Listen to What the Man Said

I was asked by my best friend, Melissa Anderson, to join the Jefferson High School cheerleader squad. She had joined a year prior and would lament and scream in agony about how many opinions sixteen girls could have about a four-count section of a cheer.
“Why would I want to involve myself in all the in-fighting? I asked as we sat in the back of the classroom.
“Because it’s fun.”
“I’d rather not. I can think of a million reasons.”
“Name four,” Melissa challenged and held out her hand.
I should have known not to say that. I should have just given a flat ‘no’.
I knew the cheers, I knew the dance routines, I could draw posters, and I enjoyed going to the games.
“Can’t, can you?”
“I don’t want to put with the teasing.”
“From who?”
“A very small, but very loud and obnoxious, group of students.”
Melissa stared blanky at me for a second. “That’s a lame reason. I mean, I’m out there in a skirt, wearing bows and looking oh-so-cheery. You only have to stand, clap, and catch us.”
“Oh there’s more to it than that. Everyone remembers when Bryan Mercer did that somersault flip and broke his collarbone.” That had happened a week prior, so the squad was down a member—once who all action and no talk. He went along with everything that the other girls asked him to do. Hence, the near-fatal routine.
“You’re going to try out,” She demanded as we walked down the crowded hall.”
“Again, why?”
“Because you’re good.”
“I can’t lift anyone, well, maybe one or two of the other girls.”
“You can be my dedicated base. I’m going to sign you up.”

Practice started at the end of the week. There were five girls that were graduating that year, so they needed to be replaced. In addition, the cheer coach wanted more guys to join; not just a replacement for Bryan. There were two other guys who tried out: Mike Creston and Chad McKinney.
Mike had played football for three years but injured a tendon in his leg and ruined his ability to run at full speed. His injury did not prevent him from lifting his own weight on a barbell nor did it stop his booming voice. Chad was a star on the basketball court but decided he wanted to do something different, so he turned in doing half-court baskets to basket tosses. Compared to them, I should have put on a shell, skirt and some ribbons in my hair and tired out with the girls.
So, the cheer squad for my junior year consisted of sixteen girls and three guys. I wasn’t sure if I wanted to be happy about it or scared out of mind. For a few weeks into the summer were nights I would wake up in a cold sweat as I had the consistent nightmare of wearing a girl’s uniform and moving to the rhythm of a song that should have been banned for any cheerleading squad to perform.
Three weeks into summer, we all met back at the high school gym for a few daily practices before leaving the following Monday for Cheer Camp. After a grueling attempt to NOT learn the routine, I was glad to be heading home. Glad, but in fear of my life as Melissa had recently gotten her driver’s license.
“You should do the dance routines with us.”
“I am not going to perform the moves for ‘Rumpshaker’.”
“Why not?” Melissa asked as she shifted into fifth gear.
“I don’t wanna zoom-a-zoom-zoom-zoom and a poom-poom. You do know what ‘poom poom’ means, right?”
Melissa drove like Danica Patrick, and amazingly she never got pulled over.
“Yeah, I’m trying to talk Andrea out of it.”
Andrea was the head cheerleader and was always a cheery, happy, “hey, how ya doing” kind of person until someone makes changes on her. Then she became a demon born of hellfire and scorn. She had picked the song and the routine.
“I mean there are some killer steps in it but, yeah, we shouldn’t do it,
“I don’t want to even be in the same state when you tell her.”
Melissa grinned and then accelerated.
“Did you ever get the airbag repaired?”
“Not yet. Dad’s waiting for something else to break down.”
I pulled my seat back as far as I could.
“Aw, c’mon. I’m a safe driver.”
“You’re a careful driver.”
“Same thing.”
“The speed limit is 65 and you’re near, is that ninety?”
“Only eighty-five.
“Only,” I replied with a nod and raised eyebrows. “Are we trying to match Han in the Kessel Run?”
“The force is strong with you, eh?” Melissa replied.
The force of going through the windshield was stronger. Luckily, we on the side streets approaching Cherry Blossoms Apartments. I lived in a two-bedroom apartment with my mom. Dad? He was usually out of the country; a part of the divorce that mom was fine with. There were times that I talked with him, but for the most part he would send me a postcard or a letter. He would call every lunar eclipse or so.
“Make sure you’re ready to leave on time.”
“I will be,” I replied as I grabbed a large red gym bag that screamed out it was for one of the girls with a fuchsia—some would say “pink”--color with the words “JHS Stallions Cheerleading” and a silhouette of a girl jumping into the air. I wanted the black and gold one like what Chad and Mike had, but there were only two available at the time.
We said our goodbyes and she took off down the road like her car was about to take flight. I trudged up the steps to the third floor and opened the door with my key.
“Lin, is that you?” Mom asked from the other room, her voice all calm.
“Yeah, mom” I replied.
“When were you going to tell me?”
I couldn’t tell if she was worried, mad, curious, or if she finally found out the vodka bottle had only water in it.
“About?” I asked the voice that seemingly came from nowhere, yet everywhere.
“You’re a cheerleader?”
“Uh, yeah.”
Mom walked out of the living room and stared like I had grown a second head or a tail.
“What?”
“It’s just something I didn’t expect you to do.”
“That makes two of us.” I replied as I walked down the hall to my room.
"The school sent some paperwork about a cheer camp. Mind telling me when you were going to talk to me about this?"
"Surprise?" I opened the door to my room and sat the bag next to my bed.
“You’re the one who is going to be surprised. Cheerleading takes a lot of work.”
“Not for me. I just get to stand, clap and shout most of the time.”
“No moves?” Mom asked and then crossed her arms in front of her in disagreement.
“I’ll let Melissa and rest of the girls on the squad do that.”
“Five years of gymnastics and you just want to stand and clap?”
“Hey, it looks good on a college transcript, right?”
Mom huffed and then looked down at the papers.
“You were going to wait until Friday night to tell me about this, weren’t you?”
“Yeah, as we’re leave Saturday morning.”
“Lin! What were you thinking?”
“I’d just go in the morning with Mel. Walmart’s open twenty-four hours.”
“Lindell Julius Armitage! You need the correct shoes, shorts and workout shirts.”
“These are fine,” I replied as I lifted my dark grey and if-they-get-wet-my-socks-get -soaked, had seen better days running shoes.
“You need new clothes.”
I rolled my eyes. I hated shopping with extreme prejudice. If asked to either go shopping or allow my right hand to be crushed, then I would learn to write as a southpaw. Besides the time wasted looking at ridiculously priced but made by the lowest bidder merchandise, I would have to put up with mom talking about clothes and showing me various things, I didn't want to look at, acknowledge, or try on.
We arrived at the store, and I felt like waking towards the street and stepping right into traffic—ANYTHING to avoid going inside any store whatsoever. If it couldn’t be purchased off of Amazon or eBay.com, then it wasn’t needed. My clothes were fine. A little worn, maybe. My shoes, yes, they were falling apart but I didn’t care.
“You cannot go to cheer camp looking like you’re from Hooverville.”
“From where?”
“Doesn’t matter. Let’s find some clothes for you. Do NOT complain about the prices. That’s my job.”
I rolled my eyes. If only Mom was like that when I “needed” a PlayStation 4. I couldn’t care less so I haphazardly went through the clothes: warm-ups, shirts, socks and just picked up what looked like would fit me based on sizes. Except for the shoes. I figured that I would get the best pair of shoes that I could…even if they were a very expensive set ofNike’s.
I brought the gear to the checkout and Mom’s expression at the sight of the price tag on the shoes made her switch out cards. I brushed my hair from off my face and lashed it into a ponytail.
“You said not to get all hyped about the price. They’ll last a while.”
“They’re white, Lin. You’re going to need to take care of them. You should get some water-protection.”
“Why?”
Mom leaned in and whispered in a low roar. “If I’m buying a pair shoes that costs almost as much as a car note then I want them to last.”
“Well, we could put these back and start my car fund? I’m for that.”
“Go back to the department and get some Scotchgard.”
“Some what?”
“It’s a spray. It helps protect materials from water.”
I trudged out at first but then took off in a light sprint—figuring the faster I got this spray the faster we could leave. I had survived the entire time without anyone talking to me except for someone to find the pair of shoes I requested. The guy’s expression was a bit weird when I asked for a size nine-five. I didn’t care, I just wanted to get it over with.
“Miss!” Someone said from behind me.
I kept on with my pace.
“Miss!” the same voice, but louder, “I need you to stop running.”
I stopped to see who was running behind me and met up with an older man with a clipboard in his hands. He wore a store uniform.
“Are you talking to me?”
“Yes, you need to stop running.”
All I could do was frown.
* * *
I sat in the passenger’s seat and glared out the window.
“What are you mad about?” Mom asked as she started the car.
“He called me ‘miss’. Continuously, mom.”
“He just wanted you to stop running.”
“He became my shadow as I walked the rest of the way, got the spray and walked back to the register.”
Mom chuckled a bit. I failed to see what was funny about it.
“Maybe you should cut your hair.”
“No way.”
“That might stop the confusion.”
“Not my problem.” I replied as I turned to her.
“Then you can’t complain when a sixty-year-old man calls you ‘miss’."
“Slash didn’t have to worry about anyone calling him a girl.”
“From the back he might have. People wore some strange stuff in the eighties.”
“I’ll grow a beard.”
“And be a lumberjack one day?”
“A what?” I asked as mom just smirked. “You’re weird, mom”
“I’m a parent, it’s my job. Let’s stop for Subway.”
“No thank you,” I replied with a huff as any form of meat from a store like that combined with a bus ride would equal everyone unable to breathe for the duration of said ride and if that was too much information for you, think about how I felt when I learned of my condition, and it was mor than just flatulence when it started.
“You can get a veggie.”
“Not helping, mom.”
“Tuna salad?”
“There is not a smidgen of fish in one of those, and you know it.”
“It’s not meat, at least.”
Instead of offering an alternative, she turned the car into the parking lot, parked in front of the door and handed a card over to. “Italian BMT, dressed and some Sun Chips.”
“Would you like to super-size it too?”
“Yes, a large is fine.”
I took the card, got out and closed the door. Mom could eat whatever she wanted and never gain a pound. I could barely eat anything without some gastro-intestinal issue occurring. Some people assumed I was rude when I would decline a taco or a slice of pizza. I would have to tell them over how much I wanted to gnosh on what was once sweet manna from the heavens: a Doritos Locos taco. I would have to decline.
The restaurant’s lights were ultra-bright with the neon flashing off the yellow and green. I had to wince a little bit and adjust my eyes.
“Welcome to Subway.” The lone guy behind the counter said.
I blinked a few times and waved to him.
“What can I get for you?”
“Umm, a large Italian, everything on it, and some chips.”
He nodded and proceeded with getting the bread. I turned around to see mom sitting in the car with the headlights on. I stared at her for a few minutes wondering why the lights, and the engine it seemed, were still on. Did she want me to just dash and grab a sandwich? Probably she wanted to keep the air conditioner at negative thirty degrees. I pivoted my feet and spun around to see the guy behind the counter dart his eyes from a downward direction towards me and back to the prep line.
Was he staring at my butt while making a sandwich?
I turned back around, partially in shock, partially in frustration and maybe just a smidgin of astonishment. It was one of those times where you hoped a charter bus full of seasoned adults would pull-up so you wouldn’t have to make strange small talk.
“Umm, what kind of cheese?”
“Provolone,” I replied as I looked away quickly as that moment I felt like dropping to the floor in utter embarrassment on how I felt inside.
“Do you go to Wyatt?” He asked as he cut open a length of Italian bread. Wyatt was a special arts school a few miles away, but they had a rather good football team for an arts school.
“No, I’m from Jefferson.”
“A stallion huh?”
“Yeah. I’m one of the cheerleaders.”
The record scratched very loud in my head as he continued to lay multiple slices of cheese. The meat also appeared to be more than what was normally placed on a sandwich.
“I thought you were.”
“Really?”
“You got the build. I’m, Joey.”
“Lin”
“Short for Linda?”
“No, just Lin.”
“Sorry, didn’t mean to embarrass you.”
“No, it’s okay. I’m okay,” I replied with a slight smile.
There was a short delay as he continued to pile on vegetables and oils, so much that I was convinced the sandwich would break apart if he tried to close it.
“Well, would you mind if I asked you something?”
“Sure, Go ahead.”’
“Can I have your number?”
I’m sure I had a dumbstruck look on my face. My face. A part of me was glad at times that I didn’t have to shave as much as anyone else had to. Melissa and mom would sometimes comment on my babyface. I tried to grow a goatee, but it was nigh invisible and itched like mad. I shaved it off and cut myself in a few places in the process. My face and my hair, now behind my head, MIGHT have made me look a bit feminine, but I was still caught off-guard.
“I’m. I’m a guy.”
“And?”
I admit, I didn’t have a response to that.
“I just mean, I like what I see and hear,” he said as he folded the sandwich over with a large knife, not breaking eye contact with me.
“Seriously?” I asked with eyes wide open.
The bread looked flawless. It was like ones on a commercial: ultimate perfection.
“Never had anyone tell you that before?”
“No, I can’t say I have.”
He wrapped the footlong in multiple sheets of folded paper. Grinder origami, I suppose as he spoke:
“Just never sure about how people feel. You run to embrace people you think have a connection and they don’t understand, or we think they won’t. I used to feel that way. But, one day, I decided to throw it all to the wind and go for my dreams.”
“Impressive,” I replied as he threw the hoagie into a bag in what looked like a bartender trick.
“No, you are impressive, Lin. Don’t forget your chips.”
“Lindell. My name’s Lindell.”
I picked up a random bag.
“Which do you prefer?”
“I go by Lin.”
“Go by however you want to, stupendous one.”
He handed me a pen and a ‘Sub club’ card.
I pondered for a second on whether to leave my number. I mean, I could clearly see I was being hit on and, to be honest, it was euphoric. I could never recall anyone flirting with me. I think I sorely misinterpret politeness as flirting and I was oblivious to the real McCoy
“I’ll be at cheer camp this week,” I said as I wrote my number down.
“Then please expect my call next week when you return, my cute one.”
“You think I look cute?”
“Absolutely,” he replied as he traded the card for the sandwich. “And let not another tell you otherwise.”
“Thank you.”
I grabbed the bag—the chips had been placed in the top—most likely in the moments that my attention was distracted.
“It was my pleasure. Is that your mom?”
I turned to see mom standing outside the door with her hand pointing at a non-existent watch on her wrist.
“Yeah,” I replied as I turned back, gave a slight smile. and waved bye to him.

“What took you so long” Mom asked as we got back into the car. True to form, it was freezing cold and what little hair I had on my legs bristled.
“We were talking a bit.”
“About what?
“He goes to Wyatt.”
“You sound, chippy.”
I couldn’t see mom’s expression in the darkness, but it sounded like she was smiling.
“I’m not, chippy, as you say, I just feel better about things at the moment.”
“We may need to come back to this place so I can ask him what he did to the kid I sent in to get me a sandwich. Also, this feels like it weighs a ton.”
“Probably does. I think he triple-stacked it.”
“How much was it?”
“Nothing,” I said with a shrug.
“Are you telling me that he just threw on an obscene amount of everything and just gave it to you?”
“The chips too.”