water stains on the tiles in the ceiling. When he was bored, he would attempt to see some coherent patterns up above. During the day, he would shift his body until it was angled toward the door. He would watch the people going about their business. He had gotten to know the routine around the hospital. Then at night, he would turn to face the window, watching the Texan sunset.

He didn't really know what he was looking for, besides the obvious. He watched without really seeing the people who went by. The nurses would come to sit him up for a wash in the morning and then came back for his routine meds. Physiotherapists would be here to do some range of motion exercises before patting him on the back for a job well done and words of encouragement that he would get better with time. Then in between, the foods trays would come, along with someone who would cut the food into little pieces before sticking them onto a fork and feeding him. He felt as if he was watching some out of the body experience, detached like nobody truly understood how he felt.

He stiffly maneuvered his body to sit up in the bed. He was so sick of everyone telling him that he was going to get better, that he was going to regain most of his prior strength. All he could see right now was the fact that he lacked the strength to do anything. I can't even lift my hands to feed myself, much less throw a football.

Before his thoughts could go any further, his father came back with a grave expression on his face. "Dad?"

"How are you doing, Jason?"

They both knew that it was a frivolous question because there wasn't a satisfactory answer to that. There was an awkward silence before Jason asked for the sake of conversation, "Where's mom?"

"She's talking to Lyla right now. Lyla seems rather upset."

Jason sighed, feeling the sudden rush of fatigue at the mention of his girlfriend's name. "I'm never going to play football again, am I, Dad?"

"Jason ..."

"No, tell me the truth. I'm sick of people telling me that it's going to get better, when it isn't. I'm paralyzed, not stupid!"

"Listen Jason, your mom and I, we love you. We know how much this means to you."

"Oh really? I'm sorry, Dad, but you're not a very good liar. I don't think you have the slightest clue about what this means to me."

Mitchell Street grab the nearby chair and pulled it up against his son's bed before sitting down. "No, but I think I know someone who does. Do you remember your cousin, Ray?"

End of Chapter 2