8: Return to the Field

Walking down the school’s main hallway, Taylor was surprised. All of Jacob’s friends, who were so welcoming Friday night, didn’t seem to recognize him. Yeah, yeah, that’s what he wanted, but when faced with the reality, it was a little ... disconcerting.

It was a long weekend, and as promised, Taylor spent it mostly by himself, though Jacob and his parents were never far away. He understood what they were afraid of, but had no desire to hurt himself. But he still had decisions to make as he took his life in a new direction. Unlike others, he’d calculated the risks of professional injury for some time, but his current alternatives left that previous life in the shadows.

They’d removed the bandages from his nose. It was bruised, but that wasn’t unusual for football players. There were looks, but most seemed to be curiosity about his black eye. Several of his sister’s friends seemed to be particularly hostile, but they were the exception. More than anything else, there was silence. There weren’t any hellos, no high-fives, no hallway teasing. A few teammates nodded, but no one addressed him. Taylor figured everyone still needed time to adjust, as Jacob suggested. He just had no clue which way they’d respond after they’d thought it through.

Try as he might, he just couldn’t let it go. During each class, with every stray glance, he envisioned the internal dialogues of complete strangers, trying to guess what they were thinking. Attempting to divine what each felt about his unconscious desires. He wondered whether starting out fresh in college would wipe the slate clean. However, he suspected his belief he could safely remain in the closet was a childish fantasy.

It wasn’t until sixth period that anyone approached him. Three of the senior members of the team stopped him in the middle of the hallway.

“Taylor, you need to stop by the lockers after school.”

“Why? Did I forget something? I cleaned out my locker, so I should—”

“We can’t tell you what it’s about. We were told not to talk about it, but the coach wants you there.”

“Come on. Can’t you give me a clue what’s going on? At least tell me what everyone’s attitude is, so I’m aware of what I’m walking into?”

“Don’t worry, it’s nothing bad, just a few outstanding issues.”

Classes were about to begin, so everyone hurried off. As the hallway cleared and Taylor rushed to his final class, he considered their request. He hadn’t left any gear in the locker room, so it had to be paperwork, releases and other legal issues. That didn’t worry him. What did was what he’d face once he returned. Although the coach couldn’t be a part of it, if everyone was upset it wouldn’t be unreasonable for him to stand aside and let whatever happened play out. He knew he was being paranoid, but gays had been assaulted for thousands of years. Times may have changed, but it didn’t mean every Neanderthal evolved at the same pace.

As he sat through his class, listening to the teacher drone on, he considered his options. No longer on the team, he could always refuse Coach Peters’ request. He could return later and meet him in his office. Chances are he was assuming the worst. They were, at least until recently, his friends. While there was a slight chance a few might cause trouble, it was unlikely. The problem was, if a couple homophobic renegades decided to act out, the others wouldn’t likely intercede. While the risk of bodily injury was minimal, it wasn’t unrealistic either.

He wasn’t sure what might or wouldn’t happen, but one thing was certain, his curiosity would drive him forward. He’d never been one to avoid a fight. He knew enough to evade them, but wanted to know who were still his friends, and who wanted nothing to do with him.

With a little trepidation, Taylor entered the locker room. He’d been afraid no one would be there, leaving an opportunity for someone to ... act out, but the room was packed. The full team was there, however they were all dressed in their street clothes. Walking up, he examined everyone’s expressions, but they were all wearing their poker faces.

“Hey guys. Where’s the coach?”

Boomer turned, calling over his shoulder. “HEY COACH! Taylor’s here.”

“Hold on, I’m on my way.”

“Come on, guys. What the hell is going on?”

“Not until the coach gets here,” Boomer said, staring him in the eyes without showing any emotions.

Sighing, Taylor dropped his books on the wooden bench in front of the lockers and sat down. Everyone watched him, hardly glancing away. They seemed eager to tell him something, but no one was venturing anything.

Coach Fredric Peters entered the locker room, studying his notes. He was a large man, like most of those assembled. He’d been a minor professional player, but was a tremendous team builder and always motivated his players to deliver their best. He had short white hair, a bit of a waddle and wore a red track suit. Coming to a stop, he glanced up, seemingly noticing Taylor for the first time. Putting his notepad down, he waved Boomer forward.

Boomer stepped up, taking a deep breath before beginning what seemed like a prepared speech.

“Taylor, after you walked out on the team, we discussed your ... situation. There were a lot of opinions, so we decided to avoid voting until everyone had a chance to consider their positions. That’s why no one said anything. We debated it again during practice on Saturday, and held a final vote today.

“Even those who were upset admitted you’d always been a trusted leader, and never made anyone feel awkward about their positions on the team. There were a couple people who’d rather not hear details about your sexuality, but we’ve decided it won’t impact us. We’d like to welcome you back to the team.”