Page 53 of Cleats and Pumps

Tears leaked down my cheeks as I sang. Thankfully, I’d figured out how to sing through emotions long ago. Mostly this was singing through nerves, letting the feelings flow out of my eyes, not my mouth.

When I got to the emotional part of the song, my voice cracked. Apparently, not breaking down was too much to hopefor. Had I been in drag, this would’ve seriously killed my makeup. So small miracles for that.

By the time I finished singing, the theater was quiet. I smiled and thanked them, grabbed my stuff, and left. This had been fun, an adventure I hadn’t counted on, but it was time to walk away.

I wasn’t allowed to live out loud… If I lived out loud, I’d have Tommy, and I’d play football without fear of being fired for who and what I was. I’d be able to visit my parents without my dad making my life a fucking hell while I was there.

I decided it was time to go home. Yeah, the media circus would be swarming my condo. I expected them to. But I was ready to face my life. I texted Erissa to let her know I was going home.

Me: Let’s turn up the heat. I’m ready to fight.

She just texted back a smiley face. So it was definitely time to make some choices once and for all.

37

Tommy

Thenewshithardas Amos began fighting the league for benching him for doing drag. Of course, politically, this was a hot-button issue. The news reported he even got some death threats from the prissy boys, as I called the notorious hate group.

God, I missed him. I reminded myself over and over that right now he needed space to deal with all the other stuff going on in his life, and I’d be seeing him later anyway, but how I wanted to be there for him as he processed all the shit.

To keep myself from becoming the overbearing needy whatever I am to Amos, I called Jake to set up a time to come see the kids play, and he told me that Amos had decided not to go back out to New Mexico, because of all the upheaval with his contract.

Despite that, I flew out to watch the kids play and even got a few interviews from the kids whose parents hadn’t reneged on their permission for me to do so. I guess homophobia lingered in small town New Mexico as well.

The team was doing much better than they had before. No, they weren’t going to make it to state, and when I interviewed the quarterback, he even said, “We had a lot of ground to cover, but Amos helped us get to where we are… If it wasn’t for him… and Coach Jake, we’d never have won a single game.”

“Do you think you’ll make it to state next year?” I asked.

He smiled and several of the other kids did too. “We’re going to clean house next year. Just you wait,” he said.

I sorta thought they might. Coach Jake had said basically the same thing when I interviewed him. “The kids are making significant progress…”

“What did Amos bring to this?” I asked him.

He paused for a moment before responding, “Amos showed the kids that they were worth the effort, worth his effort. And now that all this came out about what he was dealing with, well, it’s inspired most of the team even that much more. When anyone else in his situation would’ve been licking their wounds, he was here helping the team get better. That shows just what kind of man he really is.”

I nodded and put down my notes. “Have you spoken to him?” I asked, my interviewer voice shifting to one of concern. Even Owen hadn’t heard much from Amos since the shit hit the fan. I couldn’t help but wonder if maybe… Well, I hoped he was okay.

“I spoke to him twice, once to confirm that he wasn’t going to make it down to see the team play and then again when I contacted him to update him on how the team was doing.”

This was good information—I’d put that in my article as well. It humanized Amos to show that even as the shit hit the fan for him he still wanted to know how the kids were doing.

I wrote my article the next day. I was proud of it. It highlighted just how good Amos’s heart was. I think it demonstrated his true character. That’s the least I could do for him.

I did a couple more edits before meeting the pilot to fly home, then sent it off. I was proud of what I’d done and hoped it would help Amos.

I grabbed a cab to get me home from the airport. I hadn’t wanted to leave my car parked over the weekend that I had been gone. We pulled up in front of the house just after the sun had set. I thanked the driver and grabbed my bag before heading in.

I stopped short when I saw the front door was standing open. “Um, hello,” I yelled, but no one answered. I thought about going to the neighbors’ house, but they were elderly and would likely just tell me to call the cops and wait for them before going in.

I grabbed my phone and dialed 911. I told the operator I’d just gotten back into town, and my door was standing open.

“I’ll send someone out. Don’t go in,” she admonished.

I waited only a few minutes before a police car pulled into the driveway. Okay, that’s impressive, I thought. We were in the middle of nowhere, sorta, but I had heard my grandpa complain on more than one occasion that their little town had too many cops for this size city.

After greeting the two female officers, I followed behind as they entered the house. I’d definitely been robbed. My belongings were tossed around the room haphazardly like someone had been in a hurry.

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