by Liane Shaw
I’d had enough nightmares about this moment that I thought I was prepared for the worst. That I’d be ready for whatever she said or did after I told her. I knew it could go really badly and that I had to be ready to deal with whatever happened.
But I wasn’t ready for those empty eyes staring me into nothingness. And I wasn’t ready when they filled up with tears as she came to life again and begged me to tell her it wasn’t true. That I couldn’t possibly be gay without her knowing it. That I had a girlfriend when I was twelve, so obviously I couldn’t be gay. That she had spent my whole life believing I would grow up and marry a woman who would give her grandchildren.
Her son couldn’t be gay. It was impossible!
She wanted me to agree with her. To tell her I was wrong and she was right. That I had made a mistake, and everything would be fixed if I just took it back and buried it where it belonged. And part of me wanted to do it. Just rewind the conversation ten minutes into the past and keep this secret to myself. To live a lie until I was old enough to get away and find out if there might be some truth somewhere else.
But I couldn’t do it. The words were finally out, and I wasn’t going to take them back.
She tried calm, rational persuasion, reminding me that her church would never approve of me, as if somehow that would be so desperately important to me that I could just decide to be someone else. I told her I wanted her approval. I didn’t care about some stupid church.
And then she changed tactics and decided it wasn’t my fault after all. That I had somehow been persuaded to become gay because of something I’d seen or read on the Internet. Somehow I had been duped into believing it would be so wonderful to be different from everyone around me that I had spent all of this time living a lie inside of my own mind. I was pretending to be gay instead of pretending not to be. She told me not to worry. She wouldn’t stand by and watch me destroy my life. She was going to find a way to fix me.
Fix me. Like I was someone’s broken cell phone headed for the dumpster behind my school.
She didn’t listen when I tried to tell her that I’m not broken or sick or trying to hurt her. That I didn’t decide to be gay. She didn’t listen when I tried to tell her that this is just who I am. That pretending to be someone I’m not was destroying my life.
She just kept shaking her head and coming up with her own version of the truth, while my world started to disintegrate around me.
I remember begging her to understand me, accept me. I walked toward her with my hands stretched out as if I were three again and wanted to be picked up. She stopped talking and sat staring at me, like I was stranger who had invaded her living room. I tried to talk to her again, but she just shook her head, leaned forward, and burst into harsh hysterical sobbing, rocking back and forth, holding her arms tightly against her stomach, like something inside her was about to break.
The room suddenly felt unbearably hot as the air disappeared, taking my breath away with it. I was afraid if I stayed there one more second, I would either faint or start screaming and never stop.
So I ran out of the room, leaving Ryan alone with her, probably wondering what he was doing there and what the hell he was supposed to do next.
I was out the door and halfway down the street when the sky split open and started to pour rain down on my head, but I couldn’t slow down. I just kept running until I found myself at the bridge.
I don’t know why I ended up there. I just knew I couldn’t be anywhere near my mother with her endless tears and plans to make me into someone I’m not.
Matthew thinks I was planning to jump in and finish the job I started in the spring. Ryan obviously thought that too, because he sent Cody there to stop me before coming himself.
I don’t know if I was planning anything. I’m not sure I was thinking at all. I don’t remember the details of those first few minutes on the bridge. My memories are a soggy mess of tears and rain that just swirl around inside my mind without sense or direction. All I know is that Cody kept grabbing me and Ryan kept talking to me until I wanted to throw both of them over the railing. I don’t know how long the three of us were there before my mom showed up.
I found out later that Ryan called his mom before leaving for the bridge and she went straight over to my house so she could get my mom and bring her to us. Mrs. Malloy told me that when she got to my place, my mother was already out the front door and coming to find me. I hope that’s true.
My mother came over to me and stood there, rain pounding down, plastering her hair to her skull and soaking through her thin sweater. She shivered a little as she reached over and put her arms around me, telling me she was sorry. She had been taken by surprise and she had reacted badly. She said she loved me and wanted me to come home so we could figure it out together.
I had no idea what she meant by that, but she was holding me and saying she loved me, and that was all that mattered. In that moment, it was enough to get me out of the rain.
My mother still comes and sits in on the first half hour of my counseling sessions with Matthew so that we can all talk about how we’re going to “figure it out.” After all these months, I don’t know how much we have figured out. She is definitely trying really hard to understand that being gay isn’t something I just decided to try on like a new coat. She’s also doing her best to get past her own lifelong belief that homosexuality is inherently wrong or evil. I guess she’s trying to reconcile the teachings of the church that she loves with the realities of the son that she loves. But she’s definitely not ready to head to a Pride parade, no matter what Benjamin would like to believe is possible in this town.
I know she’s only lived with it for a few months, but it’s obvious to me that she still wants to cry every time she actually has to say the word gay, which she only does when Matthew makes her. When Matthew and I are alone, he says that I have to be patient with her and give her time to join us here in the twenty-first century. That I have to try to understand where she’s coming from and to recognize how far she’s going to have to travel to get to where I am. So, I’m trying. But it’s hard to wait sometimes. I feel like life is passing by too fast for her to keep up, and I’ll be gone from home before she can fully accept me, and by then it’ll be too late. Now that I’ve had the guts to tell her, I don’t want to leave home next year and have to wonder if I’ll be welcomed back.
The other thing Matthew tries to talk to me about is my father. He’s been living in another town for months now and doesn’t have any real idea what’s been going on. He only knows that I had an accident in the river back in the spring and that Ryan jumped in and saved me. He doesn’t know anything else. Matthew thinks it’s a mistake to keep the truth from him, but I don’t care what Matthew thinks. I actually don’t care what my father thinks either, but I don’t want to deal with whatever poison he would send my way if he knew that his son liked boys. And pretty clothes. And makeup.
Lucas would tell me I should put on a fabulous dress, find some matching lip gloss, and march right up to my dad and kiss him on the cheek.
It would probably give him a heart attack.
Maybe it’s not such a bad idea after all.
nine
“So, I was wondering if you had time to help me with my art project.”
Benjamin and I are walking home alone again because now Ryan has regular after-school swim practices, compliments of Coach Steve, who was not happy with the team’s performance in the swim meet last week. At first I thought Benjamin might start coming up with excuses to avoid being alone with me three times a week, but he’s here every day, waiting for me even if I’m a few minutes late. And every day my heart starts beating too fast and my stomach fills with really happy butterflies that seem to be spending their time dancing around in circles.
“The social slash personal thing?” Our term project in art class is to create a work of art in any medium we choose that reflects someth
ing of social significance that also has personal meaning for us. My art teacher has high hopes, I think. I haven’t figured out what I’m going to do yet. It’s not due for a while, so I’m not sure what Benjamin’s worried about.
“Yeah, I want to get started soon. We’re going home next weekend, and I won’t have much time to work. Art isn’t my strong subject, as you know, so I need to get started now.”
“You’re going home?” I ask, still not answering his question. I want to ask him if he has someone there waiting for him, but I’m afraid to. He did say he was looking for a date for grad, but he might have been just joking around. It doesn’t mean he’s actually single, does it?
“Oh, yeah. We have to be there for New Year’s.”
“Um, I hate to tell you this, but New Year’s Eve was a month ago.”
“Not that one. Chinese New Year. It’s the big celebration in my dad’s world. Sort of like your Christmas, my mom’s Hanukkah, and December 31st all rolled into one, with a bit of Thanksgiving thrown in. Except seeing as there’s no real Chinese community here, there wouldn’t be the type of celebrating that my dad’s used to, so we’re going home. My grandparents are still living in our house, and we’ll be staying there.”
“They were living with you before you moved?”
“Yep. Ever since I was little. My dad sponsored their immigration right after I was born. They decided to stay behind when we came here because they have a lot of Chinese friends in the city. Dad and Mom decided to keep the house and just rent here because they weren’t sure how long we’d be staying.”
“My grandparents lived with us for a while when they first immigrated here, too. I was just a little kid when they moved out and we came here. They have their own place a couple of hours from here. I don’t see them as much as I’d like to.” I don’t tell him the rest. That the only reason they don’t still live with me is my father, who always made it clear he didn’t want them around.
“Yeah, I miss my Ye Ye and Nai Nai.”
“Mine are Abuelito and Abuelita!” We both laugh.
“Anyway, I’ve decided on a project. Sort of. But I need some creative input from you.” He smiles hopefully.
“Sure. Anything you need.” Literally anything.
“Well, after I told you to dream about rainbow flags, I started doing exactly that, and it came to me—it would make a great project.”
“A rainbow flag?” Okay, so maybe not anything. These projects are the kind you present out loud and in front of everyone. Not the right crowd for rainbow flags.
“Well, a rainbow to symbolize the flag that actually symbolizes a rainbow. That’s the artistic bit. I was thinking of using the image of a rainbow as a way to talk about the symbolism of the flag and its importance to the LGBTQ+ community.”
I look at him to see if he’s kidding. His eyes are serious but enthusiastic at the same time.
Is he nuts? That would be exactly like walking into the room and announcing that he’s gay. As far as I know, no one else in our school would give the slightest shit about anything like rainbow flags or gay pride. Or gay anything. Unless they’re using it as an insult.
“Bad idea? Not creative enough?” he asks, after I stand there staring with my mouth open for so long that he realizes I’m not going to take my turn.
“No, it sounds really creative. It’s just…are you sure that’s a good idea?”
“Well, no. That’s why I’m asking you to help me. Maybe a rainbow is too hokey or something.”
“No, rainbows are awesome. I love rainbows. They’re beautiful and my favorite songs are about them.” I’m babbling and he knows it. He starts to grin.
“That’s good! Then you should also like rainbow flags and what they stand for.”
“I do, but I’m not sure too many other people care. If you do a project on this, everyone will decide you’re gay because they’ll figure someone straight would never do something like that.”
“I am gay.”
“But if you announce it to the whole class by doing this project, it’ll spread like crazy and everyone will know. Then it won’t be safe for you.” He looks at me seriously, shaking his head.
“It can spread wherever it wants to. I’m not hiding who I am. I told you that before. I guess there are different kinds of safe. I don’t feel safe pretending to be someone I’m not.”
“And I think trying to hide it is the only thing that keeps me…relatively safe.”
“Well, we can agree to disagree, I guess.” He shrugs. He seems disappointed in me, and my stomach drops down to my feet as I scramble around inside my brain trying to find a way to fix this.
“I can help you. Just…promise me you’ll be careful. Stay away from dumpsters and don’t go too many places alone. I think that most of the jerks around here are all talk, but there’s always someone willing to use his fists to make a point.” Please don’t let anyone break that beautiful nose or bruise those gorgeous eyes.
“Well, talking can’t hurt me, and I’m pretty good at dealing with fists too.” He flexes his bicep and I feel a couple of butterflies doing cartwheels. “So, rainbows. Kind of a basic concept. I need something brilliant.”
“Okay. Um, let me think. Do the colors on the flag have any particular meaning?” I ask, hoping the butterflies don’t cartwheel their way into my voice.
“They do. I actually looked it up last night to get started on my research. There are two ways to explain it. One, that the blend of different colors represents harmony and acceptance of all the different people of the community, and, two, that each color has a specific meaning.”
“Like what?”
“Just a sec. I have them listed on my phone.” He digs his phone out of his pocket and brings up the list. “Okay, it was slightly different depending on which site you’re on, but basically the short version is that red is for life; orange is for healing; yellow is sunlight; green, nature; blue, harmony and peace; and purple is for the spirit. That’s today’s flag. There used to be two other colors—hot pink for sex and turquoise for magic.”
I imagine a watercolor rainbow stretching across a canvas or bristol board or whatever Benjamin decides to use. I try to envision some brilliant way to make meaning out of the simple stripes.
“You could create the different stripes out of words that reflect the meaning of the color. Either just repeat the one word over and over in all different shapes and sizes or come up with synonyms or something? Even phrases or poems. Song lyrics. Anything. Although I’m not sure you should include hot pink in a school project.” Not sure our art teacher is ready for repeated versions of the word sex in a class presentation.
Benjamin smiles widely and nods.
“I knew you’d come up with something. And the brilliance of it all is that I don’t even have to draw anything but a bunch of lines.”
“Which isn’t quite as easy as it sounds. You have to get the proportions right so that it actually looks like a rainbow. I can help you outline the rainbow, and you can do the rest. I’ve drawn a million of them. When I was a kid, every painting I made had one floating around in it. Every time I draw one, I hear ‘Somewhere over the Rainbow’ in my head.” I laugh a bit self-consciously. I never told anyone that before.
“Judy Garland was an icon to the gay community. Some people even think she was part of the reason the rainbow flag ended up being used.”
“She was totally amazing, but I also like Harry Nilsson’s version. It’s in my key.”
“Never even heard of the guy. I’d like to hear you sing it for me some time.”
“Maybe. I mostly sing to my mirror.” I’m not sure I’d remember any of the words if Benjamin was looking at me.
“If you sing anywhere near as well as you draw, you must be great.”
“Not really. I took a few lessons but quit a long time ago. Do you think I love rainbows becau
se I’m gay?”
“You probably love them because you’re artistic and love color.” He laughs.
“Maybe I like singing about them because I’m gay.”
I’m gay. Every time I say the words out loud to him, I feel a little tingle in my brain, like that feeling you get when someone gives you a really nice compliment and you feel…well, all tingly and proud of yourself so that you have the sudden urge to run to a mirror to see if you somehow look different from how you did before.
“That might be true.” He touches me on the shoulder and stands up.
“I guess I’d better get moving. My mom is having Principal Williams over for supper tonight, which is gross on so many levels.”
“That is gross!” I can still feel the sensation from his hand on my shoulder, and I have to resist the urge to touch it.
“Yeah, well maybe I should get you an invite so you can suffer too.”
“No thanks. I’d rather eat Char Char’s burgers at the Supe.”
He laughs and touches my shoulder again, feather light and quick. Everything inside of me starts a slow burn as if he just lit a match on my shoulder blade.
I stand there smoldering as I watch him leave, wondering if he knows I’m lying. I can’t think of anything I’d like better than being invited to his house or anywhere else in the known universe so long as he’s going to be there too.
ten
The next few weeks pass by much too fast. Benjamin did his Chinese New Year’s trip home, and I really wanted to ask him if he saw any old boyfriends while he was there. But I didn’t. Ryan asked me to come to Bainesville for Valentine’s Day the following weekend, so I could see everyone while he visited Clare, but I said no because I thought Benjamin might call and ask me to come over and help him with his project on the weekend, seeing as it was due a week later. But he didn’t.
