Free Pins: A Novel by Jim Provenzano

“Why?” but instead just sighed, “Oh well, that’s okay.”
    “Sorry.”
    Mr. Khors returned, pocketing his wallet, a toothpick in his mouth. “You boys ready to rock?”
     
    Once they got on I-60, the drowse of the big meal settled in. Mr. Khors turned the radio down low, soft music, violins.
    Dink spoke softly, inches from Joey’s ear. “Hey, what was it like in Newark? Were the brothers awful?”
    “No, they were okay.”
    “Yeah. They were pretty good here,” Dink said as he flipped the lock button with his foot. His other thigh pressed against Joey’s. “Until we left.”
    “Huh?”
    Dink mouthed the word so his father couldn’t hear up front. Di-vorce.
    “Oh.”
    He wasn’t sure if Dink meant they quit going to church afterward, or if they quit being Catholic because his parents got divorced. He didn’t want to ask. He could feel Mr. Khors listening through the violin music.
    “So, what’s your confirmation name?” Joey whispered.
    “Nicholas.”
    “Oh, that’s nice. Mine’s Sebastian.”
    “I know. That card is so cool, the way he’s tied to a tree with the arrows in him.”
    “Actually he didn’t die from them. That was later.”
    “Still, it’s cool. Gothic.”
    He never thought of St. Sebastian as cool. Maybe he was, if Dink said so.
    The dinner in his belly, the soft music, the soreness of getting through seven hours of on-again, off-again exertion in a gym full of jocks, the dream of sleeping with Dink hovering sometime soon finally hit. The boys fell silent.
    The rhythm of the highway bumped under the wheels. Dink began to nod off. Joey felt his head fall, jerk up slowly a few times before he scooted over closer, let Dink’s head rest on his shoulder.   Dink nudged him, moving in tighter, until they were touching all along their bodies. An erection crept up, subsided. Otherwise, Joey didn’t move.
    Mr. Khors glanced back once through the mirror with something Joey read as approval. He prayed for it.
    He closed his eyes, feeling Dink’s breath on his neck, Dink’s nose occasionally grazing his earlobe, Dink’s arm reaching closer on his thigh, Joey not at all minding. He thought about how his parents spent every night together, no matter what; his dad’s snoring, his mom’s health problems, being pregnant. They always slept together, always.  

 
    8
    When Joey strained his hamstring some guys called him a wuss, wimp, the usual stuff.
    Injuries didn’t fit into “paramilitary” training. If you were sidelined, go home. Don’t hang around here. Fortunately, Assistant Coach Fiasole wasn’t paramilitary, and recommended Joey take a day off.
    He didn’t mind staying at home, except for his mom, who started up about him “hurting his young body like that,” as if she had proof that wrestling wasn’t good for him.
    After doting on him for a bit, she instructed him to stir the sauce at least once, “if you can manage to get up to the kitchen,” then took off to pick Sophia up from kindergarten. “Adios, amoebas,” he called out, tickled to be alone in the new house for the first time.
    After his mother left, he scarfed some leftover coffee. His pile of homework lay untouched on the dining room table since breakfast. Joey scanned the book. Math. Squiggles. Bars. Forget that. What would he use hypotenuse stuff for, except maybe in college? What would he do in college? What would he do after high school?
    He flipped through the channels.
    $100,000 Pyramid . “These are things associated with skiing.”
    Nine Broadcast Plaza . “What we are saying is that’s killing unborn babies and–”
    Home Shopping Channel. “I’m so glad you dialed in today. A big honk for you–”
    “–not fully clean unless you’re Zest-fully clean!”
    Sally Oprahue. Men. Stripping. Big muscled men with long hair stripping. He dug his hand into his sweat pants, grew hard in a few seconds, trying to finish off the moment a stripper ground his butt into the camera, did a half split on