Authors: John Goode
He paused like he thought I was going to say something, but I was too stunned to even breathe.
“I don’t know if you’ll ever be a father, but if you are, try to remember this. It’s your job to make sure that kid gets across the finish line. Whatever race they decide to run in, you have to support it, and then not let them back out of it, because that’s what kids do. They start something and then whine when it gets too hard and never see it through. As a father, I made sure you saw things through, so that when you were there and had to make a choice, you could make an informed one. You made it here. You have A&M offering to pay you for four years of college. That is because of you and your talent. If you don’t want to take it, that’s your choice, but it’s a choice that you made because you got here. You didn’t stop in junior high because you hated running or freshman year because you didn’t like playing under a Texas summer, and that’s because I made you play. But you’re here now. You’re a man. If that’s your choice, I’ll honor it.”
There were tears going down my face because this was the closest my father had ever come to giving me a compliment.
“I know I was rough, and I know the shit between your mom and I affected you. But seriously, Brad, you are as good as I knew you could be, and that’s why I pushed you. So you could sit here and tell one of the biggest colleges in the south to go fuck themselves.”
I rushed over and hugged him like I had never hugged him before.
“Thank you, Dad,” I said as he hugged me back. “Thank you for everything.”
He chuckled. “Well, not everything, but most of it.”
I sat there crying. I couldn’t have agreed more.
M
Y
FATHER
did the talking as he told Mr. Peterson that he could go jump off a cliff.
“That is regrettable,” he said, not sounding the least bit upset.
That was when my inner Kyle jumped out. “No, what is regrettable is the way you treat athletes who generate millions of dollars for your school, sir.” All three men looked at me like I had grown a third eye. “Bad enough that you license their likeness and names without giving them a cent, but to make them live a life that is a lie is the worst.” I looked at the alumni guy. “If the people who donate money here have a problem with gay athletes, then they should get used to losing a lot because in the future, more of them are not going to take it anymore. My sexuality has nothing to do with how I play baseball, and anyone who thinks so is welcome to try to prove it at a batting cage any day of the week.” I looked at Coach Perkins. “I’m sorry I won’t be playing for you this or any year you’re coach here.” I pulled his baseball card out of my pocket and put it on the table. “I don’t need this anymore. My heroes don’t stand by and let shit like this happen.”
I looked over to my dad and nodded. “I’m good.”
He smiled and put his arm around me. “Good luck with your season,” he said cheerfully and walked me out.
As we made our way to the car, he asked, “You sure?”
I gave him a smile as I opened my door. “Never more sure of anything.”
As we buckled up, he reminded me, “You do know you still have to figure out what you’re going to do.”
He started the car. I nodded but didn’t say a word. I knew exactly what I was going to do.
I was going to get Kyle back, no matter what.
W
E
TOOK
a detour to Arlington instead of going home because the Rangers were playing the Mariners, and my dad said he wasn’t ready to head home yet, and I never needed a reason to see the Rangers play in person. I felt like a kid again as we walked into the stadium, and I begged my dad for something to eat. He shocked the hell out of me by coming back with a basket of hot dogs and nachos and two beers. I was about to tell him he forgot my drink when he handed me one of them. I took it and looked around guiltily.
“I can’t drink this,” I said, whispering for no reason whatsoever. “I’m not legal.”
He gave me a smile. “I know how old you are, and we’re in the middle of a baseball game. Just drink the damn thing and try not to pretend that it’s your first one.”
I couldn’t help looking around before taking a long drink. On a hot day like this, it was the best beer I had ever had.
“I remember my old man took me to see the Oilers play back in the day, and he bought me a beer.” He was looking at the field, but I knew he was looking backward in time. “I remember thinking that if I started drinking, I’d end up like him. Turns out I didn’t even need that. I turned out to be an asshole all by myself.”
It was weird seeing my dad as another person, with thoughts and wants and all that. I mean, you know that your parents were once kids like you and all, but you get so used to seeing them as these things… these parental units that you forget they’re human.
I put my hand on his, and he looked over at me in confusion. We were never the touchiest of families, so he was a little bewildered by the action. “You may have been rough, but I just turned down a scholarship to A&M, and it’s because of you.” He gave me a look, and I laughed. “That didn’t come out right. I mean, I wouldn’t have gotten this far without you pushing me. I’m not going to pretend you were always my favorite person, but you were a decent father.”
I could see my words had touched him, and I let them linger there for a moment. “This whole hand-touching thing is weirding you out, isn’t it?”
“Little bit,” he agreed.
I laughed and went back to drinking my beer.
It was a great day.
We also won 11-3, just saying.
W
HEN
WE
got back late Sunday night, I realized there was no way to talk to Kyle until tomorrow at school.
I thought about calling Jennifer for a moment and then changed my mind. Calling this late was risking the wraith of the dad, and that was nothing I wanted to risk. So I forced myself to lie in bed until I finally passed out. The next day, everything changed. I just knew it would.
T
HE
DAY
started the same as every other day: too early for my taste.
I took a shower and got dressed, my brain thinking only of Kyle and getting him back. I wasn’t even hungry as I ran out the door. I texted Jennifer and asked her if she needed a ride. She wasted no time saying “
hell yes
.
” She was waiting outside when I got to her house. She handed me a Pop-Tart as she got in the car. “Someone is up early.”
I almost finished the pastry in one bite. “I have a mission,” I said as she buckled her belt.
“How was A&M?” she asked, remembering why I was gone all weekend.
I waved my hand at her. “They offered me a full ride, and I turned it down, but that isn’t important.”
She almost choked on her food. “What? Since when?”
“Doesn’t matter.” I began driving to school. “I need to get Kyle back,” I said with conviction.
She didn’t say anything for a couple of blocks. Finally she piped up. “Wait, so they gave you a scholarship, and you turned it down? Why?”
“Because they didn’t want the gay me, just the me that played baseball.” It was weird that I had no malice about it as I explained it to her. It was a choice. I’d made it, and I was at peace with it. I really didn’t think that would happen. “They wanted me to sign all this crap that said I wouldn’t date a guy or tell anyone I was gay, and I said no. I’m not that guy anymore, and I don’t want to be him again.”
She didn’t say a word all the way to school. In fact, when we pulled in to the parking lot, I saw she had just been staring at me. “What?” I asked, thinking I had food on my face or something.
“Did you give up A&M for Kyle?” she asked me, her voice half-concerned and half-sad.
“No,” my mouth said without thinking.
No? I didn’t? Then who did I turn it down for?
“No, I didn’t do it for him,” my mouth kept talking without my help. “I did it for me. I did it because I wasn’t willing to pretend to be the perfect little jock they wanted. I am who I am, and if they don’t want that, then they don’t get the rest.”
I honestly think I just impressed myself.
“We need to talk about Kyle before you talk to him,” she said as we got out of the car. “This isn’t a normal ‘Brad rushes in and says a bunch of stuff and wins the day’ kind of situation. Kyle is in a bad place, and I think you just professing your love might make it worse.”
“What’s wrong with him?” I asked, pausing before closing my door. “You never got a chance to tell me Friday.”
The first bell rang, and I realized she wasn’t going to have time now either.
“In class,” she promised me as she turned to the building. “Don’t do anything until then,” she warned me.
I gave her a salute, which made her laugh.
I
ALMOST
lost it before I got to Mr. Powers’ class. When she walked in, I almost jumped her.
“So what’s wrong with Kyle?” I asked her before she even sat down.
She put her purse and books down. “Calm down—you’re going to have an aneurism.”
“I’m going to have worse if you don’t tell me what’s wrong with him.”
She pulled her stuff out, and I could tell she was composing herself as Mr. Powers took roll and began to go over the homework. “The first meeting didn’t go too well,” she whispered cryptically.
“Bad how?” I asked, more worried than ever.
“Well… see, Sammy had this idea…,” she began to say.
Which was the exact moment gunshots echoed out across the school.
We hit the floor instantly, more than a few people screaming in terror.
“What the—?” I began to ask out loud.
“Shhhh,” Mr. Powers said, kneeling on the ground. He was moving toward the door to lock it. “No one say a word.”
I looked over at Jennifer, and I could see she was worried but not panicked. It was easy to forget sometimes she was a sheriff’s daughter. She pulled her cell out of her purse and began texting someone. It was a great idea, and I pulled mine out as well… but had no idea who to text.
She sent one text and began texting someone else. She looked up at me and mouthed the name “Tyler.”
I pulled his name out and began to type as another gunshot came from outside. It didn’t sound close, but it echoed across the quad like crazy. More screams, and I winced. Jennifer didn’t even stop typing. I sent my message.
Shooting @school
Before I could send, alarms began to whine, and a recorded voice over the PA announced we were in lockdown and no one was to leave their rooms.
I finished the text.
In lockdown. Am worried.
I sent it and wished for the millionth time Kyle hadn’t given his phone back to me.
And then it hit me. Kyle was out there alone.
K
YLE
D
O
YOU
know what Fate does to really screw your life up?
I mean, when you’ve pissed him/her/it off royally, and it wants to teach you a lesson you’ll never forget? You’d think it would be something obvious like killing someone you care about or destroying something you value, but you’d be wrong. Those are minor-league curses that befall nearly everyone during their lives. I assure you that Fate doesn’t even get out of bed for those kind of afflictions; it has a whole staff to handle the small stuff. No, when Fate has had enough of you and your life, it does the last thing you’d think would be horrible.
It grants your every wish.
I used to wish that people would know who I was, that I would fall in love with a great guy, and that I would eventually get a college scholarship to get out of this fucking town. And here I was able to say that every single one of those things had happened, and my life was worse than ever. People knew who I was, sure, but I guess I forgot to wish that they would like me as well. Outside of Jennifer and Sammy, I had no friends, and since Brad and I broke up, even that had been strained. I met the perfect guy, and against all odds he said he loved me also, but again, I forgot that I wanted to fall in love with a guy I could share my life with instead of what was left of this school year and then nothing. And, yes, I did get a full ride to UC Berkeley at the cost of the previously mentioned perfect guy, making what should have been my golden ticket feel more like a lottery ticket that was one number off from winning the jackpot.
And now I had a gun pointed at my head. That, by the way, I had not wished for.
Your mind does strange things when you realize your life expectancy could be represented with single digits. You’d expect to think things like what you regretted not doing, or maybe you’d watch your whole life flashing before your eyes or whatever. But nope, none of that happened. All that went through my mind as I stared down the barrel of what looked to me like an awfully large caliber gun was the lyrics to “West End Girls” by the Pet Shop Boys.
That song was on one of the many ’80s CDs I had confiscated from my mom’s collection before they got lost or destroyed by her lifestyle. Most of the music was a combination of catchy tunes mixed with cryptic lyrics that had to have been written under the influence of at least one controlled substance. But “West End Girls” was different for me, and I never knew why. There was something dark about it that betrayed the synth-pop sound it was trying to pull off. Like “Pumped Up Kicks” from Foster the People, the music hid a darker undertone that unless you were paying attention you wouldn’t catch.
The lyric that kept doing laps in my brain while I looked at the gun in front of me was this:
“Sometimes you’re better off dead. There’s a gun in your hand, and it’s pointing at your head.”
I mean, it’s about a guy who’s going to kill himself, yet he seems just as confused as the listener is. Thinking these were going to be my last thoughts, I wondered if he was as confused as I was about what he’d started.
It would be easy to say this all came about because of Brad’s and my breakup, but that wouldn’t be fair. If I was being honest—and I mean, if you can’t be completely truthful with a gun to your head, when can you be?—everything that was happening was all my fault. I had laid the seeds for this minute to happen from start to finish. I could look at the events that led to here and, like a greedy little pig, claim them all for myself. I’m sorry if this is making little sense to you. I was a bit stressed at the time. Please forgive my rambling.