The Long Run, page 13
According to my schedule it was a chest and back day, so I picked out a comfortable pair of dumbbells for Bash and grabbed my usual forty-fives. We faced the mirror and I guided him through our first few curl sets.
I always prefer working in the weight room. It’s established field territory if you bought into that sort of thing but, pointless rivalries aside, I just feel comfortable there. I can be impressive there. Bash can kick my ass all he wants with cardio but on strength days, Sandro knows best. Because while I don’t consider myself a “Big Sports Boy,” I do know what I’m doing with weights. My brothers made sure of that.
After our first few sets of curls and raises, we moved onto the bench for some standard presses. Bash thumbed through the weight rack. “What weight should I do?”
I cracked open my workout log. Bash wasn’t trying to gain muscle mass with these workouts, just to keep fit for his long-distance regimen. The plan was to start him steady and move him up to some bulkier workouts once sprinting season kicked back up. But for now, we were starting light to keep him from hurting himself.
“Last week, I had you at one-eighty. How’d that feel?”
“Good. Real good. Sometimes I get this crick in my neck when I bench but last time—”
“One-eighty?”
I’d never heard a scoff echo before. I watched Matty approach from the mirror. “You’ve been clearing two-flat easy since sophomore year, Bashy. You slouching?”
I went to give Bash an eye-roll, but Bash had left the building again. The Flash shrugged. “Just taking it easy. It’s Friday, y’know? Fuck it.”
“That the big guy’s idea? Taking it easy?”
He was talking around me, not to me. Was I just invisible to track assholes today? The smart play was letting Matty tire himself out. But I wasn’t being smart today. I was being a jock.
“You wanna talk shit, you can look at me when you do it.”
Matty laughed and did what I asked. He looked me up and down. My workout clothes suddenly felt particularly tight under all that condescension.
“No one’s talking shit. We’re just fucking around, paisan.”
I could force myself to work out or I could force myself to talk to Matty. I couldn’t do both and I wanted to do neither. But I smiled. “Bash is looking to retain muscle mass without losing tone. Dropping to a lower weight will keep him from bulking out or hurting himself.”
“Yeah? And you’d know all about bulking out, huh?”
“I know the basics of physiology, yeah. You just need Google. And common sense.”
Matty gave Bash a little look and a sneer. “You catch that one, B-Boy?”
Bash was fiddling with a ten-pound plate. He just shrugged. I’d missed something.
Matty laughed. “Yeti’s so focused on sounding smart, he didn’t even hear it.”
“Hear what?”
Matty put his hands up, all Beats me. “What’d he miss, Bashy? What went over the field captain’s ol’ watermelon?”
We both looked at Bash. He was counting ceiling panels at that point. When the silence became too much to out-chill, he met Matty’s impatient stare and sighed. “He mentioned bulking. And you made a joke about...bulk.”
Matty cackled and slapped my stomach. Bash clocked the vein pulse in my neck. He knows all about my thing with being touched. Especially by fuckers who I never gave an invite. I felt my belly shake against my workout tank and quickly played out a scenario in which I punched Matty’s nose-bone into his brain. I’d definitely get suspended but with the right character references, I might be able to walk that back to a week or two of detention. I’d get so much homework done.
Matty kept up his cackle all through my hypothetical. “I’m just fucking with you, bubba! Those thunder thighs bring home medals!”
I was about to shove my size thirteens up his smug ass. I could’ve too. I had nearly two feet and at least seventy-five pounds on the runt. Matty patted my back a few times before Bash cut in.
“Chill, Matty.” Bash had let his face go full Flash at that point. “You don’t gotta touch him, man.”
“C’mon. We’re just fucking around! Captains!”
“You don’t always gotta be touching dudes. Fucking weird, man.”
Matty made a face. And if I weren’t trying to keep my cool, I would’ve joined him. Things needed to de-escalate, the unwanted contact was definitely getting to me, but that was not the road I would’ve taken. It wasn’t a look I liked on Bash. Any Bash.
“What’s wrong with him touching dudes?”
Matty and the Flash both looked at me. Then each other. Then the three of us just sort of stood there in this weird, homophobic standoff. I didn’t mean to ask the question. In my right mind, I would never have shown my hand that much but I was angry. I’d been getting angry since I heard that first scoff. Since Anthony Lewis didn’t bother acknowledging me. Since Bash didn’t bother acknowledging me either. God’s honest, I think I’d been getting angry all day.
Bash backed down. He knew there was no good answer to my question. Not in the weight room. Matty, in true Silva form, didn’t know so well.
“What, you like me touching you, Miceli?”
He cackled again and jiggled my stomach again and before I knew it, Matty was in the fucking air.
On a good day, I can bench one-ninety. On a game day, I can bench over two-flat. But with proper motivation, dangling Matty Silva in the air was like carrying groceries. I felt like Rafiki holding Simba up for all of Pride Rock to see. I couldn’t hear what Matty was yelling. I couldn’t hear what Bash was yelling. I just shook Matty Silva up in the air. Because I could. Because that little fuck needed to know that I could. All I could hear was my own voice. My own screaming voice.
“WHAT?! YOU LIKE ME TOUCHING YOU, MOTHERFUCKER?!”
Something had taken over me, this anger that creeps up my spine, and for a minute I couldn’t see faces. I could make out the shapes of some rubbernecking field guys but I couldn’t see their faces. I think some of them had their phones out. That calmed me down a little. Not the roaring team support. The eyes. The realization of what I was doing. The hand slapping my back.
“SANDRO!”
I started hearing words again. Seeing faces again. Bash’s face. Angry. Confused. Scared. Suddenly, I wanted to run away.
I put Matty back on his feet and waited for the hit. I deserved one, right across my jaw. But Matty had no comeback. No scoff or sneer. I never even saw his face, he just went straight for the door and left. Bash took in the room of eyes, silent.
“Ba—”
His glare cut me off. His throat shook. Like all the things he wanted to scream at me were fighting to get out first. Instead, he just followed Matty out. Yelling his name. Asking for his friend to wait up.
I didn’t know what to do. But I knew I wasn’t supposed to follow him. So, I worked out a little longer.
After I’d showered and changed, I saw that Birdie was still where we left her. Bash hadn’t left. But he hadn’t returned any of my texts so I resorted to walking the halls. I needed to apologize. Not to Matty. Matty could go fuck himself. I wanted to apologize for embarrassing Bash like that. Because these last few weeks, we’ve never hit a road bump like this. We’ve gotten annoyed with each other but never mad. Of course our first snag would be my fault. It was just a matter of time really. Bash just has this weird thing with attention. It’s like he wants everyone in a room to acknowledge his presence then completely ignore him. He hates having eyes on him but doesn’t know how else to judge himself. And that weight room had a lot of eyes.
When I got to Bash’s locker, I found someone. Not the person I was looking for, but certainly someone. Someone very cool. I’ve never really known what cool is, but there’s no denying that Lucy Jordan is fucking cool. The braids, the fashion, the withering stares. Seeing her leaned up against Bash’s locker was like stumbling onto a runway. Because not only did I feel inadequate just looking at her, but I got the feeling that I was in her way.
She clocked my staring and stared right back. “Are you being helped?”
“...What?”
“Can I fucking help you?”
I held my gym bag closer to my stomach. “Sorry. No. Sorry. Um...” I pointed at the locker she was leaning on. “You seen Bash?”
Lucy sighed and returned to picking at her purple fingernails. “All track-and-field inquiries should be taken up with Coach Bianco.”
“I’m not—”
“Look, I don’t have the time or the patience to deal with jock shit today. Okay, Hoosiers? I’m not his damn secretary.”
She eyed the bathroom door across from us. Men’s. She was waiting for him. I nodded. “He’s in there?”
I didn’t wait for her response, I just went for the door. Lucy snapped to attention and slipped in front of me. “Hold the fuck up, Italian Shrek. He doesn’t want to talk to anyone right now.”
“I know. It’s my fault. I want to apologize.”
“And just who the fuck are you?”
I backed up. That sort of stung. “We had a whole year of gym together. Eighth grade? C’mon, Lucy, I was like a yard taller than everyone.”
Lucy nodded, a little surprised. “I remember. I just didn’t think you did. People don’t usually remember me like that.”
“I mean...same.”
We held for a moment as Mr. Bart, the thousand-year-old custodian, pushed his cart through the hall. Once we were clear, Lucy smiled a little. “I don’t know what you did but it probably doesn’t matter. Trust me. I don’t know half the shit I did to get him all Moody Booty.”
“Moody Booty?”
Lucy took a moment to put her explanation together. “Seb... Bash gets into funks. Sometimes it’s like he becomes someone else. And when people do...whatever it is that you did...he can get mighty funky. When he gets burnt or burnt-out...”
“Moody Booty.”
She shot me a finger gun. I looked at the men’s room door. “So, what do I do?”
“Are you his friend?” I nodded. Lucy shrugged. “He hasn’t talked about you.”
“We’re workout partners.”
“Oh. Thrilling.”
“But we’re...we’re friends first. Bash is my friend.”
Lucy gave me a look. Probing. Like she might ask to feel my face if I maintained the eye contact. “If you’re friends, he’ll come back. If he still wants you around, you just need to wait.”
“Big ifs.”
“Or you can do what I do and ambush him. But that’s just me. And next time, if you’re very lucky, maybe he’ll call you to stand guard outside a bathroom.” I laughed at that. Lucy checked her watch. “You should go. He never sulks in bathroom stalls for over twenty minutes.”
“He’s consistent like that.”
Lucy chuckled. I gave her a little salute and got out of there. I could feel her watching me the entire way.
That night, I was in bed reading when I thought about Bash’s different Bashes again. I guess I like the Ex the most. It was something I caught glimpses of at practice last spring. Everyone would rag on him, call him whipped, but whenever Lucy Jordan was around, Bash chilled a bit. He was still flashy and loud about it, but you could tell he was filtering it through Lucy. That was promising. I thought it might be good to get to know Lucy somewhere down the line. If there still was a line.
Through my floorboards, I could hear the faint grumblings of my parents. Dad was heading into town to pick up dinner from the bistro on Main, which meant Ma was having hot flashes. I heard Lucy’s advice float past my ears.
“Ambush him.”
Before I could let myself think about it too much, I was throwing on socks. I slapped on deodorant, jumped down my house’s three flights, and caught my dad in the foyer. All my downward momentum nearly ended in me cannonballing him out the door but I found my footing, caught my breath, and asked to tag along as casually as possible.
Gio Sr. eyed me with an inconvenience he usually saved for shit on his shoe. “It’s a school night.”
“It’s school-related.”
“It’s after eight.”
“It’s important... Pops.”
He grunted. Casual wasn’t working. Why would it? We were never casual with each other. I changed tactics and straightened up my spine. “I have band practice. My friend needs my help.”
I knew how to speed this process along but, first, I took a moment to weigh my integrity. It would be a lie, yes, but with time I think I could forgive a necessary lie. I couldn’t forgive sitting on my ass and doing nothing. So, I gave myself a pass and smiled a little.
“She really needs me.”
The little flicker in my dad’s eyes. She. That little shred of pride, hiding out behind his pupils. I wanted to spit in his face. But this was simpler than calling a cab.
You know, running it back, the last time I went for a drive with my father was probably the morning he brought me home from the hospital. I missed that. Newborns aren’t expected to make conversation.
After eleven minutes of driving in silence, Pop tried to do the heavy lifting for me. “Y’know, when you said you were in a band, I thought...you know.” I didn’t. But I nodded anyway. He smiled. “But now I get it. What’s her name?”
I was digging a hole into my knee, counting the seconds before I could responsibly get out of Pop’s van. “Ronny. Ronny DiSario.”
Stupid. Stupid, stupid, stupid lie. Pop perked up. “DiSario? Like, the rich DiSarios? Paul and Janey, over in the Orchard?”
STUPID. STUPID. STUPID. It felt like I was digging straight through my kneecap. “Oh. I forgot you...forgot you knew them. Shit.”
“Your mother knows every Italian in a five-mile radius, Alessandro. She put the DiSarios in that McMansion they got over there, they’re loaded out the ass. You’re fucking a DiSario?”
I sank in my seat and wondered if it would be painful to choke on my own tongue. “It’s not...like that. We’re just friends.”
“Friends. That’s my boy.”
I wanted to slap that smile off his fucking face. I wanted to punch him in his giggling throat. I needed to get out of this van.
I basically jumped out of the moving vehicle and said I’d walk the rest. Pop didn’t question me as we’d met our quota for talking this month.
When I got to the duplex, I banked on the fact that Del would be working nights all month and rang the doorbell. I banked wrong.
Del rubbed his eyes.
“Evening, Mr. Branch. Sorry to bother you.”
“Mr. Miceli. It’s late.”
From the looks of it, I’d woken Del. Though, rested or not, Del had a sleepy way about him. Bash has it too sometimes. You couldn’t find two men who looked less alike but they still shared that. A walking exhaustion. It’s in their eyes.
“It’s a school night, Sandro.”
“I know. I’m sorry. I just... Bash around? I sort of... I gotta talk to him.”
Del eyed me, only then starting to wake. I braced myself to feel bad, but his look wasn’t pointed. It was curious. Not cutting or suspicious or inconvenienced. Nothing like my dad. Del didn’t look down on me. “Are you all right, Sandro?”
It was odd, having an adult ask me that and it not feeling like an accusation. After a moment, I shook my head. “I made Bash mad. And I don’t like that. I wanted to apologize.”
“Apologize?”
“He has enough shit. I don’t want to be another problem for him. I wanna be better than that.”
Del didn’t invite me in but he didn’t close the door either and when he went upstairs, I stayed on the porch. After a light knock, a heavier knock, and a few quiet words, Bash came down the stairs. He had a big hoodie on and his hands were stuck deep in the pockets. When he saw me, he stopped on the steps and looked upstairs. Del wasn’t following. We were alone.
I waved. He took a moment to consider something then nodded at the door.
“Outside.”
Bash locked up behind him and we walked onto the lawn. His hands stayed in his hoodie pockets and he shrugged up at the moon. “Sup?”
I almost smiled. The “Sup,” the shrugs, the hoodie. It was exactly what Lucy was talking about. Moody Booty. How Bash can get when he gets burnt or burnt-out.
I nodded to the sidewalk. “Wanna go for a walk?”
“I’m cool.”
“Oh, trust me. I know.”
Bash’s top lip curled in that “the fuck you say?” sneer I’d seen him give rival track captains. But I saw through it. You don’t grow up in my house with my dad, with my brothers, without a keen nose for macho bullshit. Once he knew I wouldn’t blink, his lip settled.
“It’s late, Sandro. Say whatever you came to say and go.”
“What do you want me to say?”
“Del said you wanted to apologize.”
I nodded. He still had a voice on, his hands were still in his pockets, but I could hear Bash in there. He wanted me to apologize so the blame could be simple and this snag could be settled. And I could do that. I could bite the bullet and let this be as easy as Oops, I got mad. Oops, I shook your friend like a Shake ‘n Bake.
But there was more to it than that. He knew that. Whatever it is we’re doing, it does not feel simple. So, why settle for that? Why settle for simple?
“I do. I want to apologize to you.”
“Fine.”
