January 24th, 2006
The gulls caw joyfully overhead. I can taste the salt in the air as I clutch Dad's pants, watching the bow bob up and down as he steers deftly away from the coast. I wear an orange life vest that makes me feel warm and secure, but it's Dad's calm and steady presence that really helps me to know I am safe. He sets me in between his arms, letting me steer the boat with him. I hesitantly touch the wheel, my hands ten sizes smaller than Dad's strong ones.
"Let's go see what's beyond the line," Dad grins.
I clutch the wheel with excitement; whatever is up ahead is bound to be an adventure because Dad is by my side...
My alarm beeps, stirring me from sleep.
I exhale with my eyes closed, not wanting to lose the feeling of being little again and riding in a boat with Dad. But the harder I try to grasp the feel of the ocean air and Dad's arms around me, the more the image slips away.
Please, I beg. Please don't go. I don't want to wake up...
When I open my eyes, the dream vanishes. Dad isn't here, and I'm alone.
The room is shrouded in darkness. Reaching over, I shut off my alarm and flop back into bed. I don't want to get out of bed today. I don't want to do anything at all. In fact, all I want to do today is to lay here and sleep and dream about being a kid again... but that won't change a single thing.
With tremendous effort, I force myself to sit up. The prospect of going to train at the gym knowing that our team is getting cut sickens me to my stomach. But years of discipline prevents me from deviating from my routine. It's cruel, really. Even though my pole-vaulting career is ending, I still need to show up to practice and be a good goddamn sport. When I think about it, I don't feel much different than a prized hog being led to slaughter – my fate has already been decided by the powers that be, and I am just along for the ride.
Eventhough my body aches with numbing grief, I gather my gear and slip out thedoor.
---
"Come on," Jesse hisses. "You can DO this!"
Tired, I lean against my pole and glower at him.
"Why are we even doing this anymore? There's no point. Coach said so himself – we're done."
Jesse walks over to me, looking weary.
"Zac. Pull it together. It's not over yet," he says with steel in his voice. "You need to focus on the now. The New York Winter Classic is right around the corner, and we're going against Albany. We need you."
A bitter laugh escapes my mouth.
"You don't get it," I spit. "The team is getting cut at the end of your track career. You had four years to jump. FOUR YEARS. But guys like me and Kyle, and my friends Andre and Sam, we just got here – and it's over for us. It was over before it even started! Open your eyes and look around!"
I gesture wildly around to the fieldhouse. Ever since we returned from our meet at UConn, the energy on the team has been lacking and our morale low. Coach Dillon tries to soldier on like always, but we all notice when he steps away for moments at a time to collect his emotions. Coach Mackey's running drills aren't as intense, and Coach Friedman is more nurturing, which is somehow more terrifying.
"None of us know what we're doing anymore," I exclaim. "You can drop the whole, better-than-thou act. You don't need to pretend."
Without waiting to hear Jesse's response, I take off running again. But my heart's not in it today – and instead of swinging up and jumping over the bungee, I decide last minute not to jump and sail onto the mat. I glance up quickly to see if Coach Dillon saw but his back is turned, and his attention is elsewhere.
Swearing, I pick up my pole and carry it back towards my start point.
"Hey, maybe take a break?" Jesse suggests.
"Don't tell me what to do," I snap. "I'm going again."
Jesse gives me a look but stays silent. With a curt nod, he grasps his pole and stands aside.
My jumps are a disaster. I'm not in the right head space to jump, but I do it anyway to keep my mind busy.
Keeping busy is how we are all managing these days, it seems. Some of us, like Irina, keep trucking on as though nothing happened. Then again, nothing fazes Irina. But most of us have been struggling in our own ways.
Chloe bursts into tears during practice quite a bit. During our downtimes, Andre is usually on the phone with other colleges back home trying to get a spot on their team. Kyle is less excitable and vulgar, while Sampson has completely shut down. Kat picks a fight with everyone, while Sam mostly prays.
It's all too much for me to handle.
When practice ends, I hurry out of the fieldhouse and get as far as I can away from the team and from Jesse. Though he means well, I don't want to listen to him anymore.
The freezing wind blows tiny fragments of snow around as I start to walk from the CHU Crow Center back to East campus. Jamming my hands into my pockets, I breathe in the cold air.
Jesse didn't deserve some of the things I said to him during practice. He's been in my corner since day one, and it's not his fault that everything is falling apart. It's also not his fault that there are heavier things weighing on me apart from the track team decision.
Heavier things... like Cass.
I don't know what's more surprising – the jealousy I felt seeing her with Aram that night, or the deep concern I have for her wellbeing. I really don't like that guy. That jerk looks far too concerned with his muscles to be an attentive boyfriend. And he gives off a rather dangerous vibe.
I sigh, heavy and exhausted. It doesn't matter anymore. Cass made her choice. And before that, I made a choice to just stay friends with her.
So why does it hurt so much?
---
On the first day of February, an ice storm takes over the campus. Professors cancel classes as a safety measure, encouraging us to use the extra time to study for our winter session final exams. Antsy and bored, Lee and I decide to play pranks on each other to pass the time.
It began with Lee's trash can, which was overflowing with junk food wrappers and other shit he never bothered to clean. Two nights ago, I waited until he was asleep before carefully taping every piece of his garbage to his closet door. When he woke the next morning, he got the message loud and clear.
The next day while I was in the shower, Lee stole my towel and clothes, forcing me to streak down the hall back to our room buck naked.
Fortunately, no one noticed.
From then on, Lee and I declared a truce and decided to target Tim the RA.
Yesterday, Lee found some old cardboard and newspapers from the Swan Hall dumpsters. We decide to lug the trash back into our room for safekeeping and wait for Tim to shut himself in his room for the night. After I see him return from the bathroom with his toothbrush, I give Lee the signal before we drag our cardboard and newspapers out into the hallway and get to work.
All the doors along our corridor in Swan are set in heavy doorframes with deep jambs, providing a generous gap between the cinderblock wall and the actual door. Using tape, I erect a cardboard wall across Tim's door from the floor up, leaving a three-inch gap at the top of the doorjamb. After the cardboard wall is done, I stand on a desk chair and ball up pieces of newspaper, dropping them through the makeshift slot. The idea is to fill the space behind the cardboard wall with crumpled up newspaper balls, so that when Tim opens his door in the morning he will be bombarded by a ton of old newspapers.
I snigger at the thought.
After a while, Lee gets tired and decides to go to sleep. I stay, going about my task, grateful for the mental distraction. I'm so engrossed that I don't even notice her approach.
"What are you doing?"
I know it's Cass without looking up. My stomach flips at the sound of her voice, but tonight, her nearness is unwelcome.
"Where's your boyfriend?" I intone, ignoring her question.
There's an ache in my chest and my words come out harsher than I intend. I feel a flicker of embarrassment as I recall our last encounter in the hallway when she caught me in my track uniform. I purposefully avoid her gaze and keep going about my work.
"He isn't here," she replies, surveying the cardboard wall. "Is Tim... sleeping in there?"
"Why do you care?" I retort.
I know I'm being petty, but I can't help it. I hinge down for another sheet of newspaper and crush it in my hands. The crinkling sound of the paper fills the cavernous silence between us.
She kicks the worn carpet apprehensively.
"It was just a question. Can I help?"
I chuckle out loud. "No. Your boyfriend wouldn't want that now, would he? You're not supposed to be near me at all, remember?"
Cass stays rooted to the floor, stubborn as always.
"Don't you have some homework or studying you need to do?" I barb sarcastically, grabbing another piece of paper. "That's all you do, isn't it?"
It's an unfair dig, but seeing her makes my emotions churn like a storm. I turn my back to her and continue to stuff newspapers down the hole.
I miss you, I want to tell her. The track team is getting cut and I'm scared. But most of all, I really miss you.
"Zac."
Hearing her say my name like that instantly makes me want to hold her, but she isn't mine and she never was. Distressed, I violently crumple a sheet of newspaper up.
"I heard about the track team getting cut," she says softly.
Goddamnit.
"I wanted to see if you're okay. And... and just say that I'm sorry. I know how much you love it."
"I'm fine. You don't need to worry about me," I grunt.
A lie.
"I know what it's like to have to give up on something you care about--" she starts.
"I said, I'm fine!"
I don't mean to push her away. But now that there's a thick, Aram-shaped wedge in between us, I don't see how our friendship can survive.
She's the one who pushed me away first.
But as the juvenile thought forms in my head, I wonder if I'm lying to myself. I shove my emotions deep down and continue to stuff newspapers down Tim's doorjamb, pretending as though she's not there.
It's only when I hear the soft shuffle of her footsteps walking away that I dare to look up.
The hallway is empty, and I am alone.
"Fuck," I mutter regretfully under my breath.
---
Coach Dillon's face loses its color as I fail to clear the bar for the second time.
Anxiety pools in my gut as sweat begins to slick down my back. It's unusual for me to no height at a meet, particularly since I've been ranking at the top this whole season. I glance quickly at Coach, whose lips are set in a grim line.
"Shit," I curse. "Shit, shit, shit!"
I'm acutely aware of the fact that everyone is watching, but my two-minute break is nearly up. With dread, I walk back to my starting position and close my eyes. This is my last attempt to clear the bar, and I need to get my head in the game.
"Run hard, plant deep, swing and extend," I rehearse under my breath. "Fly high."
I open my eyes and start running. My steps are strong and decisive, and at the optimal moment I raise the pole and thrust it into the box. My arms extend above my head as I pump my legs up – but then my mind blanks. I feel suddenly disconnected from my body, like my feet never left the ground. I panic, unable to grasp the rhythm I need to launch myself into the air.
I crash onto the cushioned mat ungracefully. The pole nearly hits my head as it topples down with a smack. Several people yell and run over to help me.
"I'm fine," I say, waving them away. "I'm up."
I've lost my chance in this heat. Embarrassed and sore, I hobble past Coach Dillon with my pole. The look of disappointment on his face is so great that I just stare at the ground.
"Sorry, man," Bradley mumbles as I walk by.
Ignoring him, I trudge off the field.
My feet carry me downstairs to the locker room, where I decide to shower and take my mind off things. The water comes out fast and strong, the pressure relieving my tight muscles. But for once, the mental clarity does not come.
I stare water running into the drain by my feet, unable to fight this impending feeling of dread.
Who am I if I can't pole vault anymore?
---
I spend the majority of the next day sleeping. Lee comes and goes as usual, but I don't have it in me to engage with anyone or anything today.
"Zac, you hungry? You're always hungry, let's go eat," Lee says, peering at me with his strange eyes.
"Go ahead. I'm not hungry," I mumble.
"Uh... okay. If you think that's wise," he shrugs. "Help yourself to my snack stash if you change your mind."
I'm still in my pajamas when late afternoon rolls around. Lee is off somewhere meeting his gaming friends, and I still have not left the dorm all day. I eat through all the fruit I've been swiping from the dining hall, and I demolish half of Lee's giant bag of Doritos along with two bowls of ramen.
A knock sounds on my door. I squint through the peephole and see with surprise that it's Kyle.
"What are you doing here?" I ask as I open the door.
"Oh, I live over in Wren. Someone let me in the building. Thought I'd check in on you," he says, eyeing at the orange Doritos crumbs on my shirt. "We're heading to Kat's tonight if you want to come."
"Oh. Okay."
Kyle tries to peer into my room but I'm not in the mood for visitors.
"Are you alright, bro?" he asks cautiously.
"Yea," I laugh. "I'm good. I'll be there later."
Kyle hesitates, but he eventually falls back.
"Cool. See you there."
Several hours later, I get dressed and walk across campus to Kat's house. It's a small gathering tonight, and I'm pleased to see that Sampson is nowhere to be found. I bump fists with Kyle and Andre and make my way straight into the kitchen where Kat keeps her alcohol.
"Nothing hardcore tonight, kids," Kat calls from the living room.
I grab a beer and take a big sip. It's been a while since I've had a drink, but life has been depressing and tonight I could use the alcohol. I pour the rest of its contents into a big plastic cup before joining the rest of my team on the couches.
Chloe, Francie, and Joy sit together on a large brown couch while Kyle, Andre and Bradley take the swirly couch from Kat's grandparents' house. Irina is chatting on the phone in the next room; I can tell she is talking to her parents because of the rapid Russian coming out of her mouth. Zeke, Eric, Kat, and a few other people from the team are gathered outside on the porch. Someone switches on the television, and we all kick back to relax.
"My mom freaked out when I told her last week," Andre sighs miserably. "I'm probably transferring schools after this year. Go back home to Brooklyn."
"Oh Andre," Francie says sadly.
I gulp down the remainder of my beer and stand. If they're going to talk about the track team getting cut, I'm going to need another drink.
"I never thought it would come to this," Chloe utters as I return to the couch. "It feels so wrong to end senior year this way, knowing that Coach Dillon can't come back."
"I don't know how I'm going to keep running without the guys there," Joy sniffs. "They don't understand that we're... we're like family now."
I tip my head back and down more of my drink. The sadness is unbearable.
"Family doesn't cut you off like that," Kyle scowls. Andre nods his head.
"Their decision is careless and heartless," he argues. "This screws with future generations of track athletes."
There's a nice, warm buzz running through my veins now, but it's not enough. I don't want to feel anything anymore – not the devastating end of my track career, not the disappointment of failing my jumps yesterday, and certainly not the stabbing ache of losing Cass. Tonight, the pressure is too heavy, and too much.
I pick up my drink and walk around the house, pretending to look in on other teammates. When no one is watching, I sneak back into the kitchen and reach up high into the cabinets above Kat's fridge.
"Damn it all to hell," I mutter.
Sticking my hand in the cabinet, I feel around until I find what I'm looking for. Before anyone notices, I unscrew the lid to the bottle and dump some of the clear liquid inside my cup. I put the bottle away back where I found it and return to the living room once more.
I'm no longer paying attention to anything my friends are saying. I toss the alcohol down my throat, feeling the familiar, fiery burn as the liquor empties into my stomach. Sighing with relief, I lean back into the couch and close my eyes.
God, I just want to wake up from this nightmare already.
Moments later my muscles relax, and my jaw slackens. I know I'm effectively drunk, thanks to the help of Kat's secret stash. My stomach is a little queasy from drinking so fast, but everything feels dulled and borderline pleasant.
Wait... how much of that stuff did I mix in with the beer? I don't remember how much I added...
The voices around me are suddenly amplified, and I feel a strange wave of energy.
"Maybe, one day we'll look back at this moment, this year, and be able to say that it all happened for a reason," Francie sighs.
I begin to laugh, causing everyone to look at me with confusion. Something feels off – I drank too much, too fast. But it's too late; I'm already gone.
"Why would you even say that?" I slur, feeling dizzy. "Nobody cares about us."
"Whoa, Zac—I think that's enough—"
I bat Chloe's hand away from my drink.
"Nobody understands," I ramble, standing. "They told me I had talent! And promise! But none of that matters anymore, does it?"
My friends' silence only eggs me on.
"They fucked us!" I shout, pointing wildly to everyone. "They're all just a bunch of greedy misers. They don't care about you, or you, or you! Fuck Dillon. Fuck pole vaulting!"
I misstep and stumble into the coffee table, landing painfully on the floor. Suddenly, everything is hilarious, and I roll around laughing until tears come to my eyes.
"He's plastered, he needs help," someone says in the background. Is that Irina? Or Francie? I can't tell anymore... everything is spinning and moving in slow motion at the same time.
"What's in his goddamn drink? What did you give him?" Kyle's worried voice cuts through the racket in my head.
"I only put beer out tonight!" Kat says. She sounds nervous. "He must have found the leftover Everclear from last semester."
"Damnit!" Chloe mutters. "Why didn't you get rid of it?!"
"That shit is flammable!" Kat cries. "I put it away in the back of the cupboard, I didn't think anyone would go looking for it tonight!"
Their bickering is funny, and I start laughing all over again.
"Get up, Zac," Kyle says as he crouches over me, trying to help me up.
Strong arms – I can't tell how many – grip me and haul me up to my feet, but my legs feel heavy and weird. My stomach seizes, and I gag.
"Shit!" Kyle swears. "He needs water!"
"I don't... neeeeeed anything," I gabble.
My teammates prop me up on a couch, and someone tries to pour some water down my throat, making me cough and splutter. My eyelids are suddenly heavy, and I feel a strong urge to close them.
"Zac. Hey, Zac!"
A brown hand is waving in front of my face, slapping my cheeks.
"I don't want to sleep with you," I garble, my tongue thick in my mouth.
"Zac, it's me Jesse. I'm gonna take you home."
Jesse's blurred face comes into view. I groan.
Francie whimpers. "He was drinking too fast. I didn't know w-who else to call."
"It's fine, we were on our way back to campus," Jesse explains hurriedly. His voice sounds far away.
"How long as he been like this?" a feminine voice asks. I don't recognize the speaker.
"He's gotten worse the last half hour," Chloe responds.
"Kayla, Babe, stay here while I take him back to the dorm—"
"I'm coming with you," Kayla-Babe says.
That must be Jesse's girlfriend, I think blearily to myself.
"So... YOU'RE the girlfriend, huh?" I snigger. "Does he boss you around the way he bosses all of us around? Jesse doesn't care about us. He's HAPPY the team is getting cut."
Whatever self-control I possessed earlier tonight has completely vanished. At this point, it feels like I'm a spectator watching a movie about my life through a projector. Even though I know I should stop, I'm no longer in charge; Zac has left the premises. I glower at Kayla-Babe.
"Fuck you," I slur menacingly. "You—"
Something hard strikes my cheek and stars explode in my vision. Jesse's face is twisted with anger.
"Don't talk to my girlfriend like that," he says, his voice low. "I'm taking you home."
Jesse, Kyle, and Chloe drag me out of Kat's house and into the cold night air, stuffing me into Jesse's car. Someone pulls the seat belt over me and buckles it before slamming the car door in my face. The doors shut again as Jesse and Kayla-Babe clamber into the front seats.
"Here's your phone," Jesse says as he tosses me a hard, rectangular object. "It fell out of your pocket earlier. Looks like you butt dialed someone, so I hung up for you."
I groan as the car lurches forward, cradling my phone in my hand and pinching my eyes with the other. I don't remember the car ride back to the dorm or barfing on the curb and all over Kayla-Babe's purse. I don't remember Lee's concerned look as Jesse helped me into my bed. In fact, the whole evening shutters into a growing darkness that swallows me whole.
When I wake the next morning, my entire body is sore in random places, and I am filled with a deep sense of self-disgust. I reek of sour alcohol and sick, and my head feels as though someone hacked at it with an axe.
Groaning, I reach over for my phone to check the time. With horror, I see that the person I drunk dialed last night was Dad – and that I had left him a long voicemail detailing my intoxicated behavior and inexcusable shouting.
The shame I feel instantly burns more than the world's most potent drink.