28
My eyes not moving from the road in front of me, I drove fifteen miles to China Cove Beach after the game with my mind nearly blank. I parked in the empty parking lot.
The beach was deserted.
It was a moonless night, and as I took off my shoes and stepped onto the chilly sand, the only light was coming from the lampposts behind me in the lot and off in the distance to my right, Long Beach. The sand went from fully visible under my feet to wet and chilly grains that I could barely see as I continued to approach the water. I could hear the ocean hissing in front of me, but it looked black without the light of the moon.
I stood, facing the water and the crashing waves. In the pitch-black night, I could see the Long Beach lights and wondered what it would take to get away from all light.
I wanted pitch blackness so I could be truly alone, no interruption.
I flopped down onto the beach and took my shoes off, buried my feet in the sand I could feel but not see. I couldn’t tell where the water began but figured it was about thirty feet away from the slightly distant hissing of waves.
What do I do now?
The night chill made me shiver as I tried to make sense of my life. What if my dad died? What if the radiation didn’t work, and he didn’t get better?
And what if football was over? What if Coach never let me play again? Who was I going to be if that was taken away from me? If my arm could just shake uncontrollably on the field, how could I say I was in control enough to be a college star?
I gasped and inhaled chilly sea air at the thought of how much my life had changed in the last couple of days.
As I pinched sand between my toes, I thought back to times my parents took me to the beach when I was a kid. I remembered how my dad would take me into the water. He’d make me stand in front of him and hold my elbows, and when a wave came, he’d wait until the very last second to lift me. Just as I could feel my heart jumping in my chest and the mist of the wave approaching me at eye level, he’d lift me high up, above the wave, and then bring me down gently into the water.
That was always my favorite game.
I dug my feet into the sand and lay back, looking up at the blank sky.
There wasn’t a goddamn thing I could do to make my dad better. Or start the game over. Or change the fact that I was gay. Or anything.
Other than lie there.
Or what?
In the chilly night breeze, I slowly sat up and faced the ocean, totally taken with a crazy idea.
I have to go into the ocean.
To cleanse my mind. I just need to go.
Standing, I took my shoes in my hands and stepped forward into the water. Waves crashed and sizzled, exploding into white foam and licking at my ankles, ice cold penetrating the bones of the soles of my bare feet. Each wave sent a shock and a shiver up into my body as it passed, and again as it receded, forming puddles behind my heels. Goose pimples dotted my forearms.
A cold sweat beaded on my forehead and suddenly I couldn’t swallow or catch my breath. A dull ache had formed in my throat.
Wave after wave crashed into me, soaking the bottom of my jeans and making them feel heavy.
It was colder than anything I’d ever felt.
I took off my football jacket and tossed it carelessly behind me. Underneath I wore a T-shirt, and despite the chill, I took that off as well, flinging it behind me. Now I was just in jeans and I felt my nipples hardening from the cold night air. I thought about how the denim would feel against my skin if I walked into the surf, how it would cling to my thighs and weigh me down when I most wanted to feel free.
This is real. I’m Bobby Framingham and the whole world knows I’m gay. My dad is in the hospital and I’m no longer a starting quarterback. This is who I am. My breathing quickened as the reality hit me.
The freezing air and water brought moisture to my face. Mucus dripped from my nose to my lips. My sinuses burned, and I felt the wetness in my eyes that had been so dry.
And the first tear fell.
My eyes flooded with them and I screamed as loud as I could scream.
I charged blindly into an oncoming wave, breaking it with my bare chest as best I could before it flung me back toward the shore, frigid salt water rolling over my head, mocking me.
I regained my balance, paused for a sliver of a moment as my body adjusted to the shock of the icy waters, and silently, shivering and convulsing, walked past that wave, out into the dark, mysterious ocean.
The chill of the water I still could barely see shocked and enveloped me, and I found myself out of control and thrashing against the approaching waves. But then I gained my footing and stood, the water waist-high, I imagined, though it was hard to tell. My body felt numb from the shocking freeze of the ocean, but the night air felt even colder. The water level rose and fell along my body, leaving my body warmer below and colder above, disorienting me.
I let out a hoot as I caught my breath.
I braced myself before another invisible wave could knock me down. I heard the swell seconds before it crashed into me and took the hit to my side, hearing the smacking sound and feeling my body fight the impact of the forceful current. The water flew off my body in all directions, hitting me in the face like frozen nails.
I screamed. Everything poured out of me as a wave smacked me in the chest and sent me toppling under the salt water and I felt like I had when the defender had tackled me and called me a fag, insulted and pounded together in a way that squeezed at my gut. Frigid liquid lodged into my nose and ears like ice cubes. I went under, trying to locate the bottom of the ocean with my feet. Frosty salt water flooded over my head and my thoughts garbled and all I could hear and feel was water rushing into my ears.
I looked up into total blackness, gasping for air and wiping the water from my eyes. I couldn’t be sure my eyes were open until I touched my face and blinked, darkness and just a blur of lights to my right.
My heart was pounding in my brain; I could hear it louder and louder with each pulse. I looked toward the beach, my eyes at water level, and just before a wave crashed over my head, I saw it. A figure, standing on the beach, looking out at me.
As I emerged from the wave I heard my name. I recognized the voice, and I whimpered.
I let the ocean push me in to the shore, jumping to allow the wave to carry me and paddling along with it. When my chest hit sand, I jumped to my feet and eluded the next crashing wave behind me. When I reached Bryan, I collapsed on the sand, trying to catch my breath. Bryan took off his jacket and enveloped me in it. I couldn’t feel the heat, couldn’t feel anything except my brain, spinning still, and what felt like a layer of ice over my entire body. It stung like a hundred bees. My teeth would not stop chattering.
He hugged me through the jacket, and I allowed myself to go limp in his arms.
“You okay?” I heard him ask.
He dried me off as best as he could, wrapped me in his dry jacket, and while I still couldn’t feel my body, the bee stings were getting lighter and lighter until they were just pinpricks and finally, just cold.
My jeans were sopping wet. In the darkness he took them off of me.
Bryan dried off my legs and in the dark I tried to clear my mind so I could say something that would make this all make sense. After the ocean, every feeling was heightened and shivers zipped up my spine. I looked up and I could see the outline of Bryan’s face and wanted so much for him to understand what was going on in my brain without having to say it.
I couldn’t tell.
Bryan took off his jeans and put them on me.
Once I was zippered up, I watched his silhouette as he stood there in a T-shirt and his briefs. He bent down and pulled me up, and we stood silently, looking out at the nearly invisible ocean.
“They hate me,” I said finally. “I can’t ever go back there.”
Bryan put his arm around me and leaned in to me. “Yes, you can,” he said. “And you’re going to have to get used to some people no
t liking you.”
“I hate this,” I whispered, and the words, the world, seemed to fade in the wind.
Bryan paused and gripped my shoulder tighter. “I know. Me, too.” I looked out into the blackness, where the horizon was supposed to be.
“I feel like things will never be the same again. It feels like the end of the world.”
Bryan faced me then, and stared into my eyes. His eyes were so peaceful, and he leaned in to me and closed his eyes, and then he put his lips on mine and we kissed. His lips were soft, the softest, most angelic thing I’d ever felt.
“It isn’t,” he said, and he took my hand and walked me toward the car.
29
Austin and I were up in my room, chomping through a box of Oreos. “Hey, look,” Austin said, shaking his leg. “Looks like a weeklong vacation for me, too.”
“You prick,” I said, half smiling.
It was Thursday after school, or at least it was after school for Austin. I’d stayed home for my fourth straight day and still had one more to go.
After the homecoming game, both Dr. Blassingame and Coach Castle called my mother to check on me. When they told her about what had happened at the game with my arm, she sort of freaked. She took charge, and decided I was going to take a few days off from school to “slow things down,” as she said. I didn’t like it at first, especially because she was implying I’d sit out a game. But after talking to both Blassingame and Coach, I kind of realized it had been decided for me. I was off for a week and that was that.
A couple of days into it, I realized it wasn’t a bad idea because I began to actually relax for the first time in a while.
“How’s Haskins look?” I asked.
“How many times are you going to ask me that?” Austin answered. “He’s awesome. He’s the best quarterback we’ve ever had. Coach keeps saying that we’re lucky that Bobby kid went crazy.”
“Shut up,” I said, a little pierced by his comment.
Austin punched me in the shoulder. “You’re such a baby. I’m kidding, dude. We need you back for the playoffs, okay?”
“Okay,” I said, a smile creeping over my face.
“Anyway, I’m glad you’re getting your head shrunk,” Austin said. “It was getting pretty big there for a while.”
“Shut up,” I said, but I was wondering if he was right. Maybe I was full of myself. Maybe the whole problem had been that I think too much about things and think my feelings are more important than they are. Maybe if I just chilled out, I’d realize—
“Dude, I was kidding,” Austin said.
I snapped to attention and smiled at him. “I know,” I said, defensive.
“Whatever,” he said.
My mother knocked on the door and pushed it open a bit. “Have you gone through all of those cookies?” she asked.
Austin and I looked at the empty plate. “No,” I said, smiling with chocolate crumbs in my teeth.
She smiled back. “You have a visitor,” she said.
Austin jumped to his feet. I wiped my mouth and started to tell him to stick around, but he beat me to it.
“Big game tomorrow,” he said, and he gave me sort of a half hug and bounded out of my room and down the stairs, waving to my mom as he passed her.
“I’m glad you two are still friends,” my mom said, and I rolled my eyes because my mother should like write Hallmark cards or something.
I walked down the stairs and saw that the visitor was Coach Castle. He was sitting on our couch, drinking a glass of water. He was so big he made the couch look miniature. My mother followed me down the stairs, and when the three of us were standing there in the living room in awkward silence, my mother said, “Why don’t you guys have lunch together today?”
Coach clasped me in an awkward hug. “We’re going out,” he said.
“Sure.” And I followed him out the door.
I suggested Five and Diner, and he drove us there. We didn’t say much in the car, and we were pretty quiet at first at the table. It wasn’t like he was angry at me, more like it was awkward and neither of us knew where to begin.
I wanted my usual hash browns and root-beer float, but I didn’t think Coach needed to see how poorly his quarterback ate. So I went with a big chicken salad instead. He ordered a burger.
“How are you, Bobby?” he asked, after we ordered.
“I’m actually pretty good,” I said.
“You look good. You keeping in shape?”
I looked down at the table. “Not so great,” I said. I saw the tide of anger rise in him, pure Coach Castle, ready to pounce on weakness, but then I saw him quickly change his impulse.
“It’s good that you’re taking care of business,” he said.
“Yeah,” I replied.
“How’s your dad?”
“Okay,” I said. I had talked to him every day and he always sounded pretty much like himself, only exhausted from the treatment. Apparently, the radiation strategy is to kill the cancer, and everything nearby, too. So you get healthy by feeling much worse at first. He was staying an extra two weeks now, which sucked, but he convinced me it was for the best. He said the doctors were very optimistic he would be cancer-free after that.
The conversation sort of went on like that until our food arrived and I wondered why we were there. But after a few bites of burger, he got to the point.
“I need to apologize,” Coach said, looking directly into my eyes. “I should never have allowed you to go out there for the homecoming game.”
I waved him off. “No, no. I wanted to. I—”
“I’m the coach,” he said. “Not you. I’m responsible for looking out for your best interests, and I failed. I’m sorry.”
I thought about that. I didn’t know what to think. Maybe I’d ask Blassingame the next time I saw him.
“You’re coming back Monday?”
“Yup.”
“I need to know whether you want to play,” he said, staring into my eyes.
“Of course . . .”
“No, not of course,” he said, his tone more like that of the coach I knew and loved. “I’m asking you if you really want it, Bobby. Do you have that spark to play like you used to, or do you want to hang it up for the year? Haskins is doing just fine in your place.”
I surprised myself with my vehemence. “No, Coach, that’s my job. I want to play. I’ll do anything.”
He smiled, and I was relieved. It was like seeing an old friend again, after sitting across from a stranger for fifteen minutes or so. “Good. Because Haskins, I’m telling you, Bobby, it ain’t gonna work in the playoffs. He’ll beat a bad team tomorrow. Good teams will shut down the running lanes and we’ll be in some deep shit.”
I’d gotten the reports from Austin and Rahim. They told me practices weren’t quite the same with Haskins back there. I laughed. “Good to feel needed,” I said.
“Well, we do need you. So get your ass to the gym later today, and get your mind on the game. It’s showtime for the Bulldogs.”
It was the first time in a couple weeks that my heart skipped a beat in that inimitable way that only happens around football. I felt alive, and grateful to Coach for believing in me.