Truth, Pride, Victory, Love

by David Connor

  “You fixin’ to ask something or confess something?”

  I cringed. “Confess.”

  She sighed. “Okay. We’ll see you, then. Should I ground you to the couch until?”

  “I think so.”

  “Consider it done.”

  “Yay! Reed’s home. Wanna toboggan?” Devon asked, coming out from the kitchen dressed and ready to do so. “There’s still snow.” His smile made me feel a bit better.

  “I can’t. I’m in trouble.”

  “What’d you do?”

  “Got in a fight defending the family pride.”

  “Oh.” He put on his gloves and headed for the hill out back unimpressed.

  Because it was important that my punishment fit the crime, I spent the start of that weekend washing every dish in the house, and when they were clean, I had to wash them again. Maybe it had something to do with water and pruney hands? Fuck if I knew. My mother had two sets of china, both service for sixteen, one from when our great-grandmother died, and one she had collected piece by piece since she was sixteen. She was still a couple of cups and saucers and a platter short on that one, because the pattern had been discontinued before she’d gotten them all. That saved me some time. We had stemware we never used, plus everyday silverware and a holiday set, with pieces whose function I couldn’t even begin to identify. Mathias would probably know, I figured. I washed them all—several times. Every now and again my father would come in and ask me why I was doing it.

  “Because you told me to.”

  My first response got me a stern but somewhat gentle smack upside my bald head. A half hour later, I went with, “Because I got in a fight?” But that didn’t cut it either, maybe because of the juvenile tone. I tried, “Because I broke a bunch of rules?” next time, and though I was more contrite, that answer still didn’t work. When my dad returned again late in the afternoon, I didn’t wait to be asked. “Because I threw away an opportunity I should have appreciated more.”

  That one did it. Four hours in, I was finally sprung, let off on parole.

  “I love you, Son.” Dad hugged me and then rubbed the spot on the back of my head, long since soothed. “Go to your room. No computer. No TV. Read a book.”

  Cal called three times that evening. I wasn’t allowed to speak with him. Mathias called twice. I couldn’t talk to him either.

  TIME PASSED—a couple of months. Suddenly free most afternoons once banned from swim practice, I got an after-school job. Since Julius had lost his, he could be home with Devon and Shemar.

  Man, I missed the water. Some days I would go anyway. No one forbad me to swim in the community pool. I just couldn’t do it on any sort of schedule. Coach Keller was there sometimes, and he would run me through a couple of drills and record my time. One afternoon, he just walked away shaking his head. It almost made me cry.

  He came to my house that night. It must have been arranged, because Mama made a cake and the house smelled like coffee. Usually, she and Dad drank instant. That night, for company—Cal and his parents showed up too—the coffeemaker made an appearance. I had no idea what Coach Keller wanted. I figured I was going to get in more trouble, even though almost ten weeks had passed since the Valentine’s Day swim team nonmassacre by then, with no more mention of it. Plus, I really didn’t know what else they could do to me. My father must have thought it was something bad too.

  “I’m sorry for Reed’s actions back in February,” he apologized for me the moment Coach Keller stepped into our house. “He was raised better than that. He’s a good boy.”

  Dad’s look of admiration left me secure in the fact that despite my actions that day, my slacking off and jacking off, my judgmental thoughts about my sister, annoyance toward my nephew, and occasional embarrassment over Dev, he meant what he was saying. I wasn’t perfect, not by any stretch of the imagination, but I admitted it, and lived in that truth. Still, I promised myself right then I’d try to be better.

  “I know that,” Coach Keller said. “They both are.”

  Mrs. Bellamy squeezed Cal’s hand.

  “That’s why I would like to continue to work with them.”

  “Next year?” my mother asked.

  “Cal is graduating,” his mom said.

  “I know. I’ve been thinking about this a lot.” Coach paused to sip his coffee. I could tell he was gathering his thoughts. “I almost made it to the Olympics,” he stated. “Back in 1984. I came close. I got injured. I think Reed and Cal can go even further than I did.”

  Cal and I exchanged a look.

  “I’d like to coach them.”

  “Cal is graduating,” Mrs. Bellamy repeated.

  “Yes. I know he’s been accepted at SUNY, but I’d like him to think about Cloverton.”

  “Cloverton?” Cal asked.

  “It’s a good college. They have a great team.”

  “Swimming?” The word moron flashed over my head. What else would he have meant?

  “I’m not sure Cal is going to follow up on that,” Mr. Bellamy said.

  “I hope he will. I hope Reed will. I want to take them to the 2016 games.”

  I got a chill.

  “I don’t think my son can plan his entire future around a trip to watch the Olympics in four years.” Cal’s dad slid his coffee mug away. As far as he was concerned, the conversation was over.

  “You don’t understand, Mr. Bellamy. I don’t want him to watch. I want them both to participate.”

  “As athletes?” my mother asked in astonishment.

  “Yes.”

  “Whoa.” That was all I could come up with.

  “I know I can get Reed into Cloverton for the fall semester.”

  “He has an entire school year left,” my mother said, “classes he needs to pass in order to graduate.”

  “Technically, he’s ahead on all his graduation requirements… on the necessary number of credits. He would have been taking AP English and history anyway—college level—so we know he’s ready for it.”

  I wondered how Coach knew all that. Had he talked to someone at my high school already?

  “I mean, there’s going to be some effort involved. He will have to sit through summer school and pass the regular senior English and history exams in order to matriculate. Reed can do that, I think, even studying for only a few weeks in July. No problem.”

  I was nodding like a bobblehead doll.

  “I can definitely get around the late admissions.”

  “Can you also pay for it?” Somehow, my father made the remark sound not at all sarcastic.

  “I can help. I have connections there. When the board sees what Reed and Cal have to offer, scholarships and financial aid will not be a problem.”

  “That’s a rather large promise you’re making,” Mr. Bellamy said.

  “It’s an expensive proposition,” Coach Keller admitted.

  Just like that, I was dropped back down to reality and worn, outdated linoleum, the metaphorical balloon that had lifted me off it popped by that one word—expensive.

  “The next four years are going to cost a fortune.” Coach’s next sentence made things worse. My father was already shaking his head with hurt in his eyes. I tried to keep my excitement at bay, that little spark that was left, because I knew there was no way.

  “We can get sponsors, though, Mr. Watson. Local ones at first. People I know. Former athletes. Eventually, as we get closer, we’ll get the bigger ones. I promise you, Reed is that good. Calvin as well.”

  “It’s a lot to think about,” my mother said. “Are you even interested, Reed?”

  “Yes,” I answered right away. I pictured Mrs. Smeckler’s bulletin board and myself on a Wheaties box stapled to it. “Yes!”

  “Black guys don’t swim,” Mr. Bellamy said, not as a joke, but like it was true.

  “Your son does,” Coach Keller countered. “He’s damned good at it. Second or third best I’ve seen in a long time.”

  My head swelled, because I knew I was first.
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br />   “It’s Reed’s decision,” my father said when my mother started to speak again. “He’s eighteen. He will be in a day or so. He’s got a good head on his shoulders, even if he forgets to use it sometimes.”

  The comment pertained to not filling up the car with gas a few nights prior. It wasn’t about getting suspended from swimming. I hadn’t been in much trouble in between, and my dad wasn’t one to hold the past over my head.

  “I want to do it,” I said.

  Devon stood in the doorway taking it all in. There wasn’t enough room around the table for another chair, even one for me, but that didn’t stop him from putting in his two cents. “What about Mathias?” he asked.

  I turned to his voice. “What about him?”

  “He swims.”

  “Yeah.”

  “I like him. He’s nice.”

  “I like him too,” I said. I liked him sometimes. “But Coach Keller isn’t his coach. He swims for another team.”

  “Oh.”

  It was an overly simplified explanation, but it seemed to appease my little brother. Still, as I started planning out the rest of my life from that moment on, I couldn’t help but wonder myself. What about Mathias?

  EVEN AS the meeting ended, he was still on my mind, if not my brother’s. I wanted to e-mail him. Once again, we hadn’t talked very much over several calendar pages, but the start of that grin on his face when I punched him, it did something in my chest and behind my zipper. I was just about to hit Send when Cal snuck up behind me and gave me a kiss.

  “Whoa! I thought you went home.”

  “I came back. They said I can stay over.”

  “Oh.” I closed the browser. “What was that for?”

  “We’re college guys now, so we can.”

  Since we hadn’t kissed the night I’d sucked him off, I’d assumed we never would. Actually, some could still debate whether or not we had just then. Cal’s lips had hardly brushed my skin, like my punch upon Mathias’s jaw. He did it again, the same thing, barely a peck, right there in my living room, as my parents picked up the kitchen and my sister, her stud, and her one and a half kids relaxed downstairs in the semicompleted family room. The kiss was behind my ear, though, and somehow still felt way more intimate than the sexual act we’d shared.

  “What else can we do?” I asked.

  Cal stayed close. Really close. He didn’t say anything at first, but his breath atop my head and his hard-on poking me in my back said a lot. Sharing a room with my little brother—who was actually quite big by age thirteen—sorely cut into my body-exploration time. Once in a great while, I would sneak out into the living room in the middle of the night to sign in online and take care of things, removing my underpants partway down the stairs, because the possibility of being caught naked in the living room made it all hotter. I always panicked at every floor creak, though, and worried about the eventuality of someone in the house learning how to look back at my history, even once I had supposedly deleted it. I knew I’d be in trouble. Not trouble, perhaps, but definitely out. I didn’t expect my parents to freak about me being gay. On the other hand, I wasn’t sure they’d be thrilled with the revelation either.

  “Let’s go up to your room,” Cal said.

  “We can’t,” I told him. “Everyone is still awake.”

  “Hmm.” He wrapped his arms around me and rested his chin in the hair I’d started growing back on my head. “They won’t know what we’re doing.”

  It didn’t take much convincing. A single exhale into my ear and one more poke with the head of his hard dick and we were bounding up the stairs holding hands.

  I was a little breathless as I entered my bedroom—and not from climbing steps. I sort of twirled around, spinning Cal against the wall and almost into the lamp beside my bed.

  “Are you asking me to go steady?” I tilted my head and pressed my crotch into his. I had tinged the question with a hefty dose of irony but hoped for a truthful answer all the same.

  “No. I just want to fuck.”

  “Fuck?” That threw me.

  “What did you say?” The moment ended when Devon burst through the open door, and I backed away from Cal.

  “What did you hear?” I had the same exchange with my brother every time he heard me curse.

  “Fuck.” I got a kick out of hearing him say the words too, and how he’d laugh after. I’d taught him most of them, when I was much younger and way more immature. Even grown, I was still an imperfect role model.

  “That’s what I said, then,” I told him, hoping he hadn’t been there to know in what context.

  “Get lost, Devon.”

  “Hey!” I didn’t like that and made it known. “What’s up, bro?” I asked. Truthfully, I welcomed the distraction. I wasn’t sure I wanted to fuck Cal, or vice versa, which was how I imagined it would go—him on top, me the bottom.

  “You’re leaving,” Devon said sadly.

  “Where am I going?”

  “To the Olympics.”

  I smiled. “Not for a long time.”

  “College, then.”

  “In the fall. Not tonight. Not tomorrow.”

  “Oh. What about Mathias?” Devon asked again.

  “I….” I didn’t know how to answer him still. “He’s, like… going to college the year after, I guess.”

  “But not to the Olympics?”

  “I guess not.”

  That was the end of the conversation. We played video games afterward, on the TV in my room for that purpose only, since a second cable hookup was not in our monthly budget. Following a few hours of that, we went to bed, all in one room, with nary a fuck, unless one counted the muttered expletives that had flown while playing Minecraft and Scott Pilgrim vs. the World. I dreamed that night about Mathias and woke up the next morning with Cal’s hard-on at my bare ass where my undershorts had slid down. Devon’s question was on my mind too. It was a thought I couldn’t quite silence. What about Mathias?

  6

  THE NEXT weekend was senior prom. Cal had asked Caryn to be his date, and they’d talked me into tagging along. I invited Trish from swim team to come, more as buddies than anything romantic. That was fine with her, since she was secretly dating one of the hunky custodians. As I fastened the studs on my shirt, I thought of Mathias some more. When my mother knelt to swipe a dishtowel across my rented dress shoe, I thought of him again, and not only because we’d had to travel up his way to rent the whole ensemble, but also because…. Well, because I thought of him a lot—when I swam, when I shoveled snow, when I raked more stuff off the lawn in early spring, and quite often when I touched myself under the covers at night.

  After pictures in the living room, the four of us went out to the car—my dad’s. We’d all agreed it didn’t make sense to blow a huge wad on a limo, and Cal’s old clunker was once again out of commission. My parents had ponied up part of the cash for our supposed enchanted evening, and I’d made up the rest from the part-time job I still held, even though Coach Keller already had Cal and I training. Dad and Mama pointed out this would now be my only prom, and so they were happy to do it.

  As we stood for one more set of digitals, to my surprise, Caryn touched my cheek. The intimate act wasn’t the real shocker. It was more what she whispered. “You’re all hairy again. Now you have two beards, this one and Trish.” Apparently, Caryn knew. We didn’t make a big deal out of it, because there was no reason it had to be one. It wasn’t my place to tell her Cal might be wearing her as whiskers of his own, so I didn’t. I sure felt guilty about it, though.

  Frankly, prom was boring as hell. Slow-dancing with someone I loved like a friend wasn’t as enjoyable as holding someone I loved in a different way would have been. Since neither Cal nor Trish were king and queen material—their take, not mine—our foursome ditched the big shindig way before midnight, when the court was scheduled to be announced, not the least bit heartbroken about missing the chance to dance to Justin Bieber’s “Never Say Never.” Dude was a flash in the pa
n, we all agreed.

  “By 2016, when Cal and I are swimming in Rio, no one will even remember the little douche kid ever existed,” I said.

  Trish’s boyfriend came by in the noisiest car I had ever heard, and the two of them drove off for a clandestine rendezvous. Cal and Caryn decided to go hang out with some of his classmates for the rest of the night, so that left me to head home alone. Cal took me aside before he parted. “If we can find a place to fuck,” he whispered, “tomorrow, it’s you and me.”

  His teasing drove me mad in oh so many ways. Neither one of us was in a position to spring for a hotel room, like some of the other kids were doing, but I had an idea.

  “Wait.” I grabbed his tuxedo sleeve as he turned.

  “Careful.” He brushed at it, coming back around. “Rented threads.”

  “We could always camp out.” There was a huge wooded spot right down the street from our houses and across the main road.

  “What? Speak up, boy.”

  I’d needed to stop and swallow between words as it was. My mouth was dry as hell, and of course, I couldn’t talk very loud. My knees were nearly knocking as I tried to start again. “I… I will… if you want.”

  He looked at me. The area outside the hotel was well lit. Neither one of us blinked for at least twenty seconds. “Will what?”

  There were too many people around to say it again, so I didn’t say anything.

  “Have a good night, Wats.” He held out his hand for a shake, goofing off in front of his buddies. When I took it, he held mine, though, and found my eyes again with his. “Someday,” he said. “Someday… I hope.” And then Cal let go. He left, with Caryn on his arm, off with Ricky Gold, who allegedly had a camper trailer in his backyard where everyone messed around. I was jealous as hell as I crossed the blacktop for Dad’s Hyundai, and pretty pissed off by the time I got there. Ricky’s car came skidding to a stop beside me as I reached for the handle of mine. His door flew open, on the passenger side, and Caryn squeezed out from behind the front seat. I wondered if she and Cal had insisted I be included in the after-prom sexcapades.