Walking home from school with Lina, I was grousing about all the girls in the choir covering him like leeches in a stagnant pond.
“He lets them?”
“Well,” I said, frowning, “He seems to, but I’m not sure. He sometimes seems uncomfortable with it, which gives me a little hope. Still . . . ”
“Still what?”
“Well, if he really doesn’t like it, why doesn’t he just put them off? Either walk away, or tell them he needs to study his sheet music, or . . . or something. Why does he put up with it if it bothers him? Maybe I’m just imagining it bothers him.”
“I can think of one reason he might put up with it even if it isn’t his cup of tea,” she said and grinned at me.
“You talk funny,” I said, feeling a bit grouchy. But cup of tea? What, she grew up in England? Did they even say that over there?
Yet she’d grinned at me. She liked upsetting me. “Okay, what’s the one reason?” I asked reluctantly. I was always letting her get into my head.
“Maybe he’s trying to make someone jealous?”
“What, you mean one of the girls that isn’t climbing all over him? They don’t all do that, you know. Some of them have more self-respect, I guess. You think he likes one of those more reserved girls?”
“Well, he could. If so, he’d be glancing at her to see if she’s watching. You ever see him do that?”
I had to think for a moment. A school bus was just pulling out of the lot, and we had to stop to let it pass. I used the time. When we were walking again, I said, “No, not really.”
“And you know that because your eyes are fixed on him?”
“Well, yeah. Not my fault. My eyes do what they want to do.”
She could have ignored my funny. Instead, she made her own. “Not unlike one of your other body parts, huh?” Her sense of humor was much coarser than mine. When I didn’t respond, she said, “So he only looks at the girls surrounding him? Or does he sometimes look elsewhere? I mean, if he feels trapped, he should be looking for an escape path. He must. If not, he’s enjoying himself. So, is he or isn’t he?”
“He does fidget a bit, and maybe show he’s annoyed or pestered or, you know, not into all the flirting. But he’s not obvious about it.”
“Then what does he look at? You seem to be avoiding the question. Adroitly, but I’m onto you.”
“How come you’re always putting me on the defensive? I don’t like that much!”
“How come there are so many things you feel you need to defend yourself from? Huh? Huh?”
I should have been pissed at her, except she laughed and pushed me off the sidewalk, and how could I do anything but grin? This was a game to her, and she wasn’t trying to piss me off; how could I get mad at her?
“So?”
Damn her, anyway; she wouldn’t give up. “Okay, occasionally he glances back at me, but just to see that I’m okay, I think. He knows I have no confidence when I’m in there. That singing isn’t my thing. He knows I’m only there so he’ll know someone. He knows I’m there for him, so he looks back to see that I’m still there and that I haven’t given up and want to quit. He’s just checking that I’m not all bothered by being there and ready to pull the plug, that’s all.”
“Uh-huh. What you’re saying is you think he’s taking your emotional temperature? Sure. That’s it.”
“Emotional temperature? Where do you get this stuff? Anyway, no, he’s not doing anything but seeing that I’m not thinking of quitting. He likes me there. It’s comforting for him, I think. I mean, he’s already singing in the girls’ section, and that has to feel awkward.”
“Yeah, I guess you’re right. It makes sense. I think you’ve nailed it. Unless, of course, you’re the one he’s trying to make jealous, and that’s what his glances are all about.”
I was silent. Funny how often after she made a point that my reaction was to be quiet.
≈≈ ≈≈
I was getting frustrated that things weren’t progressing with Micah as I wished they would. I was with him at choir practice, but between all the singing we did and the girl infestation, I wasn’t really with him like I wanted to be. I was with him in Gym and at lunch. Gym didn’t really give us much opportunity to talk. About the only time to do that would be in the showers, and I wasn’t doing that with him. Too risky. So lunch was about it. I loved eating lunch with him. We could talk, and we did. He had an engaging, funny personality, and he did most of the talking, which was just how I liked it. He had an opinion on everything, and, surprisingly, I agreed with just about everything he said.
But I was getting frustrated. How could I get more involved with him? I’m not pushy. Never have been. There were things I was aware I could be doing, like asking if he wanted to go to a movie with me or doing homework together some days or going to one of the school athletic games together, but all those things would be taking the relationship to a higher level. A higher level is exactly what I wanted with him, yet it seemed too forward for me, too obvious that I had a romantic interest in him, and I’d already decided I didn’t dare let that rabbit out of its hutch.
That sort of thinking wasn’t doing my mood any favors, though. And in fact, at our next lunch, seeing him so happy and feeling a bit glum myself, I thought I wasn’t doing him any favors, either, tying him up with someone so blah. That thought led me to speak.
“Micah, you know, uh, what do you think about us joining a larger group of kids for lunch? I mean, we got together because you didn’t know anyone, and I know what it feels like to eat alone. But you’ve been here awhile now, you’re getting to know people, and I’m sort of monopolizing you when you could be making other friends. More interesting ones than me. I don’t think that’s fair to you. So, would you like to eat at another table?” I smiled at him to show I thought it would be a good idea. It didn’t feel like much of a smile, but it was what all I could do at the moment.
I was totally surprised at his reaction. He laid his fork on his plate, looked at me steadily, and frowned. “You don’t want to eat lunch with me?”
“No! No, no, no! I didn’t say that. I didn’t mean that. I love eating, uh, I mean I like eating lunch with you, but I think I’m depriving you of getting to know more of the kids here. I just suggested it for you, not for me. I . . . ” I stopped. I was about to use the ‘love’ word again, and once was too many times.
He was still staring at me. I had a hard time meeting his eyes. If he frowned again, with the mood I was in, it was possible I’d leak a few tears, and, heavens, that would be awful. Why was I so damned emotional?
“Eating lunch with you is what I look forward to all morning,” Micah said. “It hurts that you don’t want to continue doing it.”
“But I do!” I said, probably sounding frantic because that was how I felt. “Micah, please! I don’t want to eat with the other kids. I just thought you might want that and weren’t sure how to tell me. I was trying to help, to make things easy for you.”
His glare softened. “Good. I don’t want to eat anywhere but right here. With you.”
“Me too,” I said, and forced a smile.
He nodded, then said, “I’d even like to spend more time together. I thought we were going to be really good friends after that first time in Gym—” he paused, then gave me one of the grins he sometimes adopted that made my stomach roll and strongly affected me below “—and in the showers afterwards, but we never seem to get together after school at all. I thought . . . ”
He stopped and looked down at his mostly uneaten lunch.
“I want that, too!” I said, perhaps a little too loudly, but damn, that’s what I’d always wanted.
“I even thought we might become best friends,” he said, a little tentatively. He was taking a risk, speaking like that, inviting rejection. I didn’t have the nerve to ask the same of him. He was braver than I was. “But you probably already have one of those, which is why we aren’t doing things like I’ve wondered about. You know, movies and hamburgers after school and skateboarding and video games and . . . well, you know. Things best friends do. I guess you have someone for that.”
“I used to,” I said. “He got hung up on a girl, though, and has no time for me. It still bothers me how you can go from being almost inseparable friends one moment to never even talking together any longer. I guess girls can do that to friends.”
“Girls!”
I loved the contempt I heard in his voice.
“They’re good for sex, I guess. Not for much else.” He made that flat statement, then raised his eyes to mine, and his cocky grin reappeared. “Know what I mean?”
How to answer that!? What a question! Did he realize what he was asking me? He made it sound like a throwaway line, but was it? Or was he really looking for a truthful, soul-baring answer?
I was winging it now. “Uh, not really. I mean, sure, I think about sex a lot. But I haven’t ever done anything with anyone. Thinking about getting naked with a girl . . . ” I sort of stopped and shuddered. “I’m not ready, I guess. It sounds like you’ve had your way with one?” I made it a question. If he could ask me sensitive ones, I could do that with him, too.
So I did. Throw the ball back in to his court. See how good a catch he was. I was so happy with that question I’d managed to ask, I had to hide a grin. He’d have to reveal something.
He didn’t respond right away. He was figuring out just what to say. I could almost see the gears grinding. And then . . .
“I’ve had lots of opportunities. I’ve never understood it, but I guess people find me sort of attractive. Girls tend to flirt with me. A lot. Well, you’ve seen it in choir. I’ve learned how to put up with it, to respond in kind sometimes, but that doesn’t mean I like it. You’ve seen. I’ve seen you noticing.”
Before I could confirm or deny, he went on.
“But there’ve been boys, too. Coming onto me, I mean. I think I’m like you: I’m just not ready. Hey, we’re only thirteen! We don’t need to be doing stuff we’re not ready for. We have the rest of our lives for that.”
I don’t know where my response came from. I have no idea. It wasn’t like me to be forward. To say anything like I did. But what we were talking about, I wanted more of it, so I said it.
“You looked awfully ready in the shower.” And then, realizing what I’d blurted out, I think I blushed and went pale at the same time. Yeah, a paradox for sure, but that’s how I felt.
He laughed. Whew. If he’d reacted any other way, I don’t know what I’d have done. But he laughed. “Oh, my body’s certainly ready. Just like yours is. But do I want to do things with another person? I don’t know. Sort of. To know what it’s like. Maybe with the right person. You must feel the same.”
“Yeah. I do. I want to, but I think if I were faced with the reality of it, I’d balk. We’re a pair, we are! Everyone else is talking about getting it on and the sooner the better, and then there’s us.”
“I think a lot of what we hear is talk. They might be just as shy about actually doing things as we are. At least we can both admit it.”
I grinned at him. “True, that.” I suddenly felt a lot closer to him. I felt that maybe, just maybe, he and I were going to happen. Be very good friends at least. Maybe more, but right then, being close friends mattered more. And accomplishing that—it seemed more possible now than it ever had before.
≈≈ ≈≈
We spent a lot of time the rest of that lunch period glancing up at each other, then back down again. It seemed like some unspoken thoughts had been exchanged. Before we were done, however, I thought I had an opportunity to move my agenda forward, and I didn’t want to blow the chance.
We were finishing up when I said, “You said you regret we haven’t done more together. I want to do that, just didn’t want to push. That’s me, the non-pushing type. But yeah. Movies, snacks after school, I’d love doing that. Maybe homework together sometimes.” Okay, so I’d screwed up and said ‘love.’ I don’t think he noticed.
“Yes! Let’s do it. We have choir three times a week, but that leaves two days after school—and weekends.”
“I like how you think,” I said, and we were both grinning.
I took a last bite, wiped my mouth and said, “At the moment, I’ve been walking home with my new best friend, who’s a girl.” I saw his face drop but hurried on. “We have sort of a World War One relationship; she’s on the attack, and I’m hiding in the trenches. She’s always pushing me where I don’t want to go. I’d much, much rather hang with you. It’s so much easier talking to you.”
He gave me a tentative smile. “Should we plan something?”
“Damn right we should. How about tonight after school? No choir; I’m free. What do you wanna do?”
≈≈ ≈≈
Now all I had to do was tell Lina I wouldn’t be walking home with her. I knew her schedule, so knew where to find her. Unfortunately, both our afternoon class schedules were full, and I couldn’t meet her till school was out. So, I told Micah to meet me at the East door of the school after the last bell, that I had to break the news to Lina that I wouldn’t be walking home with her much any longer.
She was waiting for me at the front of the school. There were benches there for kids to sit on while waiting to be picked up, and I pointed at one. “Let’s sit for a moment.”
“Good idea. I need to talk to you.”
“Oh? Okay, you go first.”
“Well, see, Scottie, I’ve met someone. I think we’re going to be a couple, and the best time to get with them is right after school. You know how busy we are all the time. But this means I won’t be walking home with you much any longer. I’m sorry about that. I really enjoy our conversations. But, well, things happen.”
I nodded and tried to look glum. I don’t think I did a good job of it as she was watching to see how hurt I’d be, and I didn’t do hurt any better than I did glum.
“What?”
“Well, I was going to tell you the same thing. I made some progress with Micah today. We’re going to hang out after school when we can. That means I can’t be the one protecting you walking home. Maybe your new friend can do that.”
“You finally grew the gonads to tell Micah how you feel?”
“Well, no. But we both thought it might be nice to hang with each other more, and we’re giving it a try.”
“Good for you! I’m happy for you, Scottie. And I can take care of myself walking home. Don’t need no escort, boy or girl, though in this case, it happens to be a girl.”
“A girl?!”
She grinned. “Yeah. I think we’re going to be going at it hot and heavy, too. She’s as sexy as she says I am. She likes strong women. That’s me.”
“But . . . but all your talk about penises. I was sure you fancied them.”
She laughed. “No, penises are yesterday’s news. Out of fashion now for the discriminating girl. Penises and scrotums. What an ugly word that is: scrotum. Now listen to these: vagina; labia. Beautiful words that evoke beautiful emotions. I don’t get all that tingly thinking about boy parts like some girls do.”
“Well, as long as you’re happy, I’m happy.”
“Don’t think you’re done with me, Scottie. I’ll still be dropping in some nights. I’ll want to know how it’s going with Micah. And describing to you in detail how pleasurable it is making out with a woman.”
“I see. Well, don’t expect any blow-by-blow, tit-for-tat return enlightenment.” I grinned. She’d have a hard time topping that one.
≈≈ ≈≈
Micah and I went to a movie on Saturday. I can’t remember what it was. I paid more attention to the boy sitting next to me than the film. We shared a bucket of popcorn. His hand kept brushing mine as we reached in. I so wanted to grab his. I mean, the urge was powerful. But I didn’t do it. I wanted to. I noticed that at times he seemed to reach into the bucket just after I had. That meant his hand had to rub mine. I wished I’d stop reading so much into every little thing like that.
I had it bad.
After the movie, it was only late afternoon. Micah suggested we go to Burger King. “I like their Whoppers,” he said.
“You do? Better than Big Macs? You must be nuts. Big Macs rule.”
“You’re kidding me! Whoppers taste better and have more meat. They have a quarter-pound patty. That’s almost twice the meat of a Big Mac. You don’t know your way around fast food, that’s for sure. Good thing we’re spending more time together. You have a lot to learn, and I’m a skilled teacher.”
He grinned at me. I wished he’d stop that. Good thing we were sitting down. Now that we were going to hang out, I wondered if I’d get used to that grin to the point it wouldn’t arouse me. I hoped so. Either that, or I’d have to invest in some sort of chastity belt to hold things in place.
After the burgers, he said he had to get home. I said fine, and that I’d had a really good time. He stood in front of me, and we stared at each other longer than you’d think two boys who didn’t know each other well would, neither of us saying anything, allowing some tension to build. Then I turned around, said, “See ya,” and walked away, hoping he hadn’t noticed the effect he had on me. I couldn’t help myself, however, and when I was a good ten, twelve steps away, I glanced back at him. He was standing there, watching, and he had the biggest grin on his face I’d ever seen.
≈≈ ≈≈
I couldn’t help myself. I brood over things, I know, and while I could usually force myself to think of something else when the first thought was bothersome, I couldn’t about this. I had to talk to someone, someone I trusted. It couldn’t be Lina. She was so opinionated and so sure she was right about everything—well, I knew she wasn’t. She was my age, she was just trying on life for size to see what fit, kinda like I was, and she just didn’t know the things that an adult would.
It couldn’t be my mom, either. She was the most judgmental person I’d ever met. Trying to talk to her about anything important would not get me a balanced, thought-out opinion. It would get me a lecture about the way things should be and I’d better damn well conform to them. No, not my mom.
I went to my dad. There was some risk involved, but not much. He was on my side versus my mom, and it seemed to me he was on my side absolutely. He didn’t talk much. Maybe that’s why I didn’t, either. But he was smart; he listened to what was going on around him. When Mom was talking, he’d frequently throw me glances, and his sympathetic looks told me he was there for me and not to take everything she said as the way things were.
So I went to him. It was hard, but I needed his advice and support. The risk was that I wouldn’t get it; to me, it seemed like a small risk and one I needed to take. I needed to clear my head.
“Can I talk to you in private?” I asked my dad. He nodded, and we went into the den. The den had a door which was rarely shut, but when it was, my mother wouldn’t just open it and enter. She’d knock and wait to be told to enter or for him to open it for her. The den was the perfect spot for us to talk.
It wasn’t a large room. He had a desk, and there was a small couch where he’d sit if he wanted to be alone. I sat on the couch, and he pulled his desk chair over next to me.
“Dad, I need to know something. I haven’t had much in the way of crushes on anyone in the past, but now that I’m into puberty, I’m having some. Some on boys and some on girls, and we’re hearing in Sex Ed this is the norm at our age. The thing is, I have a rather strong one right now on a boy. I’m not sure it’s a crush; it seems more than that.
“But it also makes me wonder—am I gay? Could I be? I never gave that much thought before. I just assumed I was straight like everyone else. But the feelings I have for this boy make me wonder. Am I gay? How can you tell? That might sound silly, but I haven’t done anything with this boy, or anyone else, other than think about them. Sure, some thoughts are sexual, but many are not. Many are just about being with him. Loving him, perhaps, but they’re about personal—or interpersonal, if that’s a word—intimacy more than sex. So, is that being gay?”
I was watching his face, trying to judge the impact of what I was saying, trying to see how he felt about it. I was his only son, the only one he’d probably ever have. I couldn’t remember the subject of gayness ever being discussed in our family. I was sure my mom had an opinion about it; she did about everything. But my dad was a complete mystery to me on the subject. One thing I did know: he wouldn’t get violent—or even angry. I couldn’t remember him ever getting really angry. And that brought me up short. Lina said I lacked passion. Did I get that from my dad? I did feel things. He probably did, too. He simply didn’t show them. Maybe that was why he’d sometimes get up and go into the den and shut the door. Something to think about when I wasn’t waiting for his reaction.
He reached out and placed a hand on my knee. He held it there for a moment, looking into my face. I met his eyes, and he nodded.
“It’s an interesting question, Scottie. When I was younger, there seemed to be more absolutes. If you had sex with someone of the same sex, you were gay. It was your actions that defined you. Today, your generation thinks differently about sex—and about definitions, too. Today, if you are interested in someone of the same sex, just have thoughts about it, people say that means at least you’re bi. But that doesn’t vilify you. They just attach a tag to you so they know how to compartmentalize you.
“Also, today there’s much less censure for not being one-hundred-percent straight. There is acceptance that sexuality is fluid, that you can be mostly straight and a little gay. More and more people will admit to bi feelings. And most people today seem to accept that that’s fine, that that’s just how humans are. Being bi is just part of the continuum we all exist in.”
He stopped for a moment, still looking at me. He took a deep breath. “I think you’re a little young to be deciding on what your orientation is. You should accept yourself as you are, but labeling yourself? Why do that? Why adjust yourself to a label? You’re special, you’re unique, and you don’t need a label.”
He stopped. Then he smiled at me. A very encouraging smile. It told me there was nothing wrong to worry about. “Nope, Scottie, you asked if you were gay, and I say just forget about calling yourself something that limits you. That’s my advice. You’re fine as you are, and you’re still learning who that is. I like who you are. I love that you’re comfortable talking to me. Many teens shut their parents out. You don’t do that with me. Just another reason why I’m so proud of you.”