Page 2 of Sicken of the Calm
This particular summer,however, had been spent in my hometown of Odeton, released from school and intothe wilderness of two months without homework or barely a responsibility. Itwas on one of the many bike rides around our neighbourhood that Iva firstspotted Fredo, the German Shepherd she seemed to instantly take a liking to,despite its vicious barking as we approached the fence it was kept behind. Dayafter hot day we would see it tied in the garden, me standing back even as Ivapressed against the fence to take a closer look.
“He’s always tied up,” she hadcomplained, and I could already tell by the look in her eyes that she wasscheming. Even at ten years old, she had developed a scrappy mischievousnessthat seemed, in retrospect, to be a natural precursor to her early bloomingwhen she was thirteen. She entered pubescence equipped with the bluntinstrument of an irreverential attitude toward the boys she didn’t deem worthyto call dogs, who chased and whistled after her even before she reallyunderstood why.
Every day that summer shewould drag me to see Fredo, each time with a look thrown toward me as if tosay,See? Chained up again.
Iva,la justiciera,couldn’t leave it alone, and eventually convinced me to break into the garden,holding a baggy with morcilla left over from the night before. It becameinstantly apparent to me why Fredo was always tied up as he strained againstthe chain with a bloodlust that showed he was much more than only bark. Even asI made to retreat, Iva stepped a little closer, a hand in front of her as ifshe were about to tame a wild horse. I clutched at her instantly even though wewere still far beyond the reach of the chain. She indulged my fear and letherself be stilled, already knowing the value in playing the long game, buttook the baggy away from me and fed the dog by tossing him morsels with overarmthrows. The dog would only stop its barking long enough to eat, seeming toprefer the prospect of a live hunt to a boiled and fried one.
Every night she would savescraps from her dinner, or convince me to do the same, and she would feed themto Fredo the next day whilst I stood behind her, quaking and complaining;thedog is vicious, Iva, the owners are going to come back soon, I think I heardtheir car.She would smile at me;You’ll see.
True to her expectations,Fredo seemed to not only get used to her presence, and mine by association, butstarted anticipating it, ears alert and tail wagging when we came into view.Every visit, Iva would convince me to step a little closer until the day inmid-August when, almost without my noticing, she was petting its head, fingerssmelling of meat and rice.
“Joaquin, come on,” she saidto me without reproach and guided my hand toward coarse, sun-baked fur. Fredomust have smelt the trepidation on me, for he tensed the moment contact wasmade, but then my fingers were hesitantly scratching behind his ear, and thedog relaxed. The thrill that buzzed to life, gaining momentum from theaftermath of fear, coursed through me like a current.
“Te dije,” she had said.
We’d smiled at each other likeidiots in the sun.
That was neither the first northe last time I reached a destination I would never have if it weren’t for Iva.Iva is an explorer where I am a settler. Despite being part of the footballteam, and later its captain, I wouldn’t have socialized much outside of schooland the practically compulsory football parties if it weren’t for her. Iva hasa determination that burns the air around her, and even the wet kindle of mysoul is ignited by her.
Luckily for me, Iva is alsoattending Fox Lake University, although a year behind due to her age. It’s nosurprise that she has a buzzing social life, but in defiance to my unspoken fearswe have remained as tight-knit as ever, with a single addition to our duo inthe shape of Jarek Moore, who goes by his surname everywhere except in hisfamily. Surprisingly enough, I had been the one that met Moore first, a fellowteammate enrolled on a football scholarship. Moore is one of the few playerswith enough skill to stand out amongst the rest, built like a bull but with thetemperament of a torero in the ring. I knew he was a keeper when Iva made alewd comment toward him five minutes after meeting him without earning even aflinch. Despite being as outwardly expressive as a football, the deep-set,almost soulful eyes that peer out amidst his dark skin give him a warmth thattempers his seemingly unperturbable demeanour.
Right now, I’m hoping thateasy nonchalance rubs off on me as Iva narrows her eyes at me suspiciously. We aresprawled on the grass around one of the lakes that give the university campusits name, refuged under a cluster of trees from the still-insistent Septembersun.
“What’s up with your face?”Iva asks, poking her finger in front of said face and making a judgementalcircle. I scowl at her.
“This is what my face lookslike,” I grumble.
“Yeah, when there’s somethingbothering you,” she insists. I shrug, looking away.
Truth is, I don’t want toadmit to Iva that I saw Ezra yesterday, or that he’s still lingering in mymind, his number burning a hole in my phone. I have no doubt that she wouldread too much into it. After all, she was the one who had found me sitting onthe stoop of my house, slumped under the shame I had felt after finding out myhigh school teammates, the teammates I was a captain of, had been bullying Ezrawithout me even knowing. The realization had been an almost physical blow. Ihad felt like I was a part of a system that perpetuated everything that I wasagainst. That persecuted Ezra for something I had admitted to myself justrecently, and only to Iva beyond that.
Ezra had come out to the wholeschool when he was fifteen by asking one of the juniors out in the middle ofthe cafeteria. There wasn’t even blood in the water before he threw himself tothe sharks; he’d been teased for his lack of tact and ability to adapt to thegroup, but never the limp wrist all the assholes expect of a guy who likesguys. Ezra hadn’t made a show of it, exactly, but the result had been humiliatingenough. The guy had laughed in Ezra’s face, lookingdisgusted, and ithad been fodder for the bullies for the next three years. In the closedecosystem of high school, a single malicious organism can ransack the whole.
Even the silent majority thatdidn’t have a problem with Ezra’s sexuality thought he was an idiot for doingit the way he did it, but I saw something else. Defiance. Courage. Afuckyouto anybody who ever dared to assume Ezra gave a shit about what any ofthem thought. The sight of Ezra’s humiliation caused a phantom pain inside me,a premonition of a future in which I, too, would have to come out. But, morethan anything, there was shame. Shame for postponing that pain, for not beingstrong enough to face it. Iva, the ear in my confession box, had railed againstme when I told her.
“Oh, so I should be ashamedfor not being ready to tell people I like girls, then?” she’d bit out – wild,fearless Iva, holding the sister of my secret herself.
“No, no,” I’d said.
“Case closed, then. That bitof you is yours. This bit of me is mine. We get to do what we want with it andfuck anybody who says otherwise.”
Still, though. Still. I hadnever stopped admiring Ezra’s pain. His ability to withstand it. So, when Ifound out that my own teammates, the people I was supposed to guide, had beenteasing Ezra for that exact reason, that same shame had come up, tenfold.
Iva had sat beside me on thestoop, silent. Gentle, like she was with few people but me.It’s my fault,I told her,I should have, I should have-
“Oh, I’m sorry, I’d forgottenthat your role of captain makes you master of the universe with, like,omniscient powers,” she’d said, although her voice remained level, if not soft.“Joaquin, get your head out of your ass. They hid it from you on purpose, youknow that. You’ve got to stop thinking you can know and control everythingaround you, like, damn. You can’t. That doesn’t define you.Thismomentdoes. Now that you know, what are you gonna do about it?”
I’d talked to the team thevery next day, leaving Ezra out of it directly but making sure they knew that,although technically I didn’t have the power to throw anybody off the team,that kind of behaviour would make damn sure I tried my hardest to.
Even then, with that perfectpulpit, I didn’t come out. That came later, in my senior year to my family, andthe moment I started university to the rest of the world. My family reactedwell, Iva having paved the way for me by coming out the year before. The restof the world was the mixed bag it always is.
That first time saying it outloud to a stranger, though, talking to one of my new teammates with my pulse inmy ears, I had thought of Ezra. Of the look on his face when he asked that juniorout, the way his hands had been clenched like it was more war than lovepropelling him. Thought of him when my teammate had just glanced at me,surprised but mostly indifferent,oh, cool. Felt the anticlimacticsizzling-out of my adrenaline, the odd disappointment, the relief, and thoughtof him.
“Iva,” Moore says, Iva’s fingersstill in my face, her eyes piercing as we sit on the grass. Iva looks betweenthe two of us before pointing at her own eyes with her pointer and middlefinger before doing the same to me,I’m watching you.I roll my eyes andgrin a little, sharing a commiserating look with Moore. Iva lies back down onthe grass, her ample curves and brown skin on the sunlight dappled green aperfect picture of a modern lake-siren.
She’ll get the secret out ofme soon. For now, though, it’s mine.
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