I’m panting when I reach Sabrina. She’s taken the lid off her steaming latte, blowing on it.
‘Um, hey Sabrina,’ I say quietly. ‘What are you doing down here?’
Sabrina smiles. ‘I wanted to see what your football club was like,’ she says. ‘Maybe I’ve been worried for nothing.’
I feel a flash of rage because I didn’t invite her, or even tell her where we train. She must’ve looked it up on the footy team’s Insta page.
Panic darts through me at what her presence here means. There’s no way it’s benign. All I can think of is her post supporting Xander, and his crusade, and whether, once they’ve all finished destroying the Tool Shed, they’ll come for the Perth Centurions next.
But as usual, my rage manifests as my Mehrabian smile. No matter how invaded I feel by Sabrina being in my space, my nervous system is focused on not rocking the apple cart.
‘Well, feel free to cheer us on, I guess,’ I manage, in the tone I use to placate angry callers in the call centre.
That’s when Jack Brolo’s black SS ute rumbles into the carpark, V8 throbbing low until he revs it several times, almostlike a threat; heavy metal is blaring from the subwoofers, with a screamo guy shouting about being a menace. Jack slams the door of his ute. He’s in his footy gear but still wearing his black Akubra, and he lights a smoke as he stomps towards us.
‘Oi, Fudgy, how the fuck are ya?’ Jack booms, throwing his tattooed arm around me and squashing me into a rough hug. The only smell more overpowering than the tobacco stink of his Benson & Hedges Smooth is the bourbon on his breath. He’s hungover and hasn’t brushed his teeth. ‘G’day. Who are you?’ he asks Sabrina brusquely.
‘Sabrina – I’m a friend of Zeke’s,’ she says, not offering her hand.
‘I’m Jack,’ he booms back. ‘I’m areally goodfriend of Zeke’s. If ya know what I mean, ha!’
He gives Sabrina a sleazy wink.
Sabrina scans Jack up and down. ‘Oh, you’rethatJack?’
Jack smirks. ‘My reputation precedes me, ay?’ He wiggles his eyebrows at me.
‘Bro, come help me set the cones up,’ Brick calls to Jack.
Jack gives Sabrina a cheeky nod and trudges off to help Brick.
‘That’sthe guy you’re trying to fit in with?’ Sabrina says, the moment Jack’s out of earshot. ‘Zeke, he’s an absolute dropkick! He’s what, thirty-five, forty? Too old! And he’s drunk! He’s like Hammer but worse. Sorry, but I can’t let you go out with a guy like that!’
My brain doesn’t register much after it hears the words ‘let you’.
All the air goes out of my lungs. Heat builds under my skin as a million long-swallowed radioactive pills all surface in the acid of my stomach at once. This must be how the nuclear reactor at Chernobyl felt before its catastrophic meltdown.
‘Do you realise what you just said?’ I ask Sabrina quietly. ‘You literally just said you won’tlet mego out with a guy I like.’
To her credit, Sabrina’s hands have flown to her mouth, covering it but not the radiator-red of her cheeks: she’s realised how ridiculous what she said is, and looks mortified.
‘I didn’t mean – I’m not trying to control – okay, that came out a bit wrong …’ she splutters, fanning her face. She glances into her coffee cup as if it’s made her nauseous. ‘I’m straight, so I know I can’t tell you what to …’ She swallows, still floundering, but apparently unable to stop talking. ‘I’m trying to remember what Xander Sullivan wrote in that article – because he’s gay, and it was his words, not mine. Something about it not being good to keep crushing on these “masc” guys or whatever you call them, you know, because it’s problematic.’
Sabrina channelling Xander is what does me in.
Chernobyl’s nuclear core explodes, blowing the roof of the power plant into a million pieces of deadly graphite. Ghost Zeke is torn to shreds by the blast – annihilated totally – and in his wake is the rage of my flesh and bones finally screaming.
‘IT’S NOT FUCKING PROBLEMATIC TO LIKE MASCULINITY!’ I shout at Sabrina. ‘THAT’S LITERALLY WHAT BEING A GAY MAN FUCKING IS!’
Across the oval, Brick and Jack pause to look at us. I don’t care. This has been a long time coming and it’s not just about Sabrina. It’s about Xander, my parents, my work, Hammer, my Tom of Finland poster. It’s about who I am at my core.
‘Zeke, calm down!’ Sabrina cries, shrinking back from me like I just morphed into the Incredible Hulk. ‘I phrased it badly, but …’
‘You know what, Sabrina? Ilovemasculinity!’ I interrupt, unstoppable now. ‘I love manly men. Two men fucking is the whole goddamn point. That’s what this IS. If you have a problem with that, you have a problem with homosexuality.’ I am spraying a radioactive cloud all over the oval and I don’t care who sees it anymore. ‘Holy fuck. You do. You have a problem with me.’ I back away from Sabrina. ‘You’re just like my mother.’
‘I amnothinglike your mother!’ Sabrina shouts. ‘I am the polar opposite.’
‘No, you’re identical,’ I insist. As angry as I am at Sabrina, it’s not only her I’m unleashing at. ‘You loathe what gay men are actually like, don’t you? Wedisgustyou. At least with my mother, I know where I stand. You pretend to be, what, a friend? An “ally”? Yuck. You act like you’re better but you’re worse. You’re both homophobic CUNTS.’
