Chapter 39 Gunpowder Is Feeding Your Monsters
Gunpowder Is Feeding Your Monsters
Paisley
“You can’t be serious, right?” The glass vials are heavy in my hand. They weigh next to nothing but feel as if they were pushing me down. “Please, Knox, tell me you’re not this dumb. You simply cannot be serious.”
Knox doesn’t move. He’s sitting straight up in bed, the bedspread a huge ball between his legs, staring at me open-mouthed.
I look back into the drawer, dig through his socks and boxers, and can’t believe how many ampules and syringes there are.
“You’re insane. Completely insane.” I hold the little bottles under my nose as if I didn’t know what they were.
“Testosterone. Androstenedione. Are you crazy, Knox? Are you crazy?”
The shrill tone of my voice seems to tear him back out of his state of shock. Knox jumps out of bed and pulls on a pair of jogging pants. Then: heavy steps across the floor, grabs the stuff out of my hand, tosses it back in the drawer. The sound it makes as he closes it echoes through the air.
“That’s got nothing to do with you.”
I laugh. “Oh, really? Really? Am I supposed to say: ‘How lovely, Knox, that you’re taking the illegal route to success! How lovely that you’re experimenting with your health!’”
“I’m successful because I’m talented.”
“And because you’re chemically enhanced.”
Knox snorts. “That’s bullshit, Paisley. As if none of the others would take steroids. Not everybody plays by the rules when they want to win. That’s how life goes.”
“That’s how your life goes,” I correct him.
“Snowboarders don’t engage in doping, Knox.
Did anyone ever tell you otherwise? That any of the others shoot that shit?
” The answer is written on his face. “No. No one. And you know why? Because none of them are that dumb. Snowboarders have got to be in tune with their body and mind; they’ve got to be completely concentrated on what they do.
Bigger muscles might bring you some strength, but this stuff weakens you overall.
One false move on the pipe, just one slip in your body, and your whole career is shot. You’d be shot.”
He’s grinding his teeth. At first I think he’s not going to answer, but then his nostrils flare and his mouth opens. “Dad wants me to be the best.”
Dad wants, Dad wants, Dad wants…
“Yeah, Knox, but what do you want? Do you really intend to do this kind of harm to your body, maybe making it impossible to have kids or causing a heart attack or something else just to please your dad?”
“You have no idea, Paisley. I’ve got to.”
“You’re right, I really don’t have any idea why you’re so goddamn dumb!” With every word I punch him in the chest, but Knox doesn’t move an inch. I am so angry that I’m starting to feel hot. “But I’m pretty damn sure your dad doesn’t want you to dope!”
“He doesn’t care as long as I win.”
“Sure, convince yourself of that. Keep on finding new excuses for why you can’t give up your oh-wow-I’m-a-superstar life although you don’t want to live it at all. But really, Knox, if you don’t start living the life you want to live, then you’re going to go down.”
“Paisley, stop. Please. I need you.”
“You could die, damn it!”
“I could die landing badly, too.”
“Yeah, that’s exactly right, and that will happen one day when you shoot your body full of unnatural stuff!” I take a deep breath and grab his hands. “Knox, please. Please. I’m begging you, please leave this shit alone.”
“My dad…”
“Oh, stop with that crap. Stop with your dad, Knox. You’re not a kid anymore who can’t make his own decisions.
Your mom is dead, and that’s awful, really, it’s terrible.
But you can’t spend the rest of your life trying to distract your dad.
You all have to come to terms with it. Both of you.
And that will never happen as long as your dad keeps on distracting himself by living through you and you by living your dad’s dream just so neither of you has to face your thoughts. ”
Knox just stands there, he looks like he’s got a full-body cramp, then he collapses like a balloon with all the air let out. He slumps down onto the side of the bed and buries his head in his hands.
“Knox,” I say, softly this time, gently. I sit down next to him and place my hand on his back.
He exhales as if he were tired, dead tired, and runs his fingers through his hair before tilting his head and looking up at me.
“You’re right. I know that, Paisley, I realize everything you’re saying.
I feel like shit because of it all, I wish I could just throw it all away and buy my books for college, dig my nose in them, and read until it’s dark and I have to close my eyes in the dim light of the lamp on my nightstand.
I want all that, absolutely, but I can’t, okay?
I simply can’t because I don’t know how.
How should I explain that to my dad? How am I supposed to handle his disappointment when I take away the only thing that’s made him happy since Mom died?
How am I supposed to be happy when my only remaining parent is sad? How?”
“By simply talking with him. He’ll understand, Knox. He’s your father, he loves you, and he’ll understand.”
Knox’s eyes rest on me. His pupils are big, the green around them dull, not like the ones I love.
Then he shakes his head. “It won’t work.
If I give up the steroids, I’ll be done.
I’ll have hormone disruptions, my performance will suffer, my muscles will shrink.
I’ll never be able to prepare for the World Cup. ”
“You can taper off your dose,” I say. “Of course you shouldn’t go cold turkey. Increase your intervals in between, and when you’re at seven days, start taking down the dose step by step. There are estrogen blockers, too. You can make it, if you want to.”
Knox looks at me, his forehead wrinkled.
I shrug. “I know some folks from Minneapolis who used to dope and then weaned themselves off it. It’s not impossible to do it and remain competitive.”
He takes a deep breath. “Paisley, what do you want to hear? ‘Of course. Absolutely, I’ll start right away?’ I can’t promise you that. I’m sorry, really, maybe we can work on it, but I just can’t swing it right now.”
Maybe it’s a start. It definitely is. But I can’t stop myself from getting angry because he’s playing with his health and for something he doesn’t even want. I remove my hand from his back and dig my fingers into my thigh until red half-moons appear.
“Hey.” Knox moves to take my hand, but I stand up in order to find my clothes and put them back on. He turns to face me, leaning an arm on the bedframe. “Paisley, please don’t be like this.”
“It’s fine,” I say, pulling my hoodie over my head. “All good. It’s just that right now…it just really makes me mad, okay?”
He sucks in his lower lip then lets it back out. Then he nods. “Sure. I get that.”
He doesn’t say anything else. Just: “I get that.” Not: “We’ll manage. Just stand by as I deal with this. I want to stop taking this shit.”
The knot in my stomach is growing, running wild and cramping. In reality, I don’t want to go. In reality, I want to keep on standing here and yell at him before kissing him. Shake him before I sit on his lap and enjoy the feeling of his lips moving down my throat.
I don’t want to be angry at him, but I am, and I’d rather leave than keep talking, driving him into a corner, and making him feel closed in and harassed.