Micah Johnson Goes West

by Sean Kennedy

  As Nate left, Sam sidled up to him. “Okay, what’s going on?”

  With a melodramatic sigh, Micah told him. He knew he wouldn’t get the response he was hoping for.

  “He’s doing the right thing.”

  Yep, that was about what he expected. “I don’t want to be the poster boy for bigotry. Or tolerance, which is just as fucking bad.”

  “Tolerance is bad?” Sam asked.

  “Yes! Because it isn’t acceptance. It isn’t shrugging off as if it’s normal, which it is! It’s basically saying: I don’t like you but I guess I have to put up with you against my will.”

  “I never thought of it that way,” Sam admitted.

  “Why would you have to?” Micah said, and it didn’t sound very nice at all.

  “Hey,” Sam said. “I’m on your side.”

  “No, you’re not. At least, not like that. Nobody’s on my side. I’m the only one. I’m hanging out here all by myself.”

  He walked off to the showers, hoping he could forget about everything for just a few minutes. Maybe then it would all wash away in the stream of hot water and disappear down the drain where it belonged.

  WHEN HE came out of the shower, he was waylaid by Nate before he even finished wrapping the towel around his waist.

  “They’re going to have a meeting about it when we get back to Perth,” he said. “Just giving you the heads up.”

  Micah, who was still getting used to the lackadaisical approach to nudity (and other people’s nudity) in an AFL change room, flushed. “Am I in trouble?”

  “No!” Nate said. “They just want to see if there’s anything they can do.”

  “They think they can magically cure homophobia among fans?” Micah asked. “They still haven’t cured racism.”

  “You’re angry, and I get that.”

  “I’m angry because it’s being made a big deal of.” Plus the fact he was being mollified. “What if the press ask about it before we have our secret super-duper war room meeting?”

  “The coach is just going to say that we’re looking into it and they won’t comment until they’ve reviewed all the footage.”

  “And what am I meant to say?”

  “Nothing.” Sam appeared over Nate’s shoulder. “Just… try and avoid the media.”

  “Bit hard when they camp outside our room. I’m going to run into them as soon as I leave here.”

  “Just say the same thing they’ll say. That you want to wait for a review.”

  “I already know what happened. I was there, remember?”

  Nate sighed. Micah knew he was giving him a hard time, when he had nothing to do with the decision. For Nate’s sake, more than anybody else’s, he acquiesced.

  “Fine. I’ll be quiet.”

  “We’re not expecting miracles,” Nate said, and Sam snorted.

  Micah turned and headed for his locker. Sam jogged to catch up to him.

  “You don’t have to worry. We’ll take care of you.”

  “I said this before to Nate. I don’t need looking after.”

  “Yeah, you do. You’re our rookie, you little shit. So deal with it.”

  Sam tousled his hair, just like an annoying older brother, and left him to get changed in privacy. None of the other guys were in there as Micah had been the last to hit the showers. He pulled on his tracksuit in their team colours, and slung his bag over his shoulder. Past the change rooms his family was waiting for him. They were excited by the team’s victory, even though it wasn’t a Melbourne team. Micah guessed they had to take the Dockers in their heart on some kind of level—after all, it was their son’s team now—but they would always remain loyal to their own. They were probably more pleased about his goal, but Micah’s own sense of achievement had been dulled by the controversy now hovering over it.

  And then he saw Declan Tyler, gliding towards him as if emerging from the shadows, bidden.

  Micah knew he would be the one to understand.

  AS HE had thought, Dec was the only person to understand. He had convinced the rest of the Johnsons to meet him later for drinks where the rest of the team would be congregating, and now he, Dec, and Simon were heading towards the car park. They had premium car parking—probably something to do with the media pass emblazoned on the dashboard.

  “I mean, at least I didn’t fight anybody,” Micah said.

  “Yeah, shame Dec can’t claim that in his career.” Simon was tapping away on his phone, almost absent-mindedly.

  “Do I need to remind you I was defending your honour?” Dec reminded him.

  “St. George, slaying my dragons. I’m very appreciative, believe me.”

  “He’s just lucky he didn’t say faggot,” Micah ranted. “Then I really might have jumped the fence. It’s weird how I find pansy less offensive. I mean, they’re both just words.”

  “Slurs,” Simon said.

  “It’s lucky for you, you mean,” Dec said, ever the surrogate parent. “You wouldn’t want to be up before the tribunal for your first game. Especially fighting the public.”

  “I didn’t even know who it was who said it. And I doubt they would have given themselves up if I’d tried to find out.”

  “Just let your team sort it out,” Dec told him. “That’s what they’re there for.”

  “They’re there to protect their own interests,” Simon said, obviously speaking from experience. “Their own reputation.”

  “I don’t believe that,” Dec argued. “They care about their players too.”

  Simon backed down, his eyes on his phone again. There was some sort of bone of contention between the two of them over this matter, and Micah didn’t want to feed the flames any further.

  “I just want them to leave this alone,” he said to Dec. “If they make a fuss about it, the crowds could get worse. They’ll think I can’t hack it.”

  Dec looked over at Simon. “Do you want to take this one?”

  “Huh?” was Simon’s eloquent response.

  “That was what you always wanted me to do. Take the high road.”

  Simon squirmed a little. “Honestly, Micah? In the end, it really doesn’t matter what you do. If they want to hate you, they’ll find a reason for it. Either you’re a whinger, or you’re arrogant. You have to do what is best for you.”

  “But it’s taken out of my hands.”

  “Do you want me to talk to them?” Dec asked.

  Micah could have bristled at the implication he couldn’t handle it, but he was over his head. He felt relief. “Could you?”

  “I can’t promise they’ll listen to me. But I can at least give the perspectives of those who have been through the same thing.”

  “I hope you’re not implying I have to go and testify,” Simon said. “I had enough of team boards when you were still playing.”

  “It’s okay, babe. I’ll take one for the team.”

  Simon’s lip twitched, and Micah was happy to feel the tension dissipate.

  Until Simon said, “Oh, shit.”

  “What?”

  He shot a quick look at Dec, but handed his phone over to Micah. “It’s already on Twitter.”

  Micah took the phone with slightly shaking hands. It was a professionally taken photograph, not from someone’s phone camera. The quality was too good. Obviously taken while yelling back at the guy. His arms pumped in the air, veins popping out on his neck, Micah looked like he was ready to leap the fence and take everybody out with the fire in his eyes.

  “Uh, that’s not good,” Micah said, handing the phone back.

  Declan tried not to sound too worried as he studied the pic. “It… could be better.”

  “Believe me, I’ve been an AFL fan for a long time,” said Simon. “And there’s nothing the average footy supporter fears more than an angry minority.”

  “Thanks, Simon. That’s really helpful.”

  “But you fight the good fight anyway, Norma Rae.”

  Micah looked at Dec for support on the reference. “I don’t get it.�
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  Dec shook his head. “Don’t bother.”

  “I’m sure I’ve used that on you before,” Simon said.

  “You do tend to repeat yourself,” Dec said, keeping things light.

  Simon ignored him. “Don’t worry about all that bullshit, Micah. You played a great game, and that’s all that anybody will really care about in the end. This will blow over in a few days.”

  “Like it used to with you guys?”

  “Dec was more controversial. He had a boyfriend who was winning hearts and minds in the WAGs box every week. Maybe you should get one.”

  “Umm, thanks, Coach,” Micah mumbled. He caught Dec biting his lip in barely concealed merriment.

  “Do I slap your arse now, or something?” Simon asked.

  “Do you want to slap my arse?” Micah asked.

  Simon blanched. “No!”

  Dec yelped as Simon quickly leaned over and slapped his partner on the arse instead.

  “That stung!”

  “Felt good to me.” Simon mocked him with a lascivious sneer.

  Micah had to laugh, and he headed off to the pub with a considerably lighter heart and head.

  Chapter 7

  A FEW celebratory drinks (and then some) had made it easy to forget his worries for a couple of hours. When he awoke in the morning, they instantly came flooding back. Once he was at the kitchen table with his cereal he quickly checked the headlines on Twitter, and found there were already some mentions in the footy round-up columns. At the moment they just expressed confusion about what had happened, but Twitter had people claiming to be right near the perpetrator and that “gay slurs” were definitely thrown about. More than the one Micah had heard.

  He hoped they were just exaggerating. He didn’t want it to get any worse than it already was.

  A message came through from Will. It was a surprise, as he hadn’t heard from Will Deanes for a while, but it was a pleasant one. Although they hadn’t gotten off to the best start in their friendship—that would happen when one was cyberbullying you, then punched you out when you called him out on it—things had improved as Will started to inch his way out of the closet and become more comfortable with himself.

  Hey. Just wanted to congratulate you on your first game. And your first goal! First of many.

  Thanks, Micah wrote back. How are you going?

  Not too bad. Playing some footy with the minor leagues, hoping to get my shot at some point down the line.

  You’ll do it. And then, thank fuck, I won’t be the only gay in the big leagues.

  They chatted a bit more about their respective teams, and how things were going at school now Micah had left and Mardi was in sole charge of the Gay Straight Alliance. Micah had really only been a perfunctory member as it had started a few months before he was drafted. Will was now stepping into his shoes. As they texted their good-byes, a message came through from Kyle.

  Are you still feeling up to meeting today?

  I’m sure I could make time for you, Micah responded.

  Are you staying at your parents’?

  Yep.

  The response was fast and furious. Cool. Pick you up at four.

  Micah smiled to himself as he put his phone back on the table.

  “What’s that look for?” Joanne asked. She had just entered with an empty coffee cup to place in the sink, which she did noisily, jolting Micah out of his reverie.

  “I’m meeting Kyle for coffee later.”

  “Oh.”

  He rolled his eyes. “What’s that for?”

  His mum sat down opposite him, concern in her eyes. He briefly wanted to scratch them out, and hated himself immediately. “It’s just… do you think that’s a good idea?”

  “We’re both adults.”

  “Barely,” Joanne reminded him.

  “It’s coffee, Mum. I just want to catch up with him.”

  “And what if you still feel the same way about him? It might make you even more miserable.”

  Micah smirked, and even he could tell it was in no way pleasant. “I don’t think that’s possible.”

  “I hate hearing you say that. Are you that unhappy?”

  Micah fixed a smile on his face to make her drop the subject. “I’m just being melodramatic. All I’m going to do is say hi, and have a decent coffee which is so much easier to find here than it is back west.”

  His mum looked a little more relieved. “You snob. That’s your home now.”

  Don’t remind me. But he didn’t say it. He would never be able to escape the kitchen and start getting ready.

  “And what about what happened yesterday?”

  Micah shrugged. “Let’s just worry about today for now.”

  HE MET Sam and Daril and a couple of the other guys for lunch. They were heading back to Perth that afternoon, whereas other Melbournites like Micah were allowed one extra day with their families. And as much as he tried to socialise and seem amiable to everybody else, his mind was only on one thing: Kyle.

  A live wire driving home, he was still buzzing as he ran up the hall and into his room. He immediately started stripping off, and looked appraisingly at himself in the mirror. Not to be too vain, but he was way more fit than he was last time Kyle saw him naked. His abs were developing abs. Professional footballing made what had seemed like a fit body in high school comparable to when he was eleven and still in Auskick.

  He no longer had the body of a teenage boy. His shoulders had broadened, and he had packed on muscle—but the lean muscle of an AFL player, not the mass of a rugby man.

  His small tuft of hair was starting to spread across his chest as well. He hoped it would grow thicker. Too many of the guys he played with waxed—some did it because of having to be taped up with their injuries so it would be easier to remove—others just because it was the in thing. Micah hoped for more just so he could look a bit older and less like the rookie. Plus it would give Kyle something to run his hands through as they—

  Micah flushed, and was embarrassed by what he saw in his reflection. He covered himself in a towel, but that did nothing to disguise it.

  He was actually admiring himself in the mirror. For fuck’s sake. Maybe Emma was right—getting drafted had gone to his head. He would probably be preening in one of those sports calendars next. Well, why not? It was for charity after all. And it would give him something to look back at with bitter nostalgia when he was a washed up forty-year-old with a beer gut. Micah turned back to the mirror with a grin and flexed his arm, marvelling at the beauty of muscles that hadn’t been visible before.

  “You fucking show pony,” he laughed, and flounced away to the shower.

  MICAH WAS tying up his shoes when he heard the doorbell ring. As much as he tried to beat her to the door Joanne got there first, and so he heard Kyle before he actually got to see him. He was exchanging pleasantries with Micah’s mum, and she was saying how good it was to see him again.

  Geez, Mum. He’s my boyfriend, not yours.

  Shit. That thought stopped him right in his tracks. What a slip of the tongue! Or brain.

  It was dangerous to be thinking of Kyle in the present tense in such a way.

  It was at this moment Kyle looked up to see him standing in the hallway, most likely resembling a stunned mullet, and Micah was relieved to see his wide smile at the sight of him. “Hey, you.”

  Joanne turned and saw her son. “I’ll leave you guys to it. You have your phone, honey?”

  “Yes, Mum.” He felt all of ten years old, not someone who had been living on the opposite side of the country for a while.

  “I’ll have him home before his carriage turns into a pumpkin,” Kyle promised.

  Now Kyle was standing there, in the flesh before him, and they were alone. Micah suddenly felt bashful. He hung back and realised Kyle had actually grown, which was odd as it had only been two months since they had last seen each other. Or maybe he just seemed bigger.

  “I don’t know whether to shake your hand or—”

/>   “Don’t be stupid,” Kyle said, and pulled him down into his arms.

  It felt so normal, so right. Micah briefly closed his eyes and let Kyle’s warmth envelop him. He could smell the cologne against his skin, although it wasn’t the same one he used to wear when they were going out. New height, new fragrance—nothing was staying the same. Except this feeling of normalcy that happened to be there now they were together again.

  Maybe he held on to the embrace a little too long—it was Kyle who pulled away, gave him a small grin, and said, “Are you ready to go?”

  Micah nodded, not trusting words to come out of his mouth yet.

  ONCE THEY got into the car, silence settled uncomfortably. Kyle turned the ignition, and as the engine roared to life so did the stereo. Music thankfully filled the void, and the volume was loud enough to make conversation difficult. Neither boy sought to turn it down.

  But after a while, as they made their way down Brunswick Street and into the Fitzroy café strip, it was painfully obvious to both of them that something had to be said or else they would be sitting across from each other with only a cup of coffee to act as a conversation point.

  “I guess I should ask you how Perth is,” Kyle said, his eyes darting back and forth as he looked for an empty car space.

  Unable to meet his eyes, Micah stared out onto the familiar streets of his hometown, watching the people spill out of the cafés onto the sidewalk. Although they looked just like ordinary people, they were Melburnians. They were his people. And he missed them; missed being a part of their tribe. He didn’t feel the same aura emanating from the people of Perth, even though they were friendly enough. Maybe it was just homesickness polluting his perception of them.

  “Oh, it’s fine,” he lied. “I mean, it’s taking some getting used to.”

  “I bet.”

  “How about Canberra?”

  Kyle laughed, and it didn’t sound exactly happy. “Oh, about the same. Experiencing culture shock. Sometimes it feels like the city is hardly any bigger than Fitzroy itself. And even then it still seems to have less people around.”