May (15 months until the Olympics)
Walking home after we arrive back in Ohio from Dubai is almost peaceful. I’m utterly exhausted, but it’s that bone-weary feeling that makes the world slow down and seem softer, like it’s not real. Four days of vacation would normally be punishment for me, but I’m so tired that I’m actually looking forward to the break.
As we were waiting for our luggage this evening, Brandon mentioned a free outdoor music festival that’s happening in a few days, and convinced Val to go with him. When he asked me, I shrugged and didn’t commit either way. I don’t know music, and don’t know anything other than the songs they play over the natatorium speakers during warm-ups, but the thought of listening to music with Brandon without headphones is strangely appealing. The concert is on a Saturday, when I’d normally be doing cardio on my own at the gym, but maybe I could skip it just this once.
It’s not until I walk into my bedroom that reality hits me like one of Isaac’s “brotherly” punches to the gut. I kick off my shoes, drop my duffel full of dirty clothes, and spot my calendars above my bed. They’re two big posters covering most of the wall, an entire year on each giant sheet. Competitions are circled in green, dates crossed off with tiny red Xs as they pass, and there’s a yellow box surrounding two full weeks, halfway through the second year.
The reminder that there’s just over a year left before the Olympics races through me like acid in my veins, painful and vicious, eating me from the inside out. And the World Championships are there too, looming only months away.
“What the fuck was I thinking?” I’m daydreaming about vacation and rest when there’s work to be done.
Next to the calendars are the training schedules and nutrition plans. That is where my focus should be.
And instead of focusing, I’m thinking about slacking off, wasting my time on unimportant things like concerts.
“I can’t do this.” My words are full of certainty and resolve. I’ve spent months working on synchro instead of my own dives, and on the World Series rather than what lies beyond it. That short-term focus has made me forget about what’s ahead. “Distraction is a weakness that I can’t afford.”
I set about unpacking my duffel, tossing clothes into my hamper, piling up miscellaneous brochures, souvenirs, things I picked up at the competitions, in a pile on the bed.
There are plans to make, schedules to adapt. I have a new timeline with the World Championships only two and a half months away.
Slowly I put my life back into order, both physically and mentally. I get my room tidied up, start a load of laundry in the building’s basement, make a grocery list to fill my empty fridge. Then I run through the World Series events, noting where I triumphed and where I didn’t. I’ll need every day until the end of July to prepare for the World Championships.
There’s also another date crossed out on the calendar, though it’s one that’s been crossed out since I first put up the calendar. I pointedly don’t look at it, and try not to think about it. It’s out of place among the red x’s, because it’s a date that hasn’t happened yet. It’s a date two days away.
My birthday. I’m going to be twenty-two.
Every birthday since I was eighteen has been exactly the same: a phone call in the morning from my father, in which he reminds me of what a disappointment I am and asks when I’m going to grow up and become a real man. He isn’t proud of me now, but if I work hard enough, maybe he will be someday.
“If you keep trying to twist that way, you’re going to dislocate your shoulder.”
“Thank you, Dr. Bergmann.” My voice is bitter with sarcasm, but she doesn’t bat an eye. “Do you have an alternative suggestion by any chance?”
Val is perched on the end of the pool, her legs dangling into the water. I’m on the five-meter platform, and Andrey is running me through a two and a half somersaults, one and a half twists dive. It’s hard enough from ten meters up, but a hell of a lot more challenging from half that height. Which is the entire point; if I can tighten the twists here, then I’ll have plenty of room to do them on the ten-meter during the competition.
Andrey hushes Val and tries to show me what I’m doing wrong with his hands. It takes a minute for me to understand; longer than I’d like. But finally I nod and turn to climb back up.
“You’re tired.”
Brandon is sitting on the stairs to the platform, dressed in his Speedo with a jacket on over top. His legs are spread out in front of him, brown skin going on for miles.
I jerk, blinking, and push away, starting to walk up to the first platform level. “I’m fine.”
He exhales noisily and stands up to follow. I imagine Andrey and Val are watching us, trying to figure out what’s going on. “You’re going to get hurt if you keep pushing yourself like this.”
“I’m going to get in trouble if you don’t move and let me get back to practice.”
Brandon folds his arms across his chest. “You know, it’s okay to take a day off every once in a while.”
It’s really not.
I think about my father’s phone call only a few days before. It was an echo of every other year, almost verbatim. “Happy birthday,” and “Wish your mom could see you grown up,” and “Nick and Isaac say happy birthday too”—which was a lie that I hadn’t believed even the first time he’d told it—and then “You need to grow up and stop prancing around like some sissy fag, embarrassing all of us.” He was still upset about the newspaper article, clearly.
But, at the end, he changed the script a little. “At least you’re working to a goal. Fuck, Nicky just lost his job for showing up late too many times, and Isaac’s talking about moving home to save money.”
Dad’s not the kind of guy to get sentimental or show approval, but I could read between the lines well enough to know that he was actually a bit impressed with me.
“Yeah, I’m working hard,” I told him.
It only reinforced my need to push myself harder. I went to the gym after the phone call and did weight training until I almost threw up. Then I went home and made dinner, eating it alone while leaning against the counter. Birthday cake wasn’t even hinted at on the nutrition plan, and I didn’t have anyone to share it with anyways. But I’d stolen the last two squares of dark chocolate that Valerie had kept in her bag on the flight back from Dubai, and I unwrapped them while sitting on my bed.
The first bite was decadent, my cheeks hurting from the sudden influx of sugar and bitter chocolate. The second bite was almost too much; it had been a long time since I indulged in anything sweet, and my taste buds weren’t used to it. I finished both squares though, and then licked the melted chocolate smudges from my fingers.
The next day, I went back to training.
Now I’m looking at Brandon, mimicking his posture with my own arms crossed. “Just let me dive, Brandon,” I beg.
He steps aside and lets me climb up the stairs.
I do the dive again, and then once more, but I’m not getting it. I hit the water crooked, or I struggle to transition from the twist to my somersault.
Finally Andrey calls it for the day. I glance over, but Brandon’s nowhere to be found, which means I can’t blame him for the fact that we’re ending half an hour early. Val’s vanished as well, though I was hoping she would stick around to work out with me.
“Go home and get some rest,” Andrey says, hand on my shoulder.
“I’m fine.” The words seem hollow for how often I’ve been repeating them lately. “I’m just gonna do a light cardio and then I’ll head home.”
Andrey frowns like he wants to object, but he eventually nods. “I’ll see you in the morning.”
It’s Val who lodges the official protest. She walks into the men’s locker room as I’m changing, not even bothering to knock. Her hands are on her hips, and she’s scowling, eyes narrowed. “Come with me.”
There are very few rules in my life outside of the strictly regimented schedule that I follow, but I learned early on in my diving career that one of those rules is: Listen to Val if she gets that tone in her voice. When Val demands something, it’s best to give in or face the consequences.
She drags me out of the building, but not toward my apartment. We go the opposite direction, and it doesn’t take me long to realize that we’re going to her place instead. I’ve only been here a few times, usually to pick up something or to meet her for a run. But I keep silent as we ride the elevator up to her apartment, as she turns on the lights and gestures for me to leave my shoes at the door.
And then she starts trying to pull my clothes off.
“Woah. Hey, Val, seriously.”
“Hold still.” She unzips my jacket and tosses it over the back of the chair, and then tugs my T-shirt up over my head until I have no choice but to duck down and let her yank it off, or risk strangulation.
“Val, what the hell are you doing?” It’s only the fact that I know she sees me like a brother that stops me from twisting away.
She kicks off her own shoes, then grabs my wrist and drags me down the hall . . . to her bedroom.
“What the—”
She doesn’t give me a chance to finish my sentence, just shoves me onto the bed, and climbs in next to me. Other than my lack of shirt, we’re both fully dressed. The apartment is cool, and I shiver; I’m not sure if I want to curl into Val’s warmth or squirm away to put space between us. Val makes the decision for me; she wrestles us around so I’m lying on my back and she can curl up on my side, and then she maneuvers the blanket around us both.
“You’re going to sleep. I’m going to make sure you go to sleep.”
Oh. “Fucking Brandon.”
She smirks, confirming it. Brandon hadn’t gone to Andrey after I’d dismissed him; he’d gone to Val. Sneaky asshole.
“Now shut up and close your eyes.”
“It’s only seven in the evening.” But the bedroom is dark and peaceful, and my body is starting to relax.
“Shhh.” Val is a warm weight against my side, breathing steadily. When I turn my head, she’s watching me.
“You know, I figured something out. About Brandon.” I’d pushed the thought aside when I got home, but lying here now, pressed hip-to-shoulder alongside another person, brings the memory back to the forefront of my mind.
Val hums and shifts so she’s propped up on one arm. Sometimes I wish I were attracted to her; she’s gorgeous like this, hair falling over her shoulder, eyes bright spots in the dim room. It’d make my life a hell of a lot easier, that’s for sure.
“When he was talking about how he started diving, it hit me all of the sudden. His story explains a lot, like how his entries into the water were terrible because he was used to diving feet first. His timing sucks because he was used to having more than twice the height to jump from.” But that wasn’t the realization that had shocked me. “I realized something else, though. Brandon’s impulsive. He likes to throw himself into things without looking first or asking questions until it’s too late.”
Val nods. “Yeah, I kinda figured that out myself.”
“But he isn’t self-destructive. He only jumps if he knows there’s a reasonable chance he’ll be okay when he lands. He’s safe about it . . . as safe as someone like him can be.”
There’s silence. Val’s waiting for me to finish my thought, but I’m not sure how to explain it.
“He threw himself at me. Right before we left for Moscow. Told me he wanted to sleep with me.”
Val laughs quietly. “Yeah, I kinda figured that out too.”
I inhale slowly, then let it out. “I thought he was just being impulsive as usual. Not taking it seriously. But then I realized on the plane that he only throws himself at things that he knows are safe bets.”
“He thinks you’re a safe bet.”
“I’m not.”
Val hums again. “I think you are. I think you’d be a safe bet if you stopped battling your own desire and relaxed a little.”
I turn that over in my head.
“Go to sleep,” Val says.
Finally I do, still thinking about Brandon and being a safe place to land.