Page 8 of Flagrant Foul
Mae folds the blanket and puts it back over the couch. “The flyer said you travel a lot. What is it you do?”
“I’m a hockey player.”
“Hockey?” she asks, scrunching her nose. “Quite a savage game, isn’t it?”
“It is,” I reply with a hint of pride.
She unleashes a beatific smile. “How nice. I’ve always been a fan of savagery myself. What position do you play?”
“Goalie.”
She takes another bite of her cookie and chews thoughtfully. “Does it ever bother you that thousands of people sit directly behind you each game, with a full view of your ass?”
I clear my throat and bite back a dry cough. “To be honest, I’ve never really thought about that until now, Mae.”
Her beatific smile turns mischievous. “I bet it will bother you now, won’t it?”
“I bet it will. Thanks for that.”
Mae raises a hand to her mouth in a faux attempt to hide a truly evil cackle. I laugh without meaning to. Without taking a second to decide to do it. Without thinking about whether it’s appropriate or polite, or if the situation calls for it. It’s a belly laugh that’s not about what she said or the fact that she’s laughing. It’s because I like her. I like this crazy old lady a crazy amount. She’s fucking nuts, and I’m here for it.
It almost never happens anymore that I meet someone and like them without reservation.
It feels really good.
Without meaning to, I spend over an hour at Mae’s. We talk utter shit and make each other laugh over more and more ridiculous things.
“Come on, Mae,” I say when it’s time for me to leave. “Please tell me what I can do to repay you for all this.” My offer of a monetary payment has already been turned down twice. “I travel a lot, and I won’t feel right about you taking Ragnar if I can’t make it up to you.”
She purses her lips and goes pensive, rubbing the palms of her hands together slowly. “All right,” she says at last. “How about this? You tell me something interesting about yourself.”
My top lip curls up in horror. “Um, Mae, I’m sure it won’t come as a surprise, but I’d rather take a long road trip around each of the seven circles of hell than share an interesting fact about myself.”
“Oh, I know, dear.” Her shoulders shake gently as she giggles. “But you asked for a price, and that’s my price.”
“Ugh. God. Something interesting about me? Me? How many of these do I have to come up with? Will I have to think of one every time I leave Ragnar here because, seriously, I travel a lot. I’m not sure I can do that.”
“I wouldn’t worry about it too much if I were you, Theodore,” she says, waving me off jovially. “I’m old asall get out. I’ll probably forget about this conversation in a couple of days.”
“Please.” I click my tongue in disgust. “I doubt you’veeverforgotten about something like this.”
She cackles again. “It’s amazing how well you understand me for someone who has only just met me, but come on, let me have it.” She holds out both hands like she thinks she’s Oliver Fucking Twist. “One interesting thing as payment, please.”
“Goddammit,” I murmur as my mind drifts and forms a vacuum. I can’t think of a thing. Not just an interesting thing. I can’t think of a single thing to say about myself. Interesting or not. “Holy shit,” I say a couple of times. “I think I might be the least interesting person on Earth.”
“I doubt that. Don’t forget, you’re competing with people like the Thompsons next door, and they’re dull as dishwater.”
I hem and haw, growing increasingly uncomfortable, and increasingly unable to recall a solitary thing about myself.
“Okay,” she says, taking pity on me. “How about this: something you’ve never told anyone. Doesn’t have to be interesting or noteworthy, just say the first thing that comes to mind.”
The second she says it, an image of my hockey jersey flits across a blank screen. Everything’s blank, misty, and pale, except for my jersey. A big white screen, with a black garment right in the center. A black jersey with a flaming orange, red, and yellow B on the front. A jersey with the number seven on the back.
I know I’m going to say it before I open my mouth. It’s almost as though I’ve been keeping it in, waiting for the perfect opportunity and the right person to unburden myself to, and prove, once and for all, what a dumb shit I am.
I sigh a long, resigned sigh. “When I was a kid, I had a crush on a guy. His name was Sev.” I sit up a little straighter because now that I’ve started talking, I’m aware it’s significantly more stupid than I originally thought it was. “Now, when I say I was a kid, I mean it. I was like ten or something, okay?”
Mae nods supportively.
