Going the Distance (12 page)

I’m not sure if it was my age or the fact I had no experience playing college ball, but I was quickly singled out as different and the guy who needed to prove the most to the rest of them. I was a month away from sixteen, six three, and had no social skills to speak of. I felt like I was everything that was Not Cool all bottled up in one person, and I thought everyone could see it. The one-up contests started with arm wrestling, a game I had never played before and lost at rather quickly and spectacularly. We then moved on to sports stats and, after that, to girls. I’m not sure how that ranked in their hierarchy—physical strength, sports knowledge, and then female conquests—but it seemed to matter to them.

I thought there was nothing to be ashamed of about saying I was a virgin. After all, I didn’t know any other freshman who had actually done it with a girl yet. I mean, sure, there was talk, but guys knew when most guys talked, it was bullshit. The Unspoken Guy Code said we never called a guy on it unless his claims were just too much. For some reason, though, me admitting I’d never had sex was the funniest thing nearly everyone in the lounge had heard. The laughter was obviously at me this time, and it hurt. The only person not laughing was Nate, and for that I was grateful. I wanted to just bolt upstairs and lock myself in the room, but I knew instinctively to run was to admit defeat. Like a pack of wolves, they would simply pounce on me from behind, and the rest of my time here would be spent being the butt of many, many jokes.

I didn’t know what to say, and I suppose my embarrassment was all over my face, because Nathan spoke up for me. “You guys do know he’s only fifteen.” Which didn’t seem to matter much to them since they didn’t stop laughing at all.

Levon shot back. “And? I was getting busy at thirteen, man!” He got a high-five from a friend of his, which seemed to be the proper way to reply.

“Maybe that’s why it took you four more years to get invited here, then,” Nate said over the noise. “Too busy fucking and not enough playing.”

I looked at him in shock. What the hell? The laughter transformed itself into ominous calls of “Ooohhh!” and “
Snap!
” and Levon’s eyes narrowed in anger. “Got here before you did, didn’t I?” he said, poking at Nathan’s chest.

“Yeah, but we aren’t talking about me. You were too busy picking on a high school kid, remember?”

A guy in the back called out. “Yeah, leave the kid alone, Lev!” which got a few votes of agreement from the others.

Knowing he was losing the crowd, he ignored Nathan and pointed at me. “You think you’re better than me, punk?”

I looked back in confusion as I pointed to myself too. “Me? I didn’t say that!”

“He’s going to be better than all of us, Lev, and you fucking know it. So back off him and pick on someone who knows how to fight back.” I’d been sharing a room for a week with Nathan and thought I knew him pretty well, but this was all new. I felt the glow of appreciation in my chest as he stuck up for me and locked it down just as fast.

“You got a big mouth there, Walker!” Levon said, standing up.

Nathan said nothing as he stood up with him.

“You wanna settle this on the court?” Levon asked, looking back at his friend. “A little two-on-two against you and your boy?”

I was his boy?

“He ain’t ready yet, jackass,” Nathan said, somehow growing angrier. “We’re all here to learn, not measure each other’s dicks, so why don’t you either chill out or get lost.” Now the sounds of agreement were much louder. The guys in the lounge were obviously tiring of Levon’s game and ready to move on to something else.

He glared at me and then back to Nathan. “Don’t matter. We’ll kick your ass next season anyways.” He stormed off, the crew of guys he hung out with following in his wake.

A couple of guys clapped as Nathan sat down again, taking a mock bow before he did. I didn’t know what to say; no one in my life had ever done that before. The sense of indebtedness and affection I had for him tripled instantly. “Thanks,” I said once everyone had gone back to their own conversations.

He flashed me a smile and brushed it off. “He’s an asshole. You should hear him talk on the court.”

“You didn’t have to do that,” I said, trying not to gush.

His smile only brightened as he replied, “Dude, I always wanted a little brother. Just had no idea he’d be taller than me.”

I felt my heart skip a beat as his words moved through me. It was the very moment I fell in love with Nathan Walker.

I
HEADED
home from Florida with two very real things that summer.

One was the knowledge I could play basketball competitively as well as other players. I know that sounds like a stupid statement, but at the time I had no earthly idea basketball could give me anything more than it already had. I was happy with stability, focus of mind, and a way to impress my father with the person I was. It also seemed like it could get me into college. From the way the other guys talked, they had built their life around basketball. College picks, going pro, eventual shoe and endorsement deals. I had never once put myself in that bracket, as I’d simply assumed I was just a kid playing a game and nothing more.

The camp taught me I was a little more than that.

It also got me Nathan’s contact numbers. We had become close friends, at least in my mind, and even though I was sure he had none of the feelings I had for him, he still insisted we stay in touch once we got home. I had agreed for more than the fact I felt an insane amount of affection for him. Nate was the first actual friend I felt I’d made on my own. The one time I asked him if he really thought I’d be better than all of them, like he’d said to Levon, he just smiled and said, “That’s something you need to figure out on your own.”

When I got home, I was ready to start the season right then and there. I chomped at the bit, eager for summer to end so school could start up. My birthday had passed when I was in Florida, a celebration that consisted of Nate and me sharing a dozen cupcakes in our room and watching
Hangover
three times in a row. My dad, in lieu of a party, instead took me to the outskirts of the base and turned off his Jeep.

I’d never explored this base as I had my other homes, since most of my time had been consumed with practice. We had pulled up on a series of old airstrips that they never used anymore, which pretty much ensured privacy. I didn’t know what we were doing out there, but I no longer had that guilt-ridden feeling every time he took me aside. I had received exemplary marks from the instructors and actually taken home an award that I didn’t feel I deserved. So I knew I wasn’t in trouble, which meant this was my dad’s way of trying to say something important.

“Before you left…,” he began, and I got nervous, wondering if somehow he could tell my feelings for Nathan.

“Dad, it’s okay…,” I started, but he waved me off.

“No, it’s not,” he said firmly, still looking out over the deserted airstrip. “I don’t know….” And he stopped. “I mean, if you….” And again he faltered.

“Dad,” I said, trying to grab his attention.

He looked over at me, and I was stunned to see tears in his eyes.

“I don’t want to chase you away, Danny. I just want you to be the best man you can be.” His voice was wracked with guilt and pain, and I felt my own emotions well up as well.

“I’m still here, Dad,” I said, reaching over and hugging him. “I’m not going anywhere.”

He hugged me back, and I heard him say, “Yeah, you are. Trust me, son, you’re going far.”

I didn’t know how to answer that, so I just kept hugging him, hoping this sadness would pass.

“Anyway,” he said, pulling back and wiping the tears away. “Before you left I was unfair, and that was not fair to you. So I’m going to make it right.”

I laughed as I dried my own eyes. “Dad, you sent me to Florida! That was more than enough.” And it was. Of course, he had no way of knowing how much it meant, and I had no way of explaining it to him, but I think there was an understanding—at least I hoped there was one.

“No, you sent yourself to Florida. I just paid for it. This is for you being a better kid than I ever get around to telling you.” And he handed me his keys.

I took them, confused. “You want me to drive us back?”

He stared at me for a few seconds, wondering if I was that clueless, which I have to admit I was. When he realized I wasn’t yanking his chain, he clarified. “Those,” he said, gesturing to the keys, “are for you.”

My face lit up. “You mean I get a set of keys to your Jeep?” This was monumental! I mean, I felt lucky to ride in the actual car sometimes, the way he babied this thing. To actually have my own set of keys was just… well, unprecedented in our family.

Again with that look, and he shook his head and just laughed. “Man, you really just don’t have a greedy bone in your body, do you?”

I cocked my head, not understanding the reference at all.

He put his hands over mine and squeezed them around the keys. “Those are yours.” I nodded slowly. “So you can drive your car.” I nodded. He waited for me to get it. “Danny, it’s your car.” I nodded one more time.

And then it hit.

“
What!
” I screamed and he pulled back and covered his ears.

You have to understand, he had just handed me the keys to the Batmobile.

He began to laugh as I jumped out of the Jeep and began to celebrate madly on the airstrip. He got out of the driver’s side and waited for me to compose myself so he could show me the ropes on his precious baby.

He waited for at least five more minutes, maybe longer.

When I was finally able to regain my shit and make my way to the driver’s side, I felt like I had just won the lottery. I eased myself into the driver’s seat, worried that either I was going to scratch something and he was going to change his mind, or that I was going to scratch something and he was just going to shoot me.

He really loved this car.

It felt like I was sitting in a space shuttle or in the cockpit of a jet fighter, except it was mine. I slipped the key into the ignition. I have to admit a little shiver went up my spine when it clicked into place. I pulled the seat belt on and glanced over at him to be double-sure he was okay with this. He nodded as he strapped in himself. I grasped the key and held my breath as I turned it.

The car jerked forward quickly, causing me to bark out in shock, and then it died.

Oh my God, I had killed his Jeep. This was it, I was going to turn to face him, and he would either have a huge gun pointed at me or maybe a pair of Freddy Krueger claws. This would be the end of my life and no one would blame him. After all, I had just killed his favorite son. I refused to look at him and turned the key again. Once more the car exploded forward and then died one more time.

Oh God, I killed it twice!

“Danny.”

I closed my eyes, waiting for the bullet.

“Danny, look at me.”

I shook my head; just kill me already.

“Daniel Devon Monroe, look at me.”

Ah fuck. I glanced over at him and saw no gun, no claws, no fangs dripping blood, which was a new thing I just thought of.

“Have you ever driven a stick shift before? Maybe in that driver’s ed course?”

I shook my head slowly.

And he laughed out loud.

Do dads laugh before they kill you? Was that fair?

“Okay, then,” he said when he could actually talk again. “So we teach you to drive a stick and
then
you get the Jeep.”

“You’re not going to kill me?” I asked in a low voice.

“If you ruin my Jeep? Yes, I will kill you,” he said seriously. “But until you learn a stick, you get a pass.”

The rest of my summer was a mixture of insane delight and towering frustration. I passed my driver’s ed class and got my learner’s permit the same afternoon. I knew the laws of the road and could drive any car with an automatic transmission, which was also a plus.

But driving the Jeep was something else altogether. My dad was a great teacher, never short, never pissed off. He worked all day and then took me out to the airfields to practice driving for hours before dinner and never once complained. So that was awesome. The bad part was that the towering beanpoles that passed as my legs refused to understand the system. I could dribble a ball and sprint up and down a basketball court with no problem whatsoever, but figuring out a clutch seemed beyond me. I was pretty sure I was going to have to replace the transmission by the time I was able to drive it, but my dad said it always took time.

After a month he stopped saying that.

I thought the Jeep was too small for me. He thought I was too big for the Jeep. Either way, things were really not working out. The harder I’d try, the worse it would get, and the worse it got, the less patience he had. Every time the car made that horrible grinding sound, I felt my entire body tense up because it felt like I was stabbing a family member. From the look on my dad’s face, I could tell he was thinking just about the same thing.

Five weeks in and a week away from school starting, the only thing I had learned was that my dad had three faces for when I was driving. The first was a strained smile that passed as rest or relaxed for him but looked more like he was concerned about how badly I was going to hurt his baby this time around. The second face only came out in brief spurts, mostly when the Jeep made a strange sound, which wasn’t so strange when I was behind the wheel. It was what I imagined my dad would look like if someone stabbed him in the butt with a rusty knife. I wasn’t sure why a rusty knife would cause more pain than just an everyday, normal knife, but the pain that was expressed in those few seconds just seemed more than a normal knife could convey, hence the rust.

And then there was the third face. It was easily the worst.

The third face was the one he pulled out when he had suffered enough. It was a silent acceptance of yet another failure on my part mixed with the attempt to not to show how disappointed in me he was. It was the same look he had given me in Germany, and every time I saw it, I died a little more inside. Of course, the more I thought about the look, the worse my driving became, until he would finally tell me we were done for the day. What had started as an incredible gesture had somehow been turned into slow, arduous torture. A week before school began, he stopped me about twenty minutes into the session, signaling me to turn the engine off.