Taken from Chapter 7

Four-time Big 12 Champion. Soon-to-be Four-time National Champion. Olympic hopeful. All the good friends and family a guy could have. The affections of a woman.

So here’s the million dollar question: Why do I feel so alone?

And here’s the billion dollar question: What good is having everything in the world when you feel like you have no one to share it with?

How about a trillion dollar question: I’ll be graduating soon … what the hell am I going to do with my life?

I lay in bed with Hope beside me. She’s sleeping, but I haven’t slept well since the misunderstanding we had at DJ and Bobby’s party. I’m not happy, and she knows it; she’s not happy, and I know it. Have you ever felt that way about someone in your life? You both stay together, but you don’t know why? Is it because of the history you have? Is it because while you’re not in love with them anymore, you still love them? These are questions that are worth more answered than the deficit of the United States.

The problem I have with Hope wasn’t about the fiasco at the party, it’s more of a maturity thing. She’s very mature for her age; then again, they say women mature faster than guys do. She’s on my ass about what I want to do after school, but I don’t have the answer to that, you know? I’m not the only person that has ever been undecided after graduation, so I don’t see the big deal. Where the problem lies is that her Dad is all over that trip. He’s had her on a schedule since she could pick up a softball. To each his own, but that just doesn’t work for me.

Not only that, but the paranoia is starting to set in. I don’t completely think that she’s with me to be with me. Yes, being with someone with connections is always good – and she has some, herself – but I’m starting to think that she wants to be with me more because her Dad doesn’t want us to be together. Call it rebelliousness, but I call it stupidity. Rebelliousness … stupidity … stupidiousness. Her Dad never liked me from the beginning, but I can’t decipher whether she actually wants to be with me or whether she’s doing it to get back at her Dad for treating her the way he does. And no, don’t think this is me getting cold feet, or that this kind of thing is uncommon. She could be lashing out, giving the middle finger to her Dad and telling him that he can’t control every aspect of her life.

Or maybe I’m just paranoid.

Enough thinking, I’m out of the bed. I walk into the bathroom and start to wash my face. Warm water to the face is always relaxing, don’t you think? “Good morning.” I look up and it’s Hope, wearing a pair of shorts and a t-shirt. “Hey,” I say back to her, reaching for a towel. She hands it to me. “Did you think about what we talked about?” She asks me, immediately changing my mood. It’s too early for this shit. “It’s too early for this shit,” I say to her, echoing the thoughts in my head. “No, I wasn’t thinking about what I was going to do with the rest of my life,” I say, shaking my head and huffing. “I was too busy, you know, sleeping. We have Nationals at the end of the week, and I promise you, what I was going to do career-wise is last on my list.”
Hope huffs herself.

“Well, after Nationals for you and Olympics for me and you – if you’re still going – we can just settle here or we can go to Oregon. If you don’t know what you’re doing, you’re bound to find something here, with as many people as you know. If that doesn’t work out, then my Dad’s got some things going on in Oregon if you-- …”

“Uggggggggh!” I say gruffly. This is a little exhausting. “Really? Didn’t I just say that it was too early for this shit?” I say, my words snappy. “This is Nationals,” I explain, raising my arm as high as I could. “This is at the top of my priorities. Do you know where ‘Life after School’ would fall?” I ask her. Before she could answer, I use my other hand to paint a picture of what I feel about this topic, lowering my hand all the way to the floor. “Here, that’s where this stuff you’re talking about is. Just leave me alone about it, okay? God, are you kidding me? She wants to talk about what’s going to happen in several months, and I’m just trying to win a few matches here,” I say to myself, or moreso, to the mirror in front of me, forgetting that Hope is even there for a brief moment. “I’m trying to do what only a handful of people have been able to do, and I got her on my ass?” I ask myself. In that brief moment, I’m by myself. “And she’s all ‘Hey, what about your future?’ I’m like ‘What about now?’ And that’s why we’re never going to be on the same page. I don’t have anyone telling me where to go in life and what to do.” Don’t forget, this is all in the mirror, and still in Hope’s presence.

“You know I’m still here, right?” She says, her voice raised. “Yeah, my Dad gives me a lot of guidance, but he’s preparing me for the future. If you want to pick at that, then fuck you. I’m leaving.” She starts to put on her clothes, but I’m not budging. Apparently, she’s not budging, either. “You know, you think you’re God’s gift to everything, but I have newsflash for you … you’re not,” she says to me, bagging up her stuff. “You think you’re so great, but maybe my Dad was right about you: You’re not good enough.” When she says that, I sigh loudly with my nose up in the air, looking at the ceiling as she speaks. “My Dad says all kinds of things about you. He thinks you’re overly cocky, he thinks you have a bad attitude and a short temper, and if we stayed together, it would only be a matter of time before you start abusing me, and-- …”
I think I’ve heard enough.

“Here, let me help you out,” I say through gritted teeth, grabbing Hope by the arm and pulling her towards the door, even if it may be against her will. “Let go of me!” She yells, but by then, we’re already at the door. “Tell your Dad he gets his wish!” I communicate to her, shoving her out the door and slamming it before she can turn around and retaliate. I felt like when Dino kicked Fred Flinstone out of the house, the way she beat on the door after I locked it. “ANGEL! LET ME IN!” She yells, banging on my door hard. “Ararararararararar!” I yell back at her, in Dino language.

I truly. Do not. Give. A. Fuck.

Ladies and gentlemen, it appears that things have changed. You know what it feels like? It feels like when you change the radio station after listening to a certain radio station for so long: You recognize the change, you fight the change, and soon enough, you accept the change.

Did you know that if you say what you want – when you want – it can cut down on stress? I’m not a doctor, but my studies have shown that if you say what’s on your mind, you’ll have better peace of mind. Don’t kill the messenger. I think I’m just going to start doing that because, simply put, I just don’t care anymore … as evidenced by my “I truly. Do not. Give. A. Fuck” thing.
I feel better, too. My phone rings. “DJ … what’s happenin’, mang? … breakfast it is. We go!” I hang up my phone and look in the mirror. Things just feel differently. I get dressed and open up the door, ready to go on about my day and eat some breakfast.

I can do that, whereas Bobby has to cut weight all the time. He wrestles 141 on a Saturday and he’s weighing 152 on Monday, he’s that kind of wrestler. Cutting weight was never really a big deal for me, but I haven’t met a wrestler who said that they liked to do it. DJ doesn’t have to cut weight either, so we enjoy eating all the time. If Bobby is there, he’ll have small portions; he qualified for Nationals, you know. So did DJ. That’s good because I’ll have quality roommates. I once had a roommate that stayed up most of the night talking to his girlfriend the night before we wrestled … talk about inconsiderate, right?

“What’s up,” I say to DJ as soon as I see him in the cafeteria. He gives me a pound. “What’s up,” he echoes. “Bobbo? how are you feeling?” I ask the smaller brother, who gives me a pound. “Sick … like shit,” he says, crossing his arms over his chest, obviously not in the greatest mood ever. “How much are you weighing?” I ask. “One forty-fucking eight! I can’t get this weight off!” He says, and I swear, it looks like he’s about to start crying. “Dude … composure,” DJ says, narrowing his eyes at his younger brother, who stands down immediately, shutting down whatever was going to come out of his mouth next. That’s a brother thing, apparently; the little brother will always be the little brother.

“You seem different,” DJ says shortly. Shrugging, I reply. “I feel different. Me and Hope broke up this morning, sooooo … that’s not going on anymore,” I say to him, much to the surprise of the two brothers. “What happened?!” Bobby asks. “Well … it just wasn’t working out. Her Dad’s crazy, talking shit … she’s crazy because her Dad’s crazy … do you really want me to get into this?” I ask. Bobby nods his head yes. “Of course you don’t,” I say, smiling. “Besides … you should be focused on Nationals, my friend. It’ll be an awesome experience for you. Get your weight under control, no pressure … they don’t know who you are, so you can get past some people just on that.”

“He’s right,” DJ adds.

“Thank you, DJ.”

“Welcome, Angel.”

“How do you guys think I’ll do?” Bobby asks, his nervousness coming off of him like fumes. “A National Championship would be good, but you’ll do as well as you’re going to do,” I say to him, imparting some wisdom. “Just don’t be afraid, wrestle your hardest, and have no regrets. If you do the best you could, I don’t care where you place … and you will place,” I say to him, smiling at him.


He needs that kind of reassurance, as you can see. Coming from me, it probably means a lot. It’s cool to have people you respect believe in you; it just does something extra special for you, you know? I remember being like him; Wheeler was that guy for me, even though I eclipsed him when it came to wrestling, his advice was invaluable. You can never have too many of those people around you.

“Thanks, man.” I see Bobby feels better now, but that doesn’t mean that it doesn’t suck to cut weight. I hope that did the trick.

I hear DJ groan. I look up and Hope is coming. “Ahhhhhh …” I grimace, closing my eyes. I rub my forehead. “Hey guys,” Hope says, sitting down. “Hey,” the brothers say, albeit an uneasy welcome. They know what happened, but I’m pretty sure that she doesn’t know that they know what they know, you know? “So, what are you up to, Angel?” She asks me.

“Oh, I’m cool, Hope … I’m just talking about the National Tournament that I’m not good enough to win,” I say, making DJ laugh to himself. “But I’m overly cocky, so I have at least an outside chance.” Now I’m laughing. Bobby doesn’t know whether to laugh or to continue to sit there; he laughs anyway. “Well, that’s my Dad’s opinion. He said that if you come from a single parent household, you-- …”

“Yeahhhhhhhhhhhhh … that means I believe in divorce and yada yada yada. Hope, I don’t have time for this. I don’t want to kick your ass, as per your Dad’s opinion of just how the fuck I am,” I say, becoming annoyed. “I should kick your Dad’s ass for having that opinion about me; then again, my Mom taught me to respect my elders. That’s a good lesson, coming from a single parent. Man, I sure did come out shitty, what do you guys think?” The boys smile and nod. “IIIIII knooooooooow!” I say sarcastically, bugging my eyes out and putting emphasis on the words. I’m now looking at Hope, who looks a mixture of embarrassed and angry.
“That’s probably what Andi thought, too.”


DJ and Bobby look at each other once more, eyes widened as much as mine were. The tension just reached unspeakable and dangerous levels. It got to a level that Jade wouldn’t even go to, although she’s not here. I just nod my head. Whatever, right? Nope, she’s not done.
“I hope you lose,” she says nonchalantly. Girls have a sneaky way of saying stuff like that subtly and just walking off. Guys really don’t think it’s a big deal, then when they get it – and I don’t yet – they will become some level above angry. Would that be infuriated?

Okay, I got it now.

“Really? You hope I lose, huh?” I repeat, whooping it up to myself. “Welllllllll … I hope the next time you pitch, you fuck your arm up and have to have Tommy John surgery so that you’re never the same pitcher again. That’s what I hope for you.”

Hope looks so angry. She’s competitive, so she won’t back down. This is what you and I know about her.

“You hope I have to have Tommy John?” She repeats as I did previously, gritting her teeth.

“You’re not going to amount to shit, Angel. I can come back from Tommy John; after you’re done with wrestling, you’ll be just another guy I fucked. Nobody’ll know who you are in five years.”

My mouth forms an o-shape. DJ and Bobby’s mouths form an o-shape. O’s all around.

“Just another guy you fucked, huh?” I ask, laughing. “Nobody’ll know who I am? I’ll get you …” I sit there and think, then it hits me like a ton of bricks: “I hope …” I start to laugh. “I hope y-- … shit, I hope you get married to a really nice guy, and he treats you well, and you have awesome kids … and then, out of nowhere, he divorces your ass. Then …”

“Well …” she tries to interject, but I’m on a roll.

“Nope, I’m not done … not only does he divorce you, but he takes the kids because you’re a raging painkiller addict because of your Tommy John surgery. Did your quack psychiatrist Dad put THAT in your schedule?” I ask, but I don’t even let her answer. “Nope, he didn’t, because it didn’t happen yet. It will, though. And when it does, then your Dad will think less of you because you’re a divorcee, but you’re not a single mom – because your ex-husband has the kids – so he can’t think less of you than he already does. Damnshamedamnshamedamnshame. I may be a nobody in five years, but at least my single mom and ex-convict Dad will love me.”

Hope is fuming.

“Cell … and … mate.”

Just then, Hope picks up my bowl of soup (Broccoli and Cheese, my favorite) while I’m laughing and pours it all in my lap. The whole bowl. In my lap. It looks like I either I – or my junk – threw up.

“Whoops … how clumsy of me,” Hope says, feigning apology. Now I’m fuming. We’re both fuming. If she would’ve dumped that in my hair, it would’ve been on. “Have a good life … loser.”
“I guess I had that coming,” I laugh as I watch Hope walk away from the table. I don’t want you to get it twisted: Yes, it hurts to see Hope walk away like that, but if that’s how she really acts when the chips are down? I’m glad that this happened.