Page 76 of Office Hours
He laughs, sharp and raw. “If I quit, I lose my scholarship. I lose everything.”
“Wouldn’t you rather keep your life?” I say. “I mean, all that hormonal stuff can fuck you up, right?”
He shrugs. “I don’t know. Maybe I deserve it. Maybe I’m broken, and the drugs keep me in one piece.”
For a second, the words “I’m broken” dangle between us, so heavy they might as well be tattooed on his forehead.
I reach across the table and grab his hand. He flinches, but doesn’t pull away. His palm is rough, the knuckles scarred. I squeeze.
“You’renotbroken,” I say in a fierce tone. “You’re just scared. We all are.”
He looks at me like nobody’s ever said that before.
The moment hangs, awkward and a little too intimate, but I don’t let go. I just hold his hand until the shaking stops.
After a minute, he wipes his eyes with the back of his free hand. “Thanks,” he says, voice rough.
I let go, sit back, and realize I’m smiling.
“Let me buy you a sandwich,” he says, and the way he says it is so hopeful I can’t say no.
We sit there a while longer, talking about nothing—the new Netflix show, finals, the best bagels on campus. It’s almost normal. When I get up to leave, he hugs me, brief and hard, and for a second it feels like absolution.
“So what are you going to do?” I ask.
Dylan bends his head to stare at the table, the shadows under his eyes bluish-purple.
“I don’t know,” he says in a soft voice.
“But don’t they have random drug testing?” I ask. “What if you say you’re scared of being caught?”
Dylan turns grey, and suddenly looks about eighty-five.
“The coach has ways,” he says in a hollow voice. “They do cycles so the drugs flush out of your system before any checks. And he always seems to know where there’s going to be a random drug test. He has inside knowledge.”
“I see,” I say in a slow tone.
“See? The system’s broken,” Dylan says in a bitter voice.
I fix him with a look.
“The system may be broken, but you’re not, Dylan. You will be fine, no matter what you choose.”
Then, I give him a hug as a friend, and walk out of the cafe.
I stride out into the cold, feeling lighter, because it seems I’m not the only one who feels defeated. We all suffer low points, and feel depressed, behind, and hopeless. But that’s the human experience, and hearing Dylan speak his truth has helped me. We’re not fixed. Not whole. But we’re something closer to human.
I’mon the sidewalk when suddenly, Dylan runs out.
“Simone you forgot this,” he says, holding out my wallet.
I stare up at the handsome boy, and my heart squeezes a bit. Dylan looks tired but resolute, and I reach up to give him a hug.
“Thanks,” I say. “You’re a lifesaver.”
At that moment, I spot a car over the swimmer’s shoulder. The street is packed with delivery vans, but weaving through them like a shark is a familiar shape: a black Porsche, windows tinted to the legal limit, prowling at barely more than walking speed. The driver’s face is shadowed, but I’d know that profile anywhere.
Liam.
