“Hey, you German bratwurst.” Did that just come out of my mouth?
When the German bratwurst in question looked up, I figured out I’d actually said that out loud. Well I guess I could have said something a lot worse, and it wasn’t like I could back out at that point.
“You’re talking to me?” he asked.
I focused on how my forearms were tensed, on the anger that had flamed to life in my chest and I let the words out. “Yes you. Maybe you don’t give a crap about helping the team out and that’s fine. I get it, big man. Want to talk shit to us,when you know you’re in no position to say anything about what people should and shouldn’t be doing?” I shot him a look that said I wanted him to remember what exactly I’d done for him.
Hypocritical ass.
“We’ll all get over you being rude with us, trust me. I won’t be losing any sleep over you, but we don’t treat our fans like crap here. I’m not sure what it was like for you back where you played, but here, we’re grateful and we treat everyone kindly. It doesn’t matter if someone asks you for an autograph or to sign their ass cheek, you do it with a smile.
“And you especially aren’t allowed to be an asshole to my dad. He thought you were the greatest thing since frozen meals. He’s one of your biggest fans, and you’re going to be rude to him? Jesus Christ. Everyone knows you were a terror to play against, but I didn’t think you were mean to people that have been supportive of your career.”
Someone was panting, and I was pretty sure it was me. “All he wanted to do was meet you and, I don’t know, maybe get a picture so he could brag about it to his friends. He’s the best man I know, and he’s been talking about seeing you for weeks. Now my dad left here upset and probably disillusioned, so thank you for that, you German Chocolate Cake. I hope the next time someone approaches you, you think about how two minutes of your time could make one person’s entire year.”
You fuckingsauerkraut.
Okay, I didn’t say that, but I thought it.
I also thought about flicking him off with both my hands, but I didn’t do that either.
My fingers flexed on their own and my molars started to grind together as we stared at each other in silence. I’d thought I was done, but when he blinked those eyes that reminded me of playing in New Hampshire once in late fall, I felt my inner thirteen-year-old come to life, the girl who had held this man on a pedestal and thought the world of him.
I felt her come to life and die in a split second. Just that quickly, this version of me who understood that people changed over the years was reborn from the ashes of teenage Sal. The grown up version of me didn’t give a single fuck about Reiner Kulti. He hadn’t been the one who sat through my practices, my games. He wasn’t the one that stressed about my injuries and teased me through my recuperation periods. I had a list of people that I loved and respected, people that had earned their way into my heart and deserved my loyalty.
Reiner Kulti wasn’t anyone special in the ways that really mattered. He’d been my inspiration a very long time ago, but he hadn’t been the one to help me make it happen.
“I get that you’re the greatest thing to ever come onto this field,MisterKulti.” Yeah, I said the ‘mister’ as sarcastically as I could. “But to me, my dad is one of the greatest people in the world. And the next person whose feelings you hurt by not caring to meet them is someone else’s dad or brother or mom or sister or daughter or son. So think about that.”
Goddamnfrankfurter.
Luckily, I wasn’t really expecting him to reply and, in the end, it was probably a good thing that he didn’t because I seriously doubted something sincere or apologetic could have come out of such an indifferent apathetic mouth.
Hours later when I was hauling rocks around on a wheelbarrow and my shoulders were on the verge of sprouting tear ducts because they hurt so much, I couldn’t help but still feel rattled, pissed. If I hadn’t already taken them down almost ten years ago, I would have ripped the Kulti posters off my wall with a scream that would have made Xena proud. No one had stopped me as I grabbed my shit and left. Gardner had just stood there as I passed by him with what I recognized as an impressed look on his face.
So there was that, at least. I couldn’t get kicked off the team if Gardner looked pleased with what I’d said.
At least that’s what I hoped, but either way, I couldn’t find it in me to regret what I had done. If I couldn’t stand up for what I believed in, then I wasn’t the person I strived to be.
Igotthree voicemails that evening while I snuck in a run before meeting up with my parents.
The first was from Jenny, who said, “Sal, I can’t believe you said that to him, but I think it was the nicest things I’ve ever heard come out of anyone’s mouth. I’m proud of you, and I love you.”
The second was from one of the defenders on the team that I wasn’t particularly close to, who laughed so hard she sounded like she was dying. “German Chocolate Cake! Oh my god, I thought I pissed my pants.”
The third was from Harlow. “Sal, I always knew you had balls of steel in that puny little body, but goddamn, I almost cried. You let me know when you wanna go out to celebrate you giving Kulti the reaming of a lifetime.”
Overall, I was pretty pleased with myself.
I didn’t say anything to my dad that night when we all went out to eat, but I gave him a hug twice as hard as usual that left him gasping for breath.
If I was worriedthat the staff would be pissed about what I’d said the day before, it had been a waste of mental and emotional effort. A couple of the newer girls gave me discreet low-fives when I showed up, but it was the hard pat on my back that Gardner gave me that finally relaxed me. Nothing would come of it.
I held my head up high and didn’t put in any extra effort to pretend not to look at Kulti. If I glanced in his direction, I kept on looking. The one time our gazes met, I let my eyes linger for a second before looking elsewhere. They say not to make eye contact with dangerous animals so that they don’t perceive you as a threat, but I said screw it; I was no one’s bitch, especially not Kulti’s.
I hadn’t done anything wrong, and I sure as hell wasn’t going to stand by and let this German tank make the best dad in the world feel dejected. He’d been acting normal when we had dinner at the restaurant by their hotel but… still. My gut knew that his feelings had been hurt and that was not going to fly on my radar, ever.
When I happened to get knocked to the ground during a particularly competitive game of three-on-three, right at Kulti’s feet, I hopped back up, brushed my thighs off as I looked him right in the eye, and then went right back to what I was doing.