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Chad is wearing a towel now over the jockstrap, but most of his glorious, runway-model body is still on display.
If I didn’t know better, I’d think he’s enjoying the attention.
And he’s joined by Owen and several more of his other former wrestling guys (many of whose names I don’t actually remember or never knew in the first place). Their talking and laughter can be heard across the field from the pool, which is what first drew my attention to this grove. As I approach, all of them grow quiet and look up at me, as if caught in the act of something.
Or maybe now—with most of them gathered in one place—they are forced to face their own demons of what they did to me, whether directly or indirectly, and they don’t know what to do with themselves. Some of them haven’t seen me since I’ve been in town. Some of them have.
Looking at their faces, I feel a powerful sense of entitlement.
For once, I’m not being cornered by the whole virile throng of them. Instead, it’s as if I’m the one cornering them for once, as I strut right up to their bench and plant myself there.
“Hi,” I greet the whole bunch of them.
I get a short and awkward chorus of hellos in return, then awkward silence again.
It’s only Owen who appears less uncomfortable than his buds, and he gives me a chin-lift. “Hey there, Lance. Tell me.” He gives a sideways nod toward Chad on the bench. “You forgive him yet? Or should we get ol’ Chad to do somethin’ else more humiliating?”
I observe Chad. He looks plenty satisfied with himself, kicked back with his arms over the back of the bench as he waits for my answer, smirking.
“The boys and I have ideas,” Owen lets me know.
“Bad ideas,” agrees one of the other guys.
“Real bad ideas,” agrees another with a chuckle.
I deliver my answer while staring directly at Chad. “I guess I’ll let him off the hook for now. But,” I add, “I reserve the right to change my mind at any time I want.”
That gets the guys going. Owen shouts, “Fuck yeah,” followed by one of the guys saying something—which I take to be an inside joke of some kind, since all the rest of them explode into laughter at it and start talking over one another with their worst ideas. Then someone else comes rushing up from the pool, shouts, “The cheerleaders are doin’ a thing, guys! In the game room!” And the loud bunch of them take off running back toward the house in a fit of laughter and shouting.
Alone at last, I take a seat next to Chad on the abandoned bench, then kick back, feeling exhausted, yet strangely at peace.
With his arms over the back of the bench, he brings a hand onto my shoulder, then gently pulls me against him.
“Someone might see,” I warn him.
“I’m havin’ a lot of feelings out here, Goodwin.”
I turn my face to him. “Feelings?”
“Yeah.” His eyes search across the field, which looks endless from here in the middle of the night. “Feelings and thoughts. Life. It’s so … It’s so infinite.”
“Infinite?”
“The things we do. The things we could have done. Didn’t do.”
“Are you having another guilty shame spiral?”
“Nah. This is different. It’s like … Look up at them stars, Lance. All them stars above us, look at them.”
I lean my head back, resting it against his arm, and let my eyes wander to the sky. In the thick, black nothingness, tiny winks of light dance over me like frozen glitter. It isn’t long before I find my whole mood changed, just from a simple gaze into the stars.
I forgot how many of them you can see out here in Spruce, away from the city lights and pollution.
“You get that feeling inside you?” he asks, his voice melting into something soft, quiet, and deep. “As if you can feel everything you are … and everything you were … and how it’s like … all kinda the same or somethin’?”
He’s saying a lot of things I could either find deep and wise, or a product of someone being super high. Did he smoke something with his buddies? “Sure, yeah …” I agree, searching the stars.
“Jobs … Happiness … Fulfillment …” He pauses. “Emptiness.” His hand gently slides up and down my arm, rubbing me. “When I was a kid, I always had this vast emptiness in my heart. You never really know what it means to grow up. You don’t appreciate the vastness of it … the possibilities of where your life may take you. I wonder if I knew my dad would end up in prison and leave his son and wife behind. I wonder if my mom knew she’d marry a man like him and have a son like me. You just can’t possibly know what it’s like … when you’re just a wide-eyed, dreaming kid, starin’ up into these same stars we’re lookin’ at right now. What it means to get old. To watch the doors shut in your life, slowly, one by one, doors you swore to yourself you’d one day walk through.” He swallows. His hand stops moving. “I don’t want our door to shut, Lance.”
