Out of the Pocket (18 page)

Coach looked at him. “What for? For being gay or for the story? I didn’t like the gay thing either, to tell the truth, when he told me—”

“You knew?” Somers asked.

Coach ignored him. “I didn’t like it at first either, but I thought about it and realized this is Bobby Framingham, and I know Bobby and I trust him as part of my family. So I thought about it and figured maybe I didn’t have all the answers. I went to the library and did some reading, and what I read made me understand a little better.”

So that explains Coach’s turnaround.

“And anyway,” Coach continued. “So what if Bobby is different.

It’s none of my business what he does in bed.”

“But I haven’t—”

“It’s not your turn to talk,” Coach said to me sharply. I shut my mouth, my gut twisting into a painful knot.

“He should apologize,” said Mendez. “That shit ain’t right.”

“This is a betrayal,” said Bolleran. “I mean, we were like brothers and now it’s like one of our brothers plays for the other team. The party is over. This sucks.”

The room went silent. I wondered if I’d ever get up from that spot, because at that moment I was pretty sure I was paralyzed. Every part of my body felt lethargic. I wondered if my legs would even work if I tried. Rahim broke the silence.

“I don’t see the problem,” he said. “That’s my boy over there. I got his back, and if you’re a teammate, you should, too.”

Once again there were a few garbled sounds of agreement. I tried 162

to see who they were, to see who my allies were. Then Rocky spoke.

“I don’t see how anyone on this team can turn their back on a teammate. Bobby always supports me, so I’ll always support him,”

he said.

There were a few murmurs of consent.

“Thanks,” I said, looking around to see who would make eye contact with me.

“Being homophobic is just as bad as being racist,” Rocky said.

“Of course we should support Bobby.”

“Shut the hell up, dude. You’re a kicker,” snapped Somers.

Coach stepped in. “He’s a teammate, and he’s got a right to speak his mind.”

When no one else spoke, Coach started talking again. “Well, I’m surprised it has come to this, but here we are. I think we need to have a vote. Are we going to support our teammate, or not? Because we’re a team here, okay? We are all for one, one for all, and if we can’t support a teammate who is gay, then I need to know that now.”

“We’re teammates. We’re supposed to back each other, no matter what,” Rahim said, shaking his head. “We protect each other.”

“Yeah, well. I’m not protecting Bobby. He’s on his own,” Somers said.

I began to shiver. It was like my whole world had disintegrated.

It wasn’t supposed to happen like this. I had imagined telling a friend, I had even had dreams about everyone knowing, but never once had I expected a vote about whether I should be allowed to stay on the team.

“Let’s do it,” said Rahim, who obviously felt more confident than I did.

“All in favor of supporting our teammate Bobby Framingham, raise your hands,” Coach said.

I didn’t want to look, but I had to. A bunch of hands shot up.

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Rahim, Rocky, and about fifteen others went up right away. My heart pulsed as I slowly looked toward my best friend.

Austin had his hand raised high. I closed my eyes and felt my tear ducts burning. I held my breath.

“All opposed,” Coach said.

Somers, Bolleran, and Mendez were among the six who held their hands up. I gripped the bench I was sitting on.

“That’s twenty-eight to six,” Coach said. “Bobby stays. And of course he should stay. We are a team here. If anyone has a problem with that, you come talk to me, but I’ll tell you right now, don’t think you’re going to give our teammate over there”—and he pointed to me—“any kind of trouble. Okay? Okay.”

When the meeting ended, Rahim, Austin, and a bunch of other guys came over to me.

“I can’t believe those guys,” I said, standing at my locker, unable to look in anyone’s eye.

Austin put his hand on my shoulder. “Yo, B, sorry to tell you this, but those were my thoughts when you told me, too.”

I forced myself to look in his eyes. What I saw there confused me. Sadness, regret, and what looked a little bit like kindness. It surprised me a little. “Are you serious?” I asked.

He nodded. “It was pretty rough on me, kid. It was like, you get that shit off your chest and it’s ‘have a nice day’ for you. Then I got it on mine.”

I wanted to say,
You said you were fine!
But there was no need.

I got it. He had done the best he could with a tough situation. I nodded.

“You just need to give people a little time. You want everybody to be cool with it right now,” he said. “That’s not gonna happen.”

“I just want people to realize it doesn’t matter. Is that too much to ask?”

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Austin shrugged. “Like it or not, it looks like it does matter. How long until you realized it didn’t matter?”

My head buzzed.
Maybe it does matter. I keep waiting for people
to just accept that I’m gay, like gay and straight are equal. But they
aren’t equal. Otherwise, would we be having this conversation? Would
we have voted on whether I could stay on the team?

As I looked at Austin, I realized I was seeing him in a new light.

It was the smartest thing I’d ever heard him say. I almost made a joke about it, but instead closed my eyes and nodded my head to show I got it.

“Just give it some time,” he said. He squeezed my shoulder and walked off.

I kept my eyes closed and imagined how nice it would be to disappear.

“You okay?” I opened my eyes and saw it was Rahim. He tapped my shoulder with his forearm.

“Not really,” I said, feeling dizzy. I steadied myself by holding on to the locker.

“What do you need?” Rahim’s dark eyes were filled with compassion.

“A new life,” I said.

“You got the one you were given, can’t do nothing about that,” he said. I nodded. That was true. “You want to come over? Play Xbox?

No practice, got to do something.”

I did want to, but I knew that I had to go home and talk to my folks. I was sure they knew by now. I’d seen a few television cameras in the parking lot. I was news.

“Well, if you change your mind, just show up,” he said.

I nodded again, hoping that my gratitude showed in my eyes. I wasn’t sure what was showing at this point.

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The house was dark, but my mom’s car was in the driveway, so I knew she was home. I walked in the front door and my first instinct was to bolt to my room and ignore the situation, hope that she hadn’t heard and pretend nothing had happened. But I heard noises from the kitchen, so I went to check it out.

She wasn’t in the kitchen, but once there, I could see the faint light leading to the porch. I wandered back and found her sitting on her peach love seat, reading, an open container of cottage cheese with a spoon sticking out on the coffee table in front of her.

“Hi,” I said tentatively.

She looked up at me and put her book down.

“Hi,” she said, her face betraying no emotion I could read.

“Hi,” I repeated, like an idiot.

She took a deep breath and blinked a few times. When she fi166

nally spoke, her voice was lower than usual, very controlled. “I’m not sure I can talk to you right now,” she said very evenly.

“You heard?”

“Yes, Bobby. The Associated Press called here and asked me to comment about my gay son. It’s a goddamn national story.”

I hadn’t ever heard my mother curse. It made me want to go to her and hug her and tell her everything would be all right, but I wasn’t sure it would be.

“I was set up,” I said, and she looked up at me, her eyes pleading with me, as if I’d just offered her some hope.

“So it’s not true?” Her eyes told me very clearly:
Say It Isn’t,
Bobby Lee
.

I sighed. She had taught me not to lie. “It wasn’t supposed to be in the article. Finch double-crossed me. Finch Gozman?”

She reached for the cottage cheese, and as she picked it up, her spoon dropped to the floor. “It’s not true,” she said, her eyes locked on mine, frozen.

“What?”

“You’re not gay, Bobby.” She bent down and picked up the spoon.

“Yes, Mom. I am.”

My mother wiped off the spoon and stuck it in the container, scooping out a dollop of white gook. She wouldn’t look at me. Before she put the spoon in her mouth, she repeated herself. “You’re not gay, Bobby. It’s just a phase. Plenty of people go through this. You’re confused.”

“I don’t think so, Mom.”

She wiped her mouth with her finger and looked up, not at me exactly, but at least near me. “You don’t know everything, Bobby.

You don’t know . . .”

I sighed, exasperated. “What do you want me to say?”

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My mother stood, dropping the cottage cheese container onto the coffee table. It capsized, oozing its contents onto the table. “I don’t want you to say anything, Bobby,” she said. “Nothing. Your father is finally feeling better. Couldn’t you give him a couple days to just feel good again?”

She marched out of the room.

I stood alone on the porch, feeling nothing. I’d figured she’d be my biggest supporter. She always was. Without her on my side, who was left? I imagined myself as a speck of dirt on the floor, and envisioned a huge broomstick coming at me, at lightning speed, and I shut my eyes tight. And suddenly there was nothing. No light, no sound. Just me standing on the porch with my eyes closed.

My dad must have had a late meeting, because he didn’t come home for dinner. Then I began to worry that maybe he didn’t come home because of me. Maybe he was so upset that he couldn’t come home.

Or maybe that had nothing to do with it. Maybe he didn’t even know. How the hell was I supposed to know?

And how long was I supposed to live like this?

The phone rang at seven-thirty. I was sitting on my bed, not moving much. I realized I hadn’t moved in a long time, maybe an hour, since coming upstairs. The phone rang, and it was in reach, so I picked it up and answered as if everything was normal.

“Is this Bobby Framingham?”

“Yup,” I said, frozen inside.

“Luke Hutchens,
L.A. Times
. How’re you doing?”

I didn’t answer.

“Hello?”

“Hi,” I said, devoid of emotion.

“What you’ve done is sensational, Bobby. You should be proud.

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We’re running an article tomorrow. It’s mostly written already, but I need a few words from you, okay?”

“No, it’s not okay,” I snapped. “This was a mistake; the reporter tricked me and printed the story without my permission.”

Luke was silent for a moment. “That’s a strong accusation, Bobby.

And I’ve heard the recording myself. I spoke with the young reporter earlier. You told him you were gay, and it was during an interview. I heard it myself.”

“Look, I don’t know what he did, but he doctored something,” I said. Please don’t publish anything more about me.”

Luke sighed loudly. “Bobby, the cat’s out of the bag. You can’t take back what you said, it’s already out there. Finch told me today that you’d changed your mind.”

“Finch? I didn’t even see him today! What does he mean,

‘changed my mind’? Nothing to change! I didn’t want to come out right now! Understand?”

“My strong suggestion to you is to bite the bullet and do this,” he said. “Your story is out there, whether or not you changed your mind.

It doesn’t matter. You’re doing a great thing. Relax and enjoy it.”

The laughter began softly, low in my belly, and then it rose into my chest and throat and it got loud, and ugly. “No one is listening to me! You want me to relax? My life is totally out of control and you want me to relax?”

“Look, you can answer the questions and have your say, or I can publish my column without you, all right? Your choice.”

In the thick of my anger I realized he was right.
Nothing I can
say is going to stop this speeding train. It’s in motion and way beyond
my power.

“Fine,” I said. “Ask away.”

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When my dad finally came home around ten, I braced myself for the conversation. But then I just sort of stood at the door, paralyzed. It was just too much. I figured I’d tell him another time, or maybe not.

Maybe I’d fly away to a land far, far away, where none of this mattered. Wherever that was.

It didn’t matter. He just went to their bedroom and I went to bed, where I barely slept at all.

Driving to school on Thursday, I felt wasted. It seemed like years since I’d heard on the radio about the gay football player coming out; it had been only twenty-four hours. My head hadn’t stopped pounding, and I’d slept for about twenty minutes. I considered staying home for the day, but being home didn’t sound like a picnic either.

I pulled into the parking lot and saw a grouping of trucks at the front of the lot. I saw a big Channel 8 logo on one.

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Wonderful, perfect.

I parked and walked slowly toward the media fray, head down.

As I approached I heard someone scream, “That’s him!” and as I glanced up a half-dozen reporters charged toward me, along with a bunch of cameramen.

I stopped walking and braced myself for the assault. I felt their manic energy approach and I felt as if I were in a bubble, not part of the scene but watching it from above. A sticklike female reporter with bleached blond hair got to me first. “Bobby, how are you doing today? We need you for a few minutes, okay?”

I nodded, giving in to the inevitable. I’d thought about it after the reporter called last night. I could come across as the crazy guy who came out and then changed his mind, the guy who kept screaming that he’d been duped by a nerd reporter, or I could be the quarterback who had come out of the closet and was bravely doing a controversial thing.

“How are you feeling today?” she asked again.

“I’m okay; tired, I guess.”

“I bet!” she said, a saccharine-sweet smile on her face. “Do you think that your coming out will send a message to the rest of America that ‘gay is okay?’ ”