Kyle: Then
Senior Year Pittsburgh* * *
A few days later* * *
On Saturday afternoon, the scoreboard read 36-4 at halftime. Every seat in Heinz Field was filled with students or alumni wearing our colors and screaming, but I couldn’t help but feel lost. And ashamedly hungover after another night of partying that went nowhere. “Look alive, Kyle!” Coach Whitten patted my back. “You’ve caught every pass today and you’ve looked nothing short of amazing on that field.” “Does that mean, I’m off punishment?” “It means that I’ll forget that you’re two shots short of being drunk and not rail on you about it in the locker room.” “Thanks,” I said. “I appreciate that.” He took off his headphones and pulled me to the side as the other team called a timeout. “What the hell is wrong with you?” “I’ll only tell you if you don’t judge me.” “Please don’t tell me that you got a girl pregnant, Kyle.” He looked saddened. “Please.” “I’d have to have sex with someone in order for that to be viable.” He raised his eyebrow. “No one on campus wants to fuck me without expecting something in return anymore, Coach. My magic stick has lost its touch.” “Okay.” He stepped back. “I’m sorry that I ever asked about your personal problems, son.” “No, wait.” I moved closer, lowering my voice. “I mean, my dick is working just fine, it’s just that now that people are realizing that I’m going to the league, they’ve got agendas. And I’ve asked for text messages as consent, and they’re making that very difficult.” I couldn’t believe the words that were falling from my mouth. “I feel like I’m living in The Twilight Zone. I haven’t had a release in forever, and—” “Stop talking to me, Kyle.” He interrupted me. “Right now.” “Why?” “Because it sounds like something you need to take up with the team’s medical staff or student health.” “No, I just need to get laid. Preferably by someone who isn’t seeing dollar signs with every stroke.” He let out a sigh and placed his hands on my shoulders. “Kyle, I’ve always regarded you as something like a second son to me.” “Do you make your other son watch bad plays as punishment, too?” “Look.” He ignored my comment. “I told you during your freshman year that there would come a time when you would have to make some serious decisions about the people in your life. I told you that your reputation—as crass and insane as it is, would have to be retooled eventually. So, perhaps that’s what you’re seeing.” “No, I’m seeing gold diggers, Coach.” The stadium suddenly erupted in cheers as Louisville’s kicker failed to score a field goal. Coach waited until the band finished playing their usual “Womp Wompppp” song. “Look over there,” he said, nodding his head toward the cheerleading squad. “Do you see the woman dressed in the navy-blue suit with the pom poms?” “You mean, your wife?” “Yes. Have I ever told you how we met?” He waved at her, and she blew him a kiss. “I think so …” “Well, long story short, she was a quiet girl who didn’t want anything from me,” he said. “I dated her during my senior year and I never wanted to be with anyone else.” “I’m pretty sure that’s not the version of the story you told me before.” I crossed my arms. “Wasn’t there some type of house party involved?” “No, never.” He smiled. “Anyway, my point is, when my draft stock started going up, my circle of friends became smaller, and so did the pool of women that I uh, yeah. I ended up falling for Tina and the rest is history. Now that I think about it …” I resisted the urge to roll my eyes as he told me another version of a story that wasn’t going to help with my situation in the slightest. Looking over at the cheerleaders, I searched for Miss Eleven and a Half Hours. I scanned both rows and the reserve section, double-checking the formation where she usually stood to flick me off. She’s not here. “Glad we could have this discussion, son.” Coach patted me on the shoulder. “Remember to wear a condom if your luck should change for the better this semester.”