Out of the Pocket (19 page)

I had to think about that one. Beyond the point that I hadn’t wanted to come out in the first place, I did think there was some good to be done here. “I hope it will,” I said. “I didn’t choose to be gay, all I did was tell the truth, and suddenly I’m news.” I felt dizzy with exhaustion, and I wondered if I was making any sense. “What I mean is, the only choice I had was whether I would be honest about it, and, well, here I am.”

The blond chick gave me this sort of “oh, isn’t he a sweet pet”

look, pursing her lips and tilting her head. A male reporter, a Latino guy, spoke up. “What do your teammates think?”

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“Ask them,” I said, and immediately I wished I hadn’t. They didn’t want to be bothered with this. I was supposed to be doing damage control, and here I was granting interviews and encouraging the media to seek out teammates. “I guess they’re mostly okay,” I added, hoping they wouldn’t bother anyone on the team.

“Do you think this will affect your status as a big-name recruit?”

a mustached guy holding a microphone that said ESPN asked.

I froze. In the craziness of the previous twenty-four hours, that hadn’t crossed my mind. “I don’t know, I hope not,” I said, kicking the concrete with my right sneaker.

The reporters ran off to file their stories after a few more questions. One asked if he could follow me around for the day with a camera. I told him that was up to the school, not me. That, I fi gured, was as good as a no.

About five minutes before the bell, as I walked toward the main doors, someone tapped me on the shoulder and I jumped, tense. I turned and saw it was Bryan. I tried to smile, but it probably wasn’t the best smile ever, because he looked concerned. “Oh my God, what happened?”

I looked at him and felt, for the first time in twenty-four hours, a slight slowing in my heartbeat. Calm in the storm. I was so relieved to see his face. I told him the whole story, including how my mom freaked out, and he held my eye contact and listened to me. He told me that he was there for me, whatever I needed.

I smiled and bit my lip. Everybody seemed to want something from me, but Bryan came along and made me feel better just by looking at me. I didn’t care that other kids were looking at us as they walked past. I needed the comfort Bryan was giving me.

“So how’s school?” Bryan said after a short silence, and we burst out laughing. As we stood there, at the side of the front door, I caught a glimpse of Finch heading right toward us, maybe twenty 172

yards away. He looked downward as he walked. I shushed Bryan and pointed at Finch.

“That’s the weasel,” I mumbled. “Hey!” I barked.

It felt good to let it out at the right person. Finch looked up, saw me, and didn’t react, didn’t stop walking. He glanced at Bryan, and it seemed to make him more comfortable that we weren’t alone. “Hi, Bobby,” he said to a spot somewhere above my forehead as he approached.

“I can’t believe you, Finch. Why would you do that?”

Finch looked at me and opened his eyes wide. “Do what?” he said.

“Out me, you moron.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said, looking at Bryan for support.

“I swear to God, your ass is dead. What’s your problem?”

“No problem, just a journalist doing his job,” he said, heading toward the front door. I stood in his way. “Thanks for allowing me the exclusive. I actually broke a national story. Stanford will love that.”

“That’s it? That’s all you have? When this comes out, you’re going down.”

“Your word against mine,” he mumbled, his voice low enough so Bryan couldn’t hear him, and he continued toward the door. I pushed him toward it, hard enough so he’d stumble, but not so hard that he would crash into it. He looked back at me, fear in his eyes.

“You don’t want an assault charge on your hands, Bobby. Stay away from me.”

He went inside and I turned to Bryan, furious. “Can you believe that guy?”

Bryan nodded, agreeing. “That outfit is horrible,” he said. “That purple windbreaker should be burned.”

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It was so unexpected and stupid that I had to laugh.

“Hey,” Bryan said, turning toward me and staring into my eyes.

“You’re gonna be okay. You’re a strong guy.”

I felt tired, in my bones. Everything was sagging and I couldn’t imagine that it would ever feel better. “I don’t know,” I said. “I don’t feel so strong.”

He didn’t speak, just rubbed my elbow. There was no tingling. I was just too tired. Then Bryan put his arms around me. I just stood there and allowed him to hug me, feeling frozen until something in his grip melted the fear away. I hugged him back, finally, moments before he let go. “Call me,” he said. I nodded and went inside.

As I walked into homeroom, once again people applauded me.

There on the wall I saw the big picture of me on the front of the
Times
sports section. It felt nice and I smiled. I finally read the article.

by LUKE HUTCHENS

October 23, 2007

Los Angeles Times Sportswriter

The kids are all right.

They knew all along what we adults managed to completely miss, that the sports world had to reconcile its themes of fair play and inclusion with the stark reality that not one single openly gay man has ever actively competed in one of the four major American sports.

All of our great sports heroes, and the best we could do was a handful of brave men coming out after the fact, 174

in retirement. Billy Bean. Dave Kopay. Esera Tuaolo.

John Amaechi.

Shame on our sporting heroes, whom we love for their integrity as well as their prowess. Shame on their counterparts, the heterosexual sportswriters.

We have held the power. So why have none of us had

the courage to say, “Something isn’t quite right here?

Maybe the world we’ve created isn’t quite conducive to true diversity.”

No one said, “Of course there are gay men playing

sports. They should be allowed to be open and honest.

We should create an environment that will help them to be so.”

Instead it was a brave, talented seventeen-year-old quarterback named Bobby Framingham who decreed

that he should have the right to be open with who he is—a homosexual—while playing quarterback for his

Durango Bulldogs at an extremely high level.

Of course, it was not done by a professional athlete, with millions of dollars in salary and endorsements at stake (again, a system we adults screwed up), but by a member of this new generation of hipper, wiser kids who grew up with gay characters on TV, in movies.

They know, at seventeen, how important inclusion is and how hypocritical the current “gay is fine, just don’t tell me about it” model is.

And Framingham’s revelation will lead to another

student athlete deciding to come out, and another. And soon it will be happening at the college level. Then, and only then, may we begin to bring the sports universe into the twenty-fi rst century.

175

That’s the lesson we’re learning from this brave

Bobby Framingham.

If only we’d known sooner.

Luke Hutchens thought I was a hero, and now everyone wanted to talk to me, and I thought about Dr. Blassingame, when he told me to change the world. It made me shiver.

Later in Spanish, Señorita Vasquez said something I didn’t understand, beaming at me and enunciating, very carefully, the word
homosexuales
.

The Day of Horrors turned out better than I’d thought. Carrie and I hung out at lunch, during which she listed her new prospects for dating, since I was out of the picture romantically. There were four such prospects, apparently, and she wanted to know my opinions about each of them. I laughed.

“Carrie, I’ve been openly gay for, like, two minutes. Maybe we could talk about something else?” I asked. She shrugged it off.

“Well, okay, but if I get pregnant by the wrong man and wind up a teenage bride, it’s on you,” she replied.

All day I dreaded the locker room before practice. Things had gone much better than I’d expected in classes, but I didn’t feel like dealing with whatever the guys were going to throw at me.

It turned out to be a lot quieter than I anticipated.

A couple underclassmen said “hey’’ when I walked in. Usually the younger varsity players are pretty quiet around me, but I guess my coming out gave them the courage to talk to me, which I didn’t mind at all. I never understood why anyone would be intimidated by me in the first place, since I’m not exactly like a yeller or anything.

Austin was already in his pads. He jogged over and slapped me on the back of the head.

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“ ’ Sup?” he asked.

“ ’ Sup,” I answered, opening my locker. I got it. Austin and all my friends were trying to show me that it didn’t matter that I was gay. The result was weird, like everyone was trying too hard. I just wanted everything to be back to normal.

Austin faked out the bench in front of him with a quick start and stop, and then clattered into the lockers next to mine, shoulder pad fi rst. Then he raised his arms and looked around, as if he were open and looking for a pass.

A football flew in his direction. I turned and saw that the throw came from Rahim, who was changing down the aisle from us. Austin caught it in one hand and then, since there was no crowd, went crazy
for
them, simulating the roar he’d get for catching a big touchdown pass.

For an encore, he spiked the ball, which banged into the bench and spun to a rest on the floor. Austin ran off to the water fountain, arms in the air, the adoring fans in his head cheering for him.

“How was the day?” asked Rahim, walking up to me while we changed.

“Not terrible, actually,” I said. “Not so sure about how practice will be, though.”

He smiled. “It’s gonna be good,” he said. “It’s always good to get out on the fi eld and sweat a bit.”

Sure, Somers and Mendez and Dennis and some other guys kept their distance. But the locker room sure didn’t seem that much different than it had been before my secret was out.

I was able to forget about things during practice, and it was business as usual in the huddle. I concentrated on footwork and timing my throws and handoffs. Maybe Mendez was a little more quiet than usual, but he still looked fast dodging defenders when we went first-team offense versus fi rst-team defense.

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We were going to crush Los Amigos at homecoming tomorrow.

I got so intensely into practice that when Bolleran flinched before I finished my snap count for a hike, I reacted like I would have before, almost forgetting for a moment that he was flinching because I had my hands next to his fl abby ass.

“Hey,” I barked. “That’s five yards right there. Get your head in the game.”

I looked over at Coach and he nodded at me. And when we tried it again, Bolleran stayed real still. Things were going to work out just fi ne.

I actually waited out on the field for a few extra minutes, hoping to get to the showers late to avoid any kind of weird scene.

Once most of the guys were gone, I noticed that I wasn’t alone, doing extra stretching. So were Somers, and Mendez, and a few underclassmen.

I passed them as I headed in to the locker room. Somers saw me walking their way and started talking really loud.

“The NO GAYS ALLOWED shower room should be open in

about fi fteen minutes,” he said.

“Cool,” answered Mendez, stretching his hamstrings by bending forward with a straight back. “I’m not showering with no faggot.”

I had the urge to say a bunch of things, but I let it go. No use arguing, I figured. They were going to dislike me regardless of what I said. As I walked away I even chuckled a bit, thinking about how Mendez had used a double negative, which really means he was going to shower with a faggot.

I got to the locker room, hoping people would be getting dressed already, but when I got there, it was still pretty crowded.

I undressed and walked into the shower area, and it was strangely quiet.

“We gonna take it to Los Amigos tomorrow?” Austin yelled, and 178

some other guys yelled back “hell yeah,” but it was pretty weak, like everyone was being really careful with what they said.

I closed my eyes and let the water pour over my back, wishing I knew what to say to defuse the tension. I really wasn’t interested in ogling my teammates naked, thanks very much. I’d been to a summer retreat with these guys, where everyone acted gross for a week and there were no doors on the toilets. I felt no lust for my teammates. I just wanted to win a damn football game.

“Hey, guys, I got an announcement.” It was a naked, skinny Rocky, walking with his arms wide to the center of the shower room.

Kind and quiet Rocky, who had supported me the day before.

But I couldn’t help the way my face heated up anyway. I was afraid he was going to make a seriously weird situation worse. The shower room got very quiet.

“I just want to let you know there’s an article coming out tomorrow about me. I’m . . . an openly . . . Vietnamese kicker.”

Silence. For a good three seconds, all that could be heard were pellets of water slapping the tile fl oor like a rainstorm.

I snorted. I couldn’t help it. It was so ballsy, and out of character, and downright stupid, that I lost my ability to hold it in and just snorted really loud, and then the laughs came, from my belly, like I was having a seizure.

And once I started, I thought,
Oh, great, the naked gay guy is
having a seizure in the shower with his horrified teammates,
and that made stopping impossible.

Luckily, the naked-gay-guy-laughing thing made someone else laugh, too. I wasn’t sure who it was, because my eyes were closed, but I heard some laughter near me and felt a wave of relief flood through my chest.

Then the laughs started coming and then they wouldn’t stop. I 179

wiped the water from my eyes and looked and there was skinny-ass Rocky in the center of the room, beaming, loving every second of it.

“I’m openly tall!” yelled Colby, who is like six-foot-six.