It always amuses me when I’m walking from my coach to the track and people -mostly women- throw themselves at me.  I always wonder what’s so special that they feel the need to throw a fit and chase after me.  I’m just a normal, average, thirty-year-old guy. I’m a completely scrawny geek with red hair and freckles to boot. I ain’t anything special when you take away the money and career choice. So then what do they all see in me?  Why do they all desperately shove sharpies into my hand as they wave their memorabilia at me? Why do they scream my name and beg for my attention? I don‘t think I’ll ever fully understand it.

    I’ll also never understand how women can throw themselves at me so willingly. They put on their tight pants and skanky tops, do up their hair real nice and pile on the make-up as they douse themselves in perfume and think I’m going to magically fall in love with them. I’ve seen thirteen-year-olds get into catfights over who was going to marry me. All I could do was watch and laugh, Martin peaking over my shoulder to see what was so damn funny.

    Most of the time, I wonder what people would think of me if they found out that Martin was more than just my driver and friend. I wonder how they’d react if they knew how much I loved holding onto him whenever I get the chance. I wonder if they’d boo me if they knew I absolutely adore the way he makes this little squeaking noise when he stretches. Would they laugh in my face if they knew I preferred snuggling with him on the couch over going out and partying all night?

    I hate having to hide what we have. I’ve never faked who I was to fit in with anyone. I’ve never changed myself to make other people happy. I’ve always been myself and marched to my own beat, so why is it that I have to hide Martin from the world? The one person on this planet that makes me as happy as I was before my daddy died and I can’t even hold his hand in public. I have to guard myself, make sure I ain’t being obvious. It fucking sucks more than almost anyone can possibly imagine.

    I wonder what people would do if I ran into victory lane after Martin won a race and just planted one on him. Would they freak out? Would we lose our jobs? Would there be an angry lynch mob outside our coach doors waiting to tar and feather us on pit road? Sometimes I’m curious enough to find out. Those are the times Martin has to smack me upside the head and tell me not to get any bright ideas. So instead, I just sit and wonder.