Chapter 3: Zach Allisein
The ball just floated into the net. My ears rang as the announcer screamed "GOAL" for what seemed like 3 minutes, just as the game finished. A glorious game of soccer had just been played, and I'd won the winning goal. Everyone rushed onto the field. After that was a blur. It seems that in the middle of the a celebration, F. Scott Fitzgerald is right; you can only get caught up in the heat and the sweat and the life.
As the croud cleared, I went to the locker room, just waiting for a nice shower. Matt has been staying out of the locker rooms lately. He seems self conscious about a lot lately. I think I know why, though. I overheard some girls giggling about him being a "pencil-armed dork". Poor kid. I hope he doesn't take it too hard. I couldn't help but think about it for the rest of the day. I care about Matt.... he shouldn't have to worry about stupid things people say.
The locker room door practically opened itself, quickly allowing the acrid smell of sweat and overcoming humidity to wash over me. You know, a locker room is a strange thing. A bunch of guys naked in the same room who are "so straight" that they would "never look at another dude" when everyone knows they're looking "just to compare"... sure. No one is straight, its all just a matter of how gay you are. That's my theory and I'm sticking to it.
I'm doing ok, I guess... I'm just trying to figure it all out, you know? What I have figured out is societal. I've pretty much dropped my father's Arabic culture, and embraced my mother's Anglo-Hispanic way. There's still one thing I haven't figured out about myself though... and it involves Matt Chitteden...
Have a nice day.