Truth, Pride, Victory, Love

by David Connor

  “Swimmers take your marks.”

  I drew in breath from my nose, let it out through my mouth, closed my eyes, and tried to quiet my mind.

  “Get set.”

  Win this, fucker. That was my final thought, and even I didn’t know who I was talking to.

  Bang!

  I was pretty sure Mathias flew ahead of me at the start. He was taller—not as tall as He Who Shall Never Be Named, but taller than me. Coming in even third would be impossible if I spent the entire race thinking about where I was in the pack. I switched over to my inner swimming dialogue instead.

  You’re an electric eel. Zzzzzzt. I made the sound I’d imagined one making from the time I’d been back in elementary school. It was one of those things I had never researched, even in college. I doubted an eel sounded like a frayed extension cord plugged into a bad outlet, but at this point in my life, I had no interest at all in letting facts get in the way of what was working. Fuck that. My childlike notions had gotten me pretty far. There was no need to debunk them now.

  I was breathing hard by the final lap. Eels, truth and pride, victory—love. Those were the thoughts in the four corners of my mind as I reached the far wall and flipped to come back one last time. I might have heard Coach Keller screeching at me. I also thought I might have caught Devon’s voice. “Go, Reed!” I had no idea where they were in the crowd that day, and even though Dev was pretty loud, I decided it wasn’t real, but rather an additional part of my mantra now. The rush of the water sounded like the cheering of thousands of people anyway. It always had, as I’d discovered early on. It was solitude when I needed it to be and raucous encouragement when that worked better. I used that along with my eel imagery to give me a final boost when needed.

  Did I need one now? Did I want it? Someone was beside me. It was often difficult to discern if the next body over really was that close or if he was two lanes away or on the other side. Speeding along underwater, using every reserve of energy one possessed, it was sometimes like being in a foggy house of mirrors. Stroking, twisting, gasping, spitting, with all of that going on in conjunction with the mental stuff, the five senses one normally relied on couldn’t always be trusted.

  I saw the wall, though. That much I could recognize for certain. Almost involuntarily, I reached for it, as if my body was in charge and not my brain. I might not have been able to lose, even had I decided resolutely that was the plan.

  My head shot up. I squinted to zero in on the leaderboard. That too was just automatic now. A second or two passed, then another, and some more. There was obviously some sort of discussion. Perhaps someone had flipped before reaching the end wall and would now be disqualified. An announcement came that the judges were reviewing the tape. Buoying up and down in the water, I turned to Mathias. He yanked off his cap. His eyes were wide, his nostrils flaring. I wanted to ask him if he’d come in second. I was pretty sure I had won—unless I was the one who’d fucked up—the guy who’d missed a slap against the concrete or wandered out of my lane. My body, so accustomed to operating on its own toward its wants, it might have yearned for less space between me and Mathias, and therefore made it happen.

  I waited for an explanation, a ruling—the results—the same as everyone else.

  21

  MOST OF us were still in the water when the names finally lit up overhead. Mine was on top. “Yes!” And Mathias’s was second. He’d made it. He’d made the Rio team.

  “Fuck!”

  My head jerked to the left. The exclamation had come from him.

  “What?” I tried to get him to look me in the eye, but he glared right past me, his gaze fixed upon the display screen.

  I gasped. How had I missed the big red X beside his name, so obvious when I turned that way again? Mathias had been disqualified. He wasn’t going to the Olympics after all. If I went—when I went—it would be without him.

  I WAS close enough to reach for Mathias on our way to the locker room, to maybe sooth him with my touch, but then Mick Albert grabbed my arm. “Time for your close-up.”

  “I have to piss.” Untruths were right at the ready now.

  “Hurry up. Your brother’s waiting.”

  I let Mick guide me back. I told him I could hold it. Knowing Devon would be nervous, figuring I might have made him more so, though I wanted to comfort Mathias, I also wanted to be with my brother. I was lying to myself by then. In reality, I wanted to keep a close ear on any chatter. That was part of it, at least. Either way, I glanced back in time to catch Eric Spidderman about to take my place, his big, strong arms ready to offer his solace as he’d no doubt hit on Mathias some more.

  Mick took me to a quiet room just off to one side of the pool. I looked for Devon and my dad first off. To my surprise, only my brother was there. I knew my father struggled daily with how much to let Devon do on his own versus how much handholding he would always need.

  “Part of me wants him to move into that basement of ours and never leave to go outside,” Dad had recently said as we’d watched Anderson Cooper report from Dallas about another mass shooting with so many innocent victims. “Part of me wants him so busy with a life of his own I only get belated birthday calls for four or five years in a row instead of one on the day. I want him safe. And old. I want him to be the one who comes up with a way to bring all the good guys, black and white, back together. I pray he stays out of trouble, not because I’d be ashamed of him for getting into it, but because even young black men who know how to use their words perfectly aren’t given the chance. Too many angry people are going about fixing our scary world all wrong. I’d love to keep him under my wing. But I can’t. Not forever.”

  Dev looked rather uncomfortable, not at all the self-assured, gregarious guy he mostly was at home. He barely even mingled with the other Special Olympics athletes, not even one or two at a time, like I’d seen him do at his meets. Though it was true he got distressed when surrounded, I had rarely ever seen him alone, like he was now, not counting Cal. I blamed myself.

  “Reed! Way to go!” Cal shook my hand.

  “You doing all right, Dev?” I asked.

  “Yes.”

  “Okay.” The commercial director clapped once, and it silenced the room. “Reed is here. Our star.” I’d never seen this guy before, not even at the big meeting that morning. I didn’t think so, anyway. All of that was rather a blur by now, and the only clue I had that he was, in fact, the director was the embroidery across his hat that said so. “We’re a go. The pool is officially ours. Let’s make this fast so we’re out there when the team roster is announced. It’s going to be noisy, but the mics will be just out of visual, and—”

  “Out of what?” I asked, nudging Devon, getting him to look at me.

  “Out of the shot,” the director said. Lettering on his jacket similar to that on his cap informed me his name was likely Oliver. “They’ll be really close to your head but below where the camera will see them. They’re plenty sensitive, though, and will have no problem picking up your dialogue. You’ll be speaking loudly, like you’re all excited anyway. Truth and pride! Truth and pride!” Oliver offered an impression of how we should act and sound, all jubilated and cheerfully vociferous. “Like that, which will help with audio. But you don’t have to shout.” He did, at the top of his lungs, to show us the difference and possibly make us giggle to break the ice.

  I nudged Devon again, a fake grin plastered on my face. “Funny.” He didn’t crack a smile.

  “Reed, you’re going first.” Oliver said that more quietly. “We changed that around. Actually, we’re going to try it both ways, Reed first once and then you first once. Is that okay, Devon?”

  Devon nodded quietly.

  “You sure?” I asked him.

  “Yes.”

  “What did you decide to say, Reed?”

  “The, um, thing that guy said.” I pointed to the bank rep. “The truth is swimming is my life, and pride is representing the US at the Olympics in Rio.”

  “Nice. Excel
lent. Devon?”

  “It’s a surprise.” He barely looked up.

  “Cool. I’m down with that.”

  Oliver looked slightly long in the tooth to use that phrase. Then again, I probably looked too young to think “long in the tooth.”

  “How about you whisper it to me,” Oliver coaxed. “See, I have to know how long to keep the camera right on you, before I cut away. I have to plan everything out. The last word in what you say is the cue for the next guy to talk, see?”

  “What next guy? You said I was second now.” Devon spun around to look at me and then slapped his hand over his mouth.

  “It’s cool.” I tried to calm him.

  “Well, not someone here, but the artist who will say the name of the bank and stuff. It’s called a voice-over.”

  “Oh.”

  I knew Dev was picturing a painter with a pallet and an easel, not an actor—a voice-over artist.

  “If you share your line just with me,” Oliver said, “it will still be a surprise to Reed.”

  “Okay.” Devon got close to his ear. “The truth is I want to be just like my brother. Pride is hanging my medals next to his.” I heard every word. Devon whispered almost as loudly as he cheered. He wanted to be just like me—someone who hid his true identity and was basically lying to everyone in the room, everyone in his life, and encouraging his little brother to be just as duplicitous. Dev wanted to be like a man who’d let love walk away because of stubbornness. What a great fucking role model he’d picked.

  “Good.” Oliver patted Devon’s shoulder. “I like that. I like that a lot.” He looked to the bank guy, who nodded. A show of approval Devon’s line was acceptable, I presumed.

  I could almost justify the deception. I was doing that for my family. On the other hand, as long as I had to keep up the lie, another four years, apparently, being with Mathias wouldn’t be possible, not publicly at any rate. Maybe Eric Spidderman was a better match for him, anyway. He looked like he came from money. If not, judging by his wardrobe and electronics, he had it now.

  When the director called for a group huddle, we circled around him, twenty of us in all, half in swimsuits and half fully dressed. Everyone put one hand in the center, and Devon’s entire face finally read glee. I’d seen him and his teammates do the same thing at the pool. It was something familiar.

  Do this for him, I thought.

  We all raised our hands into the air and cheered.

  “To Reed and Devon!” the director called. The remaining crowd clapped and hooted for us. Sharing the moment—the spotlight—with my brother was truly special. I couldn’t imagine anything ever topping it.

  “Let’s rock,” I said, close to something almost like excitement myself.

  We headed for the pool. Once we were back in the water, the director arranged us so Devon and I were toward the front, surrounded by other swimmers. A couple were buddies of mine from various meets around the country. None of them were likely Olympians. Anyone expecting that privilege was surely looking for endorsements of their own, like Mathias had claimed, until I’d found out otherwise.

  “Congratulations, Reed!” Casey Slocum hugged me around the shoulders, his smooth, wet chest against my bare back. He was a great guy, and I suddenly wondered why me and not him. Casey was one of those athletes who kept plugging away, despite a lack of accolades or big-time success. I saw him at every event, and he was always friendly and prepared. Still, he came up short, time after time. There had to be a fifth, sixth—last place finisher in every race. What kept those guys coming back? What was their motivation? What was mine? Did one victory spur the desire for more, or would I have summoned the determination to get in the water each and every day even if I constantly missed the podium?

  “Stay up front,” I said to Casey. “I want to see you on TV.”

  “Okay. Let’s run this one time without video, a quick rehearsal,” Oliver hollered above the surrounding buzz. “I’ll count three… two… one.” He held up one finger and only mouthed the “one,” rather than saying it. “And then I’ll point. That’s when you talk. You’ll be up on the Jumbotron, the wide shot of all of you, and then the close-ups, but don’t look back at the screen.” Some people did it then. “Focus on me at all times, except when you speak, Devon and Reed. Your voice won’t come out through the sound system, because that would screw up the audio recording, but your image will be up there eleven thousand square feet big. Reed will go first now,” Oliver reiterated. “Then Devon, but his is a surprise, so… just for practice, three… two….” He pointed. “Go, Reed.”

  Mathias walked in through the back entrance then, right at the moment I was about to speak. I noticed him right way. Despite the chaos and activity all around, despite the fact I’d been focusing on Oliver as instructed I noticed Mathias. I figured I always would. Whenever the two of us were in the same place, I’d be immediately drawn to him.

  “Reed?”

  “Oh. Sorry. Um, the truth is swimming is my life, and pride is representing my country at the Games.”

  “Okay. But make sure you say ‘the United States’ and definitely say ‘Olympics,’ right? Because that is what it’s all about. ‘There’s the Olympics, and then there is everything else.’”

  “Oh.” There was that phrase again. “The truth is swimming is my life, and pride is representing the US at the Olympics.”

  “Yes! Perfect. ‘US…’ I like that even better. I need a little more excitement from everyone, okay? Your name just came up, Reed.” He raised his hands in celebration, and I spun around to look. “Oh. Sorry. Not yet. That’s the feeling I want. It’ll be there. Any minute now. And when we see it, we celebrate!” Oliver threw his hands up like one of those wildly flailing windblown characters at a car lot. “Yay! Look alive, everyone.”

  We obeyed the direction, mimicking his actions—some far more bouncy, alive, and celebratory than others—until the din all around us suddenly quieted.

  “The announcement is coming.” Oliver was super excited now, as if he thought he might make the team. “I’ll give you a moment to bask.” Suddenly, he was speaking only to me. “Then come back, okay? All of you.” He included the rest. “Remember… after we celebrate… we’ve got business to do.” He was good at what he did, and his smile said he enjoyed it. “Once Reed’s name is called, try really hard to focus back on the camera for just another minute or two, long enough for fifty words or less.”

  “Congratulations, Reed.” Casey offered another hug.

  “Not yet.” I answered with a smile.

  When the head of US Swimming cleared his throat, we all turned from our director and toward him. “Thank you to everyone for waiting. To our competitors, who work and train so hard, we thank you too, and congratulate you on your achievements. And now, I will read the names of your 2016 US Olympic swim team. In alphabetical order….”

  Shit! Not much had changed since fourth grade. My name would come last—or second to last—although that was mostly just a fantasy at this point. Still, Mathias waited too, in the rear of the venue, just in case, I supposed, as the first several athletes’ names were read. There was no way to tune out the one no one said around me when the announcer got down to the letter P. My name came right after, before the list of alternates. I felt at least ten hands on me, congratulatory pats, as I tried to focus in on the rest of the roster. When all was said and done, Mathias’s name was not announced. He wouldn’t be swimming in Rio. My heart sank, and I fought not to let myself go under too.

  Our eyes locked on one another. He smiled, but it was weak, the same kind he had offered back in my apartment when he’d told me he couldn’t feel love.

  “Way to go, Reed! You ready?”

  I couldn’t force my gaze back upon Oliver. I couldn’t find reality, but just the fantasy of Mathias and me, the two of us together as a couple in Brazil. That was shattered now.

  “Reed.” Devon nudged me, so I finally looked away from the back of the room. My brother didn’t. “What about
Mathias?”

  “What about him?”

  “Did they say his name?”

  “No.”

  “How come?”

  “He… um….”

  “He can’t go?”

  “No.”

  “Okay, guys.” The director actually waved a hand in front of us. “Your friends and family are going to jump in there with you if we don’t get this recorded. You ready?”

  Devon was still looking at me. “Yeah. Okay,” I said.

  “Happy! We’re celebrating….”

  Could I act? We were about to find out.

  “Big smiles. Excitement. Remember… ‘The truth is… and pride….’ Roll tape. Reed.” Oliver waved at me again. “I’m losing you, buddy. If you get too nervous, pretend you’re talking to someone you love. Your girlfriend, maybe.”

  Devon finally turned his stare away from Mathias and fixed it on me.

  “Never mind that,” I whispered to him.

  “Three, two…. Aaaand action!” Oliver pointed.

  “The truth is swimming is everything to me, and pride is representing the US at the Olympics in Rio.”

  The director pointed to Devon.

  “The truth is…. The truth is….” Devon looked back and forth from me to Mathias. “The truth is you’re still in love with Mathias!” He slapped his hand up to his mouth again and looked almost on the verge of tears.

  “And pride sometimes kicks you in the nuts?” I finished my father’s thought, there in front of everyone. “You know what the real truth is? Swimming isn’t everything to me. I need people… my friends and family… Mama, Dad, you, Beth, Julius, Shemar, Desiree, Cal, Caryn… I… I need Mathias….”

  It had never really seemed over before, even the hundred times I’d declared that it was, because we both had swimming. The thought of never seeing him again, not at training camp, not in Rio, or at any competition in the future, it made it all so clear. What if I finally went one way in life and he went another? “I love him.”