Openly Straight (26 page)

“Hey,”
I said, when Ben opened his door. It was the night before our first finals, and I had finally decided I couldn’t put my apology off any longer. It was seriously getting in the way of my studying.

His face showed no emotion. His eyes were blank.

“Can I come in for a second? I know you don’t want to talk to me, but I really need to say something to you. Please?”

He pursed his lips slightly, but otherwise his expression didn’t change. He stepped aside and let me in.

I stood in the middle of his room, the room where I’d slept so many nights across from him, the room where he and I had been so close at one time.

“I’m here to apologize,” I said. “I lied to you, and I’m sorry. I don’t think I realized what I was doing to you all that time. I didn’t mean to, if that matters. It probably doesn’t. I just wanted you to know that I truly get it now.”

“Fantastic timing,” he said, no inflection in his voice.

I felt myself getting a little red in the face. “Come on,” I said. “Is that all I’m going to get?”

He shook his head. “You still don’t get it, do you? You walk in here like I’m sitting around twiddling my thumbs. I’m studying, Rafe. I don’t know about you, but getting into a good college is pretty much my only goal, so coming here twelve hours before my history final pretty much sucks. Isn’t the apology supposed to be for my sake?”

As much as I didn’t want to, I realized he was right, and that it wasn’t just a small way in which he was right. I had been out of tune with how important I was to him, and how much lying to him would injure him, and now I was so involved in my own things that I hadn’t even thought about whether the night before finals might be a bad time for an apology.

I couldn’t find any words, and I think Ben saw that, because his tone changed. He sat down on his bed. “I loved you, Rafe. And more than that, I liked you. You were my one true friend left. My uncle is dead. Bryce is gone. You were all I had, and then you broke my heart.”

I sat down on the floor, facing him, and looked up at him. “Well, I broke my heart too, if that helps.”

He laughed and shook his head. “How would that help?”

“Well, so at least it wasn’t an aggressive act? I don’t know. Help me out here. I’m trying to make things better.”

He rubbed his eyes and ran his hand through his disheveled hair. It really looked as if he hadn’t slept in a while.

“I think it’ll just take a little time, Rafe. Okay?”

“Okay,” I said. And I did understand. The hole in my heart, I can’t even begin to describe. It’s hard when you open your heart and
let someone in and then suddenly they’re not in it anymore. It doesn’t matter whose fault it is; that empty spot stings so bad that you want to find any kind of relief, or wrap yourself up so tight you can’t feel it anymore. I knew it might be there a little while. Or maybe even a long while. For both of us.

He stood up and looked out the window, facing away from me. I stood up too. It was definitely like a barrier was up, and I knew that, for a while, he wasn’t going to be inviting anybody in. That’s just the way Ben was. Hard to gain entrance, but real valuable once you did.

“Well, I’ll leave you alone now,” I said. “I’m sorry to barge in here the night before finals and all. Anyway, I hope they go well and I hope your holiday break is good. Merry early Christmas from the Jewish kid.”

“Right back at ya,” he said, not turning to look at me. “From a nonpracticing Christian guy.”

“Yup,” I said. There was a silence. “Please say something more interesting, so my final word of the semester to you isn’t ‘yup.’”

Now he turned. “Well, I can’t say I’m glad I met you exactly. I mean, I was glad for your friendship this year. Other than being fucking crazy, there are some good things about you.”

“Thanks, I guess. Well, I, for one, am glad I met you. Even with the pain. Which I’m sorry for, again.”

He nodded.

“I wish we could be friends again,” I said.

Ben looked at me and cocked his head. “Who knows? No promises.”

I wasn’t sure if he really meant it, or if he was just saying it. I smiled as best I could. “Well, maybe in the new year we’ll take a walk or something. Catch up. Have a plastic screwdriver.”

“I’m done with drinking,” he said. “A little too much like a problem.” He looked away.

“Cool,” I said. “Probably not a bad idea for me either.”

“Right,” he said, but I got the feeling we were just delaying the inevitable, which was saying good-bye for now.

I leaned in a little, for one last time, and said, “You know, I really wasn’t trying to fool you into bed with me. You have to believe me. I would never, ever do that. I fell in love with you. I wasn’t out to hurt you.”

Ben smiled. “You know what’s crazy? I believe you, Rafe. I believe you didn’t mean it. Doesn’t mean it didn’t hurt. But I believe you, if that makes you feel any better.”

“I wish it did,” I said.

As the first semester ended, I found that I was openly gay again, for the first time at Natick, and the second time in my life. I knew a little bit about what to expect this time, so it was a little easier. I let the rumor mill do a lot of the work for me in telling people. Hanging out with Carlton and Mickey and Toby (Jeff wouldn’t be seen in public with us yet) certainly seemed to help. I also got involved with the literary magazine, which was cool. Lots of new possible friends, and not all based on my sexual preference.

On the last day before holiday break, I was walking back to the dorms after a nearly edible pizza lunch with Toby and Carlton. We
were talking and laughing and generally having a good time when I noticed a kid who sometimes hung out with the jocks. He was walking toward us, and he was staring at me with a funny expression on his face, like he was about to laugh.

I immediately did what I used to do, which was to look away and pretend I didn’t notice, and then I realized — the hell with that. I wasn’t okay with people giving me nasty looks just because I was part of a group of openly gay kids walking across the quad. I didn’t care if he was seeing us as a mirror for himself or whatever. I was over it.

As soon as we got close, I said, “Hey. What’s your problem?”

The kid looked surprised. He pointed to himself. “Me?”

“Yeah, you. You never see three gay dudes walking together before?”

“I didn’t …” he stammered.

“Is that so fucking hilarious that you can’t keep it to yourself?” I snarled.

“Dude,” he said. “You have tomato sauce all over your chin.”

I reached down, and there it was, a wet saucy spot right on the center of my chin. I wiped it off, then wiped my hand on a tissue I had in my jacket pocket.

“Never mind,” I mumbled. “My bad.”

The kid passed by, and we walked on in silence for a moment.

“Wow, you told him,” Toby said. “Maybe next time you can walk around with a booger in your nose and then call anyone who looks your way an anti-Semite!”

“Stop talking,” I said. “Seriously. Just stop talking.”

December
28 was one of those sixty-degree days that sometimes happen in Colorado winters, when you can walk around with the lightest of jackets and the sun shines so bright that you’re sure it’s April. I made a mental note to write the meteorologist jocks back at school about the weather. I knew they would find it fascinating.

Claire Olivia and I went for coffee at the Pearl Street Mall. I had so much making up to do with her before heading back to school that it wasn’t even remotely funny. How many times could I piss her off, and she’d still be there for me? I was a lucky guy to have such a loyal, real friend.

We walked past the Boulder
Daily Camera
building, and I felt so glad to be back in my life that I did a little jumping jack. I was going to jump and spin, but at the last second I decided against the second part.

“Oh, my, you’re a jumper now,” Claire Olivia said. “This is an odd development.”

“You ever feel like people are looking at you and you want them to stop?” I asked.

She thought about this, and she did a twirl. She was wearing a tie-dye skirt with some brown and orange and a streak of blue in it. It suited her, and the way the colors spun together as she twirled was beautiful.

“No, I wish
more
people would look at me,” she said, and then she screamed: “Look at me!”

But passersby barely looked, because she was hardly the oddest sight on our little patch of the street. Claire Olivia hadn’t noticed she was competing with a little person who was juggling knives, two bald twin sisters who were crooning a folk tune while strumming identical guitars, and four white guys with dreadlocks — we called them trustafarians in Boulder — smoking up on a bench.

“Whenever the rest of the world won’t, I’ll be happy to look at you,” I said. “Anytime.”

“Well, thank you, kind sir,” she said, and she grabbed my hand and started skipping down the street. So I joined her. We saw the nuns on Segways at the same time.

“Hey! Segway nuns!” Claire Olivia called, and she went running toward the group of them. I followed. The nuns seemed perfectly okay with being called Segway nuns, and they smiled when they saw us. I guessed they remembered the time last summer when we took pictures with them.

“Did you have a nice Christmas?” one of them asked Claire Olivia.

“Hella cool,” she said, and they nodded, like those words made sense to them. “Did you do anything fun?”

I laughed. What did nuns do for fun, anyway? Besides Segway riding?

“We had a delightful time at the soup kitchen,” another nun said. “Have you volunteered there? Would you like to, sometime?”

Claire Olivia looked at me. Helping others was never really our mode, though I’d been thinking about it as part of this idea about getting outside of myself. My mom had told me about this place called Carriage House, a local organization that serves homeless people and especially gay teens, and I wanted to do something there. Having a mom who is president of PFLAG Boulder has its perks.

“Sure,” Claire Olivia said now. “Sign us up. Rafe here will come with me, because he owes me, like, SO big time.”

“Is this your boyfriend?” the first nun asked.

Claire Olivia looked me up and down. “No. This is my gay friend who decided he was straight and single-handedly wreaked havoc at an all-boys school in Massachusetts this fall. He’s gay again and home for Christmas, so, yay!”

“That’s nice,” the second nun said, smiling, and I knew, for a fact, that we must be in Boulder.

We walked a little farther as the sun went down, watching first the little person juggle his not-so-little knives, and then a performance by a group of African drummers. The beat rippled through the crowd, and after a while Claire Olivia began to dance along. Soon, others joined in. Black, white, brown, homeless, wealthy-looking, young, old, stoned, totally sober — soon there was a whole throng of dancers, and I watched them jump and twist to the thumping beat.

I felt a certain desire to jump and twist too, like my father would, like Toby might. All those people who weren’t constricted in their movements the way I was by my brain. And just as I was about to say
the hell with it and join in the fun, I stopped. My hands half in the air over my head, half protecting my face as if someone were about to hurl a dodgeball at me, I stopped. I put my arms down and smiled to myself. I knew I could have danced if I wanted to, really. But I didn’t, so I didn’t have to. The world needs people who are more comfortable standing still. We keep the earth on its axis when everyone else is bouncing around.

So I quietly tapped my foot to the beat, like I did anytime I went to a concert at Red Rocks and wanted to move a little. And I watched my best friend as she got her groove on, and she loved it, and I loved her.

We were dancers and drummers and standers and jugglers, and there was nothing anyone needed to accept or tolerate. We celebrated.