“What’s going on?” Ahmed asks while the two of us stare at our phone screens, lying on our hotel beds after the game. I look over at him, watching as he turns on his side, facing me. “Feels like ever since your injury, something hasn’t come back for you. You just tired out now?”
I am tired. For sure, I am so tired. But not in the way he’s asking. My passion is drained. Almost like a burnout except it’s not from too much football, it’s from this sport asking for so much of all the other parts of me. It’s the juggling two lives and the pretending and the dishonesty and all the happiness I’ve had to keep secret and then get taken away from me.
I pull up the folder on Google Drive, like I have been every single day since Vale sent it to me, and look through the pictures of us. Probably going to fall asleep staring at one of him, again, like I have been every single night. Wishing that, in the morning, I’ll wake up with him next to me and we’ll have another day together.
So, “Yeah. I’m just tired.”
“You know you can tell Coach you need to sit out for a game. Franky’s got it. He’s not as good as you, for sure, but he can handle himself. He’s capable enough. He’ll make sure we get to the championship. It feels like that passion you’ve had all season got kicked out of you too, bro.”
“No. I can’t.”
“Why not?”
I stare at the photo of Vale and me lying on the grass; how, in both of our eyes, I can see it, the way we were really in love with each other. If Ahmed saw my eyes right now, he’d be able to see it still, the way that love hasn’t gone away. It just hurts.
“Because if I don’t see this through, then it wasn’t worth it,” I say through a sigh, rolling away from him.
“What wasn’t worth it?”
“Everything.”
IV
We know that our life is projected towards the future. Plans, foresight, hope, anxiety about the future, are real facts of our daily life that no one can deny. Who foresees? Who has a hope? Who is worried? Is it the experiences which belong to the past and which, therefore, have disappeared? Or is it the self that is standing in the past, but looking towards the future?
—Risieri Frondizi
33
I KNOW IT’S NOTthe same, but it’s not impossible, Kat texted me while I was on the pitch, doing sprints up and down the field, drills, anything to keep me busy. I ignored them for a solid hour, drinking enough water to keep me going and back to forgetting about my phone. The chill and the ache in my muscles are doing the best they can to keep me distracted. I’m still angry and sad and lost and weak, but every time one of those words came across my mind, it was one more drop down to the ground and jump back up, as quick as I could, my hands in position to block an imaginary ball, and ten more pull-ups using the goalpost. I won’t stop thinking those things about myself, but maybe I’ll tire myself out enough that words likesleepyandexhaustedandI need a showerwill become louder.
When I finally open their text, back at the housing complex, sitting outside on the back of my truck, hoping my roommates don’t look out their bedroom windows and see me looking like a loser in the parking lot, I click on a link to an Instagram post.It takes me to a picture of an Australian pro footballer taking a knee looking at this guy, his boyfriend, hisfiancé, both of them in the middle of a pitch. The caption mentions him as the first openly gay footballer in the country. Talks about how good of a player he is. How, even with the hate that’s obviously going to be part of his life, so many teams and so much of the organization over there have supported him since he’s come out.
Kat’s right. It’s not the same. As happy as I am for this guy, more than that, I feel jealous. Good is relative. And the amount of worth a player has, based on how good he is, is only relative to the community and culture. Sure, coming out in Australia sounds like it could be terrible. I don’t know much about it, but I’m not going to assume it’s the easiest place to be gay. It kind of gives Texas but with way less Mexicans and a weird accent and more snakes. I just—
What made him finally say enough is enough? What gave him the courage to see it through? How does he continue to play even knowing guys in his own squad might hate that he exists?
It’s not impossible.
No. But it’s scary. And I’ve already lost one person who was really important to me. What happens when I start losing even more people?
I swipe over from Instagram to those pictures of Vale and me, once again getting lost in memories and—
“The fuck are you doing, Pineapple? Aren’t you cold?”
“Huh? Oh.” I look up at Leana watching me hang out on the gate of my truck. “I—I’m fine. Needed some air.”
“I think this is maybe the first time I’ve seen you wear pants since I’ve met you and of course they’re those soccer pants. At least they aren’t those kind that only go to the calf. I hate those. Like, I am personally victimized whenever I have to see someone wearing them.” She gets all the way over to me, giving me aquick up and down before asking, “Mind if I sit with you? I was needing some air too.”
“Uh, sure,” I say at first. And then, “Yes, please sit with me,” when her face is showing some realthat’s not enthusiasticenergy.
I watch as she hops up, ready to help if she needs it. She gets comfortable, a solid few inches of space between us. And, for a couple minutes, it’s quiet. Nothing but the voices coming from somewhere in another apartment or townhome and a late-November cold front and her eyeing the soccer ball in my hands, holding out one of hers until I hand it over.
“Night practice?”
“Something like that. Was training for a while.”
“By yourself?”
