Nothing could have prepared me for the Timeline Activity.
Brick demonstrates it. He chooses 2007, when he fell out with Jack; 2010, when he dislocated his shoulder and ended his basketball career forever; and 2023, when he and Jack got together as a couple and came out.
Brick speaks frankly: no fear, no shame, right to the brutal honesty of those moments. He nearly cries. The rest of us are struck by his vulnerability. When he finishes and does his shot of whiskey, we all get around him, clapping him on the back and cheering him.
Brick’s vulnerability sets the tone. Our coach has granted permission for the rest of us to be as honest. The boys get up one by one. We hear from Jack how he once nearly killed himself on the Nullarbor Plain. Tommo had to stand up to his parents when they didn’t vote yes to the same-sex marriage plebiscite and ridiculed his French husband, Frédéric. Dom has ADHD, which has seen him ruin every relationship he’s ever been in, and he is now on medication. Rogan crashed a quad bike through a barbed-wire fence as a kid, which mangled his face; he’s been scorned for his scarred appearance ever since, which is why he likes playing with us even though he’s straight: there’s no bullies here. Fergus got punched on the street outside Connections oncesimply for wearing a mesh tank top. Mason shares how his best mate Jared died on their leavers trip and it devastated him.
When I get up, the last to speak, I’m scared this will be graduation all over again. I’ll be the only one who tells his story and winds up with crickets at the end: nobody clapping or booming me up, no bro-hugs, just cold, dead silence.
The years I choose are:
2018, when I came out and ran away with Charlie.
2021, when I moved to Perth for uni and started my new life here.
And this year, when I lost my job and my house, but found a footy team.
When I finish, I knock back the shot of Fireball, the heat and bite of the alcohol purging my throat of shame.
As I slam the shot glass down, the boys get around me, clapping me on the back like they did with everyone else. My hair is mussed; someone slaps me on the arse; the call goes around the team that we should all do a shot together, and so we do.
‘Proud of you, Fudgy,’ Jack says, ruffling my hair.
The team is built.
We head outside to play a game of Circle of Death and get pissed.
I am drunk enough to feel euphoric, and sober enough to know this is how life is supposed to be. You are meant to be surrounded by people who accept you. If you don’t get it from your family, you have to find it somewhere else. Every man is born deserving a pat on the back that says,You’re one of us, mate.
In a place I never could have predicted, in a football team, I’ve found my birthright.
17
KICK HIM WHEN HE’S DOWN
CHARLIE
After our first date, Mason texts me every day. Some days he’ll send a hot thirst trap of his beefy bear-cub rig after a shower, or a selfie with his hard hat on while he’s driving his truck at the quarry. I find myself smiling more often than not, and start sending back selfies of me working at the bar or jamming in the courtyard.
I’m on record as telling Brayden excessive texting after a first date is a red flag, so I’ll put my hand up and say I was talking out of my arse. Cos now that it’s happening to me, I am frothing it.
Every dating situation I’ve ever been in, I’ve always been the one putting myself out there and then hanging out for a reply. Hours, days, waiting for a guy to get back to me. Now I’ve stumbled on the dating jackpot: Mason responds! He heart-reacts to my selfies. He lets me know when he’s too busy to get back to me, and then always does later. When I tell him what’s going on with me, he engages with what I said; and when I ask him how he’s feeling about something, he tells me. A big bogan beefcake with a heart.
Mason acts like he enjoys my company and my attention, like he wants more of it. He already fucked me and got what he wanted but he still wants to be sweet to me. No games, no aloofness, no bullshit. Just warmth. Like I matter to him.
I love it.
One day, Mason asks me to send him my songs so he can listen to them.
I link him to my Spotify, expecting the same stony silence that followed the release of myCocksuckerEP or the meagre congratulations after ‘Roof’. People like to mildly support artists but they don’t actually want to listen to our shit.
But Mason throws me a loop: he sends me a message later that day giving me a track-by-track rundown on his favourite songs of mine:
I love Penetration bro (haha). It’s your best song, all fast and killer guitars.
Roof is real sad too, for a slow song.
I dig Good Boys too, it kinda reminded me of this band, have you heard of them? Are they punk or just rock?
