The Long Run, page 21
Wasting.
Raph sucked up a noodle and pointed Bash’s way. “The Cinnaminson Trials are coming up soon, yeah? Winter Trials? How’s Coach feeling?”
Bash looked confused. I never should’ve told Raph about the running.
“Raph used to be long-distance captain.”
“No shit.”
Bash caught himself and apologized to Ma for swearing.
“Why? People curse.”
“Yeah, I was captain junior and senior year.”
I mumbled to no one that Raph’s senior year was a decade ago. But if the men in my family like to dwell on anything more than my shortcomings, it’s their glory days.
“I still keep up with Bianco. Heard all about you.”
“Oh. All good things, I hope.”
“Yeah. You’ve made a real name for yourself, Bash the Flash.”
I’d doubled down on my suspicions that Raph would be the one to ruin dinner when my dad and Gio stormed in, vying for the belt. As is custom, Pop was winning whatever they were arguing about.
“It doesn’t matter who he knows, we can’t work with that Greek piece of shit.” Ma and I took a long sip of wine as Pop zeroed in on the new face at his table. “Who the fuck are you?”
Bash had been doing really well up to that point. He’d complimented the chicken, drank a little but not too much wine, knew all the words to our grace. He even stood up to shake my dad’s hand, one of those pointlessly classy acts that go a long way with guys like Gio Sr.
Then he opened his mouth.
“Hey. Hi. My name’s—I’m Bash. My name is Bash. Sebastian. Villeda. I know your son. Him.”
Bash pointed at me and I could read the What the fuck am I doing? in his eyes. He was nervous. He’s shit with words when he’s nervous. That was not good. Everyone sat down and Bash drank a bit more wine.
Ma refilled his only half-drunk glass. “This is the boy who’s been driving your injured son around every day.”
“Which, again, is really no—”
“Why y’gotta say it like that? You could drive him around.”
“You could too.”
“So could Raph.”
“So could Gio!”
“Fuck you, I work.”
“We all work, Gio! Watch your mouth.”
I couldn’t tell who was saying what because I was very focused on cutting my pasta into tinier and tinier pieces. Anything to not be at that table. My dad cleared his throat loudly. Gross throat-clearing is essentially my dad’s catchphrase. It’s a disgusting byproduct of years of smoking cigars that he uses to control conversations. “Where you going to college, Sebastian?”
Odd question.
“Uh, Rutgers. Hopefully.”
Raph smiled, practically drooling over what he could add to this conversation. “On a sprinting scholarship, I bet. This kid’s crazy fast. Pop was a sprinter too. At Moorestown.”
Bash smiled. “Yeah? Sandro never mentioned.”
Thanks for the shout-out, pal. I never mentioned this to Bash because why would I? I do field because they did track. I play guitar because they played football. I don’t talk about their pasts because it’s all they ever do. So, I just shrugged.
My dad snorted. “Dro’s just pissed he can’t run for shit. What’s your four hundred?”
“Just broke fifty.”
“Fuck off.”
Bash nodded, seeming grateful that his speed was making up for his weird introduction. “Forty-nine, six. For real.”
My dad slapped the table. Hard. It shook the wineglasses. “Forty-nine!? Damn!”
Ma winced at Pop’s language. “What, is that good?”
My brothers nodded along, impressed because Dad was impressed.
“Good? Bianco’s gotta be wiping your ass for you.”
“Yeah, yeah. He’s a fan.”
I watched Bash laugh and take a drink. Something was off. Raph patted him on the back, very chummy. Like a brother. My dad spoke with a mouth full of chicken. “Keep that pace and you got your pick of schools. Why slum it at Rutgers?”
Ma motioned for him to close his mouth and chew. “Sebastian, Rutgers is a great school. And it’s so close, you could practically commute.”
I felt an invisible kick in the shin. This again. “Ma.”
“What?”
My dad leaned in closer to Bash. “Sandro’s ma here wants him to go to Rutgers so he’ll stay close.”
“It would just be so helpful.”
I couldn’t keep having this conversation. “I’m going to Northwestern.”
Raph chuckled. “Like you’re getting into Northwestern.”
“Fuck you, fat ass.”
Ma slapped the table and we quieted down. Raph kicked me like a fucking asshole but I swallowed the hit. I’d made a career out of swallowing dinner table kicks from my brothers.
Gio reached for the wine bottle and cleared his throat, I assume trying to copy my dad. “You date Lucy Jordan, yeah? Her brother and me go back.”
“Oh, shit. Yeah, Perry’s awesome. Taught me how to dunk.”
“Guess who taught him?” Gio tipped his glass and patted himself on the back. Bash laughed.
I hated this. This obvious bonding my brothers were trying to do. I considered just getting drunk. Ma smiled at Bash, happy to find a segue out of our usual sports talk. “Cutie, you have a girlfriend? How long have you two been together?”
“Oh. We, uh, no, we actually broke up. But I’ve known her my whole life. Neighbors.”
“Aww, that’s too bad. Nothing like a high school romance.”
My dad laughed. “Speaking of romances, give us the dirt on lover boy over here.” Bash went still. My dad punched me in the arm which, of everything that annoyed me about him, was probably the one thing I truly despised. “Sneaking out every other night to see his little gal pal. You know Veronica? The DiSarios are good people.”
“Oh. Uh...yeah. I know Ron.”
Pop smiled over his wine. “Look, we all did it at your age. Snuck out. Kept secrets. Every man should have a secret fling or two. Get it out of his system before settling down.”
Ma toasted her husband. “Very romantic, G.”
My parents both took sips and Pop’s hand clamped onto the back of my neck. Another laugh I didn’t like. Another touch I didn’t ask for. “How ’bout it then, Flash? Sandro got a secret friend he’s too afraid to bring home?”
I bit my cheek. I tasted blood. Bash looked for my cue but it was a lose-lose. He could blow up my lie and make me look like an ass or continue my lie and make me look like a coward. There were no good answers at this table.
So, Bash shook his head. “Nope. Definitely, no. No secrets.”
He just shouldn’t have answered. Or I should’ve prepped him more. You never answer bait like that. That’s how they get you.
Raph chuckled. “Definitely.”
“No, I mean—”
“Dro can’t keep a secret worth dick.”
My brothers laughed at Bash. I watched him struggle to find the right words. Land whatever case he felt a need to make for me. He was trying to speak through his nerves. To get back control.
“I just meant that some guys don’t do that. Girlfriends. Some guys are...you know. Late bloomers.”
The table burst out laughing. Everyone but Bash and I found that hilarious. Pop patted Bash on the back, just eating up this fresh voice at his dinner table. Raph touched my cheek and I swatted his hand away.
“Late bloomer. Kid’s had a mustache since he was eight.”
Ma reached over and put her hand on my face. “My hairy baby. I remember, every other Sunday, I had to trap him in the bathroom and wax that dirt off his mouth.”
Everyone laughed again. Wave after wave of well-meaning, shit-eating laughs. Bash smiled, happy the focus moved off our secrets. “Aaaah. So, he was born hairy?”
“Please. The doctors thought I’d given birth to a monkey.”
Ma tickled my lip and I pulled away. She made the ticking sound she makes when I’m not being a good sport. “Aww. Don’t get angry, baby, we’re just having fun. He get this pissy with you, Sebastian?”
Raph all but raised his glass in a toast to Bash. “Please. Bash the Flash don’t take that shit. I heard you once knocked a kid out cold for stepping in your lane. In the middle of a race.”
Pop smiled in appreciation of the stranger he already preferred to his actual son. “Amazing.”
Bash finished his glass and laughed. Not his machine gun. His booming laugh. His flashy one. “Nah, hey, come on now. It was after the race. And this dude was full-on LIVING in my lane. I had to fucking leapfrog over him just to pass.”
My family laughed with Bash the Flash. My dad had to catch his breath, he was laughing so hard. The Flash could really work a room. I just watched him go as all the voices blurred together.
“That’s a fucking sprinter for you. Knocked him out cold?”
“One hit, floored his ass.”
“You box?”
“When I need to, y’know?”
“Atta-fucking-boy.”
“We bought a group pass to this boxing gym in Lenola.”
“You could take Dro’s spot. He never comes with us.”
This is what they do. They take everything good in my life and make it theirs. I don’t get to be Sandro. At this table, we’re just The Micelis. And I’m the worst one.
I tried speaking. “I have a broken foot.”
Bash refilled his wine. Didn’t even look at me when he said it. “You could box on that foot.” Look at me, Bash. “I once medaled in relay with a broken arm.”
Raph and Gio made impressed grunts.
“Bash the fucking Flash.”
Bash the fucking Flash.
“That’s not the same thing.”
Pop and Gio turned on me. Offended I’d come for their new best friend.
“It’s impressive, Sandro.”
“More than you could do.”
My jaw clenched. “I’m hurt.”
They laughed.
“Whose fault is that?”
“Yeah, the two of us are on roofs every day and we’ve never fallen off.”
Bash chuckled. “Well, y’all are prolly not sleeping on them.”
He took a long drink.
No.
Everyone turned to him. Ma put her glass down. “...What?”
Then the eyes were on me. I could feel them turn. But I didn’t look at them. I just stared at Bash and wondered if he understood what he’d said.
“Sandro, you were sleeping on the roof when you fell?”
Bash the fucking Flash. My dad cleared his throat just to scoff. “You fucking idiot.”
Bash got it then. “Wait.”
But it was too late. Their voices piled onto me.
“Are you fucking kidding me?”
“Why were you sleeping on the goddamn roof, Sandro?!”
“Fucking idiot.”
“I had to take off work for you.”
“Just a fucking idiot.”
“The doctor’s bills alone—”
“And you got the fucking balls to complain—”
“And we’re supposed to be chauffeuring your ass—”
“Dumb fuck.”
“Dumb fucking—”
“Fucking dumb—”
“Always so goddamn—”
It rose and rose, and I could feel that scratching in my heart. I couldn’t see. My face was on fire and I could feel tears burning up my throat. Then Pop slammed his fork against his plate, silencing the voices. I saw Bash jump before I glued my eyes to my lap.
I needed to leave. Or something was going to happen. My ears were scalding. Popping. Then my dad’s voice. The disappointed anger. “I took you to the ER in the middle of the goddamn night because you fell asleep?! On the fucking—” His hand slapped the table. Glasses rang. “LOOK AT ME when I am TALKING TO YOU.”
I did. I looked him in the eyes. And I knew he could see it in me. That I was about to cry. Break. Crumble under all the emotions he didn’t like me having. He was fuming. I could see the red pouring into his face. I’d never seen that happen before. “...Un-fucking-believable.”
He tossed his napkin down and stomped out. Gio followed. I was back to my lap. It was almost over. I could hear Ma apologize to Bash. Say it’s not usually like this. That my family isn’t always like this. Then she was gone too. Then silence.
“Sandro.”
Did he want me to look at him? Is that what Bash the Flash wanted?
I didn’t think it would be him. I knew it would end like this but I never would’ve guessed that he’d be the reason. I should’ve. The signs were there. All the data. I should’ve known. How disappointing. How fucking disappointing.
The last thing I heard before the front door slammed behind me was Raph. “Classic Sandro.”
My crutches never worked on all the loose gravel in my driveway so I threw them down and walked. I was breathing fast. So fucking fast it hurt. The air was cold but if I could just get to the Sticks. I didn’t even need the Sticks, if I could just get away. I just needed to go. I needed to be alone. I could hear him running down the driveway.
“Sandro! DRO!”
He was fast but his footsteps were unsteady in the gravel. They stopped behind me and he put his hand on my wrist. The balls to think I wanted his hands on me.
“Don’t touch me.”
I ripped my arm away from him and walked faster. I passed our mailbox and slipped on some gravel. I could barely see in the dark. I could barely see at all. But Bash wouldn’t stop.
“Sandro, you need to talk to—”
He grabbed me by the shoulder. His grip was tight and desperate and wouldn’t let go. He wouldn’t let me go.
“Dro, you need to calm—”
“DON’T FUCKING TOUCH ME.”
I pushed Bash off of me. Not hard but not soft either. Then it was just sounds. Gravel slipping under a dress shoe. A gasp. The crack of metal on bone. A cry. His back knocking against the ground. His head knocking against the stones. Panting. Breathing.
It was hard to see in the dark. But what I understood was Bash had tripped. A push, then a trip, then my mailbox. And when my eyes adjusted to the night, I could see that Bash’s eyebrow had split open. Clipped on some part of that old, rusted thing. His blood looked black in the dark and it ran down his cheek. Into his mouth. Onto his new navy polo.
“Sandro.”
He just looked up at me. The moon on his face. His beautiful face. He didn’t even try to stop the bleeding. Like it hadn’t sunk in yet. What just happened. What I just did.
“Sandro.”
I covered my mouth. What did I do? What the fuck did I do?
“Sandro?”
I was backing away. I couldn’t see where I was going but I couldn’t stop. He should have left me alone. Everyone. I needed to be left alone.
“Sandro...wait.”
I shook my head. “I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry.”
I turned away and I left Bash alone.
winter
In the depths of winter, I finally learned that within me there lay an invincible summer.
—Albert Camus
bash
dec. 14
help
I once told Sandro that I’d never been called a faggot before.
That wasn’t true.
I grew up with that word. Because of who I am, the guys I hung out with, I’ve been called a fag more times than I’ve been called Sebastian. It’s just one of those words you put up with. On the away bus. In the locker room. In class. In fun. Liking dudes was a joke. I wasn’t lying when I said it was mostly joking around. It was. Mostly.
When I was little, I went trick-or-treating with these older kids on my block. It was getting dark and they wanted to sneak off to the Sticks and drink these beers they stole. We were near the duplex and I knew if I went off with these boys, Mom would find me out. Things always got back to her. Or she’d ask, “How was trick-or-treating, Seb?” and I wouldn’t be able to lie to her.
I said I didn’t want to go. I just wanted to keep trick-or-treating. So, Tank Lombardo called me a faggot and shoved me into a telephone pole. It was one of those old wooden ones and a splinter tore into my cheek. Ripped the Ash Ketchum costume Mom made me. Some other big kid gave Tank shit for it, but the night was done for me. Halloween was over and I needed to go home.
When I got back, Del caught me before Mom could see what happened. I couldn’t tell him, but I think he knew. He bandaged me up and we didn’t say a word. And when I started crying, he hugged me and let me cry. I was ten. It was the first time I let him see me cry.
It was a lot like Halloween that night. After that dinner. I was running home in the dark. Bleeding. Hoping no one would see me. Del told me he’d be at the Zelley site till late so, if I ran fast enough, I could’ve hidden the polo, showered up, and stopped the bleeding. If I was fast enough, I could’ve gotten into bed before he had time to see me.
People kept honking at me on the street. Maybe they thought I was dying. My face was caked in blood and dirt and my new shirt was ruined. I just had to run faster. At some point, I threw off the polo and sprinted home in my undershirt.
The door was locked so I sat on the porch and tried to think of my next move. The spare key was in Birdie with Del. Lucy had one but I couldn’t let her see me like this. I could go to Matty’s. Tell him I got jumped. Maybe by those Cinnaminson kids. Maybe he’d forgive me for thinking I was too good for him. But Matty’s was so far and I was so tired.
I watched my breath in the cold air. Still breathing. Guess I wasn’t dead.
“Seb?”
But I wasn’t fast enough.
