Down to the Bone by Thirteen

as genus geek to make Jarrett feel wrong. And his own, bold genus jock, with its violent imperatives, made her fearful and sick. They were too far apart on their respective evolutionary ladders for any possible union. Jarrett had realized this. Now, so did she.
     

DECEMBER
     
    Jarrett’s absence at the last few games and the reason for it were briefly mentioned on the televised events, along with his publicity picture.
    “They would’ve won if you’d been there,” Jarrett’s dad had insisted when the team lost those games. He’d talked about it up through Thanksgiving dinner, which, as was the tradition in their small family, was eaten on trays before the television while watching football. As was also the tradition, Jarrett had broken the wishbone with Frankie. His brother had gotten the larger half.
    “All right, Frankie. You get your wish!” Jarrett had said.
    “Naw.” His brother had blushed. “You do. My wish was for you to get yours.”
    Which had surprised and touched Jarrett. He certainly needed a wish or two to come true. Winter had arrived and the icy weather was a pain-in-the-ass for a man on crutches. The insurance had paid for assistance in the form of a student helper who drove Jarrett to school and hauled around his computer bag.  There’d been no trips to the library, or the Student Union however. Jarrett just went to class and then back to his dad’s house. He had physical therapy three times a week and his dad made sure he did the repetitive exercises he’d been given morning, noon and night. Over and over, fighting against the pain till he was ready to scream.
    He couldn’t deny, however, that his leg was healing fast. By the end of November, he was only required to wear a light plastic brace, and though the knee ached like a son-of-a-bitch, he was able to manage the pain with aspirin.
    “Gonna be good as new!” his dad kept insisting, which Jarrett would have appreciated if someone else had said it.
    Dealing with his father these last weeks had, in fact, been almost as hard as managing the crutches. For one thing, his dad seemed to think he ought to be with Crissy and had invited her over a few times without asking. Luckily, she was no more interested in getting back together than Jarrett was, though she had offered him sexual release. He’d refused. It’d been snobbish, he knew, but after Liddy, Crissy seemed a poor substitute.
    “Have you picked out classes for next semester?” Crissy asked him one afternoon, sitting on the couch and checking on her make-up in a hand mirror.
    “Not all. I suppose,” he mused, “it’s time I got myself a major—”
    “Psychology,” she advised, flipping back her bronze hair. “Don’t you know? All jocks go for psychology.”
    “They do?” Actually, he did remember hearing something about that. “Why?”
    “Because, you can glide right through it, silly. At least at this school.” Her smile went conspiratorial. “Multiple choice tests in every class.”
    Fuck that! He almost said, then reflected. Crissy and others, even his coach, had recommended easy classes to him before, and he’d been grateful and taken them. So why be offended now? Yet he was, profoundly offended. Didn’t they think him smart enough to pass harder classes?
    “You know,” Crissy had gone on, “you should get out more. Just because you’re on crutches doesn’t mean you can’t party. There is a holiday bash at Club Savage tonight. Why don’t you come?”
    Is that why genus homo had left their chimp cousins behind? Jarrett had wondered. To party? Then again, perhaps it was as good a goal as any. Enjoying being young and pretty, he’d realized in that moment, was Crissy’s aim, and becoming a professional player, earning big money was his.
    Or was it? He’d blinked. Actually that aim had always been his father’s. He’d just carried it yard after yard toward the end zone.
    He hadn’t gone to the club with Crissy that night, instead he stayed home with