[ON JANUARY 8TH 2024, UNDER CONSTRUCTION FOR EDITS] ❝Hail Mary, a long forward pass in football thrown into or near the end zone in a last-ditch attempt to score as time runs out . . . ❞
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❝I think sometimes in life the biggest challenges end up being the best things that happen in your life.❞
-- Tom Brady, QB (Quarterback), New England Patriots (2000 - 2019) and Tampa Bay Buccaneers (2020 - present)
🏈 🏈 🏈 🏈 🏈
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I HATED the question: boobs or butt? Which did I prefer? Why did it matter? Why ask that question? That was a set up. Judgmental and degrading to the female body -- yes, I appreciated those features. Yes. I was attracted to women. It was just -- it made a guy an asshole if he picked: personality or answered too quickly to any of the two choices given above. Yes. I hated that question.
I did find out the answer when I met him . . . I meant her.
The day was shitty to begin with. Second practice. Second day of school. Honestly, the follow up days would be the worst, Mr. Peterson droning on about how we needed to learn how to learn, he was preparing us for college, when in fact he wasted our time and saved himself energy by not doing his job -- you know, teaching us History and Government. He never got up from his swivel chair. I broke my pencil twice. Another to hear besides his ramblings and then I slipped on my headphones, which he either ignored my dismal or yelled at me. Patrick Stump sang to me while I waited for time to elapse. Oh, do not get me started on the 'ooo's and 'ahh's on my brother, especially with his new romantic relationship with Olivia. My jaw clenched. As if I couldn't notice the scratches on his arm, the deep bruise closer to his collarbone when he'd walk in through the garage door coming up from hanging out with her, placing down his truck's keys on the kitchen island, and him -- acting like everything was fine.
Stop lying, I thought.
I slammed my locker door shut. In doing so, a long brunette hair girl jumped who was leaning against another locker within the same bay area. She pulled her deep purple binder closer to her chest. Her and her friend stopped talking. To be honest, I didn't notice them.
"Sorry," I said, moving my right headphone off of my ear. She didn't look at me. I couldn't unsee her eye roll. My chest and arms grew hotter. Not towards her, but to myself. Fingers clenched into fists.
Way to go. Loosing your nerve again. If this keeps up, I'm sure Mom will require more sessions with PhD. Downs. I didn't need additional counsel. I didn't.
Hot air pushed through my lips, facing away from my onlookers but then again I was used to it.
Hot Headed.
Anger issues.
Tom Brady junior.
Yes, I was all of that. Whatever. I didn't give a shit what they thought. Sucked to think that I was a senior and didn't get picked to be our first stringer QB when my brother got it. I showed up to every practice early since my freshman year where my arms were the size of toothpicks. I worked hours above hours in the weight room. Twenty-five changed into thirty and then continued up to eighty pounds. Shea was a junior. One year difference. I guessed it was enough.
