Romeo for Real

by Markus Harwood-Jones

  Rome began to work through the crowd, making his way toward the balcony. He was dying to talk to Rosie, just to be near her again. He wanted her to know he’d come. He wanted to tell her he wanted to stay friends. Just friends, he admitted to himself. Even if everyone else thought we were boyfriend and girlfriend, we knew we were just friends. And that’s enough. I just want my friend back.

  Rosie looked happy. Her red hair flew when she tossed her head back in a laugh as the woman on her arm whispered in her ear. Part of Rome was happy, too. It was good to see her smile like that. But his happiness for her was followed by a pang of jealousy. She had found it. She had found someone who could love her like she deserved to be loved. Rome wondered if that would ever happen for him.

  Rome tried to hurry to get to Rosie. He pushed people aside. He kept having to swerve or side-step through the crowd. By the time he had a clear view of the balcony, Rosie was gone.

  Just then, someone behind him shouted, “You’re a what?! What?!” Rome whirled around to see Ben pushing the goth girl to the floor. She scrunched down and looked like she was about to cry. “She said she — she’s a man!” Ben howled.

  Rome shook his head. Rosie was right. He never should have brought these guys. They were sure to cause trouble.

  Rome just stayed on the balcony, hoping Rosie might come back. He bummed a smoke and lit it without so much as a ‘thanks.’ He closed his eyes as he inhaled, tuning out. Somewhere, far away, there was the sound of shouting and the slamming of a door. It didn’t matter as long as he was sucking in that familiar toxic taste. Soon enough, the ember was down to his fingers. He opened his eyes in surprise as it burned him. He let the remains of the filter fall. He watched it tumble down to the street until it hit the pavement, the orange sparks flying out like tiny fireworks.

  Rome ducked back inside and turned down the apartment’s only hallway, hoping to catch a glimpse of Rosie. Sadly, all he found was the line to the bathroom. There was no sign of her. No help from his friends. He was stranded in a room full of strangers he couldn’t understand. Turning, he opened the only other door in the hall. This whole night has just been a waste, thought Rome. He closed his eyes and exhaled in relief as the door shut behind him. At last, he could just be alone again.

  After a moment, he looked up. He figured he was in Rosie and her girlfriend’s bedroom. There were piles of clothes on the floor and a few unpacked boxes. Books and films with titles like Unspeakable Things and A Full Guide to Lesbian Sex were scattered around. But the most curious part of the room was the other person in it. A young man, head in his hands, sat at the edge of the bed.

  As soon as he saw him, the pounding in Rome’s head stopped. Along with everything else. The stranger’s shy eyes peering out from under his bangs. He stared up at Rome like a deer in headlights. Rome couldn’t look away.

  As the stranger pulled his hands from his face, Rome noticed his knuckles were splashed with colourful paint. The splatters matched the rainbow of spots that ran across his flannel shirt and dark skinny jeans. A spark ran through Rome’s body as he thought about what it might be like to have those hands on him. Where did that come from? he briefly wondered.

  The stranger finally spoke. “Hi.”

  Rome’s mind went blank. He was a boat floating freely in a vast ocean. The buzz of his drunken state buoyed him toward uncharted seas. The stranger’s dark eyes pulled him in like whirlpools. Rome’s body grew warmer, like it was waking up, brimming with excitement. The stranger came forward, reaching up to touch Rome’s cheek. A burst of desire rang through Rome’s chest, washing away any doubt he still might have had.

  “I’m Romeo,” he said, without thinking. Then he felt silly. “Um, I mean, nobody really calls me that. Except my mom, I guess.” The name felt strange in his mouth, awkward, too big for him to swallow back. He didn’t understand why he had said it that way. He didn’t understand much of anything at this point. “Rome — it’s just Rome,” he corrected. He stammered over his words as he tried to explain. “I mean, it’s actually Romeo Montague. Pretty much everyone just calls me Rome. But you could call me Romeo, I guess, if you wanted to . . .”

  “Romeo,” said the stranger. He held the name in his mouth as if to savour the taste. Rome felt his whole body shiver. The young man pushed his fingers into Rome’s hair. Rome could feel the warmth of his breath. With little more than a heartbeat between the two of them, Rome leaned in.

  Rome had read that a kiss was supposed to feel like fireworks, like church bells, like waterfalls. He’d seen it in movies. He’d spent a long time trying to guess how it might be with Rosie. But this wasn’t like anything he could have planned. It was like a drink of water when he’d been thirsty for years. All he could think was that he needed more. The world was spinning and they were at the centre of everything. Rome and this stranger. Rome held him close, never wanting this moment to end.

  04

  Rough Awakening

  A sudden push from behind forced Rome to the floor. The two boys fell. Rome landed awkwardly on top.

  A voice from above growled, “There’s the bastard.” The owner of the voice tapped Rome’s shoulder. “You think it’s funny to pick on fags?”

  Rome scrambled to his feet. In front of him stood a familiar bald, buff man. Rome’s stomach turned into knots and he found himself wordless. It was the same guy Rome and his buddies had pelted on the sidewalk.

  “Get. Out,” the man snarled.

  He didn’t need to say it twice. Rome turned for one last look at the young man on the floor, offering a sorry glance. Then he took off running.

  Shit, shit, shit! Rome could barely think anything else as he raced down the stairs. Adrenaline was sloshing in his stomach, mixing sourly with the booze. The guys were waiting for him, smoking by the car.

  Rome crawled in to the passenger’s seat without a word. The trio made their way home, back to their safe, normal, straight neighbourhood.

  At last, alone in his room, Rome lay awake. He rolled back and forth but couldn’t get comfortable. Every time he tried to close his eyes, there was the stranger, his warm body pushing up against him, his teeth tenderly pulling at Rome’s lower lip, his firm hips grinding . . . Rome opened his eyes. His body was tingling in frustration.

  Pushing himself up in bed, Rome shook his head. He smacked a hand against his face, trying to wake up. “I was drunk,” he told himself. “Drunk and lonely. That’s it.” But as he lay back down, he knew the truth. More than anything, he wanted to do it all over again.

  A tiny smile found its way to his face as he was pulled back into the fantasy. In the moment, it had felt so vivid. But now it was like trying to relive a dream. No, Rome corrected himself, a nightmare.

  He decided he might as well give up on drifting off peacefully. Rome leaned over and reached under his bed for his pop bottle full of whiskey. It made him cough and destroyed whatever was left of his toothpaste’s minty freshness. Rome caught his breath and went back for another swig.

  Rome stood up in front of his full-length mirror and looked at himself. He flexed his arms, pulled at his eyes, traced his fingers along his rough jawline. He didn’t look gay. He looked like he always had, the same as yesterday. His black hair, tossed into a mess. His brown eyes, tinted with the redness of being tired and drunk. He stared down the reflection, daring it to change. But it just stood there, staring back. All the same.

  Rome wavered, grasping the bottle with both hands. He was consumed by a fire inside him that the booze couldn’t douse. Through his stupor, he felt the room start to spin. When he closed his eyes, his fantasies were waiting for him. They had haunted Rome for far too long. They found their way into the moments when he was too tired or drunk to care. These thoughts were the ones that had kept him from falling for Rosie. Or any other girl, for that matter.

  A figure reached out, wrapping Rome in his arms. Rome couldn’t fight it anymore. Rome saw, for t
he first time, it wasn’t a woman. Or even a man. It was a person, one who looked exactly like that beautiful, curious stranger from Rosie’s party. Finally, Rome let go.

  ***

  Slowly, Rome’s eyes fluttered open. It was brighter than he’d expected. Sprawled on the floor, he felt like he’d been to hell and back. Last night had felt so unreal, he couldn’t help but wonder if it was all a dream. He staggered up, face to face with his reflection again. It wasn’t as scary in the light of day. He tossed his secret booze bottle back under his bed to nestle among pages of forgotten homework.

  A wave of nausea hit. Rome dragged himself to the bathroom, listening for his parents’ footsteps upstairs. He kneeled over the toilet. The booze burned just as hard as it came back up. At least a few shots made their way out of him before he flushed the toilet. He brushed the residue off his teeth and washed off the face of the night before. Then he wandered back into his room and plopped onto his bed again.

  “I kissed a boy,” he said out loud. “And I liked it.” It was like finding a puzzle piece and then stepping back, finally able to see the whole picture. So much made sense now. At the same time, Rome realized, there was so much he didn’t know. He decided he had to talk to someone about what had happened to him, what he finally knew. He reached for his phone and ran through the list of his most frequent contacts.

  Ben? Not a chance. He could hear Ben calling him Faggot Romie just like he had nicknamed Dyke Rosie. Hell, Ben might even try to beat the gay out of him. The guy wasn’t a saint. Rome had seen Ben get into fights once or twice. But he’d never had to face him head on and wasn’t eager to do so. Even in a best-case scenario, Ben would probably think Rome was coming on to him.

  Marty? Maybe. He was nice, open-minded-ish. But not enough. Marty would be perfect for some things. To confess to about girl trouble, weird personal stuff, or if his dad flew off the handle. But this was something else altogether. And Marty made gay jokes too, going along with whatever Ben did. Of course, Rome did too . . .

  Finally, it struck him. Rome knew exactly who he should call! She’d been through this same situation, more or less. Too excited to wait, he dialed her immediately. The ringer went twice before a groggy voice answered, “Hello?” She sounded like Rome had woken her up. But he shrugged. This was too important.

  “Hey, Rosie.” He paused for a second before adding, “Don’t hang up.”

  “What do you want?” Rosie asked harshly. “Are you drunk? Do you even know what time it is?” He heard another voice complaining that it was too early to answer the phone.

  “No! I mean, maybe. But I . . .” Rome didn’t know exactly how to say it. Or what he was planning to say at all. “I need to talk to you. It’s important. It’s not anything to do with us, I promise. Really, really important, actually. Can we meet up?” His hands were wet and shaking from a mix of nerves and hangover.

  “I guess . . . Lyla?” Rosie said, her voice a little distant. “Brunch?”

  There was a muffled conversation on the other end. Rome waited, shuffling his feet. Finally, Rosie came back to the phone. “Meet us at the café near our place. I’ll text you the deets. But I’m going back to sleep first.”

  “Sure, perfect. See you soon,” Rome replied in haste. He hung up without even a goodbye. Why did Lyla have to be there? Rome frowned. He barely knew her. He definitely couldn’t talk about all this in front of a stranger!

  Sighing, Rome crawled back into the bedsheets. Rosie was right, it was too early for this. Too tired to keep fighting, Rome allowed himself to dream. He felt himself slipping into close embraces, quivering lips, and the desire he’d found in the arms of that nameless man.

  05

  A Warm Welcome

  The name of the place was on the purple awning: Gayley’s Café. Rome rolled his eyes. Still, Rosie was waiting for him, so he wasn’t about to turn back now, not without at least a coffee and a nice, greasy breakfast. Swallowing his pride, Rome approached the restaurant.

  He could see Lyla and Rosie through the window. First, a wave of happiness washed over Rome. They look good together, he thought. Then, a second wave hit. This one was harder to understand. Jealousy? Fear? Resentment? Why was it so easy for them, and so hard for him?

  Rosie unlocked eyes with Lyla for a moment. She looked up and waved at Rome. Taking a deep breath, Rome walked up to the couple. There was just a moment of hesitation in his step.

  “Uh, hi,” said Rome. He offered a meek wave to Lyla, who nodded in return. Without a word, Rosie stood and hugged him. Rome wrapped himself around her and a whimper escaped him. “It’s so good to see you,” he choked.

  Rosie let go and gave a gentle smile. “I’ve missed you, buddy.”

  Lyla watched them both carefully. She gave Rome a thin smile when he finally took a seat. “I’ve heard a lot about you,” she said with another nod.

  Rome assessed Lyla. It was the first time he’d seen her up close. Other than the hint of tired bags hanging under her eyes, she seemed perfectly put together. A touch of gold makeup highlighted her cheeks, making her dark skin sparkle in the morning light. Her soft curls floated just above her shoulders. As she reached for Rosie’s hand, Rome noticed her wrists were covered with shimmering bands and bangles.

  Rosie reached out and tapped Rome’s hand sympathetically. Unlike Lyla, Rosie looked like she had been up all night. Her fierce red hair was piled into a messy bun and heavy bags rested under her eyes, standing out against her pale skin. She wore a wrinkled flannel shirt with the sleeves rolled up and, as she took Lyla’s hand, Rome noticed she had on bracelets to match Lyla’s. There was something else too, something about her. It was a sort of glow. Rome saw Rosie’s cheeks turn pink as she caught her lover’s eye. Rome looked away, feeling himself flush.

  Even when looking down, Rome could feel it as the two women turned to look him over. He bit his cheek, chewing over what to say next. “So, Rosie,” he began, not able to meet her eyes.

  “Actually,” Rosie said, “it’s just Rose now.”

  “Oh.” That would take some getting used to.

  Silence sat between them for a while. Then Rosie spoke up again. “Look, you got us out here. Why did you need to talk, like, now-now-now?”

  “No, it’s not, um, well . . . It’s just, I-I think . . .” Rome stumbled, searching for the words. He glanced up, his eyes darting back and forth between the two girls. “So, you’re gay.”

  Rosie smirked at Lyla. “Well, we are . . .” she said, “very happy.” Lyla winked back at Rosie.

  “What’s . . . what’s it like? I mean, how did you figure it out?” This was a lot easier when they were talking about Rosie instead of Rome.

  “Well . . .” Rosie began, smiling. “We met, we talked, we clicked. We started hanging out a lot. And after a lot of thinking, and talking, and a bit of kissing . . .” Her cheeks turned pink again. “I just sort of realized that I really liked Lyla.” She shrugged. “I mean, you must have figured, right? I’m such a lesbian!”

  Rosie beamed. Lyla looked at her with pride. Rome cringed. Now that that part of the discussion was over, it was time to talk about him. Closing his eyes, Rome blurted out, “I kissed someone at your party.”

  “You’re not the one who messed with Paris last night, are you?” Lyla spoke up. “I heard some transphobic prick tried to put the moves on her.” She gave Rome a stern look.

  Rome laughed nervously. “No, I don’t think that was me. Honestly, I don’t even know his name.” All Rome could feel was the hotness in his cheeks. He muttered, “I . . . I think I’m gay . . . or something. I don’t know. Whatever.”

  Rosie’s eyes grew wide. Rome could see shock in her face. But excitement too. She gasped, “No! Really?! That’s awesome! Way to go, Romie!” Rosie squealed.

  Rome just squirmed in his seat. “Thanks, Rosie,” he mumbled.

  “It sounds like you’re learning a lot about yo
urself right now,” Lyla chimed in, tapping her fingertips on the side of her coffee cup. “Rosie’s right, that’s awesome, and there’s also no need to rush into a label.” Lyla motioned to herself, setting her bracelets jangling. “Like, I thought I was straight for a long time. So, when I realized I wasn’t, I was pretty confused, and it took me a while to figure myself out. These days, I call myself pansexual.”

  Rome gave Lyla a sideways glance. Was that the word for some kind of fetish?

  Lyla read his blank expression and began to laugh. “Pan? No? Oh geez, you really are a gaybie!” Rosie gave her a wry look. “Right, right.” Lyla smirked. “Well, the point is — I get it! Just know there’s options out there. You might be bi, pan, ace, or queer. Or something else altogether!”

  Rome’s shoulders slumped as he looked out the window. Ben’s voice in his head was cracking mean jokes. He felt like Lyla was making fun of him, using made-up words. He was still hungover and it was all getting to be a bit too much.

  Rosie reached across the table to tap his hand and bring him back. “She’s right, Romie. Just let yourself like who you like. You can figure out the rest later.”

  Lyla fished through her purse, saying, “I had a feeling you might be on our team.” She pulled out a bright yellow pamphlet with a rainbow across the top and held it out to him.

  Rome eyed the paper cautiously.

  Rosie rolled her eyes. “It’s for the Rainbow City Centre. Plus there’s a list of all the friendly places in town, plus a bunch of events and stuff!” She smiled widely, showing off the little gap between her teeth. “They’ve got something for everyone! Even your parents and friends!”

  “Okay, no, Rosie — er, Rose. Just — hold up a second,” Rome said, putting his hands up in defense. He looked around to make sure no one was listening in. “You think I’m gonna actually tell my parents and friends?!”

  “There must’ve been a reason you couldn’t wait to tell us,” said Rose.