The Art of Moving On | ✔

CHAPTER FIVE; part one

     James and his buddies aren't exactly over the whole coffee fiasco by the time practice starts. Most days, I go unnoticed and unbothered by them. Which is to say they treat me like I just don't exist. I'm happy to not exist in their world. It's better than the alternative.

     On this particular day, the alternative is homophobic taunts and the occasional shove when Coach isn't watching. I grin and bear it because it's not the worst thing they can do and I don't want to push them to the worst thing. 

     So I spend most of practice in a daze, distracting myself with thoughts of Dres. My fantasizing is a little too good and I end up fucking up a drill. Coach decides to penalize the whole team for my lack of focus and we end up doing extra laps at the end of practice. When we finish, I'm quick to hop out of the pool, trying to dodge my teammates who are sending glares my way like bullets. I'll forego my shower and just go home, hoping to avoid a confrontation.

     I'm heading towards the bench to get my towel when a foot catches me at the ankle. I'm moving too quickly to come to a halt and throw my arm out to catch my fall. My finger bends back awkwardly, and I shriek from the immediate shock of pain. I clutch my hand to my chest, trying to breathe through it and the nauseating image of my finger out of place.

     One glance upwards reveals James's back as he walks away, a swagger to his step that suggests he's proud of himself. Coach is on me next, crouching beside me as he says my name. My ears are ringing and I can't focus on him at first.

     "Calvin," he says. "Let me see. Come on. Show me your hand."

     I move my hand away from my chest where I was clutching it and hold it out to him. My ring finger has definitely been shifted out of place. Angry tears blur the edge of my vision and I have to blink a few times to clear them.

     "You have to go to the hospital, kid," he says. "I would put it back in place myself but I don't want to risk injuring it further."

     This time, a tear escapes and I hastily wipe it away. "It's a minor injury," he says. "But you need a professional to fix it. You want me to take you?"

     I shake my head. "No, no I got it." I sniff, wiping at my face again. "Can you help me with my clothes, though?"

     Coach nods and takes the arm of my injured hand, holding it away from my body as he leads the way to the locker room. My finger looks like something out of a horror film. Absolutely disfigured. I know coach says it's minor but the pain pulsating through my hand begs to differ.

     The team is in the showers so I'm quick to point out my locker. I don't want them to get the satisfication of watching me struggle into my clothes or having coach dress me like I'm a toddler. Coach tries to slow me down as I nearly fall over stepping into sweatpants. Once I'm dressed, I grab my bag and head for the exit.

     "You're spacey today, Calvin," Coach calls stopping me. "You're lucky you didn't hurt yourself worse. And an injury now will ruin your chances at a scholarship. Not enough schools have seen you play."

     His words make my stomach drop. If James really wanted to hurt me, this would be the way to do it. I haven't thought of a plan B. My goal has always been swim scholarship. I've spent most of my life working towards it. I should tell coach what's going on with James. Keeping quiet about all the abuse is not doing me any favors. But when I think about it, it's not like I don't deserve it.

     I've never thought about my driving technique before but it turns out I like to alternate between my left and right hand. Not being able to do so makes for some awkward turns. Eventually I get to the hospital and go into the ER. I know a few of the nurses here who are my mom's friends.