by Mark Zubro
“In a way, yes, but as a planet, you’ve got to learn on your own. If I control your destiny, you haven’t learned. Besides, remember, it takes a great deal of energy for me to simply read a person’s memory. Controlling behavior is tougher.” Enlisting Joe on the side of truth and light sounded great. Mike just wasn’t always sure on which side of Earth’s everlasting conflicts truth and light resided.
“I wouldn’t influence a match he was in,” Joe said. “He’s going to do this on his own. What if he ever found out what I’d done? He’d never forgive me, and I wouldn’t blame him.” He took a bite of his hot dog. “I have a question for you of much greater possible import. What does Meganvilia do when he’s dressed in drag, and he has to go to the bathroom?”
“I’ve never asked him. I’m not sure I want to start now. I don’t think he goes out too often in ‘real’ public in costume. I think his threat to do so this weekend was a bluff, which I was not ready to call. Judging by what he’s wearing today, it is probably a good thing I didn’t. He gets stubborn when challenged. Fortunately, Ray can talk sense to him.”
The second match began just after three o’clock. The stadium, while not full, was more crowded than at any time in the past few days. It was an odd assemblage. Random clusters of people cheered loudly and vigorously as the different matches ended at different parts of the floor. More than anything else the noise was more a continuous buzz punctuated at odd intervals with pockets of ecstasy.
Finally they heard Jack’s name called. Mike watched his nephew stride out onto the floor. Coach Brewster took his place near the mat. He patted Jack on the back, and then Jack moved into position. The boy he was facing was almost as tall as he was. His opponent had black hair and some noticeable bruises on his right arm.
Their bodies hooked and hands grabbed and legs swept forward. Jack escaped a hold late in the first period for several points. He was nearly pinned in the middle of the second period.
Near the end of the second three minute period, Mike saw Jack’s opponent give his nephew a sharp jab in the ribs with his elbow. The referee didn’t see it. No foul was called. Meganvilia leapt to his feet. He pointed a finger at the offending wrestler and bellowed, “Foul! Foul!” People turned and gaped. Meganvilia continued at full volume, “Is that referee blind? Foul, I say! Foul! Can’t he hear me?”
“The entire assembly hall can hear you,” Ray said.
People were beginning to laugh. A few who had seen the same action, however, were also crying out, protesting the illegal move.
Jack seemed to have a little trouble breathing for a few moments, but then seemed to suffer no other ill effects. Finally Meganvilia switched his cape about himself, sat back in his chair, and harrumphed, “I never.”
Mike said, “If you don’t know anything about wrestling, how’d you know that was an illegal move?”
“I read a teeny, tiny little when Jack started this violent physical activity.”
Ray craned his head around Meganvilia’s bulk. “He cleaned out several bookshelves. Probably knows more than the ref.”
“Hah!” Meganvilia snorted. “My favorite pink chiffon boa knows more than that ref.”
The score was tied at four to four in the third period when Jack’s opponent made a serious mistake. His hand slipped from Jack’s leg whether from sweat or nervousness. Within seconds Jack took advantage of the mistake. While he didn’t pin the boy, he did manage to pick up an escape for the one-point win.
Meganvilia’s roars of approval, normally the loudest in any gathering, were subdued compared to Mike’s and Joe’s raucous bellows of joy. After much back slapping and cheering, they made their way to meet Jack in the aisle that led to their seats. Jack was still sweating. He and his coach were conversing rapidly on their way up. As they neared them, Mike heard them discussing strategy for the next opponent. The hugs and congratulations were brief before Jack and his coach hurried off.
Several hours later, Mike found himself on the edge of his seat as the championship matches began. In general Mike enjoyed sports. Baseball was his favorite. Besides the nineteenth-century rhythms of the game itself, he loved the tight uniforms. He thought Justin Verlander, who pitched for the Tigers, and Joe Mauer, the catcher for the Twins, were two of the hottest men around. Still, he wasn’t a sports fanatic, and he’d never been to a wrestling meet until Jack evidenced an interest during his freshman year in high school. Mike had read that winning a championship with just four years of high school experience only happens ten to fifteen percent of the time. He had told his nephew this, but Jack had been undaunted.
While Mike enjoyed various games, his nephew was a true believer. The boy lived to watch ESPN. The kid could sit for hours watching the most arcane competitions. Mike figured it was a straight guy thing. Nevertheless, Mike found himself involved in wrestling now more than he’d ever imagined. He hoped the boy won. He wondered how they’d console him if he lost. Last year Jack had been defeated in the preliminary round, eliminated almost before the tournament started. This year he’d set his heart on winning everything.
Mike felt a great deal of pride that the boy was doing so well after living with Joe and him for four years. Decent grades in school, a possible wrestling scholarship to a good college, free of drugs, came home at night, indulged in few teenage erratic mood swings, seemed to be less surly than most teenagers he’d read about and experienced. After what the boy had been through as a child, Mike was very pleased. As a gay man this was as close as he thought he would ever get to being a father. He was glad of the opportunity, happy at the outcome so far, and hopeful about Jack having a happy adult life.
The score was zero to zero going into the last minute of the championship. Both boys looked exhausted. Mike had seen one tie after regulation. He knew there was a complicated process of deciding a winner. Suddenly Jack seemed to trip. The four of them leapt to their feet. For a few horrible seconds, Jack seemed to be falling. His opponent leapt to take advantage of the slip. Jack side-stepped at the last instant.
Meganvilia grabbed Mike’s arm and bellowed into his ear, “He was faking!”
“Whether he was or not,” Joe said, “I think he’s got him.” Jack regained his balance just in time to counter his opponent’s shot in on him. Jack tied up and faked a duck under then swept a far ankle to get the takedown at the buzzer. Both wrestlers shook hands, and the ref raised Jack’s hand. Jack ran over to his coach in the corner and bear hugged him off the floor.
This time nothing drowned out Meganvilia’s happy bellowing. Mike might have found it embarrassing, if he wasn’t doing his best to make more noise than he’d ever done in his life. The happy foursome made their way down to the floor of the arena.
A beaming Jack was hugged and congratulated. Mike wanted to remember forever the happy look on his nephew’s face. This is the way a kid should look, Mike thought, young and strong, happy and smiling. Mike looked for the boy who had lost. He made sure to stop and congratulate the kid, who looked to be near tears. Jack stopped and murmured a few words to him. For a few seconds the boys touched hands. The reporters for the local cable access station and the wrestling federation stopped Jack. The reporter for some local cable network who had interviewed all the winners at every weight class shoved a microphone in Jack’s face. The boy smiled and answered the fatuous questions.
“Did you think you would win?”
“I hoped so.”
“Was it tough?”
“Yes.”
“How does it feel?”
“Great.” Jack thanked his coach and his uncles. He said that his opponents were all tough, and he was lucky to win. Mike knew the humility was genuine. A pat on the shoulder from the reporter, and they moved on.
At the presentation of the medals there was general applause for each winner. Jack was given his bracket, a big, framed glass-faced thing that was four-feet tall and two-and-a-half-feet wide. Only champions got them. As Jack held it aloft, Mike felt a solid thump in his back, and he was shoved
forward. After he caught his balance, just before he turned to look at who crashed into him, he saw Jack’s look of triumph turn to pure hatred.
CHAPTER FIVE
Mike whirled around. It was Lennon Kazakel. The man had always been lean and wiry. His always taut frame looked more stretched than ever. Mike thought he must be in the famed “prison exercise yard” condition. His eyes were red-rimmed, the pupils washed out. He wore faded blue jeans, an unzipped black leather jacket, a black knit cap, and a black T-shirt.
Mike faced the interloper. He sensed rather than saw Joe next to him.
“I’m going to see my boy,” Kazakel said.
“We’ve got a permanent injunction against you,” Mike said. “He even changed his name to break that tie to you.”
“I don’t see no fucking judge.” He tried to elbow his way past Mike.
Jack appeared beside them. “Go to hell,” Jack snapped. He held his bracket board high in both hands like Charlton Heston before he heaved the tablets at the golden calf.
Kazakel said, “My boy wins the state championship, I’ll damn well be part of the celebration.”
Meganvilia appeared with a pair of university cops in tow. “That man,” Meganvilia pointed to Kazakel, “is not allowed within fifty feet of that boy.”
“You keep that fucking freak and his fucking queer friends out of here. I’m this boy’s dad.” Kazakel tried to put his arm around Jack. The boy ducked down and placed his bracket on the ground. As he rose, he twisted to his left. His shoulder connected with the bottom of his dad’s jaw. Hard. The man staggered back a few feet. Mike inserted himself between father and son. The crowd around them stared. Kendal Brewster appeared with several other coaches. He knew Jack’s history and had been told about the father long ago.
Kazakel clutched his jaw but managed to say, “He hit me. My goddamn kid hit me.”
Mike thought the real danger was Jack going nuts and doing very serious damage to his father. Mike had never seen Jack lose control, but what his father had done to him would cause anyone to be justified in harming the former attacker.
Brewster said, “I’m this boy’s wrestling coach.” He pointed at Mike and Joe. “These are his legal guardians.”
Meganvilia pointed at the cops, “I told them about the restraining order.”
Brewster confirmed, “That is true.”
Mike added, “He just got out of prison for child abuse.”
Mike and Joe conferred with police. Kazakel was kept to one side by security guards from the assembly hall and police officers from the university. Meganvilia, Ray, and several ushers kept a protective cordon around Jack who kept muttering, “The fucker ruined the best moment of my life.”
Mike saw tears in the boy’s eyes. He went to him, put his arm around Jack’s shoulder. He led him a few feet away. He could feel the boy trembling.
Jack said, “He won’t make me cry. I hate the fucker. I won’t cry.”
The tears started. Jack buried his face in Mike’s neck and shoulder and sobbed. Mike put his arms around him and pulled him close. “Shhhh. It’s going to be okay. He can’t hurt you anymore. Shhhh.” After several minutes Mike felt Jack’s body relax. The sweaty teenager backed several inches away.
Mike said, “This is an awful time for a life lesson, but you’ve been through worse. Most of the great moments are surrounded by ordinary, mundane things, sometimes by big disappointments. Look, you’ve got Meganvilia. That’s unusual. Nobody’s got their own personal drag queen cheering section.”
This got the small smile Mike was hoping for. Jack sniffed and gulped. Mike continued, “Real stuff, normal stuff is a huge contrast to such a great moment. It can’t help be disappointing in comparison. Reality sucks. You have to savor the moment for what it is. One of your great memories. There will be more. Some better, some worse. It’s okay to be angry. It’s okay to cry. I know it’s hard, but you shouldn’t hit him again. He deserves to be hurt, but it’s best that it not come from you. For now, we’ll protect you. We’ll get through this, and there will be time to celebrate later.”
Jack nodded. “Okay, Uncle Mike. I’m okay.” He sniffed again. “Thanks. I’ll be all right.” They rejoined the others. Meganvilia handed Jack a pink, scented tissue from the pocket of his cape. Jack smiled and wiped his eyes.
Meganvilia patted Jack’s arm. “Honey, you leave that mother fucking son of a bitch to me. You don’t dirty yourself. We’ll protect you.”
Jack smiled, “Thanks.”
Ray handed Jack his bracket.
Meganvilia fumed. “I’m the one who told them about the restraining order. Why didn’t they believe me?”
The minutes dragged to half an hour before the state police showed up. Explanations were made. Accusations were traded.
Finally the state police announced, “We checked the state police computers. We’ll keep him away from the boy.”
“Arrest him,” Mike said. “Lock him up. He’s committed a crime by being near the boy.”
When they turned to where Kazakel had been, he was gone.
“You didn’t have him handcuffed?” Mike asked.
A state cop said, “As far as we knew, he hadn’t committed a crime.”
A search was instituted but turned up nothing. As the group began to disburse, one of the state cops said, “You guys should be on your guard. The guy could be dangerous. Call us again if you need to.”
“We know,” Mike said.
With his shoulders squared, Jack went off with his coach to change. Mike watched the two of them move to the tunnel and out of view to the changing room. He ached for the kid’s pain.
Without warning Joe gasped and clutched Mike’s arm. The alien leaned his weight on his husband.
“What’s wrong?” Mike asked.
“I don’t know.”
Joe began to sag toward the ground. Mike propped him up. Meganvilia took Joe’s other arm. “Is he all right?” the drag queen asked.
“I’m fine,” Joe mumbled.
Mike saw that Joe was a few shades short of mime white, and he was breathing hard. He stayed that way for several minutes. A few people in the crowd began to cast surreptitious glances at them.
After several minutes, Joe straightened up. He still leaned on Mike and Meganvilia. “I’m going to be fine. I got dizzy for a few seconds. I’m fine.” He detached himself from Meganvilia, but he still kept a tight hold on Mike.
They waited until Jack and his coach re-emerged. As they walked away, Joe took a few tentative steps. When Meganvilia and Ray were distracted for a moment, Mike asked, “What is it?”
“The probe.”
“Your protection device didn’t work automatically.”
“I know.”
“Did it come faster than you thought?”
“It’s more powerful than I imagined. It’s what’s affecting me.”
“What can we do?”
“Nothing. It’s starting to pass. I’ve got to get to my ship.”
“We can leave now.”
Joe stood without leaning on Mike. “I’ll be okay. I want to be part of the celebration. I want to make it perfect.”
“Are you sure?”
“No. We’re not going to get to the ship for hours anyway. A little longer won’t make that much difference.”
“Can it kill you?”
“I’ll destroy it before it can do that.”
“It’ll alert your planet.”
“Dead and unalerted won’t help us any.”
They went back to the hotel to eat. Joe seemed to recover. Jack was off his special training diet. As previously arranged, his coach joined them for a celebratory meal. Kazakel was not discussed. Instead of soup, salad, or any kind of entrée, Jack ordered every dessert on the menu. He even had second helpings of the ones he liked the best. The waiter was delighted to serve the odd order. Several people at nearby tables noticed their joy, hilarity, and Jack’s unusual meal. Meganvilia expressed vast amounts of envy at the quantity of calori
es, carbohydrates, refined and unrefined sugars the young man packed away.
Ray said, “The kid’s gonna get sick.”
But Jack didn’t evince the slightest sign of feeling sick. Meganvilia gave voice to vast amounts of annoyance at this.
Throughout the meal, Jack smiled, chattered, and burbled as the six of them rehashed his four victories in the past two days.