After they returned to shore and put the canoe on the sawhorses, Avi asked how Mitch’s arm felt. Mitch rolled his shoulder, and said that it didn’t ache any more than it would have during any other paddle.
Back at the house, they found Jodie and Charlie giggly with a bottle killed between the two of them. Avi took a seat in the recliner, so Mitch wedged himself between both women, and Charlie lit up when she spotted his Elliot Smith t-shirt; after some discussion, it turned out that they had a lot of common ground in taste. The conversation reminded him of when he worked at a now defunct record store in Burlington as a teen, chatting with customers for hours on end about music. In retrospect, it was otherwise a crappy retail job, but sometimes he met a celebrity browsing their wares or they hosted shows and signings for touring musicians, and as a 16 years old he couldn’t ask for anything better.
“Mitch has quite the record collection,” Avi chimed in.
“Oh, what’s at Monument is nothing,” Jodie added. There was something so charming about Avi’s enthusiasm, the way he responded to her with an excited “Really?”. Mitch glossed over the unfathomable amount of records and instruments that were stored in his uncle’s attic for the last few years. “He’s a fucking geek about this kind of shit,” Jodie was sure to drive home. “That’s why it’s so weird that he became a communications major.”
“I wasn’t gonna make money from music. And I always harbored this fantasy about being a radio DJ? But that field was extinct long before I even touched ground in the States, despite what my guidance counselor sold me on.” He gave a self-deprecating laugh. “I think all I ever wanted was to get paid to professionally curate mixtapes, but that’s not how it’s done these days since most stations have automated playlists. I’d still love to host a show on a local station, but that’s about the extent of it anymore.”
The response to this revelation alternated from Charlie insisting that Mitch totally had the voice for it, to Jodie teasing him for being too chicken shit to actually ever interview anyone, to Avi mentioning that podcasts were always an option. “Everyone has a podcast,” Mitch countered.
“Yeah, but you don’t!” Avi responded so sweetly, so earnestly, and Mitch’s face grew warm. “C’mon man, do you know how many podcast interviews that I do on a weekly basis? Whatever you do would be way better than any of those.”
“Well I wouldn’t do a wrestling podcast,” Mitch stressed. “That’s an oversaturated market.”
“No, but just now you went off about all of these bands like some kind of expert.” Avi brought his thumb to his mouth and bit down on the nail. “I’d listen to it.”
It would, of course, never come to fruition, but Mitch gave it more than five seconds of consideration. He didn’t feel as though he had anything to bring to the table, since he was only knowledgeable enough to navigate a conversation with diehards, but not enough to impress them otherwise. Having looked into this before, he knew that his best shot was to try to stream a weekly program as a hobby, but the details evaded him. Would permission be needed to use songs? Would royalties have to be paid out? Was it possible to run a pirate radio in this day and age?
Pulling up the notes app on his phone, he typed out what he should look into; even if nothing ever came of it, at the least, he’d have the offhand knowledge. While jotting his thoughts down, Jodie went over a list of suggestions for what they could do for the night. There was a heavy emphasis on using the hot tub after dinner, which everyone unanimously agreed to.
Mitch started up the hot tub after they ate, and was thankful that Roland had cleaned and treated the weekend before. While everyone disappeared into their respective rooms to get changed, Mitch stood in front of the full length mirror in his bedroom and examined himself, agonizing over every perceived flaw. There were no new bruises or cuts since he hadn’t wrestled in weeks, and that was odd to take in. The lack of eating took its toll, and to his dismay, whatever gains that he made were depleted. So much effort and for what? To lose it all and look like he did at peak junkie phase? He traced his hipbones with his fingers, which started to protrude again, and he was frustrated that he had to tighten the drawstring of his swim trunks.
He was nervous, and he berated himself for that. But it was easier to get half naked in front of strangers while wearing facepaint than it was to do so in front of people that knew him personally. Avi was going to be all hot wet beefcake, Jodie had curves for days, and Charlie had her flat stomach and small waist. Mitch was going to look like the personification of a drowned rat. He didn’t care for that.
“Dude, are you coming down?” Jodie pounded on his door. He lost track of how long he’d been doing this.
“Yeah, just-” he grabbed his shirt and threw it on, then opened the door for her. Her expression fell when she saw him.
“Going through it?” she asked, her astute observations on point as always.
“No, I’m-” Mitch started to speak, then cut himself off, not seeing any point in lying. She shut the door behind her. “Yes, OK. Yes. Jo, I’m so fucking skinny, it’s bad. People are for sure going to make fun of me when I get back in the ring. Like they already do that, but it’s going to be a lot.”
“Probably, but fuck ‘em.” She stated matter-of-factly, and he snorted. “And you won’t be in this shape when you return. Shit just hit you all at once, your body did the stress response thing. Give it a little more time, because you’re not even as bad as you think you are. I’ve seen you when you were a skeleton, and now you’ve got cute little tits.” She tapped one of his pecs for emphasis. “You’ve always been your worst critic.”
“OK.” Mitch frowned.
“Besides, no one here is like, gawking at you, right? We’re all here to chill, not bully you for things beyond your control.” He gave her a small smile, feeling better from the pep talk, and she reached up and pinched his cheek. “Now c’mon, let’s go make a person stew.”
“Your way with words is nothing short of breathtaking.”
“What can I say? It’s my gift,” Jodie sighed dramatically, then twisted the doorhandle and gestured for Mitch to take the lead.