Then, a couple of years later, I saw this thing on TV about Greg Louganis. I was maybe nine at the time.”
“Sure.” Isaac turned slightly more toward Tim. He smiled.
“I remember, the woman who was narrating it, she kept saying how beautiful he was when he dove. And he really was, you know? I’ve since studied his form, and he dove gracefully. He innovated the sport, tried things no one had done before. As I watched, something in me clicked, and I thought, ‘I want to do that.’ I already had the gymnastics skills by then to do some tricks off the platform.”
Isaac nodded. “Louganis was pretty amazing.”
Tim scooted a little closer to Isaac. “It certainly didn’t hurt anything that Louganis was also gay. I knew I was, by then. I don’t think I could have articulated what it meant, and I sure as hell didn’t tell anyone, but I knew. And, I mean, I can’t even imagine what it must have been like for him. Being in the closet. Knowing he had HIV when he hit his head in ’88.” Tim let out a sigh. “That’s part of why I went along with the coming-out video. I weighed staying in the closet like Louganis or being ‘the gay diver’ like Tom Daley. I knew the media would label me, but that seemed better to me than staying in the closet. It was more important to live authentically, to not have that hanging over me when I dove.” Tim looked at Isaac for a reaction, knowing Isaac would likely understand. It was hard to sum up how agonizing that decision had been in a few words, but something told Tim he didn’t have to explain himself much more to Isaac.
“Do you regret it?” Isaac pulled his blanket a little tighter around his shoulders.
“I regret a lot of things where Pat is concerned, but I do not regret coming out.”
Isaac nodded. He focused on the screen, where the Belgian team walked into the stadium. Tim had just been talking; he hadn’t meant to imply anything where Isaac was concerned. Tim didn’t know if Isaac’s bisexuality was public knowledge or not. Maybe it was, but the rest of the nonsense in his life overshadowed it.
“I got to meet Louganis at the last Olympics,” Tim said, trying to blow past any awkwardness. “I almost died. He’d been hired to mentor the team. The first meeting we had, I blabbered like an idiot about how he was my idol.”
“I imagine that was a lot like the time I met Michael Phelps.”
“Did you pass out or what?”
Isaac laughed. “No, but I did get really nervous. Actually, the first time I met him, he was doing a product launch or something in Baltimore, and I begged my mother to let me go. I was… sixteen? It was before my first Olympics, for sure. My mom drove us there. Phelps signed a swim cap for me. I still have it. Then we were teammates a few times. And everyone kept saying, ‘Isaac Flood is the next Michael Phelps.’ I fell short of that.”
“Not yet.” Tim leaned closer. He wondered sometimes if the media knew how much pressure they put on athletes, how detrimental it could be. Because Isaac wasn’t just being self-deprecating; he beat himself up for not rising to the bar everyone set for him.
“You know, it’s funny. A few minutes ago, I told another athlete that the medals and whatever didn’t matter. All that mattered is pushing your body to do what you love. And I have done that. I’m doing that this week. But I have to keep reminding myself of that, and try not to feel bitter.”
Tim shifted over on the sofa, closer to Isaac. He wanted to hug the younger Isaac who felt like he didn’t measure up, because of the shadow of other athletes or even just his own brain chemistry. “That’s a good outlook.”
“Yeah.”
Onscreen, the Chinese delegation marched into the stadium. Tim and Isaac sat and watched silently as a few countries walked in the parade. Team USA would be coming in soon, since “United States of America” translated into “Estados Unidos de America” in Spanish.
The floor seemed quiet. Tim hadn’t heard or seen anyone walk by in a while. Likely everyone was either sleeping, trying to sleep, or they were down at the stadium. Tim sidled a little closer to Isaac. Their shoulders touched now, and heat radiated off Isaac.