by Brian Rowe
Wesley’s facial hair was so sporadic that to call it a beard was like calling a guy with a comb over afro-tastic. But it was there, in small patches, like he took pride in never bothering to trim it once in a while.
“My hair fits my look, and that’s where we differ,” he said. “You are trying to be someone you’re not.”
“Uhh, Wes, I’ll have you know, girls have a thing for beards. I don’t need you lecturing me. I don’t even care what you think of the beard, anyway.”
He stared at me for a moment, perplexed. Then he took a step closer and pulled his sweaty hands out of his pockets. “Well then why did you ask me to meet you here? You don’t want me to run laps with you, do you?”
I smiled. “Of course not. I wouldn’t wish that upon someone who thinks of exercise as moving a camera from one side of a room to another.”
He smiled and crossed his arms. He wasn’t going to contend me on his massive disinterest in athleticism.
“I wanted to show you something else,” I said. “And you have to promise me something.”
“Oh God, what?”
“You can’t laugh.”
“Why would I laugh?”
“You just laughed thirty seconds ago at my beard!”
“Well, I’m sorry,” Wesley said, “but you look retarded.”
“Says you.”
“Says the one friend who will tell you what he really thinks.”
“Promise me, Wes.”
“OK, I promise. I won’t laugh. What is it?”
“OK.”
I took a moment to survey the surroundings. There were two runners on the track, but they were too far away to see my big reveal. There was one other girl stretching near the field goal post, but she looked lost in her own world.
I pursed my lips, still holding out hope that the morning had all been part of that nasty nightmare and that there’d be an exquisite six-pack underneath my white t-shirt.
I lifted up the shirt, and Wesley took a step back, reacting not like he’d seen a ghost, but like he’d just seen one of his own family members decapitated.
“Oh shit.”
“I know.”
“What did you eat?” Wesley leaned in and grabbed hold of my chunky flesh.
“Get your hands off me!” I shouted, kicking Wesley in the shins.
“Oww! Sorry! I just had to make sure it was real!”
“It is real, Wes! What do I do?”
“All I have to say is I wish I had my camera with me,” he muttered under his breath, as if I couldn’t hear him.
I clenched my fists. “Yeah? I’m glad you don’t.”
“How did this happen?”
“I don’t know. I could feel my stomach getting soft the last few days, but this morning… it just…”
“What did you eat last night? Did your beard-growing regimen include eating donuts and funnel cakes? You do know that despite the strawberry goo inside jelly donuts, they’re not to be included in your daily servings of fruits and vegetables—”
“My eating habits have stayed the same,” I said, trying to ignore his ill-timed sense of humor. “I had some pizza a few nights ago, but other than that, I’ve been eating pretty healthy.”
“Hmm,” Wesley said, pondering the bizarre scenario. “Cam, if you want my expert opinion?”
“Anything.”
“I think you just ate something that didn’t settle right. If you watch your eating the next couple of days and work out a little more, I’m sure you’ll be fine.”
A typical, impersonal answer, I thought. “But what about practice today? How am I supposed to change into my uniform around the other guys?”
“Change in the corner.”
I rested my hands against my love handles. I wanted to cry.
“Besides,” Wesley said, “what you should really be thinking about is how Charisma’s gonna like your beard. Isn’t that the most important thing?”
“Well, no, because I can’t show her the beard until I get my body back in shape!”
Wesley just stared at me for a few seconds. “What the hell happened to you, man?”
His demeanor turned solemn, and I wasn’t sure what he meant by the question. “What do you mean?”
“The beard. Your stomach. It’s weird these changes happened so fast. Did you start taking some pills you’re not supposed to? Like steroids or something?”
I shook my head. “No, of course not. I’m as puzzled about all this as you are.”
The school bell rang in the distance. Wesley scratched the top of his head and started walking backward. “OK, well, I gotta get to class. Good luck. And let me know how it goes with Charisma.”
I wanted to keep talking, but Wesley was out of my sight within seconds. I looked at my watch. It was only 7:55. And I had one very long day ahead of me.
---
I managed to avoid bumping into Charisma all day, despite seeing her twice in the second story hallway. I got strange looks from everyone, particularly Mrs. Gordon, who scoffed at my new look but thankfully didn’t say a word.
The locker room was crowded as ever. I nodded to some of the players with lockers near mine, and they looked at me with bewilderment
“What’s with the beard?” Ryan asked, taking off his shirt as he walked behind me. “You look like a homeless person.”
I tried not to make eye contact as I said, “Charisma wanted me to grow one out. It’s not permanent.”
“Has she seen it yet?”
“Not yet.”
He made a face that suggested she would hate it as he continued toward his locker to put on his jersey.
Aaron, an African-American junior who was the best small forward on the team, nudged me in the back and nodded. “Well I for one think it’s pretty cool, Cameron. You got like a Kenny Loggins 80’s thing goin’ on. I like it.”
“Kenny Loggins?” I asked, unsure of the reference.
Aaron started singing a song called “Heart to Heart” as I sought out a corner I could change in without the other players zoning in on my extra baggage.
I grabbed my uniform and tiptoed to a tiny dead-end hallway near the vacant showers. I glanced forward to see that nobody had taken notice of my absence.
As I started pulling my t-shirt off, however, a round of laughter arose in front of me.
It took me a few seconds to get the shirt off, what with it sticking to my excess sweat. I was blind, not able to see where the laughter was coming from. When the shirt finally hit the floor, I looked forward to see nearly the entire basketball team laughing and pointing at my depressing new gut.
“Wow, Cameron,” Ryan said, standing in the center of the group as if he had been designated the team leader, “how did you become homeless and obese overnight?”
“I’m just bloated, guys. I’ll be fine.”
I maneuvered past the other players, with difficulty and made my way back to my locker. As I started throwing on my jersey, I received a scary surprise from my left.
“What in God’s name!”
I turned just in time to see Coach Welch sink his fingernails into my neck and slam me back against my locker.
“Oww!”
“What the hell are you doing in here!” Welch shouted. “Do I need to call security!”
“Wait—” I tried to talk, but Welch had a death grip over my windpipe.
“Coach!” Matt yelled from the corner.
“What?”
“That’s Martin.”
“Martin?” he asked, glancing around the locker room. “Where?”
“There.”
Matt pointed at me. Welch couldn’t have looked more confused if I had been wearing lipstick.
“Martin?” he asked, his voice higher than I’d ever heard it.
“Yeah, Coach,” I said. “It’s me.”
He looked me over. “What the hell did you do this weekend?”
“Nothing out of the ordinary, if you can believe it—”
“What the hell is
this!”
He pulled on my beard, clearly expecting it to be fake. When the hair didn’t come off, a look of menace appeared in his bulging red eyes.
I had been training under Coach Welch for the last two years, and while he was the angriest coach I’d ever worked with in my decade of playing basketball, the man before me in this moment was a whole different beast entirely.
“It’s an experiment… it’s nothing … I’ll shave it…”
“And what the hell is this!”
He slammed his fist into my belly. I had gotten the wind knocked out of me a couple of times before, but this felt like death. I tried not to pass out on the hardwood floor.
The other players all started laughing, but not for long.
“SHUT UP!” Welch shouted, turning toward the crowded corner. “GYM! NOW! MOVE IT!”
There were some fleeting giggles, but soon everyone, including an overly enthusiastic Ryan, made it out of the locker room and into the gym.
Welch turned back to me. I sat down awkwardly on one of the benches, my hand covering my stomach. I started rocking back and forth and tried to catch my breath.
“I don’t want excuses,” Welch said. “I don’t want some lame story. Do you know what I want, Martin? I want my star player back. This sick demented twin brother in front of me is not acceptable, do you understand?”
“Yes… I know, Coach.”
“Now the beard? The beard looks ridiculous. But that’s fixable.”
I nodded.
“But your stomach,” he said, shaking his head. “I don’t know what you ate the last few days. Did you go to the state fair in Virginia City and stuff yourself with fried butter all weekend?”
“I don’t know how it happened,” I said. “I wish I did.”
“Allergic reaction, maybe?”
“Maybe. That’s a possibility.”
Welch stood up and sighed. “I’m sorry I hit you, Martin. I freaked. I can’t have anything less than perfection from you. I can’t have you floundering like this. Our most important game is just weeks away. We could lose everything.”
“I know, Coach. I’ll get this checked out right away.”
“You better,” he said. “Because if this isn’t fixed by the end of the week, I’m putting Ryan in your place. And I’ll cut you from the team, no questions asked.”
I tried to stay calm. I tried not to scream.
“Now I want you to run two hundred laps around the gym. All I want you to focus on today is getting healthy.”
I attempted a smile. “Thanks, Coach. I won’t let you down.” I started running toward the gym.
“Martin!” Welch yelled.
“Yes?” I asked, about to turn the corner.
He crossed his arms and let out a loud grunt. “Make it three hundred.”
---
I was on lap 176. I felt like my insides were going to come tumbling out of me, sprawling against the ground with a loud, icky splash.
That’s when I saw Charisma. She was standing in the hallway just outside the gym, talking to someone on her cell phone.
I wanted nothing more than to rush over to her, kiss her all over, see her heart-melting smile as she noticed for the first time my magnificent beard.
We would go back to my place and make sure the house was empty. I would carry her over my shoulders as if we were newlyweds and lift her onto my queen-sized bed with delicacy, as if she were fine china. We would make out for a while, until turning the lights down and bringing an end to a day that would be remembered for the rest of our lives.
But that certainly wasn’t going to happen—not today, anyway. Welch blew his whistle, wanting me to pick up the pace. I took one deep breath, and then continued on with my running.
Don’t worry, Coach, I thought. I’ll be back to normal in no time.
---
491. 492. 493.
My head was going to break off. Or an arm. Or a foot.
498. 499. 500.
I fell to the floor and stared up at the spinning ceiling. If running three hundred laps was like trudging through a litter-infested landfill, performing five hundred crunches was like swimming through a swamp filled with man-eating crocodiles.
I couldn’t breathe. My forehead pounded. The contents of my stomach felt ready to be released from both ends.
The crawl to the bathroom took longer than expected. Kimber saw me in the hallway but didn’t say anything. She, rather intelligently, decided to just let me and my weirdness be.
I stood up and analyzed my body in the mirror. The reflection wasn’t kind. After all my exercise and hard work in the last fifteen hours, my stomach still looked as big as a bowling ball. I examined my body from every angle. I just couldn’t understand it.
How do I fix something I can’t understand?
The noise of a car pulling up to the driveway brought my gaze from the mirror to the window. It was my father. Home super late again, he still had his scrubs on. He closed his driver’s side door and made his way inside the house.
I couldn’t let my father see me this way. His heart would break. He would probably banish me from this house, hell the city, forever. I wondered if my mother, who managed in the early evening to see my beard but not my belly, would go along with Dad’s plan to get rid of me. Little Kimber would have everything.
As I made my way back to my bedroom, the idea hit me.
Dad.
I set my alarm clock for 5 A.M. I wasn’t about to get much sleep, if any, tonight.
6. Twenty-Five
“You look like you belong in a mental hospital.”
My dad had just entered the kitchen from the garage, wrinkles apparent under his tired eyes. He was dressed all in gray, a pair of headphones smashed against his over-sized ears.
He moved to the kitchen counter to start making his morning health shake. “Seriously, Cameron,” my dad continued, “I don’t know what point you’re trying to make, but that beard—”
I figured it best to just tell the truth. “Charisma wouldn’t have sex with me unless I grew it.”
He nodded, pouring his shake into a tall glass. “Oh. So you’ve been having sex.”
“No. We haven’t actually done it yet.”
My dad downed half of the protein shake and sat down at the table, a bit puzzled. “Well, why not? The sooner, the better. Then you can get rid of that stupid furry animal plastered all over your face.”
“Yeah, see, that’s the thing…”
“What are you doing up so early, anyway?”
I paused, and then briefly licked my lips. “Dad, I don’t want you to get mad.”
A mix of concern and fear hit his face. “Mad about what?”
“I mean, it’s not like this happened on purpose…”
My dad’s eyes grew to the size of frisbees as he scooted his chair back against the wall. “Cameron! Oh my God! Does your mom know?”
“Know what?”
He sighed. “Charisma’s pregnant, isn’t she!”
I shook my head, shocked he would suggest such a thing. “What? No! Weren’t you listening? I just said I didn’t have sex with her.”
He took a deep, noticeable breath and nodded. “Oh. Right. But you do know the definition of sex, right, Cam?”
“Yeah, Dad. I’m seventeen.”
He finished the rest of his shake and set his cup down on the kitchen table. “OK, then. So what was it you wanted to tell me?”
I took a few steps closer to him. “I haven’t been able to show Charisma my beard yet because I’m having a really serious problem.”
“Are you scared of performing? I can tell you we are all scared before our first time—”
“No! Dad!” I tried not to scream with embarrassment. “Just be quiet! For one second! Quiet!”
My dad shot his hands up in the air and forced a cheesy smile.
“Look, I don’t know how it happened…” I started.
I slowly pulled my shirt up to reveal my enormous, junk food belly.
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“Oh no.” My father jumped up from his chair and started pacing through the kitchen, reacting way more dramatically than seconds before when he thought I’d impregnated my girlfriend. He stopped and looked at my stomach again. “What the hell did you do?”
“I don’t know!” I shouted, trying to keep my voice on the same level as his. Then I calmed down. “I swear to you that I haven’t done anything out of the ordinary.”
My dad let me speak. I wasn’t sure if he wanted to hug me or hit me.
“I’m really scared, Dad. I don’t know what happened, but I need it fixed. I need you to fix it. I can’t go back to school looking like this.”
I expected fifty more questions. Instead, he said, “OK, hold on.”
He grabbed the house phone, dialed a number, and kept his eyes turned away from me as he waited for the caller to pick up. “Gretchen? Hey, it’s Stephen. Sorry to call you so early. I need you to cancel my 8 A.M., can you do that? Tell her we’ll see her later this week whenever it’s convenient and that we’ll compensate for half the initial fee. I hate to do it, but I have to. We have a patient emergency that can’t wait.”
My dad walked up to me, intense disapproval in his eyes. “I don’t know what you did, Cameron. I’m not happy about this. I’m gonna fix you, and then we’re gonna talk about it.”
“OK. I’m really sorry.”
“Does your mom know about this?”
“No.”
“Your sister?”
“No. Some friends of mine saw it at school yesterday. There was nothing I could do.”
“OK,” he said, nodding at me to follow him toward the garage. “We can’t tell your mom about this, understand?”
“Yes.”
“I want you to be perfect, Cameron. I’m gonna make you perfect.”
He stopped in the mud room to examine me. He touched the area around my belly button, and then pressed down against my sides.
My dad shook his head. “Oh, Lord. It’s worse than I thought.”
He pushed me into the garage and slammed the door behind him.
The car ride was mostly silent between the two of us. It was ominous, borderline creepy, to be sitting next to my father, not exchanging words, staring at dark, empty roads. The sun was still another half-hour away.