Riding with Brighton

by Haven Francis

“Stay with him,” Brighton says, and then Molly and Shaw are each holding up a side of me and Brighton disappears into the fray in front of me.

  “Brighton,” I scream, wrangling myself out of his friends’ arms. As I take my first step, I almost go down, and I have to stop and bend over with my hands on my knees in order to get the dizziness to go away. As soon as I’m able, though, I stand up because Brighton just went into that damn lion’s den.

  I push my way past the bystanders and into the center ring where there are so many bodies attacking, I don’t even know where to look. I search for Brighton, and I find him trying to break up Jones and Mack. “Brighton,” I scream again as I push my way toward him. I watch in horror as Mack swings at him. Brighton catches his fist and uses his other hand to pummel Mack’s face. I also see what Brighton doesn’t—Brian is getting ready to sucker punch him. “Brighton,” I yell. He looks at me just as Brian’s fist connects with his cheek. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

  I get there just in time to pound my fist into Mack’s face before he can get to Brighton. I keep hitting him, releasing all my rage, until he finally goes down. Even then, it’s hard for me to stop, but somewhere in my head, I know Brighton just got hit, and I need to make sure he’s okay.

  He’s got himself between Brian and Jones now, trying to hold each of them back while dodging Brian’s attempts to connect with his face. I lunge at Brian and knock him to the ground. I get one hit in before Brighton pulls me off him, and Jones takes my place. Brighton forces me away, but I’m resisting. “He’s got it under control,” he tries to assure me.

  “We can’t leave him,” I growl, trying to turn my shoulders out of Brighton’s hold.

  “He’s got it. Take a look around.”

  I do, and it looks like Brighton’s right—Mack’s side of the crowd no longer seems to be fighting back and most of the party is cheering for Jones to kick Brian’s ass. “Shit,” I mutter in disbelief. I wasn’t expecting that outcome.

  “Come on,” Brighton says again, and this time I let him pull me away.

  Nico, Shaw, and Molly are waiting at the outskirts of the crowd, and Molly actually smiles at me. “How’s it going, gay boy?” she asks me.

  I smirk at her. “What… you’re gonna be nice to me now, just because I’m gay? That seems a little prejudiced.”

  “I have no plans to be nice to you, but I might tolerate you because I guess Brighton was right—you’re not who I thought you were.”

  “I’ve been trying to tell you that for years.” I look away from her then because I haven’t had a chance to check out the damage to Brighton’s face. He’s smiling at me, but I can already tell the side of his face is gonna be fucked-up. Tentatively, I reach out and touch it, and he flinches. “That’s not gonna be pretty,” I inform him.

  He reaches up and touches my temple and eyebrow, which is pounding with pain. “I think you might look kind of sexy with a scar running through your eyebrow.”

  “Okay, we get it,” Molly mutters. “You two are turned on by battle wounds. You can make out in the back of Nico’s van. We need to get the hell out of here.”

  We follow her to where Shaw and Nico are already breaking down the equipment. We all grab whatever we can and haul it out the back door and to the van. As we head back in for our second haul, a group of guys are already doing it for us. Three of them are guys Brighton’s tight with, but two of them are guys from the baseball team.

  After the equipment’s loaded and the doors to the van are shut, I turn to Nate and Riley, the guys from my team. “Thanks for the help. I appreciate it,” I say, reaching out to slap their hands.

  “It’s cool,” Nate says, his eyes veering to Brighton, who’s standing by my side. “You know… it’s all cool.”

  I nod at them, and Brighton and I climb into the van. And only then does my adrenaline ease off enough that I can see through it. I start laughing because the other option would be to cry and, despite the shit show that just went down, there’s nothing sad about this night. “Holy shit, what a crazy night.”

  “You realize you just told the entire school you’re gay, don’t you?” Nico asks from the driver’s seat.

  “Yeah, and if I didn’t believe it, I’ve got a pounding head to prove it.”

  Brighton laughs and wraps an arm around my shoulder, and I grab ahold of his thigh. “I can’t believe I got in a fight for you. I don’t do that shit.”

  “You’re a lover, not a fighter?”

  “Exactly. But, damn, looks like I’m a better fighter than you.” He pulls his sweatshirt over his palm and presses it into my eyebrow—presumably to mop up the blood that I can feel sitting there.

  “Ouch. Dammit, that hurts.”

  “There. It looks better now.” He stares at me, his eyes softening, as he runs his fingers over mine. “Are you okay?”

  I rest on his shoulder and close my eyes. “Yeah, I think I am.”

  My thoughts are there: What is everyone saying about me? Are they putting together a lynch mob as I stupidly let myself feel content? How long is it gonna take for the word to get back to my parents and Coach? Will my parents kick me out of the house? Can I move in with Brighton? Will I be kicked off the baseball team? I’m so gay. I’m totally falling for Brighton. Why the hell is it taking so long to get back to his house? The thoughts are still there, but the panic isn’t. Brighton obviously knows I want him, the entire school, including Sadie, knows I’m gay, and the world has yet to implode. So I guess the time for hardcore panicking has passed. Plus, Brighton’s still here with me, and for now that’s all that matters.

  When Nico’s van comes to a stop, Brighton rustles us into a sitting position. “What the hell, Nico? Are you serious?”

  I look out the window and see the truck stop with the twenty-four-hour diner at the edge of town.

  “What? I’m hungry.”

  “You couldn’t have dropped us off first? I mean, Jesus, Jay’s bleeding over here.”

  “Man up, pussy. We’re hungry, and Jay owes us a meal for fucking up our gig,” Molly says, opening the door and stepping out.

  I’d rather be back at Brighton’s… in his bed… while he doctors me, but I suppose I do owe them. “I’m kind of hungry,” I tell Brighton.

  He lets out a frustrated breath, takes his arm off me, and steps out of the van. His friends are already heading inside. He’s looking a little mopey, so I wrap an arm around him and say, “It’s not so bad, is it? You’re with your friends, and you’ve got me and a boatload of dirty truckers. This is gonna be great.”

  He laughs and smiles at me, and my heart sings. Is that the metaphor? Or swells? Anyway, seeing him happy makes me happy. “You’re so full of shit,” he tells me.

  He opens the door and I drop my arm. I see his friends climbing into a booth, looking totally out of place amongst the overweight, overtired, old men. Brighton drags me to the back of the diner and into the restroom.

  “Really, Brighton? You couldn’t wait to get me back to your place? Because, I mean, I think I have standards… maybe.” I look around what is definitely a contender for the most unsanitary bathroom I’ve ever been in.

  He laughs, too hard, at that as he drags me over to the sink and turns on the tap. “What?” I ask.

  He shakes his head and pulls a couple paper towels out of the dispenser. “Nothing.”

  “Are we playing this game again? Is it time for the pep talk?” I ask, recounting his words, which feel like they came out of his mouth weeks rather than hours ago.

  He runs the paper towels under the water and wads them up against my eyebrow. I try really hard not to whine like a baby this time. “When you asked me to meet you at the park, I couldn’t stop thinking that you wanted to drag me into the bathroom and throw me on the other side of a glory hole.”

  “Jesus,” I mutter. “And you were still willing to come meet me? You must really like me, huh? What the hell would you have done if I had showed up and been like ‘I’m putting a nice big hole in this metal wall separat
ing the shitters just for you, sexy’?”

  “Not even for you, Jay. That slide was about all the sharp metal I can handle.”

  I laugh, thinking back to this morning when he was freaking out on that slide. “You really are a wuss, you know that?”

  “Really? Do I have to break out my Hannibal Lector voice on you? ’Cause I will.”

  “Fine, I’m a bigger wuss,” I agree wholeheartedly.

  He throws the paper towel in the trash. “Your eye’s not as bad as I thought.”

  I turn to the mirror to get a look. I can’t really make anything out in the dirty pathetic excuse for a reflective surface. Except that Brighton’s standing beside me. I look at our reflections, and I smile. It hits me how strange that sight is. Me and Brighton. Two guys who totally made out today before kicking ass in a pro-gay vs. totally-anti-gay smackdown. “Is this real? This totally doesn’t seem real.”

  “What… us?”

  “Us… all of this… is this really my life?”

  “God, I hope not. I mean, look at us. We look like a couple of deformed, spotted mutants, and I really feel a bad serial killer scene coming on.”

  I turn to him and roll my eyes. “You know what I mean.”

  He reaches out and grabs ahold of my hips, and I grab on to his. “If you want it to be real, then yeah, Jay, it is.”

  I lean in and kiss him softly on his lips. “I want it to be real.”

  The door opens, and I jump out of Brighton’s arms.

  “Hey, are you guys coming out? Molly wants to order.”

  “Jesus Christ, Shaw,” I stammer. “You scared the shit out of me.”

  “Huh?” he asks, his eyes full of worry. “I didn’t mean to.”

  Brighton pushes me toward the door and tells him, “It’s not your fault. Jay thought you were a serial killer.”

  Shaw nods and smiles, and we follow him out of the bathroom. Brighton keeps poking his finger into my back and making that creepy eech-eech sound like a knife is repeatedly assaulting my guts. I try not to pee or cry.

  We pile in next to Nico, and Brighton wraps his arm around me. I don’t think anything of it until the grungy dude at the next booth over gives me the ugliest stink-eye I’ve ever seen. I nod at him; I don’t know why. He sneers in return.

  “I ordered you pancakes and bacon. I couldn’t wait anymore,” Molly tells us.

  “Whatever,” Brighton says like she could have said, I ordered you a bowl of fingernails and a side of snot and that would have been fine.

  “Whatever,” I agree with a smile because I totally get it.

  “Ugh, you two are already sickening.”

  “You should be happy for them,” Shaw tells her.

  “Yeah, Molly, you should totally be happy for me and Jay Hall,” Brighton says.

  I turn to look at him, and he gives me a quick kiss.

  “Seriously… uuuggghh.”

  Her protest is quickly one-upped by my new buddy in the neighboring booth. I hear the clatter of his plate and watch as he tries for a dramatic push-off-the-table stand, but his beer gut fucks up the flow. No matter, he gets himself out of there and comes to stand by us. Then he hocks a loogie on the floor.

  “What the whaaa?” Nico says.

  “You damn queers need to keep that sick shit in the closet where it belongs.”

  I’m caught somewhere between shock and amusement when Molly stands up and goes toe-to-toe with the guy who’s got at least a hundred and fifty pounds on her tiny frame. “Listen, Billy Bob, we’ve already filled our fighting-off-fag-haters quota for the night, so why don’t you take your fat, pathetic, speed-loving, cobweb-covered-cocktail-wiener self back to your sad little cab and try to find something to wank off to other than a table full of kids, you sick pervert.”

  He looks at her like he’s trying to decide if it’s okay to hit a girl, so I stand up and wrap an arm around her at the same time as Shaw, so now we’re holding her in some awkward threesome of an embrace.

  The waitress comes over with our food and tells the guy to get lost while rolling her eyes. Clearly this isn’t her first rodeo.

  “Freaks. All of you are creepy little freaks.” He turns and walks away.

  “You’ve got some ketchup on your ass,” Molly calls after him.

  I laugh as I climb back into the booth because he totally doesn’t, but she just made him look.

  “Sorry about him,” the waitress says. “It’s refreshing to see some new faces around here. You can’t imagine the disgusting things I’ve seen from those men over the years.” She shakes her head and flares her nostrils like a hot fart just climbed in her nose.

  “It’s okay,” Shaw tells her with a smile. When she’s gone he turns to Molly and says, “That guy’s life probably really sucks. Can you imagine how lonely that would be—just crisscrossing the country without anyone by your side.”

  “Who cares?” she says, but by the less than fierce tone of her voice you can tell Shaw’s humanitarianism is getting to her.

  “I just don’t think you needed to be so harsh. I mean, he is overweight and there is probably a good chance he does have an amphetamine addiction.”

  “And for sure you were right on with the cobweb dick—that guy hasn’t gotten any for years—I can guarantee it,” Nico mumbles over his mouthful of waffles.

  “All I’m saying,” Shaw cuts in, “is that it doesn’t do any good to stoop to his level. Or anyone’s level. Especially if they’re that coldhearted and ignorant. Hurting someone shouldn’t be a means of making yourself feel better.”

  I’m eating a piece of bacon, watching Shaw and Molly like they’re my paid entertainment. It’s like I can see her shell being cracked in real time. “I know,” she admits, shocking the hell out of me, and Brighton too, based on the way he just choked on his water. “Shut up, Brighton,” she says.

  “I didn’t say anything.” He grins.

  She glares at him, then turns back to Shaw. “I’m judgmental and mean, I know that, okay? I’m trying to be less of a bitch, but you know what they say about old habits.”

  “What do they say?” Nico asks.

  Molly and Shaw give him baffled looks but don’t answer.

  “You’re not mean, or a bitch,” Shaw tells her before kissing her temple. “I just don’t want you living in a world where everything looks ugly. I mean, in Billy Bob’s case it’s hard to see it any other way, but not all people are bad. Like that waitress for example—she was happy to see us, and she helped us out, you know? I just want you to see her too, and not just the bad people.”

  She lets out a long breath and leans on his shoulder. “Okay,” she says, and her voice almost sounds nice. Maybe even sweet.

  I’m smiling at them like a kid who just watched his parents decide they’re not getting the divorce after all. I’m tempted to clap. In fact, I have my hands raised when Molly gives me a “don’t you even think about letting your hands touch” look. The hands get the message and decide to cut up a pancake instead.

  I look at Brighton. “They remind me a lot of us.”

  Molly huffs. “Don’t you even think about trying to compare our two-year-long relationship with your one-day fling.”

  “Fling?” I ask, genuinely hurt. I turn to Brighton. “Fling?”

  He smiles and looks at Molly. “It’s not a fling.”

  She rolls her eyes.

  “All I’m saying,” I carry on, pretty sure I’m just tossing myself into her cauldron to be stirred around with all the other assholes of the world, “is that Brighton showed me the flip side of my life, kind of like Shaw just did for you. It’s just interesting to see it happen to someone else because, you know, it’s crazy how quickly your perspective can change when you see the world through someone else’s eyes.”

  “Still,” Molly says, “you can’t compare what I have with Shaw to what you have with Brighton.”

  “Why not?” Brighton asks.

  She glares at him, then turns her intimidating face back to me. “Wha
t do you even know about him? Why do you even like him?”

  “Oh my God,” Nico moans. “Seriously, someone kill me now. My life is one big romantic drama, and I don’t even have a fricking girlfriend. I need new friends.”

  I ignore him and answer Molly’s question. “I actually thought about that a lot last night before I called him.” I lean into the table and turn my head so I can see Brighton. “You want to hear something creepy?”

  “Um… sure?”

  “You were like my role model. I seriously thought you were everything I wanted to be.”

  “Gay superheroes are hard to come by around here,” Molly pipes in. Brighton and I both glare at her. “What?”

  “That’s not why,” I tell Brighton. “I mean, it was part of it. But really it was the way you talk to everyone like you don’t even see what they look like or what they’re wearing or who they’re friends with. And it’s because you show up at school in pajama pants and shirts that say I Can’t Even Think Straight and still manage to turn on more girls than anyone else. And then the next day you’re all dapper in your dark jeans and white button-down like you belong on the cover of GQ. The point is—you do whatever the hell you want to do, and I love that about you. And I seriously loved just being near you, and I had convinced myself that that was the reason why—I literally wanted to be you.”

  “That is creepy,” Nico tells me, and honestly I forgot there were other people at the table.

  “It’s kind of sweet,” Brighton says with a smirk.

  I shrug at him. “It turns out I was wrong. I don’t want to be you. I just want you. And that’s what I was thinking about before I called you. Why?”

  “Because he’s hot,” Molly says.

  “Nope,” I tell her.

  “Because you like pajama pants?” Nico wagers.

  “Okay, this isn’t open for a panel discussion. Can I just tell him why?”

  Molly shrugs and Nico says, “If you must.”

  I look back at Brighton who’s chewing on the inside of his mouth to keep from laughing. “That day we had a conversation in class about oracles, dreams, Bics… weird, random, unimportant nothingness.”

  “That’s a crap reason,” Molly says, but I ignore her.