And we may never graduate, having failed to attend our first-period classes, because once again we are both called into the principal’s office. This time it’s the local NBC TV station. They want to do an interview. Who knew we could start something like this?
Again, first period and today, even second, is obliterated by our newfound fame. Not only that, but the station didn’t just assign one of their reporters, the morning anchor has shown up to do the interview himself. Rumor has it he’s gay, so I have to wonder if he didn’t volunteer.
They’ve set up in the school library, where a Do Not Enter sign has been posted on the door. Principal Zynco takes us in to meet Jesse Milian, the news anchor. He seems to be a really nice guy. He leads us over to four chairs and shows us each where to sit. Apparently, like the day before, we will not be interviewed just the two of us. Milian briefly explains the process; then he thanks us for doing this. He also tells us to call him Jesse, even on camera.
An assistant director/cameraman counts us off, and the filming begins. Jesse begins with an explanation of the situation, telling of how our article has gone viral overnight. Then he begins his questions.
“So how long have you guys known you were gay?”
I look at Kerem, and he signals for me to answer first. “I’ve known for a long, long time. I was totally out at the school I went to before I transferred here this year. I’ve always believed that being open is the best path to acceptance.”
“I see. And Kerem?” Jose asks.
“Well, I guess I knew I was different all my life, but it was a long time before I pinpointed why. I’ve spent most of my school years running for office—as you know, I’m our class president—and politics, even elementary school politics—haven’t left me much time for relationships. I know that sounds crazy, that little kids could get that caught up in running for office, but that’s me. So when I met Gabe, I felt something, and I was scared of it. But our friendship first, then our relationship second, grew.”
“And has being Muslim been a problem in your relationship?”
Kerem smiles, and I know that smile is lighting up the TV screen.
“Actually Gabe’s interest in Islam was the first thing that attracted me to him. That, and the fact that he’s a beautiful man. Gabe stalked me—” He pauses, and I laugh; he follows with his own laugh, then continues. “—and saw me praying. After I realized he wasn’t an ax murderer—” He laughs once again. “—he was full of questions. Gabe’s Christian, but questioning’s always a good thing, about anything. My classmates have always accepted my religion, but none were interested enough to ask me about it. Or maybe they were afraid. Islam’s so misunderstood in this country. I’ve been blessed because they, my friends, have simply accepted me for who I am. Anyway, the more Gabe and I talked about Islam, other topics came into the mix, and before we knew it, we were ready to take our friendship to something bigger.”
“And how do you feel about going to the prom together? Are you excited?”
We both begin to speak at the same time.
“One at a time, guys. You first, Gabe,” Jesse directs.
“I couldn’t imagine going to prom without Kerem by my side.”
“And Kerem?”
“Likewise. And I want to thank the powers that be for not objecting, and in fact for welcoming us.”
At that, Jesse looks at our principal. “Principal Zynco, you have anything to add?”
“I’m pleased as punch that these two’ll be breaking barriers that’ve needed breaking for a long, long time. Our school board and superintendent believe in equality, and this year’s senior prom is proof.”
“Thank you, Principal Zynco. And thank you, Kerem and Gabriel. What you’re doing, who you are, is an inspiration to us all.
“And that’s what it’s all about, folks,” Jesse says directly to the camera. “It’s not about some controversial relationship or some over-the-top act of civil disobedience. It’s about two guys in love and a world who accepts them.
“And on a personal note, let me say this story has touched me in a way that no story I’ve ever covered has done. I’m not making a big deal of this, and I’m not looking for praise or headlines. Let me just make a simple statement: I, too, am gay.”
I’m glad the camera isn’t on my face right now. I’m in shock and awe.
“This is Jesse Milian, reporting for Channel 12 News.”
“And we’re out,” the assistant says.
“That was unexpected,” I say, not to Jesse in particular. I just can’t seem to not say something.
“As I said, you two’re inspiring, and I’ve needed to do that for quite a while,” he answers.
“Well, we’re with you,” Kerem says to him.
The assistant walks over, his fingers on the earbud in his ear. “Station manager wants to see you pronto, Jesse.”
Milian looks at him questioningly.
“We were on a live feed,” the assistant says.
“But I thought we were filming for the five o’clock,” Milian says. His voice is filled with apprehension. Maybe he thought he could get back to the station, and if he had second thoughts, he could cut out that revelation of his before it hit the air.
“We were, but somehow the live feed button got pushed too.”
Milian turns white as a sheet. I don’t blame him. Although what he’s done is a courageous act, it could also be a career ender.
Then his color returns. “Well, guys, looks like either there will be rainbows or the shit will hit the fan. Wish me luck. Either way, I don’t care. I feel liberated.”
He fist-bumps both of us and leaves.
Kerem and I are in disbelief.
“For his sake, I hope his boss likes what he just did,” Kerem says.
The interview airs as recorded, complete with Milian’s revelation, on both the five o’clock and ten o’clock news. I guess only his boss saw the live feed. Which was enough.
Like most news stories, ours fades as his takes over.
Google News is filled with links to newspapers across the nation. It seems that Jesse Milian’s station manager fired him when he returned to the station. Then the station owner got wind of it—thanks to a friendly whistle-blower. The owner arrived at the station in a rage. He told the station manager he was out of line and a bigot. The guy who got canned was not Jesse Milian, but rather the homophobic station manager.
Next morning, Jesse Milian was flown to New York City for a Today Show appearance. Unsubstantiated reports are that he is being considered to replace a national newsperson who quit to “pursue other interests,” as they say.
Who would have believed that our little story, in the local neighborhood throwaway paper, would lead to this? That’s the power of openness and honesty.
And that’s the power of love.
Kerem and I have become even bigger celebrities at school.
I’m glad Jesse Milian came out. For his sake. But selfishly I’m glad he came out so publicly because it took the pressure off Kerem and me. When we did that TV interview, I was really afraid our prom night would be ruined by TV cameras, following our every move. But now they’re all chasing Milian and leaving us alone.
Our prom will be as magical as it’s supposed to be. Nothing can go wrong.
BUT FIRST, we need to get outfitted. It’s Saturday morning, and Kerem and I plan to hit the tuxedo rental place. It’s really no big deal. Kerem is wearing his dad’s tux, and I’m wearing my dad’s tux jacket. I need to rent pants, plus we want to get ties and cummerbunds. Neither of us actually cares what we wear. We’re just glad we’re going to the prom—and going together.
I pull the car into a spot right in front of the rental store nearest our neighborhood. We get out, and go in.
“Can I help you guys?” the clerk asks.
“Yeah,” I say, “our prom is next Saturday. I need to rent pants, plus we want ties and cummerbunds.”
“You’re the two in the Tribune story, right?”
“We can’t help you,” the guy says. No smile. No emotion. Just we can’t help you.
“What? We know it’s pretty close to our prom, but surely you can rent me some pants,” I say, totally not reading anything into what he’s just said.
“Look,” he says, “I don’t do business with guys like you. Go somewhere else.”
“What do you mean—guys like you?” I’m beginning to understand. And I may pounce on this guy.
Kerem tugs on my sleeve. “Come on, Gabe. We’ll go someplace else.”
I’m ready to stand my ground and demand service, but I know he has the right to refuse it to me. The asshole. What I really want to do is pound him into the ground. Which is what I almost start to do, but Ker stops me.
“Come on, Gabe. He doesn’t deserve our business. Let’s go,” Kerem says, trying to pull me away.
“Be my guest,” the guy says, and he motions toward the door.
In the car, I say, “It’s a good thing you stopped me.”
“We cannot steal the fire. We must enter it.”
“Come again?” He’s making no sense.
“It’s a Sufi saying. I think it means this: if you had attacked that guy, only bad things would come of it. You would have tried to ‘steal the fire.’ But if we enter the fire—that is, accept that there are people like that and that we can do nothing about it, not right here, right now, anyway—then we enter the fire, feel its wrath, know that we can use it to fuel us and extinguish the haters, and we have then conquered the prejudice.”
“You’re a wise man, Kerem Uzun. Sort of like what the AA people say, ‘Accept the things you cannot change; change the things you can.’”
“Exactly. We both know we’ll encounter fools like that guy our whole lives—gay haters, Muslim haters. But we just enter the fire. Let it ignite us to do what we can to combat it all. In a sense, giving that interview to the Tribune was entering the fire.”
“And that—you,” I say, “are why I no longer fear. But the fact remains. What do we do now?”
“We try every rental place in town until we get what we want,” Kerem says. “They can’t all be like that piece of shit.”
I look at him. I know he can pop a good phrase every now and then, but this one surprises me, and I laugh at him.
He joins in, and at last, we’re back in the good mood we’d started in.
“Okay,” I say. “Guide me, o great wizard.”
He says there is another place two streets over, one block down, and I head there.
A bit warily, we go in the door and an older man, short, bald, a bit humpbacked, greets us. “Welcome, welcome. What can I do for you today?”
I repeat my request.
He looks at us, and it’s like a light bulb has gone on over his head. “You’re the two boys in the newspaper, right?”
Uh-oh. Strike two.
I nod, but Kerem enters the fire. “Yes, sir, we are indeed.”
“Well, I’m not giving you a pair of pants.”
“But…,” I say, ready to do battle. After all, he’s a little old man. I won’t hurt him. I’ll just change his mind.
“No, sir,” he continues, ignoring my defiant stance. “I don’t know what you plan to wear with those pants, but it’s not good enough. I’m outfitting both you guys in our finest, free of charge.”
Both our mouths drop.
“My grandson—the sweetest boy you could ever meet—didn’t get to go to his prom. Broke my heart. But times have changed a bit, thank Yahweh, and you two are going, and I intend to see you go in style.”
He motions for us to come with him to a nearby rack. “Let’s see, you’re both slender and tall. I say the Joseph Abboud silver heather slim fit. It’s perfect.” He pulls two amazing suits off the rack. “Try ’em on.” He loads us up with accessories, as well.
We head to adjoining dressing rooms, and when we step back into the main room, we are mirror images. Two fashion models decked out in suit, vest, ties, and even shoes to match.
“I knew it! Absolutely perfect. You two are magnificent. Girls are going to be wishing they were your dates. Boys are going to be green with envy.”
I don’t need a mirror, because if I look half as good as Kerem, then we are very much fashion magazine cover models.
“How’s the fit?” the man asks. “Nu, the pants on you, young man”—he points to me—“are a tad bit long. I can fix that.” He reaches down and pins up my pant legs. “And you,” he says, turning to Kerem, “you need to eat more, boychik. Even the slim fit is a bit baggy on you.” He grabs the sides of Kerem’s jacket and pins them.
“When’s your prom?”
Sheepishly I say, “Next Saturday. I know that’s soon, so if you can’t do all this….” I didn’t know how long alterations took. I had thought I was only getting a pair of pants off a rack.
“Nisht gefloygen. It doesn’t matter,” he says with a gesture. “I’ll have these finished and pressed for pickup Wednesday afternoon. Okay?”
“Fine with us. And we really appreciate it. But you can’t do all this for free.”
“Yes, we insist on paying,” Kerem adds. “Please let us.”
“Nonsense. Es iz meyn fargenign. It’s my pleasure. Tell you what, all I want is a picture of you two in the suits. Best advertising I could ever get.”
Of course, we’ve been in the newspaper and on TV.
“Anybody,” he adds, “who comes in here and sees you two looking so good, will think this is the place to get formal wear. I couldn’t ask for better models for my product.”
“If you’re sure,” I say.
“Ikh bin zeyer zikher. I’m very sure, indeed. And if anybody asks where you got these suits, tell ’em Bennie’s Formal Wear. I’m Bennie, by the way.”
We both shake his hand. “Good to meet you, Bennie,” I say.
Kerem adds, “It’s not every day we meet one of Allah’s angels.”
“Your grandson is very lucky to have a granddad like you.”
A slight sadness tears away his genial smile. “My Daniel is no longer with us, I’m afraid. Alav ha-shalom.”
Neither of us ask, knowing that far too many gay teens take their own lives, and that might be the case here and what has motivated Bennie to be so nice to us, total strangers.
“Sorry to hear that,” I tell him, almost at a loss for words. “I know you miss him.”
I see a tear in his right eye, but he manages a smile. “My Danny was very special. Now, boys, in case my assistant is here Wednesday afternoon and not me—I’m an old man and sometimes have to take an afternoon off—” I bet that happens almost never, I think. “—will you both be picking these up, or will one or the other of you, or will someone else be doing your errands for you?”
Kerem answers. “I’ll get here. Gabe has swim practice, but I’m free Wednesday. What time do you close?”
“Five, sharp.”
“Then I’ll be here at four. Count on it.”
“Wonderful, wonderful. And don’t forget that picture.”
“We won’t,” I say.
“Mazel Tov!” he calls as we leave the shop.
“What a nice, nice man,” I say when we’re back in the car.
“He surely was. Allah blessed us. What do you think happened to his grandson?”
“I don’t even want to think about it because my imagination can take some very dark turns.”
“That’s what I’m thinking too,” Kerem says. “We’re lucky, you know.”
“Yes, we are.” Despite what I said about not wanting to think about it, that’s all I can think about until I decide forcefully to banish the thoughts. Danny, Bennie’s grandson, might not have even been gay. He could have been killed in a car crash or hit by a bus, for all we know. We only know he was blessed with a wonderful grandpa, and Danny’s death was a great loss to Bennie, and to the world. If Bennie thought that much of him, Danny had been dest
ined to do good things. If fate hadn’t stepped in.
AND THE big day arrives. I’ve known for a long time that our final swim meet of the year was on prom Saturday. But Coach told us it would be over by 2:00 p.m., so we would have plenty of time to prepare for the big night. The meet is a short drive across town, so no sweat. Which is not to say that the girls on the team aren’t crazed over the idea. I’m surprised they didn’t quit the team, knowing they had such a short time to get their hair and makeup done, and then get all dolled up in their dresses. Most girls are spending the entire day getting ready. But swim team girls are a different breed, and they didn’t want to disappoint Coach. He lives and breathes swimming, and he sees nothing wrong with this meet being on the biggest day of the year.
Things run over, and before we know it, it’s three, heading for four o’clock. The girls’re frantically phoning their moms, having hair appointments switched. Calling friends to beg them to take their earlier appointments and giving them their later ones. Hoping that this thing is over in time for it all to happen.
And, victors, we drive away straight up four o’clock. I rush home to shower and get into the monkey suit.
As the shower pounds its rejuvenating heat on me, I wander back to that first day, the day I saw the vision that is Kerem. So much has happened. Who knew that my life would change so drastically? I’ve found love, and no one can take that from me. Kerem is perfect in every way. And the most perfect thing is that he loves me, with all my faults. He’d say he’s the one with the faults, but that’s not true.
I want to think this’ll last forever. If we somehow take another path, I’ll be content to have this year. It’s been amazing.
I dry off, gel my hair, and suit myself up. Bennie was right: silver heather’s perfect for both of us. I can only imagine how sexy Kerem’ll be. Especially since I got just a taste of it in Bennie’s store.
As I gaze into the full-length mirror in my room, I say out loud, “You’re a fox, Gabriel. And you’re the luckiest guy on earth tonight. Stylin’ in Joseph Abboud, Kerem Uzun and Gabriel Dillon proudly strut the red carpet. Into the prom. Together.
You Can't Tell by Looking Page 19
