Another Jock Story

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(Gabriel’s POV)

When I got home, nobody was there.Not that I was expecting it to be any different. On game’s days, as I like to call them, mum would always go out with the mothers of the other guys on the team. They would go to the house of one of them then wait for their husbands to come and pick them up to go to the game.

It was always the same. When it is my mum’s turn to be the host, I would try to sneak in the house hoping to get unnoticed. On the rare occasions where one of the women saw me, I would have to listen to them stating the differences between my brother and me. How if I were to find myself in the middle of their sons I would get definitely squashed, “The poor dear”, they add inevitably. Then they would ask mum why she didn’t get me in a club when I was little so I wouldn’t be so scrawny today. And I had to watch my mum smile uncomfortably while trying to tell them that since I was young I didn’t like to go outside and play. And that I was an introvert child. After they exhaust everything they could say about me they would go back to their previous topic of conversation, mainly the latest home decoration and so on and so forth. So I would leave to go upstairs to my room where I could close the door and don’t have to listen to what they are saying.

So today, I came to find an empty house. I rummaged through the kitchen making myself a sandwich and I had dinner in front of the TV. It was one of the things I liked about nights such as this. I would have the house all to myself. I like it when it is so quiet. Mum and dad would take Chris to have dinner at some restaurant after the game. That’s what they always do. And I don’t mind. I’m sure they wouldn’t refuse if I asked to tag along but I never asked and they never proposed.

So, anyway, I watched TV for a while, then I went to my room, finished my homework then went to bed, snuggled under the covers and started another book. After a couple of hours, I turned off the lights and thought about my day. It was a ritual I always do before going to sleep. Not that my days were exciting, far from it, I just liked to think about the little details that made each day different from the last one. Like my meetings with Adonis. Not that that was a detail. Actually my encounter with him is like the most interesting things that happened in my high school life. It was kind of the sigh HOLLYWOOD on top of the hill.

Usually I’m terrible with people. I can’t remember their faces let alone their names. Te way I see it, why bother trying to remember someone when you know that he’s not going to be part of your life and you’re not going to have any meaningful interaction with them. Two years ago, my cousin came to visit and she was talking to mum about how she wrote the phone number of every guy she had met and how her friends envied her for the insane amount of said phone numbers that she had to buy another agenda. I didn’t see the point, if you’re not interested in the guy in the long term and you’re not going to keep in touch , why bother get his number. I would rather have a few people that I genuinely care about than a lot I didn’t give a damn about.

But I found myself comfortable around Adonis. No, not Adonis, Adam, I have to remember that. He was built like a jock, like my brother and his friends. And yet he didn’t act like one. He was in that garden obviously wanting to be alone and not surrounded by other guys and excited cheerleaders. He was different. And he has a nice smile, and a nice hair. Beautiful hair, and when he looked at me trying to suppress his laughter, his eyes seemed to laugh. It made my hand itch to grab a pencil and start drawing him, but that wouldn’t give him justice. We were so different, like night and day. I was the night, silent, quiet, with shadows and whispers. He was definitely like the day, beautiful, happy, cheerful. And yet, I wanted to see him again, I wanted to talk to him. I have never wanted the company of anyone in years, but I wanted his company.

Just before I drifted to sleep my last thought was : “If I go to the garden tomorrow, will I see him again?”



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