by David Connor
“Dad!” I knew he hated the S-word as much as I did.
“I’ve tried movie quotes, anecdotes, and humor.” He dried his hands on the dishtowel hanging by the window and slammed it to the counter when done. “You’re being a stupid ass. How about truth for a change?”
“How am I being a stupid ass?”
“Stupid has nothing to do with learning or retaining information, and, yeah, it’s not a word we throw around in this house, unless someone deliberately decides not to use their brain at all. Stupid ass.”
First Coach and now Dad. “Stop!”
“Would you have gotten to the Olympics… or even Cloverton on your own, with your allowance, maybe, or just working part-time at Pizza Party and saving birthday money from Grandma?”
“No.”
“What if your mother and I had the means the Webbers do? Would you have taken money from us?”
“Probably.”
“How about me?”
“Shut up.” I figured I could get away with saying that to Cal.
“How about Cal?” Dad asked.
“Why are you so mad?” I had to stand up.
“I asked you first.”
“I don’t know.” I chewed my lip. “It gets complicated then. And really, Cal? You can’t be on my side just once? When I loved Mathias, you couldn’t stand him. Now that I don’t love him, you’re his biggest cheerleader.”
“You don’t love him anymore?” Cal asked incredulously.
I shrugged. I fidgeted. “No.” I couldn’t leave it at that. “I don’t know.”
“Stupid ass.”
“Dad!”
“Lying, stupid ass.”
If the two most important men in my life were calling me that, it was probably true. “Dad!”
He wasn’t going to stop either. “Pride…. That’s what’s keeping you apart now. You mope around pining for the guy forever….”
“I never moped.”
“There was definite mope-age.”
“Shut up, Cal!”
“Then you finally get back together during ‘Shaving Week….’” Even his finger gestures were angry. “And it’s over in one night, because of money?”
I could feel myself turning red. “You heard a lot.”
“I heard some things I wish I hadn’t.”
As I felt the heat rise up my neck, I figured I was starting to look like a tomato jack-o’-lantern with badly carved teeth.
“But I never heard you say you didn’t love him. I don’t plan on sticking my nose into your romantic entanglements your whole life, just like you shouldn’t be sticking your nose in family finances or decisions that are mine and your mother’s.”
Oh. It was the tuition thing—that was the source of his outburst, I figured—that more than my sex life.
“I knew the boy, and maybe I don’t know the man, Reed, but I think I know when you’re lying, and we’ve always told the truth in this house. The truth may be you can’t get over Mathias lying to you. The truth may be you can’t get over him having more money than you. The truth may even be you always wished we had more.”
“No.”
“The truth isn’t you don’t love him, and if you’re being as stubborn as two dogs fighting over half a slice of bologna when the other half is lying on the floor, you’re no smarter than either one of them. Don’t roll your eyes at me.”
“I didn’t.” Though I had come close.
“I remember you telling me right here in this same kitchen just about a week ago something different than what you said just now. There’s a reason pride and pigheaded start with the same letter, boy. The truth is, you’re still in love with Mathias, and pride can sometimes kick you in the nuts.”
“You’re still in love with Mathias?” Devon was standing at the top of the stairs.
“Nice.” I shot my dad a disgruntled sneer—unsure whether I could get away with that either. “It’s not so simple, Dev.” I couldn’t lie to him. “You can love someone sometimes and not be together.”
“Like when I used to love Loralie. Is Mathias mean to you?”
“No, Dev.”
“Were you mean to him?”
“Maybe.”
Devon came down to where I stood. “Amy and I are never mean to each other.”
My brother had been going out with Amy a little over a year by this time. She was a nice girl from a nice family. They’d been to our house, and my parents had been to hers. Theirs was a complex situation too, what with hormones that matched their age even if by society’s standards their intellect sometimes didn’t. I was so happy he’d found someone, and I hoped it would last and not cause him any pain or consternation.
“Good. No one should ever be mean,” I said.
“That’s not how the world works.”
Ah, so Dad’s sage advice wasn’t saved only for me. “That’s true.” I took my brother’s hand. “But today’s your day, so everyone should be nice to you today.”
“And you should be nice to Mathias.”
“You look good.”
“I know.” My brother fidgeted suddenly.
“Are you excited?”
“I think we’re all set,” Mama said, coming down the stairs. “Time to go.”
“I changed my mind.” Devon threw himself into Cal, who wrapped his arms around him. “I don’t want to.”
Cal looked to my dad. My father loosened his tie. “I guess we’re staying home.”
“You want to go up to your room, buddy?” Devon nodded against Cal’s chest. “Good deal.” They headed for the stairs.
“They’ve gotten tight.”
“Very,” Mama said, a bit weary.
“We’re not going to argue with him?” I asked. “Push a little? It might be better for him in the long run if we—”
My father turned his back on me.
I WAS back in the pool early Sunday morning, since I’d missed my Saturday practice. We’d set up a banquet for Devon at home. Amy came by later, and by early in the evening, Devon seemed to feel better. I shaved a millisecond off my best time ever at practice that Sunday—anyone’s best time ever—and kept it there all week by studying the ledger with all the money shit on it before I dove into the water. On Friday, just before I was scheduled to fly to Texas for the Olympic qualifier, Mick Albert set up a conference call with the ad agency, a representative from Macon Charter, and several from the Special Olympics.
“Chaperones will be on hand,” local rep Jill McNeil promised. “I’ll personally be there for Devon, as I understand this is one of those things that could definitely make him a bit anxious. I think he’ll enjoy meeting the other five swimmers coming in from Georgia, Washington, Vermont, Nevada, and Texas, though. I’ve known him for a while, and though the decision, of course, is yours, I feel as if this can be a positive experience.”
“I think so too,” my dad said. “Except… we had an issue last weekend.”
“Yes. But,” Jill continued, “we don’t always. Devon has done quite well at many gatherings, correct? Being in the water might help. A suit and tie, the stage, the formality of the banquet….”
“I’m just not sure.” Even though I couldn’t see my father’s face, I could tell by his voice he was uncomfortable discussing some of this in front of strangers.
“You’re more than welcome to join us. Everyone else is bringing a parent along. We’re all very excited to get the chance to mingle with World Champion swimmers like Reed.”
“It’s so last-minute,” my father said.
“And we apologize for that,” the Macon Charter guy told him. “It all came together rather quickly. Reed had a fantastic idea, and we ran with it, but I apologize for not getting back to you sooner.”
“I’m not sure we’ll be able to get away.”
I knew part of it was a money issue and decided I would get him, Mama, or both of them to Texas somehow. “When do I get paid?” I asked Mick the moment my father had signed off, when it was just the four of us—Coac
h, Cloud-ia, Mick Albert, and I—left in the room to talk.
“In the fourth quarter, most likely,” Mick Albert said.
“Of what?”
“The year.”
“Not ahead of time?”
“A small amount,” he said “Don’t worry your pretty little head. It’s a complicated system.”
“Since when am I pretty? And I want explicit details,” I told him. “Get two tickets, one for my mom and one for my dad. I have a credit card. I guess they’ll need a hotel room too.” I went for my wallet. I was so used to walking around in a Speedo or some other swimwear by now, I often forgot which I had on, one of them or pants. “I’ll go get it.”
I wanted to call Mathias to tell him about the theme the commercial people had come up with. It was quite a coincidence—or a sign. Truth and pride. Though I really couldn’t put it all together with using a credit card, I thought it was pretty cool. I figured they must have been going for one of those esoteric ads people always remembered, even if they had trouble recalling what car, pants, or TV show it was for. I couldn’t make that call, though. I had to stay mad another week, maybe another two months. Every swimmer I knew had a superstition or two, and my latest one had me believing my Olympic gold medals might depend on obstinate wrath.
THE DAY I arrived at my final event before Rio—the one that would get me there or stop me from going—I was feeling pretty confident, even though my numbers had fallen off some. I wanted first place in every race, but I’d be facing competitors I had never gone up against before, including the last Olympic champ. My World titles and records meant nothing to many swimming fans. They’d be rooting against me, the spoiler, and for him. There really was the Olympics and everything else, and many so-called devotees paid no attention whatsoever to the “everything else” part—to any other events. My main competition was more famous and beloved than new gay sports icon Mathias Webber, even if he hadn’t competed in years, even if he’d been in some trouble. I was really going to need my mantra and mental imagery to get by him.
“You got this,” Coach said as I stood in front of him.
I nodded.
“Look at me.”
The moment I entered the arena, I was drawn to Mathias across a sea of people. Seeing him in person, my whole body reacted with a skip of my heart, a knot in my gut, and a longing below the waist. He was surrounded by an entourage of eight. I had Coach Keller, who brought my face in line with his.
“Deal with it after. Come on. Stay mad. He’s a jerk. You hate him. Me too. You still hate me, right?”
I couldn’t help but grin just a little bit. “Can’t stand you.”
“And no sex,” he whispered. “For the next five days.” It was a long event.
I chuckled. “I will if I want.” I needed to be in charge of something, to prove I was an adult and not in junior high.
“Your goal this week is to make the team, to place for every race. Winning isn’t everything.”
Did he suddenly not believe in me?
“You can, you know. We both know it. You can beat you-know-who.” Coach had his superstitions too. “And you will. It just doesn’t have to be today, and it doesn’t have to be in every matchup.”
“Right.”
Coach took a breath. “This is it.”
I took one too.
“Go get ready.”
I kept my gaze on the floor as Mathias passed me in the locker room in his underwear—or were they mine?—from that night we’d had Oh, come on! Head games.
He stopped and glanced back. “Good luck.” He’d caught me looking.
“Yeah. You too.” He was shorn from head to foot, and also most probably the parts I couldn’t readily see, something he hadn’t done back when we’d started swimming. I’d tended to my own hair removal with some of the wax we’d used, but mostly with my tried and true disposable razors.
“Thanks.”
He started off. My undershorts sat low on his hips, and I could see the hairlessness where his ass began to split. Just above it, had I bothered to look there first, I’d have noticed right off the leaf tattoo and beneath it, the word Truth. Maybe that was his purpose in parading by.
“Don’t forget to pee before we have to go out.” More superstition. I turned away quickly but caught the beginning of a smile.
“I won’t.”
19
FUELED BY all sorts of emotion that manifested as frustration, I had one hell of a first day in the pool. The news conferences following were the same torment they had always been, though. It didn’t matter if I beat the man whose name was never mentioned or not. I still dreaded that portion of the day. Mathias, on the other hand, continued to bask in the spotlight. If he was acting, it worked for him. Even after being referred to as “the bridesmaid and never the bride” twice, for always coming in behind me, and now others, he managed to keep a smile plastered on his face and a positive attitude. He was coming in fourth and fifth this go-around, against the ringers, so to speak, and some other competitors who were supercharged for the qualifier, finishing with numbers they had never reached before.
“Reed, you’re setting things up for one hell of an exciting swim event in Rio. How do you maintain such stamina and amazing speed?”
I pretend I’m an electric eel with a superamped high-voltage charge.
Well, I could hardly answer the ESPN dude with that, now could I? So, I went with the boring, tried-and-true “Hard work. Good coaching.”
“Do you think Mathias Webber’s newfound celebrity is a hindrance to his performance?” The man who asked the question was hot as fuck. Sometimes, I used that old trick where you picture people in their underwear to make them less intimidating. It rarely worked for me, but picturing this tall, stunning black man slipping off a pair of Andrew Christians couldn’t hurt.
“Oh. I don’t know,” I said after a moment. “I think he can do both.”
Cloud-ia was probably throwing shit at the monitor if she was watching. The interview sessions were broadcast within the arena on several Jumbotrons and also TVs backstage. Suddenly picturing my hommely face on a monitor the size of a drive-in movie screen did nothing to calm my anxiousness.
“Mathias?” the reporter asked.
“I think I’m where I’ve always been. Obviously, I need to be a little better with the real superstars in the mix now.”
Was that a shot?
“If you don’t improve by tomorrow, it’s unlikely you will even make the team.”
Wait. I sat up straighter. That wasn’t true, was it? I knew he hadn’t been coming in second, because I had once or twice, to my new archnemesis, the four-time Olympic wannabe. There were only so many spots available for each event. Had I been in denial? I definitely didn’t want to think about going to Rio without Mathias.
“It’s true. I might not make it.” He said it right to me, it seemed. “It’s only day one, but, still, I guess I better get my head in the game, because I sure don’t want to miss out.”
I felt as if I’d been punched in the chest.
FACED WITH about a million photo sessions, agonizing blog, magazine, online sports site, and TV station interviews following the ones at the press table after every day of competition, I was so grateful when my family arrived toward the end of the week. I really needed to talk to them before I had to go do it all again. Devon, Dad, and Cal were there for the commercial shoot the next day, and the moment I saw my brother on the floor of the arena at the end of day four in the pool, I almost forgot everything else.
“You were so good!” Devon told me.
“Thanks, bro.”
“We were so high up, we could hardly see you, though.”
“I kept telling him to watch the screen, not the pool,” Cal said.
“If I wanted to watch on TV, I could have stayed home.”
“I wish Mama could have come.”
“She had to work, Reed. You know that,” Dad said.
“I know. Sorry about the crappy seats. I’
ll make sure you get better ones in Rio.” I didn’t really know if one of my four credit cards could make that promise come true or not, but I was fixin’ to do my best.
“We can get dinner when I’m done with all the crappy stuff,” I said not too loudly.
“Playing the fame game,” Cal teased. “Good going, Wats!” He offered a pat on the back.
“Thanks. I’d be so much happier if all I had to do was swim.”
“Hey, Dev.” Cal put an arm across his shoulders. “Tomorrow you get to jump in that pool right there. It’s going to be awesome, huh?”
“You’ll be there, right?” Devon asked.
“I will,” Cal promised.
“I can’t wait, then.”
“Meet us at our hotel after? We’ll be good and hungry,” Dad said. “And thirsty, because I’m not paying eighteen bucks for a Snickers and water from the minibar.”
“Have what you want. I’ll cover it.” My mouth was getting bigger than my credit line. “We have to meet with the commercial guy before the start of things tomorrow. Really early. Don’t forget,” I said.
“I won’t. Good luck with the press.”
I took Cal to the side as Dad and Devon headed off so I could get back to question-and-answer hell. “He doing okay—Dev, I mean?”
“So far.”
“I was worried about the crowd.”
Cal shrugged. “I guess it’s all sort of unpredictable… the trigger, you know?”
“Yeah.”
“He’s good, though.”
“Cool.”
“I’ll see you later, then?”
“Hold up.” I grabbed Cal’s sleeve. “I wanted to ask…. Can you… maybe pick up the check for dinner tonight? I’m good for it… just… just not right now.”
“I guess. As long as we don’t go anywhere too fancy. What happened to your new gold plastic?”
“Pretty much maxed out. I wonder if they’ll hand me the first check tomorrow, before the shoot.”
“I doubt it. Be nice, though. I’m getting paid scale,” Cal boasted. “A glorified extra, basically background.”
“With your shirt off. You’ll have more screaming fans than any of us by the time it’s over.”