The Break

It was a chilly day in March, and I was on the metal bleachers beside the tennis courts. The last bell had rung a while ago, and matches were well underway. Singles were always first, and, thanks to the new coach, I was placed on doubles this game, so it would be a while yet before it was my time to play.

I watched anxiously, nervous about how my mother would react to the knowledge that I had been ‘demoted’ to a two-person position. But that thought would disappear the moment I saw her—the only person who could make the fear and panic melt away.

“Hey, honey!” Bryssa said as she adjusted her checkered skirt, sitting beside me.

We locked eyes as she smiled, leaning in for a kiss. I surveyed the surroundings for a moment with hypervigilant paranoia, ensuring no parents or teachers were looking.

Determining that we were safe, I pressed forward and locked in a quick but passionate peck.

“Hey, babe,” I replied, briefly ogling her youthful, almond beige face and busty features pushing out of the Catholic School uniform. “Spring suits you, cutie.”

“Shouldn’t you be paying attention to the game, Captain?” She giggled, putting a hand on my arm and gasping. “You’re freezing!”

Getting up, she adjusted herself on the bleachers behind me before draping her arms over. She rested her chin on my shoulder, giving me a quick cheek peck as she snuggled up to me and covered us both with a blanket.

We sat there like that for a long while as the games continued. There was a small peck on the cheek here, a playful hair twirl there, and the laughter of two people very much in the throes of first love.

My match eventually came, and I played my heart out. I always struggled with doubles, the thought of needing to rely on others to get the job done conflicted with my upbringing. Though in the end, while it wasn’t a blowout, we held our own against a tough opponent and ultimately won.

After the game, I took Bryssa back to her family’s apartment, sneaking some more ‘us time’ in the back of my truck before I eventually made my way home. Parking outside and I rushed into the house, barely having enough time to place my backpack down before—

“Tahvin, what was that?!” My mother screamed at me.

She came storming out of the kitchen, flour on her apron and a wrathful look in her eyes.

“What was what?” I plead with my hands up in front of me.

“What was what?” She mimicked me. “You know what I’m talking about. I’m so embarrassed by you. That disgusting public display—you two fondling each other at the game.”

“What do you mean? Bryssa? She was keeping me warm.”

“Oh, keeping you warm? Keeping you warm?! Did you forget a sweatshirt?! What will people say seeing you being clung to like that? Being all lovie in public? What a disgusting embarrassment!”

I knew now that there was no fighting this. It wasn’t about me, but, instead, the family image. It was about my parents looking good in comparison to the other rich braggarts whose children attended my school. While our family may have been well off, they didn’t own multiple car dealerships or a winery, nor were they doctors, lawyers, or dotcom millionaires.

They were worried about their image. Worried about me dating a young Latina girl whose single mother struggled to provide for the household. All that mattered was the image we presented to the world that they aimed to impress.

“I’m sorry, Mom, it won’t happen again.”

“It better not. Ugh! I can’t believe you. You know—you know, we sacrificed a lot so you could go to that school. I live in this house all week with you. This crappy tract home! And then when I return to your father in Dos Gatos, who works hard and is alone all week, I take care of him. It’s hard on our marriage, but we do this for you! For you! And you spit in our face like this, with that girl?!”

“I know, Mom.” I looked down at the ground, my heart sinking. “Thank you for everything you do for me. I’m sorry. I’m really sor—”

“I didn’t raise you this way. Weak and pathetic! Grow a backbone, and don’t be so dependent on your sophomore girlfriend. You’re a senior, graduating in a few months and attending a prestigious University afterward. She’ll be lucky to make it into a Community College! So, stop being so weak! A weak male! I didn’t do all of this—ALL OF THIS—to raise a weak male like you.”

My heart broke, and my eyes began to well with tears. I wanted to cry but—

“Don’t cry.” She ordered, grabbing my backpack from the floor and shoving it into my arms. “Don’t you dare cry in front of me. Real men don’t cry! Get out of my sight. Go do homework in your room. Go!”

Gripping my backpack, I rushed to my room, closing the door behind me firmly but not hard enough to stir any more conflict. I sat atop my bed, looking at the wall while quietly weeping. After all, that was all I could do because if I made a sound, she would reprimand me even more.