by TJ Klune
It was July 15, 2016 when a notorious bigot from Indiana was announced as the vice presidential nominee to the motherfucking Cheeto. We sneered at it, sure that it meant the death knell of a campaign that had no business getting as far as it did. It wouldn’t go any further, we told ourselves, because people wouldn’t let it. For the most part, queer communities all over the country scoffed at the idea of someone with a known hatred of LGBTQ being second-in-command of a country that had recently made same-sex marriage legal and ended Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell only a few years before.
Yes, there were the ridiculous outliers who didn’t know their asses from their elbows (I’m looking at you, Twinks for Trump), but they were in the minority. I refused to believe that after the past eight years, we’d allow ourselves to sink so low.
And I’ll admit that I was distracted. I didn’t pay as much attention as I should have. I had a life to worry about. I had kids to focus on at Phoenix House. We talked about it, sure, just as much as we talked about the growing epidemic of persons of color getting shot by white cops, but even though we tried to reassure the kids as much as we could, we tried to keep things as apolitical as possible. That was a mistake, and one that we should have avoided. We knew better, but we had hope.
Diego especially seemed to get riled up over it, ranting about how Mike Pence oversaw some of the worst anti-LGBTQ legislation in the country during his tenure as governor of Indiana. “How could anyone think this is all right?” he demanded, angry tears filling his eyes as Kai leaned over to kiss his cheek. “How could anyone think this is okay? Do they really hate us that much?”
And that didn’t even begin to touch the immigration issues I knew we were all thinking about. Living in Arizona, we were all acutely familiar with ICE raids and the reach of the Border Patrol. Marina confided in me that she was already speaking with an immigration lawyer she’d known for years to see what their options were for someone like Diego, just in case. I was a little appalled with myself for asking her why Diego’s mother didn’t just become a naturalized citizen, especially after Marina schooled me about how difficult and expensive that could be, not to mention the years it could take. I didn’t know why I’d assumed it was something as simple as filling out paperwork and taking a damn test.
We were distracted. Marina was troubled over the lack of funding for Phoenix House. She was trying to keep it from the kids, but behind closed doors in Jeremy’s office, she’d rant and rave about how money was barely trickling in, how fucking terrible it was that a not-for-profit had to be so concerned with actual profits all the time. Donations were coming, but they weren’t enough. We brainstormed, trying to come up with ideas. Sandy offered to hold another fund-raiser at Jack It like he’d done when Mike had convinced him the bar was going to close. Darren even said he’d be willing to do drag again if he needed to. I had stared at him for a moment before jumping into his arms and hugging the crap out of him, telling him he was the best worst person in the world.
He complained loudly, but I felt how hard he hugged me back.
I was distracted. I was struggling to reconcile the feelings I had for Jeremy with the reality of our situation. I had half convinced myself that maybe things would work out in the end, but in reality, it was a lost cause. Ever since that day in the kitchen, I had begun to see Jeremy in a new light. It was one thing hearing from his dad about how lonely he seemed to be; it was another thing to witness it up close. Jeremy tended to put on a brave face, but he had seemed so damn comfortable in his skin at the Auster house, and who the fuck was I to put anything on top of that?
Besides, I told myself, having someone as a friend was so much more important than letting something like feelings ruin it. Even though he never really said as much—not in so many words—I thought Jeremy needed people like us.
By the time he left the house the day of the barbecue, he had Matty and Larry and Nana’s phone numbers programmed into his phone. They had random text threads going on, some that I was involved in and some I wasn’t. I thought initially I’d be jealous (of whom, I didn’t know), and maybe I was. A little bit, at least. But then I’d see the horrified expression on his face when Nana texted him, trying to convince him to commit this or that felony with her, and I realized that I had no reason to be jealous.
He needed us as much as we needed him.
It was easier to make it we instead of I.
Mostly.
ON THE second day of the Republican National Convention, Donald J. Trump accepted the Republican nomination for President of the United States.
We were numb as we watched his seventy-five-minute speech where people in the audience began to shout about building a goddamn wall and he smiled his smug-ass grin like he was just fucking soaking it up. I thought maybe it hit us a little harder, given that we lived in a border state and knew people who had risked their lives to cross the desert. I couldn’t even imagine what it must have been like for Diego’s family and people like them.
Toward the end of his speech, Cheeto said, “As your president, I will do everything in my power to protect our LBGTQ citizens from the violence and oppression of a hateful ideology.” The irony was not lost on any of us as Mike Pence looked on.
“What the fuck?” Sandy muttered, sounding shell-shocked.
We were sitting in the living room at our house. I was again on the floor, lying against Darren, who was up on the couch with Sandy. Paul and Vince were supposed to have come over, but Paul had texted, saying he didn’t think they were going to make it. It had been followed by a bunch of expletives and angry emojis, so I could understand why. I felt like crawling into my own bed and pulling my covers over my head.
“He won’t win,” Darren said to Sandy. “I mean, Christ. People aren’t that fucking stupid.”
“Oh, I wouldn’t go that far,” I said darkly. “We got to this moment, didn’t we? Rich white people. They’re all the fucking same.”
“I don’t know if that’s fair,” Darren said slowly. “Not all—”
I leaned my head back on his knees, smiling sweetly up at him. “You really want to go the not all route? Really? Really?”
He sighed. “Yeah, I realized how that sounded as soon as I said it. And it’s not like I can really argue against it. My father is Andrew Taylor, after all. If he wasn’t getting ready for his criminal trial, I’m sure he’d be celebrating.”
I felt bad. I kept forgetting that if anyone could understand the shitstorm that was brewing, it would be Darren and Vince. Andrew Taylor was the definition of everything wrong with the world, a white man in power with seemingly unlimited resources. The fact that he wasn’t currently sitting in jail spoke of his reach, having had the funds to bail himself out while waiting for his trial to begin. While we didn’t think Darren and Vince would be part of the trial, they were still bothered every now and then by a phone call or email from a reporter asking for a quote on their father. It wasn’t as bad as it was when he was first arrested, but it’d probably pick up again the closer his trial got.
My phone buzzed in my lap. I looked down at it to see a text from Jeremy.
You watching this?
Yeah. Fucking assholes.
I know. We’re going to have to talk to the kids tomorrow. They’re going to have questions. Marina wanted to have a meeting at some point too, either Thurs or Fri.
That doesn’t sound good.
We’ll figure it out. You guys all right?
I looked back at Darren and Sandy. Sandy was pale, his hands clutched in fists in his lap. Darren had his hand on the back of Sandy’s neck, squeezing gently. On the television, pundits were shouting over each other, praising and damning the speech we’d just heard. It was chaos.
“I’m going to bed,” I muttered. “Tomorrow is going to suck.”
“All right,” Sandy said, distracted.
“Night,” Darren said.
As soon as I’d closed the door to my room, I called Jeremy.
He answered on the second ring. “Dad�
�s pissed. Says he didn’t fight for the life he lives for as long as he has for something like this to happen.”
I sighed. “I don’t blame him. How the hell did it get to this?”
“I don’t know. But it’s a farce. You holding up okay?”
I shrugged, even though he couldn’t see me. “I’m more worried about the kids. How do we explain to them that the people in charge let it get this far?”
“We’ll be honest,” he said. “Most of them won’t be old enough to vote in this election, so it’s going to be a little harder, but they deserve to hear the truth. It’s better to be informed, to know all the options, than it is to be in the dark.”
“We have a rad black guy in office,” I grumbled. “And this is how they repay us.”
He snorted. “He probably won’t win, but even if he does, we’ll just be louder than we’ve ever been. It’s easy for outrage to turn to complacency. We can’t let that happen.”
I shuddered at the thought. “Can you imagine him as president? It would be a nightmare.”
“Probably. But it won’t change what we do. It can’t.”
He was right, though I was feeling dark about the whole thing. “It will if Marina wants to meet about what I think she does.”
“Yeah. But we’re not out of options yet. I might have a few tricks up my sleeve.”
I laughed, feeling a little better. “You do? I can’t wait to see this.”
I could hear the smile in his voice. “You doubt me? I feel like I should be offended.”
“Oh, you should be. I swear to god, if we have to turn my life into some sort of eighties movie where we have to save the youth center, I’m going to flip. I’ve already been trapped in a similar plot, and it was the most ridiculous thing that’s ever happened to me.”
“Do I even want to know?”
“Probably not,” I said. “It involved Sandy thinking Jack It was going to close, and required us to go undercover for reasons I’m still not quite sure about. I looked amazing. Paul was Agnes Beaverton.”
I pulled the phone away from my ear as he bellowed out a laugh. “Paul was what? You have to tell me now.”
I sat down on my bed against the headboard, pulling the comforter over my legs. “Buckle up, my friend. I’m about to blow your mind, and you’ll probably reconsider ever wanting to hang out with us again.”
“Nah,” he said. Then, “I doubt anything you could do or say would drive me away.”
I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to calm my racing heart. “You say that now. Just you wait. Okay, so it all started when Sandy wanted to fuck the Homo Jock King, but Darren was an asshole who only screwed twinks as a way to cope with the fact that he was a little dead on the inside, as most man whores are.”
“Wow,” he said faintly. “Just… going right for it, aren’t you? I take it back. I don’t want to know any more.”
“Too late! Anyway, Mike, the oily snake salesman slash owner of Jack It, told Sandy that the bar would close unless Sandy seduced Darren in order to get to his father….”
We talked late into the night. By the time we hung up, it was nearing one in the morning.
I slept better than I had in a long time.
THE KIDS were upset.
Of course they were.
We had reassured them we didn’t think Cheeto would get the nomination. That had been a mistake on our part, and one I was having a hard time forgiving myself for. And it made me angry that it had ever happened at all, that we would have to tell children we didn’t know what was going to happen next. That’s the shitty part about being an adult overseeing a group of minors: we’re supposed to have all the answers. We were supposed to explain to them the hows and the whys, all while we ourselves were still reeling.
Diego was the most worked up, and I didn’t blame him. Even Kai couldn’t seem to calm him down, though they tried. His eyes blazed as he paced, ranting and raving. He was getting the other kids upset, and I knew we needed to… not curb it, exactly, but try to get him to understand that the fight wasn’t over. It was just beginning.
“It’s part of the process,” I said slowly. “And people will most likely vote for him no matter what he says or does. But whoever gets the Democratic nomination will be going up against him. And think. They’ll have to debate in front of the entire country. Who knows what will happen then?”
“Right,” Diego scoffed. “Because that’ll make things better. Bring in the old white guy or the old white woman to face off against the devil. That’ll show him.”
He had a point, though I didn’t say it out loud. “It’s how things are.” I felt a little out of my depth. I had voted in the last election for the first time, but I hadn’t really paid attention. Not as much as I should have. I’d been barely older than these kids were now.
“What happens if he wins?” one of the kids asked.
“Then he does,” Jeremy said simply. “That won’t change how we operate.”
Diego rolled his eyes. “You won’t even be here. You’re temporary.”
I saw how much that stung, but Jeremy covered it up quickly. “Maybe not as the director. But that doesn’t mean I won’t still be involved. Do you really think I could leave you all behind? That’s not how this works.”
Diego looked like he was going to snipe at him but instead turned his attention on me. Oh joy. “What happens when they won’t let you go to the bathroom?”
I blinked. “What?”
“You’re at the mall,” he said. “You’re a girl. You have to piss. Do you go into the bathroom for girls or boys?”
Shit. “I use the restroom that matches my gender.”
“And have you ever gotten shit for it?”
I had. Once. I’d been nineteen on campus in New Hampshire. A security guard had been called. It’d been one of the most mortifying experiences of my life. It’d ended with a meeting with the dean, who had apologized profusely, all the while intimating that it might be best if I could hold it until I got home.
And it had worked. Because I’d done exactly that. Oh, when I was male, it was fine. I could whip out my dick and piss wherever the fuck I wanted. But when I was female, I needed to hold it. I was so angry and embarrassed that I didn’t even think about fighting back, not even when the LGBTQ resource center reached out to me, asking if they could talk to me. They had wanted to pursue it further, but I’d been ashamed. I should have fought harder. I should have done more. Instead I told them I just wanted to forget about it and move on.
It’d led to me not drinking anything while in class and taking a leak before I left my shitty apartment each day. I’d made it work, though I shouldn’t have had to.
“I have,” I said now, because I knew I needed to be as honest as possible. I saw Jeremy startle out of the corner of my eye, but I ignored him.
Diego nodded. “What happens if they make that, like, the law? Bathroom laws, or whatever they’re called. Like they did in North Carolina a few months ago.”
“Don’t go to North Carolina,” a girl with a shaved head said. “Simple as that.”
Diego rolled his eyes. “Not if they make it the law for the rest of the country.”
“Have any of you experienced discrimination like that?” Jeremy asked. “Trying to use a public restroom?”
I was dismayed when five hands went up. Kai was one of them. They were looking defiantly at me.
“There are checks and balances in place,” Marina said, coming to the rescue. “Even now there are challenges to the law in North Carolina. Suits have been filed on behalf of people just like you in groups whose job it is to protect our rights.”
“That’s not what’s going to change their minds,” Kai said. “It’s going to be all the companies saying they’ll pull out of the state.”
Jesus, they were a hell of a lot more informed than I’d ever been.
“Money talks,” Marina agreed. “And while it’s tough to think about, at least we know we have people on our side.”
�
��It’s good to know that our voices don’t matter,” Diego said angrily. “But they lose money and suddenly they’ll listen? That’s bullshit.”
“It is,” I said. “But sometimes we have weapons in our arsenal that we might not have thought about before. Think of it this way: these companies might not be your voice specifically, but they’re an extension of your voice. And we have to use everything we can to make sure we’re heard. They want to fight dirty? Fine. Let them. They’ll lose. Maybe not today or tomorrow, but I promise you that one day, these people who are fighting against us are going to be seen for exactly who they are.”
“Assholes,” Jeremy said cheerfully. “All of them are assholes.”
That caught Diego off guard as the rest of the kids burst into laughter.
Marina stepped in, shooting a playful glare at Jeremy. “Let’s think about some ways we can protect ourselves if we’re ever in a situation where we face discrimination. And I also want to talk more about our plans for Pride in September. I was thinking we should have a float in the parade. It’ll be our first one, and I want to hear all your ideas about how we can make it the best we can. I want all the people watching to know that Phoenix House is here to stay.”
“WE’RE IN trouble,” Marina said as she closed the door to Jeremy’s office later that afternoon.
I groaned. “Don’t say that.”
She looked grim as she sat down in the chair next to mine. Jeremy was sitting across from us behind his desk, scrolling through his laptop.
Marina snorted. “Trust me when I say I wish I didn’t have to. But the fact remains we are. I got notice this morning we didn’t get the grant we applied for. Went to a place in Flagstaff.”
“I’m just reading the email now,” Jeremy murmured, eyes darting back and forth. “That’s… unfortunate. I mean, good for Flagstaff but not for us.”
