Page 85 of Loving the Legend
I take a steadying breath.
I place a kiss on his chest and tuck in closer to him. “Tell me,” I reply softly.
“His name was Paul. He and his dad moved to my block when I was in middle school. We immediately took to each other. His mother left when he was five to start a family with a new guy she’d been having an affair with. We bonded over both having deadbeat parents. He was super talented, with both brains and athleticism. He loved football the way I love basketball. Man, he had an extraordinary memory and could easily recall things that he learned. I always wanted to be smart like him. He needed to understand how a thing worked and would relentlessly seek answers, whereas I would shrug and be cool with leaving it a mystery.
“We often spent nights at each other’s houses, talking late, playing video games, and dreaming about being in the NFL andNBA. Something shifted between us during my sophomore year of high school. It was like one day we both turned around and realized the other person was attractive. Or maybe it was the way girls started looking at us that made us really look at one another. We had both dated randomly, but we were like Kieran and Tommy in that our friendship was always more important than the girls we dated. One day, he slept over at my house. Until then, he’d flirt with me here and there, but I didn’t think too much of it. He was flirtatious by nature, or so I thought. He came over pretty upset, I remember. His dad drank a lot and would often pick fights. He was verbally abusive and sometimes things would get physical. My mom was working a night shift, so we had the place to ourselves. Paul was too upset to tell me about the fight. I tried to distract him by offering to play video games, but he wasn’t in the mood.
“I’ll never forget the look that swept over his face when he turned to me and said:Nobody wants me. I sometimes think it would be better if I was dead.His tone was flat like he’d thought of the simplest solution for how he’d felt. I didn’t realize how much he meant to me until he planted the idea of his death in my mind. It made me sick. Paul saw panic spread across my face and raced over to me. He said he was just bullshitting and didn’t mean it.
“I was freaked out because I knew he had meant it. I remember feeling ashamed of the tears stinging my eyes.
“He kept asking me to say something, but I was too choked to speak.
“A part of me knew that once Paul had put an idea in his head, he was relentless about making it happen. At that moment, something cracked between us. I said once in therapy that it was the illusion that we were on the same path. I always thought we were in sync about believing in a future where wewould both go pro and live the lives of our wildest dreams. With a few words, I realized it was a lie.
“I asked him to promise that he would never leave me. He looked at me in a far-off way and promised. Then, he wiped my eyes. He was bigger than me—he kind of had Tommy’s build. He had these big ol’ ears that stuck out and gave him a distinct look and deep-set eyes that told you he was intelligent before he opened his mouth. Growing into his looks, his size, athleticism, and smarts made him sought after.
“After he promised he wouldn’t leave me, we hugged, and I held him crazy tight, afraid that if I released him, he’d disappear.
“I pulled back and held his face. I wanted to show him how much I loved him, so I kissed him. A quick peck on his lips. My eyes went wide when I realized what I had done, what I had admitted. But then he kissed me back and things progressed quickly.
“That’s how we became boyfriends. The next few months were solid. We were best friends at school and couldn’t keep off each other once we got home. The idea of coming out seemed crazy. Homophobia was in the air in our neighborhood. Two guys couldn’t hug or show any affection without declaring ‘no homo’ or ‘pause.’ It was toxic as hell. In a way, I’ve never seen Paul happier or sadder. It was like knowing that he was gay was the most depressing thing to learn about himself, thanks to his homophobic father. Yet, behind closed doors, he didn't hold back with me. I knew that he loved me. What we had was pure and honest, even if the world around us told us otherwise.”
“How did you feel about learning that you had romantic feelings for him?” I interject as I raise my face to kiss his chin while rubbing soft circles over his chest.
He kisses my forehead in return before answering. “Paul was all that mattered. I didn’t care what anyone else thought. I knew it wasn’t safe for us to be out. That was confirmed later on duringmy senior year when I had to fight bullies off of Kieran. But I knew that I wouldn’t live in my hood forever. I also knew that my mom wasn’t homophobic, and we would still be good if I came out, a security that Paul didn’t have.”
“I’m glad you had your mom. The idea of you having a dad like Paul’s makes me want to rage.”
“Me too. I told him we would be set once I was drafted. By then, I had a sense that if I kept playing at a high level, I would make the draft. Paul was too practical to dream with me. The same curiosity I loved about him could also make him see things too black and white. He couldn’t fathom a Black NBA or NFL player being out in the league. He thought we’d be closeted our entire lives, so he became depressed and eventually started pulling away. His dad saw us kissing once and lost it on him. I pulled his dad off him, absorbing some of his blows. His dad forbade me from stepping foot in their house ever again.”
“What the fuck?” I clench my fists. “No kid deserves that.”
“Yeah, his dad was vicious. We confessed everything to my mom that night. She told Paul he could stay with us, but he was too convinced he was a burden to accept. She lifted Paul's chin and told him there was nothing wrong with our love and that she was proud of us for following our hearts. The three of us stayed up late that night eating and talking.
“That night was one of the best nights of my life. Being able to tell someone I love about us felt unreal. Even Paul’s black and blue eyes were bright as we laughed with Mom. I wasn’t naive. I knew one good night couldn’t undo the insidious toll of his father’s abuse or his mom’s abandonment. His grades steadily declined as his fighting with his dad worsened, and he started skipping school and football practice. He ghosted me. I sometimes saw him in the stands at my games, but he’d leave before the end. The last time I saw him, I confronted him during halftime at one of my games. I followed him outside and askedhim, more yelled at him, to explain why he’d been ghosting me. He just kept saying that he loved me and would never truly leave me. I remember shaking him and asking him to stop hurting us. To hold it together a little longer. There were a few people around, but I didn’t care. I needed him to see the carnage of his apathy. He pushed me off of him and I flew backward, hitting my head against the wall. I knew he regretted it the minute he did it. It didn’t even hurt. It just sounded bad.
“His eyes grew wide, shocked by what he had done.
“I told him I was okay and reached for him, but he evaded my grasp.
“I love you, and I’m sorrywere the last words he said to me.
“My assistant coach came outside and yelled for me to get back to the game.
“After, I ran home to talk to him. When I reached the block, I saw an ambulance driving away and a crowd in front of Paul’s house. I ran to my mom, who was leaning against our fence sobbing. Her face told me everything I needed to know.
“When we got to the hospital, Paul was already gone. He had overdosed on pills. His dad didn’t find him in time.”
“I’m so sorry,” I say. I raise my head from Sid’s chest, and his shirt is soaked with my tears.
I pull off my T-shirt and wipe his face.
“I remember when I asked if you thought I was haunted, and you said something like people are haunted by the ugliness life throws their way. You were talking from experience,” I recount.
He nods. “Very few times in my life have I felt violent, but when I saw Paul’s dad the next morning, I lost it. The men on the block had to pull me off of him. I am not proud of it. He didn’t even block my blows.
“I couldn’t bring myself to go to Paul’s funeral. I was too angry at him, but I went to the cemetery and watched him lowered into the ground from afar.
