Free Six Ways from Sunday by Mercy Celeste Page B

more than money. You made this your personal cause. When so many other projects could use your money and your time. Like gay rights. The only out gay football player in the NFL and you ignore that cause altogether. Why is that?”
    “It’s not easy being the only queer in the locker room. I’d rather not call any more attention to it. Simple math. Make them forget. They can’t forget with it in their faces.” He felt disloyal to the other guys struggling with their sexuality in this sport but he shook it off. He wouldn’t be the poster boy for anything getting better in football.
    “You said this year was tough? Tell me what that means.” She cocked her head to the side, waiting for him to step into her carefully laid trap. This was a dance. One he’d side-stepped all season. “The silent treatment isn’t working, Bo, people want to know you. They want to know what makes you special but you hide and evade. The photos of you and Dylan Sunday last year made international newspapers. The touching reunion of two best friends separated by war. But you were more than that. His death—“
    “I said leave him out of it. He didn’t ask to be dragged into this. My parents handled that day wrong. If they hadn’t brought the news to practice, then the media wouldn’t have seen me fall apart. I’d still be just another tight end. And oh, aren’t those jokes just hilarious. It’s a fucking position. The locker room jokes weren’t funny the first million times. My teammates acted like I was…well, let’s just say I figured it out. The fear, they were afraid of me even though they knew me; they were afraid that I’d treat them like they treat their women. Like all of a sudden I’m sizing a guy I work with up for sex and objectifying him. I never did that before and I didn’t do it after. But that’s how it became. I showered at home. Or alone. I had to run faster, jump higher, play better than everyone on the team just to get the same respect I had last year. Scoring four of the five touchdowns last year to win the Super Bowl didn’t matter. I became this inferior person because I am gay.”
    “But you stayed. You made them respect you. You made them pay attention. You could have left; you didn’t have to put yourself through any of this just to prove something. Especially after his death.”
    “I wanted to. That first week. I envy those players who can play through grief. I wanted to go out on that field and kick ass and take names but I couldn’t even drag my ass out of bed that first week. I was ready to hang up my cleats. The owners would have taken my resignation and they would have heaved a huge sigh of relief because they didn’t want the drama. They had my contract almost in the shredder; okay, that’s just me being dramatic but there was conversation. I could just walk away, and they’d pretend nothing happened, have a nice life. No drama. And certainly no negative press for having a fag on the team.”
    “But you didn’t. And the press would have been worse if you had been let go. Did you ever think about it that way?”
    “I didn’t. I didn’t care what the press thought or said; they didn’t matter, none of that mattered. I didn’t walk away because Janine wouldn’t let me. And yeah, it was brought to my attention that I was paving some roads. Roads I didn’t want to pave. I don’t want to be the first. The role model for all the closet cases. Or the kids. Kids like me that want to play but can’t because of their sexuality. I did that because Janine called me every morning and told me to get my ass out of bed and make her son proud to have known me.”
    “Janine? Dylan’s mother?”
    “Yeah, I always called her Ms. Sunday. Because that’s what she was to me. Dylan’s mom. She picked us up from practice. She sat in the rain to watch our games when we were little. She gave up time at work to make sure Dyl and I had football. My dad coached the high school team, and my mom couldn’t