Chapter 5 The World Knows Me Better
The World Knows Me Better
Knox
“Ah, Knox.” My father is sitting at the table in front of the panoramic windows, where I can get a glimpse of the sun rising slowly behind the Aspen Highlands.
Seeing me come in, he opens his copy of USA Today and puts it down between the bowl with the eggs and the pitcher with my protein shake. “Come over here and have a look.”
With one hand I pull the cap off my head, with the other I peel myself out of my down jacket. I bend over and look at the paper. Snow falls out of my hair onto the table. “Firefighters Free Man from Chastity Belt.” I frown. “With an angle grinder? What kind of…”
“Not that!” He points to the other article. “Here, read this!”
With every line I scan, the furrows in my forehead grow deeper.
“Oh,” I say.
My father raises his eyebrows so high they almost reach his hairline.
A considerable achievement. “Oh?” he repeats, flicking the article with a finger.
“That’s all you’ve got to say? That’s a catastrophe, Knox!
Jason Hawk is your biggest rival and pulled off a frontside double-kick 1260° in the first twenty seconds of his ride on the Revolution Tour!
In the first twenty seconds, Knox! Do you know what that means? ”
I let myself fall into the chair across from him and pour my protein shake into my glass.
“Yeah.” The corner of my mouth twitches.
“He pulled it off in less time than I need to peel this egg. I could ask him if we could make a new routine out of it.” I pretend to be playfully casual, as if blowing my nonexistent bangs out of my face, and lean onto the back of the chair next to me with my elbows.
“Hey, Jason. Up for a challenge? You and your snowboard against me and my egg. The winner gets…” I think for a second, then suggestively jiggle my eyebrows twice in a row. “The egg.”
“That’s not funny, Knox.”
No? I think so.
My father’s face is grim, his lips pressed into a thin line. He loosens his tie. “Your show on the pipe is today. You’ve got to top that.”
“Dad.” I laugh softly while peeling off the last bits of shell and putting my egg on a roll. “It’s just a show.”
“It’s got to do with your attitude,” he replies.
His eyes become tiny slits. He hasn’t touched the roll on his plate.
He is staring at me like a wild lion that wants to fill its stomach with a helpless antelope instead.
“Every ride is important. If you see the show as no big deal, you’ll stay behind at the X Games, too. You need to be more ambitious, son!”
“What I need is coffee. And pronto,” I say.
Running into that figure skater on the slope yesterday just won’t leave me alone.
I lay awake in bed half the night, reproaching myself for the way I acted before reproaching myself for thinking about her at all.
By the time I finally fell asleep, I was racked by nightmares.
Images that I have desperately tried to keep down for years.
It was still early when the ever-repeating scream in my head woke me up. Glaring. Bloodcurdling.
Captivating.
My whole body was covered in goose bumps. I felt uneasy. Panicky. The longer I stayed in bed thinking about the images, the worse my breathing got.
So I went for a walk. And, without thinking about it at all, my legs took me to Silver Lake. The only place that allows my thoughts to grow louder while at the same time quieting them down.
My father ignores my reply. He’s long been absorbed in his phone, typing away with a concentrated air.
“I wanted to show you this, too.” He takes a quick gulp of coffee, without looking away from his phone.
Showing me his phone, the brown liquid slips over the side and decorates his roll with a few dark drops.
A quick glance is enough to recognize what he means.
Instagram.
I roll my eyes and reach for the coffeepot.
“Don’t roll your eyes, Knox. This is serious.”
“Oh, wow. I didn’t know that Jason was prone to fucking his underage followers.”
“What?” My father pulls his phone back and stares with abnormal longing at Jason’s profile before looking back at me. “What are you talking about, Knox?”
Cool as a cucumber I take a bite of my roll and lean back. “Now that would be serious, Dad.”
The veins in his temples begin to pulse. My father is an investor and real-estate agent. Almost every ski resort in Aspen belongs to him. Normally, nothing upsets him that quickly. But I can declare with pride that I have a natural talent for doing so.
“Over the last few weeks, he gained over fifteen thousand new followers. Almost twice as many as you. You’re neglecting your online presence.”
“I’m neglecting this coffee.”
“Don’t be an ass, Knox.” Now my father’s the one rolling his eyes.
“You’ve got to hang out there more. Let your followers into your day-to-day more.
You need the press on your side; your name has to be on everybody’s lips.
That’s the only way you’re going to be successful.
” He locks his phone and tosses it onto the table more forcefully than intended.
“I mean, when are you finally going to understand that? If you want to get any further, a few things make the difference. Not just your snowboard. Your last post was two weeks ago.”
Behind my temples a pulsating pressure is starting to build. It’s not the first time this week that my father has been on my ass with this Instagram crap.
Why is it so important? Why should I allow strangers to take part in when I hit the sack and which series I’m currently binge-watching? Should I invite them into the john, too? If it were up to my father, he’d say yes.
“I haven’t had a chance recently,” I answer without looking at him and push the last bite of my roll into my mouth. To be honest, I’ve forgotten my password. I’ve got to set up a new one, but I’m better off keeping that to myself.
In the silence that follows, I can hear myself chewing. Upstairs a vacuum cleaner goes on and begins to go across the floor with a swishing sound.
My father sighs. I look up to see him shaking his head while wiping his hands on a napkin. “I’m going to see about getting you a content manager,” he says, pushing back his chair and standing up.
My heart stops for the blink of an eye before it starts back up in double time. “Hell no!” I stand up and stare at my father, who is looking into the mirror above our sideboard and straightening his tie. “That’s bullshit, Dad. I mean, that’s my private life.”
In the mirror I can see him flaring his nostrils.
He continues to fumble with his tie for a few more seconds, then he gives up, cursing, and turns to face me.
“Then pay a bit more attention to your private life, Knox! Otherwise someone else will have to.” He pauses a moment, then adds, “I’d bet you Jason Hawk has a content manager. ”
“And I’d bet Jason Hawk has chlamydia. What with all the stories you hear.”
My father shrugs. “Who cares?”
“He does, no doubt.”
He doesn’t laugh. He’d probably prefer I had chlamydia if it’d cause my name to show up more often in the press.
He glances earnestly at his wristwatch. “I’ve got an appointment. We’ll see each other later at the race. Tell Lauren that she should make you the millet bowl with the poached egg. That gave you a whole lot of energy last time.”
“Lauren’s not there anymore.” That’s the third time I’ve told him this week. “I’ll eat at the ski hut.”
Dad doesn’t look happy about it, but he nods. His phone beeps. He casts a glance at the display, curses again, and dives toward the front door. “See you later, son. I’m counting on you.”
Yeah, Dad. I know.
The door shuts. Outside I hear the Range Rover’s door slam before the engine starts up. A few seconds later, it’s already gone. Silence falls over me, interrupted only by the sound of the vacuum cleaner.
Meanwhile, the sun has risen. I wish I could be like it. It doesn’t have any thoughts. No worries about the day to come. It simply rises and…appears. New every time. And at the same time ready to infuse every single person with its radiant euphoria.
Like now. It’s shining its way through the panoramic windows and making every effort to bathe the entire living area of our ski resort in light. Its rays illuminate my skin as I make my way to my bedroom. The warmth makes my pores tingle and does its best to get through. But it can’t get all of me.
I feel a coldness inside that’s got nothing to do with winter. A coldness that grows larger every day I give it space to expand. Like an iceberg that uses the increasing frost to freeze the water around it. It turns numb. Motionless and still. The water deprived of the air it needs to breathe.
Like me.
Back in my room, I go to my desk, which gives me an unimpeded view of the snow-covered Rockies.
I love Colorado. And I love my life here in Aspen and snowboarding. I just wish I could set up everything differently. According to how I want things to be.
I run my finger over my MacBook’s mousepad and enter my password. Then I lean back in my chair, take a deep breath, and hold it.
I’ve been doing this for weeks. Just staring at my screen while my thoughts race.
The blue banner with the yellow lettering has officially burned itself into my brain starting from that gray winter day when the first snowflakes began to fall.
I can’t think in a different way. Day in, day out. My lips move but make no sound, just silently form the words I’m reading off the website.
Colorado Mountain College.
At the time I applied, I simply didn’t count on ever being accepted.
My grades in high school were crap. Other than sports, I couldn’t point to any particularly impressive activities.
I would have loved to be able to say that I’d been a conscientious student, volunteering in nursing homes and dedicating time to fundraisers, but that just wasn’t me.
I was Knox.
Knox, the go-getter. Knox, the guy who always knew where the baddest parties were going on.
Knox, the guy who knew where to score the best grass and the guy every girl dreamed of getting a goofy note about prom from in her locker.
I never went to any dances. Instead, I got blasted and enjoyed our hot tub with considerably older women who were spending their winter vacations in Aspen with their husbands. I was seventeen.
Shit, yeah, I was hopeless. School wasn’t for me. I was just happy to have my diploma in my hands, with all its Ds and a couple of Cs. From then on, sports were all that mattered anyway.
That’s why I didn’t have any real hopes of being accepted to study psychology. The application was a joke. A “give it a go, it won’t work out anyway.” Had I known I’d be accepted for the upcoming semester, maybe I would’ve left it alone.
But now I’m sitting here with a secure spot at school in my pocket and no idea what to do.
If it were up to me, I’d change everything.
No full-time snowboarding, no annoying groupies, and, most of all, no pointless Instagram.
No people with cameras out in front of my house at the crack of dawn just to get a few snaps of me in my boxers and with half-open eyes when I unknowingly open the door.
I’d live a totally normal life. I’d study and give my psychology major all my attention. I’d keep on snowboarding, but without any pressure. Just for fun.
I’d be Knox. Not Knox the snowboard star. Just Knox.
But that would also mean disappointing my father. And not only disappointing. I’d break his heart. Take away his dream, the one that’s not mine.
The younger me probably wouldn’t have cared one way or the other. But things have changed. In the meanwhile, life happened. And it has been goddamn shitty.
I can’t let my dad down. Not after all that’s happened. It would destroy him, in full awareness of my actions. And that’s something I just cannot do.
“Fuck!” More strongly than intended, I slam my MacBook’s screen down. I bury my fingers into my hair, my nails scratching my scalp. My chair falls backward when I suddenly stand up, open the bottom drawer of my dresser, and dig through my sweaters until I find what I’m looking for.
I pull out two syringes. One is labeled androstenedione, the other testosterone.
Doping products.
They help me to improve my hoped-for performance. The one my father wants, I mean. They give me the endurance, strength, and, above all, the motivation I’m lacking in my heart.
I’ve been injecting the testosterone every third day for weeks. The androstenedione just on the days I’ve got a competition. For the quick effect. Short-term, but potent.
I know it’s dumb. Snowboarders have to be in the best of health. We’ve got to have our bodies completely under control. Especially when you’re a half-pipe snowboarder. But somehow or other, I convinced myself that I needed this stuff. And I can’t get these dumbass thoughts out of my head anymore.
With a jerk, I pull my shirt over my head, press the remaining air out of the first syringe, and watch a few drops of the transparent liquid drizzle out of the needle. Then I put it on my shoulder, where I know there is nothing but pure muscle below, and shoot. The same thing with the second one.
Only then do I pick my sports bag up off the floor, toss it onto my bed, and begin to pack my things.
Fuck Jason Hawk and his followers. He’s not going to win this ride.