Chapter 2 #4
I walked down the stands and passed a group of students who called out hello—they were from last year, but which class?
I waved and kept going, circling to the restrooms. I didn’t actually have to go.
I stood around and rinsed my hands. I pulled out my phone—had the crack on the casing gotten bigger?
I hadn’t gotten a new phone in … I couldn’t recall.
Five years? It was a message from Stephen.
I started to check it then put it away—I’ll text him later.
I passed a concession stand and stopped for a soda.
I sipped at it, sharp and sweet, then tossed most of it in a trash bin.
And then I realized—I was stalling. I wanted to be on my own. Rather than turning left and heading up the stands, I went right, walking the lower ring, above and along the perimeter of the field. I stationed myself at a low wall, before the curve to the other side began.
From here, I had a clear view. The other team had the ball and our players moved in from either side.
It was a kind of ballet, beautiful and almost brutal: bodies in total command of themselves and yet completely, wordlessly in sync.
Team sports had never been my thing. Or any sport, until I found track in junior high.
Even then, I didn’t participate in the relays.
I preferred the solitary experience of cross-country; I wanted to feel fleeting, unattached.
Suddenly, I spotted Tyler within a cluster of players, closing together then parting.
He was easy to follow, the lines of him distinct in the tangle of bodies.
He jumped, round calves flashing. He was drenched—the humidity had only increased—his hair swinging in threads as he ran.
I lost him for a moment and then a whistle blew and he broke away, sprinting in my direction.
For an absurd moment I thought he was running to me.
But he stopped short at the edge of my sightline, below to the right.
Someone passed him a water. He drank from it, deep, fast gulps.
He handed it back and then, in one quick motion, pulled his dripping jersey up over his head and let it fall to the ground.
He was heaving, out of breath, bent at his knees, small swells of his chest rising and falling.
He stood and stretched—the bright lines of his ribs.
He lifted his thin arms into the air and sniffed at himself, nose dipped close.
He grabbed back the water and splashed it across his face, letting it run down the front of him.
Just then, he turned and raised his head.
I jerked and looked away, mortified—had I been caught?
I waited a moment and glanced back up. Tyler wasn’t watching me—he faced the nearby stands.
He’d seen some friends, someone he recognized, and shouted something, laughing.
I tried to see who it was and then a buzzer sounded and the commentator announced halftime.
The crowd rose, blocking my view, and jostled me out of the way.
The second half dragged on forever. I gave up trying to keep track of anything. A whistle sounded; the crowd cheered. Sawyer had won, two to nothing.
“The next matches are away, but they play here in a few weeks,” Colin said. “We should all go again.” Priya said she was game, and Safie, too.
I shrugged. “I had fun, but I think this was enough for me.”
“I guess we should have expected that,” Safie said. “But we’re glad you gave it a shot.”
Priya had walked from another part of campus and needed to get back to her car.
When Safie offered that she and I could drop Priya on our way, Colin cut in, saying Safie lived in his direction, he’d take care of both of them.
I felt relieved, and then guilty, but didn’t protest. I was ready for this day to be over.
At home, the night drew itself around me in slow, tedious loops.
I tossed in bed, flipping onto my back and over again.
I ripped back the stifling sheets, itchy on my skin.
I couldn’t shake the image of Tyler from my mind.
The labor of the game visible across him: his breath in quick gasps, skin slicked with sweat.
I retraced the lines of his body, the tendons and angles, the stretch of him.
I felt a surprising kind of grief—I can think of no other word for it—that the stolen glimpses of his body, taut with its wires, were all I would ever get.
In my recollection, everyone else disappeared.
There was only Tyler, solitary in the field, burning pale and hot.
Why had this hold come over me? There was something in the unself-consciousness of the gesture as he stripped, the lack of either pretense or shame.
And smelling himself, that animal impulse.
I lifted my own arm and inhaled. A faint musk.
I wondered if we smelled anything alike and, at the thought, I got hard.
I hesitated, then pushed my nose into my armpit, deeper this time, searching out the scent beneath my deodorant, imagining it was Tyler’s, his skin damp across my face.
I reached down and took hold of myself. My cock was thrumming, already wet.
I pulled at it, rubbing my thumb along the head and down.
I moved slowly at first, tentative, and then quickly, with an urgency I couldn’t pull back.
My body tensed and I came, spilling across my stomach.
I lay awake in the dark, heart pounding, breath in shallow gulps, the sour taste of myself lingering on my tongue.