Sell Out

by Tammy L. Gray

  “Happy Birthday, Princess,” My father said, placing gentle hands on my shoulders.

  My gaze drifted over the room. A large chandelier hung from the ceiling, reflecting light off mirrored panels in the walls. Our table was round and centered in front of a small dance floor. A man in a suit stood waiting by my chair.

  My father offered me his arm, and I gladly wrapped my hand around his elbow. Forgetting about the sorrow that pulsed below my tumbling resolve, I determined I would enjoy every second of this night with him.

  His movements were stiff, sweat beading from the pain I knew he was experiencing. But he kept smiling at me. Made sure every minute was the fairytale night he wanted to give me.

  The waiter pulled out our chairs and we sat, facing each other. Blue and white china gleamed in the light while our champagne glasses bubbled with sparkling grape juice.

  My father lifted his glass. “To Skylar, the most talented, beautiful, strong-willed and kind woman I know. I am truly honored to be your father.”

  “Figures you’d throw the strong-willed part in there.”

  He grinned, still holding up the glass. “I can’t lie, my dear.”

  Tears burned my eyes, but I lifted my own glass and matched his grin. “To my father, the most talented, caring, strong-willed and self-sacrificing man I know.”

  He bellowed out a laugh. Our glasses clinked, and we swallowed the sparkling liquid.

  My father clapped his hands and rubbed them together. “I’m starved. Let’s see what they have for us. A little birdy told me you might like this meal.”

  I knew he was pretending. Knew he barely kept any food down anymore. But the five-course meal began nonetheless. I made sure to savor each bite, my father taking his enjoyment from watching me.

  We teased and talked, but not about the next week or the next year. We talked about the past, about my mom, about his life on tour. He told me stories that made his face light up and stories that had me bursting out with laugher so consuming, I once knocked over my champagne glass. Thankfully, it was empty.

  When our meal was over, I wished time could stop. That we could walk through the glass door again and relive every moment over and over.

  One of Daddy’s songs filled the room, the pianist obviously given a signal that we were finished eating.

  My father stood, gallant and strong, despite needing to steady himself with the table. “May I have this dance?” he asked in a voice that would rival the training of Prince William.

  “Why, of course.” I placed my hand in his and let him lead me onto small dance floor.

  Pulling me close, my father swayed to the music and hummed the song along with the piano chords.

  I could no longer hold them back. Tears trailed down my face, and I squeezed my father, wanting to hold on forever. To beg and plead with God to change the fate I knew was coming.

  He sensed my break and ran a hand down my hair, comforting me. “I want you to know something, Skylar. I leave this life with no regrets. I married the love of my life, followed my passion for music with three men I’d die for, held the most precious baby girl in my arms and watched her grow into an amazing young woman. And I served God while experiencing more joy than should be allowed in a lifetime.”

  I sucked in the sobs that kept any response at bay and squeezed him tighter.

  “When God takes me home, you remember one thing, okay?”

  I nodded, still unable to move through my grief.

  “You turned wailing into dancing. You clothed me with joy. My heart will sing your praises and not be silent.”

  The words came from Psalm 30 and were the lyrics in one of his new songs. The first release that would really showcase my father’s faith. The world knew, of course. He’d always been bold about his beliefs, but his music had been abstract. Subtle messages of hope. This last record, his masterpiece, was a tribute to everyone he loved.

  “I’m not ready to let you go.” I sobbed into his jacket.

  “Oh, Sweetie, you don’t have to let me go. I’m a part of you. Your eternal cheerleader. Know without a doubt that just because my body is gone, my love for you is not. Tuck it inside your heart, next to your mom’s and you’ll always have us there.”

  I looked up at him through the blur of tears. “When you see Mom, will you tell her I love her?”

  His eyes glazed, his smile broadening like a man waiting to see his bride on their wedding day. “Of course, I will.”

  Despite my grief, despite his pain, I knew my father couldn’t wait to be with my mother again.

  The song ended, and we made our way back to the table. My father’s movements were even more strained. That dance had taken its toll. His last sacrifice for me.

  Another present soon appeared in front of me. A thin, square box.

  I tugged at the ribbon and lifted the lid, tears already flowing again before I even saw the present. I would have gasped, but couldn’t get enough air through my constricted lungs.

  My song.

  I stared at the CD untouched in the box.

  My father reached across the table and took my hand. “Ricky and I finished it over Thanksgiving. It’s nothing fancy, just me and my guitar, but I had a feeling you would want it that way.”

  I couldn’t take the heartache and buried my face in my cloth napkin.

  “Skylar.” My father’s words displayed his own sorrow. “Please, don’t cry.”

  “I’m sorry,” I choked out. “I love this. I do. It’s the most precious thing you’ve ever given me.”

  I dug deep and found a smile that brought joy back into my father’s eyes. No more tears. This night was ours. It was about celebrating life, not anticipating death.

  My father nodded toward our waiter and soon a cake appeared, full of eighteen candles. Smoke billowed from the two-layer chocolate monstrosity while my father sang “Happy Birthday” to me in perfect pitch.

  I blew out every candle in one breath, making a wish I prayed would come true.

  My father clapped and cheered. Then went on to tell me about how I’d smashed my entire cake into my face when I turned a year old.

  In those four hours, my father gave me his greatest gifts.

  His memories. His life through his eyes.

  His successes and failures, and most importantly, the clear proof that his love for me held no boundary.

  CODY

  Sweat dripped from my scalp and down my back as the referee declared me the winner. Two more matches, and the victory would be mine. I could taste it, sense it in every muscle strain and heartbeat.

  The smell of burnt popcorn and scorched chili from the concession stand lingered in the stuffy gym causing my empty stomach to clench. Or maybe it was watching Blake take down his opponent, guaranteeing once again that he and I would be battling it out.

  But not for first place this time.

  Our brackets had collided, so whoever won the next match would be in the finals. The loser would wrestle for third. I wasn’t going to be the loser. Not this time.

  My gaze drifted to the packed bleachers. Matt and Devon sat in the middle, watching and discussing every move. A halo of empty seats around them suggested I wasn’t the only one intimidated by their bulk and street-thug appearance.

  My parents sat two rows lower, looking uncomfortable in their business attire. They had only arrived thirty minutes ago, and Blake had made a point to hug my mom and act like we were still best buds. My mom had even wished him good luck, which made me want to vomit.

  I scanned the bleachers again, looking for the two scouts rumored to be here. North Carolina State and Georgia Tech. Both Division I schools. Each an opportunity I couldn’t miss. It wasn’t even about the money as much as it was about knowing I was talented enough to compete at that level.

  “Looks like it’s me and you again,” Blake said, taking the seat next to mine in our team’s designated area. “Must be hard to lose so many times.” He reached down for his Gatorade and took a long swig from the bottle.<
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  I wouldn’t play his game. Not today.

  Looking for a distraction, I ruffled through my gym bag and found my phone. The missed text sent tingles through my fingers. Three words, but they were enough to light a fire inside my gut.

  Skylar: Good luck today.

  Skylar hadn’t returned to school, but we’d been slowly texting again. Little updates. New songs when we found them. Nothing too deep. But it felt like a fresh beginning. One that had no secrets.

  Me: Thanks. Made the semi-finals. My match is in a few minutes.

  Skylar: You’ll kill it.

  Me: Everything okay with you? Your dad?

  Skylar: I guess. It’s lonely here. He’s been sleeping a long time. Haven’t seen him yet today.

  Me: I’ll come over right after the match.

  Skylar: It’s ok. You don’t have to.

  Me: I want to. I miss you. I miss your voice. I miss seeing your face. I miss your smile.

  Skylar: You tell me that every day.

  Me: It’s still true.

  The wait for her answer stretched on to eternity. I held the phone close, as if my grip could make her reply come faster.

  Skylar: Maybe we can start slow. A phone call?

  Me: I’ll take it. Should be done in an hour or so.

  Skylar: I’ll be rooting for you.

  Me: That’s all I need.

  I turned to Blake and smiled, feeling more empowered and eager than I did ten minutes ago.

  He narrowed his gaze, then squeezed my shoulder in fake camaraderie when coach stood in front of us issuing last minute pointers.

  Pointers I didn’t need. Because I knew something neither of them did. That while Blake sat basking in his stolen victory, I was learning how to fight him.

  The ref called us out, and we each took our stance opposite each other within the inner circle of the mat.

  The cheers were deafening. Most of them were for Blake, but my section had grown too. Another reminder that a shift was happening.

  I lunged at the shrill of the whistle, capturing Blake by the neck. He pushed me off, countered and then we were both locked on. We spun in a bid for dominance. Knees knocked. Elbows slammed. Blake twisted, but I locked onto his thigh and pushed him out of the circle.

  Two points.

  They were the first of many, and I was the clear favorite to win when we stood ready for round three. The gleam in Blake’s eye warned me he’d do something illegal. Something to throw me off my game. But I was ready this time.

  I started the round on my knees, Blake braced over me. But in one swift move, we were both standing, and I received another point for the escape. This match was mine.

  Blake lunged, I countered. He grabbed. I escaped. I was one step ahead, one second faster, every time.

  Then I saw it. His mistake. Three seconds later, he was locked on the ground, his back flat against the rubber and victory rang in my ears louder than Matt’s and Devon’s cheers.

  *

  I ducked my head, received the first place medal and walked to stand at the top of the small wooden podium a few feet away. Blake was to my right, on the floor, wearing a third place ribbon. I bit back a smile at the sight of his face. No arrogance. No smug satisfaction. That was all mine today.

  Flashes blinded me as parents, friends and coaches took our pictures. My mom’s face held a proud grin behind her iPhone. I smiled back. For all the times my parents disappointed me, there were moments like these. When they showed up, the other days faded into the background.

  Our moment was over. I stepped down and into my mother’s strong embrace.

  “We’re so proud of you, Cody!”

  “Thanks.” I felt proud of myself, too. Not just for the win, but also for everything I’d become through the journey.

  My dad’s firm handshake came next. “Good job, son.” His face beamed with pride although we both knew my dad had no interest in sports or anything that caused perspiration. I think he owned one pair of sneakers. The ones he wore to his company’s mandatory picnic each year.

  He pulled me in for a quick hug and then released me.

  “Thanks, Dad.”

  They offered dinner out, but I declined, wanting a shower and a long conversation with Skylar. I wanted to tell her about my victories. All of them. At school and at the match.

  Blake was suddenly next to me with his hand outstretched. “Great match, Cody. That last move was wicked.”

  Matching his performance, I quickly shook his hand and then jammed my fists into my warm-ups.

  “The team’s heading to dinner. You should come.”

  My mom’s smile broadened at Blake’s invitation. She still worried that the reclusive, depressed kid I used to be would appear again. The kid who had no friends, no invitations and certainly no gold medals around his neck.

  “Thanks, but I’m not hungry.” It was a lie. My stomach was a hollow pit of hunger, but I wouldn’t subject myself to an unnecessary hour of Blake’s company.

  “Oh, Cody, go. It will be fun,” my mom said, getting that look I remembered too well. Worry. Misplaced concern.

  Blake wrapped an arm around my shoulder and squeezed tighter than necessary. “Yeah, come on.”

  Pushing him off, I agreed. For my parent’s sake, though Blake and I both knew I wasn’t going.

  My parents said their goodbyes and left the gym.

  I spotted Matt, waiting. Watching Blake and me with arms crossed and keen eyes.

  “What do you want?” I growled, facing off with Blake, his innocent expression long gone.

  He took a step closer.

  So did Matt.

  “You lost, Blake. And not just today’s match. Lindsay’s done with you. I’m done with you. You’re losing your power at school, and soon you’ll just be some has-been jock who used to be popular.”

  Blake didn’t move. Not his body or his expression. “You have no idea what I’m capable of.”

  Maybe I was high from my win or maybe having Matt there gave me a confidence I shouldn’t have, but I smiled. The kind of smile that provoked. “You’re right, but I no longer care. You’re insignificant.”

  The last word hung in the air. Two things powered bullies. Our fear and our insecurity. I had just deprived him of both.

  The hostility in our stance must have driven Matt forward, because he was suddenly next to us, his words careful and slow. “It’s time you boys take a step back.”

  I obeyed, but Blake made a point to meet Matt’s eye, then dropped his gaze down the length of Matt’s body.

  A beat later, he stepped back too. At least the boy wasn’t completely brainless. He snatched his gym bag. “Later.” Not a goodbye, but a promise.

  Matt kept his focus on Blake until he was through the double doors of the gym, and then faced me. “Nice match.” I was expecting a reprimand for the face-off, but there was nothing but pride in Matt’s eyes.

  “Yeah, it was.”

  We walked out to our cars. Several kids from school congratulated me. The same kids who just weeks ago had mumbled “loser” under their breaths. Unreal.

  “I’ve got a new move I want to show you. It’s a tough one, but I think you’re ready.”

  “Okay. Sounds good.” I wanted to focus on what Matt was saying, but my head was no longer at the match or even on wrestling at all.

  As if Matt could sense my distraction, he let me be. Told me to enjoy my moment and he’d see me in the gym next week.

  “Hey Matt,” I called after him.

  He turned, waited.

  “Thanks for coming today. It meant a lot.”

  A rare grin split his face. “You’re welcome. Now go talk to that girl of yours. I can tell she’s all you’ve got on the brain anyway.”

  I laughed, set my bag on the hood of my truck and rummaged for my phone. A missed text from Lindsay was on the screen. I slid the lock and everything stopped with her words.

  Lindsay: The news just said Donnie Wyld is dead.

  SKYLAR
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  My father died on Saturday, and I expected the world to stop. Expected the sun not to shine and the moon to disappear.

  But the exact opposite happened.

  Instead of time standing still, it took off in a haze. All of us rushing around like Pac-Man, devouring items off a never-ending to-do list, while skillfully avoiding the grief that chased us.

  Grief that finally exploded in my chest when his coffin was lowered into the ground.

  Grief when Ricky gripped my hand as if he needed my strength to get through saying goodbye to his lifelong friend.

  Grief when I thought of all the milestones my father would miss. My prom, my graduation, my wedding, my first child.

  I now understood why people stay busy after a loved one dies. It’s so the grief doesn’t smother you, doesn’t rip your heart out with the knowledge that life will never again be the same.

  CODY

  Security had become my nemesis. It kept me from the hospital, from the funeral and almost out of Skylar’s neighborhood. Thankfully, I convinced the snotty new guard to call the house and confirm I was welcome.

  Her street was a mass of cars. I had to park down the block behind a shiny black Bentley. I glanced down at my standard church attire. Khaki slacks and a blue button-up shirt. I should have worn a suit.

  Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.

  I closed my eyes, took two deep breaths and began walking toward the door. I didn’t blame Skylar for ignoring my calls and texts. She was in pain and, so often with her, I’d failed to rise to the occasion. Failed to put her needs before my demons. Not today. Today, I would be the hero she needed.

  The door swung open after two knocks, and bad-boy Ricky Night stood in front of me in a three-piece suit.

  For a moment, I couldn’t breath. Couldn’t speak. Then, as if a frog had jumped on my vocal cords, I finally croaked out, “I’m here to see Skylar.”

  He eyed me suspiciously, sweeping his gaze over my less than impressive attire. “You the boyfriend I just let through the gate?”