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Mark’s dorm room is the same as it was last year. I can tell he has the same roommate by the posters of Star Wars hanging on the wall.
“Where’s Greg?”
“Class. Do you want something to drink?”
He opens a small fridge. “Gatorade, water?”
My mouth tastes like the desert, but I don’t want to prolong this. “I’m sorry. ”
Mark closes the fridge and sits on the bottom bunk. His fake smile vanishes and I shove my hands in my pockets. The Band-Aid method sucked for both of us. I wish I could make our relationship strong again. Mark was the first person I told when I pitched a no-hitter, made my first all-star team, and kissed a girl. Now, I don’t even know what words to stutter out next.
“How’re Mom and Dad?” he asks.
How’re Mom and Dad. I can answer that. I take a seat on the two-seater couch next to the bunks. “Okay. Dad’s busy. He’s expanding the construction business and he plans on running for mayor. ”
“Wow. ”
“Yeah. ” Wow.
“And Mom?”
“Wrapped up in her social clubs and events like normal. Lunches. Dinners. Teas. ” I pause, wondering if I should say what I’m about to.
“She misses you. ”
Mark leans forward and holds his hands together between his bent knees. “Does Dad ever mention me?”
The hope fighting to surface on Mark’s face makes looking at him painful. If I answer with a plain yes, I create false hope, or I could tell him the truth. None of the answers are ones I want to give. “Did you ever want to do anything besides football?”
Mark scrapes his knuckles against his jaw before snatching a book off his bed and tossing it to me. I catch it in midair. “Quality Lesson Plans for Secondary Physical Education?”
“I’m an education major. ”
“Since when?”
“Since…. ” Mark drums the fingers of his clasped hands once. “Always. ”
Faking interest in the pages, I flip through the book. “I thought you were pre-med. ”
“That’s what Dad wanted me to major in. College for Dad was nothing more than a step toward the NFL. The pre-med was if I got injured. Mom wanted one of us to be a doctor. That was Dad’s way of making her happy. ”
Mark’s organized his desk the same as last year: laptop, iPod dock. After Mark’s first college football game, Mom had someone take a family picture on the field. He’s taped the photograph on the wall next to his practice schedule. Some things are the same. Others are not. “Do you hate football?”
“No. I love football and want to play. In fact, I want to become a high school football coach.
Dad knew that. He didn’t agree with me, but he knew it. I thought if I played along, that if I pretended that—” He cuts himself off.
I came here. I brought this up. I can finish the statement for him. “They’d accept who you are?”
Mark nods. “Yeah. ”
The two of us sit in silence. My stomach twists and turns like I’m on a boat on the verge of capsizing. My life was perfect and I enjoyed every second. Mark’s two little words “I’m gay” tipped my world. Maybe I get why he left. Maybe I don’t. Either way, anger still festers, and if I’m doing this, I’m doing this.
“You left me. ”
“What did you want me to do?” Resentment thickens his tone. “I can’t change who I am. ”
I need to move. Hit something. Throw something. I stand instead. “Not leave. You said you pretended before. Why couldn’t you pretend again? Or you could have stayed and fought and, I don’t know, convinced Mom and Dad to let you stay. ”
