Pride Must Be a Place

by Kevin Craig

  I don’t know how to answer that question. Brad looks around the room at everyone. That’s when I place it. The look I picked up on earlier. I’m guessing nobody in this room, besides the four of us who started the club, want anyone to know they’re here today. Everyone looks just a bit terrified, that’s what it is. They’re terrified about their privacy.

  “Um,” I say, turning to Mr. Reason. “Absolutely. Right, sir?” But I’m not really sure. Can a club be confidential when there’s more than twenty people in it?

  “Absolutely, Brad,” Mr. Reason says. “Absolutely. I want all of you to know that what happens in this room stays in this room. I can’t guarantee anonymity once you start to join in on public events, but in this room…right here, right now…everything stays private. Okay. These meetings will be more helpful if everyone feels safe enough to talk about their issues. Remember, this is not a therapy session. But if you want to talk about sexuality issues, or dealing with coming out, being out, etcetera, this is the place you can talk about whatever it is you feel comfortable sharing.”

  Mr. Reason picks up a piece of paper and some tape from the teacher’s desk, takes them to the egged window and tapes the paper up so nobody can see in.

  “Thank you, sir,” Brad says as Mr. Reason walks back with a smile on his face. Oh, that Brad…the guy who wrote The Parachute Club on his ballot. Cool name choice. This should be good. “Okay, well, I just wanted to say that I’m gay. Oh my god, that feels good.”

  There’s a nervous burst of laughter from the room.

  “Me too,” says Hank.

  The two girls that came in together as the meeting was about to begin—I don’t really recognize them from around school—start to hold hands. The one with long blonde hair smiles at me and says, “Us too.”

  “Well,” the guy beside Hank says. “I’m straight. My girlfriend would be here too, but she had volleyball practice. Her brother is gay. He’s in university, but he’s totally awesome. So, yeah, I’m here as an ally.”

  This is so cool. Not everyone speaks up, but before the momentum dies down three more kids tell us they’re gay and two more identify themselves as straight allies. I look to Alex and he is full-on beaming now.

  After a moment of nervous silence, Nettie practically jumps out of her chair waving her hand like she has the answer and she wants the teacher to pick her. “Oh, oh!”

  “Yes, Nettie?” I ask, fulfilling her need to be picked. “Did you have something to say?”

  “I’m straight,” she says. “But my best friend…well, he’s gay.”

  “Really?” I say. “That’s awesome.”

  “Yes, he is,” she says.

  “Okay,” I say, after we exchange smiles. “So, Brad? What’s up? What’s your idea?”

  “Drumroll please,” Brad says. A few of the kids rhythmically tap their chairs between their open legs to fulfill his request. “Casino Booth!”

  The idea is met with silence at first, but interspersed with a few smiles. Then a few nods. And then a couple yeahs! Then someone says ka-ching!

  “We could have a Roulette table. And a big six wheel. And a poker table. And maybe a slot ma—”

  “Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Mr. Reason says, waving Brad off. “I’m surprised, Brad. I did not take you for a gambler. You can take your seat now.”

  “But how about it, Mr. Reason?” Brad says as he takes his seat. “Great idea, right?”

  “Actually, Brad,” Mr. Reason begins, “I like your idea. But we’re going to have to scale it back about fifty percent in order to make it work. Remember, this is a high school. Not a casino. Number one, no gambling. Number two, well, no gambling. But I’m sure we could convince the powers that be to allow us to have at least a big six wheel…and perhaps roulette.

  “Oh, but wait,” he says. “We should ask everyone what they think. This should be a democracy of sorts, no?”

  “I love it,” I say. Alex sits beside me nodding his head furiously.

  “I’m in,” says Marc. “Great idea, Brad.”

  “A vote,” Nettie says, jumping up in her seat. “Everyone for a casino booth, raise your hand.”

  “Whoa, wait.” Mr. Reason interrupts the momentum, even as every single hand in the room goes up. “Let’s call it Rainbow Fun Booth or Wheel of Chance booth, or something along those lines. It can be almost anything other than a casino booth. Casino booth would get nixed before we even try to explain ourselves.”

  “Yay,” Nettie says as she starts clapping. Everyone joins in. “The Wheel of Chance Booth it is! Everybody gets to play for free and we can have prizes on the big six wheel…land on the prize, win it. Oh, oh…and for the roulette, we could have coffee coupons for Elixir as the prizes.”

  “You know my dad’s good for the prizes,” Marc says. “Way cool idea, Nettie.”

  “Wow,” Alex says. “I think we did it again. This is way too easy. Every step we take is easier than the last.”

  “Those are awesome ideas for prizes, Nettie. I love it. Okay, then,” Mr. Reason says. “That’s that. I’ll take this to the main office and find out if it will fly, but I’m sure it’ll just be a formality. Way to go, guys. You did it, everyone.”

  CHAPTER 22

  Sitting on my front porch, I keep looking up and down the street. I don’t even know which direction he’ll be coming from. My left leg is jiggling up and down like mad. I’m so nervous I could scream.

  I don’t know what I was thinking. I should send him a text to call it off. But it’s what I want. I don’t care if this causes a war, I need it. I need to be able to invite people over if I want to. It’s not normal.

  Look at Alex, for example. I’ve been his friend for, like, ever now. He hasn’t been to my house once. How sad is that?

  But this isn’t Alex. Alex isn’t driving towards me right now in a candy apple red Mustang convertible, flashing a perfect smile into the late afternoon sunshine. Nope. Simon is so not Alex.

  I can’t sit still. I get up and pace the porch, but it’s still not enough. I open the screen door and step inside. My father is actually the only one home besides me. I sure do know how to pick my confrontational moments.

  He’s standing in the kitchen, leaning against the counter drinking a beer. He’s holding a folded up newspaper in front of his face. It’s so quiet I can hear the beer going down his throat as he takes a chug out of the bottle.

  “Hey, Dad,” I say. The newspaper drops down low enough to reveal his face. He looks annoyed at the interruption.

  “Um,” he says. “Hello, Ezra. Can I help you?”

  “Nah. Just thought I’d have a Coke.” I walk towards the fridge, open it, and take a Coke off the shelf in the door. “Got it.” I hold up the Coke like an insane person and smile, like I just performed a feat worthy of the Cirque du Soleil. I’m such a loser. Even I’m embarrassed by how much of an idiot I am.

  Dad shakes his head. He’s filled with pity for me and shame for himself. His son is a loser.

  My throat is so parched I can’t even swallow. I don’t remember the last time I was this nervous. But I can’t summon the courage to tell him my friend is on his way over.

  “Um…was there anything else?” he says. He gives me this look like he just discovered I’m an alien. I’ll give him this one, though. I’m acting way weird. “What’s really up?”

  “Nothing,” I say. I take a big swill of Coke to get some saliva back in my mouth. I choke, of course. “Just having a Coke. Really.”

  “Ezra,” Dad says. “I’ve known you for what, seventeen years now? Don’t you think I would know if there was something up and you were beating around the bush about it?”

  I can’t really argue with that logic. I’d be lying. Obviously he knows there’s something up. Simon is going to be here any minute, so I better say something fast. Either way, disaster is about to happen.

  “Well,” I say.

  “See. I knew something was up. I know you.”

  Oh my god, Dad! You so do not know me. At
all! And I hate you for not knowing me. This screeches throughout my head and it takes me a split second to realize I didn’t actually say it out loud. Instead of taking the bait on that one, I simply shrug.

  “I have a friend coming over,” I say. “Just this guy from school. Homework.”

  “See,” he says. He takes another drink of his beer and gives up on his newspaper, finally chucking it down on the kitchen table. “Was that so hard?”

  “No,” I say. “I’m just saying. He should be here soon. We’re gonna work on this project together. History.”

  I wonder if he can read every lie I’m telling him. I wonder if he’ll say something if he does, or if he’s happy to pretend that it’s the truth. Like me. I also wonder if he’s completely oblivious to everything.

  “Simon should be here any minute.”

  “We haven’t heard that name before. Who’s this Simon guy?”

  He says Simon’s name like it’s dirty or something. Like he’s in a hurry to get the word out of his mouth before it causes damage. Or maybe I’m imagining this. I’m never quite sure he’s as bad as I make him out to be. I mean, he’s quick to slap you or yell or freak out and stuff…but it’s not like he’s ever thrown me down the stairs or anything.

  “Simon,” I say. “He’s in a couple of my classes, but it’s not like we hang around or anything. We just have this project together. That’s all.”

  It sounds like I’m trying to convince both of us, not just him.

  “Okay. Whatever, Ez.” He walks across the kitchen, but stops at the entryway. “Simon’s on his way over. Gotcha.”

  He leaves and a few seconds later I hear the screen door open and close.

  Oh my freaking God, are you kidding me right now? He’s on the porch. I’m going to die. I take another big swig from my Coke. I want to choke on it and drown, but of course I can’t do anything right. When I need to die, I can’t seem to find a way to do it.

  I go out to join him on the porch. There’s nothing else I can do.

  I sit down on the top step again and wish to God I never got up off of it in the first place. I look behind me. Yep. He’s there, in all his glory. He’s sitting on the Muskoka chair, smiling. His fingers tap against the oversized armrests and his beer is sitting on the table beside him.

  He’s loving this. My dad, the supreme torturer. Why is he even doing this? Probably because it’s like the first time in the history of the world that I ever invited someone over. Idiot. I knew this was a bad idea.

  As my brain bounces back and forth inside my head like it’s going to burst through my ears, a candy apple red Mustang pulls into the driveway. Would it be too crazy to say it glides into the driveway? Simon puts on the brakes, stops, and pulls the parking brake. I can see everything, since he has the top down again.

  He takes the key out of the ignition, cuts off the music that’s been blaring out the speakers, and glances at himself in his rear-view mirror.

  “Holy crap,” Dad says, startling me out of my reverie. He’s actually standing beside me on the top step now. “A 1984 Mustang Convertible, as I live and breathe. Red leather interior. Now that’s a car, Ez.”

  Oh, great.

  I take a step off the porch without saying anything. Simon steps out of the car and shuts the door. He turns and smiles at me. I see him seeing my father, but he doesn’t seem to mind. I smile as I continue down the steps toward him, but then I realize my dad is still beside me. He’s actually walking beside me. What’s happening here?

  “That’s about the nicest car there is,” Dad says. I see his head nod as he approaches Simon, but he walks right past him. The nod is the only indication that he saw him. “What’s under the hood?”

  “I’m sorry, sir,” Simon says, “but I have no idea.”

  Simon looks at me and shrugs, helpless. Then he smiles and turns back to the car. He walks over beside Dad. “And my father would so argue with you there. He says he’s gonna bury this one as soon as he gets a ’65. I mean, the ’84 doesn’t even have the classic shape.”

  “I know, I know,” Dad says. But he waves his hand to dismiss Simon’s comment. “Doesn’t matter. ’84 was a great year. For me, this is the car. Did I ever tell you I had one, Ez? A blue one, with white leather interior.”

  “No,” I say. Like he would ever talk to me about anything. We avoid each other like the plague. I know virtually nothing about him. “You didn’t mention.”

  “Come on,” he says, unable to believe the oversight. “You must have seen pictures of it or something?”

  “No pictures, Dad,” I say. He’s speaking to me, but he’s still at the car. His eyes are totally eating up every inch of it. “This is Simon, by the way.”

  “Oops. Oh, sorry,” he says as he comes out of his hypnotized state and turns away from the car. They shake hands as they walk towards me. “Hi, Simon. Ezra says you guys have a history project to work on together or something?”

  Simon totally rolls with the lie, even though we didn’t talk about it ahead of time. I didn’t even think to make anything up while we were talking about him coming over. For such a good Catholic boy, he’s taking to the lie like an expert.

  “Yes, sir,” Simon says. “It’s due next Monday. A big one. Thirty percent of the final grade.”

  “Wow,” he says. “You guys better get at it, then.”

  We walk up the porch steps and Dad sits back down on his Muskoka.

  “Okay,” I say, “Well, we’re gonna go up to my room and get to work, then.” Simon and I can’t stop stealing furtive glances at each other. I just want to kiss him hello, but I keep my cool.

  “Sure thing, Ez,” Dad says. He picks up his beer and takes the last swallow. “You better hope I don’t steal that car while you’re busy on your history project, Simon. I wouldn’t put it past me.”

  “Ha,” Simon says. We’re at the door now, trying to make our escape. I open the screen and hold it open for Simon. “I hope not, sir. It might not be his favourite Mustang, but it’s still my dad’s baby.”

  We sort of laugh and Simon steps inside. I go to follow him inside, but just as the screen door is about to slam shut behind us…it happens.

  “Ezra,” Dad calls out. The door closes, but it’s too late. I heard him and he knows I heard him.

  “Damn,” I say under my breath. “Wait here,” I say to Simon. He leans against the wall and smiles.

  “Don’t worry about it, Ez. It’s okay.” He blows me a kiss and I feel the heat rise in my face. Then I turn and open the door and step back out onto the porch.

  “Yeah, Dad?” I say.

  “Keep your bedroom door open,” Dad says. He stares out into the street like it’s the most interesting thing he’s ever seen.

  “Huh?” I say. I’m suddenly dry again, completely empty of saliva. What does this demand even mean? I can’t breathe. “What do you mean?”

  “You heard me, Ezra,” he says. He stands up and picks up the empty beer bottle. He’s speaking in a hushed tone, so it stays between the two of us. “I want you to leave your bedroom door open.”

  “Okay.” I slowly begin to back away from him, utterly speechless. The blush that Simon caused when he blew the kiss was nothing compared to this.

  “Like I said earlier, Ezra. Seventeen years.” He reaches out ahead of me and opens the screen door. He holds it for me and I step inside. “I know you, son.”

  The three of us stand in the front foyer in silence. I stare at my father and my father stares at me. And Simon leans against the wall in complete obliviousness. He has no idea what just happened. I don’t even know if I do.

  Yes I do. My father just so much as told me he knows I’m gay. Why else would he make me keep my bedroom door open? My heart is in my throat. I’m frozen.

  “Grab a couple Cokes, Ezra. Don’t just stand there looking lost. You’re going to scare your friend.”

  “Oh right,” I say. “Okay. Yeah. Wanna Coke?” I ask Simon.

  “Sure,” he says. I walk to the k
itchen, open the fridge and grab a couple Cokes. I leave my half-empty one on the table where I must have set it down earlier.

  When I come back they’re just standing there, kinda looking at each other.

  “Let’s go,” I say. I point to the stairs and he goes up ahead of me. I’m right on his tail. I can’t get into my room fast enough.

  “Remember what I said, Ezra,” Dad says. I turn and he’s standing at the bottom of the stairs.

  “Door open.” He mouths it this time and I can read his lips perfectly. At least he realizes how much it would embarrass me if Simon heard him. Oh my god.

  “Yes, sir,” I say before following Simon up the remaining stairs.

  We get to my room and step inside. Like a zombie, I drop the Cokes down on my bedside table and then I sit on the edge of my bed. Simon actually moves to close the door.

  “No, no,” I almost shriek. I give him the evil eye when he gives me a look of surprise. “For the love of all things holy. Keep. It. Open.”

  “Um…Oh,” Simon says. I can tell he’s perplexed, but he’s going to let it go. “Okay.”

  He comes over to where I’m sitting in shock. He leans down and is about to plant his lips on mine. I put up my hand to stop him and I’m a little too rough because I actually end up pushing him away. He looks at me, all hurt and bewildered and I want to die again because I know I just crushed his feelings big time.

  “My father knows I’m gay,” I whisper.

  “What!?” he whisper-screams. If that’s even a thing. He grabs me by the shoulders and sort of shakes me, but I don’t think it’s intentional. He’s just really freaked out. “Oh my God, I’m sorry, Ezra, just…wow. But, what do you mean?”

  “I mean. He. Knows. I’m. Gay.”

  “How can you be sure? What do you mean? You told me he was a bigot? That he hated gays?”

  “I’m telling you, Simon. He knows. My father knows I’m gay.” Just saying it out loud is enough to reignite the feeling of shock that’s still making it hard for me to breathe.

  I have no idea how we’re even managing to keep our voices down. I, for one, want to scream.