“They don’t know he did it. They asked me who I suspected, but of course I didn’t have any proof that it was him. That’s always the way, isn’t it?”
“We’re witnesses.”
“Actually not. You didn’t see him do anything.”
We are quiet for a while. It’s true. We didn’t.
Beau heaves a deep sigh and looks out the window. Then he gazes back at us.
“It’s starting again.”
We look at him, waiting.
“The gay thing.” He’s silent as he covers his eyes. His hand shakes slightly.
“The what?”
“I started getting harassed, in PE especially, when I started middle school. I had to learn self-defense. I got hit so hard once it made me puke. I got one million fouls and bloody noses. . . . I mean, sixth grade, and I was already freaked out about sex.” His voice trails off. He scrubs his eyes with the heel of his hand and sighs erratically. Then he gets a grip and settles.
He regards us from a thousand miles away.
“I try to be cool, just do my thing and not even look at anyone, but it doesn’t help.”
I nod. I so know. It doesn’t help. I don’t understand why. I will never understand why.
“We have to tell someone about this!” Leonie is disturbed by Beau’s apathy.
“Leo, Ms. Blip knows. She doesn’t care. She’s homophobic.”
“What’s that?”
I groan, but Beau answers her patiently.
“It means she hates gay people. Literally, it means she fears gay people.”
“Yeah, but what for? Why would anybody fear you? Plus, you’re not even gay, are you?”
Beau looks at both of us. Shrugs and tells.
“Yes. I’m gay.”
Leonie looks confused. She squints at him.
“But how? You just seem normal to me.”
He laughs bitterly.
“Yeah! I do, don’t I?”
“Like how do you even know? Have you ever even kissed a boy?”
Beau is quiet for a minute, and I can tell he hasn’t. I wonder if he is considering lying like he would be if he were straight and we asked him if he’d ever kissed a girl.
We all stare at each other, feeling sort of bewildered.
“No, not exactly,” he finally admits grudgingly. “But I know I want to try.”
Leonie is quiet for a second, considering.
“Well, so say you’re gay. So what? What’s the big deal? Who cares, if you’re nice?” Leonie cannot seem to make sense of such an unprovoked assault. Her forehead furrows.
I want to get back to the day’s events.
“So what did Blip say?”
“She said maybe I should rethink my choice of high school. That maybe I wasn’t going to be a ‘good fit.’ I almost said something snotty and silly back, but I figured it would all become my fault if I made a joke or got angry. She said to just go home and think it over . . . like I could do anything else.”
Leonie is back and on the march. Her temper’s up.
“Well, that’s not fair!”
We look at her sympathetically. No, it isn’t—that’s very true.
“It’s not fair! You didn’t choose to be gay! Wait—did you?”
Beau shakes his head and smiles at her in such a sad way.
“No, honey. And I don’t even think of myself as worthy of being singled out. I don’t think that’s enough reason. I just can’t see why being gay is worth so much attention. I mean, jeez, learn to cope.”
Which I totally agree with. It does seem like the people who are so worried about it are not thinking for themselves. To which I say:
“They are obediently hating, as instructed. Very docile! Like tame little hater sheep.”
I hasten to remind our generation: Obedience denied! It’s a phase we’re going through, remember? Question authority! Listen to your heart!
Beau nods but shrugs.
“Tell them that.”
“I will! I’ll tell them: Who cares? It’s nobody’s business! Read Lord of the Flies! We are always just that far away from anarchy!” I show them an inch with my thumb and finger.
(Paul would say I’m “starting.”)
They regard me warily because I’ve climbed on my soap-box: “Read This Boy’s Life! Omg! We need to respect each other! Respect our differences! Bad things happen when you don’t! It blows my mind that nobody takes advantage of all this stuff! It’s like shortcuts!”
Beau and Leo just stare at me. They glance at each other like I’ve stopped making sense.
“Rusty, nobody reads books at our school, except to not flunk,” Beau reminds me gently.
But I’ve got a full head of steam and can’t be shut down.
“I know! It’s pathetic! But it’s right there—bad things happen when people judge each other’s personal lives! Obsessing about anyone’s sex life for very long is just gross! It’s way more perverted being the person doing the imagining than the person being gay. Yuck! I mean it; go find something to do with yourself! Get a life. Get a job!”
Beau and Leo nod. They sigh. They agree it’s true.
As long as the balance of power is equal . . . right, Leonie? Because if not, say if you’re being taken advantage of, then there is a problem. I think this, but do not say it.
We were quiet for a while as we sit and ponder what’s bugging us.
The next day is also quite remarkable.
Sitting together, we ride the bus, Beau and I.
Like always, I am afraid to attract attention, but I am getting sick of being so heartless. After all, he’s my friend. We sit together, asking for trouble merely by our combined presence—the chub chick and the gay guy, in exactly the way I have always sought to avoid.
As we get off the bus, we pick the spit wads and twigs and assorted and accumulated crap out of our clothes and hair. I am so angry I forget to see who was saying what.
I am through with my inaction. It’s time to get going.
I turn to Beau.
“Are you going to go see Blip today?”
“No.”
“I agree. No point. But we can’t just let this pass.”
“Plus, she can come get me if she wants to. Anyway, she’s not going to do sh—”
“BEAU!” It’s Leonie. She’s running in the hallway. She reaches us and hugs us both.
We stand together. The gang o’ misfits. Together we shall pass through the halls!
Together. It’s so good to have a tribe. I can hardly recognize my life from how it was. I knew I was empty before. I was hollow and lost, frozen in place and jarringly alone . . . and the loneliness seemed like it would be endless.
I couldn’t bear to acknowledge that it was unbearable.
I have never had much to do with Ms. Blip before but now I thoroughly dislike her. I think she is a bigot. She basically refused to guarantee Beau’s safety. She said there was no way she could, when people get so “worked up” over the subject.
I know. I was there. She said it in a snarky way. Like she, too, was all worked up over the subject of people being gay.
And disapproved mightily . . .
I thought she was supposed to be neutral, being the principal and in charge of things and all, but apparently not. But she had to address what happened to Beau.
So we had an assembly about “Let’s All Get Along,” how our school is so diverse and we should all be chill, then the cheerleaders had a bunch of messages, then put their gloves on and did about five hundred clapping routines, then our jazz choir sang for about two hours, which they do anytime they are given a captive audience, during which a bunch of people got their lunch money jacked.
Basically, nothing changed. Beau continued to get talked smack to and shoved around. His stuff kept getting stolen and broken. No response at all . . .
And finally, since the school administration didn’t address the problem effectively, the harassment escalated till the day he got beat up.
It had gotten bad en
ough that Leonie and I tried to escort him whenever he walked anywhere near school grounds. The irony of girls keeping a boy safe was not lost on us, though I found it more depressing than he did.
But of course the time came when Nick and his troop caught him cutting across the soccer field near the greenbelt. And descended on him like a chimp patrol.
Beau is tough. He put up a good fight, but there were four guys. He did manage to break Nick’s nose.
But they messed him up. Pretty bad. He staggered to his house and collapsed, and when his mom saw him, she took him to the hospital. They called us from there.
We got to his house as he was getting back home. He was moving like an old man. The baboon squad had given him a lot of body shots. His left jaw was misshapen, and one eye was swollen shut and dark blue. . . .
Very slowly, we help him into his room. Leonie’s crying as we move him to his bed, so slow and stiff like an old dude, but I wasn’t. Inside I was an electrical storm.
Projectile hate radiating—!
I hear his mom crying in the other room. His stepdad’s out, but will be home later.
While Leonie fetched Beau a drink of water, I go to see his mom for a second.
She’s standing at the window, looking out at the backyard. They have about twenty bird feeders and hummingbird feeders and suet for squirrels and I don’t know what all. Very kind and hospitable.
I walk over to where she’s standing. She has the same eyes and the same look in them as Beau.
We just look out the back window and watch it rain.
Eventually she sighs. Takes a shaky breath.
“We’re pressing charges.” Her voice is a little shaky too.
“Good. I wish I had seen something. I’d testify.”
“Yeah, well, those kids chose the wrong family.” Her soft voice has a certain quality that made me very sure they had.
We’re quiet again. Then I hear a tiny squeak and look over and tears are running down her cheeks. She’s crying hard but almost silently. She sees me see.
“He’s the best guy in the world.” Her shoulders shake. “Why do these people think they can put their hands on my boy?” Her eyes look kind of frantic. Like confused.
I want so bad to pat her shoulder, but I don’t. I just stand. Once again, it’s like I’m frozen in place.
I want to cry too, but I can’t even nod.
Some friend I am.
When I stagger back to Beau’s room, Leonie is on the computer and he’s lying on his bed.
“How are you feeling?”
“Sketchy. I don’t think these pain pills make me smart.”
“It’s not about smart right now.”
“Yeah . . . mostly my rib . . .”
“Yeah, be careful. What is the difference between cracked and broken?”
“Cracked gets well faster.”
“Oh, well. Good.”
We are quiet, and we hear his mom in the other room on the phone. She is pissed off. We listen in. She has the attention of someone, and it sounds like it’s a lawyer or something. We hear the term “school district” several times. She has begun speaking through her teeth. We look at each other.
“Dang.” Leonie looks scared. I, however, am impressed by her badassery.
“Your mom is amazing. I would offer a hand, but it doesn’t sound like she needs one.”
“Yeah.” Beau looks worried. “She doesn’t need this either. They have other things to deal with.”
Beau’s stepdad Matt writes for TV, but his show just got canceled. So he is on unemployment. His mom is an interior designer but still building up her business here. I guess she’s not getting a lot of work at the moment. None of her clients have spare money to change their color scheme a lot—not quite yet, as she puts it. So she’s looking for more work.
After a while she hangs up. We hear her knock on Beau’s door.
“Beau? Listen, we are pressing charges.”
We look at each other. Beau answers while staring at me.
“No.”
“Yes. Open the door.”
“It’s open. Just walk in.”
She does. His mom’s name is Gina. I think I really like her.
“This is just not going to happen here. This is Seattle! South Seattle!”
“So?” Beau shrugs and looks at her, unimpressed.
“Well, we are better than that here!”
“Really, Mom? Why is ‘Seattle, South Seattle’ so great?”
“Because! We are tolerant! We are incredibly diverse! We are cool!”
We all look at her. Then, bitterly, we burst out laughing. It kind of sounds like crying. She looks at us.
“What?! We are!”
“O-kay, Mom.” Beau looks pained. His tone is patronizing. “I got this.”
“You guys, don’t be jaded. It’s okay to make a difference.”
Jaded. That word again.
His mom continues.
“You should call your uncle. He had to figure all this out too, you know. Back in the day.”
We look at Beau curiously.
“Okay, Mom. Except, as I told you, they threw my phone in the lake. However, thank you . . . and now, if you could just excuse us, I got this.” He gives her a hard look. Then winces.
“What?! You can still call Uncle Frankie!” His mom leaves.
We look at him. Leonie asks first.
“They threw your phone in the lake?!” She is horrified.
“Yeah. Whatever. You can still call me; I have an old one. It’s not smart, is all.”
She stares at him with so much indignation he is compelled to add, “It’s okay. I only know you guys here. I don’t care. Besides, the number was still Kansas, and my contract is almost up.” He shrugs soothingly as she continues to splutter. “Anyway, Leo, you don’t have a smartphone, either . . . or Rusty either. I guess we’re old school.”
I change the subject.
“Who is Uncle Frankie?”
Beau just shakes his head. Gently. I hand him the water glass again. He sips.
“My mom thinks she can solve the world.” He’s starting to drift. I help hold the glass.
“Yeah, but who is he?” I bend near his ear. Beau looks blearily at us both. I set the water glass back on the bedside stand.
“Frankie is my dad’s older brother. They don’t speak. My dad hates him. He’s gay.”
We sit and digest that information for a while. Beau gets sleepy from the pain pills. He starts to snore gently. Leonie looks at me. She keeps her voice down.
“I think his mom is right. He should call his uncle.”
I actually agree with her. Maybe his uncle would know how to stop the harassment.
“We’ll work on him,” I whisper.
Of course Beau is out of commission for days. Leonie and I stop by and bring him his homework even though he can see what’s up on the school website.
His face has gone from dark blue to yellow-green and purple. He spends all his time on the It Gets Better Project website. He’s quiet and absentminded. We have to repeat ourselves constantly. He is frequently nonresponsive to my jokes. His eyes are distant and sad.
Watching him, we exchange worried glances, Leonie and I. Beau can’t just check out. He will not be allowed to just fade away or do something crazy! We get super paranoid and vigilant. I start checking in with him excessively. He has to stay here! He has to live in this world with us.
If only to make sure it actually gets better.
His mom is going ahead with criminal charges on Nick and two of the other guys for assault and property theft. She is getting a lawyer to sue the school district and Ms. Blip personally.
She is mad.
When we close the door to Beau’s room, he locks it.
“I’m leaving.”
We stand there looking dumbstruck. Which we were, briefly, though Leonie found her voice pretty quick.
“Where?”
“I don’t know. Away.”
“Did y
ou call your uncle?” I ask. I think this could be a solution. His uncle can help.
“Yes, and I left a message. I might go there.”
“When did you leave the message?”
“Yesterday. He hasn’t gotten back to me. He probably doesn’t remember who I am.”
We both stand looking at him. He stands looking out his window. We glance at each other.
Beau is going to run away. Not good.
“Well . . . then . . . but what is your uncle even going to be able to do?”
“Tell me things! I’m sure it was worse in the olden days. He’s gotta know something.”
That part actually sounds okay, but why not just a phone call? Then Leo pipes up.
“Where does your uncle live?”
Beau looks at me like I’m going to laugh at him.
“San Francisco,” he says. His good eye squints at me defiantly.
Oh. He only lives in the gayest gay capital of the world. I don’t even know how I know this, but I do. I nod in support. Lee sees me and does likewise.
“So I’ll go to San Francisco. I can hitchhike,” Beau informs us. He shrugs like no big deal. “He’s been through a bunch of crap. Maybe he’ll know what to do. I’m leaving tonight.”
“No!!” Leonie and I are a chorus of horror.
“Why? It’s only a few hundred miles. I’ll see the ocean.”
Thank gawd even Leonie knows enough to splutter with outrage.
“No, Beau! You only take rides with people you know!”
He’s irritable for the first time.
“See, you guys are girls. It’s okay for a guy to hitchhike. It’s not even that far.”
“It’s so not okay!” Again we speak in unison. Screech in unison, more like.
“Yes, it is!”
Okay, if Beau is still taking those pain pills this could go on for a while. I distract him.
“Beau, your mom is going to freak out.”
“No, she won’t. I’ll leave a note. Besides, Matt’ll be here. He’s always around. He writes for TV, so he basically lives in front of the computer.”
“I would have thought he lived in front of the TV. . . .” Leonie looks puzzled.
“Nah, he hates TV. I’ve never seen him watch it.”
“Weird.”
“Yeah, I know . . . not even the shows he writes. Especially not the ones he writes.”
Beau, Lee, The Bomb Page 5
