When You Don't See Me (14 page)

“Are you joking?” I interrupted. “Chuck was every teacher's pet. He was bright and funny and outgoing. Who didn't love Chuck?”

“It's true that Tony and Chuck never got in trouble at school. They never rebelled against the dress code. They never skipped class, or at least they never got caught. They made good grades. They were good athletes and good sports. They didn't break curfew. They went to church on Sunday. They volunteered to do things with our youth group.”

“Yeah, I know, Mom. Like I said, who didn't love Chuck? And Tony. The pride of the Dunhills.”

“And you,” she went on, as if I hadn't spoken, “how many times did you get sent home from school? Dress code. Smarting off. No hall pass. Cutting class. Writing sarcastic papers and answers on tests. Your grades fluctuated wildly. You stayed locked up in your room all the time. Were grounded every time you pierced an ear, then did it again, just for spite. Didn't want to do anything with the family. If you had to be with us, you made sure we all knew we were imposing on you.”

I stared at her. Back to familiar territory.

“What about dessert?” the waiter asked, and we both jumped. He wouldn't look at me.

“No, thanks. We're not done here.” She waited until he was out of earshot. “You think I don't understand how miserable you were? I know they picked on you. I know how bad it was, Nicky. That's why I brought you to New York in the first place. But to Chuck, it's as if all your bad behavior was rewarded. You disrupted our home. Kept things in turmoil. Then you got to go away to a private art school and live in New York City with your uncle. There were no athletic or academic scholarships offered to you the way there were to Tony and Chuck. Your father had to pay the full amount of your tuition to Pratt. Buy all your supplies. We sent you money, clothes, whatever you needed. Then, without a word to us, you decided it wasn't for you and dropped out.”

“Okay. I know. I suck.”

“You don't suck. I told you I understand. I'm an adult. I'm your mother. I love you and want to protect you. I know all that acting out came from your fear and unhappiness. But Chuck was a kid, just like you. How was he supposed to understand?”

“You just don't get it, Mom.”

“No,
you
don't get it.”

“This is where we always end up. Tony hates me because he's like—” I stopped myself. It was pointless to say that my father hated me. She didn't want to hear it. She'd never agree with it. “Chuck is scared that since I'm gay, he could be, too. He does whatever it takes to distance himself from me. For that matter, who in our family doesn't?”

“Blaine doesn't.”

“Of course not. He went down this road before I did.”

“All I wanted was for my children to be happy and healthy. Would I rather you weren't gay? I used to feel that way. But the point came when wishing for that was like wishing you away. I can't do that.”

“I know I'm a disappointment—”

“Please
stop putting words in my mouth. What do you want from me? It's as if our family has been hemorrhaging for years. How do I stop the bleeding?”

“Can we please get out of here?”

As soon as she looked around, the waiter rushed up with our check. It was okay, though. It made us smile at each other again, which broke the tension.

Outside Oceana, she paused, and I realized she was disoriented. I took her arm and began walking in the direction of the Four Seasons.

“When do you go back?” I asked.

“I have meetings tomorrow morning and fly out midafternoon. You'll be at work, I suppose.”

“Right.”

“So I guess we won't see each other again this trip.”

“Guess not.”

We were quiet until we got to the hotel and she said, “Do you want to come up? See my room?”

“Roberto's mother works here,” I said. “I've been all over the hotel with him. Don't tell hotel management that.” She smiled again, but she looked sad, too. “I'm sorry about…I probably sound like I hate you all, or blame you for my miserable life. But it's not miserable. I'm fine. I didn't want to waste your money on tuition when I'm not sure what I want to do. Working is the best thing for me right now, okay?”

“Whether it's okay or not, you can make your own decisions.”

I hugged her again. She felt too thin. We'd always been alike that way. Two people who couldn't eat when they were tense or scared. Maybe sometimes she felt invisible, too.

“So, if I call you, will you answer?” she asked, pulling away to look up at my face.

“Yes.” She wouldn't look away. “I promise.”

“I'll check on that credit card—”

“Noooo,” I said. “I don't need money.”

She heard what I hadn't said:
I don't need
his
money.
But all she said was, “Let me know if you do.”

“I will.”

I waited until she was inside the hotel; then I walked back to Park Avenue. I looked south for a minute, then glanced toward Lexington. It would make sense to take the 6 home. I'd get there faster.

A crashing noise made my entire body jerk around. Then I saw the offending garbage truck and tried to convince my pounding heart that I was fine. After a minute, I began walking up Park Avenue.

 

Roberto finagled permission for us to watch the Puerto Rican Day parade from a window at Drayden's. Roberto's sixteen-year-old brother, Ernie, and two of Ernie's friends, along with Adalla, Isleta, and me, tucked ourselves in among the mannequins. I figured the boys would much rather be in the crowd on the street, but I was grateful to be two floors above the madness. Huge gatherings of people seemed like a target to me. I'd skipped parades for the last couple years, though I had to admit it was fun to have a bird's-eye view of the brightly colored floats and cars. Plus I liked watching Adalla get excited about her first New York City parade.

“I don't understand a word they're saying,” Adalla whispered to me as Ernie and his friends joked around. “I'm old.”

“It's not just you,” I assured her. “I've only been out of high school a year, and I've already lost all street cred. I don't know if they even say ‘street cred' anymore.”

“We never did,” Ernie smarted off, but it only made me grin at him. Typical Mirones cockiness.

“See anyone familiar?” Roberto asked as he slipped up behind me.

“You gotta be joking,” I said.

He nodded toward the street and said, “Look, a group from the Department of Corrections. You must recognize someone.”

“Smartass.”

“You're so sensitive,” he said, ruffling my hair. Then he looked at Ernie, said something in Spanish, and left.

“What's that green froggy-looking thing on those flags?” I asked Adalla, who was using a cookie to bribe Isleta to sit still.

“It actually is a green froggy thing,” she said.

“Coquí,”
Ernie said, forgetting for a moment to pretend he didn't know us. I nudged the pack of cookies toward him. “I said
coquí,
not cookie. That's the sound it makes when it sings.”

“What makes?”

“The tree frog.”

“What tree frog? What are you talking about?”

“The frog on the flags,” he said. His tone showed he was out of patience with me.

“I believe Puerto Rico is the only place you can find the
coquí
frog,” Adalla explained, drawing from her wealth of all things trivial. “Maybe that's why some people put it on the flag.”

“Oh,” I said. I scooted next to Isleta and leaned forward until my forehead touched the glass. For a moment I felt dizzy, even though we were only on the second floor. I reminded myself to breathe the way Gavin had taught me. A mounted policeman looked up at our window. I gave him a halfhearted wave, and he winked at me. Then he lowered his head, and his helmet hid his eyes.

“Doesn't New York have a gay pride parade?” Adalla asked.

“One of the biggest,” I said. “Although technically, it's called a march.”

“Oh. Is it on Fifth Avenue?”

“Yeah. It starts at Fifth and Fifty-second and eventually ends at Christopher Street. There's also a festival and a dance.”

“Do you go?”

“I went in 2001. Not last year,” I said.

Adalla was quiet for a while, and I thought she was engrossed by the scene outside, until she said, “When is it? Can anybody go?”

“Three weeks from today. You can go if you take your pink card.” I turned to see her frowning at me. “Oh, that's right. You don't have a pink card because you're straight. Maybe you could get together with Kendra and watch it on public access cable or something.”

“I'm not watching anything with your freaky roommate,” she said.

“You're getting them mixed up,” I said. “Kendra's the one we like.”

“I'm not getting them mixed up. Kendra's the blond flake. Morgan's all right, though.”

“Morgan's the one with the snakes!”

“You sound like those people who say to me, ‘You've got a
kid?'
So Morgan keeps strange pets. And she isn't cute and perky like the other one. I like her.” She noticed that I was gaping at her. “I do! Kendra is sweet on the surface, but underneath…”

“Kendra's nice,” I insisted.

“You know what Kendra reminds me of?” she asked, glancing down at the street. “Those people who sit in their big houses with a BMW and an Expedition in the garage. They work at companies like my mama cleans. They bitch all the time about somebody maybe getting something they don't deserve. Immigrants taking jobs. Black mothers getting free milk for their kids. Like anybody's ever taken milk from
their
refrigerators to give to somebody else's kid. They act like any time somebody gets something, it takes something from them.”

“You just described my parents,” I said. Then I felt guilty. “My grandparents. And my father. Anyway, Kendra works all the time, and she knows what it's like to be broke. She's not like you think.”

“Give her a few years. What do you mean, I can't go to the gay pride parade because I'm straight? I'm not Puerto Rican or Irish, either, but—”

“I was kidding,” I said. “Of course you can go.”

“Are you going?”

“I don't plan to.”

“Huh,” was all she said.

 

Over the next few days, I couldn't stop thinking about what Adalla had said. Not her opinion of Kendra, which was irrational and inaccurate. I wondered if there was something wrong with me because I had no interest in the upcoming Pride festivities.

During my first June in New York, Blaine and Daniel were still the darlings of the gay press, even after Daniel lost his job as the bad guy on
Secret Splendor.
They said his exit was “storyline-dictated,” but everybody knew it was because he'd come out. He stayed employed long enough to keep his producers from looking like assholes. Then his role got smaller, until finally he was written off the show. Everybody's favorite villain became everyone's favorite victim, and Daniel's schedule was filled with a new round of interviews and appearances, especially during Pride month.

I'd had my own friends to be with and places to go during Pride. I was barely aware of what Daniel and Blaine had going on, either then or the rest of that summer. Then it all became irrelevant in September. I still hadn't felt much like celebrating in June of 2002. Plus I avoided crowds the way I did the subway, skyscrapers, and Lower Manhattan.

I didn't have to explain any of this to Roberto, who wasn't surprised when I told him I'd decided to shun Pride again this year.

“Maybe you could take Adalla if she wants to go,” I said.

“Are you trying to hook us up?” Roberto asked.

“No. But she hasn't lived in the city long, and being at a parade with half a million people—”

“Adalla can take care of herself,” Roberto said. “I'll see what everybody else is doing. Once I know the plan, I'll invite her. If you change your mind, you can always go with us.”

“Not likely,” I said.

As far as I was concerned, that was the end of it. Apparently, however, I'd caused a disturbance in the force, as I first realized from Kendra.

“You're not going to Pride? That's awful. It's worse than when I decided not to go to the prom with the Shermans' grandson.”

She impatiently twisted her hair into a knot, as if a little air against the back of her neck might blow away a traumatic memory. I still hadn't learned my lesson and waited for the rest of her story. Of course, it never came.