Keeping 13: Boys of Tommen #2

Rugby united our country from the north to south, from east to west. For eighty minutes, there were no borders or politics to worry about. We were one nation standing behind twenty-three men going into battle. We were one, and that was a fucking achievement in itself.

Ireland’s Call chorused around the stadium, setting alight a barrage of goose bumps across my skin. Heads held high, emotions over-spilling, nerves frayed, but united we stood. Ulster man with Connacht man, Leinster man with Munster man, exiles and hybrids, coaches and trainers, the back room and our families, roared on by the people, as we made our own little mark on Irish history, as we stood together, paving a path and opportunity for a better future. Respect at an all-time high, we stood together, we worked together for each other, and for the pride of our people – for all the people.

The Irish fans were the best supporters in the world. The whole fucking world recognized that feat. It didn’t matter the sport or the occasion. They came in drones, regardless of the weather, and regardless of the score at the end of the eighty minutes, they returned the next week. This was what it was all about. These people made the feeling of pride burst clean out of my chest. We played for them, for our country, for each other.

Today was the proudest moment of my career. Wearing this beloved green jersey and number 13. I gave everything I had to my teammates, I left it all on the pitch, and at the end of the eighty minutes of the last game of the tour, we were victorious against Fiji.

Exhausted beyond comprehension, I forced my body to comply with my heart – a heart that was demanding I stay the fuck standing and not collapse in a heap on the floor – as I stepped off the bus and into the team hotel with my Man of the Match medal dangling from my neck.

Both led and flanked by my fellow teammates, I left the sanctuary of our bus and walked into the absolute mayhem that was the aftermath of an international match night. Being the youngest and least experienced person on the team, I followed my teammates lead by keeping my head up and staring straight ahead, trying to look unaffected by the madness when, in reality, I was shaking inside.

Flocks of fans were screaming in my face, pulling and tugging at my clothes, touching me like my body was public fucking property as we were ushered through the doors of the hotel and faced with even more screaming, diehard fans in the foyer. Phones and cameras were shoved into my face along with jerseys and pieces of crumpled paper. Reporters were shouting my name and then distracted by my captain as he accepted their questions. I ignored the media, turning my attention to the fans instead. Smiling for pictures, I signed every jersey, match booklet, poster, and piece of paper that was thrown at me, forcing myself not to grimace when countless pairs of lips smacked against my cheeks.

‘Johnny, you were amazing!’

‘I’m staying in room 309 tonight.’

‘Kavanagh, can we have a picture?’

‘I’ll be in the bar later.’

‘Congratulations on your first starting cap, kid.’

‘God, he’s so fucking sexy!’

‘How does it feel to be compared to Ireland’s greatest center?’

‘Oh my god, he looked at me!’

‘How are the ribs after that late tackle?’

‘My kid loves you – can you take a picture with him?’

‘The full eighty minutes, two tries, and man of the match, how are you feeling?’

‘Look at the size of him in real life!’Text © by N0ve/lDrama.Org.

‘Your mother must be proud of you, laddie.’

‘This is my room key, big boy…’

‘Are you proud of yourself?’

‘I love you, Johnny Kavanagh!’

Feeling swarmed and out of my element, I kept my eyes trained on the marker in my hand, doing my best to remain professional, as I scribbled my name across a rugby ball for a young boy.

‘You liked the game?’ I asked him, ignoring the group of women trying to pull at me. ‘Yeah?’

‘You’re my favorite,’ he replied, smiling up at me. ‘I want to be like you when I grow up.’

Fuck.

‘Thanks for coming,’ I said, standing in for a quick picture with him and his mother before slipping away, unable to keep up the charade another minute. Stars danced before my eyes, making it hard to see straight, as I battled through the hordes to get to my destination.

To get to my father.

I could see him up ahead of me, leaning against a table with a newspaper in hand, dutifully ignoring the madness around him. My heart was thundering against my ribcage; a mixture of adrenalin, desperation, and fear as I pushed through the crowds, ignoring everything and everyone in my path to get to him. Breathing through the panic, I closed the gap between us, letting my bag fall off my shoulder when I reached him. ‘Da,’ I choked out, shaking like a fucking child.

I watched his shoulders stiffen at the sound of my voice. I heard the small sigh that escaped his mouth. Turning slowly, he looked up at my face with a look of sheer pride on his face. ‘Hello, Jonathon.’

‘Da,’ I repeated, bowing my head, my voice a pained groan.

‘I’m here, son.’ Three words. Three fucking words that brought me to my knees. ‘I’m right here,’ he whispered, wrapping his arms around me.

‘Da –’ I dropped my head on his shoulder, clinging to him like a child. ‘Get me out of here.’

Two hours later, we were sitting in the back corner of a half-empty restaurant, and my heartbeat had returned to its normal rhythm. Grateful to have my father here with me after spending so much time away from everyone I knew, I listened intently as he gave me a summary of everything that had happened back home since I’d been away.

‘Sean’s really saying all those words now?’ I asked between mouthfuls of steak. ‘Full sentences?’

‘Most of the time, he’s still waffling,’ Dad chuckled. ‘But he’s trying. He’s coming along in leaps and bounds.’

‘Well, shite.’ Stabbing a piece of potato, I shoveled it into my mouth and chewed thoughtfully before asking, ‘And she’s really going to that counselor?’

‘She’s really going,’ Dad confirmed. ‘It’s helping, Johnny. She’s healing.’ I felt my shoulders sag in relief. Shannon had told me she was attending the sessions, but I didn’t know for sure if she was telling me the truth. ‘She’s starting to thrive, son. They all are.’

‘I miss her.’ Staring at the food on my plate, I continued to hoof it down, trying to distract myself from the god-awful pain in my chest. ‘I miss home.’

‘And we miss you,’ he replied. ‘But we’re also extremely proud of you.’

‘Is she going out?’ I croaked out, forcing the question out of my mouth. ‘Shannon? She’s not too sad?’

‘She’s lonesome for you,’ Dad replied honestly. ‘I imagine desperately so, but she’s putting on a brave face and getting on with things. She spends a lot of time with her friends. I suppose she’s getting into the swing of being a teenage girl.’ Smiling, he added, ‘And your mother has her primped to within an inch of her life.’ He chuckled. ‘I’ve never seen so much pink and glitter in my life, son. It’s everywhere. Makeup. Jewelry. Hair straighteners. Shoes. Dresses. I swear, every time I walk through the front door, there’s another half dozen shopping bags clogging up the hallway.’

‘Oh, Jesus,’ I groaned. ‘She’s treating Shannon like a doll, isn’t she?’

‘That’s one way to put it,’ Dad laughed.

Grimacing, I took a sip from my glass of water before asking, ‘And how is Ma?’

‘Her usual self,’ Dad mused, giving me a knowing look.

‘She’s in her element, isn’t she?’

‘Oh, she’s loving having so many kids around to fuss over,’ he agreed, smiling fondly at the thought. ‘She misses her baby, though. All the children in the world couldn’t fill the hole you made in her heart. Or mine.’

‘I bet.’ I chuckled, though it was a hollow sound. ‘I miss her, too.’

‘What’s wrong, Johnny?’ he asked then, picking up on my mood.

‘They offered me a two-year contract, Da,’ I whispered.

‘In France?’

‘No.’ I shook my head. ‘In Dublin.’

My father blew out a shaky breath and leaned back in his chair, food forgotten. ‘And the money?’

‘Beyond our expectations given my age and experience,’ I muttered. ‘The kind of money I didn’t expect to earn until my twenties.’

His brows shot up. ‘The plan was to play for a French club for a year or two to gain experience before you signed for home,’ he noted. ‘They must think you’re ready.’

‘Yeah.’ Setting my fork and knife down, I mirrored his actions and leaned back in my chair. ‘They must.’

‘They want you.’

‘They do.’

‘And you?’ He tilted his head to one-side, studying me with intelligent eyes. ‘What do you want?’

‘If I sign, I would have to move back to Dublin in September and finish out my leaving cert at Royce,’ I told him. ‘They’re willing to work with me on my training schedule. I’d be a pupil of Royce on paper, but I guess I’d be more of an external student than anything, you know? Taking a few classes, keeping up with tutoring, and sitting my exams there.’

‘And what do you think about that?’

‘I don’t know,’ I replied honestly, still reeling from how fast everything was happening. ‘It’s a lot to take in, Da.’

‘And you’re hesitant?’

I nodded slowly.

‘Because of Shannon.’

Yes? No? Maybe? I shrugged helplessly.

‘I see,’ he replied calmly.

I doubt it. I didn’t think anyone could see what I saw in this moment. ‘I don’t know.’ That was all I could say – all I could think. ‘I really don’t know, Da.’

‘Dublin is a two and half hour car ride from Cork,’ he offered. ‘It’s doable.’

‘It’s not that,’ I croaked out, dropping my gaze to study my hands.

‘Then what is it, Johnny?’

I opened my mouth to explain but snapped it shut again. I didn’t have the words. I couldn’t explain how I was feeling when I didn’t understand it myself. ‘I’m lost,’ I finally told him. ‘I’m conflicted.’

‘Is this not what you want anymore?’ he asked gently. ‘Because that’s okay, too.’

‘I want it,’ I choked out. ‘Trust me, I want this, Da. Rugby is what I want to do with my life. That hasn’t changed.’

‘But?’

‘It’s just…’ I blew out a pained breath. ‘I don’t know if I want it yet.’ I forced myself to look at him, expression guilty. ‘I don’t know, Da. If I sign, then that’s it. It’s done. I have to give it all up.’

‘Give what up?’

‘Tommen, my friends, Shannon, Gibs…’ I shrugged, feeling lost and helpless. ‘I’ll be a man.’

‘You are a man, Johnny.’

‘I know, but I just…I thought I had more time.’ I shook my head. ‘I didn’t even realize that I wanted more time until they handed me that contract and I saw it all slipping away from me.’

‘More time to be a teenager?’

I nodded dejectedly. ‘How pathetic is that?’

‘It’s not pathetic,’ he corrected. ‘It’s music to my ears. That’s all your mother and I ever wanted for you – to just be free.’

‘I didn’t do enough stuff, Da,’ I told him. ‘All of my friends were living it up, and I was always so focused on the game that I didn’t join in.’

‘And you got the taste of it this year,’ he added, expression thoughtful.

‘Yeah.’ I nodded. ‘And I know you’re thinking this is about Shannon and that I don’t want to sign because I’m afraid of leaving her, and to a point, that’s true. I don’t want to leave her, but it’s mostly about me. About who I am and where I fit – and I need more time to do that. I didn’t pay enough attention to my life. I didn’t experience any of the stuff I now realize that I want to experience. I got a small stab at it, a few short months, and now it’s gone.’

‘It’s not gone,’ Dad replied. ‘You don’t have to sign anything, Johnny. This is an adult decision, it’s a commitment to your future, and it doesn’t have to be made now. You can come home, son. You can continue working with The Academy, training with the U20’s, and finish off your schooling at Tommen. We can decide after your leaving cert next year about college and where you want to play – if you want to play. Your future is yours, Jonathon. It belongs to you, not the coaches. You’re still only eighteen years old. You can have that extra year, son. Your mother and I will support you no matter what.’

‘But I still want that contract,’ I choked out, feeling conflicted. ‘I want it so fucking bad, Da.’

‘And you’re afraid of turning it down in case you don’t get offered another one next year?’

Sighing heavily, I nodded. ‘Exactly.’

‘I don’t see that happening, Johnny,’ my father replied. ‘You’re too talented.’

‘It could,’ I warned him. ‘I could turn it down and get injured again. Worse than before. An injury I mightn’t come back from. I could lose it all, Da. There are no guarantees in this sport. You know that as well as I do.’

‘I think you need to take some time out and think this through,’ Dad said. ‘When do they need an answer by?’

‘I have a week to decide,’ I said wearily. ‘They’re being amazing to me.’

‘Then you’ll take every one of those days to think about it,’ he told me. ‘Nothing needs to be decided tonight.’

‘Really?’

‘Really,’ he confirmed. ‘You’re coming home next week, and then you have that music festival in Dublin with your friends that same weekend. Take that time to enjoy yourself, son. Go and be a teenager. Go mad. Have fun. Unwind. Get drunk – not too drunk or your mother will kill me,’ he quickly amended with a smirk. ‘But enjoy your life. We’ll talk about what you want to do about the contract when you get home. We’ll make a decision then.’