Chapter 13 - Maturation.
It was a miserable, grey, drizzly, late April day but that wasn't going to deter any of the players in the Spring Youth Rec Soccer League Championship Tournament. Especially not Brian Kinney. Brian was on fire today. The fact that his cleats were clogged with muddy sod, his uniform was plastered to his body with mud, sweat and rain and that his whole body was liberally splattered with mud - including even his face - didn't seem to faze him in the least. If anything, he played better in wet conditions - he'd always been what his teammates called a 'Mudder'.
Right then, Brian was screaming down the field as fast as his legs could carry him. His lungs ached from oxygen deprivation as he pushed himself past his normal limits. He tore past Jon - the school soccer team buddy who'd recommended that he join this co-ed rec league team since they desperately needed players - and easily outstripped the defending player who'd been assigned to cover him.
Out of the corner of his eye he spied his other teammate, Winnie, carefully working the ball up the left sideline using her mad ball handling skills. Winnie was truly an incredible soccer player. At first glance she looked like this petite, delicate, little girl who'd never in a million years be able to stand up against the seventeen year old boys who made up the majority of the league's players. But if you discounted her merely because of her size, like many of the players on the other teams often did, you'd be making a huge mistake. What Winnie lacked in size, she made up for in feistiness and agility. So, while their opponents were always underestimating her, Brian and the rest of the team took full advantage of their little secret weapon.
Right now, for example, Winnie was paired up against this hulking huge 6'2" meathead. The bigger boy had realized early on that he wasn't any match for the slight girl's skills, as she'd easily stolen the ball from him a half dozen times in this period alone. In desperation, he'd turned to trying to intimidate her using his physical strength. Accordingly he'd begun to crowd her a bit closer than was strictly necessary, hip checking and shoulder checking whenever the ref was looking elsewhere. However, the plucky little 5'5" girl hadn't given in for a moment. When she couldn't evade his less-than-legal-moves by outpacing him or ducking under his looming frame, she'd take the blow like a pro and just keep on going. Needless to say, the big hulk was getting frustrated. His coach was yelling at him from the sidelines, asking why he couldn't keep up with 'a girl'. That, combined with the jeers of the crowd every time this little chickie outmaneuvered him, increased his anger with every minute of play.
Finally, Brian wove around the last defender standing in his way and took his position in center field about fifteen meters back from the goal. Now that he was in place, perfectly positioned for an easy goal, all he had to do was wait for his more than capable team mates to bring the ball to him. They'd practiced this play a hundred times. It should be easy. If they could make this goal, they'd break the tie and win the game as well as the tournament. Of course, it was never just that easy.
Brian turned to look to the left in order to gauge where the ball was. Winnie and Jon were still dribbling the ball between them, working it inexorably up the field, around and through the legs of the defenders. The big hulk that had been covering Winnie all this half was still there, hovering ineffectually over the smaller girl every step of the way. When Jon all of a sudden got trapped by two players from the opposing team, he quickly cut the ball over to Winnie who, seeing a tiny gap in the defenders' line, took off at full tilt with the ball closely controlled between her skillful feet.
Winnie was running up the line. The hulking boy knew there was no way he'd be able to out run her. Instead he decided he'd be better off just plain knocking her over. With a short burst of speed, he came up diagonally from behind Winnie and threw the entire weight of his shoulder against her back, shoving her to the ground at his feet. Amazingly enough, the ref didn't call the obvious foul.
As the girl fell to the ground, the ruthless boy came to a halt, looking down at his work with a self-satisfied glare. His smug look quickly turned to one of confusion, though, as the falling girl tucked her shoulder under in a well executed Judo roll. By tucking and continuously transferring her weight, the momentum of the fall ended up rolling her entire body over till she was thrown back up onto her feet. Then, without even a pause, she sprinted away with the ball still under her control, leaving the big dumbass just standing there staring, wondering what the fuck had just happened.
Within moments, Winnie was all the way down the line clear to the corner. She paused briefly to look around for an open striker, saw Brian waiting and pivoted gracefully on her right foot. Looking calm and collected, she planted her left foot securely, wound back her leg and then scooped up the ball with her foot and booted it perfectly. The ball rebounded off the laces of her cleats with a satisfying *swack* that told everyone it was going to reach its intended destination.
Brian, the ball's intended recipient, tracked its progress through the air. With three long strides, he was in place. The ball crossed the field with textbook precision straight towards the spot where Brian was positioned. When it was perfectly aligned with the goal, he lunged head first into the flying ball, hitting it with the crown of his forehead. The ball angled towards the upper left corner, speeding through the goalie's outstretched hands. With a sibilant *swish* the ball hit the back of the net and then rolled down to rest at the pissed off goalie's feet. The ref's loud whistle signaled the goal and the end of the play.
Both teams and all the spectators watching from the sidelines sent up a giant whoop of admiration at the exquisitely executed play. Winnie barreled across the field and practically threw herself into Brian's arms. Jon was there two seconds later, high-fiving them both. The rest of their team mobbed them moments later in a spontaneous group celebration which only ended when the ref threatened to issue a 'delay of game' infraction against them.
Ten minutes later, time ran out and the game was called. Brian's team had won, 3-2, with Brian having earned a hat trick after scoring all three of his team's goals during the championship game. As he walked off the field, tired and mud drenched but ecstatically happy, he proudly shook hands with his team and the associated supporters.
"Brian! Brian, over here!" Winnie called to him from the middle of a large group of well-wishers.
Brian trotted over to meet her. He might have been the one to score today's goals, but he would never have managed it without the hard work Winnie, Jon and his other teammates had put in. If anything, the midfielders like Winnie probably worked harder than anyone else on the team. If nothing else, Brian owed her a huge thank you for making him look so good.
"Hey, Dude! Excellent game! We totally rocked out there today!" Winnie greeted him with an enthusiastic fist bump as soon as he approached.
"That we did! And you were fabulous out there, Win. How the hell did you do that roll thing? That was the coolest shit I think I've ever seen!" Brian gave back the kudos to his best assistant ever.
"Well, besides being the best high school soccer player in the state," Winnie bragged, "I also just happen to be a brown belt in Judo. That little maneuver out there was nothing. You should see me throw my 200lb judo Sensei sometime!"
"Not to brag too much, or anything, but my Niece here WAS the State Judo Champion for her age group back when she was only eight. We're all pretty proud of her." This last comment was interjected into their conversation by an older man who had been part of the group standing around Winnie before Brian had arrived. "Great job out there, by the way, young man," the ginger-haired man added, directing his comments towards Brian. "Winnie's been going on and on about you all season. It's 'Brian did this' and 'Brian did that' after every game or practice. And after watching your performance, I can see why she's so appreciative of your skills."
"Thank you, Sir," Brian replied politely. "Of course it's Winnie's assists that really make the most difference. I wouldn't look half so good out there if it wasn't for her."
The man chuckled appreciatively and gave his Niece another doting look. "I can't argue with you about that! But, nevertheless, I was quite impressed with you as well. Tell me, did you play in the fall? I don't remeber seeing you playing in any of the local school playoff games. I'm sure I would have remembered you."
"I've been on the varsity team at my high school for the past three years, but I ended up sitting out the second half of this year's season due to an injury," Brian explained, citing a half truth - he had been injured, but not while playing, and he wasn't about to mention his temporary suspension either.
"Well, that's too bad. It looks like you're all healed now though. And I'm really glad you decided to play again this spring, son. Otherwise I might have missed seeing you all together, which would have been a real loss for both you and my University." The man smiled indulgently at Brian and handed him a business card he'd pulled out of the inside pocket of his leather jacket.
Brian looked down at the card. At the top, it was emblazoned by a full color depiction of the Universty of Pittsburgh seal. Beneath the school logo was printed the name 'Gil Taylor' and the man's title, 'Associate Athletic Director, Development'.
"I think our soccer coach would love to meet you, Brian. Give me a call on Monday and I'm sure we can set up a try out for you. And if things go as I suspect they will, you could find yourself on the field as a Pitts Panther next fall, son," Mr. Taylor announced, patting Brian on the shoulder good naturedly before turning back around to talk to someone else in the big group of nearby people.
"Shit! Is this legit, Win?" Brian asked his friend, his heart hammering even faster now than it had while he was on the field playing.
"Yep. That's my Uncle Gil. He's a recruiter at Pitt. And he doesn't hand out his business cards to just anyone!" Winnie squealed gleefully as she hugged Brian. "Looks like you just made the grade, Brian! Way to go!"
"I-I-I can't believe it. I thought I was shit outta luck after missing most of the season my senior year. If this is legitimate . . . Wow! Pitt! That's . . . Wow!" Brian didn't know what to say.
His dream of making it to college and escaping from his family's blue collar life - a dream that he thought was lost to him forever - seemed to now be within his reach again and he was literally speechless.
"Hey, Mister. Why do you gots a big black circle on your forehead?" Brian's tongue tied reverie was interrupted by a tug on his shorts and a small voice coming from somewhere down around his knees.
"Um . . . Huh?" Brian responded cluelessly as he looked down and saw that the question came from a blond-haired boy.
"You gots a big round black circle on your face . . . Oh, wait. It's mud! Yuck! Boy, you sure are dirty, Mister. My momma would get real mad at me if I was as dirty as you," the little tyke declared, looking almost worried at the older boy's state of muddiness.
"That's not just any old mud, Jesse," Winnie replied on Brian's behalf. "That circle on Brian's face is from where he knocked in the winning goal with his head. That there is a badge of honor. If I were Brian, I'd never wash it off ever. I'd wear that mud proudly so that everyone would know what a hero I was," Winnie declared with a teasing wink in Brian's direction.
This silly statement earned a round of laughter from everyone, even the little boy, although he wasn't entirely sure what he was supposed to be laughing at. Brian reached up and wiped at the mark as he laughed along. Winnie playfully slapped his hand away, trying to force him to leave the drying muddy mark alone.
"You SHOULD leave it, Brian. It looks great. And Winnie's right, it's like a personal trophy from today's tourney," Justin, who'd just walked up after watching the game from a hidden spot beneath the nearby grandstands, couldn't help joining in on teasing Brian.
Brian shook his head at the joking comment from his longtime blond friend but smiled nonetheless. Even a visit from his invisible stalker, Justin, wasn't going to faze him today. Not only had his team won the championship, but he was going to get to try out for the soccer team at Pitt. If he measured up, it could mean a scholarship and freedom from the rest of the Kinney clan. He didn't think it was possible for anything to dampen the good mood he was in right now.
"Hey, are you my Uncle Justin's 'Brian'?" Little Jesse interrupted the laughter with a serious tone in his childish voice.
"Uh . . . W-W-What?" Brian was startled into seriousness himself at the name he heard the boy utter.
"You're Justin's friend, 'Brian'. He told me you and I are the only ones who can see him, so you gots to be Brian. I'm the one who called 911 for Justin when you was hurt. He looks all better now, though, right Justin," Jesse continued to prattle on in his six-year-old way even after Brian and Winnie fell silent.
"I have to go," Brian announced brusquely, turning and stomping off without further explanation.
"Brian, wait," Winnie hollered as she trotted to catch up to her departing friend. "Sorry about that. My cousin, Jesse, is just going through this 'imaginary friend' stage, you know. My Aunt and Uncle say they don't want to discourage his imagination and creativity so they won't do anything about it. But I'm sorry if he freaked you out with it or anything."
"No. It's fine. I . . . I just really do have to go. Um, thanks again for a great assist, Win. And thank your Uncle for me, too. I'll call him Monday about a tryout." Brian's reply was short but polite enough, and Winnie didn't think anything more about it other than to regret that her delusional little cousin had chased off the handsome and personable boy - a boy she wouldn't have minded getting better acquainted with.
Oh well, there were always other tempting prospects. "Hey, Jon," Winnie called out as another of her handsome teammates walked by.
~**~**~**~**~**~
"Thank you, Coach Swanson. Thank you. You have no idea how much this means to me!" Brian was so thrilled by the phone call he'd just received he could hardly catch his breath enough to form the words needed to reply.
"Yes . . . Yes, of course . . . When does practice start? August 1st? Yeah, that sounds great . . . No. Let me give you a different mailing address - I don't want anything coming to my home. I don't always get my mail here reliably . . ."
Brian scanned the kitchen quickly to make sure no one had come in while he was talking before he gave the caller Debbie Novotny's home address.
"Yeah, anything you send to that address will get to me right away. I promise I'll sign and return the commitment letter for the scholarship as soon as I receive it . . . I really can't thank you enough, Coach . . . Alright. See you in August! Bye!"
Brian hung up the phone with a huge smile plastered across his face. He almost couldn't believe it. He'd only had the tryout with the Pitt's soccer coach three days ago and they were already calling him to offer him a full-ride scholarship. Apparently his athletic skills, along with his top notch academic scores, were enough to pave his way to success at one of the best colleges in western Pennsylvania. This was Brian's dream come true. He was going to college and after that he'd be free.
"Sounds to me like you're getting too big for your britches, Sonnyboy," a contemptuous Irish drawl from behind him broke into Brian's momentary sense of elation. "What the fuck was that all about? Hmm?"
"That was the Head Coach for the University of Pittsburgh men's soccer team. They're offering me a full-ride, four year scholarship," Brian couldn't help but brag a little, even though he suspected his father wouldn't be impressed. "I start practice in August."
*Hah!* "Well la-de-dah. Aren't you special now? Going off to some fairy boy college like fucking royalty," Jack sneared, the disdain he felt for his son clearly evident in his tone. "What the fuck do YOU need to go to college for, Sonnyboy? You think you're too good to go out and get a real job like the rest of us? I'll have you know this country was built on the backs of hard working men like me and the rest of the guys down at the plant. And none of us needed no fancy college degree to prove we were men. Only fags and losers waste their time at some boring ass college. So which are you, Sonnyboy? Are you a fag or a loser? Or both?"
"Fuck you, Jack," Brian replied, unable to think up a scathing retort when all he wanted was to get the hell out of the house as quickly as possible.
"Well, if that's the best brilliant come back you can manage, Sonnyboy, are you sure you're smart enough for college?" Jack cackled maniacally at his son's hate-filled glance, raised his beer to take another swig of the tepid liquid and then continued with his toxic spiel. "Wow those fancy college sons of bitches must be bigger idiots than you are if they think your worthless ass is worthy of a scholarship. It'll be a complete waste of their money since we both know you'll fuck it all up somehow. Don't they know you’re just another worthless Mick from the wrong side of the tracks - and not too bright of one at that? You've always been a complete waste of space. You'll never amount to a pile of shit. Why the fuck would they want the likes of you staining their school?"
Brian pushed past the old drunk heading towards the television in the next room, trying futilely to ignore his father's spiteful lies and thinking that if he couldn't do that maybe he could drown them out with mindless TV drivel. Jack hadn't tried to hit him since Brian had stood up to him at Christmas, but that didn't mean his father had mellowed even a little bit. It seemed like Jack had merely sublimated all that rage into a steady stream of emotional abuse instead. And no matter how hard Brian tried to steel himself to the daily diatribes, his father's evil words always managed to trickle in somehow. Brian was beginning to suspect that the physical abuse had been easier to deal with than this.
"Oh and don't expect me to contribute one fucking dime to your so called 'higher education'," Jack followed Brian into the family room so he could continue pelting his son with his painful words. "When you fuck it up - and we both know you will eventually - don't come whining to me for help. I've wasted too much money supporting your useless ass already. If you think you're too good to work for a living like the rest of us, you can go to hell before I'll give you anything more. Fucking useless little asswipe. Probably gonna end up sitting around on welfare eating up my tax dollars with your worthless college education doing fuck all good . . ."
"Shut the FUCK up, you stupid old drunk," Brian screeched, turning to confront the sorryass complainer when he just couldn't take any more. "What the hell do you know about anything? If anyone around here is useless, it's you. You drink away all your money and then spend the rest of your life complaining about it. Well that's NOT going to be me. I'm going to be the biggest fucking success you've ever seen. Then we'll see who's worthless."
Having said his piece, Brian threw open the front door so hard it clanged against the wall and then stomped out of the house. He almost ran to where his car was parked by the curb on the street and climbed inside. It wasn't until he was safe inside the steel and chrome which made up Big Bertha that he started to try and control his heaving breathing.
"Well so much for getting to enjoy my good news for even a couple minutes," Brian complained to no one in particular as soon as he'd managed to curb his anger a bit. "I should have known today was cursed the minute I got out of bed. Happy fucking birthday to me! Way to go, Jack! You've managed to ruin another year for me without even trying! Fucker!"
"You know he's wrong, Brian," a soft, concerned tenor voice answered him from the passenger seat. "You're smart and talented and a harder worker than Jack ever was. You're going to do great in college. I know you're going to be a huge fucking success no matter what you do," Justin tried to reassure his boy, but he could tell that somehow his words weren't making as much impact as the nasty ones Brian's father tossed out so easily. "And one day when you're rich and famous we'll come back here and shove it all in Jack's face. You just have to hold out a little longer, Brian. A couple more months is all. Come August you'll move into the dorms at school and you never have to look back."
"What the fuck do you know?" Brian spat, his anger at his father finding a focus, albeit an innocent one. "You don't know crap. Just get the fuck out of my car and my life already. And take all your spineless feel-good drivel with you. I don't need you and your empty words. I don't need anybody."
Justin knew that the pain Brian's words caused him was just a fraction of what his boy was feeling. He knew that Brian was only lashing out at him because there was no one else around. There was no other safe way for Brian to vent his pain and anger. He knew that Brian didn't mean to hurt him.
But it did hurt. It hurt so much that Justin didn't know how he could possibly bear it. He loved Brian so deeply that he'd do anything in his power to help him. Unfortunately, all he could do right now was quietly accept the pain and let himself fade away as Brian had asked.
~**~**~**~**~
"Happy Birthday to you! Happy birthday to you! Happy birthday dear Brian, happy birthday to you!"
The discordant notes of the inane birthday song assaulted Brian's eardrums the moment he entered the Novotny kitchen. He greeted the song with a stoic groan and a grimace. He even submitted to the ensuing bear hugs he was subjected to from both Debbie and Michael. What choice did he have - he was here, after all, to ask Debbie for another favor.
"Yeah, um thanks . . ." Brian said without any enthusiasm at all as soon as he'd been released from the last hug. "Hey, Deb, I just wanted . . ."
"That's all we get? 'Um, thanks'. Geeze, honey, try and sound just a little excited. It's your eighteenth birthday. You’re legal! You should be happy," Deb complained.
"Yeah, Brian. We're both eighteen now. It's gonna be great. We can get into clubs now and drink 3.2 beer and everything," Michael chimed in, excited enough for the both of them.
"Whatever, Mikey," Brian couldn't muster up even a smidgen of excitement after the confrontation he'd just had with his father. "It's just another day, you know. There's nothing special about it. Why the fuck would I bother to get all worked up over it. So I was born. So what? It's not like it's some amazing accomplishment or something. Millions of people get born every day and most of them will end up suffering through miserable lives, get old and die. What the fuck is there to celebrate about that?"
"Briiiiannn," Michael whined, unable to dispute his friend's logic but knowing in his gut there must be something wrong with that attitude.
"Can I have some cheese to go with that whine, Mikey," Brian relented enough to crack a joke so that his rant would seem a little less harsh. "Deb, I've got another favor to ask you," Brian went on, changing the subject. "I gave your address out to the admissions office at Pitt. They're going to be sending me some stuff and I didn't want my folks intercepting it. I hope that's okay?"
"Pitt? Does that mean you got in, Brian? Did you get the soccer scholarship?" Michael asked, literally hanging on Brian's words as well as his arm where he'd grabbed ahold of his friend.
"Yep. Full-ride. Four years. Room and board included," Brian announced causing both Novotnys to squeak with happiness.
"Good for you, Brian!" Deb yelled at him even though he was standing only two feet away. "Good for you! Well, now. Even if you don't want to celebrate your birthday, we're going to celebrate THAT news. That's a real accomplishment, Brian. I'm so proud of you, honey! Just imagine. You're going to Pitt!"
The rest of the evening was spent with Michael and Debbie fussing over Brian. They had a big Italian pasta dinner, like they always did when Deb was cooking. Afterwards, they all shared the big double chocolate Devil's Food cake Debbie had baked, even though Brian refused to let them put any birthday candles on top. Both Novotnys did whatever they could to make sure Brian knew he was important and special and that they appreciated him even when his own family seemed like they could care less. And for once Brian let himself be pampered and fussed over. It felt good to have somebody acting like he wasn't a complete failure, a completely worthless piece of shit who'd never amount to anything in life. It felt almost like being loved. Brian needed that tonight of all nights.
After dinner Debbie spent time cleaning up the kitchen while Brian and Michael sprawled on the couch watching television. It felt so good to just relax. Brian relished every single moment in this house. It was his safe haven. It was the only place he had where he could let his guard down.
"You know, Brian," Michael piped up during a commercial break halfway through that night's episode of Cheers. "It's really great, you getting into Pitt and getting a scholarship and all. I mean, that's huge. Really."
"Thanks, Mikey," Brian replied with a genuine smile.
"I'm just so proud of you," Michael added, emphasizing his words with a pat on Brian's thigh. "I know you'll kick ass. You're so smart."
Brian felt a moment of pure pride at hearing such praise from his friend. It felt so good. And the way Michael was looking up at him with such fascination, really helped shore up Brian's injured self-esteem. It was exactly what he'd needed tonight.
As the last commercial ended and the show came back on, Brian's attention returned to the television. Michael's did not. Instead of returning to his end of the couch, the slim youth curled his body up close to Brian's, his head leaning against the taller lad's shoulder. Michael's hand, which was still resting where it had been after patting his friend's thigh amicably a few moments earlier, slid upwards and inwards by several inches. Michael's other hand curled affectionately around Brian's biceps.
And if all that wasn't enough of a tell about the way he was feeling, Michael made things even clearer when he added in a hushed voice, "this is nice, Brian."
Brian felt himself tense up. He didn't have a clue how to respond to Michael's unsubtle advances. He'd suspected for a while now that his friend wanted to be more than friends. To be honest, though, Brian didn't feel at all attracted to Michael. At least not in that way.
Debbie chose that moment to come bustling out of the kitchen. Brian breathed a short-lived sigh of relief. Brian figured that his mother's appearance would prompt Michael to sit up and put a little distance between them. Or maybe Debbie would step in with her usual joking manner and tease them enough that Michael would back off.
Brian was wrong though. When Deb saw her son and his longtime friend seemingly curled up together romantically on the couch, all she did was raise her hand to her chest, smile at the couple affectionately and then move to the wall switch in order to turn the lights down. With one last little huffed chuckle, the woman walked right past the pair and headed up the steps.
"Goodnight, boys!" was all Brian heard as Debbie disappeared.
"Sheesh. I thought she'd never leave," Michael said, adding a proprietary squeeze to Brian's arm and then looking up with sheer adoration at the birthday boy.
It was too much for Brian. The look of longing in Michael's eyes, the way his one hand kept wandering closer and closer to Brian's crotch, the weight of the smaller man leaning against him . . . It was all far too intimate. Brian felt uncomfortable. Threatened. This was NOT how he wanted the evening to end. So much for his feeling relaxed and at home here in his safe haven.
"Uh, Mikey . . . I've gotta go," Brian stated, sliding his body towards the edge of the couch as he spoke. "Thanks for dinner and everything, but I better . . ."
"But it's still early Brian. Cheers isn't even over. You don't have to go yet, do you?"
"Yeah, I do . . ."
"Well, okay, I guess," Michael relented but got up nonetheless and followed Brian to the door.
And just as the taller youth was about to open the door and slide outside, Michael boldly moved himself so he was blocking the entry. Reaching up and sliding his arms around Brian's neck, the shorter man pulled his friend's face down. Before Brian could even react, Michael had planted a firm wet kiss right on the unready boy's lips.
"Happy birthday, Brian," Michael whispered tenatively as if he was afraid Brian would get angry if he even mentioned the occasion. "And I just want you to know that, no matter what, I'll always be here for you. I always have been and I always will. I'd do anything for you, Brian. Anything. Okay?"
"Yeah, Mikey," Brian answered, too overwhelmed by the emotions he saw in his friend to respond more intelligently. "I . . . I'll see you tomorrow," he added with an innocuous smile.
Then, disentangling Michael's hands from around his neck, Brian sidled past him and out the door, passively resisting the overt demonstration of emotion that he just couldn't deal with by quietly running away.