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“ Come on ladies, is that all you can do?”
Catch. Drive. Finish. Recover. Breath.
“ That’s funny I coulda sworn you knew how to row yesterday”
Catch, drive, finish, recover, breath. Catch, drive, finish, recover, breath.
“ Hunt I swear to god, I can see your hands from here. I SHOULDN’T BE ABLE TO, DUMBASS,”
Catch drive finish recover breath catch drive finish recover breath catch drive finish recover breathe.
All Donny could think of when he was in the shell was rowing. Everything around him fades to gray and soon enough it’s him and the boat. No matter how much Bobby yells, and no matter how close everyone is in the boat, Donny never really hears him. He sees his coxswain’s mouth move, and he just knows. Everything else follows.
For as long as Donny could remember, inside the shell had always been where he could think. It was predictable, repetitive, and beautifully simple; of course he’d taken to it like a moth to a flame.
Then came college and his team, and all of the sudden he had friends in the boat with him. The best feeling in the world, Donny thought, were the times like just after winning that first race against Cal. Hearing all his teammates laughing, feeling the warm sun on his face, Bobby cheering manically in front of them. From behind him, Joe had thrown both his arms around his shoulders and squeezed while the crew screamed. Donny had leaned back, laughing right along with them.
That was when he learned that his team was also his family. They didn’t mind when he didn’t speak much, and they didn’t question the odd little things he’d do; splashing the water before and after every race, only really playing the one song on the piano though he clearly knew dozens more, wrapping his arms tightly around himself whenever he got excited.
In fact they even joined in. Quickly picking up that Donny needed pressure at times like after races, more often than not Joe would do just what he did that very first exhibition and hug him as tightly as he could. Donny would grab the arms around his shoulders just as tightly, and if anything Jow would take it as a challenge to hold on tighter. Other times, Bobby would reach out and grab one of Donny’s hands, smiling widely as their stroke splashed the water beside him happily with his other.
In the dorms, Donny bunked with Shorty, who never seemed to mind the lack of conversation. Though he was clearly confused, he’d never looked at Donny like he was broken—like some had before. In his eyes, it was clear that his opinion of Donny was that he was the best damn stroke he’d ever seen, and he was a stand-up guy. And hey, if that stand-up guy liked it better when the lights were off every now and again, then why the hell wouldn’t you turn the lights off?
And the list went on and on, naming each member of Donny’s crew and why they were better than family. Sometimes he couldn’t believe he had so many people who cared about him this much, and who understood him so well.
However, what really sealed the matter was his crew’s reaction to the first time Donny fell apart in front of them.
It had been a day like any other, with an early morning practice just after breakfast. Except it really hadn’t. Donny had woken up to the feeling of sheets rougher than they had seemed last night, and sunlight directly in his eye. Shorty was still sleeping in the next bed over—as he was almost every morning, seeing as Donny was infinitely more of a morning person than he—but today his teammate’s breathing was horrendously loud. It felt like Donny could hear every individual inhalation, could practically feel each exhale.
It was hell. Without really thinking about it, Donny kicked off his blanket and left the room, not paying much mind to the state of his sheets.
Later at breakfast he had fended off the concerned questions and the odd worried look, assuring both Shorty and the rest of his team that nothing was the matter, and he was just fine. Even still, he barely ate anything. Between the sounds of chewing and the smell of food, the entire thing just felt nauseating.
Donny had been hoping that practice would be his respite from the onslaught that seemed to be today, but even then… it wasn’t right.
Practice was supposed to be two hours that morning but after an hour of Donny ruining the rhythm—though no one else had seemed to be able to pinpoint what had gone wrong—and another half hour of useless corrections that honestly just made it even worse, Ulbrickson had called the whole thing off.
“Come back,” He had said, “With your heads on straight tomorrow.”
There was no way Coach could have known just how much Donny wanted to.
He managed to help the other guys bring the shell back to the boathouse, and load it up properly. One by one they all streamed towards the showers, stripping as they went. Donny made some half-hearted excuse to stay behind—something about a sock?—and as soon as everyone was out of eyeshot he cupped his hands over his ears and eyes and sunk to the ground.
He had officially met his limit; between the sounds of the river, his team, the sheer rowdiness that followed them wherever they went, and even down to the feeling of his shirt brushing against his back, it was simply too much.
All he needed was a few minutes—a few minutes of peace and quiet, of absolute silence and he would be fine, Donny reasoned. A group of students walked past the boat house, laughing and chatting loudly. Donny flinched from the sound, pushing down on his ears ever harder.
The more he tried not to think, the worse everything got. Soon even his own heartbeat, his own breathing, even the hair brushing against the back of his neck was overwhelming. God, when did the boat house get so loud?
Apparently when the varsity team walked in was when.
They came into the boathouse roughhousing and yelling, shouting taunts to each other from across the room. Donny wanted to run, to go anywhere but here at that point, but his legs wouldn’t move. All he could do was pull his legs closer to his chest and squeeze his eyes shut tighter.
It didn’t take long for the varsity crew to find him.
“Well looky here boys,” The harsh voice of the varsity’s stroke (Donny tried not to flinch.) “It’s the JV mute. ”
“Whattaya think he’s doing?”
“I don’t know. Hey. HEY. Mute boy. Whattaya doing done there?”
Someone reached out a hand and started to shake his shoulder. Donny thought he just might scream.
Before he could even try, the back door of the boathouse slammed open, and another louder voice rang through the room.
“ YOU SON OF A BITCH. O’BRIEN GET THE FUCK AWAY FROM MY STROKE. DON’T LET ME EVA’, EVA’, SEE YOU TOUCH HIM AGAIN.”
And maybe it was the sheer volume of the command, or maybe it was the fire Donny was later told was in Bobby’s eyes as he advanced on the varsity team, but it worked. The varsity boys backed up a bit as Bobby continued berating them.
“GET YOUR GOD DAMNED BOAT, AN’ LEAVE. ALL OF YOU. LEAVE . THERE AIN’T NOTHIN’ HERE THAT CONCERNS YOU, AN’ SO HELP ME GOD IF I SEE ONE OF YOUS UGLY MUGS LURKIN’ AROUND HERE WHEN YOU’RE MEANT TO BE PRACTICIN’,” Bobby’s voice dropped to dangerous levels. “I will personally bash every single one of your brains out with our Cal trophy.”
Bobby watched as the varsity team, probably beginning to remember what their old coxswain was like, scurried out of the boat house with the skull on their shoulders. He stared them all down until the last one was out the door and out of earshot. He immediately shut the doors, crouching next to Donny and drawing him into a tight hug. For a moment, Donny thrashed a bit trying to break out of Bobby’s arms. Bobby just held him tighter and whispered soothing words. Before long Donny settled and buried his face in the crook of Bobby’s neck.
How Bobby had known what he needed most of all in that moment was pressure, Donny never did figure out. But for almost twenty minutes, Bobby sat like that; holding Donny as close as he could, one hand spread against the center of his back, the other having come to cradle the back of Donny’s head tightly. He even started guiding Donny’s breathing, both with his own slow, steady breaths and with his words, treating it like he was coxing.
“There we go, Donny, nice and steady, just like that. In, in, in, out, out, out. In, in, in, come on Donny you can do it, nice and slow. In, in, in, out, out, there we go.”
By the time their crew came out of the showers and back in the boathouse, Donny felt like he could breathe again, and was honestly too tired to care who saw him like this, face buried in his cox’s neck and practically lying on him.
Bobby however looked up sharply as Joe, Roger, and the rest trailed over to their lockers.
“Keep breathin’ for me, Donny, there we go,” He murmured. “Can you move?”
Donny nodded, though he kept a tight grip on Bobby’s shirt. Bobby nodded back then looked once more up at his crew.
“Donny needs to go back to his dorm,” He said, voice low so as not to disturb the boy leaning on him. “Which of you numbskulls are going with me?”
The entire crew followed Roger’s example and raised their hands. Bobby nodded.
“Joe, go to his locker and get all his things. Bring them to his room. Chuck, Gordy, Jim, you go ahead of us and beat off any looky-lous. Shorty you go to your room and make sure all the lights are off—make it as quiet as you can. Roger, Johnny, you’re with us.”
Each boy nodded as they were given their instructions and set off right away. Bobby gave it a few moments for Chuck, Gordy, and Jim to do their thing before he turned his attention once more to Donny.
“How we gonna do this Don, hm? You wanna hold my hand and we can walk?”
Donny took a breath and nodded again. Reluctantly, he let go of Bobby’s shirt and stood up. He kept his eyes down, not quite ready to look at the world. Bobby looked at him, and a hint of an idea flashed in his eyes.
“Joe,” He called, still quieter than he normally would. “You still here?”
From around the corner, Joe’s head popped out. In his arms were Donny’s sweatshirt, change of clothes, and normal shoes. “You need something?”
Bobby motioned for him to come over.
“You’re tall. Give the stuff to Johnny—sorry Johnny, but you’re faster than Roger—and walk with us.”
All parties involved were a bit confused, but nevertheless, they obediently followed their cox’s instructions.
“Hug him as you’re walking.”
You’d think Bobby had asked Joe to fly.
“I- what?”
Bobby sighed and slung an arm over Roger’s shoulders, pulling him into his side.
“Like this; see? A hug an’ you can walk. Amazin’, ain’t it?” At Joe’s still-confused expression, Bobby rolled his eyes. “You hug all the time in the boat. This time’s no different. I’d do it myself but you giants are too tall for that. You wanna help Donny? This is how.”
And that was all it took. Before long their small band of boys made it—miraculously—to Donny and Shorty’s dorm without incident. Joe had, thankfully, been infinitely less awkward when he actually started holding Donny, and though he didn’t say anything, Bobby could see that Donny was more relaxed with that arm around his shoulder. The rest of the crew had been waiting in the hall and in the room itself, and had rather looked like they’d like to linger some more before Bobby shooed ‘em all away.
“Go on, you’ll see him later. Give him some peace and quiet for once.”
The boys reluctantly obliged, one by one going off to see to their regularly scheduled Sunday activities. Bobby himself was about to leave when he felt a small tug on his wrist.
“Donny?”
Donny kept his eyes on the blanket in front of him. Bobby’s expression softened.
“Don’t you worry Donny boy, I’m not going nowhere.”
And he didn’t.
So yeah. Donny was pretty glad that he’d found his team.