Rumble (15 page)

for him to make that choice.

But does he even know

about Lorelei? If she lived

in Cottage Grove, of course

he would. It’s a very small town.

Everyone is privy to the other’s

business. But Lorelei stayed

in Eugene. The city isn’t huge,

but it’s big enough that neighbors

don’t know their neighbors unless

they make it a point to say hi.

Big enough so you can live

there without the people next

door knowing your history,

which might include the fact

that the love of your life left you

for some other girl he got pregnant.

Big enough so the news you’re

divorcing the replacement love

of your life just might get buried

on the announcements page

where no one bothers to look.

Except Mom. Personally, I think

she’s crazy, and if Dad would even

consider divorce, with all

its repercussions, on the strength

of such a big MAYBE, he’d be

crazy too. And if Lorelei actually

encouraged such a thing, she’d

be the most insane person

of the bunch, because as Creswell

Grandma would happily counsel,

Once a womanizer, always

a womanizer.
Or, why make

the same mistake twice?

Sage Advice

Why don’t more people adhere

to the practice? Personally, I’m

going to make it my motto:
Mistakes

are easy to come by. Why make

the same one twice?
Maybe I should

print it on T-shirts and sell them.

My customer base would be huge.

By the time I eat, change, and leave

for the game, Mom and her Marlboros

have vacated the front porch, though

the ghost scents of both linger. I’d like

to say, “Poor Mom,” and mean it, but

I hate when she acts all pathetic even

more than when she plays badass.

It’s hard to feel sorry for someone who

will put her own happiness on hold,

especially when, by her own confession,

the only reason she chooses to do that

is to interfere with the possibility of Dad

“winning,” as if, other than on the basketball

court, he could ever be a real winner.

He’s already lost way too much.

We’ve all already lost way too much.

I Purposely Miss

The freshman basketball game,

not only because Luke should be

starring in it, but because watching

Cal Stanton play starting forward

instead would push me right up against

the edge. Watching Dad coach him

would shove me all the way over.

Cal was always jealous of Luke’s

innate ability. Like Dad, the work

ethic part of the equation escaped

him completely. In elementary school,

Luke always got picked first, a trend

that continued in middle school, where

the basketball coach immediately

recognized his talent. In seventh

grade, Luke was the team’s most

valuable player. Funny how something

like that buys instant popularity, with

teachers as well as classmates. That

included girls, and I think it was about

then that he started to realize his same-

sex attraction. Here these pretty

little girls were wanting to make

out, and what he told me was,
It

doesn’t feel right. I mean, shouldn’t

it make me horny?
Which made me

uncomfortable, but not because I

immediately went to “My brother’s gay.”

I just wasn’t prepared to hear him

vocalize the word “horny.”

Regardless, had he remained in

the closet, today he would probably

be a freshman superstar. Instead,

Cal found out, and revenge was his.

It’s hard to believe a fourteen-year-old

kid could have such a vicious agenda,

but he was determined that Luke would

never make his first high school team.

To top it all off, Dad had a heavy hand

in that, too. Because when those pics

went live, he told Luke not to bother

trying out, he wouldn’t let him play.

He Claimed

It was for Luke’s safety.

That something bad might

happen to him in the locker

room, or on the game bus.

He claimed whatever bullying

Luke was suffering then would

only get worse in high school.

He even suggested Luke might

want to consider private school.

A boarding school, maybe boys

only, if that’s what he wanted.

He was smart; he’d do well at

a college prep academy. Some

of them even had basketball

teams. To Luke, the implications

were clear:
Play ball anywhere

but here.
And:
No matter how

good you are at academics or

sports, I will never accept you,

let alone be proud of you.

Dad Refused

To defend Luke and I have refused

to support Dad by going to any

of his games this year. Not that he cares

any more about my being there

than he did about Luke playing for him,

champion material or not. I’m only

going tonight to placate Hayden.

I’ve never seen Dad shoulder any

blame for what Luke did, other than

that one weak moment the other

morning, and I’m not really certain

he admitted anything except passing

on pussy genes. I’m relatively sure

he’d believe
that
DNA leapfrogs

generations. But even without accepting

responsibility, what about love,

Dad? Didn’t you ever love Luke?

Or me? We were never really sure.

I Get to the Game

Halfway through the JV rout,

Cottage Grove ahead by eighteen

points. Go Lions! The gym is packed,

and I scan the crowd, looking for Hayden.

There she is, near the top of the bleachers,

flanked by her do-gooder girlfriends.

Whoopee. This is going to be great fun.

Paused by the door, I happen to overhear

a couple of people talking about the earlier

game. Sounds like the freshmen lost.

Too bad, so sad. You can’t win ’em all,

Dad. Considering both the JV and varsity

teams are perched on the topmost rung

of the leaderboards, he’s probably not too upset.

Championships there are all but assured.

Wonder if steamrolling games ever

gets tiresome, or if in some small recess

of his brain he might actually prefer

a close score once in a while—something

that would require exceptional coaching

skills to achieve the desired result.

Is it all about winning, or does he still

love the game for the game’s sake?

Okay, probably a stupid question.

The Varsity Game

Is also a blowout. The most

exciting thing about it is Hayden,

a hint of summer in that wants-

to-be-touched green sweater.

It’s all I can do to keep my hands

to myself, although I do rest one

on her knee, relatively politely.

Unfortunately, Jocelyn and

the Biblette crew are sticking

to Hayd’s opposite side like hot

taffy, so she gabs through most

of the game, and not to me.

Later, I will most definitely

communicate my displeasure,

and without accusation, if such

a thing is possible. Martha,

my dear, why didn’t you explain

exactly how to accomplish that?

For the Moment

I smile and give a jock cheer every time

one of our guys dunks a basket. Dad

glances my way once in a while.

Is he happy I’m here? Or pissed that

I’m drawing attention to myself? Causing

a scene and all. Which takes me back . . .

To my aunt Sophie’s wedding. Mom’s sister

defines Oregon hippie, so the whole affair

took place in the woods, trilling birds and

acoustic guitars providing the music as

the bride and groom skipped down the aisle

to pronounce their simple
Let’s do forever

together
s in front of a mail-order minister.

After that came one helluva party. Sophie’s

husband, Uncle Shawn, grew bud for profit;

green haze wreathed the trees. My grandparents

didn’t last much past the carrot cake, but

the rest of the wedding goers stayed well

beyond that. Dad didn’t indulge in the weed,

but hit the champagne bottles hard, followed

that up with harder stuff. Mom watched,

uncomfortable, while the younger crowd

wandered into the trees to do what buzzed

kids do—get more buzzed, and hopefully,

get lucky. What is it about weddings that

exacerbates the horny in people? Anyway,

Luke was in the eighth grade, and though

he’d come out to me by then, the rest of

the family was still in the dark. But everyone

knew about Shawn’s nephew, Jeremy, who

at fifteen was open about which way he leaned.

That evening, he was leaning hard toward

Luke. It was the first time, as far as I knew

then or now, that any guy had ever come on

to Luke, who was obviously attracted.

I watched, half fascinated, half freaked

out, as Jeremy and Luke connected.

Not overtly. I mean, no tongue play or

inappropriate touching. But you could tell

they liked each other from the start. It was

in the way everyone else seemed to disappear,

poof!
Nobody there but the two of them.

In retrospect, I think I was a little jealous

of the idea that Luke might come to care

about someone else more than he looked up

to me. Back then I would have said no, I was all

for anything that made him happy. Denial

is a powerful thing. It makes you believe lies.

Booze

Is also a powerful thing,

especially when you’re not

used to imbibing, and Luke

definitely was not. But the post-

nuptial spirits flowed freely, no

one caring about which direction

and, encouraged by his new

“friend” to match him drink

for drink, my brother managed

to consume a lot. Of course, so

did I, so I didn’t really notice

until Dad came storming across

the clearing where we were sitting—

Luke next to Jeremy, and me beside

our pretty little cousin Persephone

(yes, I know!). I’d been paying more

attention to her than to Luke, who,

as I was about to find out, had been

“making a scene,” though it

was obvious to no one but Dad

until the second he thundered,

What the fuck are you doing?

Do you want everyone to think

you’re a fag or something?

The Slur Factor

Was to the nth degree, but the loud

factor was even worse. Everyone

homed on the unfolding melodrama.

Especially when Jeremy responded

before Luke could even react.
What’s

wrong with fags? Personally, I love ’em.

Which might have been okay, except

Jeremy was easily as drunk as Dad,

and actually leaned toward Luke as if

to give him a sloppy kiss. Dad reacted

poorly to that, grabbing hold of Jeremy’s

collar and jerking him to his feet. I thought

he might haul off and punch him straight

in the face, and tried to divert such action

with a moment of levity, launching into

the last verse of “God Save the Queen.”

Most people wouldn’t believe I actually

knew the lyrics to the song, but it so happened

I’d learned them for extra credit on a history

project I’d done the year before. Talk

about fortuitous coincidences! To the tune

of “My Country ’Tis of Thee,” “From every

latent foe, from the assassin’s blow, God

save the Queen.” That cracked up Persephone,

Luke, and Jeremy, who spit laughter

in Dad’s face, initiating an apoplectic

bloom of scarlet in his booze-puffed cheeks.

Any chance at situational lightening

immediately dissolved.
What’s so funny,

you little shit?
By then, people were

moving in our direction, so I felt

emboldened. “Aw, come on, Dad.

In my humble estimation, that was

hilarious. Hope there aren’t any Brits

here, but if there are, I’m very sorry.

Didn’t mean to be offensive.” I’d like

to say Dad cooled off right away, but

it took Uncle Shawn’s intervention

to make him disengage from Jeremy’s ruff.

Now who’s making a scene, Dad, that’s

what I wanted to say, especially as Luke

withdrew to safety behind his superjock facade.

That Was His Fortress

Fragile as it was. He despised

hiding behind the pretense,

but he hated more:

Pissing off Dad.

Worrying Mom.