Thinking Straight

by Robin Reardon

  A glance at my watch tells me it’s too late to be up without breaking a rule. I fold the note again and decide the safest thing for now is to put it inside my pillowcase. In the morning I’ll figure out what to do. I haven’t brushed my teeth or anything, but it’s too late for that. I can get away with having to take a leak in the middle of the night, but if I’m caught brushing my teeth it’ll be suspicious.

  Lying in bed trying to fall asleep, listening to the sound of Charles’s even breathing, my mind keeps going to the conversation with Nate. To what he’s asked me to do. Jesus, to what I’ve agreed to do. What was I thinking? But how could I not? Nate was right; I do get Jesus the same way he does. And it is what Will would do.

  Will. I decide I haven’t thought about him nearly enough today and that it’s time now. Especially considering all those trips up here he made. He must have come up here the day after I gave his sister that note.

  That’s so like him, you know? The green ink. The “I’ll do it my way” attitude. He sees what’s right, and he just does it.

  I’ve thought of Will as brave ever since that day in World History, when he stood up to Ted Tanner. Here’s Will, the new kid, and he knows he’s gay even if Ted doesn’t. He could have pretended he didn’t know that interesting fact about King Richard. Or he could have just let Ted cackle like the idiot he is without responding to him. But that’s not Will.

  The day I called him brave to his face was a couple of months ago. He’d turned seventeen and gotten his license, and we drove together for a while—our first road trip—and ended up at this park area. It was a gorgeous spring day. You know, where all kinds of sap starts moving, like the kind that makes me want Will and vice versa.

  We found a remote spot where it looked like kids probably came at night and left their crap behind. Empty beer cans, used condoms, the occasional shoe. It was away from everyone else, which was its most appealing quality for us at the time. We took advantage of it.

  I think I like kissing in springtime more than in any other season. The air was just cool enough to make me acutely aware of the warmth of Will’s body, of his breath, of his lips everywhere they touched me. And they touched me everywhere. So I knew he was feeling that warmth when I returned the favor.

  We like taking turns going down on each other. That day, I went down on him first. I felt like some old pro. And I did it all perfectly, if his response was any indication.

  Because we were sort of in public, we hadn’t actually undressed, and he fastened himself back up and then did for me what I’d done for him. After we kissed, he got up saying he had to take a leak, and I decided to lie there just as he left me, all exposed, until he came back. My soft dick lay there, too, sort of flopped over like a flag after the breeze dies, and I concentrated on the temperature difference—warm inside, cool outside, the sun overhead just beginning to make promises of heat.

  “Well, well. Mike, what have we got here?”

  I sat up so quickly I nearly hurt my exposed tender parts, and the sight of two tough-looking guys staring down at me caused me to shove myself back into my pants so fast it’s a wonder I didn’t castrate myself with the zipper.

  Mike, I guess, said, “Some tender young morsel by the look of it. Hey, cutie. What’s with the indecent exposure? Can I get in on the action?” He grabbed at his crotch with one hand, holding what looked like a bag with a six-pack in it with the other, while the guy who’d spoken first moved toward me.

  I scrambled to my feet as fast as I could, but Mike’s cohort pushed at me and I fell backward.

  Suddenly Will was standing beside me.

  “Hello, boys,” he said. “Here for a tryst?”

  I could tell by the looks on their faces they weren’t quite sure what that meant, but Mike decided to treat it as rhetorical. “So this tender meat isn’t here alone, eh?” He looked down at me, still prone on the ground like some lame child. “Hey, Stu, they’re fags.”

  As I was scrambling up again I was thinking, Where’s King Richard when we need him?

  Then I heard Will say, “And what are you boys doing here? Together?”

  Stu didn’t much like that. I suppose neither of them much liked it. But it made Stu boil. He pulled an arm back like he was getting ready to strike, saying, “Why, you little…”

  Will put his arms out to his sides, bent at the elbows, one of them in front of me and pushing me back a little. “Whoa there, guys. You sure you wanna go there? Could be dangerous.”

  Stu’s arm paused, and Mike barked a laugh and said, “You think you’re dangerous?”

  “Deadly.”

  “Really. You gonna pretend you’re some kind of karate expert or something?”

  “Don’t need to.” Will’s voice was so calm. I didn’t understand how he could do it. “All I have to do is spit on you and you’re dead.”

  Stu’s arm was completely down now. The guys looked like they were trying to make sense out of this. So was I, actually.

  “What the fuck are you talking about?”

  “AIDS.”

  The four of us stood there regarding each other for maybe six seconds, and then Mike slapped Stu’s arm. “Let’s get outta here. They aren’t worth it.” They turned and left. Rather more quickly than they needed to, I thought.

  I felt Will’s arm wrap around my neck and pull me down toward the ground again. I resisted.

  “C’mon, Ty. They won’t be back. Let’s not waste the day.”

  “Wait. Just wait.” I ran a hand through my hair. “What you told them…”

  “Ty, be serious. If I had AIDS, don’t you think I’d have told you before we did anything?”

  “But…All right, fine. But you can’t get it from somebody spitting on you.”

  He shrugged. “Obviously, those idiots don’t know that.” He sat down and held a hand up to me.

  Feeling dazed, I sat down beside him, but I wasn’t ready to just dive into springtime pleasures again just yet. “That was…Shit, Will! That was beyond brave. More than courageous. You were so calm.”

  “It’s essential. The last thing you want a bully to know is that you’re afraid of him.”

  I shook my head. “You hide it well.”

  “What?”

  “Fear.”

  “Oh, that’s not it. Courage is something you need to overcome fear. I wasn’t courageous. I don’t feel fear from things like that.”

  “Again, what?”

  “They’re just idiots, Ty. They didn’t worry me.”

  “What if they hadn’t been stupid as well as idiots? What if they’d known better than to think they could get AIDS from spit?”

  Another shrug. “Then maybe there would have been reason for a little fear. And I would have had to think of something else. But, Ty, you can’t go around the world as a gay guy and advertise that you’re afraid. And really, if they know you’re gay, they expect you to be afraid. So when you’re not, it throws them. In a very different way from how I’m gonna throw you right now.”

  He wrapped himself around me and we rolled on the ground for a minute, testing each other’s strength. Finally I pinned his arms on the grass, or maybe he let me pin his arms on the grass, and I kissed him. Deeply. Warmly.

  I dropped down beside him and snuggled till our bodies touched all down our sides, and we lay there like that in the teasing sunshine until I nearly spoiled it. I brought up something I’d been trying not to think of ever since that first time we’d been together, in my room last fall.

  “Whenever somebody acts like that, says things like that—”

  “You mean those assholes?”

  “Yeah. I start hearing voices in my head. They’re quoting verses from the Bible. About us. About what we are.”

  “You mean like the ones that were written thousands of years ago when it was okay to sell your daughter into slavery? But not your son because sons are really people whereas daughters are not? Those verses?” I shrugged, and Will raised himself up on an elbow to look at me. “You�
�re afraid those voices in your head mean that those idiots who thought they could get AIDS if a fag spit on them are right?”

  “Look, you’re making it sound all one-sided. Maybe those guys are idiots, but it is what it says in the Bible.”

  “Ty, even those assholes can read. But they aren’t that great at thinking. They’re barely this side of Cro-Magnon man. It’s up to people with brains, people like you and me, to understand that God is not about calling names and trying to make other people feel like shit. God is about love. Jesus said so.” He lay back again and, his voice teasing, added, “And Jesus is my hero. Who’s yours?”

  That’s Will. Mixing all the things that life is made of into one glorious package. I answered, “You.” And to prove it, I went down on him again.

  Lying here now, thinking of making love with Will, and despite my roommate sleeping a mere six feet or so away, I pull until I come.

  As I’m starting to drift off into sleep, it’s hard to distinguish whether the warm glow I feel is coming more from thinking about Will or from being asked to join the circle. They start to blend together, the way stuff does when you’re falling asleep, and it hits me again that joining the circle is exactly what Will would do. Nate had given me this chance, and—this hits me so hard I wake up a little—I hadn’t felt fear. I hadn’t needed courage to say yes to Nate.

  And then it occurs to me that the circle is actually my prayer being answered. You know? The one I’d prayed Monday night about finding other kids who feel like I do? And the answer to the question, to my prayer, is yes.

  Chapter 8

  One who trusts in himself is a fool; but one who walks in wisdom, he is kept safe.

  —Proverbs 28:26

  That stupid shrieking bell wakes me up. I hate it, but in a way it’s good, because as soon as my brain is in gear I remember what happened last night. Will got through to me because of Nate, who wants me in the circle. This place has an underground. Who knew? And I’m in it.

  Suddenly I sit bolt upright: I’d nearly forgotten I have to see Harnett at ten o’clock! I’ll have to keep my euphoria in check.

  Charles hasn’t gotten out of bed yet, which surprises me considering his past behavior. So I call over to him, “Charles? You awake?”

  “Yes.” But he doesn’t move. Just lies there, face to the wall.

  Fine. I get up and grab my shower kit and towel, and then I remember what’s in my pillowcase. And what I have to do with it. I stand there a good thirty seconds or so, trying desperately to think of a way I can keep it and not jeopardize the circle. But I can’t. Not really. Not in this place. So I go back and get it, fold it smaller, and tuck it into my pajama top pocket. Charles is still lying there; hasn’t moved. I’m wondering if he’s sick. He hasn’t eaten since Tuesday.

  “Hey, are you okay? Do you want me to get someone?”

  “No. I’ll be up. Don’t worry about me. See you in the bathroom.”

  In the shower stall it occurs to me that this would be the best place to shred the paper. If I get it wet, it won’t make any noise. Standing against the closed door so no one on the other side can see, I take it out of my pocket and unfold it, and just once more I read the green ink. “I’ll be here.” Funny thing about love notes. You can lose the note and still keep the love.

  I kiss it once, fold it up again, and as I’m showering I get it just wet enough to make it quietly and easily shreddable. Somehow I manage to keep it in my hand as I make my way, wrapped in my towel, to a toilet booth, nearly giggling when it occurs to me I could have hidden it up my ass for this part of the journey. I sit on the toilet long enough to do what I have to do, which also gives me time to shred the note. The first tear rips part of me as well, but it’s necessary. And then it’s gone.

  But it isn’t. Because I remember it. And because Will is there.

  Charles is just getting to the bathroom as I’m leaving. We nod. And he doesn’t get back to the room until it’s time to leave for breakfast.

  “I’ll wait for you while you dress,” I tell him.

  “No, don’t do that. I’ll see you in there.”

  “I don’t trust you.”

  “What?”

  “I don’t trust you not to fast again. I’m waiting.”

  He gives me a look that’s got something frantic in it, but I’m sitting at my desk by then. What can he do?

  He’s still behind the curtain dressing when there’s a knock at the door. It’s Nate.

  He looks at me and says, “You’re going to be late, brother Taylor.”

  “I’m waiting for Charles.”

  “You go ahead. I’ll wait for Charles.” And he sits in Charles’s chair. So I leave.

  Full tray in hand, I survey the dining hall on this, my first breakfast out of SafeZone. I can sit anywhere, talk to anyone. Off to my right I hear my name called.

  “Taylor! Please, join us.”

  It’s John McAndrews, with Tonto. I mean Rick, of course. I stall for a second; Nate gave me the distinct impression this guy is on the bad list. Or at least not on the good one. But—what the heck, may as well get to know the enemy. And the last thing I dare do is give John the impression that I’m avoiding him.

  He waits for me to bow my head for grace, but then he doesn’t waste time. “I heard about your Public Apology last night, brother Taylor. Very impressive.”

  “I wasn’t aiming for that. And I’m not sure it was such a good idea.”

  “Oh? Why not?”

  “I’ve been thinking about it, and now it seems a little presumptuous of me.” This is cool, actually; I’m practicing for my meeting with Harnett.

  “Presumptuous. An interesting word to choose.” I pack my mouth full of toast so that I don’t have to respond. He tries again. “I’d love to talk with you sometime about your approach.”

  I swallow. “Approach? To what?”

  “To putting something like that together. What your thinking was as you selected your scriptural references. Why one and not another. I assume you used a concordance?”

  Now, this is interesting. I’m surprised he’s asked that; few kids wouldn’t need to use one. True, he’s posing it as an assumption, but what he really doesn’t want me to say is that I just came up with those references based on my in-depth knowledge. Unable to resist the temptation, I dissemble. “Why do you assume that?”

  He blinks. As I take a forkful of scrambled eggs he says, “Well, unless you are extremely well acquainted with scripture, you’d need one. And I assume that the reason you’re here means you’re not.”

  I finish chewing, swallow, and say, “Really. Do you know why I’m here?”

  He actually seems a little uncomfortable. Slow down, Taylor, I warn myself. You don’t want to make this guy think you’re anything other than wowed by him. It’s what he expects from everyone. He says, “I have a unique position at Straight to God. Perhaps no one has described it to you.”

  “Nope.” Hey, Dawn, that one’s for you.

  “Let’s just say I’m here on a different basis from most other residents. So yes, I know why you’re here.”

  “And what is there about why I’m here that makes you think I wouldn’t know scripture really well?” I’m not good at slowing down, am I?

  He leans forward, like he’s about to tell me some secret. “Brother Taylor, if you did, you wouldn’t have been doing what you were doing. You’d know better, because you’d know how God feels about that.”

  The things that come into my head first would almost certainly have gotten me into trouble. I do my best to temper my response. “We’re all sinners, brother John. And some of us know the Bible very well indeed.”

  The way he’s looking at me is starting to worry me. So I decide to toss him a bone. “But as a matter of fact, I did use a concordance. Don’t you?”

  He takes a sip of coffee. “Sometimes. Sometimes not. I prefer to match my own understanding of the scriptures with my memory of what’s in them.”

  I decide to change t
he subject so I can avoid having to tell him I have no intention of having him pick my brain about how I made my choices. “I’m really looking forward to the barbeque tomorrow night.”

  It’s a curveball, and it takes him a second to recover. “Oh. Sure. Me, too. Rick and I are planning to be there a little early to help set up. Do you want to meet us here at around five thirty?”

  A thunderbolt strikes suddenly. An idea out of nowhere. “Well, actually, I need to talk with you about that. I know I said I’d go with you guys, and if you really need me, then I will. But I don’t think anyone has asked Marie Downs to accompany them. So I was hoping it wouldn’t be out of place for me to do that. What do you think?”

  For the first time since I sat down, I have Rick’s attention. Then he looks at John, who says, “Oh. Well. I mean, it’s a little unusual for a new resident to ask someone to an Activity. I, uh, I don’t know that there’s any rule against it, it’s just that it doesn’t happen.”

  “Kind of like what I did last night doesn’t happen? Okay, enough said. Then I won’t. I just hated to think of her not being asked, that’s all.” And I take a bite of bacon.

  “Tell you what, I’ll talk to your staff leader and let you know what our advice would be.”

  “Our” advice, is it, John? Pulleez. “Oh, that’s a good idea. Actually, I’m meeting with Mrs. Harnett this morning, so I’ll ask her then. I’ll let her know we talked about it.” And while he’s trying to decide how to reply to that, I drain my glass of juice. Then I say, “Listen, thanks so much for asking me to sit with you. I’d like to get to my work assignment as early as possible, since I have to take time out for my meeting. I’ll let you know what Mrs. Harnett says. God bless you, brother.” And I’m off.

  Making my way through the breakfast crowd, I look around until I see Charles and Nate. There’s food in front of both of them, and it looks like Charles is actually eating. I feel relieved. And a little possessive.