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- 05/28/2013
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Note: While authors are asked to place warnings on their stories for some moderated content, everyone has different thresholds, and it is your responsibility as a reader to avoid stories or stop reading if something bothers you.
Bad Stereotypes - 6. Sunday 16th June 2013
Against all my better judgement, and mostly because Dale was now getting actually worried by my lack of friends, I was now accompanying Zoltan and James, with Sal obviously, down to watch Zoltan’s brother play Murderball. I’d looked up the sport last week after I realised that if I squirmed out of coming to the game then not only was Dale going to be disappointed, but that Zoltan was going to think me even more fucked up than I already was. His comment about me being repressed had gotten me all riled up, and we hadn’t had a decent conversation since Thursday. Murderball, I discovered having inadvertently stumbled upon a two hour documentary, was rugby for quadriplegics, with four guys on a team each with varying levels of upper body mobility. It was rough and hard and really competitive, and all the guys who played tended to have had accidents having once led full physical lives. As it turned out, the city team were no different.
Zoltan’s twin was waiting for us in the car park outside the sport’s complex where they played, and I was shocked at how similar they looked, except that his brother had neater facial hair and even more tattoos than Zoltan did.
“Zu!” Jame high-five the guy in the wheelchair, “How you doing bud?”
“I’mma good, man! Nice to see ya. Hey Sal, you wanna ride?”
Sal yelped as James snagged an arm around her waist, pulling her slender curvy body to his own.
“Babe!” Sal slapped at his hands, “Hey Zupan. You got knew ink!” Sal pulled away from James to examine the bulging bicep Zupan offered and he grinned.
“You like it? I wanted something for when we got selected for the Olympic team, but I didn’t wanna get something like everyone else had.”
“It’s cool bro.” Zoltan bumped knuckles with his brother and then waved me forwards.
“Zu, this is Bay. He’s working at the South Alaska now.”
Zupan looked at me, made a dismissive noise, and turned away. I followed the chatting group inside and watched as Zupan pulled on his GB team shirt and transferred himself into a wheelchair that looked like it was made by Spartans and designed as a battering ram. Zupan strapped himself in, webbing straps around his ankles, knees, waist, then looked up to see me watching him.
“Yes?”
“Sorry.” I backed down quickly. Zupan had shoulders like a shire horse, and I didn’t fancy picking a fight with him.
“What was your name again?”
“Bay.”
“Bay,” Zupan scoffed, “Sounds like gay to me.”
“Shut the fuck up.” I jumped out of my seat as though electrocuted.
Zupan settled himself back into the murderball chair with a smirk.
“What, you not going to hit a guy in a chair?” I snorted and sat back down, “Look at ye. I doubt you’ve ever been in a fight your whole life.”
“Give him time Zu,” James chipped in, “He’s not had that much time to get into fights yet.”
“You’re eighteen?” I nodded, then regretted it, “Aww, wee lamb.” A whistle went on the court, “Right, time to murder the man with the ball.” And with that Zupan spun himself away. I kicked at the floor, making a squeak from my favourite neon yellow and blue running trainers and wondered why I’d come out at all. This was obviously not the place I was going to make new friends.
The game was actually good, as in fun to watch. Every guy on the court good take a hit, and throw one, and I had no doubt that I would get pummelled out there. It annoyed me that Zupan had wound me up so quickly, and why did it annoy me for people to think I was gay when… I was gay. Right then sitting watching Zupan smash his chair into a young blond lad, sending them both reeling, hearing Zoltan and James’s cries of triumph, I desperately wanted to get out and go running. I needed to clear my head.
Sal noticed me fiddling in my seat.
“What’s up kiddo?”
“Nothing.”
“You wanna come to the pub with us later?” It was a nice thing for her to ask, really, but I couldn’t see me and Zoltan’s brother and his team having a civil conversation, let alone an actual laugh.
“Nah, I think I’ll go for a run. Thanks though.”
“Bay.”
“Yeah?”
Sal was looking at me with uncharacteristic hard eyes, her gaze unreadable. Usually she was so chatty and flirty, with everyone.
“You can’t run forever kid.”
“Try me.” I nipped down from the stands, walked my way around the court towards the doors. In the corridor, heading for the main reception and the way out, there was a guy. Tall, sweats and a soaked t-shirt, brown hair, nice eyes. He smiled at me, raised a hand to say hi, but I was too far gone in my own rage, and by the time the first syllable was out, I was rounding the corner, my sights set on the great outdoors.
I ran, and wondered why I hated stereotypical queers.
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Note: While authors are asked to place warnings on their stories for some moderated content, everyone has different thresholds, and it is your responsibility as a reader to avoid stories or stop reading if something bothers you.
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