Even Stars Die - 7. Chapter 7

The weather has cleared. The grass in the centre of the track at Ellis Park Stadium, across the road from the University of Johannesburg, smells new. The blue sky, the sun, the sounds of the city, everything is washed clean, it's like life has been ironed out and deoderised.

I expect Alex to drop me off at the stadium and leave me, instead, he follows me through the corridors and chooses a seat in the stands where he is able to focus on me without interruption.

I attach the Cheetah prostheses and change into my favourite black, one-piece, stretch leotard that covers my body from the shoulders to the top of the my thighs. He's curious. Wants to know if they're comfortable. Do they hinder performance? I wouldn't be wearing them if theyit bothered me or adversely affected my performance. He runs his fingers along the edge of the blade and is perplexed by the curved design.

'They look fucking expensive.' He says, studying the name engraved on the calf length of the blade.

I nod. 'The bursary from Toyota assisted me with the payment. They're like gold. Not many athletes are lucky enough to have them.'

'What are they made from?'

'They mimic those worn by Pistorius, Fraser, and Shirley. If you look carefully you'll see three parts.' I point to the socket that attaches to my knee, 'Feel it. It's hard, made of woven carbon fiber composite materials. See, they fit perfectly over my stumps.'

'Looks uncomfortable.'

'Nah. There's a custom-fitted silicon rubber lining that provides an interface between my stump and the socket, so it protects the sensitive tissue and creates a snug fit. The blade itself is the most important part of the device.'

'I would have thought the socket would be the most important part. I mean, doesn't that part make you complete?'

'Well, not really. The blades replace the tibia and fibula and the ligaments and muscles that capture and generate energy, it's made of carbon fiber. And see, it's not that wide, about the width and thickness of a ski, has a mix of woven and unidirectional fibers, on the one hand, and filament wound fibers, on the other. See those bolts on the outside of the socket, that's where the blade joins the socket.'

'How effective are they?'

'Compared to any other prosthesis, the inverted J-shaped spring is the most effective at storing and releasing energy during walking and competitive sport."

'Okay, maybe I'm not an athlete, but don't these things enhance your performance? I mean, surely they give you that competitive edge.'

I understand where he's coming from, and it's a question many sceptics ask, especially journalists and able bodied athletes who think that carbon fiber legs are an enhancement.

I shake my head, 'It could be that blades and steroids allow athletes the immoral choice. Athletes who take steroids usually perform better but their health off the field is impaired to the extent that they suffer from ailments and viruses other athletes are quick to shake off. So, the moral dilemma of using blades is that they make athletes run faster, and that is a myth. I also need to learn how to co-ordinate them with the rest of my body. And I have problems at the airport going through customs. At the moment my case is with SAAF. They are looking into allowing me to compete with able bodied sportsmen, and if the International Athletics Sports Federation go with their findings, I may just be lucky enough to compete in the 2012 Olympic games in London.'

'And then you'll forget that I ever existed...' He pulls a sad face; for a moment that remark angers me.

'I won't comment on what you just said because that's not me. You must be talking about someone else.'

'Just checking.' He smiles and takes my hand, instinctively I pull away.

Realising he has made a mistake, he turns his head away from my gaze to check if anyone has noticed, 'Sorry, I shouldn't have done that.'

'Not here, Al. Please don't.'

'Okay. It won't happen again...'

A whistle blows from across the track. Athletes emerge from the stands and changing rooms to gather around Coach.

'I'll see you in a while. Don't go away.' I tell him. His eyes meet mine and he chuckles, 'You're going to have to chase me away if you want to get rid of me.'

I smile and wink at him then jog across the track to the middle of the field where Coach is waiting for me patiently. The tablets have relieved the pain on my chest, and most of the inflamatioin has receded.

'Well, about time, Mansfield. Is your watch broken, or have you had your own practise session?'

Geoffrey Marx laughs loudest.

'Sorry Coach, had problems fitting my blades.'

Coach grumbles and takes us verbally through the session. He's studied runners for many years. He knows that sprinters and distance runners benefit from joint and limb movements and the way athletes use motion to push themselves forward. He uses resistance tubing atatched to a post and this builds strength, flexibility and muscle memory. I am at the point where the length of my stride needs to increase for a faster race time, so I concentrate on hip joint flexion, where the tube is attached to my prosthetic ankle. I stand far away so that there is tension with the leg behind my body and drive my thigh forward with my knee bent so that my shin is parallel to the ground. This action drives my thigh upward when running. When I am in flight, this excercise helps to not drop my thigh as it reaches its highest point. Only after straightening, my leg will come back and down and land close to my body's centre of mass, directly underneath me.

Coach is a firm believer of improving athletic performance, preventing sports injury and properly rehabilitating sprain and strain injury. He knows how important stretching is. He puts us through our stretching excercises that include Kneeling Quad Stretches: that is to Kneel on one foot and the other knee while maintaining balance, then push hips forward. Standing High-leg Bent Knee Hamstring Stretch: where we stand with one foot raised onto a bench.The other leg bent and chest on the bent knee. Standing Toe-up Achilles Stretch: this is where I would stand upright and place the ball of my foot onto a step or raised object, straighten my knee and lean forward.

Believe me, at the end of the session, Im wet from head to knee and my chest and nose is hurting like hell. Combine this with weight training and you have one exhausted athlete at the end of the day.

The time passes quickly. Every now and then I turn to face Alex, smile and continue. At the end of the session Coach reminds us of the Cape Town trip at the end of the week and implores us to eat the right foods, no sex, and above all, a positive state of mind.

Compared to the previous week, I no longer fear the change room. Knowing that Alex is close by makes everything right. I can take the jousting, the mocking and the names thrown at me. I don't see de Beer hanging around Marx, which, in itself is strange; you'll find them together all the time. I'm not out of the woods. Marx grins from his bench and throws a statement out loud for everybody to hear.

'I see you brought your body guard with you today, gay boy. Scared we're going to touch your prescious face? Or maybe you think he'll do us like he does you?'

I ignore the remark. There are some things not worth answering. He doesn't have the right to know anything. I give him the silent treatment, if I say anything, it will fuel his anger. But he's not happy with that. He approaches and grabs me by the neck of my vest and pins me to the locker. I flinch and almost pass out from the pain in my chest which has suddenly returned. It feels like I'm drowning, but I manage to control it. 'Don't ignore me, punk! Who is that? Your fuck. Your body guard. Why don't you just tell us you're a fucking queer? Get it over with, because when I find out, I'm going to make your life hell.' He releases his grip, turns away, chuckling to himself. The other athletes pretend not to notice. That's the way it will be as long as he's the champ, you see, they fear him, but manage to dissemble that fear. But I won't recoil. I am determined that he won't funk me out, it's his way of ensuring an all out record at the University of Cape Town's Track chamionships the following week.

    * * *

Alex meets me outside and whispers in my ear, 'Did I tell you how sexy you look in your blades?'

I push him away, deliberately. If Marx had left me alone it may have been different, I may have smiled back at him and taken the compliment like a man, 'Just stop it, Alex. I'm not in the mood for this, okay.'

He backs off immediately and slows down a pace or two. 'I'm sorry, man. Perhaps I should just keep my comments to myself from now on.'

'Maybe you should. Especially here.' I walk ahead, quicken my pace.

'What the fuck is going on, Keegs? Two hours ago you were a different person.'

'Leave it, Alex! Don't push me.'

He grabs me by the shoulders and swings me around to face him.

'No. I won't leave it. Something happened in the change rooms. You're not the Keegs I have fall...I know. You're somebody else. I can tell because you have this red V- shape line across your forehead, and you look angry.'

I can't meet his gaze. I don't want him to see the tears welling up in my eyes, or hear the knot in my voice. I don't want him to suffer from Marx's ugliness like I have over the last three weeks.

He shakes me slightly. 'Oh my god, something has happened Keegs, and you know you can tell me. You know you can trust me. You know that I am there for you and you only. Why won't you tell me, man? Why?'

I shake my head. Hear the sad music of trepidation filtering through my head. I wish it would go away. I wish...but it doesn't.

'Come. Let's get you to the car. Fuck! This has got to stop somewhere.'

He leads me, talking all the way, his voice rising and dipping, an endless stream of words spilling from his mouth. 'Three days ago you got moered. You still haven't told me why. Jean took a beating too, and she's not saying anything. You come to stay with me for a couple of days. Days I never wanted to end and we share the most beautiful, intimate moments. I get to know you, you get to know me. You run away and come back. You meet my brother, who, by the way, thinks you are the best thing since sliced toast. Waking up beside you was the most glorious moment I have ever experienced, and I know you felt the same way. I can't sleep, or eat since I've met you. You have come to mean so much in my life, Keegs. I want to protect you from those fucks who beat you up. Don't you notice that I'm at my best when I'm with you? Don't you notice that everything in my life revolves around you? My life was meaningless before that night at Patrick's party. Meaningless! There, how come I am able to open up to you and how come you still keep things from me? Why? Is it me? Do I apply such pressure that your anger is out of control? Who the fuck is doing this to you, Keegs? You have to tell me, man. My heart is fucking breaking here. Is it me? Are you listening to what I'm saying? Is anything registering?'

I stop. Drop his kit bag. Silent tears stream down my face. My hands shake. Everything he says is true. I want to tell him how much he has affected my life. That I've never felt so good about life since the accident. That he's the only man I've ever been with and it was heaven. I just can't.

We're in the stadium's parking area, instead of embracing me, holding me to calm me down, he takes me by the elbow and lifts the kit bag. 'Come, let's get you to the car. Take you home. I'm sorry if I freaked you out, man. Please, forget that I said anything. You can tell me in your own time.'

He inserts the key and just as he's about to turn the ignition, I stop him. I wipe the tears away from my eyes with the back of my hand, but that knot is still in my throat.

My voice is soft, 'Don't drive just yet. I told you this morning that there are students who say things, and Jean is always there to tell them where to get off. Well, it's not the student. There are...there are people on the team who mock me. It all started on the day of Patrick's party. They overheard that I would be there and since then it hasn't been the same. I got beaten up because they think I'm gay,and I'm friendly with Patrick. Not because I'm with you. On the other hand, I think it has to do with competition. This particular guy, he always wins, and he knows that given half the chance I can beat him to the post. I've beaten him before. Cape Town's coming up next week and he needs to win to qualify for Greece. I think they did this to stop me from competing in Cape Town. Only one of us can go. He calls me names, pushes me around, and I dread the change rooms, but I have to change, so I let him do what he must. I try not to fuel his frustrations. Today he wanted to know who you are. I ignored him. He told everyone that you fuck me and if he finds out that I'm gay he'll have his day with me.'

Alex listens without interrupting. One of the things I like about him. I continue in a grey monosylabic voice, 'The guys who beat me, they are his friends. They have a deep homophobic streak. Fuck, I wasn't out before I met you. Does holding your hand and cuddling you make me gay? At the moment I'm just a dude who happens to be very confused with life. And then you come along and make it all so clear for me. I know I've acted like a rat. I'm selfish and disrespectful of you, and I don't deserve you. I won't blame you if you never want see me again. I won't blame you...'

'What? Do you know what you're saying? Do you think that I'm going to throw you away because you are unsure of yourself, or that you can be a real pain in the arse when you keep things to yourself? That's not going to happen. Not easily, okay? These guys that hurt you, I know who they are'.

'Are you telling me you know Geoffrey Marx and Cornell de Beer?'

'You ask too many questions, Keegs. I have one for you. Do you trust me?'

'Implicitly.'

He turns the ignition, I stop him again. Gaze into his eyes, take in the soft black hair flowing down behind his ears, the high forehead and black eyebrows that meet in the middle. 'Can I say something?'

'Anything.'

'You say you know these guys. I beg you, please do not pursue this. It'll only make things harder for me.'

he turns to face me with a smile on his face. He doesn't reply to my request, instead, he takes my hand as he's driving, kisses it and places it on his upper thigh. 'Let's get you home.'

'I actually don't want to face my folks. I don't want to go home.'

'You don't want to go home and I want you to spend the night with me, but like you said, your folks will worry. They think you're in the infirmary. You owe it to them to show your face, even if to tell them you're sleeping out.'

I smile at him. He's logical and makes sense. 'You don't mind if I spend the night with you again?'

'I do mind if you don't. Now let's get this show on the road.'

    * * *

Twenty minutes later I'm home. Alex parks in the street at the front gate.

'Do you want me to come in?'

An hour ago I would have thought that he'll provide mom and dad with a reason to fight. Not only amongst themselves, but with me too. I had known, before today, that the time will come, and I needed to prepare them for it. But today is not about coming out to them, so I agree.

'I'd like that.'

Mom stands in the hallway, hands folded across her chest, cigarette burning in her fingers. Her eyes are puffed and red and I can see she's been chewing at her finger nails.

'Where the fuck have you been? We contacted the infirmary yesterday and they told us you had been released three days ago.'

I have no option but to ignore her outburst. 'Mom, this is Alex Meyer. I've been with him. He saved me from being beaten to death. I thought it best not to worry you and dad about it. I'm sorry.'

'Hello, Alex.'

Alex bows his head a little, 'Maam.' Impeccable manners. He takes her hand and kisses it. I see a little blush come over her. Still, she's not pleased.

'No phone call. No sms. Not even a note. Your father and I have been worried stiff about you. The least you could have done was let us know you're okay.'

'I'm old enough to look after myself.'

'Is that right, Keegan? You are a disabled man. How do you think your father and I would feel if the cops knocked on the door to tell us you're dead? Did you think about that? Alex, am I right about this.'

Alex nods in agreement.

'I'm 22 for goodness sake. You still treat me like a 12 year old. I'm a prisoner here. I go to varsity, practice in the afternoons, and come home. I have no social life and you'd think that a normal parent would be concerned about that, but no, all you guys want is for me to stay at home, in this, this godforsaken hell of a prison you call home.'

Her eyebrows stiffen, 'Well, young man, this home just happens to be the best we can afford.' Turning to alex she says, 'at least he has a roof over his head, food in the fridge and a bed to sleep in. Do your friends offer you more? Do they worry if you don't phone them? Do they care if you get hurt?'

Alex spoke quickly and what he says makes me chuckle. 'Yes, Mrs. Mansfield, I do.'

'One thing is for sure, Alex's parents aren't chain smokers, and his parents don't share their homes with cockroaches...'

She steps forward and slaps me across the face, my nose hurts. 'How dare you. Your father and I have given you everything, everything we have to see that you have a normal life. We spent our money on the best medical care and equipment. How dare you!'

The slap leaves a burning sensation on my face. I step back and almost fall over the chair behind me. Her face is right up against mine. Her finger pressing into my chest. It hurts but I don't say anything. Alex has his eyes closed.

'The thanks we get is this. You should be ashamed talking to me like that in front of your friend.' She pronounces "friend" as though it's a swear word.

For a moment there is silence in the house. 'Am I not allowed to have friends?'

She stands, watching me cry, and suddenly I wish I was a baby again, knowing that I'm safe in her arms. But this is reality, and I am an adult, and it doesn't work that way. She has never hit me.

'We have never stopped you from having friends. But you've never disappeared for nearly three days, Keegs. What did you expect, that we'll say nothing about it? All I ask is that you let us know the next time this happens, okay?'

Alex answers for me, 'Don't worry, Mrs. Mansfield, I'll make sure he does. I tried my best to nurse his wounds. The guys that beat him up hurt his nose and left bruises on his chest. He also had slight concussion.'

'Thank you, Alex. You seem to be a decent man. I hope you don't speak to your folks like he does.'

'No ma'am. I don't. I'm sure Keegs doesn't mean it. He's still a little shaken up.'

Mom glares at me. At first her gaze is red and hard, filled with anguish, suddenly it's soft, filled with love and warmth. She takes me by the hand, pulls me forward, hugs me. 'You are the most stubborn man I've ever comed across, apart from your dad.'

'I'm sorry for letting you down, mom.'

'Well...' her voice breaks, 'that's what sons do I guess.'

I remain in her arms as she weeps on my shoulder. She wants to see my nose and the bruises. She wants to know how it happened. Alex listens while I tell her the story, leaving out the gay bits. She invites us for early afternoon dinner. One thing about my mom, she always has a pot of food on the stove or in the oven. Visitors never leave hungry. Her hospitality knows no bounderies. She serves us two huge plates of potjiekos and I watch Alex as he eats, silently, enjoying every mouthful.

'Mom, I...er...I need to ask you if I can sleep over at Alex's house tonight...'

Alex's spoon stops just as he's about to plunge it into his mouth, waiting expectantly for the answer.

Mom smiles, 'You know, I had a feeling that was coming. I also wanted to say that I've been thinking about what you told me earlier, that you're old enough to make your own decisions. Well, you are and I have been selfish. So, why do you need to ask when you can just tell me.'

I smile at her. I've never seen Mom quite so agreeable. There is something else about Alex.

He works miracles.