by Gene Gant
“Thanks. When I told Mom and Dad, they scheduled tomorrow off at their jobs so they could go with me. We’re going to make a weekend of it. It’s gonna be fun.” Her smile dimmed a little. She let go of my shoulders and stepped closer to me. “I wanted to tell you as soon as I found out, but you don’t have your cell phone with you, and we kept missing each other all day today. You never came to your locker before homeroom or on your lunch period. I hated not seeing you.”
“Yeah, I hated not seeing you too.” I told myself that I shouldn’t be seeing her now, that I should have broken things off with her days ago. But I had really hoped we could hang out for a while this afternoon, to keep me from thinking about Hutch. I was so afraid to think about Hutch. “I wish we could do something together right now.”
“I know. I do too. Are you worried about something?”
I hesitated. “No. Why?”
“You just look a little scared.” She waited a few moments, apparently for me to spill about what was on my mind. When that didn’t happened, she smiled playfully, leaned in, and stroked the side of my face. “Don’t be scared. I’m coming back.” Something caught her attention, and she turned her head, looking toward the street. “Oh, there goes my dad. His car just went by. I better go.”
“Okay.”
She kissed me hard, and then she started away. “I’ll call you tonight when we get to the hotel,” she said, looking at me as she walked backward. “Your folks don’t have you on lockdown tonight, do they? You’ll be able to talk if I call your house?”
“Of course, Lissa. I’m not always in trouble.” I waved her off. “Go. Win the debate tournament. Have fun in big, fun Atlanta. Don’t even think about me, stuck in this boring town with nothing to do all weekend. I’ll miss you.”
“Not as much as I’ll miss you.” She gave me another big grin, and then she hurried along the side of the school to the front, hooked a left, and disappeared around the corner of the building to find where her father had parked.
I sighed and shoved my hands into my pockets. There were kids everywhere around me, hurrying for home or rushing off to after school activities, but I suddenly felt so alone. I started to walk to the back of the school, cut across the athletic field, and take the long way home. That way I’d be sure to miss Hutch. Instead, I stood where I was for a few seconds, my mind swinging back and forth in indecision. With a determined turn on my heels, I marched off to the front of the building.
Hutch was standing outside the doors of the main entrance, waiting. He kept looking over the groups of kids who passed through the doors. I rushed across the lawn to where he could see me, waving. When he spotted me, he smiled and waved back. He picked up his backpack, hefted it onto his shoulders, and came out to meet me.
“Hey,” he said. The bruise around his eye had faded a lot, and his split lip was better. He brushed the loose strands of hair off his forehead with his hand. “I was waiting for you and Mac to come out. I thought we’d walk home together.”
“Mac’s gonna be hanging around here for a while,” I replied. “He’s got this thing for Gina Marie. You know her?”
“Yeah, the hot Hispanic chick.”
I nodded. “Mac’s got a thing for her,” I said again.
“So do most of the guys at school.”
“Anyway, she’s trying out for some part in the musical the school chorus is putting on with the drama club this year. Mac told me in study hall that she made it through the first round today and got called for another audition after school. He’s hanging around for that.”
Hutch shrugged. “Okay, so are you going home now? Or are you doing something with your girlfriend?”
“No, I’m with you,” I replied without thinking. “Let’s go.”
WE WALKED in silence most of the way. We didn’t look at each other. There were only a few people out in the neighborhoods we passed through. A man and a boy raked leaves in their yard. The mailman drove his truck along the curb, stuffing envelopes and packages into mailboxes. A couple of kids chased each other up and down the street on their bikes. A woman was placing Thanksgiving decorations on her front door. The bright sunshine didn’t do a thing to counteract the chill in the air. I kept my hands stuffed deep in my pockets, shoulders hunched up to my ears, shaking my body with every step in an effort to generate warmth.
“Are you okay?” Hutch asked suddenly.
“It’s just the cold,” I answered. “Feels like winter’s gonna come in early this year. I should have worn a heavier jacket.”
“No, I mean… are you okay about yesterday? The kiss….”
I didn’t say anything. I didn’t know what to say.
“It freaked you out, didn’t it? I could tell.” Hutch looked at me and sighed. “I liked it. You know that. And I do still think you’re hot. But if you’re not into this, if you don’t want it, then just say the word and we don’t have to—”
“I liked kissing you,” I interrupted in a rush. An instant later, worried, I looked around to see if there was anyone close enough to hear us. I closed my eyes for a second and then looked at Hutch. “Okay? I liked it. But I’m scared.”
“Of what?”
“I don’t know.” But I did know. I just didn’t want to say it. We had reached the intersection of Harvey Lane and Castle Street. Hutch lived about a mile and half from me, down Harvey Lane. This was where he would turn off to go home. We stopped at the corner.
Hutch kept looking at me, waiting for me to finish.
“I’m not supposed to like it,” I said, looking him directly in the eye. “You’re a guy. I’m not supposed to like kissing you.”
“Jerry, that’s what being gay is about.” He still didn’t turn away. There was no judgment or anger in his eyes at what I’d said, just this patient look of understanding. “I went through that too, thinking there was something wrong with me because I get turned on by other guys. After some time, I realized this is just who I am, and there’s nothing wrong about that.”
“No, this isn’t right. I still like Lissandra.”
“I know that. And there’s nothing wrong with that either. And if she’s who you want to be with, then be with her. You and I will just go on being friends.”
Neither of us said anything for a few seconds after that. I shook myself again against the cold. “I guess I should go. My mom and dad won’t be home until later, and I’m supposed to cook dinner today.”
“Okay. See ya tomorrow.”
Hutch waved and headed off down Harvey Lane. He’d barely taken three steps when I said, “Hey, man, do you have to be home right now?”
He stopped and shrugged. “Not really.”
“You wanna come hang out?”
“Sure. Just let me call my mom. She won’t mind as long as she knows I’m with you.”
WITH cans of tuna and English peas and a box of Tuna Helper, I stirred up the main dish in a big skillet while Hutch sliced tomatoes and cucumbers and red bell pepper to toss with the bag of salad greens we found in the fridge. We talked and laughed like always while we worked. When we were done, it was still more than an hour before Mom and Dad were due home, so we decided to go ahead and eat.
Usually when I ate a meal without my parents around, I’d shovel the food into a bowl, sit on my bedroom floor, and watch television while I ate. With Hutch, I actually set the table in the kitchen—placemats, plates, napkins, glasses, silverware, the whole nine yards.
“Let me help,” he offered as I got the table ready for us.
“No, I’ve got this, man,” I said, pulling out a chair for him. “Just sit down.”
I filled bowls with salad for each of us, sprinkled on croutons and shredded cheddar cheese, and placed a bowl in front of Hutch so he could add dressing to his desire. I dished hefty portions of tuna and pasta onto our plates and put slices of bread on the side. I even made lemonade and filled our glasses. It felt good to do things for him.
Then we sat across from each other, and we talked and laughed some more a
s we ate. It was the first time Hutch and I had shared a meal alone together. It was nice. He even said so.
To me, it was almost like a date.
I felt little twinges of excitement when I looked at Hutch that afternoon. And I wanted very badly to touch his face, his hair, to put my fingers to his lips. I wanted so much to kiss him again, to pull his body against mine.
But I kept my hands off him. We finished eating, washed and put away our dishes, prepared plates for Mom and Dad, wrapped them in foil, and stashed them in the oven to keep warm. Then we went to my room and played a video game until it was time for Hutch to go home. He thanked me for dinner, I escorted him to the door, we said our good-byes, and he left.
And when he was gone, I wanted to kick myself for not finding the courage to touch him.
Chapter 12
MAC met me out front Friday morning, and we started the walk to school together as we usually did.
“What’s up, man?” I said by way of greeting. “How did it go for Gina Marie on her second audition after school?”
“She did great,” Mac said with enthusiasm. “She thinks she nailed it as Belle. But she won’t know for sure until Mrs. Bates announces who got what role on Monday.”
“Hey, good for her. I hope she gets the part.” He actually seemed happy this morning, and I wondered what had put him in such a good mood. “So, what did you and Gina Marie do after she finished her auditions yesterday?”
“None of your business,” Mac laughed, shoving me.
When you’re a lightweight as I am, a shove from a dude as big as Mac is about the same as being hit by a car. I was propelled some ten feet into the Richleys’ front yard, stumbling sideways. I’d have probably tumbled over if I hadn’t bumped against the thick trunk of their oak tree.
“Oh. Okay.” I straightened the backpack on my shoulders, brushed myself off, and made my way back to the sidewalk. “I get it. You two made with the nasty, huh?” By the way, I made sure I was completely out of his reach when I said that.
“The only ‘nasty’ going on around here is between your ears. Get your mind out of the gutter, Jer.” Mac stopped walking and waited for me to catch up to him. I worried for a moment that he was planning to put me in a headlock (you do not want to be put in a headlock by Mac, trust me on that), but from his expression, he appeared to have no such intention in mind. “I walked her home,” he said, falling in step with me as I caught up to him. “We sat on her porch and talked, just her and me. Man, that was so sweet.”
“I’ll bet.”
“She’s into sports. Can you believe it? She’s actually into sports. We sat there on her porch for over an hour and talked nothing but sports.”
“Is she a Titans fan?” I asked. That was Mac’s favorite NFL team.
“You know it,” he replied with that goofy glaze in his eyes again.
“Oh, no wonder you’re in heaven, man.”
He sighed. “I like Gina Marie. She’s great.”
“So, you gonna ask her out?”
Mac stopped smiling. “Already did. Six times so far. She keeps turning me down.”
“Sounds like she’s a tough one to crack.”
Mac switched gears suddenly. “What did you do yesterday after school?”
My throat sort of went dry. I coughed a little. “Nothing. I just went home, parked out in front of the television.”
We were approaching the intersection of Harvey Lane and Castle Street. There was Hutch, bundled in his thick denim jacket with his backpack over his shoulders, waiting. He grinned when he saw us.
“My buddy Hutch,” Mac said, grinning back at him.
“Hey, dudes.” Hutch bumped fists with each of us. “It’s Friday, it’s finally Friday.”
“Oh yeah,” I said, rubbing my palms together in anticipation.
“You got plans with Lissandra?” Mac asked.
“Nah. She’s out of town for the weekend at some debate tournament. I’m looking forward to sleeping in tomorrow.”
“Me too,” said Hutch. “Hey, you know what my mom cooked for dinner yesterday, Jerry?”
“What?”
“Corned beef and cabbage.” The gotta-barf look creased Hutch’s face before he’d even finished saying it.
I laughed. “Your favorite dish, huh?”
“Right. I’m so glad I ate dinner with you yesterday,” Hutch said.
Mac turned and looked at Hutch sharply. “Oh, so you’re the nothing that Jerry did yesterday after school.”
I cringed.
“Huh?” Hutch said, looking confused.
“I asked pencil neck here,” said Mac, jerking a thumb in my direction, “what he did yesterday after school. He said, ‘nothing’. So I guess having you over for dinner was a whole lot of nothing.” He shook his head in a tsk tsk kind of way. “Man. I sure wouldn’t let anybody call me nothing.”
Hutch just took that with a little smile. “It’s okay, Mac. I’m used to being nothing.”
He seemed to make a point of not looking at me when he said it.
AFTER school, I sneaked out the back entrance, cut across the athletic field, and made my way to Dylan’s house. He wasn’t there, so I sat down on his steps, pulled the books from my backpack, and did my homework while I waited. The picketers were still at it, but their ranks were down to just two now, tall, spare, middle-aged men in black suits marching around and around on the sidewalk with their “God Hates Fags” signs held high. I guess the rest of them had gone off to challenge some new threat to civilization. I was afraid the two men would say something to me or call me names, but they had just stared at me as I crossed the yard to the porch. One of them had shaken his head sadly in my direction, and they went marching on in their endless circle without missing a step.
They were really starting to piss me off.
“What are you doing here?”
I turned. Dylan stood at the gate that opened onto the side yard, looking at me. He wore a pair of old jeans with big smudges of dirt on the knees, an old gray jersey with a faded Dr Pepper logo across the chest, and a pair of black gardening gloves. Before I could get up, he started walking toward the porch.
“Hey, Dylan. I rang the bell and knocked on the door, but there was no answer. I didn’t think you were home. I was waiting for you.”
“I was in the backyard.” He reached the steps and stopped, leaning against the wrought iron handrail. “I took the day off to start getting things ready for winter around here. I finished raking the leaves, draining the hoses and the fountain, and I was just starting to put down mulch.” He smiled ruefully. “This is what passes for my social life these days.”
I looked again at the picketers. “They never give up, do they?”
Dylan didn’t even glance their way. “They’re a persistent bunch, all right.” He took off his gloves, which had that sharp, cedar-dirt smell of mulch.
“Can’t you get the sheriff to make them… oh, stupid me. You and the sheriff don’t get along.”
“The sheriff couldn’t do anything about those idiots even if he wanted to. Those picketers are exercising their right of free speech. They’re making their protest on a public sidewalk. As long as they don’t break any laws, there’s nothing the sheriff can do. They know that, and they are careful not to so much as drop a gum wrapper on the ground or set a foot on my property.”
“Hmph,” I snorted, eyes squinting with contempt at the old dudes in black. “What a bunch of psychos.”
“Don’t underestimate them, kid,” said Dylan. “They may be religious fanatics, but they’re good at what they do. They make their voices heard. They vote. They get people elected to office who enact laws and appoint judges to uphold their views. You notice how their numbers in this picket have dropped from twenty to twelve to just two?”
“Yeah.”
“That’s because they’ve won here. My partner’s gone, most of my neighbors don’t even speak to me now—not that all that many of them did before this mess started—and yesterda
y the court upheld the law banning gay adoption. The only reason those two are still out there is because I haven’t announced yet whether I’m going to appeal the court’s ruling.” Dylan raised his hands in a weary shrug. “They got everything they were protesting for.”
“Damn it,” I muttered, my head filled with helpless anger. “If only they used their powers for good.”
There was a short, resentful grunt of laughter from Dylan. “My sentiments exactly, kid.” He moved to sit down on the step below me. I scooted over to make room. There was no bandage on his head this time, and the wound in his scalp had mostly healed. “So, what brought you around today?” he asked.
“Nothing.” I put my books aside and looked down at my sneakers. Dang. For a skinny guy, I sure have big feet. I probably look like one of those boat-shoe-wearing circus clowns. “Things have been lousy. I’m confused.”
“Teenager, thy name is confusion.”
“Uh. Yeah.” I gave him a guilty glance before going back to my sneakers. “I tried to do what you said, but I just can’t seem to get it together. The first lousy part is that I haven’t broken up with my girlfriend yet.”
“Oh really?” Dylan said in this big, exaggerated voice, as if there was a joke between us.
“I keep telling myself to do it, but I just… can’t. I haven’t been able to stop liking her, to stop liking the way girls look, the way they feel when I touch them. But I did find a guy at my high school who’s already gay, and I came out to him, and we talked about dating each other.”
