by John Goode
Hard.
I yelled, “Fuck you, Brad!” before turning around and running out of the theater.
As worst-case scenarios went, that was near the top of the list.
I ran to my car, yanked the door open, crashed into my seat, and slammed the door shut. I was crying even though I wasn’t sure why. Was I crying because of what he said? Because of what he was now? Because of what it meant for me? I had no earthly idea. All I knew was I was crying, and I couldn’t stop. Through blurred vision I drove to Robbie’s, the only place I knew where I would be safe, because no one else I knew would be there.
I had been shopping at Twice Upon a Time since it reopened a couple of years earlier. It used to be nothing more than a thrift shop before Robbie took it over. He had bought a few stores’ worth of clothes from New York and brought them back in what I can only assume was his attempt to infuse some class into Foster. Most people still thought of it as an old folks’ store, which was good for me since I always scored the best stuff.
“What the hell is wrong with guys?” I screamed as soon as I walked in.
Robbie, who had been putting a jacket up on a rack, froze and gave me a weird look. “Are you talking in general or someone specific?”
Tears were running down my face, and I hated that I couldn’t stop. “All of you! You’re all so fucking useless! You just take and take and never care about anyone else, and then once you’re done you… you….”
And I broke down, unable to say anything else.
“Whoa,” he said, putting the jacket aside and seeming to glide over to me. Normally I would have asked him why he was on roller skates, but right now I just didn’t care. “Where is this coming from? What happened?” he asked, concerned.
“Brad,” I said through my wailing, wishing I had some small control over how I felt.
“Brad?” he asked, confused. “The moose?”
I hated that he called Brad that, but since right then I was calling him so much worse in my head, I just nodded.
“What happened with Brad? Did he break up with you?” I shook my head. “Did you guys fight?” I nodded. “About what?” he asked and then gasped. “Did he cheat on you?”
I looked up at him and nodded. The pain and the anger I was feeling were just out of control now.
“With who?” he asked, sounding like someone asking what she’d missed on the last episode of Real Housewives.
“Kyle,” I blurted out, falling into racking sobs again.
He paused and cocked his head in confusion. “Kyle? You mean Kylie? Or Kelly?”
“Kyle!” I screamed.
“That sounds like a boy’s name.”
I know he said it more out loud than to me, but I still reacted like he had been telling me the most obvious stupid fact in the world. “It is a guy! He’s fucking gay! He came out in front of everyone yesterday!”
He didn’t say anything for a long time as I just cried and cried. I finally forced myself to breathe and grab for some control. After about three minutes he asked me, “Is he okay?”
I gaped up at him, mouth open in complete disbelief.
“Is he okay? Is he fucking okay? Are you kidding me?” I raged at him.
“Well, yeah,” he answered calmly. “He just came out to what, at best, would be a hostile crowd, at worst a casting call for extras in Deliverance 2: Scream, Pig, Scream. I know you’re feeling shitty, but you’re beautiful and will get another boyfriend. Brad, on the other hand, might just get the shit beat out of him—or worse.” His tone didn’t vary one iota from pleasant, but I could sense the anger and something else behind his words. “So let me ask again, is he okay?”
When I could control my jaw again, I snapped my mouth shut. When I opened it again, I hissed, “I can’t believe you.” I backed away from Robbie as if he were a stranger. “No, wait, I can. Of course you’re going to take his side. What was I thinking? Now he’s fair game for you, right? Free to swoop in and grab yourself a new boy before the rest of the town—”
He caught up with me in one long stride and grabbed my hands firmly. In a voice barely above a whisper, he said, “I know you’re mad, so I am going to ignore everything you just said. Let me make a few things clear. One, you’re out of line, way out of line, and you know it. Two, you’re pissed because you think Brad coming out makes you look like a fool, and you’re probably right. Three, I am not kidding when I say he is in real danger. And four, if you feel like verbally vomiting all over me again, do not think I am above slapping a hysterical woman. Like my mom always said, if you want to act like a crazy person, you get treated like a crazy person.”
“Let go of me,” I said, hauling in a futile attempt to free my hands.
“You’re upset right now, so this isn’t going to make much sense, but I am not mad at you and, when you have calmed down, you can come back any time you want.”
I tried to pull away again. “Screw you. I am never coming back here again. I can’t believe—”
“Right. Just remember, everyone has at least one free crazy. This is yours. When you want to talk, I’m here.”
He let go, and I almost fell on my ass, I had been pulling so hard. I glared at him and wanted to scream and cuss him out so bad, but somewhere in the back of my mind I knew I was really pissed at Brad, and Robbie was just an easy target.
Instead, I turned around and stomped out, sure I was never going to step foot in there again.
What I did next I am not proud of.
Somewhere between Robbie’s and home, I had decided that I was the victim, which made Brad the attacker. So, when I got to my room, I did a lot of things quickly. I changed my status on Facebook and then defriended Brad. I wrote an ugly post about how people who lie and pretend to be something they aren’t should be shot. The post got a dozen likes in thirty seconds, which meant it was the response people had been waiting for.
That weekend I spent with “friends,” bad-mouthing Brad everywhere I went.
People lapped it up in a way that would have been disturbing to me if I hadn’t been so preoccupied with my own mood. I heard exactly what I wanted to hear: that I had done nothing wrong and that they had known Brad was an asshole the entire time. Of course, this was from people who had practically waited on him hand and foot since he was a sophomore. Again, I ignored the irony because what they were saying was exactly what I wanted to hear. The one I was really shocked to hear from was Kelly. He seemed to have a lot more to say than everyone else. He explained to anyone who would listen that Brad hit on him the summer they both went to football camp and that Kelly had had to fight him off.
That didn’t sound right at all, but at the time I said nothing because I wanted to hurt Brad in any way I could. When I showed up to school Monday, I acted like I had been saved from a kidnapper. Everyone hated Brad and not one person blamed me, which I thought was awesome at the time. My satisfaction lasted until lunch. I held court at The Table, telling people the shock I’d felt when I heard about my one, true love being gay.
“Well, we took care of him for you,” Tony announced smugly as people laughed at my story.
I smiled at him before my brain engaged. “You did?” I asked brightly, trying to ignore the feeling of dread that was settling into my stomach.
He nodded and looked at everyone else. “Yeah—Josh, Cody, and me taught him a lesson before gym.”
People cheered, and I felt the smile on my face go from genuine to fake in one second flat. I forced myself not to react since I was in public, but inside my mind was racing. “What kind of lesson?”
He gave me a smile that looked predatory. “The kind that he limped away from.”
Robbie’s voice echoed in my mind. “I am not kidding when I say he is in real danger.”
“Yeah, and from what I hear they are going to have some meeting so they can kick him off the team,” Cody chimed in. “Can’t have some fag watching me while I shower and stuff.”
My mouth moved faster than my mind. “Did he watch you befo
re?” Everyone looked over at me, and I mentally backtracked. “I mean, did you catch him before or something?”
“Fuck no,” he answered quickly. “If I did, I would have put him down a long time ago.”
That was doubtful since Cody was at best a Walmart version of Brad. “But he practically won state for us last year.” Again I wanted to know what the hell was wrong with my mouth.
“Yeah,” he agreed slowly. “But now he’s a fag.”
Everyone else murmured in agreement.
“I have to go,” I said quickly, startling Tony, who had been high-fiving Kelly.
“What, why?” he asked. I could see the rest of The Table was wondering the same thing.
“My dad,” I began lamely. “My dad wanted to know the whole story. You know, ’cause he’s pissed.” I was lying outright; my dad didn’t know a thing about what had happened. There was no way he was hearing about it from me.
“Oh my God!” Lori said, covering her mouth. “He could like be guilty of fraud and stuff, right?”
She had just said what was easily the dumbest thing I had heard since the last time she’d tried to think and speak, but I couldn’t say a word about it because she was on my side. Instead, I just nodded and smiled. “Maybe. I just want to be sure.”
They all just smiled at me as I tried not to run away from the table.
I was pissed at Brad, sure, but not because he was gay. I hated him because he’d hurt me, lied to me. But would I want anyone, much less an ass hat like Tony Wright, beating him up? Not on a bet. Never. Tony beating up Brad had nothing to do with me, and I knew it. Tony beating up Brad was Tony’s little mind at work. And the fact that his dad was a huge homophobe, and Tony was a bully.
One weekend had passed, and things were already spiraling out of control.
I tried not to peel out of the parking lot before I raced to Robbie’s place.
The door slammed open, and I rushed into the shop. Robbie screamed in fright from behind the counter and lobbed a well-worn copy of Under the Rainbow, which hit me in the chest. That hurt. I picked up the book and gave him a look. “Why the hell did you throw a book at my boob?”
He paused for a moment, his hand still on his chest. “You come barging in, almost breaking my door, and the first thing I think of is that the cast of Honey Boo Boo is here to lynch me. I did what any self-respecting homosexual would. I threw my copy of Liza Minnelli’s biography at them—well, you—in self-defense and screamed for my life.” He took the book back and slipped it behind the counter. “It was just a bonus that I hit your boob.”
“Okay, well, that makes no sense. Don’t you own a gun?” I asked him.
He cocked his head and sighed. “Yes, little Miss Texas, like everyone else in this state, I was issued a gun and three complimentary packs of ammo when I left civilization to move here.” He gave me a scornful look. “Of course I don’t have a gun. Did you see how I reacted with a paperback book? If I had a gun, you’d be on the floor bleeding, and I would be hyperventilating.” He emerged from behind the counter. “So what happened to never coming back?”
“Thought I had one free crazy. I am redeeming it as of now,” I said, trying not to blush at the memory of my previous actions.
“Done,” he said, smiling. “Consider it redeemed. So seriously, why are you here? I expected you to wait at least a week or so or until you missed an episode of Smash before you came crawling back.”
That made me smile. “I am not crawling anywhere, and I am here because you were right.”
He nodded. “I am always right.” Then he paused. “Wait, right about what?”
“They beat up Brad, and they are going to throw him off the baseball team.”
His face went pale, and he put a hand over his mouth, but I could tell that was a reflex at being shocked. His actual reaction was to stare off over my shoulder as his expression hardened in anger. “Well, of course they did,” he said with more spite than I had ever heard used in any sentence before. “Is he okay?” he asked me after a few seconds. In that time he went from an expressionless robot back to his normal, over-the-top self, which only solidified in my mind that the over-the-top thing was all an act.
“I don’t know, but we need to do something,” I replied quickly. “If Brad gets kicked off the baseball team, it’ll kill him.”
Robbie stared at me for a long few seconds and then let out a sarcastic laugh. “Only in Foster, Texas, would someone be more concerned about a boy playing baseball than him getting physically attacked.” He rolled his eyes and looked up for a moment. I could swear under his breath he said something about “Riley” and then took a deep breath. “Okay, so what do you think we can do?”
I wanted to ask who Riley was, but I could tell he wanted to ignore he’d ever said that, the same way I wanted to ignore my little outburst a couple of days earlier. A free crazy is a free crazy so I let it go. “Okay, I meant you need to do something about it.”
He gave me a look. “Like what? I know I may act like I have magical powers, but I assure you I don’t have an invisible jet out back. And even if I were Wonder Woman, which I am not denying, the people at Hick High still wouldn’t listen to me. You do know that, right?”
I did know that, but Robbie was the only adult I knew of who could help. “But you’re a grown-up.” I paused as his look bored into my eyes. “I mean, you’re technically a grown-up.” He nodded for me to continue. “They have to listen. I just know no one else will show up to speak for him. It’s just going to be a lot of uptight assholes saying the queer can’t play baseball.”
“Good,” he said, walking away from me. “I mean, why would anyone even want to play that horrendous game? I mean, sure those pants are hot, but only in a stripper way—no one could ever wear those for real. It’s grown men running after balls. Brad’s better off without it.”
This was the part about being friends with Robbie that drove me crazy. He just didn’t get how things worked in Foster, and he had no desire to learn. I walked over to him and turned him around. He wouldn’t meet my stare, so I knew the big guns were necessary.
“Are you going to send Brad to college?” He just stared at me in surprise. “Are you going to come up with a ton of money so he can go to a college?” He said nothing. “Then Brad needs to play baseball so he can get a scholarship and go to college. I don’t care what you personally think of baseball. Unless you are willing to pony up at least a hundred thousand dollars, we need to help him.”
That seemed to get his attention.
“Running around chasing balls—that’s a skill you need to get into college,” he said, walking back behind the counter. “You think Tim Gunn got offered a scholarship for design? You think Michael Kors got a full ride when he graduated? No, but if he could hit a ball the farthest, then he was a shoo-in.” He sat down and sighed. “I swear, I hate everything in the world right now.”
“Will you go?” I asked him.
He looked up at me, and I could tell the answer was no before he even spoke. “Sweetie, I would love to help, but those people are just going to laugh me out of the room, and in the end it will do more damage to Brad’s case than help. I am an outsider here, the token fag for this one-horse town, and the only way they tolerate me is if I stay on the outskirts and shut up.” In a lower voice, he said, “Trust me, I’ve seen what happens when you try to be gay and happy in this town.”
I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. “So that’s it? You’re just going to do nothing?”
“I’ll talk to some people,” he said, which sounded like so much bullshit I wanted to scream. “But I have a sinking feeling that Brad is on his own.”
And that was where I left it, pretty sure Brad was screwed.
But that next week a story started to get circulated, a story no one really believed. They said—and isn’t it always they who talk, no one with names, always the faceless they—they said that Brad had been offered his place on the team because his dad had come in and threatened to s
ue the hell out of the school. They said that Brad had gotten a free pass to play if the subject was just dropped and ignored. They said that it was a perfect deal for Brad and that anyone in their right mind would have taken it.
And then they said Brad refused it.
This was where the stories got blurry, but it seemed that Brad, instead of taking the deal and pretty much solidifying his chance to play baseball, instead demanded the school give the same protection to everyone. He said that the way people were treated in Foster was horrible, and the school just let people do it. He said it had to change, and if it didn’t, then he would play baseball somewhere else.
And then he walked out.
They had no idea what to do about it. On the surface it sounded like Brad had walked away from a cush deal that would have saved his ass, but that was just on the surface. Deeper… it sounded like he’d stood up for every single person in the school who had been picked on. The long and the short of it was… they had no fucking idea how to react to it.
But I thought I did.
I spent the time talking to Robbie and trying to get over how pissed I was at Brad for using me like that. I didn’t think random people had the right to beat him up, but that didn’t mean I forgave him instantly. Robbie explained to me how hard it was for a guy to come out and that the fear they feel of someone finding out their secret was deadly sometimes. Brad hadn’t just been lying to me; he’d been trying to hide himself from the entire town. It wasn’t about appearances; it was about safety. It was about survival.
After a while I began to understand what he meant.
One day I woke up, and I wasn’t mad anymore. I still remembered the shame and anger, but I wasn’t feeling the actual emotion. I was just too tired. Keeping the anger alive demanded too much energy, and it began to fade. That was when I decided to take a real look at Brad and Kyle without feeling like a dagger had been shoved through my heart. I watched them eat on the music hall steps, and it was so obvious they were in love—like a neon sign flashing over their head obvious—that I had to accept what Robbie had been telling me was true. Brad had forced himself to like me just to hide who he was because he had never, in the entire time I had known him, looked at anyone that way. Now that I was seeing it for the first time, I also realized that Brad was truly happy.
