The Gold 

Let me tell you something—John Elway moves cars in Denver. He’s on TV right now, talking about the new Ford F-150s he’s got in stock. He looks good for his age, and that’s what I say to Lauren, sitting on the couch next to me. 

“He’s not that old,” she says. 

“He’s gotta be seventy at least,” I say, but she says no way. I try to do the math in my head. He won his first Super Bowl in ’98, and he was already old then. “Definitely seventy at least,” I say, and she shakes her head. 

“Not even close. He’s 63,” she says and holds up her phone, but I don’t wanna see it. She’s got the most satisfied look on her face. She acts like Wikipedia is always right. The Broncos game comes back on, and they’re down 34-10. They suck now even though John is the general manager. He just needs a little more time. They cut to him up in the executive suite looking down on the field.

“Still looks good,” I say. “Look at that head of hair.” 

She says that’s not his real hair and waves her hand at the TV. She’s so dismissive of everything. She dismisses everything I say. She doesn’t respect me at all just because I haven’t found a job even though she says I don’t need to get one—she makes plenty and I can just stay with Emma all day. I can tell though. It’s the way she talks to me. 

“It’s real. I guarantee it,” I say. I would know. I just have the hair on the sides left. I started losing it in high school. Fucked up. I ask Lauren if his hair’s fake, why haven’t we ever seen him balding. She says famous people start getting plugs as soon as they start losing hair so you never notice. 

“You guys better get going,” she says. “You’re gonna be late.” I call up the stairs for Emma to come down. She comes out of her room wearing her leotard and does a spin at the top of the stairs.

“Very good,” I say and tell her to put her sweats on, and she goes back into her room. When she comes running down, Lauren tells her good luck and that she’s gonna do great, and we leave. It’s an in-house competition at the gym here in Lakewood. It’s just the girls Emma goes to class with, so it’s good practice with not much pressure. I look at the clock, and Lauren was right. We’re late. We should be there already. I hit the gas. 

“You’re going fast, Daddy,” Emma says and giggles. Luckily it’s not far away, and we’re only fifteen minutes late. The parking lot is packed, and it’s fucking frustrating when you’re already late and you can’t find a spot. Emma is looking at me and can tell I’m stressed out. I have to park on the patch of snowy grass at the back. It’s cold out, and I didn’t bring a jacket or put a jacket on Emma, and we have to run through the parking lot. 

Coach Amber says they almost started without us. I kiss Emma on the forehead and tell her to remember what we went over this morning, and Coach Amber takes her over to where the girls are getting warmed up. The stands are full. It’s a good size gym, only a few years old. Some girl who went to the Olympics came here a few months ago to do a clinic. 

I see Larry waving at me and go over and squeeze in next to him. “Thought you weaseled out at the last second,” he says. I can smell booze and cigarettes on his breath. He’s divorced and splits custody of his daughter. He’s honestly the only way I make it through these things. 

I promised Lauren I wouldn’t bet on sports anymore after I lost a month’s salary on a Rockies game. Larry calls it my allowance, but he’s an asshole. It’s a salary I earn by taking care of Emma—taking her to school and picking her up and looking after her until Lauren gets home. She usually doesn’t get home until late. It’s like what you’d pay a babysitter. It’s tough because I was one of the top Geek Squad guys at Best Buy. I drove one of those Geek Squad cars you see on TV, but the manager was jealous of me. People would come in and ask for me by name, so he made up some bullshit reason to get rid of me. 

“My girls are looking good,” Larry says. “Might as well hand it over now.” Lauren’s not as smart as she thinks she is. She doesn’t know everything that goes on in our family. Me and Larry did a draft of the girls, and whoever picked the winner gets $200. We took turns making picks like with fantasy football, and I won the coin toss so I got to go first. Sammi was the obvious first pick. Her mom is a corporate lawyer, and her dad is some kind of executive with Crocs. They’re loaded, and Sammi gets private lessons on the side. 

Sammi would do everything perfect—the flips, cartwheels, all that shit. That was two months ago, when the competition was first announced. Things have changed, and she’s been slipping. Word is her parents are getting a divorce and that’s what’s throwing her off. She’s been stumbling on her landings, forgetting her routines. Only her mom is here today to watch. 

Something clicked for my Emma, though. She’s turned a corner big time. Maybe because she saw that Sammi’s human and knows she has a chance. She’s been practicing all the time—in the backyard, in the living room while I’m trying to watch TV. Larry took her with the second pick. 

They start doing two events at the same time with different coaches judging them. Half the girls are on the bars, and the other half do floor routines. Honestly, most of them suck. Not all seven-year-olds are the same. A lot of them are still like toddlers. They fall down and giggle, don’t even know what they’re doing. That’s how Larry’s daughter is. She’s on the mat right now—Riley. She’s just rolling around, trying to do somersaults then kicking her leg out like she’s in karate class. She got picked last in the draft, but Larry doesn’t mind. He thinks it’s funny and cheers her on. 

Emma and Sammi are in the same group over on bars. Sammi starts her routine and flips around the bar. She’s one of the only ones who can go all the way around. She does it a few more times and has a good landing. She’s locked in, and I relax a little. Back to the old Sammi it looks like. “Damn,” Larry says. “Sammi looking sharp early.” 

“That’s my girl,” I say. 

It’s Emma’s turn, and I tell her she’s got this. She swings around the bars a few times and does a handstand. She flies off the bar and does a flip and sticks the landing. “Whoa,” I whisper to Larry. “What the hell was that?” 

“Didn’t know she had that in her arsenal?” he says and laughs. I’ve never seen her do that before in practice. She’s definitely in the lead when the groups switch. 

She and Sammi do basically the same mat routines. They do some cartwheels. They run and do front flips, and neither one falls. It really is impressive what they do, I gotta say. I shouldn’t trash the other kids like I do sometimes. This shit is hard. When I was a kid, I couldn’t even do a flip off the diving board. 

It comes down to the last event, the balance beam. They carry the bars off to the side and bring it in. This is the one that’s hard for me to watch. It’s too tense. I can’t even watch it when it’s the Olympics on TV. I guess it’s easier for these girls because their feet are so small it gives them some extra room. Most of the girls just try to walk down the beam and not fall off. It’s tough because it’s the only thing happening, so everyone is watching you. 

Emma and Sammi are last to go because they’re in the lead, and it takes forever to get to them. Finally Sammi gets up there. She does these cartwheels, but they’re not exactly cartwheels, then does a handstand, then lands on the ground. Everyone claps. “Tough act to beat,” I say. 

“I dunno,” Larry says. “I think your daughter’s been saving something special for the end. I might as well order that grill now.” He’s been talking about this grill he’s gonna buy with my money ever since we made the bet. 

She starts and does the same stuff Sammi did basically. She does that cartwheel thing down to the other end then spins around, her blond ponytail whipping around. C’mon, honey. This is what we talked about this morning before Lauren got up—on the beam dismount, you slip and fall down on your butt. I had her say it back to me over and over. I hope she doesn’t go into automatic mode and forget. It’s totally quiet, but I gotta remind her. “C’mon honey,” I yell, and she looks at me. She does a handstand and pushes off the beam with her arms. She lands on her feet, takes a few steps back. She goes down. It’s over. 

“Fuck,” Larry says loud. 

“A new grill actually isn’t a bad idea,” I say. 

She gets up and comes over to me with her head down. I give her a hug and tell her she did good and I’m proud of her. There’s a little podium they put them on, and she still has a frown on her face when they give her the silver medal. She doesn’t even congratulate Sammi. She needs to learn how to be a better sport, but I’ll wait to have that talk with her. 

She puts her sweats on, and we head outside. My phone buzzes in my pocket. It’s Lauren texting about how Emma is doing. I tell her good and that there’s one event left. We say bye to Larry and Riley in the parking lot, and he gives me the $200 in a handshake. 

On the way to McDonald’s, Emma won’t talk. I ask what she’s gonna get to eat. Her arms are crossed, and she won’t look at me. 

“I would’ve won,” she says. 

“I dunno. Sammi did really good.” 

“I would’ve won,” she says, angry this time. 

“Hey,” I say. “No one made you do it. You have no one to blame but yourself.”

She cheers up when we get to McDonald’s. I told her she could order whatever she wants. That was the deal, and she was the one who agreed to it. She asks for two Happy Meals, an Oreo McFlurry, a fruit parfait, then she just starts reading every item on the menu. She’s doing it just to spite me.

It takes two trays to carry all the food, and we get a booth. I go to eat one of the chicken sandwiches, but she says it’s hers, not mine, so I set it down. She eats one of the Happy Meals and burps. She starts on the McFlurry and doesn’t seem to care this time when I start eating the McChicken. 

She starts singing and making funny noises. She stands up in the booth, and I tell her she’s too big for that. We have a special relationship. We go through our ups and downs, but we’re always fine in the end. It’s a bond Lauren will never understand. Emma’s smiling at me, and there’s something about it. I dunno. I know I don’t deserve this kid. 

“You should’ve won,” I say. 

“What?” 

“You should’ve won today. You were the best one there.” 

She keeps eating her McFlurry and singing nonsense. She’s gonna win the next one. There’s no doubt in my mind, and I’m gonna help her. I’ll help her train every day. It’ll be our secret, and then we’ll blow everyone away. 

Lauren texts again to see where we’re at, and I tell her we’re headed back in a second. If she’s so worried about us, she should’ve come herself. There’s a lot she doesn’t know. How’s she so sure John Elway has plugs? She said it like it’s a fact and I’m stupid for not knowing. I don’t think Elway would get plugs. He threw for over 50,000 yards in his career with 300 touchdowns. What does it matter if he’s bald or not. 

I’ve looked into them for myself, and I know they leave these tiny scars on your scalp that you can only see if you look close. Emma burps again. “I wanna go home,” she says and spreads ketchup all over her tray with a McNugget. 

We get up and go out to the car. If I could just see John in person and look at his head. The thing is I could. He’s here in Denver, just down the road, and I’ll bet he’s at his dealership right now. He’s very hands-on, the ultimate leader, a general on the field and off. They say he works sixteen-hour days. He probably went straight from the game to the dealership. 

I start the car and think about it. “I wanna go home,” Emma says again. 

“I know, honey,” I say. “We’ll be home soon. Just one more quick stop.” I know exactly where it is off 26th. I used to pass by it every day on my way to work at the Best Buy. 

Emma is asleep when I park in front of the dealership office. I wake her up, and she asks if we’re home. “Not yet,” I say and she gets fussy. I tell her we can stop for ice cream on the way home.

“I don’t want more ice cream.” 

A guy in a suit comes out of the building as I get out of the car and asks what he can help me with. I tell him I wanna see those new F-150s they just got in. 

“Looking to upgrade?” he says, looking at the Camry. 

“Nah. This is a great car,” I say. “Just looking to get a pickup for some projects I’m working on.” Dumbass doesn’t think I can afford a second car. He’s short and ugly and doesn’t know anything. I wanna tell him he looks like he got his suit at Men’s Wearhouse. 

“Of course, of course,” he says and tells me to follow him. It’s a huge lot with hundreds of cars, and Emma doesn’t wanna come so I take her hand. 

“Don’t make me carry you,” I say and she starts moving her feet. The guy asks me what projects I’m working on, and I tell him I’m building an addition to our house. He keeps asking questions like a bad salesman. You gotta assume the sale, and once you have the sale, you don’t wanna talk too much and talk the customer out of it. That’s basic salesmanship. 

“It’s gonna be a trophy room,” I say. 

“We’re gonna have a trophy room?” Emma says and I squeeze her hand. The guy asks me trophies for what, but I ignore him. I ask if he’s got a black one, and he says they have almost any color you could want. I go over to a black one and walk around it and act interested. 

“Hop in,” the guy says, and I get in the front seat and put Emma on my lap. He gets in next to me. The key is already in there, and I start the engine and rev it up. 

“How’s that sound?” the guy says. 

“What do you think, honey?” I ask Emma and she just shrugs. I turn the stereo on. “Oh no, no, no,” I say. “That’s fucked.” 

“The radio?” 

“Yeah, can’t you hear that? The wiring is shoddy.” I turn the engine off and get out of the truck. “That’s a problem.” 

“Sounded okay to me,” he says like he knows anything. I tell him I was one of the top guys at the Geek Squad down the road. He says they can have one of their guys take a look, and it’s like he didn’t hear what I just said.

I walk to the office fast, dragging Emma behind me. I tell the front desk guy I need to speak to the manager. The salesman is apologizing over and over and saying if there’s a problem, they can have it fixed no problem. I won’t even look at the little dork. He’s pathetic. I act like he’s not there and tell the front desk to go get the manager. 

The sales guy finally shuts up, and we’re standing there in the lobby, and Emma is hitting my leg and whining. All the sales people sitting at their desks keep looking over at me. Where’s this manager? It’s actually bullshit. Eventually he comes out with this dumb look on his face, and I can tell he’s gonna say something stupid. He’s a big guy, tall and fat, with a beard. He asks me what’s the problem, and I tell him about the stereo wiring. He says whatever it is, they’ll figure it out. I explain to him it’s not that simple. 

“I was one of the top Geek Squad guys in Denver,” I say. “I know what I’m talking about.”

He still has that dumb look on his face, not taking me serious. “You’re just as worthless as him,” I say and point at the sales guy. 

The manager crosses his arms. “You’re not gonna talk to us that way no matter what the issue might be.” He acts like he wants to do something right here and now. 

“Now you’re threatening me. This is ridiculous. I need to talk to your superior.”

They look at each other then look at me confused. 

“I need to talk to John.” 

“John?” the sales guy says. “Who’s John?” 

“Your boss. The owner,” I say. “John Elway!” 

The big guy bursts out laughing, and spit goes flying. The sales guy is laughing and the front desk guy too. 

“He wants to see John Elway!” the manager announces to the whole sales floor and everyone laughs. “Sure. He’s in the back. Let me go grab him real quick.” He’s trying to humiliate me in front of my daughter. I reach for her, but she’s not next to me. I could kill him, and I can’t help it. I go up to him then turn to the sales guy and kick him in the nuts. He lets out this wimpy yelp, and I make for the door. Emma is there, sitting on the floor, crying. 

I pick her up and go out the door. I don’t know if they’re coming behind me. I get in the car and set Emma down. I peel out of there and put my middle finger out the window.

“Fuck!” I wonder if they could’ve gotten my license plate number. Emma is crying loud and it’s hurting my ears. “That wasn’t a dumb question,” I say. “John Elway fucking owns the place. That’s a fact.” Emma is screaming something, but I can’t understand her. “It wasn’t a stupid thing to say. You can’t try to humiliate someone and expect them not to react. To defend themselves.”

She’s saying she wants to go home. 

“We’re going home,” I say. “We’re going right now.” 

I’m hoping she gets it out of her system on the way, but she’s still bawling when we get to the subdivision gate. I park on the curb a few houses before ours and remember the McDonald’s napkins stuffed in my pocket. I give her one and she blows her nose and wipes her eyes.

“We’re home!” I say. 

“Yeah,” she says and takes a deep breath. 

“Do you wanna watch Frozen?” 

She pauses and wipes her nose again. “What about football?” 

“We don’t have to watch more football today. I don’t want to.” 

She’s not crying anymore at least, and I give her another napkin. “Let me see your medal.”

She takes it off, and I look at it—cheap aluminum or something painted silver. “This is beautiful.” 

“Yeah,” she says and smiles. 

“It’ll look good on your wall next to a gold one,” I say and she nods hard. “Next time we’re getting the gold.” She nods. “Let me hear you say it—next time we’re getting the gold.”

“We’re getting gold,” she says. “Next time.” 

Drew Buxton is a writer from Texas. His short story collection SO MUCH HEART won the Texas Institute of Letters' 2024 Sergio Troncoso Award for Best First Book of Fiction. His work has been featured in The Drift, Archway Editions Journal, Witch Craft, Joyland, Electric Literature, and Vice among other publications.