The Coxswain

"Do you think you'll row after college?" She asked.

"Like professionally?" I replied. No dips shit, you're still Div 2, I thought. Her larynx bobbed an uncomfortable swallow.

"Is that something you'd be interested in?" She inquired politely.

"No, sorry, brain still not working. Um, I don't know. I mean, I love rowing but—"

Below us some novice caught a crab. Not fast enough to be entertaining, they'd just fucked something up at the finish and couldn't get the blade out. Like every novice since the dawn of time they tried to lever their oar against the moment of the entire boat. The bow four stopped rowing immediately and the stern four lost their timing. The cox had to call a halt to get everyone sorted out.

"You don't want to deal with that shit again," she said.

"Yeah, maybe I'll get really into rowing singles. Or a pair if..if I can find s-someone," I agreed. There really was no need for the stutter. She couldn't possibly think I meant her. No matter how much she stretched or worked out that boat would go in circles.

"Oh! You should, both I mean. I didn't really have a clue until spring semester freshman year Coach dumped me in a single scull and said, 'Good luck.'," she replied. I burst out laughing. Oh that was funny. I could absolutely Coach Emmanuel putting her in a shell and motoring off while she tried not to flip in the wake. She did color from my amusement at her expense. I'll bet she talked back to him once too many and that was exactly what happened, I thought.

"Wait, you didn't start coxing 'til spring freshman year?" I asked.

"No I started in the fall. I think Coach wanted to let me think coxing was just getting rowed around by strong guys until he knew I wouldn't quit," she explained.

"Still...that's impressive. Frankly you're better than the two we recruited from high school," I said.

"Thank you," she nodded.

"How'd he rope you into it?" I asked. She glanced at me. This time I could meet her eyes for a moment.

"I was a cheer leader in high school, but, not like good enough for the team here. I had to take an athletics credit so I chose rowing. I was annoyed that Toby made me steer every other practice, but when Coach Emmanuel found out I'd been a cheer leader he put me in the varsity boat and told stroke seat to bring me up to speed. A lot more fun in a boat that actually moved," she recounted.

"I'll bet," I uttered.

"Yeah," she agreed.

We both gave each other side eye, then looked out at the water. A better crew was passing under the bridge. A quad— four scullers with an oar in each hand and looking like a bug skipping over the water. They had a geezer in bow, but his technique was exquisite. His oars didn't touch the water even when he looked back to steer.

Marissa hooked her pinky in mine atop the balustrade. No way was that an accident, I thought. It was mischievous and tender. I couldn't look and I didn't want to discourage her. I could feel her eyes on me though. She could certainly see the flush in my cheeks. I tried to act natural. No, nothing going on here, just my mega-crush holding my finger like we're nerds under the bleachers. Okay, if I want this to continue I probably should tell her something, I counseled myself. Nope, can't.

Instead I clutched her pinky with mine as well. That was pretty unambiguous, right? Was not a known reflex. I tried to find the scullers again. Nowhere near enough brain power to do a Where's Waldo? I also tried to stroke her pinky with mine. That didn't work. Instead we nudged our elbows together so the whole length of our forearms was touching. It was too fucking precious and I loved it.

We watched some kayaks paddle around below. The river ran almost straight out on to Lake Erie. Further down the river another club's flag picked up in a breeze. My own flagpole was threatening my ability to walk around in public. The wind reached us and chilled the sweat on my chest. Right, still no shirt on, I remembered. I turned to see Marissa staring right at my pecs.

"Getting chilly there?" She asked. The corner of her lip curled. She did not care that I'd caught her. So not bloody fair, I shook head.

"Yeah, mm, I'd p-probably better sh—get changed," I mumbled. She shrugged.

"No shirt, no shoes, no service. Them is the rules," she agreed. There was a regretful tone in there. I was flattered and mortified. "That is, if you'd like to get brunch together?"

"Yeah, that'd be great!" I replied. So simple. She asks, I say yes, done. I knew guys were supposed to ask girls out and be chill about getting rejected. I'd tried. It'd always hurt later though and anyhow, I rarely had much chemistry with the girls I had to chase.

"Sophie's Pit Stop" She suggested.

"Uh, sure?" I replied.

"Not your favorite? I don't mind—"

"No, just, didn't think it was your kind of place," I clarified. It was a pretty hipster. They served drinks in mason jars and even as a college kid I thought boho chic was tired at best and cultural appropriation at worst.

"I like all kinds of places. And even hipsters can't ruin a garden," she said.

Huh, now I see it. Yep, flower power, that tracks. She just doesn't yack about peonies around frat-bro rowers, I thought. Which was really too bad. Frat house lawns were usually boring, decorated only with shrubs no one could kill.

—————

It should pass without saying (but it won't) that I rubbed one out in the shower. There was no goddamn way I was going to get through brunch without hurting myself otherwise. Even so, my jeans were probably going to get uncomfortable. Whoever decided jeans were the only casual but not oafish pants a man could wear was either asexual or a masochist.

We took our separate cars over to Sophia's Garden. The boathouse was a bit of a long walk from campus and Marissa's apartment wasn't in that direction. I had to slam the brakes at a red light I'd nearly blazed through in sheer absentmindedness. I put on some news. Something about a declining otter population after an oil spill. It wasn't exactly cheery, but it calmed my racing thoughts enough that I wasn't a hazard to everyone else on the road.

I pulled into the gravel parking lot. I was a little self-conscious about my Prius. I'd told my parents my uncle's old VW Bug was good enough (and anyway, driving manual was fun), but they'd insisted on buying me something safer. It was still used, we weren't that loaded, and I guess the higher MPG was better for the planet too. Marissa stepped out of her ancient Toyota Camry. Serious Wynona Earp energy, I thought. Didn't matter that she looked more like Waverly. She snagged my pinky again on the way to the door as if she'd done it a hundred times and not just once.

"Marissa? I called about 15 minutes ago for a table for two," she said to the hostess. Smart. There's quite a queue, I thought. The hostess tapped on her keyboard.

"Yep. You asked for outside right?" She replied.

"Yeah, but we're pretty hungry. Inside's okay too," Marissa said.

"Should be able to find you a spot. It'll be like 5 minutes," she informed us.

"Thanks," we said simultaneously. The hostess quirked an eyebrow. Too saccharine for her taste I guess, but we were giggling. We sat down on a repurposed pew to the left of the front door. It was legit cool. The rest of the indoor space tried a little hard with flags of forgotten political parties in other countries, striped drapes, and tables in a motley of colors and sizes. It was a bit loud. I really hoped—

"Table's up," the hostess called out. "Found you a spot outside."

Neither of us spoke. Once was cute, twice was obnoxious. My eyes darted to Marissa before I answered, "Uh, thanks."

She let us past the tables on the patio, past the planter boxes cultivated enough to have blooms and heterogenous enough to look wild. A forest loomed ahead. It was technically private property and they'd had to stop serving take out because people would trespass and leave their litter. Luckily the forest sort of spilled out (or had been teased out) towards the restaurant so there was lots of space for picnic style benches. The hostess led us to a wrought iron table with peeling white paint. It was very English tea time. The table was hardly wide enough for two full size plates.

Guess we'll be cosy, I anticipated with glee. My stomach whined. Oh good, I might even be hungry. It'd been 50/50 whether I'd be able to do more than peck at food despite my exertion. On the far side of the table was a tumble of moss strewn rocks with little buds growing from some cracks. I took the chair facing back towards the restaurant. Too pretty, would have been too pretty. Also I'd rather have the forest at my back than everyone in the restaurant.

"Coffee?" The hostess asked.

"Yeah," Marissa replied. She looked to me.

"Sure. Uh, decaf," I corrected myself.

"No problem," the hostess replied. She looked back at us once as she hurried off to other eager customers.

Marissa had crossed her legs under the table. One ankle was bouncing up and down. Perhaps I'm not the only one who should refrain from caffeine, I thought. We linked fingers across the table for a minute, hesitantly meeting gazes then looking way. She withdrew her hand suddenly. Doesn't mean anything, I tried to assure myself. She worried her bottom lip with her teeth.

"This isn't weird, is it?" She asked. It's totally weird, I'm trying not to think about that too much yet, I thought.

"I mean, um, w-we'd hardly be the first..." I muttered.

"Yeah, but like, I'm your coxswain. I do talk with Coach Emmanuel about line-ups. Doesn't that seem... I don't know, a bit wrong?" She said. When you put it like that yeah, I thought.

"It's Div 2 and we're middle of the pack. I'd like to be in the A boat, but there's nothing really at stake except honor and glory," I said.

"What about your scholarship?" She asked.

"Don't really have one," I answered.

"Really?" She asked.

"My year they mostly stopped giving them for the bougie sports. After the celebrity scandal thing, COVID recession, Black Lives Matter, they realized it was a give away to people who were already doing fine. So now they dish them out based on need. The only rowers who got them are from programs for disadvantaged youth," I explained.

"Oh, right. I'd forgotten about that," she replied. She tapped her leg up and down in a slower rhythm. Still uncomfortable, I thought. I didn't know what to say to reassure her. That I could instantly spot her in a crowd even freshman year when we hardly saw each other? I hadn't crushed half so hard back then. She'd been a distant figure and rather more abrasive, but still, admitting that was just going to add cradle-robbing to her list of worries.

A waiter came. She picked up the menu yet didn't look at it. She'd done it on reflex and wasn't sure she'd actually meant to. I put my menu back down. I'd meant to try something new but haste was necessary.

"I'll have the breakfast burrito, no cheese. And a strawberry-chocolate scone please," I said. He'd been looking at Marissa. Didn't blame him.

"Sorry. That was a breakfast burrito no cheese and a scone, right?" He replied. Okay, maybe not everyone was quite so dumbstruck by her as I was.

"Yeah, thanks," I said. Marissa took up her menu and actually read it. Politesse for the win, I congratulated myself.

"I'll have the eggs Benedict. Mind if I split the scone or do you want your own?" She asked. I knew the right answer, but I did love the scones and I'd had an energy bar instead of breakfast so I wouldn't throw up on the erg.

"One and a half?" I inquired hopefully. She grinned with one side of our mouth. She knew rowers.

"Yeah. Banana maple," she said to the waiter.

"I think we have a few left. I'll let you know," he replied. He tapped his pen rapidly over his note pad.

"Thanks! Sounds good," Marissa said.

"So," she glared at me. She was still smiling. I wondered if she'd worked out why I'd ordered so quickly.

"So," I replied.

"You really don't think it's... weird?" She asked. "Wrong" was what she meant.

"Not that weird," I shrugged. She pursed her lips. She wasn't amused by my flippancy.

"To be clear, right, um...." She'd started strong and managed to completely lose the thread. When she picked it up again she did mumble bits and pieces of it.

"When we're off the water, or off the erg—sorry about that by the way, didn't mean.. never mind—outside of practice you don't have to do...I mean when I ask, I'm just asking. You can and should say no. Uh. If you want to," She added.

"Okay," I said. I niggled at a chip in the paint with my thumb.

"So do you want to stay or—"

"Marissa, you're a foot shorter than me and two-thirds my weight soaking wet. You're not actually going to...going to make me to do anything I don't want to do," I stated bluntly. Something was all topsy turvy about those perfectly straightforward words. She stared at the rocks behind me. Perhaps I'd been a bit too blunt. She gone red. She started worrying at her lip and bouncing her leg again. It made her whole body jiggle, which was very distracting.

"There's other sorts of power," she remarked.

"A coach would be a problem. That's creepy. A cox is a part of the crew. We don't have to do what you say, we do it because we want to. Because we want to win," I explained. She listened with her head cocked to the side and still.

"Been thinking about this a lot have you?" She asked. My skin went straight to scarlet. I could feel it. And Marissa was giggling.

"Shut up," I muttered. A few more giggles roller out of her before she was done.

"Okay, yeah, I guess a bit arrogant of me actually," she said.

"Was that...was that... gosh... was that Marissa admitting a mistake?" I asked sarcastically. She scrunched her face in a furious pout. It was adorable. I wished I could pull my phone out fast enough to capture it for posterity.

"Oh fuck off. I'm not that bad," she objected.

"I'm kidding, I'm kidding. You're fine. You don't make many mistakes so people notice when you do," I assured her.

"Thanks," she uttered. She was still looking down at the edge of the table. Her hand found mine again, which was reassuring.

"Alright, we can be done talking about this for now," she relented.

"Good," I chirped.

She kept holding my hand over the table, playing through my fingers and trying different grips. A gust pulled a wisp of hair out of her braid. It settled over the side of her face, snagging on her eyebrow. I wanted to reach out and tuck it behind her ear, but I'd have needed my right hand for that. Obliviously, she took care of it herself.

Our food came along with our coffees. I tried to pick up the breakfast burrito in a civilized manner, but it wasn't designed for that. Nope, I held it in both hands and stuffed it into my face. Post-rowing, this was still exceptional table manners.

"So, what classes are you taking?" Marissa asked, after I'd had a chance to put some ballast in my stomach.

"Bunch of math stuff, and a class on the wars of independence in Latin America. I'd kind of thought they were just the American Revolution further south but turns out they're totally different," I replied.

As usual, I didn't bother with details about classes I took for my major. Only other math and physics people really understood it, and the odd Econ major.

"What kind of math?" She inquired. Damn it, I thought.

"A couple theoretical classes and one in statistics. Always jobs in statistics," I said.

"Thinking of going into academia?" She asked. I wasn't sure why, but there was a hint of teasing there.

"Mmm, I'm not sure I want to be quite that cloistered. There's a lot of engineering companies, physics, chemistry or AI stuff I might do. There's also Wall Street if I ever just want to make money," I said. The latter option didn't really appeal, but it was nice to have it, and they did do some really complicated modeling.

"Even scientists need someone else to do the numbers sometimes," she surmised.

"Basically," I agreed. "How about you?"

She tilted her head to the side, biting her inner lip a bit.

"Well, I'm going to graduate pre-med, but I'm not sure that's what I want to do anymore. Everything I hear about med school and residencies sounds miserable and I wouldn't have time to cox," she explained.

It really means that much to you? I wondered. Duh, otherwise she wouldn't be so good at it.

"Hm, well, uh, not to bring this up again, but have you considered coaching?" I asked.

Of course she has. Silly to bring it up, I scolded myself.

"Yeah, but, I mean... they want rowers bedecked in medals, don't they? Not coxes come lately," she said. I shrugged.

"I don't know, might not matter at a program like Row New York. The pay's probably shit, but not every coach can fit in the cox seat and fewer still can help with science homework," I said. Marissa sat up again with a little bounce.

"Huh. Hadn't thought of that," she replied.

"Martin could tell you about it, or Dominique I think," I suggested. I didn't actually know much about urban rowing either, except that they helped kids with homework too and like every non-profit they were understaffed.

"I'll look it up. Anyhow, what else are you up to?" She asked politely. What else am I up to? I thought. I guess I partied with the crew some times.

"Um, not much, kinda busy with rowing and classes. How about you?" I replied. It felt rather rote, like what you said when you were awkwardly sitting next to a stranger at a party.

"Also busy. My thesis is already gobbling up my free time," She said.

"Oh, what's it about?" I asked. Also a polite question, but I was genuinely interested in the answer.

"Basically it's interviews and surveys with oncology patients, cancer that is, trying to figure out how the doctor-patient relationship effects treatment outcomes for chemo or surgery. My hypothesis is that it matters more for chemo since that's a more long-term intervention," she told me.

"Huh, yeah, I guess that would make sense," I replied.

"I know, kind of boring, but someone's got to check," she shrugged.

"No, no, it's worth looking into. I just thought, well, it's either cutting something out of someone or irradiating them. Frankly, I think I'd hate anyone who did that to me on some level, even if it saved my life," I uttered. She chuckled a bit.

"Hadn't considered that. I'll have to include that as a survey question: Did you enjoy getting stabbed? If not, what about the experience bothered you?" She joked. I guffawed. It really would be a good question. Laughter was the best medicine right?

The conversation flowed easier after that. We bonked heads when we both tried to eat at the same time. It really was a very small table, that's why we kept touching each other. I was relaxed enough I did actually manage to get through the whole burrito. My stomach disdained the home fries though and she only ate one of her eggs Benedict. Nerves? I wondered. Or, coxswain. While the rowers pigged out (the heavyweights anyhow) all the cox's had to count their calories to avoid climbing much over the minimum weight.

When we got to the scones she hooked her ankle around my calf. I raised my eyebrows at her. She shrugged her eyebrows right back at me as if to say, "what?" I didn't mention it. I looked over her shoulder to the rest of the patio. Even with the rocks to our back there were plenty of people who could see us. She slid her ankle up and down my calf. I had to chew really carefully or I was going to inhale something down the wrong pipe. That is not supposed to be sexy in real life, I thought. It was though, it really really—