He sobs into my shoulder, and it breaks my heart. His body is limp in my arms like he doesn’t have any fight left in him. “This isn’t your fault, Jay. I’m not letting you carry this. You didn’t do anything wrong. You have nothing to feel bad about. You can be sad. You can be angry. But I don’t want you to have regrets. Not about this. And I won’t let you hate yourself or beat yourself up. You didn’t do anything wrong.”
He stands upright, then turns and collapses onto his bed. He lies on his back, his arms folded over his eyes. I lay down next to him on my back. I don’t know what else I can say to him.
“How can something make me feel so damn good and then, a day later, make me feel so fucking awful?”
“The same thing that made you feel good yesterday is not the same thing that’s making you feel awful today, Jay. What’s making you feel bad today is the same thing that’s been making you feel bad your whole life—you’re considering going back to your life of lies. Your mom is making you feel the same way you’ve always felt about being gay—ashamed. Yesterday you were happy because you were free—from the lies, from the pretend you—from the guilt and shame.”
He takes his arms off his eyes. I can feel him looking at me, so I turn and look at him. “Huh.” He stutters a laugh. “Holy shit… you’re right. This feeling has nothing to do with me being gay and everything to do with being that miserable kid who hated life. This pain isn’t because I’m gay. It’s because I feel like I have no other choice but to go back to that kid’s life. I mean, hell, maybe I don’t even give a shit if my mom walks. Maybe I don’t give a shit if my family falls apart. Turns out it wasn’t much of a family anyway. Who cares if it’s over? God, Brighton, you’re a genius.”
His frantic tone concerns me. I don’t think he’s being sarcastic. “You care, Jay.”
“You know what, Brighton? I don’t think I do.”
“Of course you do.” I lean up on my elbow and look down at him. I run a finger along his forehead and down the side of his face. “You need to get some sleep. I really shouldn’t have woken you.”
“What if I don’t want to sleep?” he asks, turning and running his fingers down my side, over my hip, then to the top of my thigh.
“Don’t start with me, Jay. That’s not what you need right now. You need to sleep. I do too.”
“Are you leaving me?” he whispers.
“Not right now. After you fall asleep.”
“Yeah… okay,” he says, and I can hear the exhaustion in his voice. “If I take my clothes off, is that going to be too much for you to handle? I don’t usually sleep in jeans.”
I smile, then lean down so I can kiss his lips. “I’ll try to restrain myself.”
He sits up so he can pull his shirt over his head before pulling his jeans off and throwing them on the floor. He gets under his sheet and comforter and looks at me. “Are you coming?”
“I might have been lying about the restraint. I should probably stay on top of the sheets.”
“Please,” he whispers. “I promise I won’t try anything. I just want to feel you next to me.”
“Honestly, Jay… it’s really hard to say no to you.” I stand, pull the bedding back, and climb in next to him. I try really hard, for at least a few seconds, to just lie by him, but it’s pointless. My hand, all on its own, finds its way to his stomach where my fingers stroke a lazy path across his abs.
“I’m sorry about tonight,” he whispers into the darkness.
“You don’t have anything to be sorry about.”
“I’m sorry for shutting you out and then freaking out the way I did. This is so much harder when you’re not right here next to me. I don’t know how long it’s gonna be until I can do this on my own.”
“You don’t have to do this on your own. I mean, you can. I know you can. But if you don’t want to do it on your own, I’m here. The farthest away I’ll ever be is a phone call.”
He turns under my arm so his back is facing me. He grabs on to my hand and pulls it over him so I’m spooning him. “Thanks,” he whispers. The exhaustion is clear in his voice now.
I bury my nose in the nape of his neck and inhale. I’m pretty damn tired myself. And comfortable. But I know I can’t fall asleep. I know I can’t get caught in his bed.
“Stay here with me until I fall asleep.”
“I won’t leave,” I promise.
“You have to leave. Promise me you’ll leave.”
I laugh quietly into the back of his neck. “I promise—I’ll leave.”
“But not until I’m asleep.”
“Not until you’re asleep.”
“It’s still totally surreal, you know,” he whispers.
“What is?” I whisper back.
“That you, Brighton Bello-Adler, are here. With me.”
“I agree. It totally feels like a dream.”
“But it’s not.”
“No, Jay, it’s not. All the bad parts, and all the really good parts—it’s all real. You okay with that?”
He inhales deeply and pulls me closer to him. “I’m not okay with that. I’m done being fine… okay… whatever. I’m ready to start feeling things. All the really good stuff. And all the bad stuff too. I’m ready to finally feel. That’s what living is about, right?”
I pinch my eyes closed and hold him as tight as I possibly can. His question isn’t rhetorical, it’s real. The idea that he doesn’t know what living feels like is devastating. The fact that he’s about to find out is beautiful, and I’m gonna do everything I possibly can to ensure I get to do that living with him. “Yeah, Jay. That’s what living is all about.”
Epilogue
Jay
SO YEAH, like I was saying, on Friday I woke up ready to change my entire life. I was spurred on by what I thought was an epiphany. But in the end, it was just a piece of paper that ended up spinning my life into a series of vomit-inducing circles before sending it into some weird alternate universe where I found a gay kid who looked a hell of a lot like me. It was awkward at first, but eventually the cyclone leveled off into a nice little trip that Brighton went on with me.
Saturday was an epic day in the life of Jay Hall. Yeah, I’m talking about myself in the third person because that’s what you get to do after you’ve lived an epic day. The scary thing is, I could have totally not had that epic day. That piece of paper could have meant nothing. It could have just remained a piece of paper. But I took a chance and called the number. And now, three days after I decided to take that chance everything has changed.
Oh, wait. Shit. You probably wanted to hear what’s happening like a year from now, right? Like a nice little update finding Brighton and me at the same college, in our shared dorm room that we’ve converted into a love den. Maybe we’re lying on our bed, discussing how much we love each other and how awesome it is that I’m following my dream of becoming a writer. Then Brighton tells me a cute story about the kids at the inner-city art program he started with the time he has to spare from working on his music and making love to me.
Or, I know, I bet you really wanted a prom scene. I show up at Brighton’s in a stretch limo, looking all dapper in my suit. Our parents are gathered at his house because they’re all best friends now, sporting matching Proud Parents of a Gay Man bumper stickers on their cars. Maybe Brighton and I have some special alone time where we ponder how great our relationship is before totally making out in that sexy luxury room on wheels. After that we pick up the perfect mix of my supportive friends and his supportive friends, and we have the best night ever.
That might happen. If I had to bet, I would say we’re definitely going to prom and, seriously, sharing the dorm room is a damn good idea, right? It seems like this could be one of those long-term situations. But who knows? Anything can happen. If you’re doing what you’re meant to do, I think great things can happen.
I guess that’s the lesson I’ve learned. I mean, the main one is that I’m 100 percent gay. Specifically, I’m totally gay for Brighton, but
you probably can’t relate to that. In fact, you better not even think about relating to that because he’s mine. Seriously, if you got the impression that he’s some tall, dark, and handsome kid with amazing eyes, unbelievable lips, and chiseled bone structure, you were reading between the lines. And all that shit about him being cool and sweet and good with his hands and mouth… I mean, that’s just my opinion. You probably wouldn’t see it that way.
But anyway—the lesson. Are you ready? Here it goes…. Go live your life.
Were you expecting something more profound? ’Cause that’s all I’ve got. But it’s the truth, and it’s an important truth.
Seriously, all that crap you’ve heard about: carpe diem, today’s a gift, which is why we call it the present… hell, even YOLO—it’s all true. Have you been paying attention to the inspirational phrases in your life?
Every day when you wake up, get your ass out of bed, and then go do whatever the hell it is that makes you happy. And do not ever do anything just because you think it will make you cool or because it’s what people expect you to do.
If you’re picking out your clothes and you think what’s Joe gonna be wearing today? Or, what will Mary think of this shirt? Go ahead and slap yourself, and not a mental slap either. Seriously, take your hand and force it into your face because you deserve to feel pain for making decisions about your life based on other people’s opinions.
And if you’re hanging out with people who are assholes to you or anyone else because you’re afraid of being alone or not being popular, seriously, I know it’s hard, but dig deep and find people in your life who you actually like and who actually like you back, and then try to multiply them. Or don’t. I mean, how many people do you really need in your life? If the answer is a lot, don’t stress, you’ll find them. There are a ton of awesome people out there. Maybe you’re just not looking in the right places. Try your local drug emporium, sculpture park, or the wall at your next party where the too kids are hanging out. I don’t know, it’s your life, but seriously—go find them.
You’re shaking with fear, aren’t you? I get it, it’s scary. And right now it’s hard to see outside of the little box you feel stuck in, but trust me, it will be worth it.
Change your life now.
Find your happiness now.
Be yourself now.
Speak your mind now.
If not, you’re gonna have regret. And regret totally sucks. You’re gonna look back on your life and think… what if. The less years of regret you have, the better. But if you already have them, don’t feel bad. There are always lessons learned from regret. You always appreciate what you have more if you have some regret in you. And once you’re finally living without regret, you will do anything you can to avoid feeling it again.
I know what you’re thinking: But Jay, the only reason you had the balls to do what you did is because of that epiphany. And you would be right—I did have an epiphany. But it didn’t come from some deity or whatever; it came from that part of me that I had molded into a little nugget, before shoving it into the back of the smallest closet in the apartment of my brain. But that little fucker jimmied the lock on his closet door and had a party in my head that night, running around, spreading all his crazy ideas everywhere. God, I love that little guy. And I’m glad I listened to him. You should listen to yourself too. Those small thoughts that pop up when you least expect them that make so much sense but that you quickly forget about—that’s you. The real you, the part that wants to come out. Let it out.
Remember what Brighton said about having his own personal sunshine after he got back on his board? I totally get it. That’s what it feels like. He’s part of that sunshine, at least half the rays, but the rest of the rays are freedom and hope and happiness and excitement about living. About the future. It’s an awesome feeling.
Don’t get me wrong. Life’s still scary. Right now, for instance. I’m alone. In my room. I woke up alone. No Brighton in sight.
When I walk out this door, I have no idea what I’m gonna find. I have no idea what’s going on with my family or if the family I’ve always known even exists anymore. And yeah, that’s scary as hell. And I feel guilty and awful about it. And I’ll do everything I can to make things right again.
Everything but go back to being that straight, miserable kid.
I can’t believe that, before Brighton showed up last night, I was even considering doing that. Lying never solves anything. Band-Aids don’t really fix anything; they just cover shit up.
And then there’s the fact that it’s Monday morning, which would suck anyway, but it’s worse now because I’m about to face my future. At least the future I will have to live for the rest of the year until I can get out of here. I really need to run that dorm idea past Brighton.
I take one last look in the mirror, and I smile at myself. I know that kid.
Are you wondering what I’m wearing? You are, aren’t you? I have my dark Diesels on—the ones that make my ass look really good. The same ones I wore last week. And I’m wearing one of my old Hollister T-shirts… under the red hoodie I took from Brighton. Before I leave I’ll put my basketball shoes on. Because Brighton isn’t the man I want to be, but the man I want to be with. And I can still be me and be gay. So I’ll wear what I like and what makes me comfortable, and if I’m wearing Brighton’s clothes it’s only because they smell so fucking good and I like wearing something that belongs to him.
I take one last deep breath, then head downstairs to the kitchen. I stop in my tracks for a moment, a little stunned by the sight. My mom and dad are sitting in the breakfast nook drinking coffee.
Mom came back.
And she’s sitting there, drinking coffee like she is every morning. Which is good. I think.
I regain my composure and try to act nonchalant as I grab an apple and a protein shake out of the fridge.
“Good morning,” my dad says with a smile. My mom tries to smile, but it looks more like a wince.
“Hey.” I kiss my mom on the cheek and pat my dad on the shoulder and then join them. This is the closest I’ve been to my mom since I came home from Brighton’s. “Oh, crap,” I mutter when I see the piece of paper sitting in front of my mom. It’s the note Brighton left for Mickey when we left her studio. I haven’t read it, but it’s what Mickey gave me before I left Brighton’s house. The thing she wanted me to have. The thing I stuck in my back pocket and totally forgot about.
“I found it on the kitchen floor under the stool,” my dad tells me. “I read it before I realized it was private.”
“Is it?” I ask him. “I never got around to reading it myself.”
He shrugs. “Yeah… I would say it was meant to be private, but I read it. And then I left it on the kitchen counter and your mom read it too.” He pushes it over to me.
I look between the two of them, unsure if I really want to read it in front of them. My mom forces a small smile, which, at this moment, feels huge. So I pick it up and read it.
Hey mom. When you go downstairs to check on me in the morning, Jay’s gonna be in my bed. I know. I know. I have a younger brother and sister to think about and they don’t need to think that it’s okay to have lovers in their childhood bed. If it makes you feel any better, he’s not my lover, I mean, if we’re being technical. But if we’re being real, let’s face it—I’m totally gonna make out with him whether it’s in my bed or in my truck or in a tree. We’re eighteen. And we’re guys. And he’s here with me. He’s not some rando on the Internet or a mostly stranger living an hour away from me. He’s here. With me. And I don’t want him in the next room over. That’s just stupid, and you know it.
So right now I’m gonna go down in my bed and hold him and sleep with him. Like, literally sleep with him. You know my bed can be made out in anytime, day or night, right? It doesn’t have to be during the middle of the night. We already made out there. It’s too late. But right now I just want to sleep. With Jay. Because I like him, and at the moment a room away is too far a
way.
I know you still love me even though I didn’t follow your rules.
And I still love you even though your thinking is illogical.
BTW, it’s 6 a.m., which is why I’m rambling. I’m exhausted. If you love me, you’ll let me sleep in.
Your baby boy,
Brighton
PS—Jay really likes your art.
It’s not until I’m done reading Brighton’s note that I realize I’m smiling like a total idiot. And that my parents are watching me… read a note about me and Brighton making out. The smile drops swiftly off my face. I force myself to look up. I’m a pussy, so I choose to look at my dad.
“There’s more,” he says, twirling his pointer finger, indicating I should flip the page over.
I take a deep breath and flip it over. I’m relieved when I find that the note on the back is written in a feminine script. I glance at the bottom and see Mickey’s signature. And then I read it.
Jay—
I wanted you to have this. It makes me really happy. It shouldn’t (Brighton is such a little shit), but it does. But I feel like it will make you even happier and be a reminder of this milestone day in your life. So I’m giving it to you, because even though I hardly know you, and even if I never get to meet you again, there is one thing I know for sure—I want you to be happy. You deserve to be happy.
Watching you go through what you did last night—seeing you accept yourself right in front of my eyes—was an amazing thing to witness, and I’m grateful I got to be part of it. It was hard for me, as a parent, to watch you question whether your parents would accept you or not. I truly believe in my heart that they will. Until you have children of your own, you can’t understand the special kind of love that parents feel for their children. It’s a kind of love that makes you put yourself second. It’s a kind of love that demands that the object of your affection is happy and safe, even if it means that you yourself don’t get to be happy. It’s a selfless, all-consuming, gigantic love that I know your parents have for you. It’s clear that you are a special person and anyone would be blessed to call you a friend or, more importantly, part of their family. I’m glad Brighton met you.
Riding with Brighton Page 22
