Queer Greer

by A J Walkley

  She closed it and went to put it back.

  “And how’d that go?” I asked, already knowing the answer.

  “Not so great!” she laughed, coming to sit next to me again. “We dated for, like, a month and all we ever did was kiss. Alex wasn’t so happy about that, but that’s all I would do. So, he broke up with me, calling me a ‘prude’. I assure you, I am definitely not a prude,” she made sure to add. “Nope, just gay!”

  I took another bite, chewing slower this time, thinking this over. I wondered if my situation with Cameron was exactly the same, if I was fooling myself. Wasn’t I supposed to pick one or the other?

  “Yo, Greer,” Becca said, snapping me out of my head. “You knew I was a lesbian, didn’t you?”

  I let my gaze span the room, landing on anything as long as it wasn’t Becca.

  “I mean, sure,” I told her before shoving the entirety of the pizza crust in my mouth.

  She laughed at me again and I scowled at her.

  “I’m sorry, it’s just, you seem so innocent about this,” she said, causing my brow to furrow even deeper. “No offense, I swear. I thought the east coast was further along with this stuff than we are here.”

  “South Carolina isn’t exactly what I’d call east coast,” I offered, starting to feel a little more comfortable now that we were talking about my home. “We’re no Massachusetts, that’s for sure. People were pretty secretive about it, I think, at least at my high school. I only knew one girl, and she had a really hard time with it.”

  Becca laid back on her pillows so that I was looking at her from above.

  “I know what that’s like. It’s not easy here either. But, I’m not gonna lie, it would be a hell of a lot harder if I didn’t look the way I do.”

  I smirked at her this time.

  “Not that I’m, like, egotistical or anything!” she continued. “It’s just, you know what I mean? If I shaved my head or something, I might not be able to live as easily as I do now.”

  “Are there any other, um, people like you at school?” For whatever reason, I was having trouble saying any of the appropriate nouns that described them.

  “A few guys, mostly in my year. I don’t think a lot of people come out when they’re underclassmen. It’s a scary thing, trying to guess how everyone else will react. Did you hear about the Amancio Corrales case?”

  I shook my head.

  “Back in ’05, this twenty-something kid named Corrales was found in the Colorado River. Somebody stabbed him a bunch of times because he was a drag queen in Yuma,” Becca told me.

  I cringed. “That’s awful. I can’t understand how anyone could do something like that.”

  “Yeah, well, it happens more often than you think. Sometimes I get worried, like if I’m out late at the diner or something. I don’t hide who I am, and people know, so someone could take their shit out on me.”

  I was silently in awe of this girl. The risks seemed high and yet Becca was so chill about being openly gay.

  “Don’t you ever think that maybe you should, I don’t know, tone it down?” I asked, to which Becca replied with a look of instant anger.

  “‘Tone it down’? Seriously, Greer? It’s not like I date lots of chicks and hold hands and kiss them in public. I haven’t even had a girlfriend in a while. Plus, how the hell are we ever going to make it if we don’t stand up for ourselves?”

  Damn, she is brave, I thought. I wish I could be like that.

  But, wait, like what? Openly gay? The thought was there and then it wasn’t. I pushed it away.

  “You’re right. You’re absolutely right,” I told her. “I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t be sorry. Just be yourself.” Becca messed with my hair and winked. “Now how about a little math?”

  “Our doubts are traitors

  And make us lose the good we oft might win

  By fearing to attempt.”

  - William Shakespeare

  OCTOBER

  “I have no vowels! How can I possibly make a word without vowels?”

  “You’ll have to skip a turn and get new letters then.” It was six Mondays into the school year and Becca was beating me badly at Scrabble in the Wilder’s living room.

  “I give up. You’ve already beaten me twice already, Becs. Let’s do something else.” I threw my crappy letters back in the box and looked at Becca for a game plan.

  “Like what?”

  I shrugged, looking around the room as if entertainment would pop out from behind an armchair. When I turned back at Becca, I caught a look in her eye that hadn’t been there before. I hesitated before getting up and walking into the kitchen.

  “Let’s make nachos! Do you have Tostitos and stuff?” I asked, purposely looking through the refrigerator to avoid seeing her face.

  “No, I don’t think so,” she said, her breath hot on the back of my neck.

  I was finding that situations like this were happening more and more frequently. Intuitively I knew what was going on, what she wanted, but I was stubbornly resisting.

  “Well, I have an idea.” Becca’s hand on my shoulder twisted me around so we were face-to-face. We were half a step away from touching noses; nipples, now erect from the fridge’s coolness, straining toward each other.

  My breathing shortened as Becca began to close the distance. I noticed how her green tank top made her eyes sparkle. A shudder went through me when she put her hand on my hip.

  “Can I?” Becca whispered. I didn’t say anything. As if I was watching myself from above, it was I who leaned forward and took the first step: a quick peck before pulling back and gauging her reaction.

  What was that? I thought.

  Becca leaned in again, this time her lips retracting so her tongue could come forth; she gently plied my lips apart to deepen the kiss. I automatically conceded, instinctively raising a hand to cup the side of her cheek.

  All I could do was compare her to Cameron. Her lips were softer, which wasn’t a surprise, and her movements were more sensual. We took our time, letting our hands and fingers play in each other’s hair.

  It felt like we fit together better somehow, like we both knew what the other would do and moved our lips and tongues accordingly. Instead of a greedy lunging that I had come to expect making-out with my boyfriend, kissing Becca was sweet and soft.

  Before I could finish my critique, remembering I did in fact have a boyfriend made me pause. Just as Becca started moving her hand up my side, I grabbed it and pushed her away.

  “What gives, babe?” she asked, her eyelids still half-closed.

  “‘Babe’? No, I don’t know. This isn’t-”

  “Isn’t what, Greer?” Becca questioned, understanding what I must have been thinking causing her to gain control back in her voice.

  “Listen, Becca, I -”

  “If you don’t want this to happen, just say the word.” She was giving me an out.

  I looked at the ground, but Becca lifted my chin with one finger. She moved in to kiss me again.

  “I can’t do this.” I flashed a look of apology at Becca before grabbing my bag and running out of the house.

  ***

  Cameron’s house was only three blocks away and I ran the half-mile, bag swinging awkwardly at my side. I was still catching my breath when I rang the doorbell. I knew he’d be the only one home. He answered the door a moment later wearing nothing but his workout shorts.

  “Hey, G. I thought you weren’t coming over until tonight.”

  “Yeah, well -” I started, walking past him into his living room. “I had some homework questions in math that I thought you could help me with.” I sat down in an armchair and took out my notebook.

  “No way! But you’re better than I am at everything.” He sat on the arm, looking over my shoulder. He kneaded the back of my neck. I closed my eyes for a second, taking in the feel of his large fingers digging into my skin. This was a first. We hadn’t really spent too much time without his posse around since we had gone on that f
irst date. Aside from the occasional make-out session before parting ways for the day, physical contact was not something I was comfortable with yet.

  “Well, yeah, but I just have one problem I can’t get.” I pointed to the book and he took it from me.

  “This is simple, Greer. It was on our last test, remember?” We weren’t in the same period, but we were both in one of Mr. Fin’s classes. I looked again. I knew how to do it.

  “Oh. Right. Thanks.”

  I put the book on the floor and motioned for Cam to come closer. I leaned up to bridge the space between us and kissed him softly on the mouth.

  “What was that for?” he asked, smiling.

  Instead of answering I gave him another kiss, this time with tongue. He moaned and pulled me to my feet. He was a good three inches taller than Rebecca, not to mention thicker and more solid overall. We had gotten used to each other over the past month and a half or so and knew how the other moved. Cam’s tongue flicked out between his lips and grazed my top lip. It was my turn to let out a sound of want.

  “Wanna go upstairs, G?” He asked.

  Instead of answering, I took his hand and led the way.

  Our whole relationship seemed like it was out of my hands from the beginning. It just happened. I went with it and didn’t say no.

  But that day I discovered a reason to stay.

  “Hey,” he said out of the blue, pulling away from me slightly from our prone positions on his bed. “If you tell me something I don’t know about you, I’ll show you my secret.”

  “Oh really? Show me what?”

  He pushed me onto my back and laughed. “Nah, uh, uh. The deal was you first.”

  “Okay, okay. Um…” I thought for a moment, tracing my fingers around his palm. “Did you know that my dad’s a coyote?” This was the first time I had told anyone about my dad’s job, except for Nick.

  “A what?” He looked at me like I had said I could jump higher than the moon.

  “You’ve never heard of coyotes? He helps people cross the border from Mexico. Like, immigrants.”

  “Like illegal immigrants, you mean?”

  “Well, technically. But aren’t we all illegal immigrants in America when it comes down to it?” I challenged him.

  “Touché. That’s cool. Dangerous job, though, right?”

  “Yeah.” I thought about how often my dad was gone, risking himself so others could have a chance at a better life. “He’s real good at what he does though. I don’t worry about him really.”

  “Pretty fly, but that’s still a cop-out, Greer. That’s not something about you. Now you have to tell me something else.”

  Cam got that smug look on his face he wore when he knew he was right and you were wrong, period. I had no choice but to divulge more.

  “Fiiiine.” I wracked my brain. I had nothing, so I said the first thing that came to mind. “I own a vibrator.”

  “YOU DO? Where do you keep it? What does it look like? Where’d you get it? What color -”

  “Hey man! That was one secret, and that’s all you get. Now, your turn.”

  That time, I knew I had him backed into a corner. With a pout, he turned and walked to his closet. When he turned back around, he was holding an acoustic guitar.

  “You play?” I asked.

  “My secret. Don’t tell, k?”

  He sat down next to me on his bed and started tuning the instrument. When every string was in perfect pitch, he began to play.

  Even more surprising, he began to sing as well. And not something like Rascal Flatts, which he loved, or even Nirvana, but a classic from our parents’ generation.

  “I’m looking for a hard headed woman. One who will take me for myself. And if I find my hard headed woman, I won’t need nobody else, no, no, no,” he sang.

  Cam had been looking at his fingers, making sure the chords were right. But then he looked up, at me. It was then that I realized how defensive he had been up to that point because, in that moment, his eyes were stripped bare. I saw truth – which is probably extremely cliché to say, or even think. Suffice to say that if he had started crying then, I would not have been surprised. In fact, it would have been fitting. This was him.

  I put my hand on the back of his neck, playing my finger tips through his hair, looking back at him with as much honesty as he was showing me.

  “I’m looking for a hard headed woman. One who will make me feel so good -”

  There was another verse or two, but I had heard enough. I took the guitar from his hands, cupped his face, and kissed him deeper than I ever had before. We broke apart when neither of us had any air left.

  “Wow,” we both said at the same time.

  “Cat Stevens. I didn’t know you listened to him,” I said. I guess Becca and I weren’t the only two who listened to old school music after all.

  “Yeah, my mom loves him.” He got up and put his guitar back in his closet.

  “Thank you,” I said. Cameron lifted an eyebrow. “That was the best secret anyone’s ever shown me. Wait – are you actually blushing?”

  “No!” He smoothed a hand over his face, attempting to wipe it away. “You promise you won’t tell though?”

  “I won’t. But, nobody knows you play? How’d you learn?”

  “I kinda taught myself. I got the guitar and some music books for Christmas, like, five years ago. It’s what I do when I’m stressed before a game or if the guys get on my nerves. Or I’m nervous about asking out a cute girl.”

  He winked at me and I could feel that electricity shoot through me again. ‘How does that happen?’ I wondered.

  “You’re good, Cam. You shouldn’t be ashamed or anything. I bet lots of people would love to hear you play.”

  “No way. Listen, all Brian does is make fun of the Bandos and all the other geeks who play instruments in school. Shaun does too, when he’s with Brian. I don’t want to be the butt of their jokes, you know?”

  “Isn’t that kind of, I don’t know, hypocritical?” I frowned. I never understood why someone had to hide something that means something to them just because of how it might look to other people.

  “It is what it is.”

  ***

  I surreptitiously glanced at both of my armpits walking into school. I was dressed in one of the only two skirts I owned, a navy one that touched my knees, matched with a light blue cashmere sweater my mom had bought me despite my protestations.

  It was the first swim meet of the season and to say I was nervous was an understatement.

  “Good luck, Greer!” a girl in my History class said in the hall.

  “Hey, babe, looking good,” I heard before Cam swung an arm around my shoulders, coming at me from behind.

  “Oh hey, thanks. You’re not coming today, are you?”

  Cam took a step back from me, a shocked expression on his face. “Of course I am! Why wouldn’t I? This is big!”

  “Please don’t, Cameron! I’m anxious enough as is,” I pleaded.

  “I’ll be there to cheer you on, babe. No worries. See you at lunch.” He gave me a quick peck on the lips before turning a corner to get to homeroom.

  ***

  That afternoon, the whole team packed into Coach’s office five minutes before our first swimmer dove in. I would’ve felt cramped if I hadn’t been so focused on Becca standing in the corner; instead it was like it was just the two of us.

  Then Coach started to lecture.

  “Okay girls, I don’t want to put any pressure on you, but this is your first chance to show your school what you’ve got!” Coach said.

  I looked around. One girl was biting so hard on her bottom lip I was certain she’d draw blood. Another had her eyes squeezed shut and I could have sworn she was praying.

  Becca was the only one who seemed calm.

  “Win or lose, each and every one of you better give everything I know you’ve got. Now let’s get in here and give me a ‘WIN!’ on three.”

  Twenty hands came together with Coach’s
on top.

  “One, two, three,”

  “WIN!”

  Tucking our hair beneath our caps, we all proceeded out to the pool to meet our collective fate.

  As the team member slated to perform in the 200-yard freestyle event, I was especially keyed up since I was swimming second. The anticipation of competing was the only thing keeping my mind off of Becca.

  I looked across the pool to the other team, the Wolverines, who we were competing against. They all seemed huge to me, sure to outrace all of us.

  We started the meet with the 200-yard medley relay. I watched as Christina prepared herself to dive in and kick everything off with 50 yards of the backstroke. Behind her was Josie who’d follow with the breaststroke. And then Michelle and Whitney for the butterfly and freestyle.

  “Swimmers, take your mark!”

  The starter sent Christina and her opponent off the blocks and the meet began.

  “Go Chrissy! Go, go, go! You can do it!” Our team screamed from the side, trying to overpower similar cheers coming from the Wolverines.

  In less than thirty seconds, Christina had hit the wall and Josie was in the water, her strokes practically in unison with the swimmer to her left.

  Before I knew it, Whitney was already in the water less than a handful of seconds in front of the Wolverines’ last swimmer.

  “GO WHIT!” we chanted. “YES! GO!”

  The result was 1:51.49 to our opponents’ 1:52.01

  “AH!” Our team exploded out of our seats, coming in for a giant group hug by the starting blocks.

  “Settle down, girls!” our coach yelled. “That’s only the first. Don’t celebrate yet. Greer, you’re up.”

  Great, I thought, setting my feet on the blocks. Of course I have to be the first individual to compete.

  I looked over at Becca sitting on our bench and she winked at me. I took a big breath and leaned over, looking at my reflection as I waited for the starter.

  Do this, Greer, I thought, staring into my own eyes. You can do this.

  As soon as I heard it, I was off on instinct. I sliced through the water, taking a breath every other stroke. A foot away from the wall, I flipped, pushing off for my second 50 yards. I didn’t look over to see how I matched up with the girl I was up against, I just concentrated on my arms and legs.