Chapter 13 Girlfriend
Matt sat on the home bench, kitted out for the game, frustrated that he would not be playing. It was time for kickoff. MCU’s eleven starters took their positions on the field. The five extra teammates who hoped to get game time joined him on the bench.
The referee blew his whistle.
Saints’ wingback stopped the ball, passed it to their midfielders, who kicked it back to MCU’s side of the field.
“Guys, check out the spectators,” said Roger, a junior who had long ago earned the right to be called by his given name. He sat on Matt’s left, leaning forward.
Matt peered at the spectators. There were maybe twenty to thirty people spread across two sets of bleachers on the opposite side of the field, seventy yards away. The only thing that caught his attention was Simon Sparrow strutting like a rooster. Wrong species of bird.
Matt shrugged. “What’s to see?”
“Dude!” Roger said. “The hot girl standing on the far right. See the chubby girl holding a posterboard sign? The hot one is beside her. Tight silver and purple top. School colors.”
“She’s in one of my classes,” said Idabel, who was sitting on Matt’s other side. “Ruth. That’s her name. She must be here to watch me play.”
Roger laughed derisively. “In your dreams, dude. She’s here for me. That’s the future ‘Mrs. Eberhardt’ you’re disrespecting.”
Matt hated this chest beating ritual that straight guys aped from their gorilla cousins, marking their territory, warning off rivals.
Admittedly, in the recent past, he would have half-heartedly joined in just to burnish his hetero creds.
Not anymore. Women’s body shapes—wide, horse hips and swaying, pendulous teats—was the stuff of nightmares. He was tired of pretending otherwise.
He ventured a look across the field, if only to see Roger’s fantasy future wife. (Matt had news for her: her future husband had room to spare in his jock strap. Just saying.)
Matt recognized the girl now, recognized her friend as well: Ruth and one of her Naomis. Shit! They were here for him. He’d underestimated Ruth’s determination.
Matt distracted himself by watching the game and its fierce competition between two church-affiliated schools, each claiming to represent true Christianity.
Saints University, in Topeka, Kansas, was affiliated with the Society of Friends, aka Quakers, a twig on the Protestant tree dating to 1650 England.
The fCOC was 200 years younger, with its roots in Ireland.
The last thing either of these sects had gotten right was their support for the abolition of slavery, which was ironic considering that all the players on this field were Caucasian-ish. In other words, slavery bad, segregation good.
Saints overpowered MCU’s midfielders, pressing MCU’s defenders to scramble. Matt saw the defensive hole, anticipated that Saints’ winger would pass to their striker, which he did. Goal!
Saints dominated the first half of the game, holding their one-point lead. This was not supposed to be happening. In the six previous matchups between the schools, MCU had won five.
During halftime the Sparrows congregated around the bench.
Matt surrendered his seat to guys who had been on the field, offered to get them water or Gatorade from the Igloo coolers. He felt his ears reddening with embarrassment as everyone talked about the one topic that fascinated them: his hot girlfriend and the posterboard sign.
The sign linked Ruth to him. It had big letters proclaiming: “LET MUSTANG RUN!”
Coach had been on the sidelines during the first half, running with the ball, yelling at his players.
Now he hovered around the bench. “I need you idiots to quit acting like hormonal thirteen-year-olds and get your heads in the game,” he growled.
“In case you haven’t noticed, we’re losing.
Losing an exhibition game on our home turf. I’d be embarrassed if I were you.”
Coach looked at Matt. “Mustang!” he barked. “Follow me.”
Matt followed Coach to an area on the sidelines, out of earshot of any of his teammates.
“That’s a chickenshit move,” Coach snarled. Off the field, he respected MCU’s injunction against profanity. On the field was a different matter.
“Sir?” Matt was confused.
Coach glared at him. “Using your girlfriend to pressure me to give you game time. Did you think I wouldn’t add two and two and come up with four?”
Matt felt anger boiling inside him, anger at the injustice of it all. He clenched his jaw to bottle it in, breathed through his nostrils. He prided himself on being good with math, yet he was the one who had not added correctly: 1 + 1 + 1 + 1 = 4.
1. He was male and presumed heterosexual.
+
1. He had missed Wednesday’s practice, which had to be because of a girl (see above).
+
1. Ruth was at the game with a poster linking her to him, ergo she was his mystery girlfriend.
+
1. Ruth’s poster. The only person who could “let” Mustang run was Coach.
=
4. Matt was the hidden puppeteer pulling the strings, getting his girlfriend to pressure Coach to give him gametime. Because, hey, everyone knew that girlfriends always did what their boyfriends wanted.
What Matt wanted to do was protest his innocence. He knew that doing so now would only dig the hole deeper. “Sorry, sir. It won’t happen again.”
Coach walked away without another word.
Soon the whistle blew, and the second half began. Within minutes Saints scored again. MCU’s defense was a shambles.
Matt shouted encouragement to the Sparrows. It was all he could do. He worried whether Coach would ever forgive him for Ruth’s poster.
It was Roger who called Matt’s attention to a new development at the bleachers.
Matt looked—and listened. Someone, a woman, stood in front of the bleachers, facing the crowd, leading them in a call and response chant.
Simon Sparrow stood beside the woman, motioning for the crowd to chant louder.
Matt couldn’t discern the words at first, but he recognized the woman leading the chant.
It was Debbie!
Coach stomped over to the bench. “Idabel! Get your butt out there and replace Caleb! And try to block the ball, dammit!”
Matt leaned forward, elbows on his knees, shoulders scrunched, hoping to be invisible, hoping he was not hearing the word “Mustang” being shouted by the crowd. But he was.
It went like this:
Debbie: “Who do we want?”
Crowd: “MUSTANG!”
Debbie: “When do we want him?”
Crowd: “NOW!”
Coach cocked his head towards the bleachers, listening to the chant. His face turned red with anger. “MUSTANG!” he yelled.
“Yes sir?” Matt avoided eye contact.
“You got your mother in on the act too?” Coach asked incredulously.
He did not wait for an answer because, obviously 4 + 1 = 5.
“I’m letting your ass run for now. You’d better score.
But be advised: for this stunt you’re cleaning the locker room for a month.
Fishing pubic hairs out of the drains. Scrubbing the toilets.
Mopping up splashed piss. Washing the towels. Now, get out there and replace Scott.”
Matt ran onto the field, troubled by Coach’s words. Not the locker room cleaning part, although that would be disgusting. What bothered him was Coach’s assumption that Debbie was his mom when in fact his mom was too ashamed of him to drive thirty minutes to watch him play.
Matt did not blame Debbie for her enthusiasm and support. She had stepped up to fill an absent mom’s shoes.
Seeing Matt on the field, Debbie joined the spectators in a loud cheer.
Matt waved to Debbie. He didn’t care whether Coach saw it.
Eight hours later, Matt eased into a booth at Johnnie’s, facing William. It had been a long and exhausting day.
“Hello dahling,” William said. He fluttered his fingers in greeting. “Happy three weekaversary! I looked for a card, but Hallmark was all out.”
Matt managed a wan smile. Had it really been just three weeks since he had tumbled down the rabbit hole into this gay Wonderland?
It had been a whirlwind of days, twenty-one apparently, punctuated by these tea times/meals with the Mad Hatter/Godmother, until Matt had met the Queen of Hearts, Colton Langley.
Matt remembered what Evan had told him, that William still wore Colton’s promise ring, that it dangled from a chain around his neck.
“I got you some food to replace all those calories you burned on the field today,” William said. He pushed a plastic tray towards Matt. Burger. Fries. Soda.
Matt appreciated the gesture but left the food untouched. He leaned forward. “Why didn’t you tell me?” he asked earnestly. His tone was equal parts concern and accusation.
William gestured towards the food. “Eat up. You’ll need your strength. We’ll have company in a few minutes.”
“You didn’t answer my question,” Matt said.
“Patience, dahling!” William said. “I’ll get to that. I just wanted to warn you about our company.”
William lowered his voice. “Lesbians.” He said the word as if it carried its own foul taste.
Matt picked up some fries, stuffed them in his mouth in an exaggerated gesture, swallowed quickly. “Now. Why didn’t you tell me about the ring? About your connection with Colton?”
William sighed heavily. “About this ole thing, dahling?” He reached into the open collar of his shirt and fished out a plain, gold band.
Matt nodded. Yes, that “old thing” that William still clung to three years after Colton had broken his heart.
William tucked the ring back into his shirt, out of sight. “Why does any girl guard her secrets?” he asked. “Shame. Embarrassment. Hoping that if we don’t talk about it, the pain will go away. Same reason you didn’t tell us about your rape until you had to.”
Matt instinctively looked around to see if anyone had overheard about his rape.
He needn’t have bothered. There were at least a dozen empty tables in Johnnie’s lobby.
The only customers besides William and himself were a small family and two old couples.
That was the real mystery: how could a place with the best fries in Oklahoma always look deserted?
“Do you still love him?” Matt asked. “Colton?”
William shrugged. “I don’t think anyone ever truly gets over their first love. Yes, I still love him, dahling. I love the person he was, not the person he is now. But I don’t mope around like Miss Havisham, letting my cooter get all moldy.”
Matt gave up on the idea of getting any sort of apology from William for not having warned him about Colton. Maybe none was owed.
“Final warning,” William said. “The lesbians will land in T-minus five minutes, assuming they’re on time, which they rarely are. Any food still on that tray will be hoovered up in a heartbeat.”
“They can have the food,” Matt said. He had pressing questions to ask.
“What’s the plan here? Why did you have me run for SGA?
” He’d gone into his first SGA meeting with only Evan’s advice to lie low.
That hadn’t worked out so well. He was certain that Colton now knew he was gay. He had a target on his back.
William waved his hand dismissively. “When your coach sent you out on the field today, did he tell you to intercept that pass from Saints’ #11, dribble it past their defenders, and pass it to Johnson for the goal?”
“Of course not,” Matt said. “He expects us to execute in the moment.” As soon as the words escaped his mouth, he saw William’s point. He also realized that William seemed to have first-hand knowledge of the game.
“Wait,” Matt said. “Were you there? Did you watch the game?”
William nodded. “You were impressive, even though we ultimately lost. What people will remember, though, is that you were instrumental in scoring our only goal.”
Matt was confused. There had been fewer than thirty people in the crowd. He knew he hadn’t seen William.
“‘Execute in the moment,’” William said, repeating the phrase Matt had used.
“A bit too much of a sportsball term, but I’ll go with it.
At SGA the other night, you executed in the moment.
You persuaded your peers to buck Colton and instead vote to send a card and flowers to Adam Maxwell.
Absolutely brilliant, dahling! I would have advised against doing that. I would have been wrong.”
Matt was only half listening. His mind was back at the field, replaying faces he had seen, trying to puzzle out where William had been. William was not a person one easily overlooked. He did not allow himself just to be part of any crowd.
Unlike Paul, who upon entering any room, would migrate to a wall and plaster himself against it. Paul, whose sole interest seemed to be chess. Paul, who still deserved to be in the GM.
Matt was on the verge of asking William where exactly he had been during the game when the answer crystallized in his mind. The absurdity of it made him smile.
“I hear that you volunteered to deliver the card and flowers to Adam personally,” William said. “Take Josh with you. He was Adam’s sponsor, you know.”
Matt barely heard William’s words. He could not clear his mind of the image of William bouncing around in that ridiculous chicken suit. “You’re Simon Sparrow,” Matt grinned.
“One of three,” William said. “We rotate around, sometimes changing during halftime just to keep the mystery alive. Not that it’s any real secret, mind you. Most everyone knows but doesn’t let on, sort of how older kids keep the Santa Claus myth going.”
“Why?” Matt asked. It was the obvious question.
“I’m a performer, dahling. Besides, I overhear the most salacious gossip.
” William’s gaze flicked towards the parking lot.
“I just saw a Subaru pull up, which probably means there are lesbians on the premises. Now listen, I contacted their leader to see if they could help with your girlfriend problem.”
“I don’t have a girlfriend,” Matt said. “You know that.”
“Exactly, dahling. That’s the problem. You should have one after tonight.”
Matt saw the doors open. Two female figures entered, looked their way, and beelined towards the booth.
“Hi Screech!” said the taller one.
It was Molly.