Page 113 of Stroked by (Stroked)
Since countries are called in alphabetical order for the opening ceremony, we’ve been huddled in a tunnel for longer than I would like, but the minute we’re called out, it’s all worth it. The stadium erupts, despite not being in our home country, and flashes of lights sporadically shoot off from around the stands. Our flag leads the way, held by one of the women soccer players, and I hold my phone up to the crowd, recording everything from my view. It’s something to watch on TV, but to be in the thick of it, in the trenches, it’s a whole other world. This being my last time, I want to remember every last moment of it: from the smiles on my teammates faces, to the sounds and pyrotechnics within the stadium.
My very last opening ceremony; it’s surreal, almost impossible to comprehend. This is the last time I will don my country’s uniform, the last time I will stand together with Team USA, holding flags, and for one jovial moment, I take it all in.
Countries from around the world put together the best of the best athletes. Athletes who have trained relentlessly for years for their one and only shot at proving their talent on the big stage, of representing their colors, their blood, the land they grew up in. It’s the epitome of athletic prowess and for the last time in my life, I am experiencing it.
Nostalgia encompasses me as my throat chokes up from it all coming to an end.
“Dude, this is insane,” Hollis calls out, wrapping his arms around my neck and pulling me in. “Shit, I’m going to miss doing this with you.”
It’s never easy saying goodbye, but to say goodbye to your sport, the one thing that’s made you eat, sleep, and breathe ever since you can remember, it’s like a little piece of your soul dying.
Not wanting to show my emotions, I push Hollis to the side. “Don’t get all watery on me now.”
“It’s the end of an era,” he calls out to the crowd, no one being able to hear him besides the few people around us. “You can’t tell me you’re not going to miss this. And hell, the free clothes are so worth the five-in-the-morning conditioning practices.” He pulls on the lapels of his dress jacket custom-made by Ralph Lauren.
“Yes, I swim in the Olympics for the free clothes.”
“Don’t we all.” He brushes the sleeve of his right arm. “I’m telling you, Ralph has his shit together. He really knows how to dress a body. I looked in the mirror before I left and thought, hell, If Melony caught me in this outfit, she would finally give in to the feelings I know she has for me.”
“You’re still on that?” I ask. “Hollis, she is never going to give you the time of day.”
He smirks. “We will see about that.” Clearing his throat, he looks around and then shouts, “Bodi! Looking sharp, man.”
From the right, I see Bodi walking by himself, his phone in his hand and a flag in the other. No one is talking to him, and he barely has a smile on his face. I’m actually surprised to even see him walking. We have early morning races tomorrow and it’s been known that swimmers take the night off from opening ceremonies so they get enough rest before the big day. I’m not one of those swimmers; I’m going to perform the same if I get two hours of sleep or eight hours. My fellow Americans want to see their athletes parade, so I go to represent.
Not really saying anything, Bodi just nods his head in our direction.
“Hey, get over here,” I call out to Bodi, who looks very uncomfortable.
Moving past a few female swimmers who he doesn’t even take a second glance at, he walks next to me and gives me a half-pat on the shoulder, half-hug when I reach out to him.
“You have to walk with us, it’s my last opening ceremony.”
He sadly smiles and nods. “Yeah, I’m going to miss having you in the lane next to me.”
“Same here, man.”
We smirk at each other just as Hollis jumps up behind us and wraps his arms around both our necks. “You know the cameras are eating this up right now. I can hear Bob Costas.” In a very good Bob Costas kind of voice, Hollis says, “Olympic royalty walking together, joining forces to represent this country, it doesn’t get more memorable than that.”
A deep laugh pushes through Bodi, and I swear both Hollis and I stare at him a little dumbfounded. I don’t acknowledge the foreign sound but Hollis doesn’t have as much class or candor as I do.
“Holy shit, Bodi Banks just laughed at one of my jokes.” Fist pumping the air, he screams, “Best night ever!”
I shake my head at my friend as he starts skipping through the crowd of athletes, informing them of Bodi’s laugh. He’s a complete and total fart. I don’t know why I’m friends with him.
“You can say it, he’s an asshat,” I say to Bodi who is watching Hollis with curiosity.
“He’s definitely strange.” Clearing his throat, he looks down at his phone, a text message appearing on his screen.
I shove my shoulder against his and say, “Who’s the girl?”
“What?” His head snaps up at me and the smile that was once on his face disappears. “There’s no girl.”
I don’t buy it, and I let him know that with one lift of my brow.
Sighing, his shoulder deflates and he rubs the front of his face with his hands. “Remember that girl I told you about, the seamstress?”
“Yeah, uh what was her name? Ruth?”
