Susie went to correct him and then had second thoughts.
“…this wasn’t just fooling around. I left Eileen and a short while later he stopped seeing Miranda, and we moved to the city. We shared an apartment, telling anyone who cared to ask that we were brothers.” Everett smiled at the memory. “It seems so silly now. When I look back at all the time we wasted in the beginning, sneaking around, meeting for an hour or two at a time before hurrying home. All the sleepless nights, wondering if we’d get caught, and the lies, even to those we loved.”
He sighed a long, deep sigh. A sigh of decades.
“And I see how much easier it is for young men these days. I suppose I don’t know if they have it easier or not. It seems that way. You see it on the television now. Men holding hands and kissing. You know, I don’t think Charles and I have ever kissed in public. At least not in front of anyone. What it must be like to be young and in love, and have such freedoms.”
“Not once in public?” asked Susie.
“No, ma’am.”
“That does surprise me.”
“Different times. It was illegal. We knew we had to keep our kisses private. To not show affection in front of anyone. And then it just becomes a habit.” He shook his head. “Such a shame now I think about it.”
He sighed again.
“Still, I can’t complain. Charles and I have spent a lifetime together. Sharing everything. The good. The bad. Everything in between. Some people never have that.”
Everett started looking up and down the corridor.
“Where is he? He said he’d meet us here. I hope nothing’s happened to him.”
A noise at the door behind her alerted Susie to the presence of the doctor and the nurse.
“Can we?” she asked the doctor discreetly.
He nodded. “Just for a while. He’s starting to come around, but he’ll be a bit groggy.”
Susie stood up. “Come on, Mr Peterson. We can go in and see Charles.”
She helped Everett to his feet.
“I didn’t see him come in,” said Everett. “Are you sure it’s him?”
Susie helped Everett to the door to Charles’s room.
“Remember Charles fell and hit his head?” she said. “Don’t be alarmed. He’s going to be absolutely fine.”
She pushed the door open and ushered Everett in. As soon as he laid eyes on Charles, he shuffled as fast as he was able to the bedside.
“Charles. Charles,” he called, though his voice was soft and feeble.
Charles opened his eyes. “There you are,” he said. “What happened?”
Everett took Charles’s hand. “You fell out of bed.”
Charles looked at Susie, who was standing discreetly by the door. “He probably pushed me out,” he said.
“Now, now,” said Everett. “Don’t say things like that. She might believe you.”
“You gave us both a bit of a shock,” said Susie. “But you’re going to be okay.”
Charles looked at his arm, which was in a cast, then back at Susie. “Of course I’m going to be okay. Someone has to look after this one.”
Susie laughed, but noticed Everett wasn’t laughing.
“Now stop that,” chided Everett. “Always with the jokes. Just concentrate on getting better.”
Susie felt suddenly teary. She noticed the way they were holding hands. They reminded her of her grandparents, who were of a similar age and still equally as in love as Everett and Charles obviously were. And the bickering. The gentle teasing that was often a characteristic of people who’d been together for so long, they knew each other better than they knew themselves. And when Everett leaned slowly down and kissed Charles on the lips, Susie felt a single tear spill over onto her cheek.
* * * *
ABOUT WAYNE MANSFIELD
Wayne Mansfield lives in Perth, Western Australia and has been published in the UK, the US, Germany, and Australia. He received an Honorable Mention for his novella The Hiding Place in the 2013 Rainbow Awards and is the author of the popular The King’s Prize series. For more information, visit mansfield82.wix.com/wayne-mansfield-.
BFFs by J.T. Marie
It’s a little after seven-thirty in the evening when Emily Stevenson pulls off Jeff Davis Highway and into the Waffle House parking lot. Though the sun has dipped below the trees and businesses lining the main drag of South Market, Virginia, where Emily grew up, it’s still light out, and most likely will be for another hour or so. She’s been on the road for more than an hour, but now that her parents’ home is only minutes away, she wants to delay the inevitable as long as she can. A cup of coffee should kill fifteen minutes, at least.
Time enough to pull back into herself, the way she used to when she lived here.
Though it’s been twenty years since she was last in South Market, Emily swears nothing has changed. A 7-11 still stands across from the Waffle House, on the corner of Temple and Colonial, and as she parks, she catches sight of the handwritten sign tacked to the door that reads, Live Bait.
Emily tamps down a grimace. Lovely. Which is why she isn’t going in there to kill some time.
When she steps out of her air-conditioned car, the muggy summer evening hits her like a wet sponge. By the time she crosses the few feet to the Waffle House door, sweat has begun to bead on her upper lip and the nape of her neck, right below her hairline. She’d forgotten just how hot South Market could get, though whenever her mother managed to get her on the phone, that was all Mrs. Stevenson wanted to talk about anymore. Well, the weather and Emily’s brother Mike, who’s getting married this weekend.
Which, of course, would bring her mother around to bitching about Emily not getting married. Because she was…you know.
Mrs. Stevenson never says the word lesbian out loud, as if it’s a dirty word. Here in South Market, it probably is. Emily knows she never heard it once while growing up, though there were enough giggles and whispered rumors about the girls’ coach in middle school who may or may not have been a dyke. In retrospect, Emily still isn’t quite sure if Ms. Delano was or wasn’t, but she was an unmarried, athletic woman whose office overlooked a locker room of half-naked, prepubescent girls, and that was all the evidence anyone needed in the late 1980s to brand her as queer.
Wonder whatever happened to her, Emily muses as she enters the Waffle House. A rush of cool air swirls around her; she turns her face into it and breathes in the heavenly scent of fresh batter on a hot griddle and frying eggs. Her stomach rumbles appreciatively. Maybe she’ll have a bite to eat with that cup of coffee.
From behind the counter, a harried waitress is counting back change to a customer. “Sit anywhere, sweetie,” she calls without looking up. “Be right with you.”
Emily slides into a booth near the window, where she can look down Colonial Avenue back the way she came. For a moment she toys with the idea of getting in the car and turning around, getting on the interstate, and heading home. She barely has the strength to deal with her homophobic family during the holidays, when her parents at least try to be on their best behavior. If her mother makes any snide comments then about her sexuality, her father usually nips it in the bud with a stern, “Sharon, it’s Christmas.”
But it’s the middle of August, the heat’s a bitch, and her mother’s going to be a nervous wreck until the bride and groom exchange their “I do’s.” And as they whisk away to the Poconos, I’ll be left fielding the usual questions, Emily thinks, glancing at the one-page menu on the table. When are you getting married? Girls can marry girls now, you know. You can even adopt kids, if you want. What are you waiting for? Do you want to die alone?
Newsflash, Mom. I don’t want to die at all.
She can’t say that, not in a million years—she wasn’t raised to talk back. But it’s satisfying to think she might. One day.
God, I’m forty years old. Why do I always feel like I’m an angry teenager when I come home? Does everyone feel this way?
Someone approaches her table, and Em
ily sits back as the waitress places an empty mug in front of her. “Coffee?”
Emily nods. “Yes, please.”
She pours a stream of hot, dark java from a glass carafe, then sets it on the table and pulls a pen and pad of paper from the front pockets of her apron. “What can I get ‘cha, hon?”
“Um…” Emily looks at the menu again. “How about a waffle and two eggs over easy? That’s all.”
The waitress reaches for the menu and Emily hands it over. For the brief moment when they both hold the plastic-coated piece of paper, they glance at each other and something unspoken passes between them. Emily knows this woman, she’s sure of it. Her face looks so familiar for some reason, but Emily can’t say why. Then she drops her gaze to the waitress’s nametag. Jenna.
“Oh, my God,” Emily whispers, a slow grin spreading across her face. “Jenna McAllister? Is that you?”
She expects Jenna to not remember her, or to fish for her name, or to ask her who she is. After all, Jenna didn’t say or do anything to indicate she had recognized Emily first. So Emily is pleasantly surprised when Jenna smiles down at her. “Hey, Emily. Didn’t think I’d ever see you in here.”
Releasing the menu, Emily grabs Jenna’s hand instead. It’s warm and smooth, the skin impossibly soft. “How long has it been? How are you doing?”
“Oh, I’m fine,” Jenna says, though she sounds tired, as if she’s been on her feet all day. “Let me go put in your order, okay?”
“Can you come sit with me?” Emily wants to know.
But Jenna shakes her head. “No, sorry. I’m on the clock.”
Emily glances around the empty restaurant and arches a questioning eyebrow. “Yeah, I can see this place is packed.”
When Jenna laughs, the years seem to fall away from her face and the sixteen-year-old girl Emily used to know shines through. “Well, I get off at eight…”
Rubbing her thumb over the back of Jenna’s hand, Emily says, “I can wait around.”
“I don’t want to keep you…”
Emily laughs. “Trust me, I literally have nothing I’d rather do.”
As she watches Jenna walk away, Emily can’t stop smiling. Suddenly her evening is shaping up to be much better than it was moments ago.
* * * *
They met the first day of seventh grade. God, was it thirty years ago now? Jenna had turned twelve in August before classes started; she was coming to South Market’s only middle school from Lakeview Elementary on the east end of town. Emily was five months younger; she’d started kindergarten a year earlier than other kids her age and always felt she had to overcompensate to keep up. Her family lived on the west end of town, and until seventh grade, she went to Pennock Elementary with the same group of children she’d known all her life. Middle school was the first time she even realized there were other kids her own age in town.
Jenna and Emily were in the same homeroom together. Emily noticed her immediately because of her hair. This was 1986, when every girl spent hours in front of the mirror teasing her bangs as high as they could go and spiral perms were all the rage. Emily’s stick-straight hair was too short for a spiral, and it never seemed to hold a perm for very long, but she still spent hours with a curling iron in one hand and a can of Aqua Net hairspray in the other, trying to force it to look like the pictures in Seventeen.
That was why Emily saw Jenna’s hair before she actually saw Jenna. Long dark curls cascaded down Jenna’s back, the sides pinned up in front with a barrette so it sort of poofed into a roll above her forehead—a carefree, pretty hairstyle Emily would later see on Seinfeld’s Elaine that reminded her of Jenna that first day in middle school.
She didn’t approach Jenna at first. Emily had her own group of friends, girls she’d known at Pennock who she palled around with in the intimidating halls of South Market Middle. They traveled in packs, navigating the murky social waters of their new school, walking each other to their lockers and to class. They sat together in lunch, too, and laughed too loudly, as if to ward off everyone else.
But Emily kept seeing Jenna wherever she went. The girl hovered at the corners of her vision like a spectre, haunting her. They seemed to share a lot of the same classes, and their lockers were close to each other, too. It wasn’t until fifth period PE when Emily finally spoke to her.
They stood in a makeshift line with twenty or so other kids inside the gym. Emily was trying hard not to be impressed—Pennock Elementary hadn’t even had a gym, just an auditorium, and she had heard rumors of a swimming pool underneath the basketball court, which seemed far-fetched until she noticed the rows of bleachers folded up out of the way against the walls. A table stood in the middle of the court, the PE teachers sitting behind it. Though the boys and girls would usually be separated for class, they were together for the first one as gym clothes and lockers were handed out. As the teachers called a student’s name, the student approached the table and was given a gym bag. Boxes of white T-shirts and gym shorts were nearby; the student rummaged through the clothes, looking for the right sizes, then headed to the appropriate locker room. Girls on the right, boys on the left.
The names weren’t called in any particular order. None of Emily’s other friends were in the class, so when she noticed Jenna, she decided to introduce herself. Moving down the line, she stepped around a cluster of giggling girls and sidled into the empty spot beside Jenna. Then she tapped Jenna on the shoulder. “Hey.”
Turning, Jenna frowned at her. “Hey.”
“I’m Emily. You’re in, like, all my classes. I like your hair.”
Jenna ran a hand through her curls self-consciously. “Thanks. I hate it.”
“You do not.” Emily couldn’t believe it. “It’s so pretty. Is it a perm?”
“Natural.”
Emily sighed. “Lucky. If mine was any straighter, it’d hang inside my head.”
With a laugh, Jenna said, “I’m Jenna. I went to Lakeview.”
“Pennock,” Emily said. “Quick, Madonna or Cyndi Lauper?”
Jenna scrunched up her brows in thought. “I kind of like them both.”
“Me, too,” Emily admitted. “Do you listen to pop or alt music?”
Leaning closer, Jenna whispered, “I don’t even know what alt is. I watch MTV after school and listen to Q94.”
“Pop, then. We can be friends.” Emily flashed her a warm smile. “Last question. What’s your all-time favorite song ever?”
“Ever?” Jenna looked up at the ceiling and rocked back on the heels of her Keds. “Oh, jeez. Ever? This one’s kind of old…”
“It’s okay, so’s mine.”
An almost embarrassed grin slipped across Jenna’s face. “I’m going to have to say ‘Careless Whisper.’ You know, by—”
“Wham! Yep.” Emily nodded happily. “Mine, too! Now we’re definitely friends.”
* * * *
The two years at South Market Middle passed quickly. One by one Emily’s old friends found new people to hang out with, and by the end of seventh grade, she and Jenna were inseparable. Every morning they met at the front steps of the school before class. They walked each other to their lockers and to class, even the ones they didn’t share. They ate lunch together, they studied together in the library. After school they lingered outside by the buses until the last possible moment when they had to board, since they took different ones, and the minute they arrived home, they would call each other immediately. Emily spent hours with the cordless phone propped between her ear and shoulder, listening to Jenna breathe, telling her friend every little thing she said and did. She only hung up when her mother yelled at her that dinner was ready…and the moment she was finished, she called Jenna again. They’d tie up the line until it was time for bed.
Weekends they took turns staying over each other’s houses. Friday Emily would come to school with a packed bag, and she’d get on Jenna’s bus at the end of the day, camping out in Jenna’s room until Monday morning. The next Friday Jenna did the same thing, staying at
Emily’s house instead. They went everywhere together, did everything as a pair. The only time they were apart was over Christmas break, and it wasn’t because Emily didn’t ask, either, but her mother said no. “Family only.”
“Jenna practically is family,” Emily argued.
“I said no,” her mother replied, and no amount of begging or crying on Emily’s part would change her mind.
When they went from the middle school to the high school, their friendship stayed intact. They shared the same locker, took the same electives, made sure their schedules synced as much as possible. Teachers and students alike grew used to seeing them together; if Jenna was ever out sick, Emily would inevitably have to field the question of where she was a hundred times throughout the day. Getting their driver’s licenses meant they didn’t have to take the bus anymore; Emily’s father gave her his old car, and she left early every morning to pick Jenna up for school. They even got jobs at the same ice cream stand in the mall, and refused any shift they weren’t scheduled to work together.
In retrospect, Emily has to admit maybe it was a bit too much. She remembers one time her mother came into her room and wanted to know exactly what the extent of her relationship was with Jenna. This was before Emily came out to her family—her mother had no clue she was a lesbian then.
And, really, she wasn’t physically attracted to Jenna. They were friends, best friends, closer than most—what kids today would call BFFs—and Emily simply doesn’t think of her in that way. Back in high school, Emily didn’t think of anyone in that way, to be honest. She only knew she didn’t like boys the way other girls her age did. Sure, she and Jenna giggled over guys, but it was always someone unattainable, someone who would never go out with either of them in a million years. The football team’s quarterback, for instance. Emily can’t remember his name or what he looked like, but Jenna used to have the worst crush on him so Emily pretended to like him, too, if only so they could both gush over him together.
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