False Start (Boyxboy)

1: PIPE DREAM

"Hi, I'm Keiji!  Do you want to be friends?"

Those were the first words he ever said to me, eleven years ago at the park near our houses.  His blatancy has always taken me aback.

It was the same park where, two years later, Keiji fell off the playground and knocked out some of his teeth.  He held them in his bloody palm, looking down in horror, and I cried over his pain.  At the hospital, the doctors had to put stitches in his upper lip, and he gripped my hand so tightly that his knuckles turned white, and my fingers turned blue.

They asked his parents, "Are they twins?  They seem so close."

And Mrs. Fujikawa said, "No, they're just best friends."

A month later, a girl our age approached us on the swings and asked Keiji why his lip looked funny.  I threw grass in her face and made her cry.  We got in trouble together for the first time that day, and it only strengthened our bond.

Back then, when we were kids, we could laugh and play without worrying what people thought about us, or worrying what we thought about each other.  I'm not sure when that changed, or how to get back to the path we were on.   All I know is that I want to be closer to him, and I want him to want to be close to me, too.

So that's why I got excited when he texted me today.   I'd just dressed out into my running clothes and was dreading the grueling work-out ahead. The message said he wanted me to talk to him outside the locker room; it was a much-needed adrenaline rush. I found him there, leaning against the wall and stubbing his toes further into the tips of his shoes like he always does when he's nervous.

He nodded in my direction. "Hey, Kazu.  Sorry I asked you to meet me like this.  I know you've got to get to practice."

His anxiousness rubbed off on me and I found myself fidgeting with the cartilage ring in my ear.  It's an odd feeling when you become shy around someone you've known for so long.

"It's okay.  Don't you have a basketball game starting soon?"

His shoulders lifted in a tense shrug. "Actually... Check this out."  He pushed the sleeve of his sweater up to his elbow, exposing a thick cast.  "I landed on it wrong yesterday and broke my wrist.  No more basketball for me this season."

I was dumbfounded. Keiji was the best player on their team. Not only that, but it was a serious injury. All of it was a big deal. I wanted to ask why he hadn't called to tell me last night, but I knew how pathetic it would make me sound.

So instead, I stammered out, "No way?  That's terrible, Kei.  I'm sorry. Tell me the details."

As he explained all the gory facts of the accident, he pulled a sharpie out of his backpack for me to sign his cast with.  There was hardly any room left for my name and dejection made my smile hard to keep.

What did I think?  That he'd save a big spot for me to draw in fancy letters?

"But, the reason I asked you to meet me," he said, beginning to stub his toes again, "is because I was wondering if your coach would let me on the cross country team."

We didn't have any classes together this year, and as first-year senior high students, our workload was a lot heavier than usual.  Keiji and I never had time to hang out anymore.  But if we were on a team together, we'd see each other every day.

"The nurse told me not to get my cast sweaty, but I want to stay in shape, and that's a sport I can do without using my arms.  We run pretty long distances for basketball conditioning, so I think I can do it."

"It's the middle of the season, but you are the MVP of your team." That elicited a modest chuckle from my friend.  "Do you want me to ask the coach?"

"Would you?  That would be awesome.  I'd come too, but I told my team I'd root on the sidelines today.  It's a big game."  He looked a little sad after saying it.

"Of course I will!" I glanced down at my running shoes.  "How cool would it be if he said you could join?"

He laughed.  "Dude, do you know how much fun we'd have?"

I returned my eyes to his and we exchanged excited faces.

⚣ ⚣ ⚣

Coach Yamamoto said that Keiji could come to tomorrow's practice as a try-out. It took some convincing, though, and put him in a really bad mood. Our team was doing well this season, and he didn't want anyone to change that.

So he started the pre-run lecture by screaming, "I have no life, so I have all day to ruin all of yours!"

It turned out to be an eight-mile-Monday, and throughout the entire course I daydreamed about Kei and I sneakily cutting the runs short and striding side-by-side, our sweaty arms brushing against each other's as we panted words of encouragement. It was the most eager I'd been about anything in a long time. I may not be a varsity runner, but maybe, I thought, I could teach him a thing or two. He could be the unsure one, the one asking me questions, for once. Maybe I was finally rounding a corner and catching up to him.

As soon as I was back in the art room, where the team met up each day, I pulled open my drawstring bag and found my phone. I knew that Keiji was still watching the basketball game, but I couldn't wait to message him the news.

It was after dinner, as I was studying in bed, when my phone buzzed and the poppy text-tone I'd set for him played. Then it played again. And again.

My heart lurched as I reached to read the messages. The first was a jumble of letters, the second an all-caps "YESSS" that spanned multiple lines, and the third a paragraph about how his team won, too, and it was a great day. And for once I was happy for his success. And for once, I thought it was a great day, too.