I open up the messages between Kyle and I.It’s been so long—it feels like there’s rust in our coms.My hands itch to type something.Looking over our chat history gives me a warm feeling, which is quickly chased by sadness.It’s like looking at a museum exhibit; knowing it must have been incredible to live through, but now sad that life has moved on.
Fuck it, I say to myself as I type out a message to him:
AJ
Hey, I know it’s been a minute, but I saw the fixture list a few days ago, and thought of you, obvs.Hope you’re doing okay.I see they’re talking us up to play for England together.It’s like our dreams are coming true.I just wish I still had you as my best friend to talk about it.Sorry, I know that sounds cheesy, but I’ve been sitting on this for a while and wanted to let you know where I’m at.I care about you.Always have and always will.Good luck for the season.AJ.
I half expect, well, wish for him to reply right away, but after over an hour, I realize that’s not going to happen.Kyle and his stubbornness will not be torn apart.I remember once he refused to enter a shop because they used the wrong version of “here,” on a sign in the window.It all sounds so trivial now, but that’s just one of the many things that makes Kyle so unique.People think he’s just this amazing footballer, which he is, but he’s also smart, witty, well read, and…and now, a million miles away in terms of him reaching out to me, despite only being on the other side of the city.
My focus switches back to football, as it inevitably does.And then a mission statement:
I want to be the pebble that ripples the ocean.I want to become not only the world’s greatest football player, but also the very first openly gay one.I write some points down in my notes app on my phone, and a smile blooms on my face.For the first time in a long time, I feel good about the future.
“What do you mean, no?I outlined my plan!This is going to work.Why should I continue to diminish who I am for the sake of everyone else?”I’m irate, my hands are balled into fists as I pace the room.My dad is on the sofa, with a calm look on his face.We’ve had this conversation a million times.I know it’s exhausting.I know it’s radical.But it’s my fucking life.
“Son, if we lived in a different world, it would be fine, but we don’t.Hell, we still have players who are being racially abused.We have women commentators being torn down by men who were never good enough but feel the need to drag others down to the cesspit of mediocrity where they reside.Can you imagine what would happen if they found out you were gay?You remember what happened to Beckham when he got the red card, don’t you?They made effigies of him and hung and burnt them.”My dad has tears in his eyes, and my anger stops in its tracks.“Son, my heart wouldn't be able to take looking at an effigy of you.It would break my heart.”I go to my dad and sit beside him and take his hand in mine.
“Thank you for caring and I get your concerns, I really do.But If I’m not going to be the first, then who is?Who is going to be the one that makes the change, Dad?Do you know what I would have done to have a footballer come out as gay.For it to be acceptable.Someone I could look up to in my chosen world.There’s a famous song, and I know you’ve heard it, and it’s called ‘Man in The Mirror.’Well, I want to be the change I want to see in the world.”
“You’ve always had more courage than anyone I know.And I know I’m never going to talk you out of it, but please try and listen: this could very well end your career.And I know we’ve been over this, but I need to reiterate it.”
“You’re right, Dad, you can’t talk me out of it.I’m not going to do it right away.I’m going to wait until the end of the season.”
“Right before the Global Cup?!”My dad spins to me, eyes now wide with worry.
“Yep.I think it would make a great statement.”
“Or a great way to get yourself kicked off the England team—that is, if you even get in it.”
I give my dad a look and that closes the discussion.Twenty minutes later, he leaves.One hour later, he texts me saying he loves me and only wants what’s best.I tell him I know, and I love him too.
I head upstairs and look in the mirror.Staring back at me is change.
I arrive back to training three days later with a beanie covering my head.Millers is the first person to question me, “What’s this then, you step up to the first team, and you shave your hair off?”he says, with a knowing smile.
“Not quite,” I say, giving him a wink.
“Oi, lads.AJ has a new look,” Millers bellows, and everyone strides over.McIntyre, our imposing vice-captain, yanks my beanie off, and everyone laughs at my “change,” which is not, in fact, a buzz cut but a platinum blond fashion piece.It was good enough for Beckham all those years ago, so it’s more than good enough for me.My plan is to change my hair up on a month-by-month basis.If someone wants to ask questions, I have the answers.If I can’t outwardly say “I’m gay”then I’m going to leave signs.Enough footballers do this anyway, and there’s a bit of banter in the papers for a few days, and then that’s it.But I’m going to make as many silent statements as I can with my appearance.
“All right lads, calm it down.AJ, welcome to the first team.Let’s hope your skills are as bright as your hair.”The words of our captain, Smith, settles everyone down.
Gaffer, who now insists on me calling him Elmstrom—which is his actual last name, so it shouldn't be a shock, but I’ve only known him as Gaffer, so this is kind of a big deal.The best manager of the past ten years invites you to call him by the name he only lets a select few call him?Yeah, that’s huge.He puts us to the test by making us run laps around the field.
It’s a grueling first day back, and by the end of it, we’re all exhausted.I, and a few other people, however, stay behind for extra freeform practice.Rodrigo, our winger, jumps on the treadmill, Rohan, our ox-like center back, heads to the weight room.I find myself at shooting practice.If I’m going to be better than Kyle, I’m going to need all the extra practice I can get.I’ve already filled out my frame over the break, adding much needed muscle to my game.
An hour and a half later I’m heading home.My body is exhausted, my mind is spent, and my heart, well, that hinges on Kyle.He still hasn’t messaged me back.
Chapter 15
Kyle
Training has been glorious.Hard.But glorious.My manager, Robins, pulled me aside during our last session to tell me how impressed he is with me.It made me feel pretty great, hearing a manager you’ve admired from afar for so long tell you how impressed he is with you.That’s dream fuel.
What isn’t dream fuel is Trish’s experiments.I swear, for some reason, she is trying to kill me.Yesterday, she force-fed me—okay, maybe a slight exaggeration—a kiwi with the skin on.
“It’s the best bit,” she crowed.My gag reflex made sure it didn’t pass the tonsils.I heaved it up like a cat with a hairball, much to the chagrin of Trish.If she wasn’t trying to make me eat fruit flesh, she was hounding me to see if I’d replied to AJ’s message.Why I felt compelled to tell her about him and me in the first place is beyond me, but I did, and now my past actions are my present consequences.
With her by my side in my home, I have less time to listen to the noises in my head.I have less time to worry about my anxiety.Trish tells me I’m still grumpy and as “stubborn as a spot on a Wedding Day,” but I'm not changing the habit of a lifetime.
