The Weight of Our Expectation

Campfire: Oliver's Tale

(edited 2024-10-15)

Author's Note

Oliver Randolph Reynolds, IV is 20 years old and part of a group known as the Weekend Workout Warriors. He's pretty boistrous. His heritage is northern European. Marco is attending his first Workout Weekend, together with his coach and family friend, Dominic. The scene is a big cabin in the West Virginia woods. The athletes are sitting a bit away from the house, swapping tales around a campfire.

* * *

"Listen up, fellas!" Oliver boomed, his voice booming with energy, like a sports announcer warming up the crowd. He stretched out his long legs, casual but confident, the kind of ease that came from growing up in a world where everything felt possible. He leaned back, radiating that untouchable ease that made some of the other guys envious.

"Y'all ever heard of 'The Hangar,' down in Chapel Hill? It's this ultra exclusive private gym in an old renovated airplane hangar. Super exclusive. This past week? Down in Chapel Hill? Coach Pete managed to snag us two guest passes." He paused, as if letting the grandeur of that gesture sink in. "Billionaires only, gorgeous girls handing out towels, Olympic-sized pool—you get the picture, right?"

The guys murmured and nodded. Even Ethan was paying attention. He knew the punchline to this one, but it was always entertaining to watch Oliver work his magic on a crowd.

"So, I'm there last Tuesday, absolutely killing it with my monthly cardio, drenched in sweat, rockin' out to the new playlist my girl put together for me. I was thinking about grabbing a smoothie at Juicy Vibrations after—do they have those outside of North Carolina? It's this place with those açai bowls that cost more than a custom-fitted Scotty Cameron putter, you know?" He winked, emphasizing his comfort in a world the others could only imagine.

"But instead, I go down to the basketball court to shoot a few hoops and wait on Coach Pete to get out of the sauna. And then, boom! The door swings open, and who walks in but Michael freakin' Jordan."

The stunned silence around the fire was palpable. Marco was silent mostly because he had heard the name, but wasn't sure who it was.

"Really. Dead serious." Oliver pressed, gauging their reactions with a mischievous glint in his eyes. "I see him all the time around town."

Malachi's jaw dropped. "You messin' with us."

Oliver threw back his head and let out a triumphant laugh. "I wish I was, bro. The man practically glows. He's easy to recognize. I nearly choked on my own spit when I saw him walk in, though. I'm looking at him, he's looking at me, we're both thinking the same thing. Game on!"

"So, what did you do?" Liam breathed, his eyes wide. "Did you ask for an autograph? A selfie?"

Oliver shook his head, feigning a cool composure. "Naw, man, I'm smoother than that. I just strolled over like it's no big deal. MJ's warming up, looking relaxed, you know? So, I clear my throat and say, 'Hey, Mr. Jordan, huge fan of what you do. Wanna play?' Simple as that."

"And? What'd he say?" Amir urged, leaning forward.

"He glances at me, kinda surprised. Then this slow smile spreads across his face," Oliver paused again, building suspense, "'Sure thing, man,' he says, his voice that same smooth sound I've heard a thousand times coming through the speakers. 'Let's play some HORSE.'"

King was shaking his head in disbelief, while Liam stared at Oliver like he'd grown a second head. Only Ethan sat still, eyes flickering with amusement, his secret smile hidden in the shadows.

"So, there I am, in a gym for billionaires, playing one-on-one against Michael freakin' Jordan," Oliver declared, relishing the awestruck expressions around the fire. "He's got all these moves—the fadeaway, the jump shot, even does some crazy layups. Not gonna lie, I was sweating more than after that cardio workout, just trying to keep up."

"Dude, what did you guys talk about?" Amir asked, "Did he give you any tips? Tell you stories about the Bulls?"

Oliver leaned closer to the firelight, his voice dropping to a little. "Man, it was like history come to life. We traded some stories, talked trash a little—y'know, nothing too crazy. But here's the kicker..." He paused again, drawing out the suspense. "We got to that last letter in HORSE, and guess what?"

"What?" Liam breathed, hanging on every word.

"We... tied. Neither one of us could hit that final basket." Oliver looked Liam directly in the eyes, a mischievous smile dancing on his lips before turning back to the others. "After a spell, he said, 'Gotta run. Good game.'' He told me that was the most fun he'd had in a long time. Told me he'd get me into The Hangar again, just so we could finish the game.'"

"No shit?" King was sounding jealous.

"So yeah, boys," he continued, enjoying their stunned silence for a moment. "Turns out, I can hold my own against MJ himself." Oliver relaxed against his log. "And before he left, he gave me his business card, all serious, you know? 'Next time,' he says, staring me down, 'We play for keeps.'"

The boys were swallowing hard, trying to imagine what it must be like to be Oliver Randolph Reynolds, IV.

Ethan had had enough. "Go on, now. Tell them the one detail about Michael Jordan you left out."

Oliver chuckled, savoring the thrill of everyone's disbelief one last time before delivering the punchline.

"Yeah, well, maybe he's not the Mr. Michael Air Jordan," he admitted with a shrug, "just the former 'DJ MJ' Michael Jordan who now runs a string of the hottest clubs around Chapel Hill." The groans went up from around the circle. Ethan finally revealed his grin.

King caught that and gave Ethan a smack. "You knew that whole damn time!" he accused.

"We had a good game," Oliver went on. "And I'll be getting some free passes to The Hangar so if any of y'all come visit sometime, I can hook you up! And who knows, maybe the real MJ will be there one day, watching me play his doppelgänger."

The group erupted, relieved to find solid ground again in Oliver's world of tall tales and near-truths. He was always full of surprises, always pushing their boundaries, never letting life get too serious. But under that big smile, behind those mischievous blue eyes, there was a flicker of something else.

As the boys settled back into their camaraderie, drawn together by the warmth of the fire and the weight of their shared secrets, Marco wondered, was Oliver's real life as good as it sounded?