The State of Us

by Shaun David Hutchinson

  “Dre—”

  “You used to go with me to the comic-cons—”

  “I thought once Mel got her license, you wouldn’t want me around.”

  “And you always had time to help with Dreadful Dressup.”

  “I still do.”

  “What about Europe?” I asked. “How long have we been talking about spending the summer in Europe after graduation? Just me and you, the Rosario boys. How’re you gonna do that if you win the election?”

  With each question, my dad’s shoulders slipped a little lower. “We can still travel.”

  I snorted derisively. “Yeah. It’ll be the Rosario boys, a squad of Secret Service agents, and a dozen annoying aides who’ll need just a second a million times a day.” I tossed what was left of my ice cream in the trash and headed back to the car.

  It was a few minutes before Dad got in. He started the engine but didn’t back out of the lot. “I’ll drop out of the race.”

  “No you won’t.”

  “Yes, I will.”

  I heard the sincerity in my dad’s voice, and I knew without a doubt he’d do it because that’s the kind of person he was, regardless of how pissed at him I was at the moment. And if I let him, I’d feel like shit for the rest of my life knowing I’d allowed my dad to give up on something he wanted.

  “You’re not quitting,” I said. “Someone’s gotta keep McMann and Arnault from making shit worse.”

  “Dre—”

  “I just miss my dad, all right? And it’s making me cranky.”

  “I miss you too. You and your mom.” Dad finally put the car in gear and started back toward home.

  Getting all that out had felt good, but it hadn’t fixed anything. I’m not sure there was any way to fix it. If my dad dropped out of the race, the country would lose. They’d be stuck with a man who cared about no one but himself or a woman who wanted to drag the country back to the 1950s. But if he stayed in and won, I’d have to keep sharing my dad with the world. I had to find some way to be okay with that, and I wasn’t sure I could be.

  “If you want, I can go with you on your tour tomorrow.”

  “No!”

  Dad glanced over at me as he drove. “Are you sure? I could use a break from the debate prep anyway.”

  I had to convince him not to come or he’d ruin everything, and I was already anxious about seeing Dean in person again. “It’s just a boring college tour,” I said. “Besides, if you go, the press will find out and they’ll show up and I wanna keep it low-key.”

  “I don’t know. How’d you convince your mother to let you run off to Rhode Island without a chaperone, anyway?”

  “I told her you said it was okay.”

  “Dre!”

  “Kidding.” I flashed him a grin. “I’m seventeen, Dad. I’ll be eighteen in a few months. I can handle it. Fly in, do the tour, stay the night, run up a massive room service bill, meet Mom in Chicago the next day. Besides, it’s Rhode Island. How much trouble can I get into in Rhode Island?”

  Dad was still eyeing me skeptically, but it wasn’t like he was gonna call off the trip and make me miss touring my potential future school. “Just be safe. I love you so much, Dre.”

  We drove the rest of the way home in silence, and all I wanted to do was shower and get to bed so that it would hurry up and be tomorrow, though I was pretty sure I was too excited to sleep. Alone again, I checked to see if Dean had written back.

  PrezMamasBoy: Thank you, Dre.

  PrezMamasBoy: I can’t wait to see you tomorrow.

  PrezMamasBoy: Sweet dreams.

  PrezMamasBoy: ~Dean

  I couldn’t stop smiling, and then I remembered what Mel had said and I knew she was right. He might not mean to, and he probably wouldn’t even realize he’d done it, but Dean was going to break my heart.

  Dean

  I CHECKED THE time on my phone again, then logged into the Amtrak app to make sure Dre’s train hadn’t been delayed. I’d made all the arrangements and had even bought his ticket. It’s not that I didn’t think Dre was capable of organizing his own travel arrangements, but I hated leaving details to others. It wasn’t one of my most admirable qualities. I was the person in group projects who usually did all the work. I didn’t care who got credit for it so long as I knew it was done and done well. Learning to trust others was difficult for me, but I was trying. When it came to Dre, however, I wanted to leave nothing to chance.

  The plan was for Dre to take the 12:12 p.m. Northeast Regional from Providence to the Back Bay station in Boston. The entire trip was scheduled to take forty-four minutes and had only cost fifteen dollars. It was exactly one o’clock, and Dre’s train still hadn’t arrived.

  I didn’t know why I was so nervous, but I’d spent all night staring at the ceiling of the hotel room. At two in the morning, I’d gone to the fitness center and run until I was drenched in sweat and my legs had felt as mushy as clay and heavy as lead, but even that hadn’t tired me out enough to sleep well.

  Dre and I shouldn’t have been friends. If we’d gone to the same school, I doubted he would have wanted to hang out with someone like me. He and his artsy friends likely would have spent their time mocking me for being too reserved and buttoned up. He did monster makeup, I studied philosophy. He went to comic book conventions, I attended political rallies. He played Dungeons & Dragons, I played the piano. Badly. The only thing we had in common was that our parents were both running for president, and I wondered if our friendship would end after the election when we no longer shared that unique experience.

  I was sure that Dre also believed we had something in common because he was gay and I was exploring my sexuality, but I had never viewed a person’s sexual orientation as a defining characteristic or a thing over which two people could bond. Maybe I would have if I’d been out or had gone through the experiences the way Dre had. I didn’t fault Dre for feeling the way he did about his sexuality; I just didn’t share his enthusiasm. For some people, their personality traits were an extension of their sexuality, but that wasn’t true for me. My personality was no more influenced by my sexuality than it was by my right-handedness. It was a part of me, but it did not define me.

  If we had sat down and made a list of what Dre and I individually believed, I was certain that we would be at odds on nearly everything. And yet, talking to him—just thinking about talking to him—made my skin tingle. It made me smile and look like a fool. Nora had caught me staring into space with a goofy grin spread across my face on the plane ride to Boston. I’d been so flustered that I hadn’t been able to think up a good explanation for being happy when she’d asked me. But I was. Happy. Thinking about Dre made me happy. And if you had told me there was a nuclear bomb set to destroy Washington, DC, and that answering why Dre made me happy was the only way to prevent it, I still wouldn’t have been able to say.

  Dre was improbable and inexplicable and getting off the train wearing tight green and black plaid pants that made his legs look runway-model long, a white shirt, and a denim jacket. His hair was curly and wild, and he was grinning from ear to ear.

  “You made it!” I stuck out my hand as Dre reached in for a hug and we stumbled into one another awkwardly. Then I tried to hug him, but he went for the handshake and poked me in the stomach.

  “How could I not?” Dre asked when we’d finished assaulting each other. “You planned my trip down to the minute.” He held up his phone and showed me the messages I’d sent him that morning. “You even planned my bathroom break.”

  I hung my head. “Sorry. It’s my ADD. Making lists and plans helps me manage things. Sometimes I go a little overboard.”

  Dre laughed it off. “It’s fine. I’m not mad about it.”

  “It’s embarrassing.”

  “Whatever. We’ve all got our weird things.” Dre nudged my foot with his. “I only pee sitting down because I’m a hundred percent sure if I don’t, the stream’s gonna split off at a weird angle and I’m gonna wind up with piss all over the front of
my pants. I used to have nightmares about it happening in public places and I’d have to hide in a stall until it dried.”

  The idea of Dre worrying about something so silly was comforting. “Please tell me that you’re serious and that that’s not something you made up to make me feel better.”

  “Totally true.”

  “Now I’m relieved.”

  “Good.”

  I didn’t know what to say next. I froze. Travelers moving away from trains or toward them flowed around us as we stood there like strangers, unsure where to go.

  Dre cleared his throat. “So, where to?”

  I pulled out my phone and began to answer, but Dre cut me off. “Wait, you were serious about the lists?”

  “I’m always serious about lists.”

  “So, like, you’ve got an itinerary planned and every hour of our day scheduled to the minute?”

  “Pretty much, yes.”

  “That’s so . . .”

  “Weird?”

  “Perfect,” he said. “Where to first?”

  Each activity I’d added to the list had seemed like a good idea at the time, but now that Dre was standing in front of me, they all felt like the worst ideas I could have come up with. Unfortunately, I didn’t have anything else.

  “Well, since it’s nearby, I thought we’d start with the Boston Public Garden.”

  “I’m in. Let’s go!” Dre latched his arm through mine and pulled me toward the exit. His enthusiasm was contagious, and I let him drag me along.

  It was cooler outside than it was at home, and the air was filled with a million smells, most of which I probably wouldn’t have wanted to identify. I was used to worrying about being recognized, but I felt inconspicuous on the crowded city streets. Chaos was a cloak of invisibility, and I loved it.

  “Nice hoodie,” Dre said. “And did you do something different with your hair?”

  The hoodie was a gray zip-up that I was wearing with khaki-colored jeans. I’d had to slip out of the hotel without my mother seeing or she would have said I looked like a common frat boy. But I was proud of my hair.

  “The stylist said she was going to add more texture.” I shrugged. “I just asked for something a little different.”

  “It’s good,” Dre said.

  I felt my ears burning, and I wanted the attention off me, so I said, “You look nice too.”

  “Do I? I just threw this outfit together. By which I mean that I threw the majority of my wardrobe on the floor while I was trying to find something that wouldn’t draw too much attention because we’re supposed to be incognito, but that still screamed me.” He held open his jacket. The inside was lined with superheroes posing like pinup girls.

  “It definitely screams Andre Rosario.”

  “Good.”

  “So are you sure you’re okay missing your college tour?”

  “For RISD?” Dre asked. “It’s fine. I mean, who even wants to go to school in Rhode Island?”

  I had to check the map on my phone to make sure we were going the right direction, but there were also a lot of tourists around, so we could have simply followed them. “Quite a few people, actually. James Franco received his MFA from there, and Seth MacFarlane earned his BFA.”

  “Did you research RISD?”

  “Maybe.” I didn’t want to come off like a stalker, so I quickly added, “I just wanted to make sure we would have something to talk about.”

  Dre laughed. “Please tell me you don’t also have a list of conversation topics.”

  “I don’t.” I absolutely did.

  “Good,” he said. “But, really, it’s fine. I’m not even sure I’m going to go to college right after graduation. I might take a year off and see what happens.”

  “Your parents wouldn’t mind?”

  Dre shook his head. “I mean, I haven’t actually brought it up with them, but college is expensive, and I don’t see the point in going and wasting the money if I don’t even know what I want to study.”

  “Wait,” I said. “What about makeup and Dreadful Dressup? I’ve seen your stuff, and you’re exceptional.”

  I might have misinterpreted it, but I could have sworn he blushed. “Thanks, but it’s tough, you know? Most of the special effects stuff is done on computers now, and I’m not into that. I just want to make sure whatever I decide to do with the rest of my life is something I actually wanna do.”

  “I understand.”

  “You do?”

  “Don’t sound so surprised,” I said.

  “I’m not, it’s just—”

  I pointed at the corner and turned, taking him with me. “You thought that I was a clone of my mother and that I was destined to do everything she did? Join the military, go to college, start a career in politics?”

  Dre at least had the decency to look sheepish. “Kind of.”

  “I’m not cut out for the military,” I said. “I doubt I’d find it any easier shooting people than animals.”

  “Plus, you can’t eat people.”

  “There is that.” I grinned at him. “I love politics and philosophy. My favorite areas are ethics and epistemology.”

  Dre scrunched his face. “Epistewho?”

  “Epistemology. It’s the study of knowledge. Like, what do we know? And how do we know what we know? Can we trust what we know? Can we really ever know anything at all?”

  “That last part’s how I feel pretty much all the time.”

  I felt like I was lecturing Dre, and I didn’t want to bore him. “Anyway, it’s all fascinating stuff and will make a solid foundation for me to go to law school and for my future political career, but I’m not certain that’s the life I want.”

  “What else would you do?”

  “You’re going to laugh.”

  “I promise I won’t.”

  “I’ve always been interested in teaching.”

  “Like kindergarten?”

  “High school.”

  Dre wasn’t exactly laughing, but I could tell he wanted to. “Okay, but why?”

  “Forget it.”

  Dre grabbed my arm and pulled me to a stop. “I’m sorry. Tell me more.”

  I didn’t know if he actually wanted to hear about it, but Tamal was the only other person who knew it was a career path I was even remotely considering. It wasn’t that I thought there was anything shameful or ignoble about being a teacher; it was simply that most people assumed I would use my talents for politics and didn’t consider I might want to do something else.

  “Do you know what I love about debate?”

  Dre shrugged. “The thrill of destroying your opponent?”

  “Okay,” I said. “Maybe a little. But mostly I love taking a complex topic, breaking it down, and explaining it to someone who isn’t familiar with it. Winning isn’t just about being right, it’s about making the judges understand the nuances of my point of view, even if they disagree. I love the moment during a debate when I can see the pieces click into place for the judge. That’s when I know I’ve done my job properly.”

  “Most of my friends are anxious to get the hell out of high school,” Dre said. “You’re the only one I know looking to go back.”

  “Often, adults assume people our age aren’t smart enough or engaged enough to make a difference, but I think that’s a cop-out. I think they underestimate us, and I think I could be the kind of teacher who wouldn’t do that.”

  I’d expected Dre to look bored, but he seemed to be listening. “So why don’t you go to school to be a teacher? Study education and get a couple of graduate degrees? Doctor Arnault’s got a nice ring.”

  I sighed, coming across more melancholy than I meant to. “You know how it is. There are just certain expectations that come along with being the son of Janice Arnault.”

  Before Dre could ask me more, I grabbed the sleeve of his jacket and pulled him across the street so we didn’t miss the light. “Come on, we’re there.”

  Dre

  THE ONLY THING more colorful than th
e fall foliage around the Public Garden was me. Usually. I was a little more subdued because we were incognito. Fine. Even toned down, I was a splash of color on the dull canvas of life. The trees weren’t bad either. They were a million shades of orange and yellow and red, the colors bright and bold as if waving a dramatic final farewell to beauty before retreating until winter had reached its end. Ducks swam in the lagoon and Swan Boats glided lazily across the water.

  And I was there with Dean. I hadn’t known what to do when I’d first seen him. I’d wanted to run from the train and leap into his arms like we were in a movie, but I doubted he would’ve thought it was as funny as me. I didn’t know what to expect from the day. Mel was always complaining how guys often looked at friendship with girls as a shitty consolation prize, and I didn’t want to be like that. If Dean never had feelings for me beyond friendship, I wanted him to know his friendship was enough. I wanted it to be enough. But at the same time, I couldn’t help the bubbly, giggly feeling in my stomach when his arm brushed mine or when he looked at me and held the stare a second longer than was necessary.

  “Favorite movie?” I asked.

  “A Quiet Place.”

  “You like horror movies?”

  Dean cocked his head at me. “That movie wasn’t horror. A world where no one can talk or make a sound? Sounds like a utopia to me. Your turn.”

  “Hedwig and the Angry Inch. Book?”

  Dean puffed out his lips like a duck when he was thinking and it was adorable, so I had to avoid looking at him.

  “And don’t say Catcher in the Rye or I’m bailing on you and going back to Providence.”

  “Fiction or nonfiction?”

  “Both?”

  “Beyond Good and Evil for nonfiction, and The Graveyard Book for fiction.”

  I didn’t recognize the first book and made a mental note to google it when I had a chance, but I knew the second. “Neil Gaiman?” I asked, and Dean nodded. “Not bad. Mine changes, but I’m basically obsessed with this graphic novel called Descender right now. The artist, Dustin Nguyen, works in watercolors, and he’s brilliant.”

  “I haven’t read any graphic novels.”