July
a.k.a. The Pre-launch to the Countdown to Fall
1
Spencer
For nine months of the year, Spencer and his fellow Chicagoans suffered through brutal winds, freezing temperatures, and gray skies. But it was all worth it for summer in Chicago. Outdoor concerts at Millennium Park. After work walks along the river. Beer gardens, of course. And Spencer’s favorite - his LGBT beach volleyball league on Lake Michigan.
The volleyball flew through the blue, cloudless sky right into Spencer’s waiting palm, which spiked it into the warm sand of the opposing team. It was a scene Spencer wanted to remember forever. There was no better music to his ears than the sound of a ball making contact with his hand.
He let out a “YES!” that echoed off the sun-sparkled ripples of Lake Michigan, but quickly reined himself in in the name of good sportsmanship.
Spencer’s teammates gathered around him in a group hug, cheering and high-fiving each other at the game-clinching victory.
“I can feel the passion in your spikes.” His teammate and friend Ryan clapped him on the back. “I think you left a dent in the sand.”
Spencer shrugged with modesty. He figured it was all the pent-up energy from being stuck inside or under heavy jackets for most of the year.
His team, Beach Please, traveled to the other side of the net to do the “good game” handshake/slap with their opponents Bump and Grind. Justin, the player who fruitlessly dove for Spencer’s spike, kept smiling at Spencer, even as he shook hands with other players.
One of the benefits of a gay volleyball league was that nobody was weird about being checked out. It didn’t hurt that Spencer played shirtless and had the athletic build to justify it. Even during those brutal winter months, he dragged his ass to the gym. Since it was the Fourth of July, he wore American flag boxers which peeked over the band of his shorts. He could’ve been an extra inTop Gun.
Spencer threw on a light blue tank top for his walk home. He didn’t want to be that guy walking the streets of Chicago shirtless, but the tank top still let spectators view the gun show.
“Good game,” Justin said with a carnivorous grin, his teeth gleaming a little too brightly against his skin that was a little too tan. Was the Chicago sun that strong, or was it a tanning bed? He shook Spencer’s hand and left something behind. A scrap of paper.
Let’s hang out... 312-555-4753
Ellipses were the Barry White of punctuation. Spencer appreciated the old school move, which was more thoughtful - and less overt - than the DMs he received on Instagram.
Justin looked over his shoulder, making eye contact one last time as he walked away. Spencer closed his hand around the number and caught up with Ryan.
“Hey, what time do you want us over tonight?” Ryan asked.
“Fireworks won’t start until sundown, so nine is good.”
The sand under their feet turned to grass, then to the pavement of the sidewalk. Rows of trees full of life shaded their path.
“Is it cool if I bring Julio?”
“Who’s Julio?”
“The guy I’m seeing,” Ryan said, as if it were common knowledge that his best friend should’ve known.
“What happened to...wasn’t there an Armand in there recently?” Spencer needed a dossier to keep track of Ryan’s love life.
“Armand was back in April.”
“Oh. Well, of course Julio is invited, man. I’m excited to meet him. Have I met him before?”
Ryan gave him a playful shove. They reached the main road, where their paths diverged.
“Hey, what’s that in your hand?” Ryan said to the scrap of paper peeking out from between Spencer’s fingers.
“Nothing, man.” He shoved it in his pocket. He went right, and Ryan went left. “Great game. That’s four in a row!” Spencer said while walking backward.
He waited until he was a few blocks away, well out of sight of Ryan and anyone else from volleyball, before tossing Justin’s number into a trash can.
