Victor laughed, wiping his eyes, because he hadn’t heard any of this before. Hadn’t heard that his father was proud of him, or that he said that to other people. Didn’t know that the autographed picture was in his office for the world to see. “Thanks for telling me that.”
“I wish you could have had John in your life when you were a kid.”
Victor sighed. “I saw him once a year. It was a hell of a lot better than nothing. It was more than a lot of kids got whose fathers were right there in the same town.”
“He cared about your mother.”
“Yeah, he did. He cared about both of us. He made sure I got everything I needed, and a lot of what I wanted. But I know what you mean. It’s not the same.”
“It’s not the same. That’s something else I got that you didn’t get.” Andy finished his coffee. “I must have been nine or ten before I fully realized what a problem it was.”
“What do you mean, problem?”
“I mean, by then it was crystal clear I was this way. They put me in dance at age six, for Christ’s sake. I just couldn’t give a fuck for all the guy
things. Cars? Sports?” He made a pfft noise. “They tried me in soccer for a minute. I was like, what in the hell is the point of this.” Victor laughed again.
“I was about music and dancing and theater. I liked to hang out with girls because they were bitchy and giggly like me. I’d hang out in the kitchen at everybody’s house, gossiping with the big sisters and doing bachata with the aunties. Most of the boys were okay with me because I wasn’t feminine. I was foul-mouthed and I made them laugh. I could run really fast. I could take a fall. I could get over a fence like nobody else. But sports, no. I was like that girl in ‘Clueless,’ no balls flying at my face, please. Until later.” Victor snickered. “But yeah. When the other boys had been in sports for a couple of years, it started to get obvious that Pop was working pretty hard to create a normal for me. To find me that safe place where there would be others of my own species. The great thing was he never acted like it was this chore. This imposition. It was just, this is my son and this is what he needs. I got to tell him how much I appreciated that.”
“What did he say?”
“He said, what the fuck else was I supposed to do? You’re my son.”
Andy wiped his eyes. After a moment he went on. “You know he solved the thing in high school. There was this one kid who beat me up twice. The first time I went home and I had the bloody nose and the black eye, and Pop was really pissed off. He asked if I wanted to learn how to fight. I said I wanted to learn how to not fight. So he came up with this plan. He said, if it happens again, try this.”
“What was the plan? What happened?”
“Oh, the guy did what these guys always do, pulled in a couple of other meatheads and cornered me. Started slapping me around, throwing a few punches. They were getting a little carried away. So I go, in my head, Pop this had better fucking work, and I say is this really worth your time? Is it not kind of unrewarding? It’s not like I’m putting up a fight. It’s not an achievement, is what I’m saying. He didn’t know what the fuck to do.” Andy was starting to laugh at the memory. “He was like, are you seriously trying to talk your way out of this? And I was like, well, obviously. Wouldn’t it be so much cooler if you were at an actual boxing gym with other guys who like beating things up? Because I know a guy.”
“Jesus Christ. Did it work?”
“Hell yeah, it worked. He was all, there’s a gym for that? Dude ended up
getting a boxing scholarship to college. We’re still in touch. He came to Pop’s memorial.”
“What about the other two meatheads?”
“Oh, you know, they were followers. They followed him to the gym but they couldn’t actually take getting hit so they found someone else to follow.
Dumbasses.” Andy thought about going to get some more coffee. Morning had officially broken. “Not long after that I started to get my height. I looked like a fishing pole, but I kept getting taller, and I learned how to move a little bigger. The rest of high school was fine.”
“I was a scrapper.”
Andy glanced over, smiling. “You got in fights a lot?”
“I was a mean little bastard. Anybody said anything about my mother, he was in the shit. Anybody fucking with a girl, he was in the shit.” Victor was gazing out at the gradually-lightening sky. “I was an altar boy too. I was in the church.”
“Anybody mess with you?”
“No. Our church didn’t have that. Somebody up the chain must have known what to look for, and cared enough to keep it out. There were a couple of characters used to hang around the church school, expose themselves. We used to throw things at
