Oh, the things I wanted to say, but I decided to be a good boy and hold back. I still couldn’t piece together how I knew, but something was up with Anson.
“Wow…” he said.
“What?”
“I thought I’d get a joke about that.”
Wasn’t that interesting. “Did you tell me that just to hear me tease with some kind of sexual innuendo? Because I can definitely talk about how tight you probably are and how much I could work you out.”
“God no. That’s not… I didn’t… Why would I…”
He was blushing. I didn’t have to see him to know that. Anson flushed a pretty shade of pink when he was flustered. “Uh-huh.”
He changed the subject. “Elias is moving out.”
Was that why he was calling? I knew they were close. Anson spoke about his brother so often, I almost felt like I knew him. He was going to school to be a political-science professor. “Is that a good thing or a bad thing?”
“A good thing. Why wouldn’t it be?”
“Why don’t you sound happy, then?”
“Shit,” Anson cursed. “This is so fucking stupid. I don’t know why I called you, or why I’m making a big deal out of this. My brother is a grown-ass man. Of course he doesn’t want to live with me his whole life, and why should he? I figured he would move out at some point, but it hit me unexpectedly anyway. It’s just…”
“It’s comfortable for you,” I answered for him.
“What? No, that’s not— What do you mean?”
“This would be much easier if you were here. I could sit you on my couch for a session with Dr. Calloway.”
“You’re not a psychologist.”
“No, but I’ve spent plenty of time with one,” I countered.
“You have?”
“Not important. We’ll talk about that later. I just think… Can I speak freely, or are you going to threaten me with bodily harm again?”
“I never threatened you with bodily harm.”
“No? Mr. I’m flexible, strong, athletic, and blah, blah, blah.”
“Shut up. That was a joke. And yes, you can speak freely.”
Which we did often with each other, I realized. The way we were talking right then, it felt like I’d known Anson longer than six weeks. I sighed. “I think… I think you don’t like change. You’ve got yourself in this safe space. You play football, and talk shit with your football buddies, and spend time with your brother and your mom. You cling to those things so you don’t have to think about…other stuff. You can focus on your family and your career and let everything else fade away until you can almost convince yourself it’s not there. Your brother is like… Well, if you see him every day, and he lives with you, and in your eyes he depends on you, then you can tell yourself you’re ignoring those other things for a good reason.”
“Fuck you,” Anson spit out.
“Hey, you asked. All I did was give my opinion. If it’s not true, who gives a shit?”
“I don’t use my brother. He’s my best friend. He means the world to me. I just…”
Anson went quiet, and I waited. When seconds turned into a full minute, I said, “I didn’t mean it like that, that you use your brother. I know you care about him. You care about Elias, your mom, football, Darren, what the team and the league think, and with all that other stuff, how can you have time for yourself? You busy yourself with others because then you don’t have to concentrate on you.” It was fine that giving those items his attention made things easier for him, but I liked to think he talked with me because that was something he did for himself. Because he got to let all that other stuff go when we spoke, and the idea that I was giving him some small measure of peace meant something to me. Made me feel like something I did really fucking mattered to someone. Like I mattered in a real way I wasn’t sure I ever had.
“There is no other stuff,” Anson said softly.
“Okay,” I replied, though I knew it wasn’t true.
We were quiet again for a moment, and then he said, “I was in the locker room yesterday. O’Shea—he’s a defenseman—was talking about some guy who hit his car, called him a fucking faggot. Do you know how often I hear that word? How often I’ve always heard that word? It doesn’t have to be about someone who is gay, though a lot of the guys have issues with that too, but calling someone a fag is the worst insult they can think of because, to them, it’s the worst thing to be. There was a story about a high school player who came out, and the guys were talking about it. Do you know how many said they wouldn’t want to share a locker room with a gay man? When any athlete comes out, that’s what their life becomes. They aren’t just a ballplayer anymore, they’re the gay one, the one people don’t want to share a locker room with, the one ‘breaking down barriers.’ Football is all I’ve ever had that’s mine. All I’ve ever been good at. I’m nothing without it, and I don’t want to be the player breaking down barriers or the guy they don’t want to be in the locker room with. I just want to play.”