Page 2 of Touchdown

I’d rather get wasted at a club than sit on the couch eating donuts and watching sad reruns.

“Then you’d better get dressed, because we’ve got some dancing to do.”

“We can’t be out too late—I’ve got practice tomorrow.”

“Oh no, you don’t. You are finally going to take that leave Brandon has been bugging you to use up. You deserve a break after everything you’ve been through.”

That’s actually not a bad idea. I could definitely use a break, that much is for sure. Being in an unhappy relationship is draining in more ways than one.

“Alright. I’ll message Brandon telling him.”

It’s not like we have any important games coming up—I’d never take the break otherwise. I love football and I love my team, I’m usually such a professional and I wouldn’t want to leave them hanging.

I send Brandon a quick email before following Judy to her room, where she is already rifling through her closet.

“I, uh… I didn’t exactly pack anything before I got out of there.”

“Oh, right. Well, it’s early enough for us to stop at the mall on our way there. First set of clothes since the breakup—you’d better buy something good.”

I can’t help but have the petty wish that Pete sees Judy and me going clubbing and having a good time without him. Of course, that’s unlikely to happen. He’s probably called back his lover by now. I bet they’re currently in bed doing… No, I’m not going to think about that. I don’t want relief to be outweighed by anger again. I’m quite happy with relief, thank you very much.

I get a pair of skinny jeans and a new shirt at the mall, perfect for clubbing. The shirt is kind of see through and I like it. It’s the kind of outfit I would never wear when I was with Pete. He would get all jealous and insist that this kind of attire should be for us as a couple alone, not for public wear.

I coddled his insecurities, while all alone, I was the one who should have been insecure. I still can’t believe I never imagined he’d cheat on me. I’m such a fool.

“Hey, stop that.”

“Stop what?”

“Get out of your head. I can tell you’re thinking too hard. Tonight isn’t about thinking. It’s about celebrating your newfound freedom, and that doesn’t involve ruminating on the past, got it?”

“You know me too well.”

“True.”

“Alright, I’ve got it. Happy thoughts only.” At least for now. I’m sure I’ll have some more unsavory thoughts about Pete when I work through this later, but for now, I’m ready to celebrate my freedom, just like Judy says.

We get admitted into the club easily enough and I head straight for the bar. The music is blaring and I can’t wait to get out onto the dance floor, but I’m not going to do that until I’m sufficiently buzzed.

I raise my shot glass to Judy. “To freedom!”

“Freedom,” she agrees, downing her shot in one. I do the same and gesture to the bartender for another. After a couple of shots, the two of us go out onto the dance floor. I dance with Judy for a while before getting pulled into the arms of a complete stranger.

She clearly has no idea I’m gay, but that doesn’t matter. I’m happy to give her a dance regardless. Once that song is finished, I set my eyes on another stranger, this one a guy. I tap him on the shoulder and indicate that I’d like a dance. It’s too loud to hear much here, but I manage to convey my meaning well enough with gestures.

We dance together, our bodies moving in sync with the music. It’s nice, losing myself in the touch of someone who I don’t know and will probably never see again. It allows me to live in the moment and forget all about Pete, at least for a while.

I end up getting blind drunk and kissing someone—I don’t know who—though he his chivalrous enough to refuse to take it further with me as incapacitated as I am. Probably a good idea. Jumping into bed with the first attractive guy I see since leaving Pete would not be my smartest decision.

Judy gets me home and wrangles me into my pajamas before putting me to bed on the couch. I fall asleep focusing on nothing but the roiling of my stomach and how badly I want to avoid throwing up.

Alas, that wish does not come to pass. Barely an hour into drifting off, I’m kneeling over the toilet, emptying my guts. Just great. I suppose that’s the price I pay for forgetting for a while. Oh well. I still say it was worth it. This is what happens when you are a dedicated athlete who rarely drinks. My body is just not used to this kind of poison.

The next morning, Judy greets me with a tall glass of orange juice and some painkillers.

“Bless you,” I mumble, downing the pills and gulping the orange juice.

“We certainly had quite a night last night. What do you want to do today?”

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