Bright Purple: Color Me Confused with Bonus Content (8 page)

Today, Oprah has her best friend, Gail, on and they are talking, it figures, about friendships between women. But I decide to listen,
to pay attention so that the next time I make a best friend, if I ever do, I will be more careful. I will make sure that I don’t connect with someone who has any sexual identity issues. I will choose a girl with a steady boyfriend, maybe a long history of steady boyfriends. Not that I’m in a hurry. If anything, I should focus my attention on getting more involved with Mitch.

They’re showing some scenes of young girls who are best friends and, despite myself, this reminds me of when I first met Jess. If only I’d known then that it was going to end like this. Maybe I wouldn’t have climbed onto the roof that day.

It was summer, and we’d just moved to Greenville from the university town where my mom had finally finished her master’s in counseling. For my whole life, all I’d known was student-family housing, where we’d lived in this tiny apartment with lots of other families living in identical apartments all around us. Families came and went, along with a bunch of different friends for me, but Mom and I lived there until I was eight, and I guess I figured we’d always live there. But then she graduated and got a job at a counseling center in Greenville, and we moved into a little rental house on Cypress Street.

Back in student-family housing, everyone took turns watching us kids and I’d never really had a real babysitter before, but for some reason Mom got it into her head that I needed one now. So she hired Shelby to watch me. Shelby was fourteen and addicted to soap operas. So, to entertain myself, I would go outside and climb up a piece of lattice that took me right onto the flat roof of the carport. From there I could access the slanted roof of the house, where I would climb to the top, then straddle the peak and just sit like a queen, looking out over the neighborhood. When I got bored or too hot, I would simply slide down the slanted roof and land in an overgrown heap of ivy. Shelby never had a clue.

“What are you doing up there?” called a dark-haired girl from down below one day.

“Sitting,” I called back down to her.

“Can I come up?” she asked.

“I don’t know,” I called back. “Can you?”

Before I knew it, she was up on the roof, straddling the peak just behind me. “This is cool,” she said.

“Yep,” I agreed. Then we talked for a while, and I learned that, like me, she was going into fourth grade too.

“Are you a different race?” she asked, pointing to one of my bronze-colored arms.

“No,” I told her. “I’m actually from a different planet.”

That just made her laugh, and she never did ask me about my skin color again. Oh, I suppose I eventually told her my family history, but I’m sure it was several years later. As it turned out, Jess’s older sister observed us sitting on the roof one day and immediately informed Jess’s mom, who immediately informed my mom. Shortly after that, the babysitter was dismissed and Mrs. LeCroix offered to help keep an eye on me until school started. “As long as you keep off of roofs,” she warned me.

Maybe it’s this memory, or maybe it’s the photos and stories and music on
Oprah
, or maybe it’s simply the fact that I’m no longer on the girls’ varsity basketball team, but now I am crying. I turn off the TV, then go up to my room where I turn on my computer and go online. I decide to Google some information by typing in “help for friends of homosexuals” and the first website on the list is for this Christian organization called Exodus International. And I go to it and begin to skim, and it’s like someone has just thrown me a lifesaver. I grab onto the rope and I read testimony after testimony of people who have been “delivered”
from homosexuality. And suddenly I think maybe there really is hope. I add this website to my favorites list, then I go back and Google my question again.

Only this time I find a website that says exactly the opposite. It says things like “people are born this way” and that “they make good parents” and that “conversion therapies like those used by Exodus International seldom work and can be psychologically damaging.” But, I remind myself, that was written by non-Christians. Of course they would say things like that. So would my mom.

Even so, I feel encouraged by the Christian site and suddenly I get an idea. I decide to e-mail what I’ve found to Jess. But then I’m not sure what to say. And so I simply write “check this out” in the subject box, and inside the e-mail I paste the website’s domain address. Okay, I know that’s not very personal, not to mention a cowardly way to share this information, but under the circumstances, I think it’s best.

After that, I wander around my quiet house for about an hour, tormenting myself with lots and lots of questions. First of all, how many days can I stand to live like this? Why did I give up basketball? Why am I letting Jess control my life? How will I ever get a job, and even if I get a job, how will I get there? I know how Mom hates for me to use public transportation. What am I going to do? Is it possible that I’m going crazy? Finally I hear my cell phone ringing and dash up the stairs, wondering who it might be. And if it’s Jess, will I be able to answer? To my huge relief it’s Mitch (I know his number now), and he is calling from work.

“Having a slow night?” I tease. “Or do employment laws force the boss to give male strippers a break?”

He laughs. “Okay, Ramie, enough with the stripper jokes. I’m not a male stripper.”

“Oh, good.”

“Although I’m guessing they make better money than I do.”

“What
do
you do?”

“Like I said, it’s top secret.”

“Come on, Mitch,” I persist. “It’s not really top secret, is it?”

“Well, it’s
my
top secret.”

“You mean nobody knows where you work?”

“Nobody but me and my boss and my parents.”

“That is so weird.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“People shouldn’t have secrets,” I say, then instantly remember that I’m covering up one of the biggest secrets of my life.

“Maybe not, but they do.” He pauses. “But I might be willing to exchange my secret if you tell me a secret about yourself.”

I laugh. “This sounds like a setup.”

“No, but it might come in handy for blackmail.”

“You’d blackmail me?” I say in a wounded tone. “I thought we were friends.”

“I thought we were more than friends,” he says, and I feel a warm rush running through me.

“If we were more than friends, wouldn’t you be willing to tell me where you work?” I ask.

“Maybe.” Then he switches gears. “How was practice tonight?”

“Practice?” I say in a weak voice.

“Yeah, you know, dribbling the ball up and down the court, shooting baskets, practice. How was it? Are you still a superstar?”

This makes me feel kind of sick inside. Like, really, what was I thinking to give that up? To throw it all away? “Oh, Mitch,” I say, choking back more tears.

“What’s wrong, Ramie?”

“Me. Life. Everything.”

“Seriously, Ramie, what’s wrong? you sound really upset.”

“I guess I am upset. Everything is such a mess.”

“Are you home now?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, I was just getting ready to leave. you want me to stop by? Do you need to talk?”

“Could you? I really do need to talk, Mitch. But I’m not sure if—”

“I’m on my way. you got anything to eat there?”

“I’ll look around,” I tell him. Then I hang up, dry my tears, put on some lip gloss and even brush my teeth. you never know. Then I go down to the kitchen in search of something to fix. It’s just a little after six, and Mom won’t be home for a while yet. Not that having Mitch here is a problem. I’m sure she wouldn’t care one way or another. Finally, I decide on tomato soup and grilled-cheese sandwiches. I hope Mitch isn’t picky.

“Smells good in here,” he says as I let him inside.

“Thanks.” Then I take his jacket and lead him into the kitchen.

“I like your house,” he says as he looks at what I’ve concocted. “And that looks yummy!”

So we sit down at the island and eat and before long he is asking me what’s wrong and why I was so upset.

I set my half-eaten sandwich back on my plate. I really don’t feel very hungry anyway. Then I tell him I quit the team.

“You what?” He stares at me with a creased brow.

“I quit. Today.”

“Why?”

“Why?” I echo. “This is where the story gets complicated,” I tell him, looking down at my bowl of soup.

“I can handle complicated,” he says as he dips his sandwich into his soup and takes a big bite. “Try me.”

“I know,” I say. “Let’s make a deal. I’ll tell you a secret, if you tell me where you work.”

“Hey, is this a trick?”

I shake my head with a somber expression. “Trust me. My secret is pretty big. And I need some kind of reassurance that you won’t tell anyone.”

“You really quit the team?” he says again.

“Yeah. Coach Ackley was really ticked too.”

“Can’t blame him.”

“Okay. That leads me to believe that you have a
real
secret, Ramie. And so I will tell you where I work if you also promise not to tell anyone else.
Deal?”
He sticks out his hand to shake now. And we lock eyes and shake. “All right, you also need to promise not to laugh. Okay?”

“Okay.”

“I’m a computer geek.”

“Huh?”

“You know those guys you see on the commercial, who wear the geeky outfits and drive those funny little cars and go help people to figure out their computer problems? That’s my job. It’s what I do. I’m a computer geek. And I really don’t want anyone else to know about it. Okay?”

I smile. “Okay. And, actually, I think that would be a cool job. In fact, now that I quit the team, I’m thinking about getting a job myself. I thought I might start earning enough money to buy a car.”

“Wait, wait,” he says. “First I want to hear your big secret, Ramie. Then you can share all your future plans with me.”

I take in a deep breath. “Okay. And I think it might feel good to get it out. It’s like I’m starting to feel like I’m going crazy, you know.
The weird thing is that it’s not really my secret. But it’s something that someone told me. And, well, it’s just pretty disturbing and—”

“Come on, Ramie. Just tell me.”

“Jess is a lesbian.”

He kind of blinks. “Really?”

I nod. “She told me last Saturday, which oddly enough seems like about a year ago. I went into shock when she told me. I mean, seriously, my lip went numb and then I actually threw up.” For some reason I feel a need to make this clear to him. I do
not
want him making any assumptions like Ms. Fremont today.

“Man, that’s gotta be tough, Ramie.”

“It is. I mean, Jess used to be my best friend. And now, well, I can’t stand to be around her. She makes me sick, Mitch. And that makes me feel even worse. I got my locker changed today. And then just the thought of being with her in the locker room, the shower room, well, it might sound stupid to a guy, but it was really nauseating.”

“No, I know what you mean. I used to play baseball with this kid named Shane, and the guys all thought he was gay. And sometimes I’d see him looking at me, and it didn’t make me sick, but it did make me mad. I wanted to go over and just take him down.”

“Oh.”

“But I didn’t.”

“That’s good.”

“So, I know what you mean, Ramie.” He gets a thoughtful look now. “But I think you were wrong to quit the team.”

“Coach thought I was wrong too.”

“Did you tell him why?”

“No way!”

“Does anyone else know about it?”

I nod. “Lauren Kempt knows. She saw Jess going to that gay alliance meeting last week. She figured it out.”

“She’s not gay too, is she?”

“No, not at all. Although I have to admit I wondered the same thing. But then we talked, and I could tell she’s not.”

“Well, you know what they say about those sports-jock girls.”

“Don’t say that, Mitch. I’m one of those girls too, you know.”

He smiles. “No, you’re not.”

“I am,” I insist. “I do volleyball and basketball and soccer and—”

“I know.” He nods with approval. “And I’ve seen you in that volleyball outfit and, trust me, no sports-jock girl looks anything like that.”

I feel my cheeks getting warm, and I pick up my unfinished food and carry it toward the sink.

“Hey, you’re not throwing that out, are you?”

I turn and look at him. “You want it?”

“You bet!”

I laugh as I take my plate back to him. “Help yourself.”

“So, what are you going to do about all this?” he asks as he puts my sandwich on his plate and tops off his soup with my leftovers.

“What can I do?”

“I don’t know.” He dips his sandwich again. “But I don’t think you can just roll over and let it take you out.”

“I’ve really been praying for Jess. And this afternoon I sent her the website for this exit group where Christians counsel homosexuals back to the truth.”

“The truth?”

“You know, that homosexuality is wrong.”

“How do you know for sure that it is?”

“Because of the Bible.” I say with a little impatience, studying Mitch’s expression and wondering whether he really is a Christian.

“Do you think that homosexuals can really change who they are?”

“I read lots of testimonies. you know, from people who used to be gay and then turned straight. They sounded pretty convincing to me. So I think God can change people, if people want to change, that is.”

“I know my dad would probably agree with you on that. But I’m just not so sure myself. I’m not convinced that people aren’t just born that way, and that’s the way it is.”

Okay, this response disappoints me a little. I wish that Mitch had stronger convictions about something like this. But then I suppose he’s just being honest. And maybe it’s just something he needs to give a little more thought to. “Well, that just figures,” I say. “I agree with your dad and you agree with my mom.”

He laughs, then says, “Hey, sounds like we could be one big happy family,” which makes me laugh too. And, while I know Mitch isn’t exactly proposing marriage (that would be scary), it does make me feel like we have a future, at least a dating future. For the first time since last Saturday, I feel like maybe I will survive this thing after all. I think maybe there’s hope. Thank God for Mitch!