“Exactly,” Julian said. It wasn’t the first time he had heard that random fact before. He glanced over to his dad, who still looked to be considering the detailed plan. “Is that okay? The gifts are small, so it shouldn’t take me too long. Do you mind driving me?”
“Why me?” Damien asked.
“Mom has her work.”
Sarah beamed, for once not overwhelmed by her PhD. “Thanks for being considerate. I’m okay if you two go out tonight. It’s up to your dad.”
Damien nodded. “Well, it sounds like everything’s been planned out. Which is good. I like being a chauffeur every so often. Who are you buying for?”
“Kent.”
“A boy?”
“Yeah. I was hoping you could help, actually. The two of us could go shopping again.”
Julian placed his hands on the table, trying to calm himself down. Ages ago, when he had first started high school and needed to get a school photo done, his father had taken him to his old suit shop after many long nights of Julian lobbying to go. Julian didn’t remember the exact argument that managed to sway his father, but at the end of the week, Damien had said he respected the effort and for this year, they’d see how photos went with a suit. That weekend, Damien had treated him like a young boy as the two of them walked around and Damien explained what collar stays and cuff links were and why they were so important. Julian knew the local mall wouldn’t be the same as the suit store, but it was still a place where he and his dad could go shopping—and shopping for boys’ items.
“I don’t know how much I can help,” Damien said. “I’m old now. But we’ll see what we can find. Go get your shoes as soon as we’re done with dinner.”
The “we” in his father’s voice made Julian’s heart and memory swell. He nodded, saying a quick “thank you” under his breath as he finished up the rest of his meal.
IT WAS already dark, though it was barely seven at night. Damien had checked the mall website before they left, making sure it was open and also going over a few places in the map to see if he could find a better entrance to park near. As they pulled up now, Julian listened to his dad rattle off some options.
“So, Kent. He likes sports, you said? Should we get him something sport related—like equipment?”
“I think it’s probably best to leave that to professionals.”
Damien let out a laugh. “Fair enough. How about something more generic, like a book or movie?”
“Not the reading type. A movie may work, though.”
“A sports movie?”
“Why all the sports?”
“I don’t know,” Damien said, shrugging. He shifted gears to park the car, the heat switching off as he did. “I figure it’s the easiest. It’s also the only thing you really told me about him. Everything else is a shot in the dark.”
“Fair enough. I guess we could get him a movie—but something superhero related. Or…,” Julian said, trailing off. “Maybe something like a tie?”
“A tie?”
“Never mind.” Julian’s cheeks grew hot. He grabbed the handle of the door and opened up, letting the chilled air inside. “Let’s just look around. That’s half the fun, right?”
“This Kent…,” Damien asked, stepping out of the car with Julian. “How close of a friend is he?
“Okay, I guess. Pretty close.”
“He’s not a boyfriend or anything, is he?”
Julian couldn’t help but laugh. “Oh no. No, no.”
Damien’s shoulders slumped, no longer as tense as they once were. He shut the car door, laughing under his breath, and then gestured toward the mall. Julian followed him but was still stuck on the sudden suggestion that Kent—Kent of all people—would be interested in him.
“Why?” Julian asked.
“Why what?”
“Why would you ask about Kent and me dating? Would it upset you?”
“No!” Damien answered too quickly. He took big steps to the mall’s doors, pausing to hold them open as they both stepped inside. “It shouldn’t upset me.”
“But it does. I can tell. Don’t worry, though, Dad. Kent really is just a friend.”
His father nodded again, standing in the middle of the mall foyer. Though it was barely December, Julian heard the loud chorus of Christmas music blasted overhead. The fountain at the front was decked out in red and green garlands, and several stores had Happy Holiday Sale Events written in bold font. Damien looked completely bewildered.
“Well. Okay, then. Do you have any idea what to get him? Where are we starting? Did we decide?”
“No, we didn’t. It can’t be hard.”
“You sound far more confident than me,” Damien mentioned, eyeing Julian. “You sure you really need my help? I could use this time now to get something for your mother.”
“Oh. Well, that makes sense. I can text you if I have issues, right?”
“Totally.” Damien touched his breast pocket where he kept his phone. “Right here.”
“Got it, wing commander.”
Julian was about to turn around and leave, somewhat defeated, when he heard his birth name.
“Julia?”
“Yeah, Dad?”
“I would be happy either way, you know. About you dating. Be it a boy like Kent or… someone else.” Damien’s hands fluttered by his sides, more awkward than he had ever appeared before. “I’d just like to know. Be a part of things.”
“Yes…,” Julian said, pausing. “If I start to date, don’t worry, Dad. I’ll come to you like it’s a book club again.”
“Excellent. I like the sound of that,” Damien said, laughing a little. As he walked over to the map to figure out where the closest jewelry store was, Julian located one of the big chain department stores and went inside. He entered in the middle of the men’s section and probably spent a bit too long looking at the collared shirts. When his dad had taken him suit shopping, he hadn’t even gotten to wear the whole thing on picture day. But he still had it, inside his closet, as if there was proof that one time, his dad had treated him like an equal—rather than handling him with kid gloves like he just had.
At least he’s accepting, Julian tried to tell himself. Even if he doesn’t really know what he’s accepting yet. Yet. Julian realized he should have told his father right then. They’d been having a moment, but it was now gone. Julian moved over from the collar shirts to the winter socks, deciding he probably should look elsewhere for Kent, especially if his budget was only ten or fifteen dollars.
Then he saw it, a Christmas tie hanging around the neck of a mannequin. He touched it with his fingers and knew it wasn’t the best quality, nothing like what his father wore, but he liked it. A bright white snowman took up the bottom half, along with some pine trees. Near the top where the knot was tied, more snowflakes fell from a giant white cloud. It was perfect.
Julian flipped over the price tag. Only $8.99 too. Maybe I can add some candy or something small to this, so it fits the budget better. He nodded to himself, liking this idea, especially if it meant he could tie the tie around the second present like a bow.
He found a small bag of candy for $1.99 and then went into the drugstore area of the department store for anything else he liked. On impulse, he grabbed some nice shaving cream to add to the mix. When he pictured Kent in his mind, Julian realized that shaving cream was really wishful thinking, so he swapped it out for Axe body spray instead. With everything ready now, Julian found the checkout and waited to the Christmas Muzak with his heart in his throat. This was perfect, just perfect, and he had figured it all out in under ten minutes. I can’t wait to tell Dad. Then we can compare our scores.
There was a moment, just as he paid for his purchases, when he remembered who they were really for.
Kent, he thought. The basketball player with a shaved head and broad shoulders. Not himself. Not me.
“Here you are, dear,” the cashier said, sliding his bag to him. “Have a safe night and a happy holiday.”
Julia
n barely nodded and then texted his father that he was done.
So fast? Wow! You’re a champ. You wanna help me figure out something for your mom, since we’re already here? C’mon, you have a better eye for this stuff. Show me what girls like.
Julian wrote, But I’m not a girl, then deleted it. Be right there, Dad. Hang on.
“SO HOW did you do?” Sarah asked, peeking up from her book.
“That is a secret, my dear,” Damien said, kissing the top of her head.
She reached out and grabbed his arm, squeezing slightly.
“It’s only a secret if you’re ashamed. So I hope the present is good.”
“It is.” Damien kissed her again, then gave Julian a look from across the hall. “J helped me pick it out.”
“I thought this was for her friend—not me!”
Sarah smiled wide, clearly enjoying the attention. Julian kicked off his shoes, his bag heavy over his shoulder. His dad had eventually picked out a white gold necklace, since Julian seemed to be the only one who remembered that his mother hated cleaning silver, and gold didn’t go well with her skin color. His father had been elated, since now he was pretty much done with all his Christmas shopping so soon. Except for you, of course, he had said in the car. But Julian tuned him out.
“And you?” Sarah asked. “You certainly have a big bag.”
Julian shrugged. “I’m good. I’m going to go to bed now too.”
“Oh. All right,” Sarah said.
She and Damien both waved good night as Julian headed down the hallway. When Julian passed by the high school photo he had taken that year, he stopped. His hair had still been long then, past his shoulders, usually worn in a ponytail to keep it away from his face. In the photo, he only wore the collared shirt, and his hair was down, covering most of the pin-striped pattern he had loved so, so much when he saw it in the store. In addition to making Julian take off his suit jacket, the photographer had insisted his hair be down.
“You’re a pretty girl. Why wouldn’t you want to show the world?”
Julian had done as he was asked, mostly because everyone behind him in the photo line had started to chatter about him. And at least he didn’t have to bare shoulders like the other girls getting their photos. That was a plus, even as the photographer tried to pose him in the “correct way” for teen girls.
“Put up your shoulders, dear, and tilt your head down. Yes, yes, now you are perfect.”
When the photos had been developed, Julian had liked what he saw. Not perfect but good. Better than the images from years before with his hair in braids and pink everywhere. Now with the neutral blue background and the collared shirt, he could believe he was a guy. Almost. If he squinted, he looked like a boy about to enter puberty, instead of a girl who was already there.
“Wonderful, Julia,” his mother said when she saw the photo. “We’ll put it on the wall with the others.”
In a frame, the image had lost its appeal. It was no longer his own image, then, but everyone else’s. So Julian had asked for his hair to be cut off that night. Seeing no way around it now, his mother had surrendered and taken him out. A short bob was all he got, something that was still too bouncy and long on the sides. But Julian stole his dad’s gel from the bathroom cabinet and his mother’s scissors, fixing and styling his hair so he could get away with it. For a good few weeks, that was what he did. No one noticed, of course, but he did. He smelled the gel and the slight tinge of his father’s deodorant that he sometimes stole too.
Julian ran his hands through his hair again now. He was going to have to get another trim soon, which excited and disturbed him. Each time he sat in a hairdresser’s seat or in front of a photographer, he was told how beautiful, how pretty, and what a lovely young woman he was. They were nice compliments, nice gifts, but they were never the ones he wanted.
In the bottom of his backpack lay the gift for Kent. Julian unzipped the bag and ran his hands over the cheap tie and the Axe body spray. He didn’t even like the smell that much, but he was still tempted to keep it for himself. Instead he hid it under his bed and spent the night in the bathroom, stealing what his father had left behind.
Chapter Ten
“OKAY, EVERYONE,” Mr. Singer, Julian’s English teacher, called. “I want everyone to pull out their texts and notes. Who managed to finish reading the chapters I assigned? I want to see all your little hands go up, please. But also don’t lie to me.”
“Then this is putting us in a difficult situation,” Maria said. In spite of her joke, she raised her hand, winking a little at Julian as he turned around to see who else raised their hand. After half of the class did, he put his up by the elbow on his desk.
“It’s something,” Mr. Singer said. “Not the greatest. But I can work with this. Now, let’s begin.”
Mr. Singer walked over to the chalkboard and wrote the author’s name, Willa Cather, in big letters. She was the author who wrote My Antonia and then the book O Pioneers! Mr. Singer had assigned a section of the later novel around Thanksgiving, and they were still discussing some of the points he wanted to raise about it, though it was now over a month later. Julian had already read the book cover to cover and then moved on to something else.
After Mr. Singer had gone over the major plot points, correcting a few students who summarized the chapters a bit sloppily, he turned to the board again. He wrote down the title O Pioneers! and asked, “What does the term pioneer mean to you? Anything now. I’m fishing for first responses.”
“Men in buckled hats,” someone said.
“That’s the Pilgrims, not pioneers per se, but I’ll let you have that. Now try again. What concepts does the term bring to mind?”
“Freedom.”
“Interesting,” Mr. Singer said.
Any time he said “interesting” in class, his blue eyes always seemed to bulge out and he would touch his red-colored beard. Julian watched, amused, for his next standard line.
“Can you tell me more about that?”
“Because they discovered America,” the student elaborated. Julian thought her name was Jenna. She fumbled to add, “And Canada too?”
“Okay. Interesting. Where did you learn this?”
“Um….” Jenna trailed off.
“If you can’t cite it, don’t write it,” Mr. Singer said, gesturing with his hands. “That was good, though, Jenna. Thank you. Because it brings me to my next point quite well. I want to talk about this myth we believe about the pioneers. Because it is a myth. It’s a story without a real source.”
Julian shifted in his seat. He had heard most of this stuff before from his parents about the complicated history of Canada and the US. But they had never called it a myth before, and Julian liked it. It made him think of himself and of his gender identity, which seemed to be evident all around him and yet have no real source. It’s like that with love too, right? he wondered, then pushed it out of his mind.
“Can we think of other myths?” Mr. Singer asked.
“Santa Claus.”
“Great example,” Mr. Singer said. “Why is Santa a myth?”
“Because he’s not real.”
“Yes, but there are good stories about him. Can a story be real?”
No one in the class answered. Sometimes, when Mr. Singer’s rants went on to something more esoteric, like the sound of one hand clapping, no one quite knew what was right anymore. Mr. Singer noticed the change in the classroom and stroked his red beard again.
“There is no right answer, guys, remember? English is about having a conversation. Each time you write an essay, you are conversing with all that came before you. So,” he continued, now sitting on his desk, “what do we think about stories being real? Can fiction have a greater purpose, beyond itself?”
“Isn’t that what Toy Story is about?”
Mr. Singer made a bit of a face and then did a fifty-fifty sign with his hand. “You’re close. I’m talking about the belief that someone has—like the kids in that film—and how it som
etimes changes the reality of the world. Isn’t that neat?”
“But it’s not real. Those toys never moved.”
“How do you know?”
“Well, they can’t. They’re toys.”
“You never disproved it. You never saw.” Mr. Singer smiled. “Don’t worry. I’m having fun with you guys. That’s the whole point of the movie too. You look too closely at something and the magic disappears. Now.”
He got up from the desk and began to write on the board. He marked down the pages for the novel, and Julian flipped to the first one. The cover was half falling off, but he held the book together.
“I’m bringing in the Pioneers reference to show that we can use fiction to teach us about historical events. Oftentimes, the stories we tell have more power because we’re focalized behind someone and we understand history from their perspective. And sometimes these books can change the world. Think of Uncle Tom’s Cabin.”
When no one reacted, Mr. Singer tried again. “Think of Jaws, even. Because of that film, people had a lot of different reactions toward sharks than they normally did. Sometimes fiction’s better than sociology for exploring these perceptions, because we can analyze these people and not worry about hurting anyone. Now, can anyone tell me a certain historical event that was filtered through these characters?”
“This character was a dick—”
Mr. Singer laughed but cut the student named Jeremy off before he could continue. “While I appreciate the colorful commentary, we have to raise hands. Anyone else have an opinion?”
A few people at the front raised their hands. Most of their points were stupid to Julian, but Mr. Singer did his best to humor them. Julian prided himself on his ability to distinguish whenever Mr. Singer thought the person in front of him was wrong. He never said it outright but coated it in a pleasantry. Julian thought he had cracked the code to Mr. Singer and took solace in that as he went back to his own notes.
The Santa Hoax Page 8
