Pride Must Be a Place

by Kevin Craig

  He clues in to my continued confusion and finally releases my hand. “Come. Please. You must ignore me. I apologize for going off like that. But do you ever find yourself lost in the moment of doing a thing and your mind is working a mile a minute and you’re not talking but all the words want to come out just the same? And then some poor schmuck comes along into your orbit and becomes your next victim? Suddenly, you’ve just spouted a novel and you’re gasping for breath, and they look at you like you’re the most insane person on the planet? And all they want to do is get away from you? You poor boy. I’m so sorry to have made you that victim. It might surprise you, but you’re not the first. Come. Come.”

  He walks toward the house and waves for me to follow and I already know that I love him. I have no idea what he’s ranting about, but I don’t care. He’s this dude that is 100% who he is. And he didn’t flinch in disgust at the weirdness of my name. And he’s just magical.

  “So do you get Ezra Pound at all? I’m thinking no, but I thought I’d ask. How do you know Marc? He’s so private. I wish he’d tell us more about what’s going on outside this house, but you know teenagers. Oops. Sorry. Of course, you do. You are one. But today I knew something had changed. He came home like he was surfing on heroin. All charged up and excited and what-not about this club and this Ezra boy coming over to talk about it. He was lit up. So good to see.

  “Watch your step on that fourth riser. It’s rickety like an old tooth. Mattieu said he would fix it, but that was back in 2009. I’m hopeful, but not very optimistic.”

  I skip the step and try to regulate my breathing again. I can’t do this. His speed talking is leaving me breathless. I’m such a dweeb.

  “Come, come,” Gary says as he reaches the screen door and flings it open for me. I walk under the bridge he makes with his arm and enter the arctic air of the climate controlled house. “Marc’s in here somewhere. Marc!”

  “Coming, Dad,” I hear from somewhere above us. I forgot to mention that Buttermilk Bay Road is probably the most exclusive neighbourhood in our town. I’ve walked into a mansion. And somewhere deep within its walls is Marc Tremblay.

  “Shout again, Marc,” Gary says. “I’ll have Ezra follow your voice. You don’t mind following the voice, do you, Ezra? What’s your last name? Would we know your family?”

  Absolutely not, you wouldn’t. My dad and gays mix like, well, like all the things that don’t mix mix. And, also, about the neighbourhood. My parents wouldn’t know anyone from this neighbourhood.

  “Caine.”

  “Nope. Can’t say I’m familiar with the Caines. But, Erica Caine.” He waves his arms over his head and shrieks, “But I’m Erica Caine!” in a theatrical way. Now I am totally and utterly lost.

  “Really, Dad. Erica Caine? From All My Children? Really? Are you trying to scare my friend away forever? You need to calm down. I’m telling Dad.”

  “Very funny, Mr. Man. Offer your friend some snacks. He’s probably famished.” He turns to me. “Are you hungry, Ezra? Marc can get you a snack. Or maybe I can whip up some nachos or something for you kids? No?”

  “Dad,” Marc says. “I’ll take it from here. Seriously, stop scaring the guests. Your garden. Remember how excited you were a few minutes ago to get out into your garden? Please. I got this.”

  “Be a good host, Marc,” Gary says, all serious like it’s a threat. Like he does not suffer bad hosts well. “I mean it.”

  “Dad.” He puts a hand on his father’s shoulder and Gary kind of snuggles his head into it, turns and kisses it. Wow. Affection. It makes me want to cry.

  “Okay, okay. Don’t mind me, Ezra. I hope I’m forgiven. I know, I know. I’m too much.”

  “Not at all, Mr. Tremblay,” I say. “Thank you.” I smile and, the thing is, I really mean it. It’s the most sincere smile I ever smiled.

  “No, no, Ezra. Gary. Please, call me Gary. Mr. Tremblay is Mattieu’s father. It makes me feel old when people call me Mister. And don’t even get me started with sir. Sir is just another way of—”

  “Garden,” Marc says.

  “Yes,” Gary says. “Of course. Garden. Why, just now I heard my sheers calling me.” He smiles. He is the coolest person I ever met in my life. I smile at him and then I turn to Marc and smile even brighter. I find myself wishing he would put a ring on it and make this man my father-in-law. Like, now.

  Gary leaves and Marc brings me to the kitchen.

  “Want a pop? We have Pepsi or Dr. Pepper.”

  Dr. Pepper is my favourite. If he picks that, we were meant to be.

  “I’ll have a Dr. Pepper,” I say. “Please.”

  “Good choice. I was afraid you were going to say Pepsi. I’d have to turf you.”

  Match. Made. In. Heaven. All two boys need in common to live happily ever after is a mutual love for Dr. Pepper, right? Right?!

  He tosses me a can of Pepper.

  “We’ll take the back stairs.” I follow him up the back stairs beyond the kitchen. Their house has back stairs. I take a moment to process this information. “We can hang in my room. Did you have any ideas for what you envision this club to be?”

  “Um. Not really. Yet. I just know we have to have it. I don’t really get picked on much. But, you know, I can pass. People don’t seem to mind if your gayness doesn’t hit them in the face. I can totally pass. But Alex. Well, there are a couple guys at least who marked him. They pick on him every once in a while. Will’s the worst. We actually got into a fight with him after school today. But I think that went weirdly okay. Aside from the punch-up.”

  Oh, my God. I think I got a Gary contact high. I’ve become him. Shut up already, Ezra.

  “Wait. Wait,” he says. “Do you think you can pass?”

  He stops at the door of his room and looks back. I can’t register the look on his face, but I think it might be incredulity.

  “I don’t know. Don’t you think I pass? I always thought I did?”

  “Sorry, man, but not for a second. If you don’t care, that’s cool. But if you think you’re fooling anyone, I’m here to tell you that you aren’t. Although, it might be because I’m so attuned to it. I mean, I grew up with my dads, right?”

  “Holy. I always thought it wasn’t obvious.”

  “Think again,” he says with an apologetic smile.

  Then he opens the door, moves to walk in, closes it over again and says, “I hope you’re okay with messes? You’re not OCD or anything, are you? Because if you are, you’re in for a world of pain once you walk through this threshold.”

  We both laugh. And the sound of our mixed laughter warms me. This is too intense. I should not be here, entering Marc Tremblay’s bedroom. It just feels wrong. And does he have any idea at all that I’ve been crushing on him for over three years? It feels kind of creepy of me.

  “I should be good. I’m sure it’s not as bad as my room.”

  And it isn’t. In fact, it’s pretty clean. Everywhere. I don’t even get what universe one would have to live in to think this was a pigsty.

  “Um. This is pretty much spotless. Like, it could be in the Smithsonian of Clean.”

  “Not sure that’s an actual place, Ez.” Oh god. He smiles at me like he likes me, but I know it’s not in that way. Damn it. I hate this.

  “You should see my bedroom.” And see, saying something like this to a friend shouldn’t cause one’s cheeks to get red hot. It is what it is. And apparently, he’s going to give me that amazing smile every time I say something.

  I love the smell of his room. It smells like Marc.

  “So. What’s up? Did you bring that list with you?”

  Marc walks over to his bed and jumps up and lands across it. I tell myself not to get too intense. He’s reaching out to help because clearly he loves his fathers. Supporting us is his way of supporting them.

  Dammit. It only makes me love him more.

  I reach into my front pocket, take out a piece of paper and unfold it. I sit on the bottom edge of his bed, and after I flatt
en out the page a bit, I lay it on the duvet cover in front of him.

  “You can crash up here if you want. You don’t have to sit on the edge. Get comfortable.”

  “Um. Okay. Thanks.” I stretch out beside him and we lie there on our bellies, elbows on the bed, heads in our hands. I remain quiet while he reads the list out loud from the first point to the last.

  “Okay,” he says when he’s finished, “I guess one and two would be the easiest. And Dad would help out with number three if I asked him nicely enough.”

  I glance down at number three.

  3. Get someone outside the school to sponsor the club.

  “Number four can only happen once we have number three in place. Do you really think your father would sponsor the club?”

  “For sure,” he says. “My fathers would be so on board with this, it’s ridiculous. They never had stuff like this. That’s why it’s so important that we get it in place. Who the hell knows who needs a club like this? It’s not like people wear sexuality badges. But I’m guessing it’ll make some people happy.”

  “Well, your Dad does seem really nice.”

  “Who, Dad? No, no. My other father. He’s a lawyer. His firm would be the sponsor. It would be good PR for him. My dad Gary already said he would do it. My other dad would know how insanely happy it would make Gary if he did it. And they live to make each other happy.”

  “But why would it make Gary so happy?”

  “On your way out, check out the left side of his face. From his earlobe to the corner of his mouth.”

  I roll over a bit so I can sit up more. “What do you mean? What did I miss? What happened?”

  “Let’s just say gay pride and gay straight alliances did not exist back in the 80s. It was killer back then.”

  “Damn.”

  “Yeah. When they went to school it was a war zone. My dad had his face slit open. His entire cheek was opened. The boy who attacked him in the school hallway put a knife in the corner of his mouth and then dragged it right up practically to his ear. He said if he liked sucking cock so much he’d make his mouth bigger so he could take the big ones.”

  I feel sick to my stomach. Speechless. I wipe unexpected tears from my eyes while listening to the horror of what Marc is saying. He reaches over to his bedside table, grabs a small box of Kleenex and pushes it across the bed to me.

  “I’m sorry, Ezra. They had it real bad. I loved my dads like mad before I ever knew what sexuality was. So sexuality never meant anything to me, ever. Someone tells me that my dads are bad people because they’re gay, it would take a lot for me to not kill them. But Dad always says, we have to be most tolerant to those who show us the least tolerance.

  “Dad is so crazy high energy that almost nobody notices his scar the first time they meet him. I’ve seen people notice it for the first time and be shocked. Because, the thing is, it’s a huge scar. It’s ridiculously huge. He’s so out there, his personality often hides the scar.”

  “Oh my god.” I’m like bawling now and I don’t know why. Just. The hatred that would entail. For someone to do something like that to another human being. For no reason. It just hits me like a ton of bricks. Like, that could be us. It’s like that book, Two Boys Kissing, where the narrator is all those old guys from back then—in the day—who died of Aids. It could be us.

  “Hey. It’s okay, Ez.” He pats my shoulder.

  “Oh, I know. It just really hits home. We really came a long way, haven’t we?”

  “Yeah. Absolutely. Just not long enough. We can do better.

  “Truth, Ezra? My dads are gonna dump a shitload of money at this project. More than we’ll ever need. You won’t have to fundraise again. They’ll fund this thing in perpetuity. It’s what he does. He’s a human rights lawyer. He does tons of LGBTQ work. You’re golden, sponsorship-wise.”

  “Really?” I’m aware my jaw is unhinged, but I can’t seem to do anything about it. “That’s just so…incredible. Really. Thanks so much for agreeing to help, Marc. And not just for the money. Thank you.”

  “It’s no problem, Ez. Glad you asked. I was probably the best person in the entire school to ask. Totally meant to be.”

  “You’re right.”

  “There is one important thing, though,” he says. He gets all serious looking. “Like I told you earlier today, I’m not gay, Ezra. And, I don’t want to embarrass you, but I’m pretty sure you have a thing for me. I think you’re an awesome guy, but it would never ever happen between us. I’m one hundred percent straight, if anyone can be. We cool?”

  I know I’m blushing because I would use a fire-hose to cool down my face right now if I was close to one. But killing the elephant in the room makes everything easier for everyone.

  “I kinda figured that all along, Marc. Don’t worry. I wasn’t getting my hopes up. I like you. A lot. But if you want to be friends, I can do that. I’d like to get to know you better.”

  He gets up off the bed and sets down the list.

  “You have no idea how relieved this makes me. I was afraid you’d freak out and storm off once I brought it up. Everyone always assumes I’m gay because my dads are. I hate that crap. It’s not catching, you know. Not at all.

  “So, back to number four,” he continues, obviously relieved to put that conversation behind him. Not as relieved as I am. “This one should be a lot of fun, right?”

  4. Order swag for the club to get the word out. (t-shirts, buttons, stickers, etc.)

  “Absolutely,” I say. “We can go through this online site I know and figure it all out.”

  He laughs. But clearly I’m missing something.

  “What are all the things you order actually going to say?”

  “Oh. Oops. Not number four, right? Too soon? We should move it further down the list?”

  “Yeah. More like near the bottom of the list. We need to have a name. We need to have, like, a tagline or something. We need artwork. I hate to sound like a douchey ad-guy or something, Ezra, but we need branding.”

  “No, no. You’re one hundred percent right. Swag comes later. But, man, your dad. That’s like the most amazing news ever.”

  “I told my other dad just a bit about it. Maybe we can go down and tell him more now. We just can’t let him corner us. Or we’ll be there all night.”

  “I really like him, Marc. You don’t need to apologize for him. I see what’s possible. I mean, in my own future.”

  “That’s so awesome, dude. Oh, man. You can not tell him what you just said. He’d bawl like a baby.”

  “You mean like I just did?”

  “I totally get why that hit you like that. You know, this club is just as important to me as it is to you. Like I said, so perfect that you asked me. I’m not really the kind of person who would organize something like this, but now that it’s started I’m stoked to be part of it.”

  We leave his room and walk downstairs.

  “I’m just glad you said yes. We need straight kids. They’ll push it over the top. We need you.”

  “You don’t need to be gay to know how important this is. When I think of what my dads went through, it makes me hostile. Dad almost died. And my other dad had to fight for every step in his career. And they were both bullied. When I hear about how Will bullies you guys…let’s just say he’s lucky he’s still alive.”

  “Thanks.”

  When we get to the front door, Marc opens it, holds it for me, and we go out onto the porch.

  “Dad,” he calls out. “Can you come up here?” To me, he says, “Just go sit in one of the Muskoka chairs over there. I’ll be right back.”

  I plant myself in the white one while he goes down the steps and meets his father in the yard. They say something to each other, but I can’t hear what it is.

  They walk up the steps together, Gary’s arm around his son.

  “What’s up?”

  “I just wanted to tell you more about the club and stuff,” Marc says.

  Gary plants himself in the chair beside
mine. A blue one. He crosses his legs and leans forward so he doesn’t fall into the scoop seat of the Muskoka.

  “Ezra, I’m so thrilled you reached out to our boy for help with your club. You have no idea what a good boy he is, but it gives me great encouragement to know you felt safe enough to do so. We’re so insanely proud of him. To know he said yes makes me so happy. You know, you do everything you can to show your kids the right path…but until they’re put into situations where they need to make right and wrong decisions for themselves, you never know if the information has stuck.

  “You hope, but you never truly know. And then you see them taking the right actions and you know. So thank you. Thank you for giving him the opportunity to use the moral compass we put into place in him. You’re a good boy for starting this club. I’m proud of you, too. We need, among us, those courageous enough to be the winds of change. I know I just met you, but I’m so proud of you. If this group saves or uplifts just one child, you’ll know your work was worth it. I want you to know that Mattieu and I will be here for anything you need to help you pull this off. Support? We have it, boys.”

  So much for listening intently. The scar represents so much. And I missed it. Now, I might just be staring at it.

  “You’re looking glassy-eyed, Ezra. It’s okay to notice. I really don’t mind. I’m proud of it, in a really bizarre and possibly insane way.”

  “I’m sorry,” I say. I try to take my eyes away from it, but I can’t.

  “Nothing to be sorry about. There was a time when I hated it. I couldn’t even look in the mirror. Literally. To be honest, and I hope you don’t understand this, I wanted to kill myself for the longest time over this scar. Over what it represented. Over what liberties they didn’t want us to have. Over the sheer hatred that inspired it. Over everything.”

  “I don’t know if I could even imagine,” I say. So lame. If I could not cry, that would be so awesome right now.

  “I know I speak for Mattieu when I tell you his practice will sponsor anything you require to get this club off the ground and stay in flight. Once you guys figure out what you need, just come back and let us know how much you need. We’ll make it happen. Consider this offer a blank cheque. Thank you, so much, for initiating this. It tears me apart to think of kids alone out there trying to navigate their budding sexualities. They should have every means of support available to them.”