Peter's Story - Prologue. Chapter 1

Already there were more than a dozen guys kicking around balls in the playfield near the dorms, everyone eager to get the morning match started. There wasn’t a better field in the central campus for pick-up games which were important for selecting real teams for the intramural league. Word-of-mouth and the ubiquitous bulletin board postings, along with social media, made sure that even new students couldn’t help but be aware.

Peter Kovar and his friend, Jeremy, were off to one side of the crowd, doing their own warm-up, bouncing the ball off their heel or knee or head, back and forth to each other. While few of the players were varsity material, by choice or otherwise, they were all dedicated amateurs who were the backbone of the student leagues.

Peter and Jeremy were amongst the most gifted of these players and each could have maybe had a shot at the varsity squad, especially Jeremy. But they were both very happy to be what some called the ‘opt-outs’- these were the high school stars who had just decided to mellow out in college, who were actually glad to be out of the athletic rat race and just wanted to enjoy the game.

“This looks like a pretty green group, Peter. Any of these guys your type?” Jeremy asked quietly, with a sly smile.

“What?” Peter asked, not quite hearing the question.

Jeremy looked straight at Peter, his smile intact, and clearly enunciating the question again but still not loud enough for anyone else to hear.

“Hmmm…not really. A couple are kind of cute, but no one really striking, I guess,” he answered in a slightly distracted way.

Peter was a strikingly good-looking guy with his strong, sharp features, a big mop of brown hair, and an ear-to-ear smile. But despite his good looks and easy manner, he didn’t do much on the dating scene. Even his straight friends, like Jeremy, couldn’t figure it out. but felt it their collegial duty to encourage him as much as they could.

“What about that guy in the blue shirt over there? I noticed you checking him out,” Jeremy teased, subtly gesturing his head toward a blond-haired guy who was practically doing acrobatics with the ball.

“I was not checking him out!” he quickly shot back, not denying that he noticed him, but disputing his presumed intentions. “I was just watching him play with the ball. He’s pretty good and real focused. Seems serious…” he stopped as he caught himself getting into maybe more detail than he wanted to. “But I can control myself with guys, unlike you with the women.”

“Bravely spoken, sir!” Jeremy teased back. “We’ll see what the body contact does for you. Of course, being straight, I’m invulnerable to his charms. But you…”

“I’m fine, Jer,” he responded. “Like I said, he just seems to have some pretty good skills, and I like that, whether he’s straight or gay. Besides, you guys make fun of me for what a stick-in-the-mud I am in the dating scene - so what could happen anyway?” he said, refocusing himself onto a high-flying kick from Jeremy.

“Hey, watch this!” he called out.

Peter then headed it squarely back to Jeremy as they continued playing between themselves, trying to keep the ball in the air as long as possible. “Well, if you’d like to know, he was in my intro to Art History class last year,” Jeremy said, returning the ball again. “I don’t know him real well - definitely didn’t seem like a small talk kind of guy - but he was really into the class and pretty smart. I did a study group at his place last year, I think he lived way over on the other side of campus from us.”

Returning another pass to Peter, this one from his left foot, he continued: “Would you like me to introduce you? I mean, I don’t really know him well - there were like a dozen people in the section - so I didn’t spend much time with him. But I’d be glad to be the icebreaker,” he said with another big grin and a wink.

“Again, I’m perfectly fine, thank you!” Peter retorted as he kicked the ball into Jeremy’s stomach, getting a feigned look of agony on Jeremy’s face as the ball bounced off his hard stomach.

Even though most of the guys had played before, it was obvious that there was a mix of different skill levels. The main reason that most of them were there was just to have fun, which was what the dorm flyers proudly proclaimed.

There were a few diehards looking for World Cup intensity, if not quality. These Premier League wannabes also saw it as a sidebar opportunity to make it an initiation event for the newbies, maybe even get a few laughs out of humiliating some unsuspecting freshman.

“Hey guys,” the self-proclaimed captain of the diehards called out. “My name’s Kevin and I’m ready to kick some butt! You all ready to play?” His buddies gave a raucous second to the motion, high fiving each other and chanting “Yes! Yes! Yes!” in unison.

After the yelling died down a few moments later, Kevin spoke up again. “Well, if no one has any objections, we can pick teams. I just need an opposing captain. We’ll just go through the available meat, one by one, from studs to puds!” he said, waving his hands toward the crowd of players, “and we’ll pick.”

Peter didn’t like the sound of this guy. This method of picking sides invariably embarrassed and humiliated the last guys picked. In some situations, he didn’t mind, as long as everyone was in good spirits and took it in fun. But a lot of these players were obviously new to the school, which wouldn’t look like a very welcoming or inclusive gesture.

He was just about to speak up and propose what he thought would be a fairer system, in fact, could feel that he had just drawn his breath when he heard someone else object first.

“Hey, this isn’t right,” a voice called out, confident but not excited, the opposite of Kevin’s provocative taunts. Peter, like everyone else, looked around to see the speaker. It was the guy in the blue shirt.

“A lot us are just here to have fun,” he continued. “This isn’t a league game or anything like that, it’s just a good time. We should just do it randomly, like draw straws or pick a number or something like that. I just think that captains picking the teams are not the right way to do this.”

Peter thought to himself, ‘That was almost exactly what I was going to say.’

“We just want it to be competitive, that’s all,” Kevin replied, in his own unique abrasive way, smiling cynically broadly as he spoke. “In fact, I thought you’d be an early round pick, dude, you look like you’ve got some great foot skills.”

But the compliment was just ignored. “Everyone needs to belong on a team as much as anyone else, so I vote for random numbers rather than captains picking,” he said, forcing the issue. “What does everyone else think?”

“Random!” Peter spoke up. “That’s the best way to do it. It will be fairer and more fun for everyone.”

“Oh man, dude,” Kevin said, the slimy smile returning. “You would have been an early pick, too!” he said to Peter.

“What about you other guys? What do you all want to do? Peter asked the group.

He heard a few “random’ or ‘pick numbers,’ but they were drowned out by the noisy clamoring of Kevin’s friends. Without talking to each other, both objectors seemed to realize that it wasn’t worth making a big fuss over.

The original protester then spoke up again. “OK, since only a couple of us seem to care, let’s do it your way. Since you want to be a captain, who’s going to choose the other team.?”

“Why not you?” Kevin said. “You look like you’re pretty good at this. That will keep things even,” he said with a snicker, as one of his buddies patted him on the shoulder.

“Would anyone else rather pick? I’m OK if someone else wants to do it,” the guy responded.

“Why don’t you two be co-captains,” one of Kevin’s friends said, pointing to him and Peter. “Then you could share the pain!” he said, getting a rousing laugh from his surrounding posse.

They didn’t even know each other’s names, but the blue shirt guy looked over at Peter and nodded his head, pretty sure that he had a comrade in arms for taking these guys on. “You up for it?” he called out.

“I’m with ya, dude” Peter quickly answered as they both moved through the crowd toward each other. Besides his blond hair and striking blue eyes, Peter thought that most people would consider his round face rather plain and simple, but the intensity in the eyes and the confidence and power in his voice gave it another meaning for him. This guy had athletic gifts, which Peter noticed earlier, but there was something about his presence that he found much more memorable.

“Hi, I’m Marty Landis, glad to meet you.” He gave a very quick, slight smile, which surprised Peter. From a guy who seemed to project an image of total seriousness, it was the first relaxed expression that he’d seen out of him.

He noticed that the grip was very firm, which was a ‘Gold Star’ in Peter’s book. He was no stickler about protocol, but one pet- peeve he did have was getting a cold-fish handshake.

“Peter Kovar. Glad to meet you, too. I guess we’d better get this going, huh?”

“Yea, or things might get a little out of hand here,” Marty replied in a joking kind of way, giving up another slight smile before the return of his more typical countenance.

Working together, they quickly came up with a plan on how to select their team, intentionally avoiding the guys who looked like the other captain’s friends. Since Peter was already considered a first pick, Kevin selected next and of course nabbed one of his cohorts.

“You!” Marty said, pointing toward Jeremy, who immediately moved over toward their side. When they reached out to shake hands Marty said “I think I recognize you - my Art History Survey class last year, right?

“Yup! That’s me,” he said as he moved between Marty and Peter and put his hands on both their shoulders. He quickly turned to look Peter right in the eye and gave him a not-so-subtle wink before he yelled out, “Are we ready to kick some butt!

“Yea!” both cried back, raising their hands and whistling and clapping at the same time.

The teams continued choosing until everyone had been recruited, Peter and Marty’s team yelling and cheering with each new selection. Peter took an immediate liking to all eight guys on his team. One of them, a very slim, almost slight- appearing Asian guy named Wei, ended up being one of those ‘last choices,’ the kind of situation that both Peter and Marty wanted to avoid. But taking Jeremys’ original cue, they surrounded each new guy when he was selected and made them part of their welcoming cheer, with the last ones selected getting the loudest and rowdiest welcomes.

Besides being an obviously talented player, Peter thought that Marty seemed like a nice guy, too. Despite Jeremy’s claims about his reserved manner, he had demonstrated some flashes of wit and playfulness that leavened this impression somewhat. He wasn’t pushy or aggressive in picking teams either, and seemed to be eager to listen to what Peter had to say.

The other team ended up getting the most outspoken of Kevin’s pals, which gave both Peter and Marty added incentive to make a good showing. But they were both worried about the physical matchup. The other team was pretty big, almost huge by comparison. Kevin himself was amongst the biggest - taller than any of Peter and Marty’s guys - and apparently built more for football than soccer.

By contrast, Jeremy, who was about 6’2”, was their biggest guy, with Marty being almost his size, and Peter probably the next tallest at just under 6’. But the rest just got smaller and smaller from there, finishing out with the wiry Wei at about 5’6”. Size normally doesn’t matter too much in soccer, but if the game gets rough, it can have consequences. They would have to play with smarts and speed and avoid too physical of a match.

Not having team uniforms, and basking in warm early September weather, the traditional way to distinguish the teams was to do ‘Shirts and Skins.’ Most of the guys on the other team had already taken their shirts off, not waiting for the captains to choose, a unilateral decision that didn’t set well with either of the co-captains.

“Pricks.” Peter muttered under his breath, which got a knowing nod from Marty.

Usually, Peter looked forward to playing skins. When he was growing up he and his two older brothers spent practically the entire summers shirtless, either at the Lake Erie beach near his home, or playing sports. It made him feel great and added to the fun. But now he seemed to absorb some of his co-captain’s intensity and really wanted to focus on the game. It didn’t distract him that a few of the Skins team put some pretty studly bodies on display. He was here to support his team.

Once they got the match started, his worries about the size difference quickly evaporated. Wei, the smallest guy, who Peter was the most concerned about, was able to more than hold his own against the bigger guys who didn’t expect this small Forward’s aggressive play.

“Hey, watch it dude!’ one of the big guys yelled out when Wei slid right into his legs and tripped him up, the unfortunate, though not necessarily unintended, result of his aggressive attempt to steal the ball away. It was a sure ‘yellow card’ if this were a real match, but Wei ignored him and continued to harass the Skins on their end of the pitch, helping to keep the pressure up, and the match, a close 3-2 score in favor of the big guys. The Shirts were clearly playing with the kind of underdog passion that made it more than just a game.

With only a few minutes left to play, forward Marty took a pass from Wei in a determined attempt to tie the score. The entire opposing team was back at their goal, desperate to defend their lead, and Marty was immediately attacked by two of them.

He passed it back to Wei, who then attracted the swarm of opponents over to himself while Marty dashed for the goal.

Suddenly, understanding Marty’s plan, and only having a moment before the hoard was on top of him, he shot the ball back to Marty, who rocketed it past the goalie’s straining, outstretched hand.

“Goal!”

Wei and Peter led the charge as they all piled on top Marty, who had knelt at the goal in exhaustion and was unprepared for the celebratory onslaught.

“Go Marty!” They yelled, as his teammates added to the pile-on.

In the tumult of the celebration, Peter ended up being the one immediately on top of Marty, who had been knocked on his back and was lying at the very bottom. As he felt the load of one guy after another pressing onto his back, he started to become concerned for Marty, who seemed to be getting anxious at the bottom of the pile. With great effort, Peter was able to maneuver his hands to either side of him directly on the ground, so that the full weight wasn’t coming directly down. Out of the mass of bodies on either side of him, he noticed Jeremy's brown hand struggling to do the same.

At the same time Marty had reached up to either side of Peter himself, struggling to keep the weight off both of them. He was basically supporting a guy on either side of Peter, plus whoever was on top of them, an enormous load that was demanding all the strength he had.

Then Kevin, none too happy about the goal, thought he’d join in the fun, and maybe even cause a little damage to these upstarts. He got a running start, jumped into the air, and landed with a thud on the top of the pile. Peter could feel the ‘oomph’ of air come out of the guys on top of him who took the direct hit.

He was surprised that the new load came onto him only gradually, before he realized that Marty’s arms had taken the bulk of the shock, protecting him from the worst damage. But he was exhausting his strength in the process, and, slowly but surely, his arms were slowly collapsing.

With additional weight bearing down, Peter noticed a mounting panic in Marty’s eyes, even in the darkness at the bottom of the pile.

“Please! get off, get off!!” He suddenly yelled, as Peter strained to keep more weight off him.

“Off! Off!’ Peter started to yell at the same. “Get off, you guys, it’s too much weight! Get off!”

He could feel Marty start writhing underneath him, squirming and fighting to get out. Peter could tell he was still trying to reach around him, pushing and shoving desperately in a futile effort to move the mass of bodies off them. He was almost screaming, repeatedly yelling, “Let me out! Get away!” when suddenly his flailing fist found a free zone of space and came crashing into Peter’s face.

He knew Marty wasn’t in control and thought that he may not have even realized that he had hit him. Even though the area around his right eye stung like hell, he continued to use all of his strength to try to keep as much weight as possible off of Marty.

As the guys finally started to remove themselves from the pile and Peter could begin to see daylight again, it was clear that Marty was still lying on the ground in a panic. As soon as he possibly could, Peter rolled over to the side, giving him as wide a berth as possible.

“Jesus, guys - what the hell’s the problem? We were just having some fun,” Peter heard one of the opposing players yell out as they all gathered around Peter and Marty, the only two left on the ground.

Marty seemed in a daze, shaking his head, clearly trying to orient himself. He rolled up onto his knees, looking at the ground, almost seeming like he was coming back from another world. “Sorry, guys…” he said quietly as he shook his head back and forth, trying to get his bearings back. “I’m claustrophobic, and…. well, I, um…I… can’t deal with this kind of thing.”

“Are you OK now? Peter asked, reaching over and putting his hand on Marty’s shoulder, as did Wei, who had been near them both at the bottom of the pile.

“Yea, I… I think I’m OK…” he looked up and around then at Peter’s face, and then his own eyes bulged.

“Oh my god! Did I do that to you?” he said, pointing to the red welt forming around Peter’s eye.

“It’s nothing. Don’t worry about it.” Peter said, not taking his eyes off of Marty, even as he felt the throb on his face. “I’ll be OK. But what about you? Are you OK?”

Marty was about to reach over to Peter’s face, but then just caught himself, quickly jerking it back. “Oh god, I’m so sorry!” He said as he moved closer to Peter. “Are you OK? I can see it’s getting red. Umm…can I touch it, Peter? I mean, I want to see how it is, if I broke anything.”

Peter wiped his brow in a nervous response, though he had no reason to be nervous, at least that he was conscious of. His thick brown hair was still all over his face. “Sure, that’s OK,” he replied. “Maybe you can see something that I can’t feel.”

Marty reached over and pushed more of the wet, sweaty mop from around the dark brown eyes, completely exposing the wound. He gently felt around the area around the eye but kept a safe distance. “Hmmm…. doesn’t look like anything’s broken.”

He looked all around the area, as Peter tracked the movement of his eyes. At first, they looked directly into Peter’s own eyes. Then they looked right, down, over, tracing a circle around the wound, examining every minute detail.

He thought they were the bluest eyes he had ever seen.

He even noticed the pupil refocusing for distance, particularly when Marty’s observation shifted beyond the injured area for a moment, probably noticing the device in Peter’s right ear. But then the eye jumped back to the injured area, intensely re-scanning where he had been just a moment before.

“It hurts when I touch you, doesn’t it?” he asked, scrunching up his own face in a way that someone does when they prepare themselves for something they don’t want to hear.

In fact, when Marty had touched him, he had momentarily forgotten about the wound in an almost uncontrollable flash of heat. It was weird. The area around his eye had had a sharp sting, but for a moment it just went away. It almost put him in his own daze until he realized that everyone was still looking at him, waiting for his answer.

“Oh, yea, a bit, but I’ll be OK.” Peter said, dismissing the injury.

He was not exactly sure how his eye would turn out, but wasn’t overly concerned about it. Growing up, he had roughhoused so much with his sports-crazed brothers that he got used to injuries - they were just part of the package. What he was more concerned about was that Marty’s experience at the bottom of that pile was a lot worse than what had happened to Peter himself.

Peter didn’t know much about claustrophobia, but whatever Marty felt down there, it was very traumatic. He had also yelled out “get away!” when he was pinned down, which seemed slightly odd to Peter, given the circumstances. But in Marty’s panicked state of mind, who knew what was going through his head.

“You might have a shiner later on,” Marty said, as he continued to carefully scan the area around the eye. “Can you see OK?”

“Oh, yea - no problem. I think I’ll be fine,” he said, as he shook his head and suggested that they all get back to the game, an idea that brought instant rejection from his teammates.

“You need to get some ice on that!” Wei said to him. “It doesn’t look too bad, but don’t press your luck. Go get ice. In the meantime, we’ll win it for you!”

“Yes! We’ll make sure you’re recognized in the post-game interviews, so hit the showers, dude!” Jeremy said with a smile as he rubbed Peter’s shoulder, and then helped him up off the ground.

Without Peter in the game, it was a struggle for the underdog Shirts team. But, with heroic performances by Marty, Wei, and Jeremy, they were able to keep the match a tie, which was as good as a victory in their eyes.

After the match, Jeremy was so tired he could hardly stand. He was anxious to call Peter, both to see how the eye was doing, and to let him know how the game ended. He had been crouched next to the goal and was just about to get up when he sensed someone behind him.

Turning his head, he realized it was Marty, who extended his hand to help pull up his exhausted teammate. “Thanks, guy,” he said, as he got to his feet. “Hey, great job there. Even shorthanded, we were able to pull it out.”

“Everyone did a great job - everybody,’ he said, not able to come up with a different word because of his own exhaustion and slow recovery. Jeremy expected him to talk more about the game, but Marty had something else on his mind.

“Hey Jeremy,” he said with an intense focus in his eyes. “I think that you know Peter’s contact info - at least I hope you do. I checked the school directory on my phone just a second ago, but I must have spelled his name wrong, or my old phone can’t read it or something - I don’t know what. Could you let me know? I really want to check up on him tonight.”

It was the most innocent of requests, one that Jeremy would have normally responded to without a moment’s delay, but he had one small hesitation. He knew Peter as well as anyone at school, and even though he himself was totally straight, he had a sense that Peter had some reaction to this guy, even if he denied it - or didn’t even realize it - especially after what happened with the punch.

But quickly realizing that he couldn’t make a case for plausible deniability, not to mention the obvious concern all over Marty’s face, he pulled out his phone and quickly scrolled for the information.

“I’ve got it all, man, cell, email, house address - you need it, I got it.”

“Thanks so much, Jeremy. I’ll give him a call,” he said as he copied the information onto a small spiral memo book pad that he had pulled out of his backpack.

“I hope he’s OK.”