#s4pphoiduser

Exy was something strange. Comforting, terrifying. It was the only thing Seth had ever really fought to know, but every day he woke up, he thought maybe it was the day he’d run—leave it behind.

It never was. He kept going back. Passcode, foyer, lounge room, locker room. He diligently—though that could be argued—put on his uniform, he played. He mostly listened to Wymack’s directions, he checked in with Abby when required. There wasn’t much he had in his life, let alone a constant, but there was exy.

First time he’d ever met Wymack, the man had his arms crossed over his chest and he had stared Seth down. Seth had barely kept himself from squirming and he was about ready to just walk out of the goddamn room when Wymack said, “You really could be something, kid, you know that?”

No, he did not know that.

His high school coach, Coach Lester, said he had potential. Whatever the fuck that meant. But high school was nothing. High school was just a playground. University was when exy got real, and Seth didn’t think he’d ever make it all the way there. No, that wasn’t right. He knew he’d never make it there. Not with his grades, not with how fucking poor he was. Coke and adderall could only pay for so much.

People like him didn’t go to university, and they sure as hell didn’t go for sports, sure as hell not for exy. People like him didn’t graduate and be something. Seth Gordon was never meant for greater things.

He’d scoffed. “Sure, mister. Next you’ll say I’ll go pro.”

Wymack had raised an eyebrow. “Don’t think you’ll make it?”

“What, you think otherwise?”

“Sure I do.” A beat. “Mr. Gordon, I’ve got a contract with me and it’s got your name on it. Palmetto State, five years.”

He probably should have turned it down then. Should have said, “Real nice of you, mister, but you don’t want me there. Two weeks in, I’ll be high as balls and when I’m frothing out the mouth after my latest ride on the fun train then you’ll see. I ain’t worth the trouble. You’ll see.”

But that wasn’t what had happened. He thought it through real fast, faster than he ever thought anything else through, faster than his brain worked on the court. He had five siblings, and only two that really meant more than shit-on-the-side-of-the-road to him. Well, technically he had six siblings but he’d figured in that moment that dead ones probably didn’t count when one counted their family. Anyone else would consult their family in such a big decision. He didn’t even know where the fuck Palmetto State was.

He’d figured, Anywhere’s better than here. A beat. Gotta be. …Right?

Wymack already had his hand outstretched, a thin file lightly held between his fingers. “Take your time to read it through.”

Seth had grabbed hold on the other end. You really could be something, kid, you know that?

Seth wasn’t much for trust, he wasn’t idiot enough to buy into things older men like Wymack said. His daddy left when he finally realized the Gordons weren’t worth shit, and when Wymack got that Seth was always going to be a fuck-up before he was anything else, then he’d let him go, too. But he could have this—for now.

Then Wymack had talked some more, but Seth didn’t remember it anymore. Sometimes he thought all the coke and whatever else had finally made their way to his brain. But he remembered this: “Ask your coach to fax it back to me.” Wymack was so sure even then that Seth would sign. Seth was a contrarian at heart and the certainty of Wymack’s tone made him want to tell him to fuck off. That he didn’t know shit, and shouldn’t go around assuming shit.

He went to the shitty convenience store he worked part-time at, bought a pack of cheap cigarettes and went through the file. He didn’t understand what most of it meant but he didn’t think any of it was all that important anyway. PSU would hold the same rules and regulations as any other well-respected educational space. Some words stood out to him: Drugs… prohibited… subject to tests… full-ride… scholarship… Nothing else mattered. He signed his goddamn name on the goddamned dotted line and stuffed the file back into his backpack.

It was getting colder again as the sun set. Seth couldn’t bring himself to go home, though the papers didn’t mean anything had changed. It was only February, and he still had three more months to go. Four, if he counted the one month of summer he’d have to wait until he got to fuck off out of here. He smoked half the pack before he pulled himself together enough to get up and walk home.

His hands had a slight tremble to them as he twisted the knob on the front door, his body shaking with an emotion he couldn’t name. He did his best to swallow it before he entered.

“Where the fuck have you been at.” His mother was never affectionate, but now she was angry. Or something. She was perpetually angry at him now, and he, at her. The anger went round and round in this house, always her yelling at him, and him, yelling back at her. Violent screaming matches were all he’d ever known, and it was easy for him to slip the anger on, to wear it like a second skin. It always came naturally to him, and maybe that was why his mother was always so angry at it—it was the only part of her that she’d manage to pass onto him. Everything else was him, or his father.

“Out,” he sneered, “None of your business.”

“It is as long as you live under my fucking roof!”

It always escalated fast. He was tired today. He had practice, then he had Wymack sprung onto him and a bunch of papers shoved into his hands. He didn’t have the energy to fight her today. Tomorrow, maybe.

When he didn’t respond in words, she took his glare in stride and grinded out menacingly, “I can’t wait for the day you get the fuck outta here.”

Yeah, same. He bared his teeth in a grin. “Soon,” he promised.

He didn’t know if he’d last a year at Palmetto but he didn’t need to. So long as he got a chance to leave all this shit in the dust, it was good enough for him. He’d figure it out. He always had.

May brought with it graduation, and a hot summer. Seth had graduated near the bottom of his class, not that it surprised anyone. None of it mattered anyway, he was already signed to PSU, and he’d be there in less than a month. He had a bus ticket stuffed between his mattress and bed frame, and nobody knew about it. Yet. They’d know when he left with his bags.

Speaking of bags… He hadn’t packed his shit yet. There wasn’t much to be packed, but he was still attached to the meager belongings he owned. He’d take his nice shirts and pants and jeans. All things exy-related would be waiting for him in the locker that said GORDON on it. Exy gear made just for him. For the first time, there was a strange fire lit in him. The flames licked at his heart and he wanted this to work so badly he thought he’d choke on it.

Wymack’s words came back to haunt him again, as they had over the past few months. You really could be something, kid, you know that? No, he couldn’t be anything. He could play but according to his 6-minute Internet browsing, he’d be on PSU’s first ever exy team. And there would be hundreds of collegiate players out there better than him. Wymack was wrong. He wouldn’t ever really amount to anything, but no one ever said he couldn’t give it a shot.

On the 6th of June, he had his two bags ready—one big duffel bag and one moderately-sized suitcase—and his bus ticket burning a hole in the pocket of his cargos.

Justin blinked his big eyes up at Seth. “Where are you going?”

Seth looked at his little brother then. “Out to see the world, kid.”

“Where?” Insistent.

“I’m gonna go play exy in South Carolina,” he told the kid.

“Where’s that?” His brother was eight. Of course he didn’t know where South Carolina was.

“A couple hours away.” He knelt down to kiss the top of his brother’s head. “You be good while I’m gone.”

When Seth pulled away, Justin kept him close with a hand holding tight onto his shirt. “When will you come back?”

Seth didn’t want to lie to the kid. So he said, “I don’t know.” It was the truth. He didn’t think he’d come back for holidays, and he wouldn’t be back in Alabama unless he’d have to play a game in the state. He wouldn’t come back here at all.

Then he left. He had almost made it to the front door when a voice stopped him. “What the fuck are you doing.” His mother rarely asked; she demanded, or said. She didn’t ask. Today was no different.

He set his suitcase by the door. “I’m getting the fuck outta your hair.”

“You ungrateful little—”

“I’m leaving for real,” he said, “Never coming back.”

She scoffed in disbelief. “You won’t make it a week on the streets!” she threatened.

Seth couldn’t understand why. She hated him, and he hated her. She’d named him after his father out of some misplaced love, and when the man left, she couldn’t bear to look at him for a good two weeks and when she finally did, she had called him Seth. he was no longer Bryan. She should be relieved he was leaving.

He dug around for the anger that was always thrumming just under his skin, but he couldn’t find it. All he found was the strange calm that had settled over him, his relaxed shoulders and his steady voice. “I won’t be on the streets.”

Seth realized that if he thought anger was all he had, he was wrong. He also had spite. He was also bitter. Her crumbling face was the most satisfying thing he’d seen his entire life.

“What?” she asked. Barely a whisper.

“Going to college, Mom,” he spat. “Yeah, you heard that right. Crazy, ain’t it, son of a bitch like me in college? And that’s not the best part either. This is: I’m going on an exy scholarship. Yeah, Mom, they’re paying me to be there. Fuck you.”

She laughed. Incredulous and hysterical. “You!” she wheezed between her laughs, “You! You?! You’ll be back here in a week when they find out you’re a good-for-nothing junkie. All you want’s the high! You ain’t good for shit, Seth, and you’ll remember that soon enough. But don’t come back. I never want to see your fuckin’ face again. You get kicked out that school, you go somewhere else and die quietly.”

“I ain’t comin’ back here, Mom.”

“I don’t ever wanna see your face again,” she said again, red-faced. She still had that nasty shadow of a laugh on her face.

“Yeah, me neither.”