Johnny
and I have been friends for four and a half weeks. We are sitting in the PRIVATE room. I tell him John is a very serious name. Well, I prefer Johnny, he says. I ask who else calls him that. No one but myself, he says. I reach into his backpack and doodle “ny’s” whenever I come across his name. I think he almost cries.
Johnny
Odes to Bulimia
1. The first few times we were (not friends but) familiar. I had just turned 14 and my father punched me in the stomach. A Happy Birthday gift. Said it’s not like I could feel it anyway. With all that fat. 2. After a few months, it was safe to say we were friends. Visits occurred nearly daily. By then, I had new skills. It took me less time. It was almost easy. It was almost natural. 3. Our anniversary is coming around. But since Gin hangs around me more, the PRIVATE room and I have grown to be bad friends. I come here filled with both regret and comfort. Both need and disappointment. Like clockwork, the shifts come by again and again. And I follow the routine as best as I can. 4. New schedule: Once after breakfast. (Sometimes) twice after lunch. Twice after dinner. Once before bed. That way I can fit Gin in between. And bulimia can stay my little secret.
Gin
Can He Keep a Secret?
If I tell Johnny about Nila, will he laugh in my face? Or will he look at me disgusted? If I tell Johnny, will he keep my secret? Will he judge me? Will he still be my friend? And how do I say it? How do I bring it up? How do I know?
Practice Makes Perfect
so I practice saying it out loud. It’s just me and trees. I say: I think I’m gay. I’m gay. I like girls. I like girls? I change my tone, my posture, my volume. Sometimes I stand. Sometimes I squat. I even lay on the leaves, mostly because my stomach is in knots. If I say it enough, maybe it will feel natural to say to someone else. Maybe it will feel natural enough to tell Johnny.
Empty
I come home yet again to an empty house. It usually is. When it is dark out, I pack some snacks in an old computer bag. My mom once swore it belonged to my father. I sling it over my shoulder and walk back to my place.
Connect the Dots
I lay on my back in the same spot I always do. There is a permanent grass angel in my shape. I draw lines with my fingers through the second brightest stars. I name them after Johnny. They’re right beside the brightest stars I named after my mom. Look Mom, I made a friend.
This Week
I have almost told Johnny twice. The first time was Monday after we had our Shakespeare group presentations in English. A group of all girls recreated the “Secret Wedding” scene. The one in Act 2 with the wedding of Romeo and Juliet. There was even a female friar. I couldn’t read Johnny’s feelings toward their version of the scene. Sometimes I can’t read Johnny at all.
Some Boys
in the class whistled, howled like dogs. And it made my skin crawl. It made my skin feel like red, raw meat dangling in front of their snouts. Ricky was one of them. He yelped and cried, “Mercy, ladies!” and the other boys laughed. Like tumbleweeds, they rolled and turned in their seats.
Grade-A High School Romance
Ricky, like Johnny, is a kid I’ve gone to school with for years. Ricky is the guy every girl thinks she should have a crush on. (I’m pretty sure I did freshman year.) Just last week, I parted ways with Johnny in the hall. Was still laughing from what Johnny had said. And then Ricky passed me saying, You look good when you smile. And it doesn’t make sense.
Johnny
Friday
Gin, Ricky says. Yes, Ricky? How may I help you? Gin answers with sarcasm. I was wondering if you would like to sit with me at my table today, he says. Can Johnny come? she asks. And we all know the whole cafeteria is watching. Um, ha, well— Then she cuts him off. Thanks, Ricky, but I’m going to have to say absolutely not. And she shoulders past him to leave through the double doors. Freaks, Ricky mutters. But you look so good when you get rejected, Gin shouts on the way out.
Gin
Dear Ricky
The most unrealistic things to assume are: 1) That I would be flattered by you. 2) That I would want you to have any type of interest in me. 3) That I would have any interest in you. But one thing’s for sure, Ricky. I am most definitely, totally gay.
The Following Wednesday
I almost told Johnny. We were in the PRIVATE room. I have now named it “Cafeteria 2.0.” Hey, I’m not creative. Anyway, we always eat lunch there. We had just come up with our own friendship handshake. And he said he never had one before. I almost told him then.
Johnny
Thursday Night Dinner
I saw you met a girlfriend, my mother says. I saw the both of you walking together. She brings a forkful of food to her mouth. And I don’t get to think about how she saw this because Father begins to laugh. So hard tears come to his eyes. This ugly kid? And he points at me with his butter knife. A girlfriend? I think, what would Gin say? Except I say her response out loud: Right. Because you look and smell so much better. Father flicks my bottom lip so quick, so hard, it starts to bleed. But I don’t cry.
Lap Dummy
My poor mother sits at the table. Her eyes down. Both arms now dangle at her sides. She reminds me of those puppets where somebody’s pulling the strings. One made of wood. Not lifeless. But hoping someone, anyone but him, would play the master.
The Next Day
What happened to your lip? Gin asks. I ran into a door, I say. Seriously? she asks. I fell down some stairs, I say. Come on, she says. She is frustrated now. We arrive at our classroom. I slipped in the shower, I say. We take our seats and her eyes roll. The bell rings and Mr. Ruzza begins the lesson.
My Lip Can’t Heal
because every time I throw up, the cut splits open again. My mother doesn’t know this. Stop picking at the scab, she whispers. She puts Neosporin on it in my room. Then she bandages it the best she can. Brings me dinner in bed.
When He Hurts Me
Father usually refuses to have “family dinner” for a couple of days. It always makes both my mother and I breathe a little easier.
Gin
Lonely
I go another weekend alone with my secrets. When it is dark, I pack my bag and I head back out to be with Mom. I lay out to look at her stars. Would you still love me like this? I ask her over and over. Until I am shouting. I watch a large dark cloud roll over her. Tears race down my face. And then it starts to rain. And all I can think is she’s crying with me.
Johnny
I Love the Smell
of pouring rain. The way some people love the smell of fresh-cut grass. I love when it thunders. When there are flashes of lightning. And if you inhale deep enough, you can taste copper.
My Birthday
will be here soon. And I am already afraid. If I could, I would fast forward. Hit skip a dozen times. To when I am in college and free. I would run away if I could, if I was strong enough to.
Gin
Like A Roller Coaster
Friday makes its way back around. This week has flown by and I haven’t even thought about it. I’m just not ready to tell my secret. I just don’t think I can tell him. You can’t practice for this.
Locker Talk
Ricky is leaning over my locker door as I rush to switch textbooks for the long weekend. The overpowering smell of his body spray makes me want to throw up. Gin, we had ourselves a cute little spat the other day, he says. Our first fight. I slam my locker door shut. Then start walking away.
Get a Grip
Wait, Gin, I thought we could— Everything else Ricky says sounds muffled. As if he is speaking through a pillow. Because his hand is on my shoulder now. I feel my body forced to spin and face him. I see his face appearing larger as it moves so quickly close to mine. Then, I shove him. I push him so hard. When his body hits the lockers behind him, I hear the textbooks inside tumble like dominoes.
Dear Mom,
A boy just made my head spin. My body, too. A
nd I didn’t want him to. I didn’t like it. So, I pushed him and I ran.
Johnny
Run
It all happened so fast. Gin is running and I run behind her. And after a few turns I know exactly where she is headed. The closer we get to the door, the louder I can hear her sobs. They echo in my eardrums. They rattle off the hall’s walls.
Gin
Word Vomit
When I am safe in our PRIVATE room, and my shakes calm down, the truth just comes out of me. So heavily, like I suddenly have the flu. I’m gay, Johnny, I say. And when he doesn’t say anything, I try again. But it comes out softer, more afraid. He just stares. After a moment, I can’t stand the silence. So I leave. I sprint down the halls. Out the front doors. Straight through the trees. I don’t stop running until I am where I am supposed to be. Lost.
Monday
Johnny didn’t come to school today. I told him about me. I told him and he isn’t at school today.
Tuesday
Like chalk, I am disappearing under the weight of an eraser. The girls at school keep staring at me. And the boys, too. Their stares are different, though. Their eyes are like fogged plastic. Uninviting and hard to read. Did he tell one of them? No one is saying anything. Not one thing. Am I imagining the stares? Am I imagining the whispers?
Wednesday.
Homeroom.
I hate him. I hope he got hit by a bus.
Fourth Period
I hope I get hit by a bus.
Sixth Period
I skip the rest of the day. It is pouring. I am heading to my place. My place, past the muddy baseball field. Through the tree line that edges the baselines. I go and go until I trip over a stump. My hands are ready for the earth. My lip punches a low branch. I stumble into a crouch, then into a sit. Until finally I am lying, blood and rain running down my chin. I want to sink into soil. I want to slip into sand like a snake.
Johnny
I’m Not All That Familiar
with friendship. I never felt a need to ask people their secrets in exchange for my own. Because no one ever really found me worthy of their truths. Of their fears. Of their time. Not before Gin. When she ran out the room, a wave of guilt and joy washed over me like a rain shower. And she was gone before I could open my mouth.
The Sunday
after Gin tells me her secret, it’s my birthday. I spend the morning in my room for as long as I can. Then I hear my mother’s slippers shuffling. She paces outside my bedroom door. When I open my door, I am afraid to pass through it. But as I step out, I don’t hear him. He’s not home.
A Cupcake
My mother lights its red candle. She looks so nervous, I don’t think she realizes the candle is melting into the frosting. Happy birthday, she whispers. Her smile as full as a half-moon. I blow out the flame and hug her. The cupcake smashes between her cupped hands. I wished for her, then.
Three Blind Mice
Father comes home at noon with three brown paper bags. And a grin on his face so wide his lips twitch. One for you, one for me, and one for good luck, he says. He places them on the table. Come, he calls, waving his hand to sit down. But I wait. Come, he says, louder now. A finger pointing down to the seat beside him.
Today You Will Become a Man,
he says. And he pulls a bottle out, clear as water. His large clumsy hands fumble with the seal. When the cap is off, he grabs my right wrist. He shoves the bottle into my palm. Take a whiff, he says, tilting it toward my face. I gag.
The Game
is simple, he says. I sing you “Happy Birthday” and you drink until the song is complete. Okay, champ? Thomas, please don’t— my mother starts. Shut up, Father says between teeth. On your mark...get set...cheers! He clinks the bottles together.
I Am Choking
so he tilts the bottle up. Happy Birthday to you! Happy Birthday to you! And then he starts it back around again. And when I vomit on the dining room table, I feel a sting on the back of my neck. Why’d you have to do that for? You wasted it! We have to start again. Mimi, grab a towel! he shouts. Again, again! he says, a laugh between the words. I can hardly see my mother’s face.
When I Throw Up for the Second Time
—or maybe it’s my third?— I see pink. Or is it red? My stomach, I think I say. My mother —is she screaming or crying— in the background? You’ll kill him, she says. You’ll kill him. And then I don’t see anything at all.
Gin
She Is Standing In Front of Me
Nila is standing in front of me. I am sitting up from the fall. And there she is—standing in front of me. Gin, she says, softer than cotton. Am I chewing glass? I can’t speak. I tighten my jaw to stop whatever jumble is slipping between my lips. Then, I bite down, harder. And wet, salty iron coats my tongue.
Nila Says Something Else Now
She says so many somethings. And I’m too confused to track the words. Until she says, Your friend. I think he’s in the hospital. What? I ask. Your friend, you know, my neighbor John? I think he’s in the hospital. And I start sprinting. Through the tree lines. Tripping on their roots. Through the muddy baseball field. Past the school. Down the main city road. .
The Hospital
I am screaming in the front lobby for a boy named Johnny. Chubby kid, two crossed teeth like mine. I point at my mouth. What room?! What room is he in?! Please! The nurse just shakes her head. Family only.
His Mother
is a small woman with pink eyes. She takes my arm and walks me to an elevator. Then down a hall, to a wide, half-curtained window. This is where I see him. Wires sticking out of his arms like spider legs.
It’s Immediate
The tears come first. And when I see the half-inflated birthday balloons by his bed, I lose my head. I didn’t even know it was his birthday. How did I not know? I’m so sorry. I’m so, so, so, so sorry. But I don’t even know if he hears me. I don’t even know if he cares.
Johnny
All Eyes On Me
There are two pairs of red puffy eyes when I wake up. At first, I wasn’t sure if they were there. But the harder I blinked, the closer they became. I watched my mother run out into a bright hallway and scream for someone. Someone near me smelled just like peppermints. But then I was asleep again.
This Time I Wake Up Nauseous
but I can’t figure out where that’s coming from. When I finally get my eyes to stay open, Gin is asleep in a chair to my left. This is the hospital. I am in the hospital. My mother comes in from the direction of a very bright hall. And she runs back out again. I need a nurse or a doctor please! she’s shouting. He’s awake! He’s awake!
Gin
Visiting Hours
Hi, John. Good to see you awake, the doctor says. Johnny! His name is Johnny, I say. I can barely see his face with the doctor standing in front of me, blocking my view. We’re going to try a few tests real quick. Okay, John? the doctor says. His name is Johnny, I say again. He’s awake and he’s my best friend.
A Best Friend
I never admitted it but I always wanted a friend I could call my own. We’d match bracelets. And finish each other’s sentences. And whatever else best friends do in the movies. What I didn’t expect was to make a best friend that didn’t do any of those things. Any of those things at all.
My Best Friend
is lying on a hospital bed. And the only thing that matches is our allergy bracelets. Because I asked the nurse if I could get one like his. I’ll tell everyone we went to a really cool rave, I whisper to Johnny while he sleeps. And I laugh because I know he would, too. Me at a rave? he’d say.
My Best Friend Johnny
had a birthday I didn’t know about. Because I was too caught up in my own misery. My best friend was sick and needed me. He’s bulimic and I was too busy worrying about myself to notice. Maybe he was too busy worrying about me, too.
Johnny
When I See Gin
I tell her everything. Everything I can remember. And how there are some things I can’t.
I cry to her. Tell her I’m sorry. Tell her how I didn’t mean to be so quiet that day. How I wanted to say the right thing. And how I couldn’t decide if there was a right thing. I tell her that I’m bulimic and beaten. I tell her that I’m scared.
Gin
When I See Johnny
You and Me and Misery Page 3
