Tristan's Redemption by Nicholas Nurse
Tristan Elliot isn't your typical teenage boy. For starters, he's gay. Not that that's any of your goddamn business, really. And it's especially none of your business that he's in love with his (totally straight) best friend. Or that he's afraid of ending up like Julian Lambowski, the only gay kid at school who's out of the closet.
See, Tristan has it going pretty well--good grades in school, a nice car, lots of friends and loving if sometimes distant parents--and he doesn't want the whole gay thing to fuck that up. Living in Orange County means hiding who you are--it's not exactly a gay mecca, after all.
But sooner or later, everything secret is made manifest. What begins as a simple fight at school turns into a series of revelations and events that Tristan could never have anticipated. What comes after leaves him older, perhaps wiser and forever changed.
Chapter One: Say It Like You Mean It
Fuck.
I'd gone and hurt her feelings again. One of these days I'll remember how sensitive she is about her weight. For now, though, apologies are in order, as usual.
"Look, Liza, I'm sorry, alright? I didn't mean to-I mean, I was trying to prove a point, not make you cry." I put a hand on Liza's shoulder, much as I wasn't really one for physical contact. "I mean, I was just telling you why I think Steve doesn't like-"
Liza turned to face me and slapped my hand away. Her cheeks were wet. "I think you've said enough." I hadn't seen her this angry in awhile-weeks, at least. "I don't want to hear your reasons and I don't want to hear you try to explain yourself, Tristan. Just-just leave me the hell alone, alright?" Liza turned away from me again and kicked her locker door shut. The metallic slam echoed down the hallway and I winced. People turned to stare as she stormed off down the hallway.
I think my mouth was hanging open. I closed it quickly and folded my arms across my chest. "What the fuck are you all looking at?" I said loudly enough so that everyone in the corridor could hear me. Having been called down, most of the onlookers turned away. It was over, anyhow; Liza had already entered Ms. Felding's room and was undoubtedly blotting at her eyes with tissues. She got so red-faced when she cried, and her mascara always ran. "Mind your own goddamn business," I snarled at no one in particular as I too turned to walk to my next class. I was pissed, and I wasn't sure if my anger was more at my own harsh tongue or at Liza's propensity to embarrass me in front of the whole world. Part of me wanted to try to apologize to her again; the rest of me wanted to walk in there and smack her. So I decided to do nothing.
Yeah, alright, so I'm not the nicest guy in the world. So much for the stereotypical caring and sensitive "Ooh! let's get in touch with our feelings!" sort of gay kid. I just don't have the patience for that sort of bullshit-all it does is get you hurt in the long run. Trusting someone too much is like running with scissors; sooner or later, you're gonna get stabbed, and it's going to be your own damn fault. I saw what had happened to Julian Lambowski when he decided it was a brilliant idea to come out of the closet.
I turned the corner and ran smack into someone. "Ow, Jesus! Watch where you're going, you stupid sack of-"
"Dude, Tris, calm down, man."
Oh. Whoops. I'd nearly sworn at my other best friend. "Hey, Garrett, sorry. I just ran afoul of Liza again and . . . well, you know what kind of mood that always puts me in."
"You really gotta stop talking about her weight, you know."
"Look, it wouldn't be an issue if she weren't so sensitive about it."
"It also wouldn't be an issue if you didn't bring it up."
I was still sullen. "Well, maybe she should just lose some weight, then."
Garrett raised an eyebrow. "You're acting stupid, Tris."
I sighed. "I know. But I'm pissed. I'm allowed to act a little stupid when I'm pissed."
"Sure you are-but you're not allowed to act a lot stupid. Which is, incidentally, what you're doing." Garrett pivoted to walk alongside me. "Look, let's talk about it after gym, okay?"
I shrugged. "Whatever. There's not much to talk about, really. She was just complaining that Steve Johnson doesn't pay any attention to her, blah blah blah . . . "
"Ah, I see you lent her your sympathetic ear again."
"If you want me to tell you what happened, put the sarcasm in your ass, where it belongs."
Garrett barked a laugh. "I know what should go in your ass, and it isn't sarcasm."
I jerked involuntarily. Did Garrett think-there was no way he could know, even after all these years; I went to such great lengths to hide it from him, from anyone-I decided it was best to stay calm. "Crass, and unoriginal, too. You can do better than that." I opened the door to the boys' locker rooms. "Look, you're right-we'll save it for after gym." Garrett and I both had gym the same period, but we had different coaches; ninety juniors were too many for one coach to handle, especially when you factored in the inherent stupidity of high school coaching staffs.
Garrett grinned. "Fine. See you in the showers." He took off down the rows of lockers to find his own. Not for the first time, I wished we shared a row together; sure, I'd seen him in his boxers plenty of times, and even naked in the showers, but it would've been nice to be able to scope out his ass on a regular basis. Like a daily vitamin, or something-Vitamin G, definitely. But G for "Garrett" or for "Gay"? Ah, yes, that was the question.
The bell for classes to begin rang. I had five minutes to change and be outside in my gym clothes. Hurriedly, I put my satchel in the locker, took off my black boots and stripped off my jeans. I folded them neatly-they'd been kind of expensive, since not too many stores carried low-rise distressed boot-cut jeans. I pulled off my shirt. It was tight, and black, but long-sleeved. I folded it, too, and set it atop the jeans. In rapid succession, off came the necklace and bracelet and watch and ring, all of which went in the locker. I stood there for a moment in my boxers as I rooted around for my gym clothes.
Well, shit. I'd gone and left them in my car again. I had two, maybe three minutes before the second bell rang. Briefly, I considered a mad half-nude dash down to the parking lot; if I ran quickly, would anyone really have any time for a good look? Too bad I'd left my jacket in my regular locker; it came down to my knees, so I could've hidden most of the juicy parts behind it. Damn, damn, damn, there wasn't time for any of this, and the longer I stood there the later it got.
Garrett popped his head around the corner of the row. "Hey, Tristan, what're you waiting for?"
"I forgot my gym clothes in my car."
"So go out there in your boxers."
"Yeah, I definitely keep you around for your brilliant ideas."
"I'm kidding, assface. Look, gym's the last class of the day. Just skip it and go home."
"I haven't skipped a class since last year, Garrett. I don't want to start now."
"Well, it's either you skip or take a zero for the day-oh, wait, they're the same thing! And this way you get to go home early. I'll meet you there first thing after school." Garrett vanished again.
I gave up. He was right, really-there wasn't much else to do. I unfolded my clothes and put them back on, then grabbed my satchel and left. I trudged down the now-empty hallways to my locker-I noticed that Liza's, right next to mine, had a huge footprint on it-and grabbed my jacket. Stopping for a moment, I ripped out a page from my binder and scribbled a quick "Sorry" on it. I folded it in quarters and slipped it through the vent in her locker. She'd know who it was from; there was really only one person who owed her an apology, after all. I put my jacket on and went out to the parking lot.
Two of the wardens-well, alright, they're just proctors, but everyone calls them wardens when they're not in hearing range-were guarding the gates to the parking lot. They were there as much to keep kids inside as to keep strangers out; luckily for me, however, I'd built up a friendship with all the wardens over the years. It came in handy when I needed to circumvent petty little things like state law-as I was doing now by leaving school an hour early.
One of the wardens smiled at me as I walked up. "Hey, Tristan, what's going on?"
"Just leaving, Mary," I replied. "I get to go home early today."
"Lucky you. How's AP English these days?"
"Eh, about like all the other advanced classes-we spend all year getting ready for the college exams. If I'm lucky, I'll have enough credits by the end of senior year to start college as a sophomore."
"Just don't work too hard, alright?"
"Trust me, that'll never be my problem." I scooted out through the gate and hit the disarm button on my key. My car, a BMW 330ci convertible, unlocked itself.
Perhaps explanations are in order. My parents are fairly well-off and they decided that as long as I'm entering college a year ahead and saving them a good thirty thousand dollars or so, they didn't really mind turning around and dumping that same amount of money into a nice car to get me home on weekends. I was finally able, on my seventeenth birthday, to convince them to buy it a year early. I had gotten it so recently that the license plates hadn't even come in yet.
I pulled out of my parking space and left the school. I was antsy; I didn't want to go home right away. Garrett would be over, and we would hang out, but I wanted to get him off of my mind. Lately the gay thing had been weighing heavily on my mind, and seeing him all the time didn't make it any better. I spent enough time at night with my hand wrapped around my cock, thinking about him naked and sucking me off; I didn't need to think about him during the daytime, too. I headed for the beach. Southern California was the coolest place to live, no doubt about it; even in October I could roll back the roof and cruise down to the beach for lunch. I stopped at a small pizza joint my friends and I frequented, got some pizza, wolfed it down, and hit the road again. Half an hour had gone by. Time enough now to get home, enjoy a good jerkoff session, and wait for Garrett to arrive.
When I pulled up onto my street, I parked my car on the curb so I wouldn't block the driveway when my parents got home. They'd both be home between five and six, so I had a good three hours before they got there. Inside, I made a beeline for the fridge and poured myself a glass of water. I parked myself in front of the TV, deciding against the jerkoff session, and flipped it on. Then I stopped, wondering what the hell I was doing. I hate TV. Oh, yeah. Trying to get my mind off of Garrett. That's what I was doing.
I grabbed a book instead.
The doorbell rang far too soon for my liking, but that didn't stop me from running and sliding across the wood floor to answer it. I let Garrett in and poured him a soda. We went around to the backyard and sat out on the courtyard. We have a pretty big backyard, actually-about two acres' worth of land, replete with swimming pool and tennis courts and a wide courtyard area. Our house was large, too, but so were most of the homes in the area. Garrett and I sat on the stools around the outdoor bar.
"So have you talked to Liza yet?"
"I stuck a note in her locker, but that was about it. I figure she'll call eventually, or I'll see her at school on Monday if she decides to waste the weekend by being pissed at me."
"You could call her, you know."
"Oh, right, I'd considered that." My tone of voice made it clear that it had been summarily rejected.
Garrett rolled his eyes. "You're so goddamn difficult, you know?" He finished the rest of his soda. "She really has a thing for Steve. Seriously."
"I don't know why; he's really nothing to look at." I grinned. "I'm a helluva lot cuter."
Garrett laughed. "Yeah, like you'd even give her the time of day. You have about as much interest in dating Liza as you do in eating horseshit."
"I think you're being a little harsh-"
Garrett raised an eyebrow. "Oh?"
"On horseshit." Garrett rolled his eyes. I laughed. "Seriously, though, she's just not my type."
"I doubt you're hers either-she doesn't like the thin look. Or dark hair."
"Okay, I get the idea."
"What is your type, Tris?"
Oh, shit. I hate it when this comes up. Deflection. "You've known me for six years and you're just asking me now what my type is?"
"Every time it comes up, you do a deft subject change." Does this boy have me pegged or what?
For a moment, I was silent. If I wanted to, I could begin laying the seeds here. Slowly introducing him to the idea that I was gay, and, beyond simply being gay, that I wanted nothing more in this world than to have Garrett love me-not as a best friend, but as a boyfriend. As a lover. Not for the first time, I felt as though I were standing at a crossroads. Down one path lay safety, security and constant self-consuming secrecy. Down another, pain, risks-but the payoff could be great.
"I guess you could say I . . . like 'em blonde." Garrett was blonde.
"Oh, that's good," Garrett said sarcastically. "That clears everything up. Oh, in case you didn't notice-Liza's blonde."
"Hazel eyes. I dig hazel eyes, too," I said desperately. Liza's eyes were blue; Garrett's were hazel.
Of course, he wasn't making the connection. "This all seems rather superficial to me."
"Brains, brains! And humor, and . . . cleverness, and wit."
"Boy, you ran around in a full circle there."
"Look, I just don't think about this shit, alright?" I did. I thought about it every time I thought of Garrett. I thought about it late at night when I came across my chest, thinking of his body, his face. I love you, Garrett. But how to tell you? And what will you think?
"For never thinking about dating, you sure do dress to impress, you know," Garrett said, gesturing at my clothes. "You always look like you just stepped out of a damn catalogue."
"I just like to look good. It's an issue completely separate from dating, or sexual appeal," I countered. "Sort of like how your inability to shower has no impact on your opinions on girls."
"Ooh, aren't we the clever one today? You'd better take advantage of a rare circumstance."
I laughed. "You know, we're just too witty for our own good." I finished my soda. "Now, what are we doing today? My folks are coming home around six-ish, and then they're flying to San Francisco for the weekend. They're taking Izz and Sandy with them, too." Yes, my sisters' names were Isolde and Sandra. My parents, you see, think they're clever, and apparently we children get to suffer as a result. Opera fans, and classical literature fans as well, they found a way to make a dual reference out of three children's names.
"What is there to do today? We could go see a movie, or go to the mall . . . "
"Well, if Liza calls, I'm not opposed to hanging out with her, but-"
"But you're too much of an asshole to call her yourself."
"Exactly." Hey, why lie? "Look, I just get tired of her whining. I know she's got a weight problem, but what can I do about it? It's not like we can always avoid it if it comes up-ducking around the issue doesn't make it go away; it just means you're lying to yourself." I could stand with taking some of my own advice. But being fat and being gay were two totally different things. I mean, you really can't hide being fat. And nobody beats you up for being fat. "You know I love her. But . . . I'm not going to pretend that a facet of her-one I don't care about, mind you-doesn't exist. It would be like me pretending that you're ugly." There, that was slick.
"I'm flattered, but still. I guess that's enough said. Besides, you did leave her that note, which accounts for something. I'm kind of surprised, actually-that's a bit out of character for you."
"Well, what can I say. Perhaps I have some lingering degree of sensitivity after all."
"Spare me. Let's swim before we decide on what to do."
We walked back up to the house and to my room, where Garrett, who spent so much time over anyhow, kept a spare pair of swimming trunks. I grabbed my boardshorts-I longed to slip on a tight black Speedo in front of Garrett, just to see how he'd react-and changed. Garrett stripped down and grabbed his boardshorts. For a brief and glorious moment, he stood completely and unabashedly nude. I, of course, feasted in those few moments, storing up as much as I could for later masturbatory fodder. Garrett was of a rare breed of human: naturally gifted with a perfectly-proportioned body that was the result of pure genetics as opposed to any effort on his part. Sure, Garrett jogged and occasionally worked out, but by and large the majority of his exercise took place in gym class and in walking or biking around. And yet he was slim and muscular-the kind of build where when he walked, you could see the flex of calf muscles in his legs and when he wore a t-shirt, you could see the outline of his pecs. But what drove me wild were the twin downward curves of his hips-the downward curves that led straight to the small blond bush of hair at the base of his cock. Garrett was naturally not hairy, and his blond hair further minimized the appearance of hair; one would think that Garrett shaved his entire body, excepting his small bush. And yet for all of his apparent hairlessness, Garrett had a cock like a tree trunk. I'll admit that in one respect, that was a big turn-off; I wasn't at all a fan of huge cocks, especially since I had a pretty large piece of meat myself and I always imagined myself as more of a top than anything else. Ah well. Garrett slipped the boarshorts over his hairless legs and laced them around his slim waist. After we'd changed, we headed outside for the pool, boardshorts on and towels in hand. We dived into the deep end of the pool. Between the two of us, I was the better swimmer, having taken lessons and been on swim teams for years.
Garrett and I swam a few laps before we relaxed, floated on the surface of the water and drifted. In some respects, I was more comfortable in water than on land. I especially enjoyed slowly sinking under the surface of the water and hovering, suspended. Submerged, time slows, and I imagine that this is much what death is like-there is no breath, no sound, and everything stands still, as though expectant, waiting for something that does not come. Then the moment passes and I run out of air; before I really get the chance to find out what death is truly like, I pop back up to the surface and inhale sharply, greedily, drinking in as much air as I can to fill the gasping void in my lungs.
Garrett had been waiting for me to resurface. "I hate it when you do that, you know."
"Why?"
"It's creepy. You stay under for so long, I start getting worried. Like, should I go and grab you by your hair and drag you out?"
"You don't grab a drowning person by their hair. You actually lace an arm over their shoulder, across their back and under the other shoulder, and lay them so that their back is in the water and their face is turned out above the surface. That way you can still swim and you can make sure they don't drown."
"Thanks, David Hasselhoff."
"Fuck you."
"What do you do down there, anyway? You close your eyes and just . . . float."
"I think about all manner of things, really. It's about the stillness. Underwater, it feels like the world is holding its breath. When I have a problem, I like to come out here and just sink. It helps to put things in perspective." I shrugged. "Try it."
"What, just go underwater and float?"
"For as long as you can, until you start to run out of air. Your lungs will burn. When the burning is too painful to tolerate, come back up again. But when you're down, listen for the silence." As Garrett sunk underwater, so did I. This time, I imagined kissing Garrett underwater, the feel of our lips meeting and pushing out water, breathing only each other and floating in a world where time had no meaning. And hands, gently on wet skin, serving as eyeless sight.
When I came up, Garrett was gasping for breath. "Do you see what I mean?" I asked.
He nodded, emphatic. "That's . . . wild. When you shut everything else out. It's like Zen."
I laughed. "Great book title. I can see it now-Zen and the Art of Drowning." Just then, my cell phone rang. I jumped out of the water, heedless of the October cold that was starting to take hold as the sun began to sink. I flipped open my phone. "Hello?"
"Tristan." It was Liza. "You'll never believe what he did."
"Oh-you're not still mad at me, I see?"
"I can't be-not when you're as wrong as you have been. He left a note in my locker. Steve did, I mean."
I paused for a moment. "Er . . . what did the note say?"
Liza had a giggle in her voice. "Just one word-'Sorry.' "
Shit. What to do? I was silent for a moment, and then a sly smile spread across my face. "So did you call him already?"
"No, not yet-I don't know how to respond! I mean, what does this mean? In red ink, too."
"You're sure it's not blood?"
"Shut up. Seriously-what should I do?"
Garrett looked at me curiously from the pool. I grinned at him and covered the phone for a minute. "She says Steve left a note in her locker that said 'Sorry' on it."
Garrett jerked and almost sank. "Oh my god, Tris-you can't let her think-" I waved Garrett to silence.
"Well, Liza, maybe you should call him up and tell him you want to fuck him."
Liza suddenly sounded breathless. "Oh, Tris, I love it when you talk stupid to me." I really hated her sarcasm sometimes.
Garrett got out of the pool. "Tristan! Don't do that to-" I backed away from him, a huge grin spreading across my face. "Tristan! Give me the phone!"
"I think you ought to call him, Liza," I said again, leaving out the "and fuck him" this time.
"What's going on in the background? I can hear Garrett saying something," Liza replied, ignoring my comment.
"Oh, nothing; Garrett's just getting out of the pool and he wants to talk to you or something." Garrett was coming closer, irritated and dripping wet, and I couldn't keep a laugh from bubbling up inside of me. I backed away from him. "Look, my reception's starting to cut out, so if I lose you-" Garrett made a lunge for the phone. I hit the "End" button and let him take the phone out of my hands.
"You hung up on her!" Garrett flipped the phone shut.
"No, I just . . . lost reception," I replied innocently.
"Don't give me your cute little shrug. You're such a bastard!" Garrett was the stronger of the two of us; he picked me up bodily and flung me into the pool. I spluttered and bobbed to the surface.
"You're lucky I like you too much to bust out the Shotokan," I muttered.
"Oh, right, like I'm not a brownbelt too. Bite me, karate kid." Garrett was flipping open the phone again, presumably to call Liza back. "Where the hell is Liza's number?"
"I have it memorized," I said smugly. "What, you don't?"
Garrett was silent for a moment. With a snarl of frustration, he set the phone down. "I just program numbers into my phone and forget about them," he admitted. "Goddamnit, Tristan, you can't let her make a fool out of herself like that!"
"Why not? It's the least she deserves for both making me look like a fool in the hallway and for taunting me mistakenly for a letter I wrote! The only reason she called was to gloat, Garrett, and you know it." In a huff, I heaved myself out of the pool. Garrett stood in front of me, dripping wet. God, he looked so hot with his trunks hanging so his hips were visible.
"Look, whatever. I think you should call her back. You can gloat all you want that you wrote the note, since that's what you seem to need to satisfy your cruel urges. But don't let her make a fool out of herself."
"We're forgetting an essential fact here, Garrett-even if I do tell her, why would she believe me? There's nothing that suggests that it's me any more than that it would be Steve, and two factors work against honesty here: the fact that she'll think I'm toying with her, as is admittedly my nature, and the fact that she wants it to be Steve more than she wants it to be me."
"You're such a prick."
"Look, I'm sorry."
"Maybe I'd believe you if you said it like you meant it."
"Fine, I'll call her." I picked up my phone and dialed her number. It was busy. "It's busy."
"Bullshit."
"Here." I handed Garrett the phone. He heard the busy signal and nodded. I hung up. "She's probably calling him right now. If she's smart, she'll just ask him if he left her the note; he'll say no, she'll call me back, and I'll tell her that I left it for her. She'll be disappointed, and probably a little mad that I wasn't honest in the first place, but I'll tell her exactly what I just told you."
"Fine, fair enough. But still, Tristan, you really don't need to fuck around with us like you do. I mean . . . it makes us feel like lesser people. Look, we're all in the same classes, but we know you can run mental rings around us. You just don't need to remind us of that fact." Without another word, Garrett turned and started walking back toward the house.
I stood still for a moment, dripping wet and suddenly very cold.
Chapter Two: Tire Treads and Crystal
Garrett disappeared inside the house. I was still somehow rooted to the spot. The sun hung low in the sky and threw everything into shadow; a slight wind blew through the yard and made me shiver. Finally, I walked toward the house. When I entered, Garrett was sitting at the dining room table with his head in his hands. He wasn't crying; that much I could see. But he was certainly not in a good mood, either.
"Garrett?" I heard and hated the hesitance in my own voice. Garrett didn't look up or respond in any way. I waited a moment, but the silence was heavy in my ears. "What are you even upset about, anyway?" I felt myself getting irritated. "I didn't even do it to you. I don't do shit like that to you. Nobody thinks you're stupid, least of all me-you're my best friend, Garrett. Jesus, just let it go already." Garrett still didn't move. I had had enough. "You know what, just fucking go home. If you're gonna sit here and sulk because I made fun of Liza, then fucking go mope around with her." I got up and stormed out.
I went up to my room and started to change. Midway through, I caught a glance of myself in the mirror. Looking into my eyes bothered me. I knew I felt guilty about something, but I couldn't pin down exactly what I felt guilty about, and I wasn't even sure that I wanted to change anything about myself anyhow. Still, I had a hard time meeting my own gray eyes. Instead, I looked over the rest of myself in an effort to get my mind off of what was really bothering me. My dark hair was starting to dry; normally, I wore it spiked, but right now it was tousled and fell every which way. I had a narrow nose and face that fit my equally narrow frame. Many years of swimming and tennis had given me a slender build, but standing naked in front of my mirror I could see the layer of taut muscle and sinew that gave my body definition. I definitely was not embarrassed to walk around without a shirt on; my arms were thin and defined and my chest had a definite divide between pecs and abdominal muscles. I too had the v-shaped curve of hips leading to my pubic region. I was about as hairless as Garrett, really, and what little I had around the base of my cock I kept trimmed back into a tight little bush of dark hair. Other than that, there was very little hair on my body anywhere. I liked it that way. Hairlessness only added to my muscular definition, and since I was about six feet tall and weighed only about a hundred sixty pounds dripping wet, I didn't mind the extra help. But enough was enough; my meandering thoughts were my way of delaying going back downstairs. I slipped on a pair of low-rise jeans-all my jeans were low-rise jeans; I much preferred the way they hugged my hips and were tight across my butt. I walked downstairs and into the dining room. Garrett was gone. I dashed to the front door and looked outside; his car, too, was gone, and there were tire marks in the street, past the driveway. He'd left quickly, then, and angrily, judging by the tire marks. Well, what was I to do? If he was going to get all sensitive about something that had nothing to do with him, there was little I could do about it.
Fuck. I'd pissed off Garrett and was making a fool out of Liza. My two best friends were both going to give it to me, and give it to me hard. Well, first thing's first-if I attend to Liza, then maybe I can tell Garrett that I apologized to her and then he'll stop being upset with me as well. Then everything can get back to normal and we can all go on with our little lives. With a sigh, I hopped over my car's door-I had failed to put the top up when I got home, figuring I'd be going out again soon-and started the engine. The drive to Liza's house was a short one, as she lived about seven or eight blocks inland, where the houses were smaller and older. Liza's parents were both teachers, so they didn't exactly have a lot of money, but I liked the street they lived on-the willows and oak had been planted decades before, and when I drove down the street it was shaded and dark where the branches had grown and crossed and mingled overhead. Leaves fell as I drove; a few landed on my seats and others were kicked up under the wheels of my car. They floated about behind me in the exhaust of my passing. I parked on the street and dashed up the walkway to Liza's house, throwing open the gate and ringing the doorbell.
The door opened; Liza's younger brother, Jared, looked out. "Hey, Tristan!" he said. I glanced behind him, toward the stairwell, before looking at him. There was no one on the stairs. "What's up, Jared?" Before he could tell me what might or might not have been up, I added on, "Where's your sister?"
"Ah . . . well, she left a few minutes ago. I think she might've told Mom where she was going. Hey, come on inside! I'll get you a Coke or something and I'll go ask Mom."
"Thanks-actually, water's fine. I don't drink soda."
"Cool, hang on. I'll be right back." Jared flung himself up the stairs. Inwardly, I seethed; here I come all this way to see Liza and when I get here, she's not even home. The easiest course of action would be to simply call her cell, of course, but I somehow felt awkward doing that. I'd rather say what needed to be said in person.
Liza's mother came down the stairs. I stood up. "It's nice to see you, Mrs. Luceri," I said. She stepped forward to take my hand. Liza's mother was a slender woman, blonde-haired and very motherly in appearance. I liked her quite a bit; she exuded warmth and comfort.
"Tristan, how many times have I told you to just call me Mary? How are you?"
"I'm doing well." We exchanged pleasantries for a few minutes; behind us, Jared was bustling about. It looked like he was getting ready to go swimming. He darted back in a moment later, carrying my glass. "Thanks," I said.
"Hey, if you decide to stick around and wait for her, I'll be swimming out back," Jared replied. "I wanted to ask you something, too, if you have a sec, Tris."
"Yeah, sure thing," I replied. Perhaps I would stick around, if Liza wasn't going to be long. "So where did she run off to, Mary?" I asked.
"She said something about needing to go down to the park for a bit. She said she'd be back in an hour, and she left about ten minutes ago. Go ahead and wait here-Jared'll keep you company." She was quiet for a minute. "Tristan, can I ask a favor of you?"
"Of course; what is it?"
Mary looked out the window; Jared was taking off his shirt and setting it on a lawn chair. He was a thin kid; somehow, Liza had gotten the short end of the genetic stick. "Jared's starting his freshman courses, and he seems to have all the Honors teachers you did, rather than the ones Liza had. She saved all of her work, but since you had his same teachers . . . "
I nodded. "If he ever needs help with assignments or anything, you know I'll do whatever I can to help."
"And I think he wants to be on the swim team, too." She said it as though she didn't want to push her luck.
I laughed. "Good! Well, I can show him what I know. I haven't joined the team this year, but we can go over strokes and form and stuff like that."
Mary smiled at me. "I knew I could count on you. And as far as paying goes, since you'd be tutoring him occasionally-"
"Don't worry about it."
"No, that's unacceptable. I mean, we might not have as much money as your family, Tris, but we're not scraping by or anything. Let's say fifteen dollars an hour."
I shook my head. "Really, Mary, it's no big deal. Let's say . . . every other day I tutor, you give Liza money to go out to dinner with me. Nowhere fancy-just a quick bite at some restaurant somewhere. Fair enough?"
Mary smiled. "I think I can agree to that, but are you sure you don't want-"
"I'm serious. My parents give me all the allowance I need, really. I mean, I won't really have any big expenses until I go away to college, and that's still like two years away."
"If you ever want to renegotiate, don't hesitate to ask, alright?"
"Fair enough." I grinned. "Let's say I go outside and see how my charge is doing, eh?"
Mary pulled aide the curtains and looked out the window. There was a smile on her face-whether out of love for her son or general pleasure at settling things out, I wasn't sure. I was willing to guess it was both. "He's a bright boy, Tristan-he might be even smarter than Liza, and God knows she's more than we ever hoped for. Social, too-all the girls like him."
"I know. I've seen them at school."
"Yes." She sighed. "I just wish Liza could be as happy. She always talks about that Steve Johnson, Tris . . . "
A wave of guilt washed over me. "Well . . . I don't know too much about all that."
Mary turned and fingered a portrait of her daughter. Her face was pensive now. "She's a pretty girl-you know that, I'm sure-it's just her weight that brings down her self-confidence. I don't know where she gets it from-even her dad only put on any weight after college."
"It's not like she's all that heavy anyhow. If she lost, say, thirty, forty pounds . . . "
"Yes, but it's just not that easy. We try to talk to her, Tristan. We really do. But she-she shuts us out the second we even bring it up. It's not healthy."
"She does the same thing to me, too, you know. If I even bring it up, she flips. Same with Garrett, or any of our other friends. It's like this hugely unmentionable subject, and every time it even sounds like it's coming up, I can see her tense up, like she's waiting for the bomb to drop."
"It's sad. Help her, if you can. She trusts you." Another stab of guilt. "Between us, between her father and me, you and Garrett . . . perhaps we can do something for her."
"For this, I doubt that giving her dinner money would be the appropriate form of repayment."
"I know I'm asking a lot of you, Tristan. I'm sorry-you don't have to do any of it. But I trust you, and you're so mature for your age, and I think that we all can help her if we do it together."
"As the saying goes, it takes a village."
"Quite." She turned. "Alright, she should really be home any minute now. Go ahead and go out back-I'm sure Jared's waiting for you. He's always excited to see you, you know."
"So noted." I headed toward the back door.
"Do you want to stay for dinner? We're having beef and broccoli stir fry."
Since my parents were out of town, dinner here sounded like a nice option, but I didn't want to commit to anything in case Liza and I had it out and I had to leave. "Thanks, Mary, but I've already laid plans for dinner tonight."
"Oh, alright-anytime, though. Anyway, go ahead out back, before it gets any darker-that kid'll swim any time of day, even if it's thunder and lightning outside."
I laughed. "Trust me, I know how he feels." I let myself out. Jared was in the middle of a lap. "Hey you!" I called, sitting near the edge of the pool. I pulled off my shoes and socks and rolled up my jeans, then stuck my legs into the water.
Jared swam up to the edge of the pool. His hazel eyes were bright. "I'm glad you decided to stay," he said.
"Well, your mom said Liza would be home soon, and besides, I wanted to see your stroke." I raised an eyebrow. "I hear someone's thinking about joining the swim team."
Jared nodded. "Liza told me you were on the team for two years. Are you joining this year too?"
"Well, returning members already had tryouts, and I sat them out this time around." Jared's face fell. "But that doesn't mean it's too late, you know. We'll see what happens. Anyway, it's irrelevant-if you want to do it, you should go to the new member tryouts in two weeks."
Jared started treading water. "I don't know if I'll be that good by then." He was quiet for a moment; the only sound was the twin splashes of my feet and his arms. "Can I . . . ask you something, Tris?"
"Of course you can."
"I think high school might be harder than I expected. I, uh . . . " Jared paused. "Well, I guess I was wondering-I mean, I know you're Liza's best friend and all, and I'm just her brother, but-like, if I needed help with anything, do you think maybe you could . . . give me advice on stuff?"
I liked this kid. I really did. I shouldn't call him a kid, either; he's only two years my junior. Somehow, he was very different from his sister. "Your mom and I already talked about that, Jared-"
"Oh. I'm sorry. If you already told her you couldn't, I didn't mean to ask again-"
"You didn't let me finish. I said I would."
Jared's smile was like a sunrise. "You did? Alright! I mean, Liza knows her stuff and whatnot, but sometimes she can't be bothered with me, you know?"
"Oh, yes, I know." I fished in my pocket for a piece of paper. "Look, Jared, I know Liza has my phone number and email address, but let me give it to you, okay? You should have your own copy." I jotted down my contact information on a scrap piece of paper from my wallet. "But I'm not going to give it to you till you get out of the pool."
"Thanks, Tris. I really appreciate it, you know? I mean-okay, well, never mind." Jared was turning a little red, I noticed.
"What is it? You can tell me."
"Well, I was kinda hoping we could be friends-you know, you and me, not just 'Oh, Jared, Liza's kid brother.' "
I laughed. "We're already friends, Jared."
"I mean real friends, too. Hey, listen, do you mind watching my backstroke really quickly? It's my weakest stroke-I always end up swimming diagonally."
I nodded. "Let's see." Jared began to swim and as the sun set I corrected him on a few of the finer points, reminding him that in real heats there were always overhead flags to mark one's progress. Finally, when the sun was just a finger on the horizon and the sky was a dusky purple, Jared got out of the pool. I mentally slapped myself, but not before I had given his body the once-over; he was cute-Mary hadn't lied-and at fifteen he was hovering somewhere between the body of a boy and the body of an adolescent. Before I thought too much about that, I looked toward the kitchen and saw Liza standing in the window. "Hey, Jared," I said as he dried off. "I'm gonna head inside to talk to your sister. If you need me, come get me." I handed him the contact information. "Copy this in a safe place, alright? And don't ever think twice about calling me." I tousled his wet hair briefly and he grinned at me. "See ya in a bit." I went inside.
Liza stood in the kitchen, which otherwise was empty. "You're a shit," she said by way of greeting.
"I know."
"I know you're gonna deny it-what?"
"I said I know. Look, I'm sorry-I wrote the note, not Steve, and I should've told you right away. I fucked up. But, in my defense, I don't think you would've believed me anyway."
"Yeah, Garrett explained your logic to me."
Now it was my turn for the surprised "What?"
"I called her after I left," Garrett said, coming into view from around the corner. I knew this was going to be bad. "I told her everything."
I stepped toward him. "You worthless fuck, I was going to do it myself, thank you very much."
Garrett's hand twitched like he wanted to hit me. "You're such a fucking handful all the time that it takes both of us working together to deal with the assholeishness that is you."
I was taken aback for a brief moment. Liza was silent. Suddenly, a rage came over me, and it was as though everything were made of crystal, designed to shatter at an instant. And I wanted to shatter them. "Fuck you all, conspiring behind my back! What is this bullshit? It was a fucking apology I left in your locker! It's not my fault you thought it was Steve-you're the illogical one for thinking so! What does he have to apologize for-'Sorry, but I don't like you?' Get off it!" I turned to Garrett. "And as for you-what is with you? Are you on your man-rag or some shit? Storming out of my house like that? Gossiping about me behind my back? Getting all worked up over something that, fundamentally, doesn't involve you? Who do you think you are?" I stormed out of the kitchen and headed for the front door. "Jesus Christ. I was all ready to make it up to the two of you and you pull some bullshit stunt like this. Well, conspire together all you want. I'm out of here, guys. Thanks for being wonderful and upfront friends." I slammed the door on the way out. It occurred to me that I hadn't even given them a chance to speak. "I give a shit," I said aloud in response to my own thought.
"Are you okay?" Oh, Christ. Jared was standing near my car. God damn it. That's all I really needed right now-another Luceri to piss me off.
"I'm fine, Jared. Now move." I turned off my alarm and opened my door.
Jared stood there. "I'm sorry," he said simply. "I know it doesn't mean anything, but I'm your friend, and I won't go behind your back."
In my present mood, I wanted to snap at him that it did indeed mean nothing, but looking into his innocent face, I somehow didn't have the heart. "Thanks, Jared." That was all I could manage before I backed my car out of the driveway. This time it was my turn to leave tire marks on the asphalt.
Chapter Three: Dreams and Choices
For the rest of the evening, I quietly seethed. It wasn't the kind of anger where I stomped around and broke things; it was the kind of anger that led me to get home and start working out at a frantic pace, jogging around our backyard and swimming laps and jumping rope and practicing forms and strikes. I was frustrated and filled with pent-up anger that translated itself into frenetic movement. I knew I could call up other friends, like Sarah or Taylor, but I just didn't feel like reaching for the phone. I would much rather just be alone when I was this mad-there were no guarantees as to what might come out of my mouth, and I had burned enough bridges for one day.
Finally, I sat down in front of my computer. I had been working on a few expository essays, mostly political in nature, and I decided that now was as good a time as any to pore over some sources and do some basic fact-checking. These weren't for school, so there wasn't a deadline. They were just part of a website I ran. I loved writing, you see, and I was hoping that one day I could be a journalist, or an essayist-I really loved the essayist's ability to construct and defend an argument logically and soundly through the written word. Look, I know it sounds all dorky, but let it go. I have my little dreams and aspirations-let me hold to them as long as possible, alright? Anyway, so I worked for a few minutes, going through a pile of magazines at my feet and some of the internet resources that were fairly reliable. Too much on the net wasn't reliable for me to trust anything I found without first corroborating it with printed text.
Unfortunately, my instant messenger program had auto-loaded. That irritating ding! announced to me that I had a message. I looked up. The message read:
TaylorMade84: You ditched gym today
With a sigh, I set my work down for a few moments. Maybe this would be a chance to vent a little. I responded.
Tristantric: You're so observant.
TaylorMade84: How come? And why are you home on a Friday night?
Tristantric: ::sigh:: Long story. Look, let me call you and explain, alright?
TaylorMade84: K, call me whenever. I'm putting up my away msg
And that ended that. Although now I was duty-bound to call him. Ah well, it's not like that was a bad thing-Taylor was by far the most levelheaded person I knew. I don't think I'd ever seen him get angry, or even irritated. Granted, the converse to that was that I rarely if ever saw him get really excited about anything, but he seemed to ascribe to the idea that no ups meant no downs, either. It seemed to work for him-his emotions were always on an even keel, and his sense of logic was keen-but I wasn't sure I agreed with his methodology. I was too much a slave to my emotions. Well, honestly, I'm a writer-writers have to be in tune with their emotions if they want to create anything that can reach readers on an emotional level. A writer can't sacrifice emotion and still expect to impact people, to appeal to their ethos. So I personally eschewed Taylor's unflappability in favor of emotion. Anyway, he was probably waiting for me to call. I picked up the phone and dialed Taylor's number.
Taylor answered right away. "Alright, so what happened?"
"I got into a huge fight with Garrett and Liza."
"Nothing new there, really."
"No, that's true, but this time they really pissed me off. And there are compounding factors." Like how much I was in love with Garrett-not that I would tell Taylor that. Although, come to think of it, if there was anybody I was going to tell, it would be Taylor. I was certain he would have no reaction.
"Compounding factors?"
"I don't want to get into it."
"So how did they piss you off particularly badly this time?"
I proceeded to tell him the whole story. I then decided to go out on a limb and expose a bit of myself to Taylor. "And you know Liza and I are really close, but it's being angry with Garrett that really kills me. I mean, we're best friends and I-"
"You love him."
"Well, yeah, I mean, we go way back. So, yes, I do."
Taylor was quiet for a minute. I could almost hear him measuring out his words. "Is that it?" he asked, as though prompting me for more.
I could feel that he was already starting to leap to conclusions on his own. Was I ready to walk down that path? "What do you mean?" I returned, hedging my bets.
"That you would ask for clarification implies that there is more," Taylor replied. "I mean, is there more to the . . . situation with Garrett?"
I couldn't do this. Not yet, not now, maybe not ever. "No," I replied. "It's just frustrating because now I'm stuck here on a weekend with nothing to do."
"Look, Tris. I'm gonna be honest with you." Taylor paused. "Actually, it'll be better if we talk in person. Is that cool?"
My stomach had turned to lead. "Yeah, that's fine," I said airily, playing it off that I was unconcerned. "Come over. My parents are out of town."
"Alright." Taylor hung up. He lived a few blocks away; while I waited, to calm my nerves I threw myself on my bed and stared at the ceiling. My room was large and the ceiling was bare, with only the recessed lighting and the fan to relieve the monotony. In fact, my room was relatively undecorated, minus a few concessions to my various hobbies here and there. I closed my eyes.
There was water everywhere.
The sun was a distant thing, shimmering and twisting from above the surface. My dark hair floated in front of my face like seaweed.
I breathed in the water and was filled with life. It was warm here, like a womb, and safe. If I listened very carefully I could hear a thrumming in the distance, like the beating of some vast and ancient heart. In the stillness, something approached. I squinted, peering into the distance, sight piercing the waters-
It was human, and male. As it grew closer, I could make out more details-slender, pale-then the eyes, and I knew it was Garrett. He swam to me and I stopped moving. I did not sink. I reached out and wrapped him in my arms and brought his face to mine, his lips to mine, and in that moment all distance between us vanished and as our tongues found each other's we turned, suspended. I could feel his heartbeat loud in my ears, insistent and pounding, louder and louder until something was not right and-
The door. Downstairs-someone was pounding on the door. I gasped and snapped upright and dashed down the stairwell, stumbling on my way down. "Hang on!" I yelled as I vaulted down the last few steps. I flung the door open. Taylor stood there in his leather jacket, looking rather chilly. "How long have you been there?" I asked.
Taylor didn't even look mildly annoyed. "About ten, fifteen minutes."
"Oh, I'm so sorry! I dozed off and I was having a weird dream-come in, sorry, come in, let me get you something warm to drink."
"Do you have any coffee?" Taylor took off his jacket and set it on the coatrack. He raised one black eyebrow. "You might need some just as much as I."
"Yeah, this morning's pot should still be there. Come on, let me get two mugs and get the coffee going. French Vanilla okay?"
"Fine. Alright, we'll talk while you're doing that." That was just like Taylor, to jump straight to the issue at hand without wasting time on small talk. I brewed the coffee while he sat down at the kitchen table. "Okay, I want you to hear me out in my entirety before you interrupt me. Fair enough?" I nodded. "Here goes. I'm gay." Good thing I was turned away, making the coffee; as it was, I nearly dropped the pot. "I didn't tell you before because it was a simple risks-benefits analysis, and the risks always outweighed the benefits. The reason I'm mentioning it to you now is because I've been watching for the little signs for months, and I think you're gay too. And that you love Garrett." He fell silent. It was obviously my turn.
My hands were shaking wildly. Shit shit shit shit shit. I did not expect it to be like this. But I wasn't going to lie, either. There was no risk here. "You guessed right." I turned to face him. "On both counts."
Taylor leaned back and steepled his fingers. Yes, he was the sort of person who actually steepled his fingers. "I thought as much," he said. "When did you first find out?"
I really didn't want to be sitting here discussing my sexuality like this. It was bad enough that I'd come out to Taylor like that-I hadn't so much come out as been forced out, really-and my hands would not stop shaking. I set the coffeepot down gently, then as my knees gave out I slid to the floor, my back against the kitchen cabinets.
"Tristan?" Taylor stood up, started coming toward me. "I'm sorry, I didn't think-are you okay?"
"I . . . don't know," I replied. I put my head in my hands. I would not cry. I never cried. Never. But acknowledging it-I'm gay-saying it out loud, made it so much more real.
"I know it does," Taylor said. I didn't realize I had spoken aloud. "It's existential, almost-you can deny it right up until the point it escapes your lips, the moment it ceases to become solely your own reality and suddenly is part of the larger world-"
"The world that is outside of my control."
"Yes, you are a control freak, aren't you?" Taylor sat down beside me. "Look, it's not so bad. I've even dated a bit-"
"You've what?" I was so shocked I raised my head and stared straight at Taylor.
"Yeah, but I didn't tell you guys because I didn't want you all to know yet. I still don't, Tris. The risks-benefits analysis still applies to people outside of you and me-even Julian Lambowski."
"You don't need to tell me that." I put my head back down again. I was quiet for a moment, then asked: "Who did you date?"
Taylor seemed embarrassed. "They . . . don't go to our school."
"What do you mean? You dated guys from other high schools?"
"I . . . I like older guys. Like, late twenties. Past the hormones and all the high school bullshit, you know? College, or out of college, with their lives in order and . . . besides, I look older than seventeen. I just find the older mind and body . . . well, sexy."
I was, for once, at an utter loss for words. "Tristan?" Taylor said, shaking my shoulder. "Tristan? I'm sorry-I guess I might be doing this all too fast. Are you okay?"
"Did you have sex with them?" I whispered from between my hands.
Taylor seemed horrified. "No! I wasn't going to go that far. I only went out three times total, with two different guys. And all we did was make out a little-we didn't have sex!" He laughed a little. "I let one of them jerk me off, though."
I shook my head. "Look, Taylor, you're gonna have to slow down. I can't-I can't take all of this all at once like this. I feel like . . . " If it was possible, I sunk lower onto the floor. "I feel like my head is going to explode."
"You shouldn't be that surprised. After all, birds of a feather flock together. I'm sure the number of gay kids in the honors classes would shock us."
I had nothing to say. For a moment, I felt as though I were drowning. The dream flashed into my head-the warm stillness-this was nothing like that, but . . . "I really love Garrett, Taylor."
"I know." Taylor put a hand on my shoulders. "I can see it in the way you look at him. I can see it in the way you talk to him. In the closeness between you two." He stood. "You can see it if you know what you're looking for."
"Do you think he likes me?" I said it in a rush, dreading the answer.
"I don't know. I can't read Garrett so well, you know. Not that you're easy-far from it. You're nearly inscrutable. I just-had a sense of it, that's all."
"Gaydar." I looked up at him. "They call it gaydar."
Taylor laughed. "Well, I guess that makes me one for one."
Questions, a million, whirled through my mind. I needed to be calm. I picked myself up off the floor and poured myself a mug of coffee. A big mug. I poured one for Taylor, too; while I did so, I was silent. Taylor remained quiet as well, sensing that I was deep in thought. When I handed him his mug, I came and sat down at the table. I stared down at the tabletop-there were amazing patterns in wood, really, if you looked closely enough, all the swirls and straight lines of the grain and . . .
"Tris. You're zoning out."
I jerked. "You're right." Wood grain? I really was losing it. "I have a bunch of questions for you, but I can't quite figure out which one I want to ask first."
"Start with the most pressing one."
There was one thing I had been pushing into the back of my mind all this time, one thing I didn't want to ask because of what it would mean. It popped out. "Can I kiss you?"
"Sure, that's fine."
I turned totally, completely red. Taylor didn't react at all. "Whoa, let me explain," I said. "I've . . . never kissed a guy. I want to know what it's like." I wasn't attracted to Taylor, really-besides my being in love with Garrett, Taylor looked about nineteen or so, with black hair and sideburns and a five o'clock shadow that started around noon. He was tall and broad and, well, lots of girls found him cute, but he just didn't do it for me. But I did want to see what it was like. Desperately so.
"It's a lot like kissing a girl," Taylor said. "But more stubbly. Well, best way to have you know is to show you." He stood and came to me and suddenly he was there, up against my lips, and I gasped and tried to say Wait! but nothing came out. I relaxed and opened my mouth a little bit-I'd kissed girls before, so I knew how it was done-and turned my head to one side. Taylor put a hand on the small of my back and I stood, putting one hand on the base of his neck. His tongue slipped inside of my mouth and I moaned against his lips as my tongue met his, searching. I breathed in deeply through my nose, eyes closed and head thrown back a little bit, and then Taylor pulled away.
I was absolutely breathless for a moment. For his part, Taylor sat back down and sipped his coffee. "Well?" he asked wryly over his cup. "I know I'm not Garrett, but I know I'm not bad."
"That was . . . definitely more stubbly." Taylor laughed. "Wow. It's so . . . warm. And my body responds totally differently than when I kiss a girl-wow. That was wild."
"Before you get any ideas, you're not my type."
I grinned. "Oh, am I too young for you?" In a moment, I was serious again. "Where did you meet these guys?"
"There's a gay group that meets at a coffeehouse up the freeway," Taylor replied. "I met them there and we hung out a few times after that."
"One of them . . . jerked you off?"
"Yeah, but I wasn't particularly impressed," Taylor said dismissively. "I do just as good a job on my own, really." He laughed. "Don't look so shocked, Tris."
I wasn't aware that I'd looked shocked. "I'm . . . just adjusting to this whole different side of you. I mean, at school you're always the quiet studious type, not really into the party scene or wild stuff . . . and here I find out you moonlight as a . . . a college paramour!"
"I'm not that bad!" Taylor looked pensive. "Do you want to come tonight? They're meeting in an hour at the coffeehouse."
"Oh my god! What if someone sees me? I can't go!"
"There's no one there-not even Julian-from our school. Tristan. Calm down."
"No, what I need to do is call Garrett. I have to apologize to him. I can't have him mad at me, not now." I ran hands through my hair. "How long have you known?"
"That I'm gay?"
"Yeah."
"Since was about ten or eleven, I guess. But it was never really a big deal until the sex drive kicked in around fourteen or fifteen, I guess."
"You have a sex drive?"
Taylor scoffed. "Of course I do! I just sublimate it well. As do you, you know."
I'd never quite thought about it that way. "Oh. I guess you're right." I really hadn't had any sex at all-the most I'd done was confined to my imagination. "I do jerk off quite a bit, though."
"We all do, I'm sure. I do it at least four times a week, probably more."
I blushed. "I'd say I'm . . . a once a day type." Ahem. Moving on. "Taylor, thanks for coming over. I didn't want to tell you-I think you know that. But I feel better for having told you." I did. There was a bit of a weight off my shoulders, especially since I knew my secret was safe with a good friend. Now I had someone to compare notes with, too. I told him so. "And you're a good kisser," I added with more than a note of mischief in my voice.
"That almost sounds like you want a second sample," Taylor said with a grin.
"Maybe." And this time I stood up and moved over to his chair.
* * *
When Taylor left, I reached for the phone. He was headed to his coffeehouse, to scope out the scene. After that second kiss, my curiosity satisfied, we'd finished our coffee and he'd left. I still had a lot I wanted to talk to him about, but I decided to save it for later. For now, the first priority was Garrett. I had made a mistake and I had to correct it. I set the phone back down. What was I going to say? I sat down on the couch and spread out across it, hands behind my head. I could still taste Taylor on my lips. I didn't like him-not like that-but damn. The boy knew how to kiss. I closed my eyes and remembered that moment, and wondered what it would be like to kiss Garrett like that.
Through the trees, I could just make out a faint light. I jumped as I noticed that there was another hand inside my own. I turned and saw Taylor. "Don't be afraid," he whispered to me.
"I am afraid," I replied.
Taylor squeezed my hand. "There are some chances we must take in this life."
"I'm not ready yet."
"Here he comes." And in the way of dreams, Taylor vanished. I was alone, but the light was closer still. I could see the outline of the person carrying the light. The person stepped into the clearing. It was Taylor again, but somehow it was not. There was Garrett there too, in the same body, and Jared too, and Liza. Everybody I held dear stood in front of me now-all of my friends whom I had, at some point, wronged. I had to set things aright.
"This is for you." The light had turned into a candle, but what dripped from its sides wasn't wax, but tears. "You must take it."
I backed away from the amalgam. "Don't touch me."
Suddenly, Taylor's body turned into Jared's. "I won't betray you, Tristan," he said, before the hair lengthened and the body thickened and Liza stood there. "I love you, Tristan," she said. "You have to love us, too." And, finally, Garrett. "Six years is a long time," he said. "A long time to laugh, and a long time to cry. But with you, it's not so long. Come back to us." Then they vanished, and the candle fell to the ground. The flame caught at the dead leaves on the ground and the fire spread unnaturally quickly, jumping in a ring from tree to tree until I was surrounded. It was hot and my skin was burning and there was nothing I could do but give in. The trees were weeping tears. The tears pooled and hardened like wax, and where the fire touched the frozen tears, it sputtered and went out. Desperately, I turned sideways and-
Gasping, I rolled off of the couch and onto the floor. I hit my head on the phone, which I had set down beside me. Well. If there were ever a signal that I needed to do what needed doing, it was that. I looked at my watch. It was eight-thirty; time enough yet to call and apologize to both Garrett and Liza. I was no good at apologizing. I steeled myself for what needed to be done. Resolutely, I dialed Garrett's number.
Chapter Four: The Measure of Loyalty
Before I could finish dialing the last digit, my cell phone rang. I paused for a moment, then sighed. I pressed the "End" button on the home phone and reached for my cell phone. It was Liza's number. I debated not answering it until I'd talked to Garrett, then decided that it really didn't matter one way or the other. I hit the green "Talk" button.
"This is Tristan."
The voice was definitely not Liza's. "Tris! It's Jared, not Liza. Are you busy?"
I was a tad confused. Certainly Jared didn't need homework help now? "Hey, Jared. Actually, kind of . . . is there something you need, though?"
"I just wanted to tell you that Garrett and Liza just left in his car a few minutes ago, and they're heading over to your place to talk to you. I think they've calmed down."
"Ah . . . thanks for letting me know, Jared." I was still rather nonplussed. "Why are you telling me, though?"
"Because I think they're treating you badly," Jared said, indignant. "I heard-from their point of view-everything that happened, and I think they're being cruel to you. And I told them so." The last was said with a note of pride. "Liza tried to shoo me out, but Garrett said that they should listen to me."
"You . . . stood up for me?"
"Well . . . you looked really upset when you left."
I couldn't speak for a moment. "Jared, tomorrow I'm taking you out to lunch. Your choice. Alright?"
"You don't have to repay me-I didn't do this for a reward," Jared replied. I could tell he was pleased nonetheless.
"Jared . . . well, I'll explain tomorrow. But, well, let's just say that I'm really glad to have you as a friend right now."
"Thanks a lot, Tris. And thanks for the lunch invite, too."
I had precious little time before Garrett and Liza got here, if what Jared was saying was right, but I didn't really want to hang up right away. "Where do you want to go?"
"I'm not sure . . . nowhere expensive or anything. Whatever you like is fine." Jared was quiet for a moment. "Tris, you'd better go-they'll be there soon, and I don't want Liza to know I told you they're coming."
"Alright, you're right. And Jared-thanks again. For standing up for me. I . . . really appreciate that."
Jared laughed. "What's that stupid old saying? 'What are friends for?' "
"Yeah, that's it," I said, speaking through a welter of emotions I found hard to identify. "Talk to you tomorrow, Jared. I'll call you at eleven."
"I'll be ready! Good night, Tris!"
I hung up. I sat silently for a moment, deep in thought. He stood up for me . . .
The unmistakable sound of a car pulling up shook me from my thoughts. With a smile on my face, I rose and stepped to the mirror on the wall; quickly, I made sure my hair wasn't too mussed up and that I wasn't terribly red-eyed from my brief nap. I liked looking good for Garrett. I went to the front door and opened it, allowing my smile to vanish. "Come on in," I said curtly to the two figures just stepping from their car. In the darkness, I saw them glance at each other in surprise. Wordlessly, they closed the car doors and followed me inside. I sat, purposefully, in the most formal room of the house, the library. They stepped into the library. I did not invite them to sit. Instead, I made them stand like penitents before me.
"So." I did not bother to make my voice sound warm. God, Garrett was cute when he looked guilty. He shifted his feet and stared at the carpet. Liza, for her part, was red-cheeked and had her hands clasped behind her back. I let my one word hang in the air. The silence after it was deafening, so much so that I could hear the clock ticking two rooms away.
"We . . . we came because-I wanted to say I'm sorry," Garrett said, meeting my eyes for the first time.
"Me too," Liza said quickly, the flush in her cheeks deepening. "We didn't mean to-be so confrontational at my house."
Garrett looked guilty again. "Or to conspire."
I allowed myself to relax. Jared had been right. Up until this very moment, I hadn't allowed myself to trust what he had said. Not one hundred percent. Now they had apologized, and furthermore I knew that Jared was as good as his word. "Sit down," I said, this time allowing my voice to sound normal. "Are you thirsty? Do you want me to get you anything?"
"No-no," Liza said, looking horrified that I would even offer.
"I'm fine," Garrett said. He still had not sat.
Now that everything was over with, except for my part, I found that I didn't really want to see them grovel. "Guys, I'm serious. Sit down, please. I want to apologize as well." Finally, they sat-on the floor. "I meant in chairs!"
"Oh." They moved.
"Listen," I started, leaning forward a bit. "I'm sorry for the mean things I said at your house, Liza, and I'm sorry for leading you on on the phone about Steve. That was definitely not fair of me." I turned to Garrett. "And Garrett, I'm sorry for accusing you of being on your man-rag and whatnot." I actually felt my face turn a little bit red. But there was more. "And there's something you both need to understand." I stood up and paced for a moment, unsure of how to phrase what I wanted to say. I walked to the bay windows and looked out at the night. Down the hilltop on which we lived, the lights of the cities were sparkling brightly through the black. Off to the right, the greater darkness of the sea beckoned. "Both of you. I have a lot of respect for the people that you are. For your intellect, for your character, for your-for you. I don't think for even a moment that you're lesser people than me. And . . . " I took a deep breath; I hated being this vulnerable, "and I love you both. You two are my closest friends."
I didn't dare turn to look at Garrett or Liza. The room was silent for a moment; then, I heard Garrett exhale quietly. "Well," he said. "I guess I'm glad you didn't promise never to do it again."
"Why?" I asked warily.
I could hear the smile in Garrett's words. "Because I'm sure that that's one you'd never be able to keep."
"You know, he's right," Liza added. They laughed. The bubble of seriousness had been broken; I turned to face the two of them again. "It's alright, Tris. All of us overreacted. It happens."
I nodded. "Listen, I was serious earlier-let's raid the fridge. I, for one, haven't had dinner, and I'm starving."
Garrett looked appalled. "You didn't eat?" he gasped. "You barely had anything at lunch!"
"I had pizza after I left school."
"That was-" Garret checked his watch, "eight and a half hours ago! Tristan! You need to eat something!"
"Eh. I've been on a caffeine rush all day," I said. "First the soda we had, and then a lot of coffee." When I thought about what had taken place over coffee, I grinned to myself. "Let's run down and see what's still open by the beach. Just the three of us."
Garrett stood up. I'd known him for a long time; I could see in every line of his boyish face that he was relieved to have everything said and done. "Let's do it." He grinned at me. "And let's do something other than fast food."
"Seconded," Liza said. "I couldn't even eat dinner, I was so upset." Irritably, I squashed the snide thought in my head.
"I'll drive," I said, grabbing my keys from the table near the door. We hopped into my car and I pulled out of the driveway, tearing off down the hillside and onto the Pacific Coast Highway-which is the most beautiful stretch of road in all of America, I might add. I drove with the top up and the CD player at low volume. We chatted amicably the entire way there, my CD-Coldplay's "A Rush of Blood to the Head"-serving as backdrop for friendly conversation. The heater was on and I had a marvelous feeling of utter comfort; everything was right with the world. My friends were with me in this warm car, I was going to lunch with a new friend, and life was good. This late at night, only a few places were still open; we pulled into a restaurant that stayed open past ten and walked in. It was a seafood joint called A Cavern of Crabs-a name which I found just a little bit disturbing, to tell the truth, but the food was good all the same. We sat down at a table and our waitress, a blond girl about our age with a pinstriped apron and a big plush crab hat on her head, came to take our order.
"Welcome to A Cavern of Crabs, home of the Crabtacular Sandwich," she said, her voice bored. The crab hat's eyes bobbed on her head. "What can I get you to drink?"
We ordered a round of drinks and my phone rang.
"This is Tristan."
"Tristan!" It was Taylor. "What're you up to?"
I grinned. "Eatin' out at A Cavern of Crabs."
"I didn't think you swung that way." Taylor's voice had a suggestive note in it.
I felt my face turn furiously red. "Uh . . . I'm here with Garrett and Liza," I said, putting a little emphasis on the first name. "Are you . . . ah, done?"
"The gay meeting is over, if that's what you mean." Taylor said. I could tell he was enjoying making me uncomfortable.
"Shut up!" Garrett and Liza looked at me oddly. I covered the phone. "It's Taylor," I said apologetically. "He's being stupid." I spoke to Taylor again. "Come meet us here," I said. I'd get him back when he got here.
"Alright, I'm heading over in a few." I hung up. We ordered our food and let the waitress know that one more person was coming. After a few minutes, Taylor walked in. He sat down with us, pushing me out of the way. To my immense surprise, I noticed he had a rainbow wristband on. "Taylor!" I whispered under my breath. "Your armband!"
Taylor looked down at the same second Garrett noticed the armband. "What is that?" Garrett asked. Taylor nonchalantly removed it and slipped it into his pocket.
"Oops, forgot I still had that on," he said calmly. I could tell that he was displeased with himself for overlooking the armband. "I . . . just got back from a Rasta meeting."
"Rasta?" Liza looked totally confused. "Who do you know that's a Rastafarian? And what does that have to do with rainbow armbands?"
"Rastafarians wear them," Taylor lied. It was fairly convincing, actually. "And my brother's friend is a Rastafarian."
"Their armbands are red, yellow and green," Garrett said slowly. "Not rainbow."
Taylor fidgeted under the table. "They . . . ran out of the normal ones," he said. "These were the ones they gave visitors."
"Oh." Garrett didn't seem convinced.
"I hope you weren't late leaving from my place," I said quickly. "I know you said that if you're not on top of things, the Rasta people can be a bit anal."
Taylor looked at me with wry relief. "I walked in a few minutes late." Then the food came, Taylor placed his order, and that was the end of that. I wondered if Taylor had met anyone new at the coffeehouse this week; I wondered what would've happened if I'd gone. Later, later. Taylor and I could talk about it at our leisure out of earshot of these two. "So what happened between you three?" Taylor asked.
"How much do you know?" Garrett asked.
"As much as Tris told me after I got to his place," Taylor replied. "That he'd stormed out of your house after shouting at you."
"Well, Tristan stormed out and Liza and I fumed for awhile," Garrett said. "We kind of . . . well, bitched about the whole thing. Sorry, Tris," he said in a brief aside to me.
"Nothing to apologize for."
"Thanks. Anyway, so we were going back and forth about how much we wanted to-er-well, scream at him or slap him or whatever."
"And then my little brother came downstairs," Liza interrupted. I could see that on some level she was annoyed still by Jared's involvement. I grinned inwardly.
"Yeah. He chastised us for being so hard on Tris. In fact, he told Liza she was acting like a bitch, and then she slapped him."
"You did what?" I said, finding myself momentarily very angry.
"It wasn't as bad as all that-" Liza said hurriedly.
"Yes, it was!" Garrett replied. "You left a red mark on his face! There were tears in his eyes!"
"He . . . shouldn't have interfered," said Liza. She was being stubborn, and I was getting angrier. I didn't realize Jared had been slapped as a result of his interference, and that Liza was still pissed over it. I felt badly, as though what had happened to Jared was partially my fault. I almost called him, until I realized that it was after ten and sort of late to call the Luceris' home line.
"Anyway," Garrett said, noting my anger and hoping to gloss over the issue, "the end of the story is that he told us we were being unnecessarily harsh, and I for one was ready to agree with him. I really shouldn't have gone straight to Liza to spill the beans."
"I really did feel badly for hitting him," Liza said. "He's right, after all. I told him that when we were leaving. He told us we needed to take care of things. He told us that we shouldn't let it wait until the morning. That there was no way you'd be asleep."
"Wise kid." I looked at Liza. "Don't slap him."
"I told him I was sorry," she said defensively.
"I don't think I've met your brother," Taylor said. "Seems like a bright kid, though. Sensible, at least."
"I honestly don't think Jared has a mean bone in his body," Liza replied. "That's why I felt particularly badly about hitting him . . . I really did say I was sorry, Tris. And he understood."
"Alright, I'll let it go." For now. Until tomorrow.
"Honestly, it was kind of weird hearing someone argue in your defense, Tris," Garrett said. "Normally, we'll all just bitch about you."
My answer, when it came, was quiet. "Yes, I know."
* * *
I opened the front door of my darkened house. It was cold inside. I wished I'd left a light on to have even a false sense of welcome; even that, however, was denied me. With a sigh, I shut the door behind me. I went around quickly, throwing a few lights on; grabbing my laptop and warming a mug of chai tea, I curled up in the library with my laptop. The house had wireless internet connection points scattered about; I decided to look up information on this coffeehouse Taylor had mentioned. There wasn't much to find, really, until I stumbled across a few gay personals sites. My curiosity getting the better of me, I scrolled down the lists, staring at rows of photos. There was something horribly, crushingly impersonal about all of this-an attempt at warm human contact through the cold interface of binary code. It all seemed so fake, so manufactured, this attempt to reach out from dark loneliness through the vacuum of cyberspace. I shivered as I looked at the photos.
And yet . . .
I felt the strong compulsion to find an old photo of mine, to post it and scribble down some information about myself, in hopes that someone searching somewhere would hear me and reach down a soft hand to me. But the person I wanted to reach back and lift me up was Garrett. Garrett, with the beautiful hazel eyes and the blond hair that fell softly across his eyes; Garrett, with the slender body and the hips that curved down into that soft thatch of hair, and the soft contours of his cock, glimpsed but never quite examined as the work of art that it was. I found my hand making its way into my pants. The laptop slipped from my fingertips as I raised my hips and unzipped . . . down.
In the blue glow of the laptop, all other lights extinguished, I gasped and shook. Above the distant lights of the city below I held myself, stroking slowly, building upward and outward, one hand trailing across my chest, the other moving in time with my heartbeat.
The lights seemed to flicker; my heart beat quickly in my chest. In my mind, there was a field, and Garrett was lying naked in it, his body framed by growing things. I was there, beside him, inside him, our bodies the only motion in a windless place. My hand was Garrett's hand, Garrett's body, Garrett's love. And suddenly the Garrett in my mind quickened his pace, moving faster, as though a fire were racing through him. My hand grasped and pulled the sudden slickness of my erection. It was time, and past time, and with a final jerk and a bitten-off cry I came across my chest, breathing heavily and dreaming of a Garrett that suddenly melted into the ground and away.
And I was alone.
* * *
Sunlight across my face stirred me into wakefulness. I rose on my elbows; I was still naked on the couch. My clothes were piled unceremoniously below the couch and I had dried cum all across my crotch and chest. My early-morning hard-on was pointing straight up at me. I thanked God that no one was home but me. For some reason, I was hugely embarrassed; unless someone walked right by the library window-not likely-no one would ever see me, yet all the same I put on my boxers before tottering off to the shower. As I padded barefoot down the hallway, my nipples hard in the chill of an October morning, I glanced at the clock. Nine o'clock AM. Time enough to shower, practice forms and kicks, and get ready to pick up Jared for lunch. I stumbled into the tub, pulled off my boxers and turned on the jets. While I showered, I mused over the events of yesterday. I'd fought and made up with my two best friends. I'd been outed and had a friend come out to me in turn. And it looked like I'd made a new friend as well. Stepping out of the shower, I dried off. My morning hard-on had finally subsided, which was good, because hard-ons in low-rise jeans are decidedly uncomfortable. Before I put on my jeans, however, I went into a separate room we kept empty except for floor-to-ceiling mirrors and large mats; this was the room where I practiced Shotokan Karate when I wasn't at the dojo. For an hour, I stretched and then went through forms and kicks. By the time I finished, I was drenched in sweat again and took a second shower. Ordinarily, I practiced, then showered, but this time I had woken up covered in my cum, so I thought it best to shower twice.
After stepping out a second time, I hurriedly scrambled into my low-rise jeans and threw on a beige turtleneck. Putting on my assortment of jewelry, I adjusted my hair and made sure I looked presentable. Then I scooped up my phone and dialed the Luceris' number. Jared answered. "Hey, Jared, it's Tris," I said, putting brown shoes on.
"Tris! Are you coming over?" Jared sounded quite excited.
"Yeah, I'll be there in ten. Are you ready?"
"I've been ready for an hour!"
"Aren't you prompt." I laughed.
"Not really, actually. I just set my alarm a little early this morning."
"I'm glad you're set. I'll be there soon." I hung up, grabbed my beige jacket, swirled it about my shoulders and smoothed it across my knees, and then grabbed my keys. I blasted down the empty streets, leaves flying in my wake. The stereo was up loud-this time it was Led Zeppelin's "Achilles Last Stand," perfect driving music-and I rolled the top down.
When I pulled up in front of Jared's house, he dashed out the door. "Bye, Mom!" he called, hopping into my car. "Good morning, Tris!" he said cheerily, grinning at me.
"Morning, Jared. Buckle up!"
"So where're we going?"
I looked over at him as I pulled away from the curb. "I think that's your choice, last I heard."
"What about Taco Bell?"
"How about a nice sit-down restaurant on the beach?"
"No-that'll be too expensive." He shook his head. "I don't want you spending that much on me."
"Look, it's fine. Do you like Italian food?"
"Yeah, as long as it doesn't have mushrooms."
I laughed. "Same here. Let's go to Toscana." We drove down PCH a few more miles and pulled off in a little village area where small shops and boutiques lined the approach to the sea. I sent Jared to run in while I parked the car; when we met up again, he let me know that the wait was fifteen to twenty minutes.
"But they said we can walk down to the water; they have a PA system they'll use. We'll be able to hear it as long as we're on the beach right in front of the restaurant."
I nodded. "Let's try not to track a bunch of sand in, though." We walked a ways down to the water and stood at the edge of the tide, still in the dry sand. I glanced around; the day was overcast and blustery, and the iron gray of the clouds stretched down to the horizon, meeting and merging with the choppy sea. At that distance, it looked as though there was no separation between sea and sky. Around us were the rocky cliffs that dominated this area of the coast. It was a beautiful day, if windy, and my jacket was blowing open behind me. Jared looked cold. "Do you want a jacket?" I asked. I had an extra in my car, and even though he was about five inches shorter than me, it should still fit him fine.
"No, I'm fine," he replied. "At least I wore a sweater." He looked up and down the coast for a minute. "It's a pretty day out today. I like it when it's overcast like this." The wind was whipping his blond hair around his face, and he had his hands crossed over his chest for warmth, but he smiled. "Hey, Tris . . . ?"
"Yes?"
"Why'd you decide to take me out to lunch today?"
I breathed in, gathering my thoughts for a moment. This sort of thing was never easy for me. "Well, it's kind of a long story, Jared."
"Oh, you don't have to go into detail if you don't want to."
"Well, I figure I owe it to you . . . no, I want you to understand."
"This isn't easy for you, is it?" Jared looked at me. His eyes were very green. "Talking about yourself, I mean. Your feelings."
I was surprised he'd seen that so quickly. "You're right. I find it really hard to talk about that sort of thing."
"Why?" He asked the question quietly, looking up at me from under his tousled mop of blond hair. I think somehow he knew he was asking me a question I would find difficult to answer, and didn't want to push his luck too far.
How much did I want to tell this kid? I barely knew him-well, I'd known him for years as Liza's little brother, but as a person unto himself, he was a mystery-and yet I knew I could trust him. Trust him as much as I trusted Liza or Garrett. In some ways, perhaps more so. Yet even Liza or Garrett didn't really know why I was reluctant to be self-revealing. "That is an even longer story, and I ought to get through the first before going into that."
"Alright." Jared might've been a little bit disappointed, but he didn't let on if that were the case. "But you were going to tell me why we're here."
"Yes, I was." Just then, we heard our names over the PA system. We walked back up the beach, entered the restaurant and were seated at an outdoor table that overlooked the place where we had just stood. For a moment, it was as though I could see echoes of ourselves, one taller, one shorter, one dark-haired, one blond, standing there at the edge of the waters. After we'd ordered our drinks-water for me and lemonade for him-I started my explanation again. "I was surprised that you stood up for me, Jared."
"Is that all?"
"Well, yes and no." I took a sip of water. "Well . . . my parents always raised me to be very self-sufficient. Like right now they're off in San Francisco, and when they left they said 'Bye' and that was it. No instructions. No extra cash. You see, I have my own bank account and credit cards and they know I can get by just fine on my own. Same with school. They never bother me about schoolwork-never have-and I always do what they want. They're both businesspeople-they're too busy running their companies to pay too much attention to their only son, who's already in the late years of adolescence. Know what I mean? So . . . the same attitude carries over to my friends."
"You mean that self-sufficiency?"
"Exactly. I don't go to my friends when I have a problem. I don't go to anyone, really. I internalize it, keep it inside. And I don't show any weaknesses. The problem with this is that everyone just thinks that I have no weaknesses."
Jared shook his head. "Everyone has weaknesses. Everyone feels emotions."
"Well, apparently I don't-at least, that's what everyone thinks. Like last night at dinner, we were talking and Garrett was commenting that he was surprised to hear you stick up for me, because no one ever sticks up for me. And it's the truth-no one ever does, and no one ever has. I just don't seem like the type that needs people sticking up for me, so when I get into fights it always feels like myself against the rest of the world." I made sure I had Jared's eye contact. "You . . . stood up for me, Jared. Do you understand what that means? It means that you did something that no one else ever thought of doing. You did something no one else ever cared to do."
"Not even Garrett or my sister?"
"No. They're my best friends; don't get me wrong. But they don't see me like that. To them, I'm an emotionless automaton. Human, but barely so. And an asshole, too. They're great friends-it takes a big person to put up with me, Jared. But they just don't see me as giving in to emotion. And I do."
"I'm sorry, Tris."
"Don't be sorry. It's not anyone's fault but mine, really, and besides, you did what no one else has done. You stuck up for me. You stood at my side, even if I wasn't there."
Jared pushed his lemon around with his straw, then met my eyes again. "Remember how I said I wanted to be your friend?"
"Yeah."
"This is what I meant. Friends do that. They stand by each other."
I resisted the impulse to reach across the table and seize Jared in a hug. "Thanks." No, that wasn't enough. "I . . . don't have words enough to say what that means to me."
Jared nodded. "I think I understand."
I grinned at him as our food came. "Somehow, I think you just might."
Chapter Five: Some Sticky Situations
Sunday evening ended with a flaring orange sunset over the ocean. Garrett and I gathered up our things, slipped jeans over our now-dry swimming trunks and jogged to my car. I'd parked some ways up off the beach, above the cliffs and near one of the shop-lined streets. Slipping on my jeans, I admit, was a bit of a relief; I'd spent the better part of the day attempting to conceal a raging erection. Watching Garrett swimming and running and horsing around on the beach was nearly unbearable. When we got into my car, I turned down the radio and drove to my house. While en route, I brought up something that I had forgotten to do previously. Turning slightly sideways to Garrett while continuing to watch the road, I asked, "Remember the day I was at Liza's-the day of the shouting match?"
Garrett looked distinctly uncomfortable. "Yeah . . . what about it?"
"I didn't tell you that I talked to her mom for a good long while before you guys got there."
"Oh yeah? What about?" Garrett was distinctly relieved that I wasn't going to broach the topic of the fight.
"Among many things, she was talking to me about Liza's inability to discuss her weight problem."
"I really don't understand how you can talk about it so casually."
"Well, it's not my weight problem. Anyway, her mom was saying that we ought to do something to help her."
"You know every time we bring it up she flips out! It bothers her worse that she's the only heavyset one in her family. I mean, look at Jared-the kid's a twig-"
"Right, right, and that's what her mom was saying . . . she was saying that if the four of us-her, Liza's dad, you and me-all try to help her, gently, maybe she will be able to talk about it without, you know, growing horns and a tail."
"So we're supposed to risk her breathing fire down our pants for what? So she can talk to us about her weight problems? What does that solve?"
"Acceptance is the first step to recovery," I said. "After she stops picking up the pitchfork every time we bring it up, maybe we can, with her parents working the other front, start finding ways for her to control it. To lose weight. You know she wants to; she just has to accept the fact that she'll need help."
"How're we supposed to talk to her about this without her spitting acid at us?"
I gave Garrett a sheepish grin. "That's what I was hoping you'd be able to help me with." I turned onto my street and pulled into my driveway. "I'm afraid I haven't been able to give it a whole lot of thought. I've had . . . other things on my mind."
"Oh, she was a bit miffed that you took Jared out to lunch, you know."
I shrugged. "Like she needs to eat more."
Garrett shook his head. "No, see, that's exactly the sort of thing we can't say if we're going to be positive about helping her."
"Right, of course . . . when we're talking to her."
Garrett rolled his eyes. "This is what I meant when I said it was a good thing you didn't promise not to be an asshole anymore."
"Being an ass is just one more free service I offer."
"Seriously. Should we sit her down and talk about this? The three of us?"
"Yeah, and then I'll let her parents know what transpires. But when do we sit her down?"
"Well, this evening might be good, after we get cleaned up and whatnot. What time is it-six-thirty? Let's say we reconvene here around eight-thirty or so. When are your parents getting back?"
"When I talked to them last night, they said they'd be flying in Tuesday morning. So I still have the place to myself, except for when the housekeepers come on Monday. Tonight's fine; I'll call her as soon as you leave."
Garrett nodded and got up to go. "Alright, I'll be back by eight-fifteen or so. We'll just lay it out flat, right? Like, both address our concerns and go from there?"
"Yeah. Just make sure I'm not too much of an ass," I said snidely.
Garrett raised an eyebrow. "Look, when you want to be, you can be just fine. Alright, I'm leaving." When he'd gone, I decided that the best place to have our conversation would be outside, at the poolside bar. I jotted down a quick note-"Meet me outside"-attached it to the front door, and dashed up to the shower. After I was done, I toweled off and, feeling brave, decided against dressing until after I'd eaten. I walked downstairs and into the kitchen, feeling a distinct draft along my legs. The combination of sensation along my upper thighs and the memories of the day at the beach soon gave me a hard-on that pointed straight up at my face. With a suppressed laugh, I opened the refrigerator door. Grabbing a jar of jelly, I turned and walked past the sliding glass door that looked out into the backyard. It was nearly pitch black outside. Behind me, toward the front of the house, I heard the noises of cars passing our cul-de-sac. I'd eat on the table, I figured, and then get dressed; if my hard-on didn't subside by then-and it showed no signs of doing so-I'd take care of it while dressing. I made my sandwich and turned to go back to the fridge.
Something moved past the sliding glass door.
I choked back a yell. The jar of grape jelly in my hands fell and shattered against the floor tiles. With a second yell, I jumped backward to avoid the shards; my hand slipped off the countertop and I fell, hard, on my ass. I felt a flush rise in my cheeks as I rose on unsteady legs, glancing outside. The sensor-activated lights had illuminated the near section of the backyard. Taylor stood at the sliding glass door, doubled over and in hysterics. Angrily, I threw open the door. "What the fuck are you doing here?!" I shouted in his face.
When Taylor had regained control of his senses, helped along somewhat by my angry shove, he looked me up and down suggestively. "What's up, Tristan?" he asked.
With a start, I realized I was still naked. "Oh my God!" I gasped, grabbing the first thing that came to hand-my sandwich-and using it to cover my erection. "Oh my God, Taylor, what the fuck?"
"Sorry, dude, sorry!" Taylor stepped inside and closed the glass door, as my hands were otherwise occupied. "I saw the sign and came around back, thinking you'd be swimming. I stopped by because Garrett called me and told me about the intervention you guys are planning for Liza. Ah . . . were you planning on talking to her like that? Cause you'll definitely get her attention, although . . . "
I flushed even redder than before, if possible. The jelly was squelching between my legs. This was decidedly not cool. I don't think I'd ever been so embarrassed in my life. "Taylor, you have to promise you're not going to tell anyone about this." He just grinned. "Please?"
"Go get dressed." I nodded and turned. I'd get my answer after I got back. Right now, the thing I needed most was a pair of pants. Or boxers, at least. Anything was better than a jelly sandwich. To my horror, as I turned, Taylor slapped my bare ass.
"Taylor!" Mortified, I threw the sandwich aside and ran down the hall. Taylor's laughter followed me all the way up to my room.
When I'd wiped the jelly from my legs and put on a pair of pants, I came back down the stairs, pulling a shirt over my head as I went. Taylor was sitting at the table with the sandwich on a plate in front of him. He grinned at me. "Bon appetit," he said, picking it up.
Horrified, I grabbed the sandwich and threw it away. "You were gonna eat it?!" I asked, shocked.
Taylor was laughing yet again. "Of course not," he replied. "I just wanted to see your reaction. Here's the plate back."
I collapsed into a chair. "You'd better not tell anyone about this," I warned him.
"Don't worry. I'll try to keep my mouth shut."
I sighed. "Well, at least it was you and not Liza or Garrett. I think I would've died on the spot."
"And wouldn't that have been an ignominious way to go."
"Quite. Alright, if you're going to stick around for the intervention, as you so delicately called it, I suggest we move outside." I cleaned up the broken jar and we went outside. I was barefoot, but I usually didn't bother to put shoes on if I was simply trotting between the house and the pool anyhow. Taylor followed me out; still hungry, I snagged a bag of chips as I closed the door. As we walked out to the bar, it occurred to me that that was the most I'd ever seen Taylor laugh. I told him so. "I'm glad I could bring you that kind of joy," I added sardonically.
"Never a dull moment with you around," Taylor agreed. "It must be hard to keep up that level of entertainment." He sat at a barstool. "What had you so excited, if I may ask?"
I blushed. "Nothing."
"Oh? You often get boners while making jelly sandwiches? Must be tough," he said.
"Well, it was more than just that, of course."
"I should certainly hope so. Food doesn't really do it for me, personally. Maybe a little light spanking . . . "
"You're a boyful of surprises, you know that?"
"I'm kidding. So . . . what was it?"
I sighed. "If you must know, I was thinking about Garrett."
The gate opened, then closed, and I heard Garrett's voice. "What about me?"
Oh my God. Could this day get any worse? "Thinking about what you'd said earlier."
Garrett was unconvinced. "I hadn't really said anything earlier."
I had a sudden urge to get up and run. Or go into the pool and not come back up. Either would suffice. A lie. Quick. "About what you'd said about Liza."
"Ahh, I see. Well, she should be here any minute now." Garrett turned to Taylor. "I'm glad you're here," he said.
"Even if he did show up a bit unannounced," I said tartly, glaring at Garrett. He pretended not to notice.
"I'm sorry," Taylor said sweetly. "I hope I wasn't interrupting anything when I came to the door."
"Of course not," I replied. My mood was souring rapidly. This was already not going well. A few minutes later, after idle chit-chat-very little of it, of course, from Taylor-Liza opened the gate and came through. "Hey, Liza," I called, waving her over. I poured her a glass of water. "We have soda and juice up in the house."
"Water's fine for now. So what's going on? I see the gang's all here, minus Sarah."
"I think she's still off at the shooting range," Taylor said. Garrett and I shrugged. Taylor was closer to Sarah than we were; he'd know best of all of us.
"Anyway, Garrett and Taylor are here for a reason, Liza." Once I'd began, I realized I didn't know how to continue. "Ah . . . "
"We're concerned about you," Garrett said. I could've kissed him for saving me. Well, I would've kissed him under any circumstances, really, so that wasn't saying much at all.
"What? About me?"
"Well, yeah," Garrett continued. "Like, look, it doesn't matter to any of us-we don't think anything of that sort of thing-"
"We like you because of who you are," I added through Garrett's stammering.
Liza was wary. She pushed her water back and stood. "Is this about my weight? Is this some kind of fucking counseling session? Cause if it is, I'm leaving. I'm not gonna sit and listen to this bullshit."
Taylor, who thus far had been silent, spoke up. "We're only saying anything because we care about you."
"Fuck you, Jenny Craig!" Liza was in high dudgeon now. "What, you care about me and you don't want me getting all fat?"
I resisted the urge to tell her she'd chosen the wrong tense. "It's not that, Liza," I said, trying to stay calm. "I honestly think you'd feel better about yourself if you at least made an effort to work on something that I think really does bother you."
"Bother me? Where did we get this idea that what I may or may not weigh bothers me?" Liza was nearly screaming now. "Why are we discussing this? What relevance is it to you? Look at all of you; you're all twigs! My weight does not bother me!"
Before I could point out the obvious irony to Liza, my phone rang. I flipped it open. "This is Tristan."
"Tristan, honey, how are you?" Oh, shit. Perfect time for my mom to call.
"I'm . . . doing well. How's the trip?"
"It's been busy; we haven't had too much time to take Izz and Sandy around, but we have all day tomorrow free! We're going to take them shopping at the Saks in Union Square and then I thought we'd hop on over to the big Macy's too."
Meanwhile, behind me, I could hear Liza shrieking. "So what next? You're gonna tell me to get lipo? My stomach stapled? What is this?"
"Ah . . . Tris?" my mom asked. "Is there something going on over there?"
"Er, no, mom . . . just watching TV," I muttered, moving away from the table so Liza's tirade wouldn't be so audible. I winced as I heard her glass of water shatter.
"Remember, Tristan," my mother warned, her voice much more stern, "we don't want anyone over. It creates huge legal liability issues; if any minor were to get injured on property we own, we'd be liable both for the damage and for negligence. We've made this very clear to you in the past."
"Right, Mom." Now it sounded like Liza was growling and Garrett was holding her back, from the way she was screaming. "I won't throw any wild parties; I promise."
"You'd better not," she said. "I'm not wasting the lawyers' retainer fees on bailing you out of jail." I think she was only half-kidding. Her voice lightened. "Now, is there anything you want us to get you while we're in the financial district?"
Liza had escaped Garrett's grip; I heard the sounds of two stinging slaps, as well as continued high-pitched screams and yelps of pain from Taylor. "Uh . . . I can't really think of anything. Can I call you back if I do?"
"Well, of course. We'll be there all day tomorrow. Have you been keeping the house clean?"
Oh, God. I just wanted this conversation to end. It's not like I hated talking to my parents-far from it-but Liza sounded as though she were about to commit first-degree murder. "Yeah, it's spotless. I've cleaned up everything so far and the housekeepers will be in tomorrow." I ducked as Liza threw a water bottle wildly. It exploded against the barstools. "Look, Mom, I've gotta run. I'm leaving-"
"-calling me fat, you bastards!"
"-to go visit Liza," I finished lamely.
"I want you to behave yourself," my mother warned. "We trust you to stay by yourself because you're responsible. Don't make us regret our decision. You be safe." She paused for a minute and talked to someone in the background. Meanwhile, Liza was still shouting. At least it sounded like she'd stopped trying to slap Taylor senseless. I cupped the phone to my face to muffle the sound nonetheless. "Your dad and the twins want to say hi," my mom said.
Desperate, I resorted to deception. "Hey, Mom, you're cutting out. Let me call you back when I have better reception." Guilt surged through me, but Liza was raving, and I was afraid that any second now she'd come snatch the phone out of my hands and scream her woe directly into it.
"Strange, I can hear you just fine, honey," my mom replied.
"Look, I'll call you back in a bit," I said.
"Alright, but we're going to turn in soon. It's been a long day."
"If you don't hear from me tonight, I'll call you first thing in the morning."
"Be sure to. Before you go to school. We'll see you when we get home on Tuesday-now, don't forget to call us back! And be careful, and don't be late tomorrow!"
"Yes, Mom!"
"Bye, dear."
"Bye, Mom." I hung up. "Would you fucking shut up?!" I shouted as I turned. "You're acting totally ridiculous."
Oh. They were all sitting down calmly. "What-you're all done? What was with all the screaming and carrying on?"
Liza looked as though she were seething; tears trembled in her eyes, but didn't fall. Garrett spoke up. "We finally got her to calm down after she tried to slap Taylor."
"I'm sorry, Taylor," Liza whispered. "I . . . I don't like to talk about this. I don't. I-"
"It's okay," Taylor said. "We bring it up because we're concerned-not about your weight, but about your attitude toward it."
"We want you to be happy, Liza," I said. "Now, do us a favor . . . tell us what would make you happy."
Liza was very quiet for a long while. I waited her out, and luckily Taylor and Garrett did the same. "I . . . don't want to feel ugly anymore," she said.
"You're not ugly," I said quickly. "That's the whole point. This is about how you perceive yourself."
"What should I do?"
I looked at Garrett and Taylor. She was receptive; now was the time to tell her what should have been said long ago. The sun was low and swollen before everything that needed to be said was said; when Liza left, full dark had fallen, but we all hoped against hope that there was a different and brighter light on her horizon. After Taylor and Garrett had left, I stumbled back inside, tired from a long day of swimming. I took off my clothes and, though it was only ten in the evening, curled up under my covers and fell asleep.
* * *
The next morning, I parked my car in my usual spot and walked onto campus. The first person I saw was Taylor. "Taylor!" I called. "I need to talk to you."
"What's up, Tris?"
"Come inside my car."
"Ooh, that sounds interesting."
"Shut up." I lowered my voice. "I wanted to talk to you . . . in private." Taylor opened the door and slid into the passenger seat. "Look, the whole gay thing . . . "
"What about it?"
"Well, I was kind of thinking-I want, like, a second opinion."
"You mean you want to talk to Julian Lambowski, don't you."
I nodded. "I want to find out more about it. But I can't tell him outright-everyone knows he's out, and all it'll take is one slip, or him getting too chummy with me, and everyone'll guess."
"So tell him you're just curious."
"Oh, that's brilliant."
Taylor rolled his eyes. "Fine. Say you're doing a report." He glanced outside. "Hey, look, I gotta go. I'm supposed to meet Sarah, and you know how she gets when you're late."
"There she is now," I said, pointing. An old and beat-up pickup truck was rolling noisily down the parking lot. I grimaced as she pulled into the spot beside me; if she hit my door, I'd kill her. She stepped out of her car and I groaned and slid lower in the seat. "Don't let her see me," I said quietly to Taylor.
Taylor grinned. "Now I understand why you're always so uncomfortable when she hits on you."
"Duh."
"She's beautiful, you know."
"Yes, but to me, it's more an academic exercise than anything else. Sort of like statuary. Sure, some of them are amazing, but they don't turn you on." But Taylor was as right as I was; Sarah was an elegant beauty, with a delicately chiseled face, full lips and a nose that belonged on a Greek statue. Her hair, a black so rich it was nearly blue, only added to the effect, and her eyes, the rarest shade of violet . . . da Vinci could not have dreamed a more beautiful woman. Sarah was beautiful like ice sculpture was beautiful. She was a study in dichotomy; a dedicated and statuesque Goth, she did not dress as most Goth kids did, in cheap black T-shirts with ribald slogans and torn black fishnets. Rather, Sarah always wore long black dresses that looked as though she'd raided the closets of a fifteenth-century aristocratic dominatrix. She looked like a queen descending from a hay-wagon as she stepped off of her hand-me-down Chevy. Today her long black sleeves trailed off her hands and ended in lacy points around her fingertips; the dress itself swirled around her stiletto heels and swept in tight curves upward to her throat, where it clutched at her neck like fingers of darkness. Her long black hair swept down her back and her violet eyes, already so evident in her naturally pale face, were accentuated by black makeup arranged in an intricate and vaguely Egyptian pattern. Her pupils were slightly dilated; long ago, she had found an ancient method for making belladonna extract and used it to accentuate her looks. Somehow, against what must have been some law of nature, she had found a shade of lipstick that nearly matched her eyes. She was beautiful like a nighttime moon was beautiful, and she could have been mine.
Instead, it was Garrett I wanted to feel in my arms. For all that Sarah was a dark Aphrodite, Garrett was her counterpart, a golden Adonis that had stepped out of marble and into flesh. Sarah didn't know this, but now Taylor did, and I could see that he was slightly amused.
Unfortunately, Sarah saw us in my car and made a beeline for us. "Good morning, Taylor," she said. "Tristan," she whispered, leaning into the car. She kissed me on the lips and I blushed a deep red.
"Morning, Sarah," Taylor responded while I dabbed at my lips with a napkin. It came away purple.
"I have decided not to go by Sarah anymore," she said loftily. "A name such as that no longer suits me."
"So what is it now?" Taylor asked.
"From now henceforth, I shall be known as Asphyxia," Sarah said. I struggled not to laugh. Taylor just nodded. "And now, Tristan." I turned to face her, schooling my face to stillness. "Are you otherwise occupied tomorrow night?"
Any other person would've simply said "Are you busy tomorrow?" Instead, Sarah-rather, Asphyxia-had to turn every sentence into a production. She wasn't always so formal; I could see today that she was in high Goth form. Sarah was definitely born in the wrong century, and on the wrong continent. "I . . . " I started.
"No? Excellent. You will not object, then, to joining me for dinner?" She definitely did not look as though she expected me to object. Inwardly, I sighed. Before I could come up with a clever lie-or even a not-so-clever one-she nodded decisively. "Excellent, then. Come at seven." I had a feeling that seven wasn't the only time at which she wanted me to come. She leaned in again and planted another kiss on my lips. This one was deeper, more probing; I felt her inhale sharply, stealing the breath out of my lungs. She pulled back then and ran her tongue across her lips. "Goodbye, boys," she said, turning and gliding away.
I was perfectly still for a moment. Taylor was red-faced from holding in his laughter. Half of me wanted to hit him; the other half wanted to melt into the seat and die. "So. Asphyxia?" I said, by way of breaking the ice.
"Well, it looked as though her tongue was about to strangle you," Taylor said.
"Her tongue was not in my mouth!" I spluttered.
"You'd better watch out. Just remember, she has a gun rack in the back of her pickup," Taylor said, still laughing. "And you know she uses it."
I closed my eyes. This was already looking to be a bad day.
Chapter Six: The End of All Things
I found Julian Lambowski in the hallways that morning, between my second and third classes. He was alone, which suited my purposes just fine. I had spoken, albeit briefly, to Julian on previous occasions, so there was some precedent for this. His locker was a little ways down the hall from my own, so I grabbed my books from my locker while I kept an eye on him. Honestly, I was steeling myself for the approach; going and asking Julian about being gay, whatever the context, felt a little too much like letting the cat out of the bag. Or the queer out of the closet. Whatever the case may be.
From out of the corner of my eye, I stared at Julian. There was nothing overtly gay about his person or his attire, really. The only dead giveaways were the rainbow patch on his backpack and the smaller stitched patch that read "Sorry, Girls . . . I Like Men" slightly above the rainbow patch. Julian dressed like most boys at the high school did: longish shorts and a t-shirt with one of a dozen equally meaningless company names scribbled across the chest or back or wherever. He was pretty average all-around, I decided; mousy brown hair fell every which way around an ordinary face. He wasn't heavy, or slender, but instead was somewhere dead center between the two. Julian was not terribly bright, but nor was he stupid, either. He was just another kid, no better or no worse than most of the kids here. The only thing that separated him was the fact that he was gay. Like me. Funny-I never imagined myself having anything in common with this boring boy with the rainbow patch and corporate logos.
I realized I was stalling. Julian was scrounging around in his locker, apparently looking for something-a piece of paper or a pen or something-and I was rooted to the spot, unable to move. I was staring into my locker as though the blank metal walls utterly fascinated me. I could hear the ticking of my watch. A minute passed. Julian still searched about, and I still stood staring at emptiness. The bell for third period would ring soon. And still I was unable to lift my feet.
Julian stood straight, apparently having found whatever it was he'd lost. I had my satchel on my shoulder and all the books I needed. There was no reason for me to be standing here. No reason than my inability to talk to him, to widen the cracks in the door that Taylor had already started to open. There was an old note clumsily taped to the inside of Julian's locker. He glanced at it; from here, I couldn't make out his expression. Julian closed his locker. I watched, transfixed, as he slid two pieces of paper into his backpack, tucked a pen behind his ear, and turned to walk away. The echoes of his footsteps rang down the hallway as he went to turn the corner.
My mouth was dry.
Suddenly he was in profile as he turned left; the corner wall swallowed him up and-
"Hey, Julian!" I called. My voice sounded weird even in my own throat. Had he heard? Or had he already walked into a room . . .
Julian's head popped back around the corner. "Tristan? Did you . . . call me?"
I closed my locker. "Yes . . . yeah, I did."
Julian walked toward me. Even his stride would never stand out in a crowd. This kid could've stayed closeted forever and no one would ever be the wiser. Why did he do it, then? What made this kid tick? What was it about him that made him do what I didn't think I could ever do? What made him open the door?
Julian stopped uncertainly when he was a few feet away from me. He leaned against a locker. "What's up?" he asked.
I steeled myself. If there was one thing I never liked doing, it was showing weakness in front of others; I certainly wasn't going to do so in front of, of all people, Julian Lambowski. "I'm doing a report on homosexuality in young adults," I said. "I was wondering-if you're not too busy sometime this week, I'd like to interview you and ask you a few questions." I laughed breezily. "As far as this topic goes, you're kind of a hot commodity, you know. Not too many other openly gay kids running around."
Julian laughed. "Sure, dude, no problem." He glanced up. "Hey, the bell's about to ring and if I'm late one more time for Mr. Hansen's class he's gonna give me double detention-"
"Then we'll make this quick," I replied. "How's . . . today after school?"
Julian nodded. "Yeah, that should be fine."
"Alright. I'll meet you here after school, then." I turned to walk away. "Oh, and Julian?"
"Yeah?"
"Thanks." I left. That had been a lot easier than I expected, really, once I'd finally gotten the nerve to just talk to him. The rest of the day passed fairly quickly; I ate lunch with Garrett and Liza, as I always did, and Jared stopped by with some of his freshman friends to say hi. Sarah had a different lunch schedule, so she sat with her little group of Goth friends and Taylor, who was definitely the odd man out in that social unit. The last few classes passed quickly, and as early as it was in the month, not too many teachers were handing out heavy workloads. When the final bell rang, I made my way down to the lockers and met Julian there. I admit that I was a bit leery of talking at great length with him while in the crowded after-school hall, but then I realized how childish that attitude was. I walked up to his locker and found him there, waiting for me and fiddling with the rainbow patch on his backpack.
"Hey . . . didn't expect you to get here so quickly," he said. He closed his locker door, but not before I got another glance at the old piece of paper taped there; it looked like a poem or something, and at the bottom it was signed, "Love, Mark." I had my guesses, but I wasn't about to ask right off. "So where did you want to go to talk?" he asked.
"It doesn't matter to me," I said. "I can drive, so don't worry about distance."
"That's good, because I don't have a car," Julian said.
I laughed. "It's settled, then. Let's say we go to Wired and get some coffee." Julian nodded and we took off in the direction of my car. We were both fairly quiet along the way; I waved at a few people I knew and stopped briefly to chat with a few girls from my history class before nodding at today's warden and heading out the gates. I noticed that Julian didn't say hi to anyone.
We got to my car; I rolled down the top and hopped in. I unlocked Julian's door. "Nice car," he said with a low whistle. "Is it fast?"
"Hell yeah," I said. "Wait till we hit an empty stretch on the way-I'll show you." I backed out of the space, careful not to smack Sarah's car on the way out, and drove down the street. I knew that a bunch of people had seen me walking out of school with Julian, and part of me was nervous about that. As I thought about it, though, I realized that the greater part of me didn't really give a shit. Nobody was going to come to the immediate assumption that I was gay. It's not like we were skipping and holding hands or anything. And Julian was a perfectly normal guy-too much so, really-and nothing like what people expected. I think most people thought that he left a trail of rainbows on the ground and butterflies in the air everywhere he walked; as it turned out, however, Julian was just the boy next door with a painful truth hanging over his head.
He didn't see it like that, I quickly learned. When we got to the coffee shop, all I had in mind was to ask him a few questions, feel him out on the topic and start to get a sense of what the gay teenager's life was like. Part of me knew it wasn't all that much different from the straight teenager's life, but I wondered if there was a huge secret underground gay world that I knew nothing about. I have to admit that the idea of such a possibility titillated me. All day at school and even as we were walking to the parking lot, I hadn't given much thought to Julian as a person; to me, he was just a kid who happened to be gay and, as such, useful in pumping for information. On the drive, however, something had been nagging at me, and I finally figured out what it was: I was a moderately popular person at school-people knew my name, said hi when I walked by, talked to me and whatnot; on the way to my car, I'd spoken to easily a dozen people and nodded greetings at a dozen more. Julian had walked with his head straight ahead, not looking to the left or the right. He had spoken to no one. I wondered if his life was always so silent; was it because Julian was naturally shy or was it, as I feared, ostracism as a result of his being openly gay?
We ordered our coffee and looked for an empty table. All around us, people were typing with laptops connected either wirelessly or with the high-speed outlets on every table. While we waited for our coffee, Julian turned to me. "So what's this for, again?"
"A paper."
"Which class?"
Shit, why hadn't I thought all this out before I talked to him? "Uh . . . AP Psychology. I mean, AP English. Actually, a little bit of both."
Julian raised his eyebrows. I felt myself turning a little red. "Wow," he said. "No wonder you wanted to talk to me. You get to kill two birds with one stone."
"Yeah." I felt distinctly uncomfortable. I tried a laugh. "I told you you were a hot commodity." Thankfully, just then the barista handed us our cups of coffee. In the momentary silence, I thought I saw Julian give me a curious glance out of the corner of his eye. "So what's it like to be out of the closet?" I asked Julian after we were seated with cups of coffee in our hands. I had treated him as my way of saying thanks for the "interview."
"It's . . . hard," Julian responded. "I mean, everybody knows. Everybody finds out really quickly. And I refuse to hide it. I told my parents when I was sixteen, so they've known for a year. And then I came out to all my friends a little while later. It was all too late, but I did it."
There was a brooding look on Julian's face, so I decided to ask another question to keep things moving along. I didn't want this to get awkward. "How'd you know you're gay?"
Julian laughed. "When I realized the only time I got boners was from checking out other boys."
"I guess that'll do it. How old were you?"
"About eleven or so . . . shouldn't you be writing this stuff down or something?"
I shrugged in what I hoped was a nonchalant manner. "Eh, I'll remember it all."
Julian rolled his eyes. "If you say so."
"Were you afraid to come out?"
Julian shook his head. "By the time it came down to it, so much had already happened that I felt like I needed to be honest with myself. So no, I wasn't too scared. I think that when people are really ready to do it, the fear goes away."
I digested that for a moment and took a sip of my coffee. "Do the benefits outweigh the risks?"
Julian sipped his coffee. I could see he was deep in thought. "Depends on how you look at it."
"What do you mean?"
"Well . . . I feel better about myself. That I'm honest. That I can look at myself and say, 'This is who I am, and nothing's gonna change that, and I'm happy with that.' But . . . well, everyone avoids me. Unless they're gay, I don't have any real friends." He shrugged. "I mean, there are a few girls who really like to hang out with me, and some of them are popular, but their guy friends never want anything to do with me, so I don't go out with them when they go out in groups." Julian put his cup down and sighed. "I spend a lot of time at home."
In that moment, I think I finally saw him as a person for the first time. "I didn't know it was so hard, Julian."
"Oh, it's not that it's hard, really." He laughed; it sounded a little bitter to my ears. "At least I've never gotten beaten up. They'd just rather ignore me than beat me up."
I decided to risk it. "You sound bitter."
Julian didn't meet my eyes. "Some of it has been very hard, Tristan." He ran hands through his hair. "Harder than you can imagine." His shoulders shook and I wondered why. "I know I sound like a crusader at school sometimes . . . trying to start a gay/straight club at school and petitioning for the GLBT class . . . but there's a reason. I was too late once and I will not ever do that again." I wanted to stop and ask what Julian was too late for, but he didn't pause. "I feel so empty sometimes. There's no one else out at our school. I've never dated anyone. Not since Mark . . . I don't know if it's because I haven't wanted to or if it's because I haven't found anyone. But it's lonely."
"Who is Mark?"
Julian did the strangest thing. He closed his eyes, leaned back in his chair, and muttered something so quietly the only way I knew he was forming words at all was by the motion of his lips. He looked as though he were talking to himself, or to someone inside his head. Then he stopped and was still. Running a hand across his face as though extremely weary, he opened his eyes and looked at me. "I feel like I can trust you, Tristan," he said.
His intent was unmistakable. "I will not betray your confidence," I said.
Julian stood up. He had obviously reached a decision. "I want to show you something," he said. Without another word, he walked out of the coffee shop. I finished my cup, dumped it in the trash can, and followed him. When we got in the car, Julian was silent except for giving directions on where to turn. After a few such directions, I felt a distinct chill; I knew exactly where we were heading.
Julian confirmed my suspicions with a terse "Turn here" at the driveway leading up to the local cemetery. I pulled into a discreet parking area and turned off the car. All around us, trees swayed under the gray sky. The grass was unnaturally green; off in the distance, the only audible sound was the snik-snik-snik of a rotating sprinkler across the lawn. Rows and rows of tombstones stretched off to either side.
I did not immediately get out of the car. I turned to look at Julian. I would not ask before he offered; I would not force what he wanted to say out of him. Wordlessly, he met my eyes. I saw a welter of pain there before he abruptly turned and opened his door.
Silently, we walked up the grassy hillside, through the trees and around the markers of the dead. When we got to the top of the hill, Julian stopped and turned to look back the way we came. It was a beautiful view; from here, the towns below were nestled away under the shadow of the hilltop. The rocky cliffs were visible and, beyond them, the leaden gray of the sea. Clouds scuttled across the sky and were mirrored in the depths.
"They can't even see it," Julian said quietly. I was silent. I knew what he meant.
"It helps," I whispered.
"Us, maybe." He turned resolutely from the view. "For them, though, for him . . . they can't see through six feet of dirt. Their eyes can't pierce through death."
I put a hand on Julian's shoulder. He jumped; the touch had been unexpected for us both. "Who is here, Julian?"
In answer, he knelt beside one of the tombstones. I bent beside him, but he did not look at me. "Remember when I said I was too late, Tristan?" Julian spoke through a voice filled with sorrow. "This is what I meant." I looked at the inscription on the tombstone before which Julian had knelt.
In God's Arms Always
Marcus William Everett
January 24, 1985-November 2, 2002
We Miss You
I looked at Julian. His whole body shook; he was sobbing quietly. Tears fell from his eyes and onto his upturned hands. "Don't you see, Tristan? This is what happens when you wait, when you're afraid." He put his forehead on the ground; his hands, curled into fists, clutched at the grass. "This is the end of all things."
Tentatively, I put a hand on Julian's back. He looked up at me and I could hear the emptiness roaring inside of him. For the first time in years, I opened my arms and gestured another within. Julian fell against me then, and for a moment I just held him while he wept. "You . . . loved him?" I asked.
"Yes."
I was silent then, allowing Julian his time to grieve. Deep wounds never heal completely; they may scar over, but in their wake they leave a place of weakness that never quite goes away. Somehow, I knew that Julian had never been able to talk to anyone his age about Mark. When Julian had calmed somewhat, I asked him, "What happened?"
He spoke against my chest. "Middle of the night. I got a phone call. Mark's sister; his parents hated me and wouldn't have called me, but Jamie's always been nice to me. I still talk to her, sometimes. When it doesn't hurt too much to be reminded." He unwrapped himself from me then and dabbed at his eyes with his sleeve. "I'm sorry," he said.
"Don't be sorry."
"Thanks." He sniffled and took another moment to wipe at his face. "He'd been in an accident. The car had been crushed and . . . and oh God, it was so hot that day and I was sweating . . . it was a closed-casket funeral and I sat in the back, alone, and no one would talk to me and there was just this sad little box . . . "
I didn't know what to say. "I'm so sorry, Julian. I didn't know . . . I didn't have any idea . . . "
"There's a good reason for that," Julian said. "I've never told anyone about this before. I've never brought anyone here before. Nobody's ever cared."
"I care, Julian." Now I was feeling guilty for talking to him under false pretenses; I almost wanted to tell him the truth about myself, but somehow I couldn't make the words come out.
"I know." Julian put a hand on the tombstone. "Sometimes, at night, if I'm in bed and I concentrate really hard, it's like I can hear him breathing beside me." Julian had calmed down considerably, I noticed. "But that's part of this story-the fact that we never did sleep together. See, when I met Mark, he went to a different school and he was openly gay. He had it pretty rough, too. He'd been beaten up once, even. I wasn't out and I was afraid of coming out-I was afraid of being gay. So we were friends and the whole time he always knew, but never said anything." Julian closed his eyes. I had to lean in closely to hear his quiet words. "We kissed and he knew it then, and I knew it then, but I couldn't bring myself to say it. Even his family knew what I meant to him, and they hated me for it, even though . . . even though we never did anything more than kiss each other. It was like that for months-half a year, eight months, with my never having declared my love for him-that's what it was, love-because I was too afraid to acknowledge the truth." Julian inhaled a deep and shuddering breath. "And then I woke up in the middle of the night and he was gone."
The clouds, which had looked ominous all day, finally began the promised storm. Rain started to fall, at first gently and then harder, while Julian and I stood before Mark's grave. Julian stood, and he was soaked with rain, his hair slicked back against his forehead and his clothes drenched with it. "So it was too late for us when I finally admitted the truth to myself," he said. "And I learned that you have to seize every moment of life, because everything is heading toward this." He gestured at the tombstone. "That's what I meant when I said that this is the end of all things. Everything good in this life ends in separation and in death. So you have to grab this life and hang on to it with everything you have, and live in every single moment. Because if you don't, before you know it, it'll be gone." Julian turned, then, and began the long walk down the hill. I didn't immediately follow. I stood at the foot of Mark's grave, deeply in thought. What Julian had said terrified me in ways I was only barely coming to understand. I had much to think about. When Julian had made his way to the bottom of the hill, I turned and followed after.
Chapter Seven: To Open A Door
Time.
I opened the door and let myself into the house.
Like water.
Slipping through fingertips.
It was dark inside, and if I was still it seemed as though I could hear the ticking of some vast and ancient clock, counting down the minutes and seconds until this world became as dust.
I had been like this since yesterday, after I dropped Julian off and went for a very long drive. The music had been low and unobtrusive, the road blessedly clear. I had kept the top up to ward off the rain and had driven clear to Camp Pendleton, the naval base just before San Diego. There were long stretches of seaside highway there, places where there was literally nothing but highway, sea and sky. I pulled off the road at one of those places and got out. There was a hole cut in the long fence that ran between road and beach; I slipped through the gate and ran down to the beach area. This was trespassing, I knew, but I wasn't too worried. What was the worst they could do to me? Nothing was worse than what Julian had shown me. I needed time to be alone and to think, and there was no place more beautiful and more deserted than this.
I made my way through the long grass and stumbled out onto the rocky beach. The sun had slipped unseen below the sea while I stood there, barefoot and soaked. The rocks beneath my feet were slick and the same color as the ocean and the clouds. If I blurred my vision, it was as though everything-land, sea and sky-were as one, and I was suspended, floating between them as I floated underwater, hiding in the silent spaces where time dreamed itself away. I had shivered then, though at the time I knew not why. I did now. I feared those still moments now. In that stillness I could feel the passage of each moment, and now I knew what lay at the end of all the waiting.
There was a Latin saying I'd heard before: carpe diem. Seize the day. Like many of the Latin phrases that had outlasted the language itself, its meaning was far more subtle than its two words could convey. It was a way of life, a way of viewing the world, a philosophy that relied on the realization that this life is fleeting and that every single moment is a part of a rare experience. Life comes our way only once, all beliefs in reincarnation aside, and if I didn't live it the way I wanted to, when I reached the end of my road and looked back down at the trail of my life, I would be filled with regret.
It was time to drop some bombs.
I would not condemn myself to Julian's deep and silent suffering. I would not allow myself to feel that kind of loss. I would not allow myself to be so alone. After dropping him off, I had already extended the firm hand of friendship; he had my cell phone number and a promise that in me, at least, he had a friend who understood. There was more than that, however. Simply being Julian's friend did not mean I would escape his fate. After I'd reached some conclusions, I'd turned around and made it back to my car, drenched and filled with purpose. I flicked on my headlights, busted a screeching U-turn across the freeway, and gunned the engine. I was home in forty minutes and, once there, I had spent the rest of the evening deep in thought.
Now, the house was empty and growing dark. Making my way into the kitchen, I saw a note on the table. I scanned it quickly: "Tris, hon-We're off to dinner at Okinawasabi; come meet us there. Love, Mom, Dad and the Twins." I grinned, slipped it into my pocket and hopped back into my car. It would be good to see them again. I would tell them what they needed to know, and soon, but tonight was not the night. Tonight was a night for more fundamental things.
With a curse, I remembered my dinner date with Sarah. Damn! I would have to be brief at dinner if I wanted to make it to meet Sarah on time. Not that I really did, of course, but if I didn't she might very well dig up a virgin, sacrifice it, and hex me. Or worse. And from the looks of things, she wouldn't have to dig too hard to scrounge up a few virgins among our friends. In fact, come to think of it, the only one of us who'd had any real play was Taylor, the sometime college boy-toy, who let his buddies beat him off. Well, I thought. Hopefully I can change that soon.
I sped down PCH and pulled into the lot at Okinawasabi in record time. I tossed my keys at the valet and dashed inside the restaurant. My parents and sisters were sitting at a largish table toward the back; flames were leaping up from their table and a chef was flipping shrimp in the air and catching them in his hat. The twins were giggling and clapping. I stood back and watched for a moment from the shadows, a smile on my face. It was good to see them again. My mom threw her head back and laughed at something my dad had said. The chef flipped the shrimp onto the girls' plates, and their laughter turned to horror. I chuckled quietly where I stood; they didn't like seafood, and shrimp least of all. I could see long thin strips of beef cooking on the table; those must've been for Izz and Sandy. Finally, I stepped forward. "Hey guys!" I said as I sat down at the table.
"Tris!" the girls shouted, jumping up to hug me. I grinned and ruffled their hair. My mom and dad smiled at me.
"Tris, how are you, hon?" my mom asked.
"Good to see you, son," my dad said, passing a plate of ahi tuna sushi my way. Greedily, I picked off two and slid them onto my plate, then stole a little wasabi.
"I'm doing well, Mom," I said between bites of sushi. "It's been a long weekend, actually."
"You look tired, Tris," she said. "Have you been sleeping well?"
"Yeah," I said. "I just have a lot of stuff weighing on my mind."
"Anything you want to talk about?" my dad asked, taking the sushi back before I finished it all.
"Well, I'll make a long story short. Yesterday a friend of mine-Julian, a kid from school-and I got to talking, and he told me about a friend of his who had died. We went to the cemetery to see the gravesite. It was a lot all at once." I shook my head and reached for a California roll. "But enough about that! Tell me all about the city!" I leaned back and listened to them tell me all about San Francisco; I let the sounds of their voices wash over me and through me. Their voices, their smiles, were a balm for what I knew was to come. In a sense, this dinner was the calm before the storm, the underwater stillness that brought peace. And yet, as in those submerged moments, I could hear the passage of time in every clink of silverware and plate.
All too soon, I had to make my excuses and head to dinner with Sarah. "If I'm late, she'll kill me," I said as I apologized. I rose from my seat. "And I mean that. She owns a bunch of guns." My parents laughed, unsure if I was being entirely truthful-the scary part is that I was-and let me go. I really was sorry to leave. Some people, however, are not to be put off.
As I walked out to pick up my car, I flipped open my cell phone and dialed Taylor's number. He answered on the second ring. "Taylor here."
"Taylor, it's Tris."
"What's going on?"
"Had a long conversation with Julian yesterday,"
"Oh? Do share."
I told Taylor about everything leading up to when we left Wired, but then realized that what I was going to tell him next-what I'd decided to do-wasn't going to make any sense without the relevant context. Julian hadn't indicated that he wanted to keep what had once been between him and Mark a secret, yet all the same I felt as though I would be betraying his trust all the same. But Taylor needed to understand and, more importantly, I needed Taylor to understand. "Alright, Taylor," I said after thinking about it for a while. "I need to tell you something that I probably shouldn't, but you need to know in order to understand what I am going to do. Now, what I tell you dies with you; do you understand?"
"Whoa. Heady stuff there, Tris. Of course you can trust me."
"This isn't about me; it's about Julian. I cannot have you breaking this promise. You will hurt him. Julian's my friend now; I'm sure you two will talk and he will tell you his story in due time. Now, I'll fill you in on what you need to know." So I told Taylor the majority of what had happened in the cemetery, leaving out few details; the more Taylor could understand the reasons for my actions, the more he would be able to help me through the consequences, be they good or bad.
"Wow," Taylor said when I had finished. "I had no idea Julian has been through so much." There was a low whistle from his end. "That may very well be the saddest story I've ever heard."
"I felt so sorry for him," I agreed. "And, Taylor . . . the worst part of it for me is that for the past day, since we talked, all I can think about is how time moves so quickly, and how life ends so swiftly . . . and if we don't do what we want to do, then what, really, is the point of living?"
"Alright . . . so what are you going to do?"
I took a deep breath. "I'm going to tell Garrett that I love him. Tonight."
* * *
After I hung up with Taylor, I dialed Julian's number. His mother answered, so I politely asked for Julian. After what seemed a moment of surprise, she said "Hold on a minute, please!" and ran to get her son. I heard her voice, muffled as though she were covering the mouthpiece: "Julian? Julian? There's a boy on the phone-he says his name is Tristan-"
Then Julian's voice. "He's a friend, Mom. Here, I'll take that-Hello?"
"Hey Julian, it's Tris. What's going on?"
"Wow, I wasn't expecting you to call, Tris."
"Why, is it too late in the evening?" I looked at my car's clock. It was only six-thirty.
"Er . . . no," Julian said. He sounded embarrassed. "Actually, it's because I . . . don't get too many phone calls from boys." He giggled. "Especially straight ones."
Ah! Perfect lead-in. "Well, Julian, that's kind of why I called. I kind of have a confession to make. Yesterday, when we were . . . on the hill, you . . . said a lot of things that made me think. About life, and death, and what we do in between." I found myself smiling nervously, although Julian couldn't see it. "Julian, I'm gay. I'm gay and tonight I'm calling my best friend, with whom I'm madly in love, and I'm going to tell him the truth."
Julian's line was completely silent.
"Julian?" I asked. I glanced at my phone to make sure I had reception. I did. "Are you there?"
"Yeah . . . I'm here. Wow. Holy God wow."
"Sorry . . . I didn't mean to unload it on you like that," I said quickly.
"No, it's not that." Julian took a deep breath. "I didn't at all think you were gay, so I'm a little taken aback, and-your best friend? Garrett? Tris, are you sure? I don't think he's-"
I cut him off. "It doesn't matter," I said, my voice soft. "That doesn't matter to me at all."
"What do you mean? You just want to . . . come out to him?"
"Well, yeah. And tell him I love him. I'm crazy about Garrett, Julian. Always have been. But I've never had the courage to say anything to him-not until what you said yesterday. Because you're right; we only live once, and if we don't do it right the first time . . . " I trailed off into silence before I dredged up any more painful memories for Julian.
"Don't do what I did," Julian said to me then. "If you can be with him, then you should be with him. You're doing the right thing, Tris."
After I'd hung up, I realized that I had been a fool. How could I have thought Julian was just an average boy? True, I didn't think I could fall in love with him, but Julian would make a great friend. And maybe, just maybe, I could help him find someone who could help wash away the pain of Mark's death. But for now, I had to deal with my life first. Tonight, I had to open that door and let Garrett in.
When I pulled up in front of Sarah's house twenty minutes later, I was running about five minutes tardy. I hopped out and dashed up to her door. I looked down and realized I hadn't changed-I was still wearing the same jeans and sweater I'd worn all day. Ah well. If she'd expected me to dress to her standards, she should've warned me. Or offered me something from her Closet of Death. I got out of my car, walked around her huge old pickup truck-so anachronistic, that, with its gun rack and NASCAR stickers-and rang the doorbell.
Sarah opened the door. "Tristan, darling. You're late." She grabbed my arm and whisked me inside. "We have dinner all ready; we've just been waiting for you. Do you like wine? I hope you're fond of a good Merlot." Her black nails scratched gently at my arm as she turned to me. I suddenly noticed that she was wearing high black boots and more leather than I'd ever before seen in one place. And that includes on cows. "We are . . . pleased . . . to have you here," she said, leaning in for the kill. Sarah was a fairly tall girl, and it wasn't much of a stretch or a not-so-gentle downward tug on my head to make her lips meet mine.
When she pulled away, I asked stupidly, " 'We'?"
Sarah glanced toward the kitchen. "Arachnia!" she called. Another girl, this one a little older-eighteen, perhaps?-turned the corner. I glanced at her; she was like a less elegant version of Sarah. Shorter, and with reddish hair chopped in layers at the neck, she was wearing a black dress embroidered with silver spiders. The lacy wrists and hem of her dress were fashioned into delicate webbing. "This is Tristan Elliot," Sarah said by way of introduction.
"Good evening," the girl said. "My name is Arachnia. It is wonderful to finally meet you, Tristan. Asphyxia has told me all about you." With that, she brought my hand to her lips and bit it. I jumped slightly; I'd been expecting a kiss. This was getting really weird really quickly.
"Ah . . . so are we going to eat?" I asked, gesturing at the table. Three plates filled with food stood ready, flanked by candles and what I sincerely hoped was a fake human skull as a centerpiece. "I'm . . . really famished."
"Let me pour the wine," Arachnia said, disappearing back into the kitchen.
When she'd gone, I turned to Sarah. "Who's she?" I hissed quietly. I wondered what her real name was. Certainly not Arachnia. Certainly not.
"A friend," Sarah said, not even turning to face me. "She will be partaking in this evening's . . . activities."
A shiver coursed down my back. "What do you mean, 'activities'?"
Sarah laughed softly and trailed a long finger down my neck. "Sweet Tristan. You will see, my dear." As we sat down, I took a glance around the house; Sarah had done a good job of disguising her parents' rather bland and mismatched décor. Where the tattered brown couch had squatted, Sarah had thrown silver and black pillows across it and bought black sofa covers. The family portraits were turned backwards or removed. Candles filled the room with a soft glow and fake cobwebs were spread across the TV. I felt as though I'd fallen through a time warp into a world where it was always Halloween. In Salem.
We ate and the girls made idle chit-chat, all the while throwing me seductive glances from across the table. They poured the Merlot-which was cheap, I noted sourly-into wineglasses emblazoned with the words "Irving & Edna-Happy 50th." "What are these wineglasses?" I asked.
"They're . . . from my grandparents' fiftieth wedding anniversary," Sarah replied. She seemed a bit annoyed that I'd asked. "It's time for dessert," she said, rising.
"What'd you make?" I asked.
"Blood pudding," Arachnia responded calmly.
By now, I wasn't surprised. "Whose?" I asked, careful to keep the sarcasm out of my voice.
Arachnia's lips curled into a rather disturbing smile. "Wouldn't you like to know."
"I'm suddenly very full," I said when Sarah came back into the room.
"You only have to try a little bit," she said, handing me a bowl and a spoon. With a grimace, I dug in. After having made little headway, Sarah and Arachnia rose and cleared the table. I remained seated, my eyes scanning the room worriedly for signs of what was to come next. Finally, they reemerged and headed for the stairs. This was probably the part I'd been dreading, I figured. "Come upstairs, Tristan," Sarah called. "We'll unwind up here." I followed them, wondering where this was all going to lead. Sarah pushed the door to her bedroom open. Her room was an odd mix of Gothic décor and various NASCAR and Star Trek posters. My favorite one was a poster of the crew of The Next Generation in Gothic makeup and clothing. I had to wonder where she'd found that; I had been fairly certain that there was only one Goth Star Trek fan, and that that girl was Sarah.
"Look, guys, I have to go soon," I said as they sat down on the bed.
"Hopefully not too soon," Arachnia murmured, sliding closer to me.
"Well," I said, looking at Sarah, "I have to call Taylor and I need to speak to Garrett tonight. It can't wait."
"What about?" Sarah asked, lying back on the bed. I noticed that at some point during the evening's proceedings the top two buttons of her dress had come undone. "Surely it can't be more important than us?"
"A friend of mine recently took me to where his . . . best friend is buried. He made me realize how precious little time we have before death. And how some things in this life need to be done now, because there may be no more tomorrow."
Arachnia moaned and threw her head back. I raised an eyebrow. "Ooh, Tristan, you're so sexy when you talk about death," she purred. "It makes me want to do things to you now that'll make you forget all about tomorrow."
Sarah threw Arachnia a dirty look. "Is it something serious, Tristan?"
I ignored Arachnia. "Quite possibly the most important thing I've done in my life." Sarah made eye contact with me then. She dropped the sexy pose and looked inside of me; in an instant, I knew she knew about Taylor and I could feel her guessing about me. About the door, and what was behind it. I held her gaze and nodded slowly.
Sarah sighed once and buttoned up her dress. "God damn it. All the good ones are unavailable." She smiled at me. "Taylor, then, is it?"
I gasped. "No!" Sarah laughed.
Arachnia had apparently been oblivious to all of this. She was prone on the bed, her legs slightly apart and her finger in her mouth. "Tristan, oh, Tristan," she moaned. Somehow she imagined I'd find any of this attractive. "Come suck my soul. I need to feel you darkly inside of me."
Irritation flashed within me. "Look, Arachnia, there's a spider on the wall! Maybe you should fuck it!"
To my immense surprise, Arachnia leapt up and fell off the bed. "A spider!" she shrieked. "Kill it, kill it, kill it!" With a cry of terror, she flung the door open and ran into the bedroom.
"She has a fear of spiders, ironically," Sarah confided.
"There's not even a spider there," I said, getting up. "Sarah, listen to me. I think you're a beautiful girl. No, you're gorgeous. And . . . aggressive. If things were different, Sarah . . . if things were different, I would love you." I reached down and kissed her. She gasped and her lips parted and I could feel the warmth of her breath as I inhaled everything within her. "But it cannot be," I said as I pulled away. "I'm sorry. It's Garrett that I love."
Sarah ran her finger across her lips. This time, the gesture seemed one of remorse. "I will keep your secrets, Tristan," she said. "Now, go, before Arachnia comes to see if we killed the imaginary spider. I'll take care of things here."
"Thanks for understanding, Sarah," I said as I turned to go. "Now I know why Taylor trusted you with his secret."
"Good luck with Garrett," Sarah said as I left the room. "Oh, and Tristan!" she called. "It's not Sarah. It's Asphyxia."
I laughed as I closed the door behind me.
* * *
I was leaning with one leg against the lamppost when I saw Garret's Explorer roll into the beach parking lot. It was a little after nine. Excitement warred with the choking feeling of nervousness within me. I could ruin it all right here, I knew. He hopped out and walked over to me. I watched him as he moved; every line of his body was beautiful. We fit together like this, I knew. This was so right.
"Tristan. Why're we here?" Garrett asked.
I shrugged nonchalantly and let my leg slide down the lamppost. I felt like throwing up. "I just wanted to walk and talk," I said.
Garrett stood alongside me then. There was concern on his face. "Something on your mind?"
"Many somethings, Garrett." I turned and walked in the direction of the beach. "Walk with me." Garrett fell into step beside me. "Look at the way the water flows," I said after some minutes had passed. We stood beside two huge boulders; the rising tide washed around them, throwing up spray. "Up between these rocks and back down again. It's so slow . . . so gentle. And yet, over thousands of years, eventually the water will wear this stone into sand."
"I assume this is somehow relevant," Garrett mused, a half-smile on his face. By now, he was well-used to my ramblings. Besides, he knew when I just needed to talk.
"It does; trust me." I grinned at him and my heart was full in that moment. I wanted to grab him by the shoulders and kiss him and tell him everything that was inside of me. But not yet. Patience. "I've been thinking a lot lately, Garrett." It was a wonder that he didn't make any sort of sarcastic rejoinder. "About what we make of what we're given. How we play the cards we're dealt." I spoke so quietly I could barely hear myself over the waves. For a moment I was still, listening to the crash of the surf. These boulders would be gone someday. "All things in this life are transient. Everything we see and hear and smell and touch-one day it will all be gone. It's scary, Garrett."
"Yeah," he said softly, his eyes distant. He was staring straight out to sea, but I knew that it was more than the horizon he was seeing. He understood. "There's a whole lot of nothing that waits for us, isn't there?"
"One day we will die, Garrett. And one day a long way away from that day, the earth will grow cold and still. The sun will go out and this world will be no more." A shiver ran through me then. "And even all the stars will eventually go dim. You know, there will be a time when the universe will expand to such large size that no matter will be able to condense to form new stars. And finally, hydrogen, the most basic element of all . . . it will decay into subatomic particles. Neutered things. This universe will die a frozen death, a death of stillness and nothingness." I inhaled deeply. "Everything we do in this world is nothing. Everything we touch will eventually die. There will be a day when no living soul will even remember that humans existed, and there will come a day when there is nothing alive at all."
"Okay, Tristan, you got me. I'm thoroughly creeped out."
"Listen. It's time, Garrett. Time is our greatest enemy. There is nothing in this world we need fear more than time." The surf rolled around my bare feet. I let it. For a moment, I wanted it to carry me away-away with Garrett beside me, down forever into the sea. "I believe that there is only one reason we are here on this earth. We are here to experience life, to laugh and scream and cry and live and love. This is it. There is no greater reason, no complex 'meaning of life'-that's it. We're here to experience the joy that is every second of our existence. So we should have no regrets. That when we die, we've done everything we've set out to do." I shook madly. The moment was upon me now. I could barely get the words out, my mouth had gone so dry. "That's why I asked you to come here tonight." Garrett started to speak, but I raised a shaking hand to his lips, begging for silence. If I didn't say it now, I never would. No matter what Garrett's answer was, I could not live with myself if I didn't at least say the words. I was shaking so badly my legs almost gave out from under me. "Garrett, I need you to know something. I need you to know that I'm gay, that I've always been gay, and that . . . and that I'm in love with you."
Chapter Eight: What Follows After
Garrett stared at me for a very long time. His mouth was open. There was no sound but the crashing of the surf. Another second longer and I was sure to throw up. "Well?" I asked, a trifle impatiently. I needed an answer-any answer-because the waiting was making it hard to breathe.
"If . . . if you weren't so serious . . . I'd say you were joking," Garrett stammered. I held my breath. "But you're not," he added, quite unnecessarily. He looked down at the sand around his feet. "You're not."
In that moment, I could see his answer. I reminded myself that I came here knowing full well that this would most likely happen. It didn't help. I wouldn't cry. I mustn't cry. "I'm sorry, Garrett," I whispered. I wasn't sure if he could hear me over the sound of the waves.
"I'm sorry too," he said back, still unable to meet my eyes. "I'm sorry, Tristan, but I just . . . I can't . . . I'm sorry," he finished lamely, his voice trailing off. There was more silence, then, and in it I thought I could hear something small within me break. I wanted to say something, anything to break that awful yawning silence, but I couldn't speak past the agony that choked me. I thought the waiting had been bad. This was far, far worse. "I-I have to go," Garrett said, his voice faltering on the words. He stepped backward then, still facing me. "I'm sorry." He turned and walked back up the beach. His walk became a run.
"We-we're still friends, right?" I managed to call out as he receded into the distance. He didn't turn around. I don't know if it was because he couldn't hear me or because he couldn't answer. "Garrett?" I called. But he was already gone. I sat down heavily on the sand. Water immediately soaked through my jeans. I didn't care. I watched as Garrett's car turned out of the parking stall and up the street. After he was gone I sat there and let the water rush through me, and wondered how long it would take before the tides could bear me away.
* * *
I had no idea where I was going. All I saw was an endless succession of lampposts, like clockwork, and the passing of pavement underneath my wheels. I glanced at my dashboard clock. Almost one in the morning. My parents had probably called to see where I was; they, at least, still cared. I had turned off my cell phone. I would speak to no one. I found myself turning right and heading up a hill in darkness, the only illumination the focused white of my headlights. Just drive, I told myself. Just drive. I pulled off the main road and into a parking lot. I turned off my car. Getting out, I walked through the rows of shadows up the hill and stood there before the sad gray marker. "You knew what this is like," I whispered. I knew Mark couldn't hear me, just as I knew Julian knew the same, but it helped, somehow. I didn't know why I was here, but something had died inside of me tonight.
I turned and looked at the ocean. Moonlight brought with it cold and stabbing starkness, a silver knife through the dark velvet of the night. Suddenly I saw myself floating alone and empty in the water. Face upturned, eyes closed, I could feel a final sinking, and then I opened my eyes underwater and my hair floated like seaweed in front of my face. The moonlight sent faint and dying shafts through the darkness. I could hear my heartbeat in my ears, a roar as loud as the crashing of waves on distant shores.
Oh, I should have let the waves carry me into oblivion. I should have let go and allowed the arms of the water to reach up and take me to its dark heart. It would be so warm there beneath the superficial chill.
Why did he run away?
I shouldn't have even said anything. I should've carried my love in silence, like a hidden shame that remains better a secret.
Why did he leave me?
I should have loved him quietly until it was time for me to walk off of this earth.
I should have let the surf carry me away.
I never should have opened that door. And yet . . .
And life passes so quickly, a blink of God's green eye, and I will not-
I stared at Mark's grave, the small stone that stood at the head of what had once been a living and vibrant human being. Julian's words echoed in my mind. This is what happens when you wait, when you're afraid. This is the end of all things.
-will not turn and turn in circles until I dizzily stumble into death-
Julian had been right. I had made the right decision. I only needed to look at the words across stone to see that truth. But just as Julian had been denied his love, so too had I been cast aside. Over and over in my mind I saw the turning, saw Garrett at first walk away, and then run. I heard the echo of my voice, thin and wavering, as I called out to him. The red of the car lights as he drove away.
And then the vast and screaming emptiness there on the beach, where things eternal and uncaring stood unmoved. In that moment, I wanted the world to fall away, to turn to dust and become as nothing. I wanted to turn and watch the moon and sun flicker and die; I wanted the universe to give one last shuddering sigh and give over into a neverending night. I wanted to be swept away to await the end of all things. All of life is filled with pain, and any fleeting moments of pleasure are merely the universe's way of teasing us before the darkness descends over our eyes again. I was tired and more than tired. I had given up in that moment, leaned back and closed my eyes as the waves washed up and over my mouth and nose and eyes and down again. It would be so easy to let go. It would be so easy to let the water wash away the pain. I hadn't moved, but the tide was ebbing, and soon the water only rushed and sucked at my feet. Deprived of even a gentle slipping away, I rose and stumbled back to my car. Now I was here, carried from one death to another death, and I ran idle hands across the stone. There were answers here.
Why was I like this? It would be so easy if things were different. If I were straight. If I didn't have this horrible numbing weight on my shoulders, a weight that screamed of otherness, of secrets. The kiss I'd shared with Sarah burned bitterly on my lips now. There are things in this life that we cannot change. I put my arms on Mark's tombstone and rested my head on my elbows. I remembered something else Julian had said: everything in this life ends in separation and death. Beneath my fingers, I could feel the tracings of three words on Mark's epitaph. We Miss You. My eyes burned and my lips trembled. I took deep and shuddering breaths and, shaking, fell asleep.
* * *
The morning sun and a tapping on my shoulder roused me to wakefulness. I tried to open my eyes, but they were puffy and swollen. The rising sun blinded me. Groggily, I turned. A man in a blue shirt and pants was standing over me. "You can't sleep here, son," he said gruffly, putting a hand on my shoulder.
The memory of last night flooded into my head once more. "Fuck you," I muttered, tossing his hand off. I tottered to my feet. It was cold and I was still damp in places. I felt horrible.
"Hey, look, it's just my job," the man said, folding his arms across his chest. "You have to leave."
I glanced down at Mark's grave, and then over at the sea. The sun had not yet touched the waters, and they were as gray as the stones in the cemetery. I started to stumble back toward my car. "Fine. I'm fucking leaving." I unlocked my doors and slid behind the wheel, starting the engine. I ran the heater and waited for the interior to warm; I held my hands in front of the vents for a moment. They shook wildly and I did not yet trust myself to drive. I flipped open my cell phone and, sure enough, there were several messages from my parents. I did not want to hear the sounds of human voices. After listening to two of their messages, I clicked the delete button and text-messaged my dad's phone: I'm okay-fell asleep at Taylor's. I'm on my way to school now. Sorry I didn't call. There. That would get through; my dad checked his messages religiously and would report immediately back to my mom. Sure enough, within a minute, I had a reply text: We'll talk about this when we get home tonight. Have a good day. The white lie didn't really even register; there were much larger things on my mind right now. I flipped my phone closed and backed out of the lot.
I found myself in front of St. Cyril's Catholic Church. The doors to the chapel were always open; in the violet of the dawn I found the handle and let myself in. The chapel was dark inside, lit only by the votive candles of the devout. I looked at the stained-glass wall and wondered. Although my parents had raised us all Catholic, I couldn't call myself deeply religious; I had too many questions, too many doubts, to blindly follow where others led. As I watched, the dark glass began to catch and glow in the light of the rising sun. I found a match, lit a candle and knelt there on the stone floor of the chapel. For a moment, as the fingers of dawn felt at my face and the visage of the Virgin was suddenly cast into sharp relief, I could feel the vast and awesome power of the numinous. Then the light shifted and the moment passed; I was left with a pale shadow of what I had briefly known. I stared into a candle and prayed: God, if you're there, if you're real . . . please try to help me. Try not to let this hurt so much. Because right now it hurts more than anything I have ever felt before. I was still for a minute more before I rose and made my way back to my car. The sun was above the horizon now. As I sat in my car, my whole body shook.
Trembling still, I drove home.
In the shower, the water rushed over me and for a moment I felt like opening my mouth and letting it all in. If the sea would not drown me, perhaps the shower will. Then I paused and realized that death by drowning in the shower might not be the best way to go after all. I got out and toweled off and padded into my bedroom, throwing on the first clothes I found. It was eight in the morning. I wasn't at school. I didn't care. I didn't want to have to see Garrett or talk to Sarah or Taylor or Julian and tell them how everything had fallen apart. I wanted to hide away from the world and never see anyone again. I loaded my computer, but when my instant messenger service came on, I put up an away message. I was one for original away messages, so this time I wrote:
Though you are gone
There will always be ripples in the water
In the places where you walked
Across the ocean of my heart.
I couldn't bear to think. I grabbed a katana off my wall and walked into the room where I practiced the forms of Shotokan. Unsheathing the sword, I set the scabbard aside and allowed my mind to go blank. Balancing myself evenly on two feet, I began working through forms and strikes with the sword. As I stepped and swung, the sun rose higher in the sky. There was no thought in this other than the simple motion of the blade and the rapid movement of arms and legs. I pivoted and spun and stabbed over and over again, practicing movements so rote that they were more a memory in my muscles than a memory in my mind. I whirled faster and faster, as though by moving quickly enough I could chase the demons from my head. As though I could outrun the memory of Garrett turning and walking away. Oh, how I longed to slice through those memories as easily as the katana sliced through the air. I wished I could put that night at the edge of the metal and pierce it until, like a bubble, it popped and left nothing behind.
Eventually, drenched in sweat and shaking from exertion, I dropped the sword and fell heavily to the ground. I sprawled out across the floor, my breathing rapid and uneven. I had pushed harder than I ever had before in an effort to forget. I turned my face to one side and I could see my reflection in the blade. Gray on gray made endless mirrors spiraling deeply inward. I closed my eyes. I did not want to look into those eyes; I did not want to look into myself.
I think I slept there, or passed out. The next thing I remember was glancing at the clock and noting that it was three in the afternoon. What had woken me up? I rose, body aching, and sheathed the katana once again. Stumbling down the hallway, I heard again what must have roused me. A knocking at the front door. Irritation flared as I tottered down the stairs and looked through the peephole.
Oh, God damn. It was Jared. Was it Wednesday already? I was supposed to tutor him and help him with his strokes today. I'd forgotten all about that. With a sigh, I rested my head against the door. My shoulders shook. I stayed like that for a moment and, the next time I glanced at the peephole, Jared was turning, shrugging and walking back toward his mom's car.
I couldn't be a disappointment like that. Not after the promises I'd made to Mrs. Luceri and not after everything I'd told Jared the day we'd had lunch together. I opened the door. "Jared," I called softly.
He turned around. "Tris!" he said. "I didn't see you in school today. Are you alright? You look terrible."
"I'm fine," I lied. I waved and tried to smile at Mrs. Luceri. I'm sure it looked horrible. Nonetheless, she smiled back and drove off; she would be back to pick up Jared within an hour and a half. I figured I could stand human contact for that long. "Listen, I was working out upstairs; I need to shower quickly. So head on up to the study and just get started on some of your homework and then we'll hit the pool after that."
Jared nodded. "Alright, that's fine. I have a page of math to do and then a few questions to ask you about this essay we're doing on the Renaissance. Anyway, uh . . . are you sure you're okay?" He glanced down at the katana in my hands. "Why're you holding a sword?"
"Oh, this? This is a katana." I pulled it out of the sheath and held it out in front of me. "I was . . . clearing my mind and practicing forms with it."
Jared's eyes were wide. He took a step backwards. "Ah . . . can you put that away? It's making me nervous."
"Don't worry, I know what I'm doing," I said as I put the katana back in its scabbard. I turned and walked up the stairs. "I'll meet you in the study in ten minutes." I walked into the bathroom and shut the door; Jared stopped at the study, which was a bit further down the hall, between the bathroom and my room. Quickly this time, I showered and hopped out. I realized that it was good that Jared was here. He knew nothing of what had passed between Garrett and myself, and talking to him was a distraction from the darker things that weighed on my mind. I walked down the hallway in my towel and poked my wet head into the study. Jared was seated at the desk in front of the window. He was bent over his books, blond hair in his face, writing on a piece of lined paper. He was tapping one bare foot on the wood floor as he worked. He must've left his sandals by the door, then. "How's it going?" I asked.
"Almost done," he said without looking up. "Seven more left to go." I leaned against the doorframe, idly watching him work. He glanced up. "Tris!" he said, shocked. "You're-practically naked!"
I almost smiled. Almost. "I'm wearing a towel," I said, gesturing downward. "You've seen me in my boardshorts plenty of times." I turned and went into my room to change.
When I emerged, Jared was on the last problem in the set. When he was done, he set down his pencil and looked at me. "Tris, something's bothering you," he said. "I can see it in your face." He closed his book and slipped it into the bag at his feet. "I'm not going to pry. But like I said, I'm your friend and if something's wrong . . . you know I'd want to help."
I stared out the window. It was easier than looking at Jared. "I had a bad day yesterday, Jared," I said. "Let's just leave it at that."
Jared hid his disappointment well, but I could read it in the set of his mouth. I knew he wished I'd trust him more, but it just wasn't possible for me to do so. I do not ration out trust easily. "Listen, Jared," I started. "It's not that I don't trust you, okay? It's that I don't want to talk about something that's so painful and at the same time so fresh in my mind. Do you understand?"
"Yeah, I do," Jared said. Then he did something that thoroughly surprised me. He wrapped his arms around me in a tight hug and then just as quickly let go. He stepped back and looked a little embarrassed. "Sorry, Tris . . . I just-"
"Shh, don't apologize," I said, reaching forward to put my arm across his shoulders. "You're probably the most honest person I know, Jared. Don't change. Don't ever change." So many people allowed their candor to be burned out of them over time. I did not want to see that happen to Jared. "Now," I said, pulling back for a moment, "I think we ought to hit the pool before we look at any other homework. What do you say?"
Jared grinned. I wished with everything in me that I had the strength to smile back. I think I tried. "Sounds good to me," he said. "Should I leave my stuff in your room?" I nodded; I'd already put on my boardshorts. Jared threw his bag in the corner of my room and stripped off his shirt and shorts. Underneath, he was already wearing his boardshorts. If he made the swim team, he'd have to get used to wearing a Speedo, but for the time being, boardshorts would suffice. Swim team tryouts were in a week, and Jared was in excellent shape for them; I was privately sure he was a shoo-in for the team. He had a natural talent for swimming and diving and was born with the thin, wiry body of a swimmer. His genetic lack of body hair certainly helped, too; here was one swimmer who wouldn't need to reach for a razor the day before a big meet.
I grabbed two towels and headed in the direction of the pool. "Today we're going to work on the breaststroke," I said. "Your left arm is a bit weaker than your right. You don't get the full range of motion out of that side."
Jared grinned and raised both hands to his chest, pantomiming rubbing his own nipples. "I seem to do just fine out of water," he said.
I rolled my eyes. "Don't flatter yourself," I said. Jared laughed and ran in front of me, turning a cartwheel as he went. Normally, I'd run alongside him, but not today. Today I had not the energy nor desire to run.
"Lighten up, Tris!" Jared called as he turned another cartwheel. He ran to the side of the pool and dived in. He popped to the surface. "I'm just playing, you know," he said seriously. "I don't like to see you look so down."
"Get to the edge of the pool and warm up," I said, ignoring his comments. As he swam, an image of Garrett flashed inside my head and was gone again. I sat down heavily. I wondered what he was doing right now. Probably laughing somewhere. Had he told everyone at school that I'd-I'd-no, no use thinking about that. No use thinking about him at all. Thoughts of Garrett were filled with nothing but pain. I couldn't believe he'd walked away. At the very least, I thought he'd be understanding, even if he turned me down. I hadn't imagined he'd turn away from me entirely.
"Hey, Tris?" Jared called from the edge of the pool. He'd finished his warm-ups, I figured; I'd been too distracted to notice. He leaned over the side of the pool, arms crossed on the concrete lip, chin resting on his forearms. "Are you gonna come in or not?" Without waiting for an answer, he flipped backward, executed a rather deft racer's turn and swam toward the other end of the pool.
I set my towel aside and dived in after him. "Alright, to the far end of the pool," I called when I surfaced. I looked around. Jared was nowhere to be seen.
A slight splash and a giggle were the only warnings I had before I was suddenly pushed under the water. Jared had put all his weight on top of my shoulders; underwater, he waved, grinned and pushed off of my legs, swimming away before I could grab him. I swam toward him underwater; I was still the faster swimmer between the two of us. Snagging his leg, I dragged him backward and pulled at his boardshorts. When they started to slip dangerously low, I let Jared free. We bobbed to the surface at the same time. Jared was in hysterics and could barely catch his breath. "I wish I'd seen your face!" he said between laughs.
"I'm certain it wasn't pleasant," I said. "Next time I'll pull them right off."
"See what I care," Jared said. With a grin, he waved his boardshorts around in the air.
My jaw dropped. "Jared!" I said, scandalized. He grinned, ducked underwater, put them back on, and came up again. "You're lucky I didn't snatch them out of your hand and run in the house," I said, a smile finally making its way across my face. It faded quickly, but it was a smile nonetheless.
"I just would've chased you," he said nonchalantly, shrugging his shoulders. "And maybe gone and ran out into the street to embarrass you." With that, he lunged at me and pushed us both underwater again.
Not a whole lot of instruction got done that day, but I think, in retrospect, that Jared planned it that way. He was a bright boy, and more and more perceptive each time we talked. By the end of the day, we hadn't gone over any strokes or looked at any of his homework, but when he left I ruffled his hair and had a genuine smile on my face. I think that, more than anything, was what he'd been after all along.
* * *
I finally flipped on my cell phone sometime in the late evening. A long discussion had taken place at the dinner table, but it was primarily my parents chastising me for not being home the previous night-something I'd never done before-and asking me if everything was alright. I had told them that Garrett and I had fought, and that's why I had been so upset, and that I'd gone and fallen asleep at Taylor's house after we'd talked about it. They accepted that and let me off the hook. When my mom saw me moping around, she gave me some dishes to dry and then told me to run along before I made the milk go sour.
I had seven unheard messages, so I scanned through them quickly. Two were from Taylor, one from Julian, two from Sarah, one from Jared and another from Liza, who obviously were unaware of the other's call. Liza's was the most interesting; she seemed to know nothing of what had transpired, which indicated that Garrett hadn't told her, or perhaps anyone else, what had happened. That was interesting. She also said that Garrett hadn't been in school that day either. I would've pondered that comment a little longer, but even thinking about Garrett was painful. Instead I listened to Jared's message, which had no mention of Garrett. Hanging out with Jared that afternoon had been a blessed relief; because he was totally oblivious to anything dealing with Garrett's and my friendship, he didn't even ask awkward questions or mention Garrett's name.
Listening to Julian's, Taylor's and Sarah's messages brought me back to reality, however; each of them had called for the predictable reason, to see how it had gone, and then both Taylor and Sarah had called again, worriedly wondering why I wasn't in school that day. I knew that at some point I'd have to face the music and acknowledge what had happened.
Just then, my phone rang in my hands. With a sigh, I hit the "Talk" button.
"This is Tristan."
"Hey Tris, it's Taylor. I've been waiting to hear from you. From the looks of things, it didn't go well."
I sighed and rubbed a hand across my face. "I don't really want to talk about it."
"I'm sure you don't, but that won't make it go away," Taylor said. He waited.
I waited.
Taylor made a frustrated noise. "Look, Tris, you don't have to talk about it if you don't want to. But it won't get any better. The more you stew inside, the worse it'll get."
I knew he was right, but the words could not pass through my throat. It was a raw place inside of me and I didn't want to let anyone in to see the wound. Something had been ripped out of me and I wasn't ready to probe that tear. "Tomorrow, Taylor. Tomorrow is Thursday. We'll talk about it after school."
"So you're actually going to show up tomorrow?"
"Yes."
"Even if Garrett is there?"
"Yes. I'll talk to you then." I was irritated now. "Goodbye." I clicked my phone shut before Taylor could respond. Maybe he'd get me to talk about what had happened, but I didn't have to pretend that I liked it. I set my phone aside and rolled into bed. I closed my eyes and fell almost immediately asleep.
My dreams were troubled and filled with water.
Chapter Nine: The End of the Beginning
Fortunately for the both of us, Garrett's locker was on the other side of the school. The only times our paths really crossed were at lunch and in gym. Nevertheless, from the moment I stepped through the gate that day, I was in a dark mood.
Taylor, wisely I think, knew to avoid me. I made it through my first class without incident, but when I was at my locker after first period, I saw Liza and Garrett engaged in conversation in the hall ahead of me. They walked past; Garrett ignored me, but Liza threw me a quick glance when she thought I wasn't looking. When they were gone, I slammed a fist directly into my locker. It dented and my knuckles bled on the metal and concrete. Fuck. Then, aloud: "Fuck! Fuck this!" Several people turned to stare at me, but I didn't care. I turned and walked away.
The rest of the day passed uneventfully until lunch rolled around. Julian found me walking to the lunch lines; he waved and came toward me. I didn't acknowledge his presence. Undaunted, he stood next to me in line and asked, "Well, how did it go?"
"How the fuck does it sound like it went?" I snarled, staring straight ahead.
Julian looked shocked at my outburst. "Oh, ah . . .. I'm really sorry, Tris, really, I am . . . uh . . . is there anything I can do?" he asked timidly. I'd hurt his feelings. I didn't really care.
"You can go the fuck away," I said.
"Oh . . . okay," Julian said in a small voice. I ignored him as he turned and walked off, defeated. I got my food and ate it, but it tasted like ashes. Restless, I paced up and down the empty hallways, avoiding any location where other students gathered. I saw Liza and Garrett again, but they weren't sitting together or talking; they each individually were walking in different directions. I wonder what Garrett had told Liza. I found I didn't want to know.
It was when I was walking down the furthest corridors from the lunch quad that I found Julian, sitting in the darkness of an overhang and eating alone. He heard me coming long before I saw him; my boots on the sidewalk echoed loudly ahead of me. He glanced up as I rounded the corner and my angry eyes met his hurt ones. Shit. I knew I had to correct this wrong, at least. "Julian," I said as I slowed.
"I'm sorry, Tris," he said quietly, glancing back down at the food on his lap.
I sighed. "It's not your fault," I said, slumping down to sit on the sidewalk beside him. I was quiet for a moment as I glanced around the vacant hallway. "It's been hard. It went badly. I don't really want to talk about it."
Julian looked as though he were about to put a hand on my shoulder and then thought better of it. "I know how you feel," he said. I realized he did. He'd been there before. The pain was different, somehow. At least he had been loved.
"It's not the same," I said quietly. "Mark . . . loved you. At least you had that, before . . . before what happened. It's like Tennyson said: 'Tis better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all."
"Tennyson wrote that in a poem called In Memoriam," Julian said. "The poem was written about a friend of his who died young."
Julian was right. I shook my head. No matter how I looked at it, his situation was worse than mine. "Garrett made the conscious decision to not love me. At least Mark had made the decision to love you . . . but in a way, that's worse, Julian. You know pain too. I know you know what this is like." I laughed; it was bitter. "At least Garrett's still here, even if he'll never speak to me again. He's as much as dead. Oh, God, it hurts."
"You did the right thing in telling him," Julian replied. "You did the thing I could never quite bring myself to do. Even if it turned out badly . . . at least you seized control of your life." He smiled. "Mark would've been happy. Happy that you did what you had to do." He did put his hand on my shoulder then. "It will pass in time, Tris. There will be days where you'll wake up and that'll be the first thing you think about, but you will find that as time goes on, that happens less and less." He ran his other hand through his hair. "And things that you will see that will inevitably dig up the memories, and the pain . . . but that passes too."
"I hope you're right," I said. "Because right now it hurts more than anything I've ever known." I looked at Julian. "I'm sorry, Julian," I said. "You have hurt more than I ever could. I didn't mean to . . . marginalize that."
"Don't worry," Julian said with a smile. "It was a year ago, and I'm much better now. The days aren't as dark as they once were, and the memories are . . . there is as much sweetness in them as there is sorrow. So it's okay. We live life one day at a time, after all."
"Yeah," I said. "I'm just going through the motions until it doesn't hurt so much."
"Remember to seize life, Tris," Julian reminded me. "Every breath we take is another moment of a rare experience, and it won't come our way again." With that, he got up and turned to go. "The bell's gonna ring soon," he said, "and I don't want to be late again. Tris. Don't let it consume you." He turned the corner and was gone.
I mused over what Julian had said through the rest of the day. Gym rolled around and I simply ignored Garrett; if I acted like he wasn't there, then it didn't hurt as much when I did alone or with others the things we usually did together. At the end of class, I skipped the showers, since I could go home immediately afterward. I shouldered my satchel and left, heading straight for the gates to the parking lot. Taylor met me halfway there. "Are you ready to talk about it?" he asked.
"Does it really matter to you if I am or not?" I shot back.
Taylor shrugged. "Not really." He fell into step beside me. "Tell you what-let's go get smoothies or something, my treat, and you can tell me the story then. I'll drive."
I nodded. "Fair enough. Hey, wait here," I said, then turned and ran back toward my locker.
"Where're you going?" Taylor called as I ran.
I turned briefly. "To get Julian!" I hollered. I found him at his locker, luckily, and told him he was coming with us. When we met up with Taylor again, I knew introductions were in order. Quickly, I said "Julian, this is Taylor Darman. Taylor, Julian Lambowski. Now, can the talk; you two can chat while I drive." We went out to the parking lot. "So I'll drive so I can put the top down. It's a nice enough day for that." Only in California could a day in October still be sixty-five degrees-cool enough to roll down the top and drive along the coast. It would improve my mood.
"Is this your way of telling the story all at once, so you don't have to do this several times?" Taylor asked.
"Well, not really," I said honestly. "I actually already told Julian most of it, and there's Sarah too, whom I'd have to tell . . . actually," I said, pulling out my cell phone, "let me call her and see if she can join us. That way I can tell it all at once." I sighed. For a moment, I missed Garrett with an intensity that burned. "The less I have to tell this story, the better." I dialed Sarah's number. "Hey, Sarah, it's Tristan," I said when she answered. "Where are you?"
"I'm on my way home-what happened the other night? I've called you and I didn't even see you today-"
"Sorry, Sarah; I've been avoiding everyone. It didn't go well. Actually, that's why I called. Taylor, Julian and I are on our way over to Wired. Wanna join us?"
"Julian? As in Julian Lambowski?"
"Well, yeah, who else?" I asked, realizing that I hadn't told her of our recent friendship. "Do you want to meet us or not?"
"Sure, sure," she said. "I'm flipping a U-turn right now." Indeed, through the phone I could hear the screech of tires. I hoped she'd turned a legal one. Somehow, I doubted it. "I'll be there before you guys, I bet."
I grinned and gunned the engine. "I doubt that." I flipped my phone shut, handed it to Taylor, and blasted down the street. We turned back onto PCH-really, all the best places were along PCH, unless we felt like heading inland to the mall-and pulled into the lot. Sarah was just rumbling up beside us; I guess that made it a tie. She was out of the car before all three of us were, however, so I figured she'd try to declare herself the winner by default.
Surprisingly, she didn't say anything. "So, Julian, I'm Sarah Vergell. I don't know that we've been properly introduced." She reached out her hand.
Julian took it. "It's nice to meet you, Sarah," he said. "It's funny; I don't have any classes with you guys."
"Well, all of us are in the Honors and AP Core," Taylor said as we walked inside and up to the counter to order.
"Which begs the question: why aren't you, Julian?" I asked. "I'll be honest-I used to think you weren't that bright, but now I know I was totally wrong about that. You'd totally do fine in Honors."
"I don't know," Julian replied.
"You know, it's only, like, mid-October," I said. "Definitely not too late for you to test in. There'd be a little makeup work and whatnot, but nothing major. Our first big projects don't really start until December."
"We'll see," Julian said. "Honestly, I'm pretty well-settled in my classes now, and I'm not sure I have the personality for Honors." He sat down at a nearby table. "We'll see."
"That'll have to do, I suppose," I said.
When all of us were seated at a table, Taylor and Sarah looked at me expectantly. Julian had already heard the story, so he was understandably less impatient. So I told them everything that had transpired that night on the beach, sparing no details. I felt again the pain and the loss as I told them how Garrett had been silent, how he had then turned and walked away from me. Through the pain, I felt an odd sensation, a loosening of bonds in my chest. It was as though a poultice had been placed on a wound in my heart and was drawing the pain like poison up, up and out through the wound to disperse in the open air. I found that when I was done, when I looked up from the table at the sympathetic faces in front of me, I felt better than I had in what seemed a long while. I would sleep more easily tonight, and if my dreams were troubled by water again, this time at least I would be able to swim free.
"I'm so sorry, Tristan," Sarah said. Unconsciously, her hand had found mine under the table. I clutched to it, knowing that this time her touch was not one born of desire, but of friendship.
"So Garrett hasn't talked to you since?" Taylor asked. "It does make sense-when I saw him earlier today, he didn't say a word about you."
"Nothing?" I asked.
"No . . . neither good or bad."
Julian gave me a hopeful glance. "Well, no news is good news, right?" he offered.
I shook my head. "From Garrett, no news is bad news."
"Listen, Tristan." Taylor seized my attention. "If Garrett can't accept who you are, who you have to be, he's not much of a friend."
"It's inevitable that people are going to hate you for who you are, Tris," Julian said. "It's just a fact. It's why I was scared, at first. Some people are just born to hate. Some people are just born to misunderstand. You have to accept that."
"Change the ones you can," Sarah said.
"Of course," Julian affirmed. "Change the ones you can, and accept that some, you can't."
"You should be able to change them all," Sarah grumbled.
Taylor laughed. "In a perfect world, sure," he said. "Unfortunately, this isn't. Far from it."
Julian raised his eyebrows and grinned. "That's easy for you to say, Taylor. You don't have to put up with the hatred. You're straight."
Sarah and I were completely silent.
Taylor snorted. "Guess again, buddy," he said.
"No way," Julian breathed. "You too?"
"Only on days that end with 'y,' " Taylor said.
"Very funny," Julian replied. I could tell he was still a little shell-shocked. "Then why aren't you two-you know-" he made a hand motion indicating that we should be together. "I mean, since you two both are-"
"He's not my type," Taylor and I both said at the same time. We looked at each other and laughed.
"Thanks a lot," I said.
"Well, you said it first," Taylor replied. "Seriously, Tris, as far as Garrett is concerned . . . take your time. I know it hurts. But when someone else comes along, when there's someone else you meet . . . don't let your feelings for Garrett, or your upset at what happened, hold you back."
"That's pretty much what Julian's been telling me," I said. "Trust me, I believe you both."
"Oh?" Taylor looked at Julian. "So that wasn't as original as I hoped?"
Julian shook his head. "Hate to burst your bubble and all . . . "
A thought struck me. "Hey, guys." They looked at me. "Beyond Garrett, only you three know the truth of all this. Don't say anything to Liza, please. She doesn't know yet, unless Garrett told her, and if he did, I want to hear it from her. She doesn't even know that I'm . . . that I'm gay. So don't say anything."
"You haven't told her?" Taylor asked, surprised. "I thought that of all of us, she was closest to you."
"Yeah, well," I said. "Each of you kind of found out more or less accidentally. I mean, Taylor, you guessed it; Sarah, you pushed until I had to tell you-sorry-and Julian, well, you're gay already, so telling you wasn't a big risk." Sarah smiled and Julian made a face. "Liza doesn't know, and doesn't yet need to know, until I feel her out on the entire issue. Besides, she was chatting with Garrett today and I don't know where she stands on all of this, so it'll take a little time to sort out her position on this and figure out exactly what Garrett told her."
"Don't worry, we won't say a word," Taylor said. I looked at the other two; they nodded. Good. That was settled. "Now, Tris, a serious question," Taylor said.
I nodded. "Go ahead."
"Honest answer: are you sure you're alright? I know it must hurt a lot, but we're here for you. All of us care about you, Tris. We want to know that you're okay."
"And that if you want us to, we'll beat the shit out of Garrett," Sarah added. She winked to show that she wasn't serious. I think.
I thought about it for a moment. "I'll be alright," I said. "I'm not going to lie and pretend that everything's okay. I'm hurting, obviously. But there's not a lot I can do about it, and I'm sure I'll feel better over time." I looked over at Julian. "You're right; I did the right thing in telling Garrett. That was not a mistake. All it means is that now I can stop wasting my time pining after him and start looking ahead." Even as I said it, I could feel the pain of losing Garrett's friendship. There are things in this life we cannot change. Fine. I would not look back. "It'll take awhile. Perhaps a long while. Right now, unless I'm thinking about something else, my mind always drifts back to that night on the beach, or some memory of Garrett . . . it's hard. But, well, Julian, you know what it's like. It'll get less difficult as time goes on. I'm sure of it." And even through the pain, I knew that it would be so.
* * *
After dinner that night, I spent most of the evening practicing with my katana. There was a certain focus, a narrowing of thought to a fine line, that pushed out all other distractions. I practiced forms against multiple attackers, and then shifted into forms against one attacker. After my arms grew tired from the weight of the blade and my legs were throbbing from exertion, I set the sword aside. Sweat ran down my bare neck and back and disappeared along the waistline of my pants. While in the dojo, I always wore my gi, but at home the canvaslike outfit was too hot. After sitting in a corner of the gym for a moment, I felt my energy return slightly. I spun up from my crouch on the ground and kicked as I rose. This time without the blade, I whirled through the rapid strikes and kicks that, after five years of training, had become imprinted on places more primal than the mind. Again I felt that narrowing of focus; all thought shifted aside and for awhile I could engage in a simple and deadly dance back and forth across the room. I was scant months away from my blackbelt test, and if I wanted to be good enough to pass, I not only had to execute the forms flawlessly, I had to have the stamina to maintain continuous practice and exercise for at least six hours, if not more. I was nervous about the test, which took place over two days and was veiled in secrecy until the moment the test began. I knew Garrett would be testing with me then; we'd been training at the same dojo ever since we were twelve years old.
At the thought of Garrett, my step faltered momentarily. Grimacing, I drove him out, found that balance point and struck out again. It was like walking along the edge of a sword, maintaining that mental stillness in the face of all of my life's distractions. In a way, the level of concentration reminded me of when I would lie still underwater; that same unity of thought and motion was present in this fluid movement from strike to strike.
At about eight that evening, after several hours of practice, the phone rang. My mom came into the gym and handed me the phone. "It's Liza," she said. "She says she wants to talk to you. Where's your cell?"
"Over there, in the corner."
"Why didn't she just call your cell phone?"
"I don't know," I replied, taking the phone from her. "Thanks, Mom."
"Do you want some shortcake? Your dad and the twins had some and said it was very good. I'll leave you a piece downstairs if you'd like."
I could feel my stomach rumbling nervously as I held the phone in my hands. "No, Mom, thanks. I don't think I could stomach much right now."
"Are you alright?"
"Fine. My stomach's just bothering me a bit is all." I put the phone to my ear to indicate that our conversation was over. "Liza."
"Oh, Tris, there you are. Are you okay?"
"What do you mean, am I okay?"
"Well, I know you and Garrett had a . . . fight. I wanted to make sure you weren't too upset."
"I'll be fine. What do you want?"
Liza seemed hurt. "To talk to you, of course."
"Why didn't you just call my cell?"
"Because . . . I was afraid you wouldn't answer."
"I might not have."
"Why are you so mad, Tris? I didn't do anything to you."
I ignored her question. "What did Garrett say about our fight?"
"Nothing-just that you two had fought and that now he's mad at you."
"That was it?"
"Yeah, why?"
"You're not lying to me, are you? Cause if you are, and I find out, I will make you regret it until you die."
"I swear I'm telling you the truth . . . why are you two fighting? What happened?"
"That's none of your business, Liza."
"Look, asshole! I'm calling to find out what the shit is going on, cause as far as I'm concerned, I'm just gonna stay out of your stupid little fight and be a friend to both of you. But if you're gonna be a bastard about it, then you can fuck off and I'll get it from Garrett."
"No! Look, Liza, leave it alone. Seriously. It'll work itself out in the end." I sighed. "How's the diet going?" I was looking for anything to switch topics, really.
"Don't change the subject!" Liza said. "I saw the way you looked at us in school today. You looked like you wanted to kill us. I heard you punched a dent into your locker, too. Oh, and I've lost two pounds," she added after a brief pause.
In my present mood, I could care less. "Look, I don't care what you do or don't do. Just know that it doesn't look like Garrett and I will be patching things up. Ever." I realized I was very, very tired, and suddenly I wished that everything would just go away. For a moment I missed Garrett with everything inside of me. Something huge and deep within me longed to cry out in loneliness. I trembled as I held myself from flying apart. "I need to go, Liza," I said, my voice breaking on the words. "I will talk to you tomorrow." I hung up the phone and set it aside. I had to keep from looking at it. I knew if I stared at it for too long, the vast and yawning emptiness within me would take control of my hand and I would call Garrett. I would not do that. I would not chase after him; I would not be a gnat buzzing around his head.
Everything good in this life ends in separation and death.
A light in my heart had gone out. Sometimes, I thought, it seems as though separation and death are one and the same. I breathed in deeply, taking in all my lungs could hold, and let out my shuddering breath, hoping that this moment too would pass.
It did, and the moment after that did too, and the moment after that. All I would have to do is learn to block out the pain. Learn to ignore the things that I felt inside. I could teach myself not to feel, to be cold inside until the wound froze over and broke apart. Then, in the numbness, I would be whole again.
Chapter Ten: Descent
Darkness fell early in these days so close to Christmas. We'd rolled the clocks forward almost a month ago and still the early nightfall was somehow surprising, as though maybe just this one day the sun would stay up just a little while later before slipping beneath the sea. We had about a little over a week to go before the big Thanksgiving break and our teachers were loading us up with unimaginable amounts of work to be completed before the Christmas break. The heady days of random sunlit cruising were over. Rain had fallen for most of the previous week and it seemed that the muted gloom of a California winter had settled thickly over the entire coast. Ventures to the beach were now replaced by trips inland, to the huge sprawling malls that sprung up predictably around rows of tract homes and still-green lawns-oh, this was California, after all-and our nights were consumed with scribbling out frenzied essays and problem sets. In a way, I found the work relaxing; it was a purposeful solitude, a way of shutting out all other distraction and focusing on a single task in silence. Today was Friday, and I'd been home about an hour; after leaving school, I'd come directly here. Tonight Taylor had finally convinced me to go to the gay coffeehouse a ways up the 405 Freeway, in Long Beach; I'd acquiesced only after he pointed out that this would be Julian's first time going, too, and I should not miss out on the experience. It'll be a big gay outing, I thought sourly. I set my thoughts on this evening aside and concentrated on my English paper on T.S. Eliot's poem "The Hollow Men." There was really no good reason I was doing my homework on a Friday other than that I liked the excuse for why I wasn't already out and about. I glanced again at the middle of the poem, which I was analyzing:
In this last of meeting places
We grope together
And avoid speech
Gathered on this beach of the tumid river
God, I hope tonight's not like that, I thought. The mental image was almost amusing. Primarily, however, it came across as just disturbing. Maybe I would be wise to call Taylor and tell him I'd go another time. If I did, though, Taylor would have a hard time forgiving me and Julian would be left all alone while Taylor ran off to flirt with the older boys.
The cursor on my computer screen blinked insistently in my face. Fine. Eliot speaks to the emptiness of a life lived without action, the insignificance of existence without purpose, and tells us that it is this that we should most fear. Eliot would contend in later works that the world is full of such people; in his later years, he found solace in religion as a method of staving off the corruption of inaction. I leaned back for a moment. Eliot's words leaped out of the page at me:
Between the idea
And the reality
Between the motion
And the act
Falls the Shadow
I would go tonight. I would not be inactive; I would not let life pass me by. I clicked the "Close" button on my program and turned off the computer. I didn't think I'd meet anyone of note at the coffeehouse, but at least I'd get out for awhile. After all, I wanted to become a bit more familiar with the gay scene, so I'd at least know what I was getting myself into. Some things are just inevitabilities, and after a point it's time to simply embrace that which is unchangeable. With a sigh, I dug out a pair of distressed jeans and a black t-shirt. I'll at least dress the part, I thought as I stepped out of the khakis I had been wearing. I peeled off my shirt and glanced in the mirror, wondering if I would be wise to redo my hair before I left. I finally decided against it and stripped off my boxers, reaching for a fresh pair. Without thought I slipped them on and then realized that it had been at least two weeks since the last time I'd jerked off. I had ample time to do it now if I so chose, but instead I shrugged and slipped on the jeans and t-shirt. I hadn't felt the urge at all. I still didn't. I wondered if I would again.
Trotting downstairs without putting on shoes or socks, I meandered into the library and turned on the sound system. I picked up a book, flipped through a few pages, and set it back down again. I turned off the speakers. Okay, so I was antsy. This is silly. And yet, who could I call? Julian and Taylor were probably getting ready and there was no reason to call them before they came to meet me. Jared was off at swim practice-he'd made the team, much as I knew he would-and Liza was probably waiting to bring him home after practice. Besides, I hadn't talked to Liza much recently. Come to think of it, I hadn't talked to too many people recently. It bothered me that I couldn't remember the last time I'd had a long conversation with Sarah. And Garrett . . . well, Garrett was dead to me. Seeing him in the hallways and in gym was like seeing something ephemeral, something not quite there-my eyes slipped past him and around him without a flicker of recognition or emotion. I felt nothing these days when I thought of him or when I saw him. It was as though every aspect of our intertwined lives had been unraveled and burned away.
Perhaps eating before we left would be a wise idea. I wouldn't want to get anything more than a light coffee drink or perhaps tea when we went to the coffeehouse, and since we'd be leaving right before dinner, I decided food was in order. I found some cold cuts and made a sandwich, but after I'd finished, I found that I didn't really care to eat it. I sat and chewed it mechanically. This happened fairly often, I realized-although I ate, much of what I ate had lost its appeal.
My cell phone rang midway through my sandwich. I flipped it open, glad for the interruption. "This is Tristan."
"Tris, it's Taylor. Do you wanna leave a bit early to get something to eat at Fashion Island?"
"Isn't that a little out of the way?"
"Maybe a bit, but we can just pick up the 405 near UC Irvine."
I wasn't sure I wanted to leave earlier than we'd previously arranged. "It'll take longer than if we were to just take Laguna Canyon Road up through the preserve. Does Julian want to go?"
"He said he's okay with whatever."
I sighed. "Alright, that's fine. It's about time to eat anyhow." I scooped the rest of the sandwich into the trash. "Who's driving?"
"Julian."
"Very funny. Seriously."
"I'm fine to drive," Taylor said. He had an SUV of some sort; I could never quite remember what it was. It guzzled gas; to me, that was all that mattered. I didn't much feel like driving, however, so I decided to leave it in Taylor's hands. "Okay?"
"Fair enough. Come get me, then." I hung up, slipped on dark socks and a pair of ankle-cut boots. I paced in front of the entryway until I saw Taylor's headlights rounding the drive. I went out and hopped in the backseat; Taylor had, at some point, already picked up Julian. That made sense, I realized; Julian, like Sarah, lived close to the school, while I lived some distance up into the hills. Sometimes I wish my parents had sprung for beachfront property, but the view from the hills was marvelous. Besides, there was far less traffic up here. "Howdy, boys," I said as I buckled myself in.
Julian turned around to look at me. "Where do you want to go for dinner?"
I shrugged. "Wherever. I'm not starving. There're a few decent restaurants up by Fashion Island, and if not there, there's always South Coast off the 405."
"You never seem hungry anymore, Tris." Julian looked concerned. He put a hand on my knee. "Look, I . . . "
"Don't say anything, Julian," I said. I made a twirling motion with my finger, indicating that he'd best turn around. With a sigh, he faced front. I saw Taylor raise one eyebrow as he glanced at Julian. "What the fuck was that?" I asked angrily, leaning forward.
"Nothing," Taylor said calmly. He switched lanes. "We're all a bit curious why you've been a dick for the last month, though."
"What the shit are you talking about?" I asked. "Look, if you guys are gonna play twenty questions, let me out of the goddamn car."
"Okay." Taylor pulled off onto the shoulder. "Go ahead." He refused to look back at me.
I hesitated. "Look, just don't ask me any more questions, alright?"
Taylor shook his head. He still didn't turn. Somehow, it pissed me off that he wouldn't even deign to make eye contact with me. "Nope. Either you tell us why you've been avoidant and pissy for the last month or you can walk home. Take your pick."
"Fuck you; drive."
"Listen, if I pull back onto the road, I'll drive in the oncoming traffic lane until you talk."
Julian turned around. "Tris . . . please don't do this. You really have been ignoring everyone. You have no idea . . . remember that day Sarah was upset over that falling out she'd had with Arachnia? She tried to hug you, Tris. Do you remember?" I did. I'd hugged her back; what was the big deal? "Tris, you didn't even lift your arms. You let her put her head on your shoulder. But you didn't even touch her yourself. What the hell is wrong with you?" Julian reached out to touch my knee again; I flinched back. "See, I knew you'd do that. This is stupid."
I was growing angrier by the minute. "Look, I'm serious, guys. I don't know what you're talking about. I'm the same as I've always been."
"I'll be the first person to admit that you're not a terribly friendly human being, or even particularly nice," Taylor said, "but even by your standards, you've been incredibly unresponsive of late."
I was totally nonplussed. "Well, I don't know what to tell-"
Taylor cut me off. "Oh, I talked to Garrett the other day," he said nonchalantly.
"Oh?" I said, genuinely uninterested. "I'm over him entirely, if that's what you're insinuating." I was, too. Even at the mention of his name, I felt nothing.
"Okay, not really. But I did want to see if that would elicit a reaction."
"Sorry to disappoint, but I really don't care."
Julian shook his head. "About anything."
"What?"
Julian didn't meet my eyes. "You just . . . gave up. You did exactly what I told you not to do. You're shutting out the world, Tris. You're closing your eyes to-"
I groaned. "Do me a favor and shut up with the bullshit, Julian. This world isn't this rosy place you imagine it to be all the time, with your fucking rose-tinted glasses and flowers in your hair. God damn it, Julian, don't you see? It's just life. We live it and then we die and that's it. Oh, and we fuck and make more of us, but I won't be doing that, either, so I may as well just spin my wheels until I inherit my parents' money and then bequeath it to my little nieces and nephews when I die too."
Julian turned around. "Drive, Taylor."
"Not until we-"
"Fucking drive, Taylor. He's not going to talk about it. He's not ready. Just let's go."
It was a silent car that pulled up to Fashion Island twenty minutes later. Dinner passed in silence as well, and when we got back into the car Julian angrily flipped on the radio to drown out the noise of tires on asphalt. Taylor swung around and up toward the 405. I stared out my window the entire time, watching the oil refineries a ways off the freeway; the tallest metal towers spat out gouts of flame that lit up the night and died. We passed them and then Taylor rolled off the freeway and down streets lit up and filled with pedestrians moving back and forth, pretending to be alive. We pulled into a parking lot and Taylor and Julian got out of the car. I stepped out before Taylor could lock the doors; glancing up, I saw where Taylor had met all of his little undergraduate dates. It looked like an ordinary coffeehouse-nothing special, not even the name, The Bean, nothing to mark it as the gay hangout that it was. We went inside and immediately the smell of coffee beans assaulted my nose and the babble of dozens of voices raised in conversation hit me. I glanced around, momentarily taken aback; every table was filled and dozens of boys were standing around chatting in corners, leaning against the windows or the walls. There were boys of every stripe here, from the surfers with their boardshorts and long hair casually leaning against a cabinet to the jocks in sleeveless t-shirts that were huddled around a knot of tables to even a couple of drag queens chatting languidly over coffee gripped in hands with long, painted nails.
Beside me, Julian was just as awed. "Oh my God, Taylor, I had no idea," he said, his eyes wide. "You know what it reminds me of?"
"What?" Taylor stood behind us impatiently; he'd seen all this before.
"That scene in Star Wars, in the Mos Eisley cantina," Julian said. "All it's missing is aliens playing saxophones."
"That's next weekend," Taylor said wryly. "Come on, let's get something to drink and find a place to scope out the crowd." They stood in line, but I lingered, scanning the room. There were guys here that looked like they were younger than me and then there were some that were as much as ten years older. There were the cliques and the obvious groups of friends and the people that just as evidently clustered around one another simply because they didn't fit anywhere else. There were people that looked just like me. It was hard to boil down this crowd and classify them. I think for the first time I realized just how varied the spectrum of homosexuality was; here were people from every walk of life, all of them united by one small facet of being. Ordinarily, people of such diverse backgrounds would never mingle in one place. For a moment, I was overwhelmed with a sense of what it truly meant to be gay, to share a characteristic that indiscriminately crossed all social boundaries. It was ironic that something that chose people so randomly, without prejudice or preference, would be treated with such bigotry and intolerance.
I wandered closer to a knot of boys around my age. They were discussing religion; one of their number, from the sound of things, was a devout Christian, and was reconciling being gay with belief in God. "God doesn't judge until the moment you stand before Him on that final day," he was saying. "So it's really no one's place to judge but God's."
"Bullshit," one of the other guys said. "They all look at us and think we're queers and faggots and that we're all gonna burn in hell. It's all a load of fucking crap."
"But that's what they say," the Christian boy continued. "That's not how God feels-" I stepped away and moved on, circling the room. Julian and Taylor were chatting at a table that they had miraculously snatched from a group of shaven-headed kids. I found myself near a group of skaters comparing arm and knee scars. Two drag queens walked past me. One of them made eye contact and I smiled nervously; it really was hard to tell that there was a boy under all that makeup. I wondered if he had to shave his head to get that peroxide blond wig to fit so snugly. In spite of myself, I was somehow impressed. The drag queens walked out and I leaned against the window, scanning the crowd. Taylor was chatting with a cute black guy that had stopped to talk; Julian was tapping his foot impatiently under the table.
I started to make my way over to break the ice with Julian when a hand grabbed at my arm. "Don't think I've seen you here before," a slightly effeminate voice said in my ear. I turned. The arm was attached to a rather attractive boy perhaps a little older than me. He was dressed in the tightest jeans I'd ever seen and an artfully ripped t-shirt. There was something exotic about the set of his features, his straight brown hair and slightly upturned eyes set above high cheekbones.
"This is my first time here," I said.
"No wonder. I thought someone like you would've made an . . . impression," the boy said with a smile, solidifying his hold on my arm. I flushed slightly. I saw Julian make eye contact with us and then look away without acknowledgment. "Well, you can't just stand in a corner all alone, you know," he said. "How about we find a table in a corner somewhere?"
"Ah-well-my friends are sitting over there-" I started, pointing them out.
"We'll leave them alone," the boy replied, pulling me in the opposite direction.
"What's your name?" I asked, a trifle breathlessly. This was all happening a bit quickly.
"Name?" he said, as though surprised I'd asked. "Seth. Seth Lokine."
"I'm Tristan Eliot," I offered.
"You from around here?"
"Laguna Beach. You?"
"I go to USC. I'm a freshman." We passed an open table, but Seth kept moving; finally, he stopped at one in the corner of the room. Two nondescript preppie-looking types were just filing out onto the patio area. He pushed me down into a seat. "You're in high school?" he asked. God, his gaze was intense.
"Yeah-a junior." When he was quiet, I kept going. His stare unnerved me, and coupled with his general exotic appearance, I was even more nervous. Yet rather than get up and walk away, I found I wanted to keep talking to this Seth Lokine. There was something about him, something that caught and held-"Er-at Laguna Hills High. About thirty-five miles south of here. More or less. Heh. Ah-ever been down there?"
"Once or twice," Seth finally said, fiddling with a bracelet on his arm. I glanced down. It was almost identical to the one Taylor had been wearing the day he met up with us at A Cavern of Crabs. "I don't really go out of the city too much, though. There's not a lot of need to. L.A. really has just about everything, you know. You club?"
"Huh?"
"Do you go clubbing. Dancing. At clubs. With music. You know?" He enunciated each word deliberately.
"Uh . . . I'm only seventeen."
"So?" He looked surprised. "What, you don't have a fake?"
"A fake ID? No, I don't-"
Seth snorted. "Boy, you don't know what you're missing," he said. "You dance?"
I was a bit flustered at the barrage of questions. And by those eyes. Shit, but a boy could get lost in those things. "Yeah, some, I guess. At school dances and stuff-"
"Not that kind of dancing. Club dancing. You gotta check out the circuit-oh my god, this is so fuckin' sad, a boy as hot as you and you've never been up to WeHo-"
"Weho?" As hot as me?
"West Hollywood," Seth said, rolling his eyes and making a face that made me feel like I was a ten-year-old in the slow class. "Look, I know some guys that can get you a fake so you can check it out-WeHo's the best place south of Castro, you know."
"Castro?" Maybe he was Cuban or something, what with those strange eyes-I should ask, really; they're very beautiful, whatever they are-
"Oh my God, you don't get out much, do you?" he drawled. "The Castro district. San Francisco. You have heard of San Francisco, right? Big city up north, lots of gay boys running around?"
"I have some passing familiarity with it," I said sarcastically.
"I was raised up there," Seth said. "Listen, kid-what's your name-Tristan? Tris-you mind if I call you Tris? It's easier to remember-let's say you and I go up to WeHo next weekend; I'll set you up with a fake. You gotta see it, kid; it makes this place look like a Bingo convention at an old folks' home. It's off the hook."
"I don't know," I said slowly. "Can I bring a few-"
"Shit, I'm not the DMV," Seth said irritably. "I can get one ID at a time."
"Yeah, maybe," I said, a trifle reluctantly. I'll admit I was interested, sure, but all the way up to Los Angeles-I didn't go up into the city that often, really-but God this Seth was cute . . .
"Listen, here, let me give you my cell number," Seth said, scribbling it down on the back of a piece of paper. It looked like a label of some sort. "Keep it and call me. I'll be here next week too."
"A-alright," I said, putting the paper into my pocket. Would it be rude if I didn't return the favor? Oh, what the hell. "Er-here, here's mine." I jotted it down; Seth didn't even glance at it as he put it into his jacket pocket.
"Awesome. Look, Tris, it was great meeting you," Seth said. He leaned in suddenly and kissed me. On the lips. Hard. Surprised, I was frozen for a moment before more primal parts of me overrode my thought processes. I found myself leaning forward and opening my mouth to his hungry advance. Then, as suddenly as he'd struck, Seth pulled back and, with a grin, pushed back his chair to leave.
"Wait," I gasped, reaching out for his sleeve. I couldn't stand up just yet, not without causing myself great embarrassment. I shifted slightly under the table. "Er-I gotta ask-your eyes-"
Seth laughed. "Oh, I get that a lot. I'm half Japanese. My middle name is Susanuo. Anyway, Tristan Elliot . . . call me." He grinned and winked and walked out.
Call him? I stayed seated until it was safe to stand up again. One part of me, at least, had definitely made up its mind.
* * *
"Okay, what's wrong, Julian?"
"Nothing."
"You haven't said a word to me since we found Tris."
"Well, it's not like you spoke to me the whole time you were talking to Spaz."
"His name is Chas, Julian. And I'm sorry."
"Okay, whatever." Julian folded his arms and was silent.
"So . . . did you have fun, Tris?" Taylor asked, turning around briefly to look at me. I don't think he really expected an answer.
I surprised him. "Yeah, that Seth guy . . . was interesting."
"Wow, you're talking to us?"
"Since you asked so nicely, I guess."
"Did you get his number?"
"Yeah. What about Chas?"
Julian spoke up again. "Shut up, guys."
I wasn't entirely used to Julian being in a foul mood, so the car was pretty quiet after that. It was about midnight when Taylor dropped me off in front of my house. The lights were off and everyone was asleep, so I walked quietly up the stairs and stripped for bed. As I got under the sheets, I remembered the kiss Seth had given me before walking away. I remembered his eyes. My imagination took over, and in my mind there was an empty coffeehouse and the twining of bodies. Two weeks of loneliness finally found their answer there in the darkness of my room; everything touched by time flowed out of me like water in my feverish rush of sensation and memory. As I sweated and trembled under the sheets, I realized that a part of me that I had given up for lost was slowly reaching toward the sun. I was through with holding back. A flood was building within me and I was all too glad to let the dams fall away. My legs tensed, then my chest and arms and then that last part of me that throbbed and spasmed and went still. Finally, all at once, it was over. The momentary heat subsided into a warm glow and I fell asleep.
The sun across my face roused me out of slumber. I yawned, stretched, and threw the bundle of Kleenexes into the trash can. Yeah, I'm gonna need a good long shower. Walking to my window, I threw it open and breathed in the chill air. November was always one of my favorite months. I especially loved the period between Halloween and Christmas; the torrent of festivities swept me up in excitement every year. Although it was a chilly morning, the sun painted my naked skin golden. I decided to leave the window open. I found a pair of boxers and slipped them on, then pulled a t-shirt over my head and headed for the bathroom. After I'd showered, I went down into the kitchen and poured myself a bowl of cereal.
My mom was awake and bustling about. "Morning, Tris," she said, cutting a banana into by cornflakes. "Here, have some banana."
"So much for the illusion of choice, eh, Mom?" I asked wryly as she finished cutting the banana. "So where's Dad?"
"He's still asleep." She turned to me. "You look better this morning than you have in a long time, dear."
I was instantly wary, but then calmed down. This was my mother, after all. "What do you mean?"
"Nothing. You just look like you're glad to see the sunrise this morning, that's all."
I wasn't having it. My brains came from somewhere, after all, and I was looking right at the source. "Please, Mom. You're as bad as me for never saying anything without a good reason."
She laughed. "Can't a mother make an innocent comment about her son's demeanor?" She pulled another banana from the bunch. "Would you like a second banana?"
"I'll pass." Fine; if she was going to be coy, I'd play by her rules. "So why are you so peppy this early?"
"I just wake up in a better mood than you. Especially of late." There. She'd done it again.
"Alright, I'll bite," I sighed. "What are you getting at, Mom?"
"I told you, dear," she said with a barely-concealed smile. "Absolutely nothing."
I would get nowhere unless I cracked first, apparently. "Okay, so I've been a bit out of it this last month," I admitted.
"Because of your fight with Garrett," my mother said.
I raised an eyebrow. "And how do you know?"
She laughed and tousled my hair. It felt good. "Mothers know everything." She pulled up a chair and sat down. "Tris, I love you. You know that, right?"
I smiled. "Yes, Mom. I love you too."
"Sometimes the only way to get you to talk is to out-blasé you." I made a face. "And if you ever ask me if I actually said that, I'll deny it to the high heavens." Her face grew serious then. "I know it's been bothering you, Tristan. I was hoping you'd come talk to us about it. You know that we're always here for you. Even if we're sometimes very busy. Your father has been worried about you too, you know. Worrying about his children gives him more gray hairs than running the company does."
"I'm sorry, Mom. I've needed to work it out in my own head, really. I'm better now."
"I know, Tris, and I know you need your space." My mother got a distant look in her eyes. "You're very different from the twins, you know."
I was always interested when she compared us; I liked hearing her perspectives on us. "How so?"
"They wear their hearts on their sleeves," she said simply. "You, on the other hand-"
"Taylor once said I was 'nearly inscrutable,' " I said with a wry grin.
"He is a smart boy," my mother replied. "Always has been. Listen, Tristan. I know you like to work things out on your own. Part of the reason we trust you so much is because of your independence. But no man is an island, and no son of mine needs to feel that he is alone."
"What are you doing in business, Mom?" She gave me a puzzled look. "You just referenced Shakespeare and Donne in almost the same sentence." I raised an eyebrow. "If you're not careful, someone might think you're a closet literati."
My mom laughed. "Alright, Tris, I have to get the twins up and get them ready for soccer practice. Go swim. It's been awhile since you've hit the pool." Just then, the phone rang. "See, that's probably for you. Go on, go get it." I got up to answer the phone. I could feel her eyes on my back, but it wasn't uncomfortable. I had a brief memory in that moment-I was five and the swim instructor was waiting for all of us to dive into the deep end of the pool. I was scared, but I knew my mom and dad were watching me. I wanted to make them proud.
I reached the phone on the third ring and answered it. It was Jared. "Tris! Hi! I called your cell, but you didn't answer-"
For some reason, when I heard Jared's voice, an overwhelming sense of guilt overcame me. "I was busy."
"I'm sorry-should I let you go?"
"No, no, it's alright." It must be moderately important if he'd tried my house phone as well. "What's up?"
Jared's excitement was palpable even over the phone. "Our first big meet is coming up on Monday and I wanted to make sure you're gonna be there!"
"I should be there," I said. I knew he probably wanted me to be more excited, but for some reason I couldn't quite muster up the enthusiasm. I really had been pretty cold the last month or so. "What time does it start at?"
"Three o'clock." Jared was quiet for a minute. "And Tris . . . "
"What?"
"Er . . . don't laugh at me in my speedo."
"I'll try not to. Listen, I have to run-is there anything else-"
"Er . . . are you busy today? I was hoping maybe we could go swimming for a little while." Jared sounded hesitant; I realized it was because I sounded particularly curt.
"Maybe. I'll call you later." Boy, all of my other friends are getting shorter shrift than this, your sister most of all. You should count yourself lucky. I couldn't say that, of course, but I certainly felt like it. "Bye, Jared. If I don't talk to you today, I'll call you tomorrow or something."
"Oh . . . alright. Hey, I'll be home all day, okay?"
"Alright. Bye." I hung up. I turned around and noticed that my mom had gone. I sat back down at the table and finished my cereal. I wondered when Seth might call. I hoped it was soon.
* * *
As it turned out, Seth did call in the middle of the afternoon. I was sitting in my room when I saw his number, which I had entered into my cell phone on the ride home from The Bean, flash up on my caller ID. Excitedly, I flipped open my phone. "Seth?" I asked.
"Never answer on the first ring."
"What?"
"It makes you look like you were waiting for the call."
Some of the air had gone out of my tires. "Oh." Great, now I looked like a fool. "Tell you what. Call again, and I won't answer."
Seth laughed. "Unnecessary. Listen, as it turns out, I'm going to be near Laguna Monday night. Want to do something in the afternoon, then?
"Sure," I said, concealing some of my excitement. "What time?"
"Are you free all day?"
"Well, I have school, but then after that I'm free."
"Let's say four o'clock."
"Can do-oh, wait, shit." I had looked at my planner, where I'd scribbled the time of Jared's first swim meet. "Er, I have to go to a swim meet at three. It probably won't be done until about five or six at the earliest."
"Well, my appointment is at eight-thirty in Newport Beach. So I suggest you prioritize."
I thought quickly. "Well, I'm just going to see one of my friends swim. I'll leave after he finishes his heats. That'll be around five. We can catch dinner! How's that? Where do you want to meet me?"
"Dinner?" Seth didn't sound hugely thrilled. "How about if I meet you at your place? Will anyone else be home?"
"Er-no," I said, a tad confused. All the restaurants were on either side of the hill where I lived-coming all the way up here would be out of the way. I said as much.
"Never mind that," Seth said. "Let's just say I'll meet you at your place and we'll play it by ear."
I wasn't going to turn down any opportunity to find out more about this Seth Lokine. "Fair enough," I replied, giving him my address. "Do you need directions?"
"No, I know where that is," Seth replied.
"I thought you didn't come down to Laguna much," I said, surprised. "And this is kind of a hard-to-find area."
"I make it my business to be moderately familiar with some areas of Southern California," Seth replied smoothly. "I can navigate just about anywhere along the beach in L.A. and Orange County."
"Oh. Well, then," I said. "I guess I'll see you at five-fifteen at my house. I'll show you around."
"That would be very nice," Seth replied. "Alright, I have to run. I have errands to do. Listen, I'll talk to you soon, babe."
"Er-yeah," I said. "Talk to you soon." Seth ended the call. I sat there with the phone in my hand, staring at it. What had I just done? I think I'd just set up a date with Seth. Oh my God. A date. I set the phone down and stared out the window; the sun was low in the sky. Monday was going to be an interesting day indeed.
Chapter Eleven: A Different World
School flew by on Monday, primarily because I was both busy and terribly nervous. Jared was a wreck; though he normally sat with his freshman friends at lunch, on Monday he came to sit by me and ask me for last-minute tips. I watched him unwrap his lunch, stare at his sandwich, drink and banana, and turn slightly green. I sympathized; I couldn't eat a single bite if my life depended on it. Julian sat with us, and Liza and Garrett were a little way down the walkway; Garrett studiously ignored us, but Liza kept shooting us furtive glances when she thought we weren't looking. I wasn't sure if the glances were for Jared or for me. Liza and I weren't fighting, exactly, but she knew I was upset about something and, after having been snapped at a few times, accordingly spent most of her time with Garrett. I guess I couldn't blame her. Garrett didn't have the acid tongue that I did. He just had the far superior ability to break hearts without uttering a single word.
Jared broke me out of my surreptitious study. "Tris? Okay, so there are three ways to do the sitting stretch? Which is better? Or should I do all three? I don't want to get a cramp in-"
I didn't have the patience for this. Not on, of all days, this one. I cut him off. "Jared, calm down. You're making way too big a deal out of this."
"I'm really nervous here, Tris," Jared said. "I couldn't sleep at all last night. I tried everything, too. Warm milk, soft music . . . I think I counted about a thousand sheep." He rolled his shoulders. "My neck and shoulders are all tense, too. I can barely turn my head." Giving up, he put his food back into his brown paper sack.
"Here, give it to me," I said. I'd barely touched my cafeteria food. I put his sack on my tray and threw the whole lot away.
"What's wrong-you can't eat either?" Jared looked concerned. "Tris, have you been okay lately? I mean-seriously, something seems like-"
I held up a hand. "I'm fine."
Jared was quiet for a minute, studying the grass at his feet. Julian said quietly, "Leave it alone, Jared."
Jared looked up from his contemplation. "No," he said suddenly. "Tris, look, you don't have to say anything, cause I know you don't like to talk about yourself. But listen. I'm worried about you, and I've been worried about you for the past month or so. You haven't been yourself. I know something's bugging you and I just want you to know that I'm here for you."
Everything was silent for a moment. I could hear the sounds of students talking and yelling; for a brief moment, I heard the high howl of Liza's laughter. I winced.
Julian broke the silence with a low whistle. "Wow," he said after he'd finished. He looked at Jared with what I sensed was a new degree of respect. "That was impressive, Jared." He glanced at me. "This one's a keeper, Tris."
For some reason, Jared's cheeks flushed. I laughed. Julian was right. "I'm alright, Jared. Look, I'm not gonna talk about it, so just leave it alone, but know that I'm alright with you." He looked at me and smiled despite his reddened cheeks. I punched him lightly on the shoulder. "Don't be nervous. You're gonna be fantastic today. Everyone's nervous before meets." The bell rang and we gathered up our stuff. "I'll see you after school," I said as I got up to go.
"What time's the meet at?" Julian asked Jared.
"Starts at three," Jared replied. "You want to come?"
"Sure, I'll go," Julian said. "See you, Jared."
"Bye, guys." I took off for my last three classes. The rest of the day flew by rather quickly; when the end-of-school bell rang, I was in the gym and just finishing drying off after my shower. I could smell the chlorine of the pool and suddenly I wished I'd joined the team that year. I'd have to work hard at my strokes to stay in shape enough to join next year. Maybe I'd look into a personal trainer at some point. I pulled on my boxers and popped open the locker that contained my clothes and shoes.
I heard a familiar voice down the hall. "Hey, Tris?" Julian poked his head into the gym. "Are you in here?"
"Over here by the lockers, Julian," I called. I started tugging on my jeans. Julian rounded the corner. "Do you want to go get-oh, whoops, I'm sorry," he stammered, turning right around to walk back out.
I laughed. "Julian, I don't care. I've been on swim teams since junior high; I'm used to people seeing me in much less than this. Do I want to go get what?"
Julian turned back around, but I could see that he was embarrassed. I buttoned my jeans and tugged my turtleneck sweater over my head. Julian was actually a welcome distraction from the anxiety that filled me over the prospect of my looming date with Seth. "Er, I was going to ask if you wanted to go get seats now, since the meet starts in a half hour," he said, still red-faced.
"Sure," I said, "although the swim meets don't exactly leave people spilling out of the bleachers or anything."
"Well, I know that, but I'd like to have a good seat. That way Jared can see us. Is his family going to be there?"
"Probably-they both can get off early enough, and Liza'll be there too." The thought of talking to Liza wasn't entirely a pleasant one. We turned the corner where the gym gave way to the pool deck. The bleachers were up two flights of stairs on the north side of the pool. We went up the stairs. "Let's get seats down there," I said, pointing at the first row of bleachers. From experience, I knew that those always filled the most quickly. "We'll have the best view. I brought my camera, and I wanted to take a few good pictures of Jared during his heats."
Julian was scanning the slowly-growing crowd. The seats around us on the bleachers were filling in, as I knew they would. The visiting team, in yellow and white warm-ups, were gathered on the far side of the pool. "You used to swim, right?"
I leaned back, then thought better of it when the hard metal of the seat-back dug into me. "Yeah, up through last year. I didn't join this year because I had . . . other stuff on my mind."
"You're brave."
"What do you mean?"
The first few swimmers from our school were windmilling their arms poolside and chatting amicably with one another. I waved at a few I knew. "Walking around in that," Julian said. "Those Speedos." He gave me a sly look out of the corner of his eye. "Not that, from what I saw, you would've embarrassed yourself," he added.
I grinned. "Honest? I kind of liked strutting around in them. Call me an exhibitionist or whatever. Jared, though . . . he'll be a different story." Sure enough, a moment or two after I said this, Jared slunk out of the changing rooms, arms crossed in front of his chest and shoulders hunched. I could see his redness from here. I shook my head; he'd had some time to get used to them, I knew-the swimmers usually started team practice right after teams were decided, and they always wore them-but then I realized that this was probably the first time he'd had to wear Speedos when fully-clothed people, other than the coach, were around. My grin widened and I got up.
"Where are you going?" Julian asked.
"Save my seat," I said in return. "I'm going to go talk to him really quickly. They all know me, so they'll let me go poolside for a moment." I trotted down the stairs, then jogged over to the gates. The assistant coach nodded a greeting as I went through and headed over to where Jared was crouching. "Hey you," I said as I came up.
"I think I'm going to die," Jared said by way of greeting.
I made a show of looking him up and down, then winked. He blushed. "Just kidding. You look fine, Jared. Go out there and do your thing."
"The nervousness is gone," he said.
"Yeah, I always found it went away right before we started the meet," I said. "That's when calm would kind of descend over me and everything became rote."
"No, it's not so much that," Jared responded. "I'm just so embarrassed about the Speedo that there isn't much room for anything else."
"Why're you so embarrassed?" I asked.
"Look at me!" he wailed, stretching his arms wide. I couldn't see much to complain about, honestly. I told Jared as much. "Do you realize I'm the only guy who doesn't have to shave before a meet?" he asked. "The other freshmen gave me the most hell about that."
I fought a laugh; I knew he wouldn't have to reach for the razor. Then again, I barely had to before a meet either. "Look at me, Jared. We've been in the pool together. I'm not exactly Cro-Magnon Man, either."
"But at least you had to shave part of your pubes!" he cried. His cheeks flushed. "I didn't mean to say that," he muttered.
"Listen, it's no big deal," I said, holding his shoulder. "You're gonna do fine, and you should count yourself lucky you don't have to deal with stubble and razor burn. Go ask Kenny how much he likes it when that Alaskan throw rug he has on his chest starts to grow back in."
Jared glanced at his team captain, then turned back to me with a grin. "You think his chest is bad . . . " he said conspiratorially. "If you braided his back hair, it'd look like Bob Marley walking away from you."
I made a face. "That's a new development," I said, laughing. "Hey, some guys like that. Look, you just have a natural advantage in the water that others don't. It makes you that much more a born swimmer." Jared was looking at me strangely and I couldn't figure out why. "Now go out there and make me proud."
Jared nodded. "Thanks for coming down, Tris," he said. There was still a quizzical look on his face. "Hey, can we go get food or something after the meet? My mom gave me a few bucks-"
"Actually, I'm afraid I have set plans already," I said. "I'll come get you around eight-thirty, though, if you still want to go," I added when I saw his face fall.
"Yeah, that would be cool," he said. The other swimmers were gathering near Coach Alvarez. "Okay, it's showtime," he said quietly. "Listen, Tris, thanks again." He grabbed my hand through the and held it for a brief moment. "I'll talk to you after I'm done with my heats. Coach says when we're done we can head up to the bleachers for this first meet."
"I'll be sitting with Julian," I said in reply, gesturing up at where he was sitting. He waved; Jared waved back before turning to go. "Good luck!" I called. He threw me a grin and a thumbs-up over his shoulder. Was it just me, or was he walking with a bit more of a confident bounce in his step as he went to where the other players were gathered?
And what was with that weird look he gave me?
"How's he doing?" Julian asked when I sat down.
"He's more embarrassed about his spandex loincloth than the actual swimming part," I said wryly.
"He's cute, you know," Julian said musingly. "Not my type-I like them a little older, personally-but definitely cute."
"What is it with you and Taylor?" I asked. "You both have this weird older man fetish."
"Dude!" Julian said, laughing. "Taylor's bad. I like 'em, say, seventeen, eighteen, tops. Taylor's the one who wants to be up in some twenty-one year old."
"Well, I don't draw those silly age distinctions," I said loftily. "Love is love, regardless of age." Then I laughed. "Seth is nineteen."
"Ahh, so you are interested in him," Julian crowed. I glanced around furtively and told him to shut up. "Sorry," he replied. "I forget you're not out yet."
I shrugged. "Well, hanging out with you doesn't exactly make me look like He-Man."
"More like Rainbow Brite," Julian sniggered. I made a face. "Seriously. No one's really said much, but then you have that rep for being a huge asshole to anyone who crosses you." He smirked. "I think it's that more than anything else that keeps the mouths shut about you."
"And the fact that we're not trying to fuck each other in dark corners of the school like most couples."
"Yeah, that probably helps. Not that I'd really stop you if you tried." I gave him a glance and he raised his hands. "I'm kidding!" I turned away. "Mostly," he added.
"I'd say your mind was in the gutter, but that speaks poorly of the gutter," I said, attempting to keep a straight face.
"Oh, right," Julian retorted. "You're a human sewer. I'm not sure if those things on your face are lips or manholes, you curse so much."
"Definitely manholes," I said, pantomiming a crude gesture with my lips and tongue. Julian made a startled face and I laughed.
After he'd regained control of his surprise, Julian raised his eyebrows. "Like you've ever done that before."
"That's why they call it a joke, my friend. Look, they're about to start." Julian and I leaned back as the heats began. I saw Liza come up the stairs out the corner of my eye. She was alone. Perhaps Jared's parents were running late, then. She saw us, but our section was full and she didn't come over. In times past, she would've checked to see if she could squeeze in anyhow, but she was well aware of my general displeasure and moved on quickly, ignoring us.
"There goes Liza," Julian whispered after she'd passed.
"She knows better than to try to slip her way in now," I said, keeping my eyes on Jared. The boy was a fish, and much better than the other freshman and even most of the sophomores. If he sticks with it, he can be the best swimmer they have by his junior year. It would require more dedication than I'd been willing to give-I'd join next year, but this year my focus was on academics and getting my black belt-but if he put the time in, he'd eclipse me rapidly.
Even as I watched the heats, I kept my eye on my watch. Jared did well every time he got in the pool despite some tendency to roll his shoulders too much as he came up for air while running freestyle heats. We'd have to work on that. I snapped a few photos of him warming up poolside, and then an excellent one of him in mid-dive. I was glad I had a fast shutter and a zoom lens. I took a few of his stroke, including his exaggerated shoulder-roll, so I could show him later what he did incorrectly. Then I took a few more as he walked around on the deck just so I could tease him later about how cute he looked in his Speedo. Maybe I'd blow one up and frame it so his family could hang it in the living room. I'm sure he'd love that.
"So have you talked to Seth since the other night?" Julian asked.
I was surprised; it was the first time he'd brought up our trip to The Bean. I figured he was still pissed about it, though I couldn't figure out why, except that maybe he was miffed that he hadn't been hit on. If you hadn't stayed glued to Taylor like a barnacle, maybe you could've played the field more, I thought. Never mind that I would've done the same if Seth hadn't snatched me away. I felt a warmth flood me as I thought about that night, the way he'd seized my arm and carted me off. "Yeah," I said distantly. "We chatted Saturday. We're going out tonight."
"Ah," Julian said sagely. "No wonder you keep glancing at your watch like it's gonna explode." I punched him in the shoulder. "I didn't know you went for that type of guy. He's in Taylor's range, man."
"So what if he's in college? He's cute and fashionable, although I'll admit I'm not a huge fan of that ghettaux style."
"Ghetto? He didn't look too ghetto to me."
"No, not 'ghetto,' ghettaux. Like combining 'ghetto' and the French word 'faux'-as in, 'faux getto.' " Julian looked confused, so I continued. "It's that fake cheap look that's all popular and costs a fortune-you know, the distressed and faded jeans and the wrinkled, torn t-shirts and ratty beanies or caps with the messy hair. It's all very expensive and very calculated and totally designed to look like you live in a thrift store."
"You don't dress like that."
"I wear the distressed jeans occasionally, and maybe one or two of the shirts, but you're right. I'm more . . . "
"You just drop loads of money on really expensive stuff."
"Thanks a lot."
Julian shook his head quickly. "No no no! Not like that. You pull it off really well-this kind of runway model thing right off of Rodeo Drive. Or GQ. Seriously."
"Nice save."
"Look, Tris, if I had your money, I'd dress the same as you. Everybody knows you always look good. Put it this way: I wouldn't be at all surprised if you're voted Best Dressed next year for the yearbook."
I snorted. "I was kind of hoping for Most Likely to Take Over a Small Foreign Country."
Rolling his eyes, Julian said, "Wear more suits, Mr. Bond." He gave me a more serious look. "I do have something important to ask you."
I didn't take my eyes off of Jared, who was swimming one of his final heats of the day. "Fire away."
He lowered his voice so nearby spectators couldn't hear. "I need your help starting an LGBT Club."
That got me to glance his way. "What?" After I'd shouted, everyone else glanced his way too. Julian flushed and waited until heads turned back to the swimmers.
Julian kept his voice low; I could tell he was nervous about asking for my involvement. "Remember I've told you before that I've wanted to charter one for a long time? Well, the administration's fairly open to the idea-they have to be, after all-and all I needed was ten member signatures. Problem has always been that I couldn't get ten people to sign. I figure with your help . . . maybe I can collect enough this time around."
"Oh." I was quiet for a moment. Jared was getting out; he'd placed fourth. "I, uh-"
"Look, I know it's kind of a big thing I'm asking you to do," Julian said hurriedly, forestalling any comment I might have. "But it's not like it's outing you or anything."
"Do you have an advisor?" I asked, stalling for time. Shit, it's tantamount to me donning a purple shirt with pink triangles!
"Yeah," Julian said. "Er . . . listen, can you keep a secret?"
I gave Julian a very cold look.
"Sorry, right, right," he said quickly. "Well, after I came out, one of the teachers came sent for me one day and asked me if I wanted to talk. Ms. Heimdall, the English teacher. She's a lesbian."
Jared's heats were over, and it was about five o'clock; it was time for me to go. "Look, Julian, give me the night to think it over," I said.
"It's not like you're admitting to being gay," Julian clarified. "It's more of a gay/straight alliance than anything else-in fact, that's what I'm gonna call it. That way people don't feel as threatened." He laughed nervously. "Last thing I want them to think is that I'm training a rainbow army of militant gays."
I laughed at that. "Well, if gays took over the world, at least it would be a cleaner, brighter place. With way more fashion sense." Julian looked a bit taken aback. "I'm kidding, Julian. I think an alliance club is a good idea. It's a good way to teach kids that they can trust gays just as much as a lot of gay kids need to know that straight people can be trusted too. That not everyone's a raging homophobe. Now, look, Jared's done and he's going with his family after this is all over, and I have to jet, cause I'm meeting Seth soon. Want a ride?"
"If you don't mind," Julian said. "And take your time, Tris. Last thing I want to do is rush you on this. I just need a bit of support to get things off the ground is all."
"I'll talk to you about it tomorrow," I repeated. "For now, let me think it over." We walked to my car. As we did, the school's varsity hockey team passed us. I knew a bunch of them; having been on the swim team myself, I knew a lot of the kids who played sports.
"Hey, Tristan!" one of them called.
I turned around. Kyle Faber, one of the goalies, was motioning me over. "Hang on a sec," I said to Julian, turning. Kyle was tall, at least as tall as me, and much broader across the shoulders and back. He brushed his long red hair out of his face and gave me a weird look.
"What're you doing hanging out with Lambowski?" he asked.
"We're friends," I said simply.
"Dude . . . " Kyle lowered his voice. "He's a queer, man."
"Oh!" I said, slapping my forehead. "I guess that explains the 'I Like Men' patch on his bag. I'd been wondering about that!"
"Listen, smartass," Kyle said. "You hang out with him and everyone's gonna think you're a faggot too."
"Better than hanging out with a bunch of troglodytes and having everyone think I'm a fucking moron too."
"What the fuck, Tristan? Is he your fuckin' boyfriend or something."
I stole a quick glance at Julian. He knew we were talking about him. He'd started to wander away, and I could see by the set of his shoulders that he was upset. "He's a friend, like I said." I raised my voice so he'd hear me. "A good friend. And you can draw whatever stupid conclusions you want from that."
Kyle shook his head. "I was trying to help you out, man," he said. "But if you wanna hang out with faggots, then that's your own business."
"That's right, Faber," I snarled. "Go back to your homophobe dumbfuck friends."
Oops. That'd pissed him off. He raised a hand to his mouth. "Hey, faggot!" he yelled. "I bet you suck Elliot's cock here, don't you?"
"Jealousy doesn't become you, you fucking moron," I said. "Stop trying to put the moves on him."
I guess either my comment or the stifled chuckles from his hockey buddies set him over the edge. With a growl, he reared back, cocking his fist. I sighed and mentally chided Kyle. Untrained fighters always telegraphed their moves and brought their fists too far back, leaving themselves vulnerable. Quickly, I stepped in just as he started to swing. Startled, he found me inside the arc of his swing; he tried to step back and I grabbed him by the shirt, knocking him backward and off-balance, and then swept my leg around, hitting him just below the knee. He hit the ground hard enough to knock the wind out of him. I put my foot at his chin. "Move and I'll kill you," I said quietly. "Now, listen to me. I won't put up with this bullshit, and I don't care how big you think you are. I'll fuck you up. I notice your hockey buddies aren't exactly rushing to your defense, either. So if I were you, I'd cool it, cause I don't want to be your enemy. But I won't tolerate you picking on my friends." With that, I took my foot off of his throat and backed away. I turned and walked in Julian's direction, every muscle in my body ready for the expected attack from behind. It never came, and I didn't glance back to see what had happened.
I caught up with Julian, who was walking with his head down. He kicked a rock and refused to make eye contact with me as I fell into step alongside him. "Look, Tris . . . " Julian started. "I-"
I held up my hand. "Look at me when you talk to me," I said. "Stop walking with your tail between your legs."
When Julian looked at me, I almost wished he hadn't. Tears stood in eyes that were filled with anger and shame. "I'm sorry," he whispered.
What was it about Julian and Jared that made hugging them something I would readily do? I put my arm around Julian as we made it to my car and he sort of fell against me. For a moment, he shook with quiet sobs, holding himself and weeping into his hands. I think I was the only thing keeping him standing. "You're going to sit down now," I said softly, lowering him down into my car. I went around to the other side and started the engine. The car started to warm up and Julian got himself under control. "You okay?" I asked as he wiped at his eyes.
"Yeah," he said. "Sorry-I just-" He took a deep breath to calm himself. "I didn't mean to drag you into this." Julian laughed unsteadily. "Welcome to my world, Tristan. Where everyone hates you. Where nobody cares to get close because it's like you're a leper."
Shit, I thought as I began to realize what I'd just done. So much for confirming suspicions. I couldn't help but wonder if I'd be ostracized too now that there was even a shred of evidence that I was gay. I still had a year and a half of high school left to go. "Not true," I said. "I'm your friend. So's Taylor. And Sarah, and Jared."
"I know, I know. But it's hard sometimes when most people instantly dislike me without even knowing anything about me. It's just like Marc described it." He sighed. "And I've been yelled at before. I usually just shrug it off. Every time that's happened before I've just turned around and walked away, but it hurts so much."
"I don't want you to have to put up with that anymore." I reached a decision in that moment-or, rather, I realized that I'd made a decision the moment I knocked Kyle Faber to the floor, and now my brain was just catching up with recent events. "I'll do it. The club thing."
Julian was surprised. "What changed your mind so quickly?"
I gestured back toward the school as I put my car into reverse. "That. That's the kind of shit I don't want to see happen again. If your club can make even one person realize that bigotry is unacceptable, then it'll be worth it."
"It'll be more than just one person," Julian said confidently. "It'll be the trickle-down effect. One person tells another person tells another few people and soon there will be a little oasis of tolerance and acceptance."
I drove down Julian's street. It was beginning to get dark. "I hope you're right," I said quietly. "I really hope you're right."
* * *
"Mmm, nice place," Seth said appreciatively as I led him into the house. "What do your parents do?"
"My father owns a company-Elliot Aerospace, up in Irvine. They make parts for weapons systems and radar equipment for military and commercial planes. My mom works for him as a senior analyst."
He glanced around, taking in the library, the portraits in the hallway and the spiral staircase. "They seem to do well."
I shrugged. "We do okay." As he glanced around, I took in all of him. He was built so nicely-perhaps too fit to be called slim, his well-shaped arms and chest stood out starkly in an Abercrombie & Fitch shirt that was obviously one size too small. His arms were completely hairless and nicely tanned. Seth was a perfect storm of genetic pairing-every element of both his Asian and Caucasian heritage melded together in ideal confluence. Seth was beautiful and exotic and utterly entrancing, and I think he knew it. A pair of heavily distressed jeans-oh, yes, Seth definitely liked the ghettaux look-that were also a size too small left little to the imagination. They covered nearly all of his brown flip-flops. His light brown hair was tousled in every direction and he had the most flawlessly delicate cheekbones I'd ever seen. And those eyes . . . those amazing, inscrutable eyes . . . I couldn't tear my gaze away even when he wasn't looking directly at me.
"Are your folks still at work?" I saw Seth take note of the darkened kitchen and breakfast room as he asked.
"They won't be home for another hour and a half or so. Today's a very long day because of board meetings, and when they leave they have to pick up the twins."
Seth turned to look at me. "So which way is your bedroom?"
"Ah . . . upstairs."
"Let's see it."
"Alright." I led Seth up the left spiral. "So where are you going tonight?" I asked. "Did you still want to do dinner?"
"I already ate," Seth said. He seemed to ignore my other question.
"Oh . . . that's cool, then." I opened the door to my room. "Here it is." I saw Seth take in the room at a glance. His eyes shifted over my computer and the rows of bookshelves and the enlarged photographs of the beach I've taken over the years. I'll admit that my room wasn't the most exciting place, but it really didn't elicit any comment out of Seth at all. "So how was your weekend?" I asked.
Seth moved and sat on the bed. "Busy," he replied. "Driving quite a bit." He patted the spot on the bed next to him. "Come sit here," he said with a smile.
Nervous, but determined not to show it, I sat beside him. "How was your day?" he asked me after I'd sat.
"I went to my best friend's swim meet," I said, then paused. Had I just referred to Jared as my best friend? When did I let him replace Garrett in my mind? Time enough to think about that later. "He did really rather well, especially since it was his very first one. Do you swim?"
"Only when it's a private pool," Seth said. He shuddered. "I hate tan lines."
I thought about that for a moment. Comprehension dawned, and I think I barely stopped myself from letting my jaw drop. "You always swim naked?"
He laughed. "Well, don't you?"
"Er . . . only once or twice, when I know for sure no one'll be home," I said. "Otherwise I always wear boardshorts or a Speedo."
"Speedos are hot," Seth said. "I'd love to see you in a Speedo."
"Remind me to do that sometime," I said with a small laugh.
"How about right now?" Seth asked. There was a look I couldn't identify in his eyes. "You were the hottest thing at that coffeehouse that night, Tris. You still are." He put a hand on my thigh and I felt my body twitch in response. "I choose to only talk to the hottest guys, you know. They're the only ones worth my free time."
I couldn't get my mind off of the hand on my thigh. I felt myself stirring in response to his touch. "And everyone else?" I asked as calmly as I could.
Seth twitched his hand in a dismissive gesture. "What about them?" He leaned in slowly and I could feel my heart pounding its way out of my chest. I half expected it to burst out of my chest and land on Seth's lap, it was beating so quickly. He hovered maybe an inch away from my face, his lips nearly on my own. "You're worth my time," he whispered, "and that's really all that matters, right?" My lips parted and I leaned in and we touched, lips and hands and legs, and before I knew it Seth was pushing me backward on the bed. I landed with him on top of me, his tongue in my mouth and his hands on my chest.
"Seth," I gasped in-between kisses. "Seth. Isn't this all-all a bit . . . sudden?"
He grinned down at me and I could feel his excitement pressing up against my inner thigh. In fact, glancing down, I could see it; the tightness of his jeans outlined every contour. "So?" he asked, moving back in for the kill.
I put a finger across his lips. "My parents might be home earlier than-"
"You're not out?" he asked suddenly, leaning back. "They don't know?"
I shook my head mutely. Fear that my parents would find out like this, by walking in on me, warred with fear that Seth would get up and leave. I put a hand on his arm to hold him in place; I was momentarily distracted at the feel of his triceps as he relaxed. "I think I'm crazy," I whispered as I made up my mind, "but I don't want you to go."
"Good." Seth slipped his hands around to my back, underneath my shirt, and I gasped as his hands made contact with my bare skin. "Your skin is so soft," he murmured, running his hands down to where the waistline of my jeans began. "Tris, you're so hot."
"You too," I murmured against his lips. I slipped my hand underneath the back of his shirt and felt the gentle ridges of the muscles of his back as he moved. Everything sort of fell away then in that moment when I let something I'd always held coiled in me gently loose. We stayed like that for awhile, moving our hands up and down the rise and fall of our backs, lips connecting us as Seth eased his body more heavily onto my own. Continued shivers ran up my body. I could feel my muscles alternately tense and relax as Seth pressed against me. I could feel Seth's hardness pressing into first my groin, and then my hip, and then my stomach, and back down again as he slipped his clothed form up and down against mine. His hands held me as he moved, and when his lips weren't on mine I could do little more than breathe heavily and moan as pleasure rolled across my mind. Every new sensation was like a question being answered, and the rhythm of his body against mine was like wind across a grassy plain, or the pull of tides against the shore. I wanted to feel the water crash against the rocks.
"I love the way your cock feels against me," he whispered. "It's so big." He began to tug at my shirt.
My mind leaped in all directions at once. Oh God he's taking off my shirt and This isn't right, not now, not here, not like this and I am so hard and I want it fast and quick with this beautiful boy-"Seth, Seth," I gasped again. Somewhere in the process I'd started sweating; I stole a quick glance at the clock and realized over an hour had passed.
"What is it?" he asked, and when he looked down at me I suddenly saw not just his face, but Garrett's face, and then Julian's voice in my head: If you can be with him, then you should be with him. But that was in reference to Garrett, not Seth. Was this right? A vision of Jared, face drawn in disappointment and sorrow, appeared and fled, replaced by a dream-Taylor's admonition-there are some chances we must take in this life-and then, startlingly, Sarah's friend Arachnia, writhing on the bed and telling me to enter her darkly. I leaned away from Seth. "What is it?" he asked, a note of impatience creeping into his voice.
"This is very fast," I said in a firm voice. "I've never done this before, Seth. I'm nervous my parents are going to walk in here."
He didn't let up the pressure on my body. "Are you saying you want to stop?" He seemed incredulous.
"I'm saying that I barely know you and already we're on my bed, sweating and . . . you get it."
Seth was silent for a moment. "But you do know me," he said. "And I want you to know every inch of me, just like I want to know every inch of you." He reached down and ran a hand along the side of my hard shaft; I jerked violently and he moved his hand away. "Especially those inches," he breathed.
I tried to sit up. Seth reluctantly moved. "Not yet," I said. "Listen, my folks will be home with my sisters any minute now, and I don't need them catching me here like this. They don't know, and this isn't how I want them to find out. You understand that, right?"
"I guess," he said. "I ought to get going soon anyhow." He got up, straightened his clothes, and headed for my bedroom door.
"Seth," I said as he stood in the doorway. "Wait. I'm sorry. Listen, it's just . . . I don't want to rush things, you know? I'm-I'm new to this. Please be patient-I really do like you-"
"Sure, sure," Seth said impatiently. "Come on, let's go." He went down the stairs and, with a heavy heart, I trudged after him. Somehow I got the feeling that I'd fucked things up royally. Seth left with a curt "Goodbye" and a promise to call me later the next day. I closed the door and slumped down, leaning against it. My entire body still quivered from the intensity of our contact and my jeans were still tight around my groin. With a sigh, I went to my bedroom, laid down on my bed, and closed my eyes. Alone.
Chapter Twelve: Northward
The Friday before Thanksgiving finally rolled around. The air was almost festive; fall was in full swing and everyone at school was a bit louder than usual, though we still had to attend classes Monday through Wednesday of the following week. The month-long period between Thanksgiving and Christmas was always the time of the year that went by the most quickly; a blur of projects and papers and parties and holiday preparations kept every day filled with activity. I started sleeping six hours a night to get all of my projects taken care of on time; I figured I could catch up on sleep over the Thanksgiving break.
Friday, of course, meant that the coffeehouse would be having gay night. Seth had called on Wednesday, sounding much more pleasant than he had when he left Monday evening, and had asked if I'd meet him at the coffeehouse. I agreed, but I wanted someone to ride with me. When I got home on Friday, I kicked off my shoes, sprawled out across my bed and called up Taylor. "Do you want to go tonight?" I asked.
Taylor was quiet. "No . . . not really," he said slowly.
I was nonplussed. "How come?" I asked, sitting upright against my headboard.
"I . . . didn't really enjoy myself much last time," Taylor said. There was something else going on. "You go ahead; take Julian or whatever. I'll stick it out here tonight."
I knew something was up. Was Taylor mad at me? Avoiding someone? Did he already have a hot date planned? "Taylor? You haven't missed a Friday in, like, forever," I said, fishing for more information.
"What? It's not like they'll miss me," he said. "Gay guys are a dime a dozen on Fridays. Just go with Julian and meet Seth. Call me and tell me how it goes."
" . . . alright," I said slowly. I would get nothing out of him tonight. "Are you sure?"
"Positive."
I hung up. I dialed Julian's number. "Hey, buddy!" I said when he answered.
"Tris! hat's going on?"
"Do you want to go to The Bean tonight?"
Julian hesitated for a split-second and in that moment I knew what his answer would be. "Sorry, Tris, but I have plans tonight."
"Plans?"
"Uh . . . yeah. I've got some things to catch up on."
I, of course, was at this point extremely skeptical. "You're getting together with Taylor, aren't you?"
Julian seemed genuinely surprised. "No. What would give you that idea?"
"The fact that both of you just blew me off."
"Did he really?" Julian asked. I sensed that he was being honest. "What did he say?"
"He just said he didn't want to go. He said something about not enjoying himself the last time."
"Funny," Julian mused. "He seemed to be having a blast with Spaz." He snorted. "As I recall, I was the one sitting there, bored out of my mind."
"So maybe it'll be better this time."
Julian thought for a moment, then said, "No, I'd better not. I . . . I'd rather stay here this evening and keep working on some projects and whatnot. And no, I'm not meeting Taylor, so don't ask."
"Fine, fine," I said. "I'll talk to you later." I hung up and leaned back, relaxing and staring out the window. Clouds scuttled across the sky, alternately obscuring and revealing the setting sun. A cold wind was blowing in from the sea; I could see piles of leaves suddenly lift off the ground and then settle again. I'd go by myself, then; there was no way I was going to miss a meeting with Seth. I was relieved that he'd actually called me, considering how angry he'd been when he left on Monday. I busied myself for the next hour or so doing small tasks: checking email, organizing projects, changing into warmer clothes and washing my windshield. When it was finally time to go, I hopped into my car and took the shortest route to the 405 Freeway. I zipped through traffic with the CD player blasting and the roar of the engine loud in my ears. By the time I made it to The Bean, night had fallen and the place was filling up with the usual motley crowd. It wasn't as crowded as last time, but it was also earlier in the evening. I headed inside, but didn't see Seth; I figured he hadn't made it to the coffeehouse as quickly as I had, so I ordered a drink-some variety of tea latte-and found a table next to a group of lesbians. I glanced around; the tables were filling up quickly with excited, chattering boys and a few knots of girls. Usually if a group of girls were sitting together, it was a fairly safe guess that they were lesbians; if they were hanging around the boys, they were probably friends along for the ride-or, as they were more commonly known, fag hags. Hm, does that mean Sarah qualifies as a fag hag? She's friends with Taylor and me and now Julian as well. I'd have to bring it up to her next time we talked. More boys trickled in; the majority of the crowd was definitely male. I'd never seen so much color gathered in once place before. I sipped my drink and waited. A few minutes later, I heard over the din the rumble of an engine. I glanced out the window and saw an Audi TT roadster pull up. Seth was behind the wheel, wearing a pair of gray sunglasses despite the darkness. So that's what he drives, I thought, realizing that I hadn't paid attention to his car when he'd been over on Monday. I'd had . . . other things . . . on my mind that day.
Seth pulled open the door. He was wearing a long, tight gray shirt and distressed jeans, I noted, along with a pair of black boots. He spotted me as soon as he entered. "Hey you," he said casually, walking up to me and kissing me on the cheek.
"Fashionably late?" I asked, grinning. Those amber eyes gripped and held me again. It really wasn't fair the way they grabbed at me, but then again I was getting better at hiding the flustered feelings that came over me every time he stared at me.
Seth shrugged. "Sorry. I had a few business matters to take care of."
"Business? What kind of 'business' does a college kid have to take care of?"
He tapped me on the nose. "Never you mind, nosy boy. I'm gonna get me a drink." I nodded and he headed off to the bar; I decided to wait so that no one would snatch our table.
"I see you know Seth," one of the lesbians behind me said.
"Yeah," I said, turning. "We're friends."
"So you're his new boy," the girl said. "Ooh, aren't you a cute thing. I'd date you. Got that one little problem, though."
"What? What's that?" I asked.
"The dick," she said. "Although I'm sure Seth enjoys it." She smiled. "I'm Tara."
"Tristan."
"Wow. That's an unusual one," she said. "Tristan. I like it." She gestured back to her table with her drink. "Anyway, I just wanted to introduce myself. Seth always finds the hottest guys, and I always like to keep up with who he's with." Seth sat back down and Tara waved at him before turning away again.
"You know Tara?" Seth asked warily, glancing at the back of her head.
"We just met," I said. "Seems she knows you."
"We go back a ways," Seth replied. "She goes to USC with me."
"How many people here do you know?"
Seth glanced around. "A lot, actually. See that guy over there? The one with the beanie and the orange flip-flops? I go to school with him; he lives on my floor. His is the . . . noisiest . . . room after hours. And the guy to the right of him, the cute one with the purple streaks in his hair? He goes to Loyola Marymount, which is just north of USC . . . he's a screaming queen, let me tell you. Weekends, he gets up in drag and goes to WeHo. I've seen him there a whole bunch. Oh, and then there's Aidan, over there-" Seth gestured a bit futher back, to where a boy with dark hair sat. He looked incredibly hot, I have to admit, but I wasn't interested. "He's so fucking hot," Seth said, glancing at Aidan, "but-my God-he's some federal grant kid over at USC and his parents are dirt poor. He drives this disgusting rattletrap piece of shit car, some sort of old Nissan from before you and I were born."
Without warning, a shadow fell across the table. Seth and I turned and looked up. A rather tall and good-looking boy in a basketball jersey and track shorts stood there looking down at Seth. "Just wanted to see what you were fucking this time, Seth," the boy said nonchalantly. His eyes belied his seemingly-casual nature.
Seth sneered and leaned back in his chair. "Are we jealous, Bobby?"
"Fuck you," Bobby said, turning to me. "Watch it with this one," he said. "Seth's an arrogant piece of shit in love with himself, and he only wants one thing."
I didn't know what to make of this whole exchange-I could tell that I was swirling in depths of drama that I couldn't even begin to comprehend-but I looked at Bobby and said, "Listen, we don't want any trouble. It'd be best if you didn't make a scene."
Bobby snorted. "Trouble? My ass, trouble. You're the one that's in trouble, little bitch. Have fun." He turned and walked off.
I glanced back at Seth. "Ex-boyfriend," he said with a grimace on his face. "He's a real piece of work."
"So it would seem," I replied. "How'd you meet?"
"A club up in WeHo-we danced together. Then I bumped into him here and we actually got the chance to talk. Thought he was cool-basketball player up at UCLA, hot, smart, you know-then come to find out he's a bastard." Seth reached for his pocket. "Hey, I got something for you," he said, digging around. He pulled out a plastic card and tossed it across the table at me.
I picked it up. "Oh my God, you did it."
Seth nodded. "With the picture you emailed me, no less. What do you think?"
I cupped it in my hands so no one would see. "Shit, Seth, this is a jail sentence waiting to happen!"
"Only if you get caught." Seth smiled. "It's only a crime if you get caught."
"I don't know, Seth, I-"
Seth cut me off. "My guy is an expert at fakes. You could show that anywhere-liquor store, club, bar-and get in, no problem. Listen, I gave it to you for a reason. There's something else I got for you, too." He got up. "It's in my car; come on."
I followed him out to his Audi; he opened the door and reached into the backseat, pulling out a pamphlet. "For next weekend," he said, tossing it at me.
I caught the pamphlet and opened it up. "What the-tickets? To San Francisco?"
Seth nodded. "I live up there, remember? My folks have a flat near the Haight, but they're going to be in Osaka for the week. You're gonna come up and visit, and I'm gonna show you what it's like in SF." He shut the door and pushed me up against the car, wedging his knee between my legs. "We'll hit the streets, go clubbing, a bar or two, whatever, babe," he whispered, nibbling on my earlobe. "I'll show you what's out there. I'll show you a good time." He kissed me fiercely, pinning me against the window with his hands on my chest. "Whaddya say, Tris? I know you're up for it. I'll introduce you to people I know up there, and we'll party . . . and see what else you might be up for." His crotch brushing up against mine made his meaning clear, and I couldn't say that my body was really resisting at that point.
"What day would I leave here?" I asked. "Would you fly up with me?"
"Friday before noon," Seth said. "And no-I drive up on Tuesday. I'll pick you up at the airport, of course."
"The return flight is Sunday afternoon?"
"Yes, out of Oakland."
"Alright, then." I nodded. "I'll do it."
* * *
The week could not pass quickly enough. Only one thing of true significance happened in the short three-day week-Julian got approval from the Associated Student Government and the Board of Supervisors to charter Laguna Hills High's first Gay-Straight Alliance Organization. On Tuesday afternoon he ran up to me, all smiles and wide-open arms. He jumped on me, hugged me, and whooped aloud. "I did it!" he shouted. "We did it!" He thrust the paper in my face.
I read it, ignoring the stares of the few students still on-campus after classes had ended. "Congratulations," I said. I gulped inwardly. There was my name, on the "Vice President" line, and my signature under Julian's. Sarah was the Secretary and Taylor the Treasurer. Surprisingly, Jared and Liza had also signed on as members, and each of us had brought a friend or two quietly into the fold. Much as I was thrilled for Julian, I had to admit some degree of trepidation-what was I getting myself into? I wasn't even out to my parents-although if things with Seth got serious, that would change soon enough. Everyone who noticed already knew that I was friends with Julian, and the hockey team certainly knew it well enough. While this in itself didn't exactly mark me with a purple triangle or anything, having my name as the VP of the Julian's Gay Brigades certainly would.
People talk about moments where a person stands at the edge of a figurative cliff, looking down and knowing that a huge, life-changing decision was in front of them. I felt like I'd somehow missed that moment-that I'd already jumped off the cliff and was on the way down, and I was just now kind of looking around and going "Oh, shit."
"You're quiet," Julian said as we walked down the hall.
"I'm just thinking about our first meeting," I lied.
"You're upset."
"You're good."
"Why?"
"The reality of what I've done is sinking in."
"You mean that you've basically as good as said you're gay."
"More or less, yes. I mean, I guess I could bill myself as the VP representing the straight contingent, but what's the point? I've kind of tossed my hat into the ring."
"Are you okay with this?" Julian paused for a moment, then handed me the paper. "Look, you can rip it up if you want. No one outside of our immediate group of friends will know. We can just start all over if we have to."
Now that moment of decision was there. I waited for the little angel and the little devil to appear on either of my shoulders. They didn't, but I knew what I had to do anyway. I handed the paper back to Julian. "What's done is done," I said. "I told you I'd do it, and I meant what I said. Keep it." I grinned. "So when are we gonna plan for next Monday's meeting?"
* * *
Julian hung another flyer on the wall. Three more were in the hall behind us, all within about five feet of each other. "Don't you think you're overdoing it?" I asked as he strung up a letter-sized advertisement for the first meeting. "There're four in this hall now."
"Let it go," Julian said, pushing a staple into the bulletin board with particular relish. "I've wanted to do this for a year, and now my time has come." He added a fifth right underneath the other.
"How many of those did you run off?" I asked, glancing at his backpack. More purple papers were spilling out the top.
"Seven hundred ninety-six," he said. "Four got jammed in the copiers, or I would've had a full eight hundred."
"Do you realize that that's one flyer for every three kids?" I asked, amazed. "Where are you going to put them all?"
"I'll wallpaper the halls if I have to," Julian said.
Behind us, I heard the sound of paper ripping. I turned; two boys were ripping down one of the flyers. "Fuckin' faggots," one of them muttered.
I stepped toward the two students, my ears going red with anger. "Assholes," I grated between my teeth.
Julian put a hand on my arm. "Let it go," he said softly.
"Why?" I snarled.
"They have the right to their opinion too," he said. "That's why I ran off so many, Tristan. I knew this would happen."
"Since when do people have a right to bigotry?" I asked angrily, throwing Julian's hand off.
"We have the KKK," Julian pointed out. "But does anyone pay attention to them?"
He was right, but I wasn't going to give up easily. "Other white supremacists do. And you can't tell me that the KKK didn't do a lot of damage when they really were powerful."
"Yes, they did," Julian admitted. "But they're just a fringe group now. Nobody listens to them anymore. That's the way of all hate groups-they flare and die as quickly as they are born. Hate is self-destructive. It can't last. All it takes is for everyone to make it through the long shadow and then we emerge on the other side, stronger."
"Do you really believe that?"
Julian ran a hand through his hair. "I have to."
* * *
"Dad, I need to talk to you and Mom for a sec."
My father folded the newspaper neatly and set it down on the table beside him. "What's going on, kid?"
"Well . . . a friend of mine invited me up to San Francisco for a few days-well, this Friday through Sunday, in fact. No big deal, really-we're just gonna hang out and see the city, and I'll be back Sunday afternoon."
My mom closed her book, took off her glasses and set them on top of my dad's newspaper. "When did you find out about this trip?"
I heard the real question there: Why didn't you tell us about this sooner? "It honestly just kind of got sprung on me," I said.
"I don't think so," my dad said. "I don't like the suddenness of this."
"What, so it would've been okay if I'd known two weeks ago?" I asked with a touch more asperity in my voice than was probably necessary. "What difference would it have made?"
"Who's going?" my mom asked.
I could feel San Francisco slipping away. What would Seth say when I called him and said I couldn't go? He'd probably never want to see me again, especially after last Monday's little disagreement. If I really wanted to go, I'd have to get . . . inventive. I could almost feel Seth's eyes on me as I said, "Well, it's Taylor and Sarah and myself," I said. "And a friend of Taylor's-a guy named Seth. We're staying at Seth's parents' house in the city." Well, shit. I'd committed myself, now. I hope Seth appreciated that he'd made me do the one thing I really shied away from doing. Now all I had to do was sit back and wait for my parents' judgment.
* * *
My plane landed at San Francisco International Airport at almost exactly noon. As soon as I walked through the corridor connecting the plane to the terminal, I heard Seth's voice call my name. I grinned and came up to him. "Good to see you," I said.
"You ready for a wild weekend?"
"I think so. You parked outside?"
"Yeah. Did you check any luggage?"
"One piece. I hope you appreciate that I had to jump through more hoops than a troupe of Brazilian circus midgets to get here."
Seth spun on his heel and headed for the baggage claim. "Don't worry, it'll be worth it." After we'd claimed my bags, we sped along the 101 Freeway up from the airport, over the water and through the city. It was cold and foggy; this late in the season, a perpetual stratus haze hung over the entire bay. The buildings themselves, gray and white under the sunless sky, stood like clustered and damp fingers into the sky. The freeway ran almost directly into Haight-Ashbury, so we only had to go down a few side streets before we parked the Audi along a street lined with three-story buildings. "Each of these buildings has three flats," Seth said. "My parents own that one." He pointed to one at the far end of the street. I shouldered my bags and Seth led the way up the narrow staircase and into the third-story flat.
"Moving to this place must've been a nightmare," I said when he'd opened the door. The flat was pretty sparsely furnished, but getting even a couch up the narrow staircase would be a challenge.
"Yeah; this stuff doesn't get touched too much," Seth said, heading into the bedroom. "Set your stuff down here."
I followed him and put my bags down. "Do your folks normally live here, or is this just their place in the city?"
"Well, they do live here sometimes, but they most often live in an apartment complex we own over in Berkeley near the university. They're off in Osaka right now, visiting my Mom's relatives." Seth pushed me down on the bed. "We have the whole place to ourselves," he murmured before putting his lips on mine. Boy, Seth didn't waste any time.
When there was a break in which we were both taking a breather, I asked, "Aren't you hungry?" It was about lunchtime, after all.
"Only for you," Seth said, pushing his body on top of mine. The bedsheets were twisted around us, but so far he hadn't made a move for my shirt.
"I haven't had lunch yet," I said.
Seth glanced at the clock. "Yeah, it's about one-thirty," he said, heaving himself off the bed. "There are a bunch of good places to eat around here. Let's go." He gave me a hand up and as he pulled me up he kissed me, putting one hand on my neck and another on the small of my back, right above my butt. I gave in and wrapped my arms around his back, over his shoulders. His hand slowly slid for the waist of my low-rise jeans. I moaned against his lips as his hand touched the bare skin of my lower back and then slipped underneath the waist of my jeans. He ran his hand along the bare curve of my ass and my entire body shuddered. I almost gave in in that moment. I almost pulled him back down onto the bed and let the world slip aside. Everything in my body cried out for this, for the slow revealing of body and skin and the wider universe inside of us. "Oh God, yes," Seth breathed. He pressed himself against me and I could feel that he wanted this as much as I did.
Seth lowered me down onto the bed and I did nothing to resist his pull. He slowly began to kiss around my neck, then ear, and then lower on my shoulder, unbuttoning the top two buttons of my shirt as he went. This time, instead of sliding my hands into the back of his shirt, I slid them up the front, running them across his stomach and then up around his chest. His muscles alternately tightened and relaxed under my hands as he moved. With each trembling movement, I was exploring new territory across his body and breaking new ground within my mind.
Without warning, my stomach rumbled. Loudly. Seth looked surprised, and perhaps a tad annoyed; I laughed in embarrassment. I leaned back. "Maybe we should get that food," I said quietly.
"Well, if it'll boost your strength for later," Seth replied, getting up and straightening his shirt. I left the two buttons undone. "As long as we're leaving, we'll walk down to a pizza place I know on Haight and then we'll take the car and I'll show you the city." We left the flat and walked in relative quiet down-literally down; San Francisco's legendary hills had not been exaggerated-the narrow streets to the rows of little shops that dotted the Haight. Though its heyday had long passed, the area was still filled with alternative-style shops and equally alternative-looking people. We walked by several places that sold "decorative vases" that obviously doubled as a more . . . hands-on device. Hemp stores abounded and bookstores that dealt only in small presses, independent movie rental stores, tiny coffeeshops and teahouses and stores that seemed to sell anything that couldn't easily be categorized or even identified. People a few years older than me, almost all universally dressed in beanies or floppy hats and baggy clothing, hung out in front of the shops or near the park, talking and sometimes smoking cigarettes-certainly as much as they could get away with in public; purchases made at any of the stores would have to wait for the privacy of a home before they could be used. There were the obvious tourists walking around with cameras and "I Love SF" hats and, just as obvious, the folk who lived in the city but not in the Haight, who lacked the long hair and baggy clothes of the true Haight natives. All sorts of people were going in and out of the shops. I saw a few walking with long, thin boxes that could only be one of the various "decorative vases" available for sale. I shook my head, rather uncomfortable with the notion, but Seth seemed right at home. "Their collection is really amazing," he said, gesturing at one place. The words "Leaf it Blazing" were stenciled on a board over the door. "Let's stop by the Ben & Jerry's over on Haight and Ashbury." There was music playing from just about every corner we passed; I heard Pink Floyd and Led Zeppelin mixed in with more modern stuff like The Vines and indie-rock groups. Seth and I got ice cream and kept going, turning a corner and finally coming to a small pizza shop sandwiched between a French bakery and a small store dealing entirely in pagan accessories. We ordered our pizzas-extra cheese for me; vegetarian supreme for him-and sat down at a small table in the corner of the restaurant. The place was small and had obviously been here for awhile; the Formica counters and tabletops and the red vinyl seat cushions looked like they hadn't been replaced since Eisenhower was President. Bob Dylan was playing quietly in the background-the music, not the man, of course-but abruptly shifted to the Eagles after a few minutes. I spent a long while looking around at the pizzeria and out the window at the people that hustled past the window. There were a few other people in the restaurant, but it was rather an odd time to be eating, it being somewhere between lunch and dinner.
"This place is . . . wild," I said between bites of pizza. It was extraordinarily good.
"Please tell me you don't mean this little joint," Seth said with a slow upcurling of his lip.
I laughed. "No. This whole Haight-Ashbury place."
"You think this is wild-just wait till you see the Castro district."
"That's the gay area, right?"
"Oh yeah. That's what your fake is for, babe." He swallowed the last of his pizza and licked his lips. Every single movement of his lips and tongue was deliberate, I was sure, and effective. I had to wait a moment to rise. "We're gonna go through all the clubs, get trashed, hit a few bars, and come back to my place. You have to meet a few friends of mine, too. I'm gonna call them up before we go out." He waited for me to stand. "Ready for a tour of the city?" he asked.
"Let's do it," I replied, following him toward the door. We spent the next four hours driving around San Francisco; Seth and I drove through Chinatown, Union Square, along Market Street, through the Embarcadero, up through the Presidio and over the Golden Gate bridge and then back again. We drove through the Mission district and Nob Hill, then down Lombard Street and back to Ghirardelli Square, where we had a quick dinner. The city was growing darker and the Christmas lights at Ghirardelli Square were glowing brightly in the darkness when we made it back to the car. Clouds, lighter patches against the greater darkness of the sky, scuttled in from the ocean and rolled through the bay, obscuring the moon. We had one last place to go. Seth took me to the top of one of the hotels, where on the fortieth story there was a bar with giant windows that overlooked the entire city. While we were there, the clouds that had been gathering finally opened up and rain began to beat softly against the glass. I looked out at the buildings and streets below me. It was as though I were seeing an underwater city, or staring through the wrong side of aquarium glass. The rain made ripples down the windows and everything shimmered, trembled and slid downward in the reflection of the water. After awhile, we left.
When we got back to Seth's parents' flat, there was another car there waiting for us. "This is my friend Rory," Seth said as he got out.
I took one look at Rory and instantly knew that I didn't like him. It was hard for me to say why, exactly, but it was so. As I expected, he was quite the piece of art. He was obviously very well-aware of how attractive he was; his too-short shirt and jeans that looked like they'd been put on with a paint roller were evidence enough of that. He had his brown hair highlighted blond and light brown and his blue eyes were rimmed in dark eyeliner. His eyebrows had the kind of arch that nature never made. Two silver rings dangled from one ear and a small tattoo of a stylized moon was visible below his navel, prominently displayed in the gap between his shirt and his jeans. "I'm Rory Semel," he said. His voice was high and waspish, and each syllable were pronounced distinctly, as though a slurring of words was an abomination.
"Tristan Elliot. Nice to meet you, Rory," I lied. I didn't extend my hand. Neither did Rory, I noted, which was fine by me. My mind shuddered away from any contact with this boy.
Seth, oblivious-or uncaring; I wasn't sure which-nodded and led us up to the apartment. Once there, he pulled out a bottle of vodka and another bottle of rum from the cabinet. "A few shots, then we head for the buses," he said, pulling out three shotglasses.
I froze. Never in my life had I even touched alcohol. I wasn't sure why, exactly; enough kids at school drank on weekends and at parties, but I'd never really been a part of that scene. Those were the same kids who had sex on a weekly basis. It was a bit tougher for someone of my persuasion to have casual sex, even had I wanted to. I'd never really felt the pull in that direction. Yet there Seth was, pouring out vodka expertly into the glasses as though he'd done this a thousand times. It occurred to me that he possibly had. He pushed one of the shotglasses in my direction. "Go for it," he said to me, picking up his own glass and downing the contents. Rory was already passing his glass back for a shot of rum.
"What the shit are you waiting for?" Seth asked, tapping the glass impatiently. "It's already fermented."
"I . . . don't think I can drink it," I said quietly. I pushed the glass back toward Seth.
"What do you mean you can't drink it?" Seth asked. Rory laughed, but I ignored him; he was a stupid piece of shit anyway. "Is it against your religion or something?" He made a face and pushed it back toward me. "Come on, down with it."
I ignored the glass. My mind had been made up, and I think it was Rory's idiotic snigger that did it more than anything else. I really didn't like him. "No. I'm serious, Seth. No."
"What a fucking baby," Rory said without looking at me, as though I were somehow beneath his notice. "You'd swear he was still in high school or something."
I realized then that Seth had probably told Rory nothing about me. "I am still in high school," I said.
Rory looked back at Seth. He had a slight sneer on his face. "What's this, you're scouring the playground for them now? This kid probably still drinks out of juice-boxes. What, did you already fuck your way through all of college-age LA?" He turned to me. "So, what do you normally drink?" he asked snidely. "Hi-C, or Hawaiian Punch? Or do you still breast-feed?"
"At least I don't look like I plan on making it through all of Castro on my back," I said. "Gee, tell me, Rory, how do you get those jeans off in a hurry? I'm sure you're good at it by now."
"I ought to tell your mommy how foul your mouth is," Rory said, waving a finger rudely in my face. I wanted to bite it off.
"I ought to tell your mommy you look like a two-dollar slut," I replied far more calmly than I felt. "So, babe, sucky sucky, five dollar?"
Seth's face was taut with anger. I didn't understand why; my verbal barbs weren't exactly directed his way. "Enough, you two," Seth said, picking up my shotglass and passing it to Rory. "Here, you do it." Rory picked it up, tipped the glass in my direction and downed it.
Oh my God, I hated him. "Yeah, you do it," I said. "I bet you're real good with shots in the mouth."
Rory started to get up. "I'll give you a shot in the mouth," he said threateningly, lifting a fist.
I laughed. "I'm surprised you know how to make a closed fist." Turning my back on him disdainfully, I added, "Spare me your theatrics, you piece of shit. You're obviously not a fighter. I mean, don't get me wrong-" I turned back to face Rory again, "-I'm sure you deal with fists on a regular basis . . . but I doubt you ever really have to see them."
"Enough!" Seth's roar cut us both off. "Tris, leave him alone. Rory, I wouldn't try it. Tris knows kung fu or some shit like that. He'd probably break your head open." Seth grabbed his jacket and headed for the door. "Come on, you two, let's head for the bus."
A few minutes later, walking briskly along cold and wet streets-the rain had stopped, but everything was damp and the wind was chilly enough to make our breath fog in front of our faces-I leaned over to Seth and asked, "How far is it to the bus stop?" If it was anything like Orange County, or even Los Angeles, we might be walking for a good long while.
"We're here already," Seth said, stopping at a corner. "You gotta realize that here, buses are everywhere. And I mean everywhere. They run all over this city. The mass transit system up here is great." We got on the bus and headed south into the Castro district. We started walking down the streets and I realized exactly what Seth had been talking about. If I thought that The Bean had been a riot of color and flesh, the Castro was ten, twenty times what The Bean could ever hope to be. We cut through the throngs of people. The crowds were mostly male, but there was a smattering of women throughout. Walking through crowded-well lit streets, we passed all manner of people dressed in clothing oftentimes as skimpy as Rory's attire, despite the chill of the evening. Seth headed straight for a club called Trapdoor. We flashed our IDs-I broke out in a nervous sweat as I showed the bouncers my fake ID-paid the cover fee, and went in. Loud dance music assailed my ears the moment we passed through the doors. The club was divided up into two rooms, one being the bar and lounge area and the main room the dance floor, which was dark and hot and crowded with boys and men in various states of undress. The first thing I noticed was the preponderance of flesh everywhere-some dancing without shirts and others dancing in little more than underwear. Onstage, youngish dancers cavorted with each other in time with the lights that shot across the floor and walls. Thrumming percussion shook through the building as dancers smashed against each other, bodies against bodies, skin on skin. I took it in in one decadent sweep; I wasn't sure if I'd found Paradise or Gomorrah.
"Oh my God," I breathed. "It's nothing like the coffeehouse at all."
"Told you," Seth said with a slight smile. "So are you ready to dance?"
I nodded and Seth took my hand, leading me out onto the floor. Rory, I noticed, was already flashing his ID-I wasn't sure if it was fake, but I didn't think he was quite twenty-one yet-at the bar and chatting with some well-muscled college-age boy. He sure moves quickly, I thought as Seth maneuvered us out on the dance floor. Seth began to slide up against me, dancing far more closely than I ever had with anyone before. I swallowed nervously and, feeling rather silly, began to move my body against his. I quickly found the beat and moved in time, then began to anticipate the song and move according to what was coming next. Seth raised his eyebrows. "You dance well," was all he said, but I could tell that he was enjoying it. In more ways than one, I noticed as my hips ground against his. It occurred to me then as we moved back and forth that Seth was an intensely sensual being-he had a love for tangibles, things that could be touched and felt and experienced. His love of alcohol, of food, of fast cars-and of course his love of the sexual-could all be boiled down to one essential fact: Seth was an epicure, a boy who lived for sensation and titillation. I wondered if there was more to him than that. I got glimpses of that, sometimes, as in today when we were driving through the city; the joy he took in the experience gave me hope.
Seth's body sliding down against mine broke suddenly into my thoughts. I glanced at my feet and saw Seth crouching against me, his body gyrating in time with the music, his hands around my butt and his face at my belt buckle. With a searing glance upward, he let his mouth caress the clothed stiffness in my pants. I lost the rhythm as my hands found his hair and tangled themselves in it. I couldn't catch my breath. Seth undulated upward again and, smiling, kissed me. Abruptly, Rory shoved his way between us and handed Seth a drink. He'd not brought me one, I noted, but that could as easily be explained away by the fact that he knew I didn't drink as by simple rudeness. I suspected the latter anyway.
"You boys've been dancing by yourselves for a half hour," Rory said. He didn't seem entirely sober, but I admittedly wasn't be best judge of such things. "You should dance with other people too, you know." With that, he cut in, pushing me aside with a hip check as he stole Seth's attentions. Angrily, I stormed off; I stood against the wall and willed my hard-on to subside. That was quite the experience Rory had interrupted.
I'd like to say that a bunch of beautiful boys approached me while I was standing against the wall, tousled and throbbing, but unfortunately no one came up to me. I later found out why. "What's wrong?" Seth asked as he finally came to find me. He had Rory had been dancing for a good twenty minutes and he was covered in sweat. "You look like you're about to grow a second head and bite people with it."
"Nothing."
"Let's go outside for some fresh air."
"I'm fine, Seth. Mostly because, unlike you, I haven't been dancing for the last twenty minutes."
"Alright, fine." He turned on his heel and walked out. I instantly regretted snapping at him, but on the other hand-oh, there he was, peeling off his shirt and grinding away at some near-naked guy close to the main stage. I hated Rory. I hated him as he casually stuffed his t-shirt into his back pocket. I hated him as he danced with this random guy as though they were attached at the crotch with a Slinky. I hated him as he ran his hands along the other guy's back and as his nipples were pinched in return. I turned to walk away, noting that watching the display had done nothing to make my hard-on subside. And that, I realized, pissed me off even more.
I pushed open the doors that led to the patio out back and found Seth leaning against the wall and deep in conversation with an Asian guy I'd never seen before. I decided to butt in. "Seth," I said. "Are you done with your little breather?"
"Almost, Tris," he said casually, turning back to his conversation.
"Who's this?" the Asian guy asked. "I didn't know you'd come with someone."
"Two someones," Seth said, waving a hand dismissively. "Tris here and Rory, who's inside, probably about five minutes away from getting fucked." I wasn't sure if that was some irritation I detected or just an objective assessment of Rory's aims. "Listen, Lee, I'm gonna bounce. I'll chat with you later, 'kay?"
"Okay," Lee said. He gave Seth a quick hug and a kiss on the cheek and moved off.
"And who was that?" I asked, then realized it was useless. I was in Seth's element now and I had to realize that here there would be things I wouldn't know, people and places that would be a part of his history before I came into his life. "Never mind," I said quietly, turning back toward the club. There were things in a person's past that were unknowable, and I got the feeling that a lot of Seth's life up here might be like that. I pushed my way through the doors and paused for a moment along the wall, staring inward at all the people. Where The Bean was a riot of color, this place was devoid of anything but the black of lightless space, the flashing of lights and the red glow of sweaty skin. Seth followed me back inside and we danced, but my heart wasn't in it. Oh, sure, other parts of me were, but I couldn't stir anything above the waist into life. I still wasn't sure if Seth had given me a glimpse of Heaven or Hell, but from the way I was feeling, Dante would have very little on me.
Chapter Thirteen: Coming Home
The rest of the weekend was the rushing of sea fog, there and gone again in a moment. Sunday came and suddenly I was up and over the clouds screaming southward on a flight that seemed as brief as the few days in San Francisco. The rest of the weekend had been a blur of activity-sightseeing and driving and dining and more clubbing, and in all that time we'd been so surrounded by people that Seth and I didn't have further time for more clandestine activities. Well, we'd had brief moments to ourselves, which of course we'd used as best we could, but there was no time for any extended fun.
No matter, I thought as San Francisco receded and the John Wayne Airport burst into view. Seth had invited me up again the weekend before the beginning of Christmas break, and he was going to be back in LA through then, so we'd have plenty of opportunity to see each other. I couldn't help but feel a bit dour at my return to Orange County, however; the weekend had been a welcome respite from nagging friends, parents who could never understand me and the looming threat of exposure I was risking by being the Vice President of the Gay-Straight Alliance at school. There wasn't much worth coming back to here and already I missed Seth like mad. He'd be back in LA on Friday, but that wasn't a whole lot of solace when I wanted to feel his body next to mine right now.
The plane circled for its final approach; the "Seat Belts" sign lit up and the intercom announced that we'd be landing shortly. I raised my seat, buckled up and closed my eyes, imagining as the plane descended that Seth was here beside me. When the landing gear dropped and the plane shuddered to a stop, I opened my eyes and grabbed my carry-on bag. No one would be here to meet me, so I'd claim my luggage quickly and make for the exit where I'd left my car in long-term parking.
There was something very small and sad about coming home from a journey and having no one there to meet you, I decided as I walked through the cold corridor that connected the airplane to the gate. It was raining and very dark; the sun was setting somewhere behind the veil of cast-iron clouds. Passengers reached for umbrellas in anticipation of the rain. We made our way into the airport and all around me passengers were greeting family members, scooping up children, hugging wives and husbands and shaking hands with business partners. People who had left the plane singe-file headed toward the escalators in pairs and groups. I stood and watched for a moment until it became too much to bear; before my chest could burst from longing I turned toward the exit. I hiked my satchel a little higher on my shoulder and trudged toward the baggage claim.
A clatter broke into my thoughts. I heard the sound of something metal falling to the ground, then hurried footsteps and my name. "Tris! Tris, wait!"
Not quite daring to hope that someone actually cared enough to see me home, I turned. A metal sign, the kind with paper inserts that could be changed often, was in pieces across the floor. Ahead of it, and still stumbling from the collision, was Jared. I grinned and my eyes burned for a moment before I dashed the upset away. "Jared!" I called. He ran up to me and I threw open my arms. He rushed into me and I hugged him fiercely. I let him go as I realized we were standing in the middle of a crowded passageway, but the slight smiles on some of the people's faces suggested only that they vicariously enjoyed the reunion of two friends. "It's good to see you," I said, putting an arm around his shoulder. He was soaked through, I noticed; his blond hair was matted to his forehead and his clothes were drenched. "What are you doing here?"
"I called and your folks said you were out of town," Jared said. "Why didn't you tell me you were going to San Francisco?"
"It kind of happened all of a sudden," I said.
"Well, it's okay. We haven't talked much at all this past week anyhow," Jared said, and although he meant nothing by the comment, I felt a twinge of guilt all the same. I had been distant from everyone around me. "Your parents gave me your flight information, but they said that you'd taken your car and that you'd just drive yourself home."
"How'd you get here?"
"Bus," Jared said. "The connecting bus picks up about two blocks from my place."
"I'm glad you're here," I said again. "But what made you come?"
"I missed you," Jared said simply. "I would've called to tell you I was coming, but that would've ruined the surprise." He grinned.
"Well, let me tell you, I was kind of upset watching everyone else on the plane have friends or family there to meet them and here I was all alone. Thanks for coming, Jared."
"Well, it's raining, so I couldn't exactly go swimming today anyhow. And I already did all my homework and finished the book I was reading, too." His grin got wider. "It's really just cause I had nothing better to do."
I laughed and looked down. "So you got soaked virtually from head to toe just cause you had nothing better to do?" I asked.
He shrugged. "You're worth it," he said. "Besides, I figured I'd get a ride back with you."
"Sure," I replied, "but let's make a stop first, okay?"
"Where?" he asked as I snagged my bags off of the carousel. We headed for the exits that led to the parking structures; I opened my umbrella as we stepped out into the walkways, though at this point staying dry was moot for Jared. I let him snuggle under the umbrella with me anyway. It felt very comfortable somehow.
"At my place, so you can get some dry clothes, first," I said, "and then to dinner. I bet you haven't eaten in awhile."
"I'm fine," Jared said, "but since I know you're just going to insist, you're right-I haven't eaten since noon."
"Then you pick where we eat," I suggested as we got in my car. We turned onto the 405 Freeway and headed for the 133, which would spit us out in the canyon that wound into the hills near my house. Along the way, I turned up my CD player and Jared and I sung along to Sarah Brightman the whole way home. His humorous falsetto sent me into hysterics. My favorite song on this album came on, and I quietly sung the words aloud:
Do you know you're beautiful?
Do you know you're beautiful?
Do you know you're beautiful?
Yes, you are, yes, you are, yes, you are.
Innermost thoughts
Will be understood and
You can have all you need
Do you know you're beautiful? . . .
"What an amazing song," Jared said when "Beautiful" had finished. He sat there with a faint smile on his face.
"It's so simple," I said, "and such a positive affirmation of self. I love that song." Jared nodded and was quiet the rest of the way home. I could sense that he was deep in thought, so I let him be. When we got to my place, I noticed that the lights were off. There was a note on the table near the door-We're at the office with the twins. Meet us for dinner? Love, Mom and Dad. I grinned, knowing the twins were probably bored out of their minds while my parents finished up paperwork. They were die-hards; few people made it into the office on a Sunday. "Come on upstairs," I said to Jared. He hadn't dried out much at all and since I wanted to go someplace fairly nice-I know I'd left the choice up to Jared, but I'd steer him in the right direction if necessary-he needed to look halfway decent.
"Do you have anything that'll fit me?" he asked. It was a legitimate question, since he was both shorter and thinner than I was.
"You should be fine shirtwise," I said, since I tended to buy my clothes a bit on the small side anyhow. "Jeans or pants-well, hopefully I have something I've outgrown that'll fit you fine. And you can borrow a pair of flip-flops. I'll toss your stuff in the dryer while we eat."
"Okay," Jared said. I rummaged through my closet and tossed him a black ribbed t-shirt and a pair of khaki slacks I'd not been able to fit into for a year or so. Jared took off his shirt and pants and stood there in his boxers, unsure of where to put his wet clothes. "Where do you want these?" he asked, holding out his clothes.
"Huh?" I asked. I have to admit that I'd zoned out staring at him undress. He was beautiful, there was no doubt about that, although his attractiveness was the opposite of Seth's-where Seth's beauty was deliberate, something honed and cultivated, Jared's was much more freewheeling and artless, the result of natural beauty and an innocent ignorance of just how gorgeous he really was. Where everything Seth wore was tailored to fit his form just so, Jared wore whatever he felt like; where Seth's hairstyle and accessories were designed to accentuate his best features and his exotic look, Jared's wavy blond hair fell every which way and he wore only a watch and a bracelet. Seth's body was the same-carefully tanned and toned and plucked where his sparse hair did grow. Jared, on the other hand, had a swimmer's tan rather than the tan of a dedicated sun-worshipper and his body was naturally fit from activity rather than slavish attendance at a gym. He was beautiful in all the ways that Seth was not, and I noticed this fact with startling clarity for the contrast.
"I asked where you want these," Jared said again. "My wet clothes." He looked at me, his lips quirked in concern. "Are you alright, Tris?"
"Oh, yeah, fine," I said, getting up. "Here, give them to me. Do you want dry boxers?"
Jared shrugged. "These ones are okay, I guess-they didn't get too soaked. I'll just put this stuff on really quickly." He put on the khakis and the shirt and I realized that flip-flops would look a bit out of place. I dumped his clothes into the dryer, ran back up the stairs and dug through my closet until I found an older pair of shoes he could wear. I tossed him some socks.
"Let's do your hair really quickly, too," I said, going into the bathroom. Jared followed and I tossed him my hair gel. "Do you need a comb?"
"Nah," he said. "I never bother." I could see why; his hair naturally fell in a perfect part down the center and in waves off to either side. He gelled it quickly and turned on the blow-dryer to expedite the process. I watched quietly, marveling at the difference between Seth and Jared. Seth was all about control and image; he never let me watch him dress or do his hair, even when I'd stayed with him in San Francisco. By contrast, Jared was the embodiment of ebullient free-spiritedness; I felt as though he would let me into his world completely if I only said the word. "Okay, let's go," he said, putting on the shoes.
I paused. "Wait, Jared. There's something I wanted to tell you really quickly." I sat down on the bed and he sat beside me. "I was talking to a friend of mine-Seth, the one I stayed with in San Francisco-the other day, and I said something to him that I wanted to tell you. We were talking about how the week had been and I mentioned that I'd been to see your swim meet. The thing is, I referred to you as my best friend, and I said it without thinking about it because it's just become a fact. So I just wanted you to know." I was suddenly a little embarrassed. "That's all," I concluded lamely.
Jared was quiet for a moment. He looked at me suddenly and there was an emotion I couldn't read on his face, in the set of his lips and eyes. "Do you really mean that?" he asked.
"Yeah," I said, almost tousling his hair before I remembered that he'd just finished drying it into place. I put my hand on his shoulder instead.
"I'd always kind of hoped, somewhere in the back of my mind, that I'd be able to call you that," he said. "Once we started being friends, you know. I wanted to be able to say that. 'My best friend, Tristan.' " He paused for a moment. "My best friend. Tristan. Yeah, I like the way it sounds." He turned and hugged me awkwardly, since we were both seated on the bed, and I fell backward. Perfectly content not to move, I stretched out and Jared laid down beside me. I laced my fingers behind my head and Jared rested his head on my angled arm. "Thanks, Tris," he said after a few minutes had passed.
I shook my head. "Don't thank me for something that's simple fact," I said. "But as long as we're playing that game, thank you for being my best friend, Jared Luceri." I got up. "Alright, let's get going before we get too sappy for our own good. I already feel like this is Divine Secrets of the Ya-Ya Brotherhood or something."
Jared laughed and sprang up, darting out the door. "Bet I beat you!" he hollered as he bounded down the stairs, laughing all the way.
I grinned and leaped up, knowing even before I began that he would indeed win. I chased after him all the same, knowing that in this as in all things, no matter which one of us was following, the other would always be there waiting patiently with a smile and an outstretched hand.
* * *
"Okay, so. First off, there are four generally-accepted categories the gay community recognizes its members as falling into: gay, lesbian, bisexual and transgender, often just abbreviated 'GLBT.' Now, we're making it a standing policy that no one should feel that they have to voice whether they're gay, bi, or even straight-since this is a gay-straight alliance, I imagine some of you may very well be straight. Point is, it doesn't matter where you're coming from or what you are-everyone's opinions are equal in here." Julian paused for a moment and glanced my way; from my place in a chair along the wall, I shot him a thumbs-up. The meeting was going well so far, even if there were only about twenty kids here counting ourselves. Twenty kids when most statistics indicated that at least two hundred forty kids, ten percent of the school, ought to be gay. "Now, listen. I know I already introduced myself, but I have to introduce the remaining officers of the club, and then I'll talk a little bit about our intentions here. First, this is our vice president, Tristan Elliot." I stood up and waved from my corner. Nervous smiles greeted me. "Our treasurer, Taylor Darman." Taylor nodded at the group. "And our beautiful secretary, Sarah Vergell." Sarah made a face at Julian and smiled at the kids. "Lastly, but most importantly, we have our extremely supportive moderator, Ms. Heimdall." She waved, though everyone knew her already. Ms. Heimdall was a rather popular teacher at school; I wondered how her popularity would change if the student body knew she was a lesbian. I hoped it wouldn't change, but I wasn't so naïve. "Now, we decided to pass around a sign-in sheet. The sheet'll be kept by our secretary, who will provide each of the officers with a copy, and that copy will stay at home with each of us. If you are nervous about it, don't sign in. Because of the . . . controversial nature of the club, we understand." Julian pulled out the sign-in sheet, which he'd left blank except for the words "sign in" and the date, and handed it to the girl sitting in the first desk. "Now before I let the other officers talk-really, I'm kind of enjoying this too much-let me get to my last part: our goal here at the Gay-Straight Alliance. Really, we have a couple of aims. First, this is an open forum-whatever you want to talk about we can discuss. And not just about being gay or bi or transgender or whatever-it's a place to discuss politics, society, school or community issues, or even what you did over the weekend. This club is also supposed to be a support network where you can be with people who you can trust. We also want to be a community service club-we want to show the community that we, as a group, can do good around here. And lastly, we'll plan activities and whatnot-trips to wherever we feel like going. We're limited by what the school will allow, but within those restrictions we can do whatever we like." He turned to look at me. "Alright, that's about it that I have to say. I'm going to turn things over to Tristan for a few minutes. Tris?"
I stood up. "Okay, first of all, I want to congratulate all of you on having the courage to come here. It's a big step, really, no matter what you are-in many places, being vocally supportive of gay causes is just as bad as being gay yourself. Yes, I know we live in a relatively tolerant area, but remember, this is Orange County, and in general Orange County tends to be fairly conservative. This is soccer-mom suburbia, after all. So, my first words to you: be safe. And secondly, be strong."
I took a deep breath. I'd rehearsed this all last night, but it was very easy saying these words into a mirror. Saying them aloud to kids I didn't even know was another matter entirely. "I know the road we walk is not an easy one. If you'll excuse the pun, we aren't able or willing to walk the straight and narrow path that most people take. But each and every one of us has the chance to change this world just a little bit. I don't just mean in a sign-carrying stomp your feet 'we're queer and we're here' activist sort of way, either-just by quietly and simply being you, you are a positive force for change." I noticed that beads of sweat had formed on my brow. "Listen, many of you aren't out to your families yet, and many of you are not going to openly proclaim your sexuality throughout the entire school. I want each of you to respect each other's right to make the choice for themselves-high school gossip can be vicious, and we will not have any of our members contribute to it. Let me remind you that that can constitute a hate crime, and it's punishable by disciplinary action up to and including expulsion." I smiled. "I hate to be the military arm of things, but that's essentially what my duties consist of. Julian makes the rules; I enforce them. Capiche?" I added, in my best imitation of an Italian accent. I cracked my knuckles theatrically and several of the kids grinned. "Alright, so congratulations on being here and thanks for coming. I hope you all come back and feel free to bring your friends, gay or straight-this is a gay-straight alliance, after all. We want to be inclusive, not exclusive. The best way to change is to lead by example, after all. Now, I'm gonna let Taylor have his say." I stepped aside and wondered how this was going to go; Taylor and Julian hadn't exactly been on fantastic terms of late, though the why of it was a mystery to me.
Taylor stood up and I sat back down. He pushed his dark hair out of his face and pulled out a largish piece of posterboard, on which in his hurried scrawl he'd sketched out a pie graph and numbers. I rolled my eyes; it was so Taylor to have graphed out the club's money supply. "Alright, guys," Taylor began. "I'm treasurer mostly because Julian can't be trusted with money and Sarah has better handwriting than me." The group laughed. "Actually, I'm in charge of more than just the budget, but I wanted to start with that." Taylor talked for a few minutes about club funding, both from the school coffers and from donations sent our way by the Darmans and the Lambowskis, then discussed fundraising possibilities and what we'd do with the money. "So that's another part of my job-I'm in charge of club activities that require funding. So if you have any clever ideas, run them by me and I'll see if they're economically feasible. If you need to get the ball rolling on a suggestion, I'm your ball-pusher. And with that having been said, I'm gonna turn it over to Sarah. Oh, yeah, just so you all know, I'm gay too." I laughed aloud. That, too, was definitely done in true Taylor fashion.
"I represent the straight contingent," Sarah said by way of introduction. "So if any of you boys are straight, leave me your numbers before you all leave." Some of the boys laughed. "So I'm secretary. I'll be keeping charge of all notetaking, official correspondence, advertising design and execution, public relations and general records-keeping that doesn't deal in issues of finance, since that's Taylor's forte." I was so glad she pronounced "forte" right-not as "for-tay" but as "fort." Almost everyone got it wrong; it was nice to hear someone pronounce it right for once. "As far as personal messages-since I see Taylor didn't waste his time with any-" she threw a smile in Taylor's direction, "-let me say a few things, since between them Julian and Tris gave you the gay equivalent of the 'I Have a Dream' speech. First off, remember: just because you may be different doesn't mean you don't have to put up with bigots and jerks. Nobody has to tolerate discrimination in this country. Second, not all straight people are homophobes-I'm proof of that. And lastly, remember that this is a gay-straight alliance; in an alliance, all parties are equal. Alright, that's it, and now I'm sure Ms. Heimdall has a few things to say." Ms. Heimdall got up, said a few words, mostly generic "these are the rules so don't break them" sort of noise, and then turned the meeting back over to Julian. He spoke for a few more minutes, gave the details of the next meeting and dismissed the group. I was a bit disappointed that Jared couldn't make it-he had swim practice every day and wasn't going to be able to attend meetings, barring cancellations in swim scheduling, until almost the last week of December-but I was less interested in wondering why Liza hadn't been there either. At the very least, though, it negated my having to explain to them why I was vice-president; I hadn't told the group I was gay, but I wouldn't lie if put to the question, either.
As we filed outside I noticed a couple of kids lingering nearby; as we got closer, I recognized a few kids from one of the Christian clubs that met near where we would be meeting in Ms. Heimdall's room. Not a word was said, but the tension in the air was fairly thick. The situation did not improve when a few kids leaving football practice took notice of the exodus from Ms. Heimdall's classroom. It was common knowledge, thanks to the number of flyers that Julian had put up, that the first meeting of the club was scheduled in her room, so I didn't take it as much coincidence that some of these kids were loitering nearby. Either they were interested parties too shy to attend-not likely-or they were potential threats. Kyle Faber's face as he screamed "Faggot!" at Julian was prominent in my mind. More prominent than his face were his broad shoulders and height. Faber wasn't here now, but the memory was far too vivid for me to blithely ignore the students waiting too conveniently near our meeting-place. I stayed relaxed and alert and suddenly wished Sarah had a more practical self-defense hobby than firearms. It's not like they'd let her bring her handguns to school for protective purposes, and scanning the group of kids as they left, I didn't really see any who looked like they could handle physical threats. If things got ugly, this would not go well for the Gay-Straight Alliance. Good thing we're not starting a militia, I thought, remembering my conversation with Julian at Jared's swim meet. These aren't exactly crack troops.
Surprisingly, the athletes were the ones who stayed quiet. Two of the Christian club members approached Julian, who was widely recognized as the only openly gay kid at school and the leader of the new Gay-Straight Alliance. The taller of the two boys looked at Julian and said, " 'You shall not lie with a male as with a woman; it is an abomination.' " There was, I noticed, a disconcerting look of conviction on his face.
"Leviticus," Julian said quietly, looking up to meet the first speaker's face. Then he said, " 'You may buy the children of the strangers who dwell among you, and their families who are with you, which they beget in your land; and they shall become your property.' That's chapter twenty-five, verse forty-five, just a few chapters after the passage you quoted me." Julian still had not raised his voice. "Shall I continue? 'And you may take them as an inheritance for your children after you, to inherit them as a possession; they shall be your permanent slaves.' "
I could hear the sound of an ice cream truck somewhere in the distance, but that was all.
"What's your point?" the other boy asked belligerently after a few moments of silence.
"That the words of your God, filtered through human mouths and hands, corrupted by the changes in language and meaning after three thousand years, are not absolute," Julian replied. "That for as much as you quote passages supposedly condemning homosexuality, I can quote passages that uphold things we find morally reprehensible now. Like slavery. Or will you buy your neighbors, to hold their children and their children's children in your name?"
I had to admit, I was impressed. I didn't realize Julian had spent so much time perusing the Bible in order to refute the arguments of conservatives. The quiet conviction in his voice and in his eyes only lent him greater weight, and I could see the other club members, still gathered around us, carefully listening to his every word. More than with anything he had said in Ms. Heimdall's room, I could see his defiant stand here solidifying their respect.
"That doesn't matter," the first kid insisted. "Even Jesus talked about the holiness of marriage and the union of man and woman."
"Matthew, chapter seven, first verse: 'Judge not, that you be not judged.' And in case that's not enough, how about Mark, chapter twelve, verses thirty and thirty-one, about the first commandment of all? 'And you shall love the Lord your God with all your heart, with all your soul, with all your mind, and with all your strength. This is the first commandment. And the second, like it, is this: You shall love your neighbor as yourself. There is no commandment greater than these.' " Julian raised an eyebrow. "Where in that is hate and judgment a prevailing virtue of Jesus? And how can you justify Leviticus when it advocates slavery?"
"So what are you, some kind of atheist?" another one of the Christian students, a girl, asked. I couldn't detect if the question was asked out of frustration or just curiosity.
"No," Julian said. "Tell you what. If you're curious to hear my views, come to the next meeting of the Gay-Straight Alliance. Everyone's views are welcome as long as you're willing to accept everyone else's views too."
The girl looked thoughtful, but the first boy to speak looked like he wanted to spit on Julian. "I'm not going to go to a meeting with a bunch of queers," he said. I heard a few of the football players laugh. I guess they really hadn't followed much up until the insults started flying.
Julian sighed. "Your true ignorance comes out," he said, as much to himself as to the boy in front of him. He turned to address the other kids gathered there. "You all are welcome to come and share your views, if you listen to ours in turn. Bring a Bible if you want." Several of the kids looked repulsed at the idea of even attending a meeting of the Gay-Straight Alliance, but there were a few who showed little reaction. I held out a little bit of hope. Julian cut through the kids without glancing left or right. I had to admire his fortitude; gone was the kid who slunk away from Kyle Faber's taunting. Perhaps Julian fared better at intellectual debates rather than physical threats. Fine. If he would be the philosophical arm of tolerance, I would be the physical safeguard to back him up.
I was somewhere halfway between amusement and chagrin at the realization that this kid whom I'd at first dismissed as boring, ordinary and not particularly intelligent had just shown determination and courage that I could only hope to emulate. Couple that with his rather impressive, and heretofore unsuspected, command of Scripture-I had long ago admitted that I'd been dead wrong in my initial assessment of Julian Lambowski, but I realized today just how far off the mark I'd been.
Taylor was right beside me. I turned. "That was pretty impressive, wasn't it?" I said in a low voice, so neither Julian nor the others would hear. "Julian's Bible-quoting, I mean."
"I didn't even know he could do that," Taylor replied.
"Neither did I. You two have hung out a lot; he's never mentioned it to you?"
"We . . . haven't hung out much recently," Taylor admitted. "Which reminds me-I wanted to talk to you later. About . . . some stuff I heard."
"Alright," I said, wondering at the tone in Taylor's voice. "Let's go to the beach after this and we'll talk."
"Fair enough."
"I'll be right back; I'm going to go talk to Julian." Taylor didn't follow me as I headed in Julian's direction. He was walking by himself, most of the other club members having dispersed after he walked through the hostile sea of Christian students. "That was amazing, Julian," I said simply when I'd caught up to him.
Julian looked up at me with eyes full of pain. He grabbed at my hand; I noticed that his own shook. "Tris. I can't do this. It's too hard, too much-I feel like I'm going to drown in it-"
So he didn't feel as confident as he had looked. Somehow I suspected that it might be so. I knew full well what it meant to put up a brave front when all you wanted to do was crumble into dust. "There is someone who would be very proud of you right now," I said.
"I know." Julian exhaled heavily. "It's just-it's hard, and it's never going to be enough. Nothing I do'll bring him back. He's the one who did that, you know. The one who had me read some of the books of the Bible. It's almost like he was preparing me for this fight . . . but he's not here to fight beside me."
"I'm here, Julian," I said. "For what it's worth, I'm here. And so are Taylor and Sarah and Jared and a whole roomful of kids who believe in you now after what you did back there. Did you see the way they looked at you when you stood up to the Christian kids? Did you see the way their eyes widened, their backs straightened-they stopped looking like kids caught with their hands in the cookie jar and a little bit, the tiniest bit, like they had as much right to be there as any other person. Do you know what it means to fill the downtrodden with confidence? Do you know what it is to lift them so? Because that's what you did." I couldn't help but wonder if I was capable of the same thing. Did I have Julian's courage? Did I have the strength of character to fight for my convictions? "It was a brave thing you did back there, Julian. You took them on alone and came out the moral victor. But listen-you are never, ever alone. So don't ever even for a second think that you are. Alright?"
Julian nodded. "I know."
* * *
Heisler Park was just off of Pacific Coast Highway. Rolling grassy areas and walkways fell off sharply at the edges of rocky cliffs that overlooked the sea. Stairways led down to a small beach that, when the tide rolled in, was almost entirely submerged. The park was always crowded with all manner of people: rollerbladers and barbequers and picnickers and joggers and beachgoers all mingled in a riot of tanned skin, plastic and flip-flops. It was a beautiful beach, even if parking was atrocious during the day, and the sunsets over the Pacific were the fleeting sort of thing that lit the sky and sea afire with purpose. Taylor and I walked along the edge of the ocean, occasionally jumping out of the way of the surf. It was cold and small clouds hung over the water, stained purple in the dying light of the sun; we passed few people, most of them particularly die-hard surfers, in those brief minutes before twilight could bleed into silver and black. I had rolled up my jeans and ran barefoot on the sand; Taylor still wore his shoes, his only concession to nature a reluctant tucking of slacks into shoes to prevent sand from rushing in. "What was it you wanted to talk to me about?" I asked after we'd walked in relative quiet for a few minutes.
"How was San Francisco?" he asked.
It was a rather artless evasion, but I let it slide. "Nice," I said flatly. He would get no more out of me until he answered my question.
Taylor let out a slow breath. "Listen, Tris . . . " If this was hard for Taylor to say, it had to be pretty serious. I was quiet; sometimes silence resulted in better answers than any question a person could ever ask. "I was talking to some friends up at USC this weekend. They know Seth-he used to live on their floor. Ah . . . they didn't exactly have good things to say about him."
"They're probably just jealous," I scoffed dismissively.
Taylor certainly didn't seem to think so. "I'm not sure," he said. His evasive attitude was already grating on me; I wanted to tell him to either spit it out or shut the fuck up. "They're pretty good guys-not the jealous type."
"Fine," I said. "What did they say?"
"Did you know Seth doesn't even speak to his parents?" Taylor blurted out.
I laughed. "Bullshit. I just spent all weekend at his parents' place in San Francisco."
"Were they there?"
I paused for a moment, wondering why it mattered. "Well, no. They were in Osaka."
"Did Seth talk to them at all that weekend?"
God damn, Taylor enjoyed playing twenty questions with me. I began to get a bit irritated at his insistence. "I'm sure it would've been an expensive phone call."
"I'll take that as a 'no.' "
Now I was pissed. I suddenly found that I didn't want to be here, that I didn't want this place fouled with this invasive conversation, with Taylor's nosy queries. "What's your point?"
"Listen, here's what they told me-Seth's parents put him through school, send him money and buy him the things he needs, but they don't have any contact with him, not since he left for college." Taylor didn't meet my eyes the whole time he spoke, which was good because I felt like punching him.
I sighed, exasperated. "Big fucking deal, Taylor. Some people just don't get along with their folks. Maybe they threw him out cause he's gay. It could just as easily not be his fault."
"There's more to it, Tris."
"Oh, please, do continue."
"Hey, no need to kill the messenger here. They say he's been with practically every gay kid in their dorm, and more besides. That he fucks around, that he dates guys and tosses them aside like trash, that he doesn't know how to love."
That was it; I'd had it. How dare he say this! He had no idea what went on between Seth and me. He had no right to say-"Taylor, you have no fucking clue what you're talking about. Every time we're together, it's . . . amazing. All weekend long we were together and he's so attentive to what he wants to show me, to the things he wants me to see with him . . . listen, fuck you. I don't need to explain this to you." I started walking away from Taylor.
"Tris . . . there's more. I didn't explain why he's not in the dorms anymore. Wait, Tris!"
I wasn't having it. "I don't want to hear it, Taylor. Save it for someone who cares."
"Tristan Elliot! Listen to me! I'm doing this for your own-"
I turned, furious. "Go the fuck away, Taylor! Don't you have some college boy to fuck, you goddamn hypocrite? I just fucking think you wish you could have Seth to yourself, since you're all up in the college boy-toy scene. Find your own fucking way home, Taylor. I'm not going to ride with a liar and a hypocrite." I turned and left, walking quickly. Behind me, I heard Taylor call my name, but I ignored him, flung myself into my car and drove off.
When I am angry, I drive aimlessly. This time I found myself at Fashion Island. I got out of my car and meandered without purpose through the giant outdoor mall, passing the stores without interest. Finally, just as it got too cold to be outside, I decided to duck inside the large Bloomindales at one end of the mall. I slipped through the racks of clothes, lost in an angry cloud that literally obscured my vision to the point that I ignored what was a few feet in front of me. So I almost walked right into Garrett, who was going through a rack of jeans in the men's department. With a startled "Fuck!" I darted to one side before he could see me wandering the mall alone and furious. I saw him look up as I turned the corner and ducked behind a display, but I knew I was out of eyesight by then.
As I stood and watched from behind the display, I saw, of all people, Liza. She walked up behind him and asked, "Did you find them?"
"Yeah," Garrett said. "These are them. What do you think?" He held out the jeans for inspection.
Liza shook her head. "Looks like something Tristan would wear."
Garrett made a face. "Scratch that, then." He put them back on the shelf and turned to walk away. Liza followed, chatting all the while. The empty words drifted upward like ashes. My body shook as I rose from my crouch. So they talked about me behind my back? I was a joke now? I turned and walked out of the store, my fists clenched at my sides. I forcibly relaxed my face as I strode, stiff-legged, through the mall, pushing through the crowds and running down the escalator to my car. How could he be so cold? Did he feel nothing-was his heart truly so vast and empty? And Liza! Liza, Liza, you fat little bitch. I revved my engine and threw it into reverse; if it was possible, I think I drove even faster than I had when leaving Taylor at the beach.
When I got home, I slammed and locked the door to my room, even though no one was home, simply because it felt good. I sat, then stood, then sat again, and then reached for my luggage bag, which I had yet to fully unpack. At the bottom, wrapped in a shirt and a brown bag, was something Seth had given me. "If you decide to get brave sometime," he said as he put it into my luggage. I unwrapped the bag and pulled out the bottle of vodka and the shotglass. Fuck Taylor. What did he know about love? All he did was let college kids jerk him off in his car. I unscrewed the cap on the bottle. Fuck Garrett. I'd wasted so many years of my life on that undeserving piece of shit. The smell of alcohol was strong in the air as I poured out a shot. Fuck Liza. I tipped the shot back into my mouth, swallowing convulsively as the searing liquid nearly made me gag. I could feel it, like Drano, as it slid down my throat and into my stomach. I trembled, my throat clenched and my tongue tried to twist its way free of my mouth. Then the moment passed and I set the shotglass down. Fuck them all. How did I end up with such a worthless pack of useless friends? And why did I let it hurt so goddamn much? I glanced at my phone, but Seth hadn't called. I needed to talk to him. I dialed his number; the phone rang, once, twice, four times, and then his voicemail kicked in. I hung up before I left him a message, not trusting my voice just then. I remembered not all that long ago, when I would've called Garrett to ask him if he wanted to come over and swim, or practice karate, or just talk and maybe watch a movie. Tears stung my eyes. I poured out another shot. Liza and I used to sit for hours under the trees at the park near school and laugh at nothing at all. Another. Stupid Taylor. He and Garrett and I used to go swimming together, the three of us horsing around in the pool, laughing and trying to push each other under . . . sometimes Liza was there, too, screaming whenever she was finally forced under the surface . . .
By the fourth or fifth shot, the burning wasn't nearly so bad.
I needed a Kleenex. My nose was running and my eyes were watering uncontrollably. I hated the world. My cell phone rang; I reached for it, but I couldn't see my phone clearly and my traitorious hands knocked it right off the table. I stumbled off the chair and felt around for it on the floor, and then when I found it I opened it and laid on my side. It felt good to lie down. For a moment I thought I couldn't stop my eyes from rolling around in circles, as though in endless disgust at the world in general, and then I realized that it was just the room spinning.
I heard my name from somewhere. "Tris? Tris?"
Oh, yeah. I put the phone to my ear. "What?"
"Tris, is that you?"
Who was this? "This is Tris," I said, hoping that would help.
"Tris, it's Julian. Are you okay?"
Am I okay? What a stupid question. I'd already said who I was. "No, I'm Tris."
"What?"
"What do you want, Julian?"
Julian was quiet for a minute. Well, it felt like a minute, anyway. I wasn't too sure. "Just to . . . talk, really. Are you busy? You don't sound okay-what's wrong?"
"Everything is shit, Julian."
"Huh?"
"Everything. It's shit. Life, friends, all of you-you're all shit. At the mall, at the beach-shit." I could feel something fighting its way through my confusion. Anger. A great anger, something vast that was rising, slow and bubbling upward like magma, or fire-"Fuck you, all of you. I fucking hate you all. You don't understand any of it, anything of what it is to be me-I don't know what the fuck I'm doing half the time and all I know is that I fucking hate every single one of you." I pushed myself up on one arm, but couldn't rise beyond that. Tears were running down my face.
"Tristan, why are you yelling at me?"
Yelling? I wasn't yelling. I was speaking softly, whispers, library voices. "You've all betrayed me. Over. And over. Too many times. Fuck off, Julian-all of you! You're all shit!" Church whispers. The phone fell from my hands and I slumped back down to the floor. Where had the phone gone? I could hear his voice, that stupid small little whiny voice, and I wanted to smash it. But I couldn't see the phone. It was too dark and why the fuck wasn't the sun out; wasn't it daytime somewhere?
I gave up. I let myself curl up on the floor. The last thing I thought was that I was glad Seth had given me the bottle of vodka after all. Then it got even darker and I remembered nothing more.
Chapter Fourteen: Betrayed
My cell phone rarely rang nowadays. With the sole exception of Jared, I'd managed to alienate myself from my friends yet again in less than a week. Well, hell. The bulk of them deserved it: Garrett, for being the worst best friend since Brutus; Liza, for tagging along and siding with Garrett after all the years we'd been friends; Taylor, for trying to break Seth and me apart; and Julian, because he'd avoided me all week long. I wasn't even sure what exactly had happened on the phone that evening-I'd lost consciousness immediately after our conversation and when I woke up I wasn't sure what I'd said-but my inability to remember didn't erase what must have been said. Whatever it was, Julian had given me no chance to ask; rather, he so thoroughly avoided me that I never saw him once for the rest of the week. Sarah had confronted me about it, snapping at me that she'd seen Julian wandering the halls alone at lunch and that she knew it was my fault-how, I never did ascertain; she must've talked to him, though it wasn't like Julian to point fingers. I noticed she snapped at Taylor, too, so obviously she'd noticed that they weren't talking much either. The long and short of that one was that I'd ripped Sarah up one side and down the other with my tongue, and although she gave as good as she got, I finally screamed at her to go sacrifice a small animal if she was so upset. She'd stormed off after that, cursing in what I'd swear was a language not fit for the mouths of mortals. I'll admit that more than once I worried that I'd suddenly find myself doubled over in pain and, in a quick cut like in an action movie, some imaginary viewer would see Sarah, a malevolent smile on her face, thrusting a barrette into an effigy of myself.
Something Sarah had said bothered me, though. In one of her tirades, she'd shouted, "You don't even know how to deal with it when you're pissed! Grow up, Tristan. You can't keep cutting friends out of your life, because sooner or later you're going to run out of friends!" I shouted back that that was bullshit, but later, when I was calmer, I realized that from a large group of close friends, I'd whittled that number down to two, and neither of them were people I'd been friends with at the beginning of the year. What did that say for my ability to maintain a friendship? Nothing good, of that I was certain.
So when my phone started ringing as the December sun was setting behind a thick layer of clouds, I snatched it up, figuring that it could only be one of two people: Jared or Seth. I glanced at the caller ID; it was Seth, which figured, since today was the day he was supposed to get back to LA. I waited till the third ring and then answered. "This is Tristan."
"Hey you," Seth said. "I got back late last night. What's going on?"
"Not much," I said. "It's been a bad week."
"What's wrong?" I paused. It was a rather solicitous question for Seth. I'd gotten used to his general nature; nothing ever seemed to truly bother Seth, so I think that the emotion of concern in general was kind of foreign to him. He was an epicure, living his life from moment to moment; the past was over and the future yet to come. Seth had an ability to enjoy life, seize it where most people could only grasp feebly, and it was this more than anything else that I found most attractive about him. Well, the fact that he was built like a Norse god helped, too. And those mysterious eyes, slanted and dancing above his angled cheekbones . . . alright, so there was a lot to like.
"Fights with friends," I said. "A lot of back-and-forth bickering and whatnot."
"I see." He was quiet for a moment and I could hear the low growl of his Audi.
"Where're you going?"
"I'm heading back to campus. I forgot to tell you that I have finals all this week, so I'm gonna be pretty busy. Oh! The reason I called."
What, he needed a reason? I said as much.
"Well, of course not, but I'm going to be busy this week cause of studying, so I won't be able to call you much. Turns out I'm busy the weekend you're supposed to come up to San Francisco again."
"Oh." Was it just me, or did everything just get a bit more dull?
"So I rebooked the flight for the weekend after this one instead. That cool?"
And suddenly, rainbows and sunshine and happy singing voices. "Yeah, even better, actually. It'll get me out of here for awhile."
"Excellent." I heard the sound of a door open and then close. "Listen, babe, I gotta go. I'll call you tomorrow, okay?"
"Alright; have fun studying."
"Of course," he said dryly. "Stay out of trouble."
I laughed. "I should be telling you that." For a moment, Taylor's words popped into my head and I imagined Seth in the center of a vague and disturbing tangle of naked flesh. I dashed away the image. "Talk to you later." I snapped my phone shut and set it down, then let my head slide into my hands. Why had Taylor planted even a seed of doubt in my mind? Damn him for that. I needed to get my mind off of things. I grabbed my katana off the wall and headed for the gym and lost myself in the twist and turn of body and blade. But that could only take me so far and when I finally let the tip drop to the ground, the emptiness crashed in all around me, dark and suffocating like tipping into the event horizon of a black hole, and I struggled to breathe.
* * *
Needless to say, the next meeting of the Gay-Straight Alliance was . . . uncomfortable. I wasn't talking to any of the other officers. Sarah wasn't talking to Taylor or myself, Julian refused to look at Taylor and me, and Taylor ignored every single one of us. To make matters worse, Liza and Jared had both decided to attend, since a storm had forced a cancellation of swim practice. The tension pulled the air around us so tightly that there was almost a palpable hum in the room.
Julian did his best to surmount the tension. Luckily, after last week's altercation with the Christian club members, none of whom had decided to attend, the kids were more than willing to lead discussion themselves, which left us to twiddle our thumbs and pretend to look interested. I noticed Julian furtively glancing Taylor's way when Taylor's head was turned; Sarah watched Julian in those moments, her eyes filled with something I couldn't quite identify. Taylor pretended like nobody existed, but I could still feel a furious heat rising off of him whenever he glanced my way or Sarah's. Sarah just folded one leg neatly over the other under her dress-a rich purple that, when the light didn't hit it, appeared black-and folded her hands in her lap, as though by uncurling her body she'd burst into violent and irrevocable motion. Each of us were tightly-wound springs that looked ready to fly apart at a moment's notice. It was fortunate that the members of the club were blithely unaware of the internal strife that threatened to leave the officers clawing at each other's faces like rabid badgers in a cage. We each contributed to the debate, which centered around the Bible-several kids had brought in their family's Bibles to argue points-but when we did speak, it was through clenched teeth and tensed jaws. Near the end of the meeting, I noticed Jared nudge Julian and ask him something, to which Julian shook his head. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw him mouth the word "Later" to Jared. What was going on there? Jared leaned over to Liza and whispered in her ear; she had a look of mild surprise on her face, but nodded slowly.
When the meeting let out, Julian invited all the members back next week and then waited until they'd all filtered out, still chatting and laughing as they walked down the halls in ones and twos. After the last of the kids had gone, Julian and Jared left together without a word to anyone else. Liza waved at Taylor and Sarah before making her own way out to the parking lot. Taylor huffed off alone-and Taylor huffy was like anyone else raving and frothing at the mouth with rage-while Sarah turned and left soon after. Her brisk walk signaled her anger almost as much as did her stiletto heels digging into the ground with each step. If she stomped off any harder, she'd strike oil. I said a curt goodbye to Ms. Heimdall and walked out, stiff-legged and bristling. What was up with Jared and Julian? I couldn't very well walk up to them and ask, but since neither of them had cars I figured I was bound to catch up with them sooner or later. I headed toward the parking lot, but they weren't anywhere within sight; angrily, I drove home. There was a bottle there, and oblivion.
* * *
I had realized I was gay when I was twelve. For years when I'd dreamed of beautiful things they were always wrapped up in the gentle budding of masculinity, that quivering cusp between boy and man. I found it everywhere in nature, that expectant pause where life teeters at the edge of a precipice, as in the sudden jagged cleft in a mountain or the upthrusting of a rock out of the sea, a quiet accumulation of miles-high storm clouds, flattened at their tops, or the sweep of wind through bending grass, rolling sinuously through fields like time. In each of these places within I'd been accompanied by a child, an ageless lad made of everything that is young in this world. His touch was hot, as molten metal was hot, and his smile was the flash of something bright being born. In those dream places we'd run and, though he never looked the same from moment to moment-sometimes with hair the color of a moonless sky, sometimes the color of new wheat, or eyes of twilight, the coming of a storm-he was always the same, twirling and spinning through a place more vast than ever existed in my waking moments. Here was a world filled with youth, refuge from the dying lands in which we moved, where every single moment brought us one step closer to the inevitable, timeless night.
The one time I had seen my ageless companion in the waking world I'd been in a small bookstore in one of the small village areas of Laguna. There was a black-and-white photography book on the shelf in front of me. I'd slid it off the shelf and, somehow feeling as though I were doing something wrong, I'd shielded the book as best I could with my body as I sat down in a huge cloud of a chair. I opened the book and flipped through the pages of nudes. I came to one of a boy perhaps a year or two younger than myself, lying down and reading. The photograph wasn't graphic-it was a side view, the boy's face in profile, the pose innocent. My breath had hitched in my throat and the air was suddenly filled with the smell of pines and rushing water. There, in the graceful arch of back and curve of raised leg, in the flawless uniformity of flesh and the slight upturning of nose, as though in permanent amusement or delight-there he was. In that moment, I knew I loved him, no matter what form he took, be it the lithe and breathless form of youth, or aged and bent like a structure too long in use. I knew I would spend my life searching for this boy who ran with me in my dreams and yet seemed ever before me while I muddled through cities where slow time held sway. I stared and, as I gazed at the picture of my companion frozen in time, the world around me felt uncomfortable, like an itchy jacket several sizes too small, and I wanted to shake myself free of this alien place and join him in the grassy fields of my mind.
It was later, after darkness had fallen and my parents had come to collect me, that I came to the gentle conclusion that I was gay. I was in love with a boy, and what was more, I was in love with a boy whose face I did not know. But he existed; I was sure of that. If I found him tomorrow, walking along the damp sand and leaving no footprints (his step was that light) or if I found him decades hence, gray and stooped but yet with eyes that still flew like bare and suntanned legs over streams and hills, I knew I would love him. It was a shocking realization, but less so for the patient way in which it revealed itself to me; I accepted it as one accepts an unassailable truth: the sky will always be blue and the sun will always rise to banish the stars.
Over time, I came to see my homosexuality as simply another facet of being; just as I was gray-eyed, or deft of hand and foot, so too was I gay. It was neither something I railed against or something I took as the core of my being; rather, it simply was. I was one of the lucky ones, I guess; some people were unable to come to terms with being gay, just as those people would always fear some facet of being. For me, it was much simpler than that.
Now, though, I felt as though I would vomit. From that one day forward, I knew that this hour would come. Some day, I'd have to tell my parents, and though I accepted being gay quite readily, that by no means meant that they would. I had no idea what to expect; I'd never truly sounded them out on this issue. My plane for San Francisco left in the morning, though, and things with Seth had become serious enough to warrant telling my parents the truth. I couldn't lie to them-not for Seth's sake or for anyone's. They deserved the truth. The problem was that if they didn't accept the truth, if they didn't accept me . . . the thought filled me with a rushing of dread, and I imagined myself sleeping on the streets, living from meal to meal and watching the clothes rot off of my body. I fully appreciated that I had a long way to fall if they cut me off, and my fate rested in their hands. I had nowhere else to go. Oh, sure, I could fall on the mercy of my friends for a time-assuming they would even have me, since at current time I'd winnowed that number down to a mere two-but that could only last for so long, and then what? I could move in with Seth, but without question, my place was here, at least until high school was over. And as much as the part of me that cried out for independence wanted to deny it, I needed my family. My parents were away often, and they may have left me to my own devices many a time, but the bottom line was that I loved them and the twins. They were a constant, always somewhere between the backdrop and the foreground, the stage and scenery against which I played out the little drama of my life. Well, they were more than inert things, but my relationship with them was stable, solid, something upon which I could fall back when things with my volatile friends turned to shit. They were the foundation from which all else in my life sprung forth.
What would they say? What would they think? What would they do? Even now, my father was downstairs, reading reports from work, his dress shirt rolled neatly at the sleeves and his gold wire-rim glasses slipping off of his nose. There would be music, probably Gorecki or Philip Glass, softly in the background, and the whitish glow of a computer screen behind him. He liked to work with paper, though, when he could, so he'd be at the big mahogany desk with stacks all around him, lit yellow in the dim light from the desktop lamp. The twins and I had bought him that lamp, a Tiffany original, for his birthday several years back. How would he take it when I walked into the room and dropped the bomb?
And my mother. She who had to out-blasé me in order to oust my secrets. Despite her long hours, she was always at the parent-teacher conferences, or cheering alongside my dad at the swim meets, or standing clenched and nervous at Shotokan competitions. I remember when I had broken my leg and something like panic had risen floodlike in her eyes, only to be beaten down in the next moment in the immediacy of maternal instinct. She'd carried me off the karate mat herself, refusing aid, and barraged the EMTs with orders and questions-she who had studied to be a doctor, and yet ended up an entrepreneur alongside my father. Everything I had in this world and everything I was I owed to them.
Fuckohgodfuck what would they say? I couldn't keep lying to them. I'd lied to them for seventeen years-well, that wasn't entirely true; five years. And it was really more an omission of truth than anything else. Still, though, there was no ducking around the fact that at some point when it truly began to matter, they deserved to know. I would stand and face their judgment, and although they were progressive people, I had no idea how they would stand to have their only son, the bearer of their surname and firstborn child, be gay. Here there would be no wedding, no church bells, no rushes to the hospital because oh my God Mrs. Eliot the younger was in labor! and finally, irrevocably, the dream of white picket fences and two-point-four grandchildren and a dog would come to an end.
Ooh boy I think I needed to use the bathroom. Again. If I didn't make it down there soon, someone would come up and investigate why the toilet had flushed five times in the last half hour. At least I hadn't thrown up. I was close, very close. I flushed the toilet again-six-and stumbled for my room, wondering what it would be like to never see these sparse walls again. My mind skittered away from the thought like a rat from a suddenly-lit room.
"Tristan!" I heard my name hollered up from the stairwell and I jumped. I nearly shouted in surprise. "Dinner's ready!"
Food? Now? When all I wanted was to have this over with, or a swift death? I almost laughed at the thought, but then realized that the kind of laughter that threatened to bubble over was the sort you heard in the movies, when crazy people howl at nothing, faces distorted as human faces never should. I wished there was someone I could call. Why wasn't there anyone I could call? Oh, yeah, because I'd pissed them all down the drain. Seth was studying, so his phone was off, and Jared-well, Jared didn't even know. Well, it was now or never. My bag was already packed in the corner of my room and I could hear the sounds of glass clinking from the dining room. I stood at the top of the stairs and looked down. The room was dark but for one strip of light laid down by the kitchen lights, seen through the doorway. I held on to the rail for support; my shoes made a loud slap slap slap noise against the wooden staircase and the wooden floors. I paused again at the door of the kitchen, through which I could see the dining room; from the shadows I saw my mother and father and the twins, and there the fifth seat, empty but with a plate of food in front of it. I wondered if they'd ever set that place again. One of the twins said or did something funny and they all laughed. Already I could feel this dreadful separation, as though there were a pane of glass here and I was looking through a window at something not mine, a shopper who sees something in the storefront that is far beyond his means.
My mother half-rose from the table and called me again. That was it. The moment was broken and I passed through into the room. I sat down quietly in the chair. I could not eat. Even the smell of food turned my stomach. I pushed my plate away. "What's wrong, Tris?" my dad asked, watching me set the food aside. "We heard the toilet flush upstairs. Are you sick?"
"A bit," I said. The twins leaned in to hear me and I realized I'd whispered.
"Do you want something for your stomach?" my mother asked, getting up. "Here, let me get you some water."
"It's fine," I said, and this time my voice was far harsher than I'd intended. I had no control over myself. Everyone paused at the tone in my voice and my mother sat back down again.
"There is something more," she said quietly. "Girls?" She looked at the twins. "Are you both done?"
"I am," Sandy said, but Isolde wanted dessert. My mother let them go anyhow after promising to call Izz back down for ice cream after the table had been cleared. The girls scooted back from the table, leaving, and the momentary lull was broken.
My mother turned to me. "There is something bothering you," she said. "Something that has been bothering you, off and on, for about two months now. Am I right?"
"A bit closer to a month and a half," I admitted. Now that the moment had come, I was shaking. I was happy to let her lead, in a way, but in another this had to be of my own volition.
"Why didn't I know about this?" my dad asked. He looked at my mom. "Alyssa? What's going on?" My dad didn't like being kept in the dark about things. He needed a sense of control, and when he didn't know things, he felt like he was losing control.
I had to make sure he didn't have that feeling if this was going to work at all. "I'm going to tell you, dad," I said before my mom could say anything in response. "Mom only knows because she's good at reading me. We're alike, you know, she and I." More alike than you'd like to think, I added sourly to myself. Again my stomach flipped over.
"Does this have to do with your fight with Garrett?" she asked. Damn, but she was shrewd.
"Oh, I knew about that," my dad said, looking a bit more at ease.
"In a way," I said slowly. "Garrett . . . well, he's not so important to me anymore. He couldn't . . . he didn't . . . he's just not a good friend. There were things he just didn't get."
"What do you mean?" My dad leaned forward in his chair a bit.
"There were things he didn't understand. He walked away from me and he didn't come back. I let him go." The memory of it seared through me like it hadn't in weeks, and the intensity of it was all the stronger for its absence. It was as though there were two agonies within me, fighting one another to be the first to tear me apart.
"What didn't he understand?" my mother asked. I glanced at her hopefully, but I could tell from the look on her face that she had no idea what was coming. Neither of them did. Oh, God, this was so hard.
"He didn't . . . " I could barely go on. "He couldn't . . . " Tears stung the corners of my eyes. My parents' eyes were on me like floodlights on a prison escapee. They burned on their way up, the words, and once said they were never going back in. I put my hands on the table, along the edge, as though by holding on I could keep from being torn away from this place. My knuckles were white where I gripped the wood. "I told him I loved him." There. My mother got it. I could tell because the glass she was holding slipped out of her hands and shattered against the kitchen floor. The noise was sudden and deafening, and in the silence that followed I could hear the sound of disbelief and then my world being ripped down the center.
"You mean . . . " my father looked confused. "Like that?"
I nodded. "Like that." Shit, my eyes stung. "I'm gay, Dad," I said. I couldn't meet his eyes, so I tried to look at my mom, she who understood me so well, and I found I couldn't look at her either. Neither of them spoke. The lights over the table grew dim and I could hear a roaring in my ears as of something rushing away from me. My hands fell away from the table. I couldn't sit here in this foreign place. "I-I'm sorry," I whispered, then got up and ran.
I sat for an hour in the darkness of my room. Nobody came in. I didn't turn on any of the lights. I opened my window, stared out at the lawn, and seriously contemplated just letting go of the sill and allowing my body to tumble out. It might hurt, but it would be over quickly, especially if I made sure to land on my head. What stopped me was a desire to know, finally, and I closed the window, opened the door and crept down the hallway and the stairs to my father's study. The door was closed, but his light was on and I could hear his voice, raised. I moved closer and listened, my whole body trembling. "I mean it," he said. "I want him out by Monday. Gone. Give him time to pack his stuff in a box and then he's out. I won't have it, you understand." Then noises too low to hear, and again, "No! He has until Monday." Then the sound of something slamming-it sounded like my father's hand on his desk-and I'd heard enough. I didn't even wait to hear my mother's reply before I got up, my breath hitching in my throat, and ran up the stairs. I grabbed my bag and headed for the front door, my shoes loud on the wood. I didn't care. I threw open the front door and ran out into the night, down the driveway, running as quickly as I could. I crossed the grass of the lawn, stumbling once and catching myself before I fell, and up over the gates. I couldn't breathe. When I got out into the street, I turned and looked back at my house. It was dark, the only lights visible the ones in my parents' room and in my dad's office, and as I watched my legs suddenly gave out and I fell to my knees in the middle of the street.
I want him out by Monday. Gone.
My eyes burned and I angrily held myself still, willing the tears not to fall. Those were words that would be burned into my memory until the day I passed from this earth.
He's out. I won't have it, you understand.
A cloud passed over the moon and threw the house into shadow. There was nothing for me there. There was nothing for me anywhere. My head sagged and I felt the grit of the asphalt against my brow. My shoulders heaved, once, twice, before I got control of myself and stumbled to my feet.
The road was empty. The night was cool, but not cold; I was glad of that, as it seemed I would be sleeping outside. The lights of Laguna and Newport Beach sparkled below the hill and I heard, distantly, the roar of a plane taking off from John Wayne. The plane tickets were in my bag. I would go to San Francisco. I clung to that as a drowning man clings to a piece of wood. San Francisco. Seth was waiting for me. Seth would understand. I took a ragged breath. All I had to do was get to the airport tomorrow morning-I would call a taxi. I had plenty of cash in my bank accounts-enough to get a taxi and pay my own way until I could find a job. Seth would help. I walked down the hill, my step slow-I had nowhere to go; why rush?-and my mind focused northward. The moon rose higher in the sky as I walked aimlessly down and toward the city. What time was it? I reached into my pocket for my cell phone, then realized I'd forgotten it. No matter. Who would call, anyhow? Not my parents, certainly. Not if they wanted me to leave anyway. Seth knew what time to meet me, and I had no other friends but him.
Jared. I had Jared. His house was a block away, and certainly it wasn't too late. I could stay there. I could stay with him and say goodbye before I left for San Francisco. He deserved that. There was no one else I cared to say goodbye to, but I would miss Jared. I walked, lost in thought, and soon found myself staring up at the Luceri house. It was dark, except for lights around the back of the house, so I let myself quietly into the backyard and stared up at Jared's window. His light was on. I looked around; how to get his attention? There was nothing I could throw up at the window, and I couldn't very well call him without knowing what time it was. Or risking having Liza answer. Her light was off, but that meant nothing. It was a weekend; likely she'd be out all night. With Garrett.
Resolutely, I looked at the vine trellis next to Jared's window. Sliding my bag higher on my shoulder, I grabbed the trellis and started to climb. It trembled, but supported my weight. Hand over hand, I climbed slowly up to Jared's window and then, balancing myself carefully, I looked into his window. I almost fell, but felt no fear; it didn't really matter very much, after all. Jared was lying on his stomach on his bed, nose in a book. He was wearing shorts and an old t-shirt and his hair was wet. He must've just showered. I paused there for a moment before rapping on the window lightly with my knuckles. Jared gave a little scream and fell off the bed. His head appeared at the window, his eyes wide.
"Jared!" I called, waving a hand. The trellis creaked.
"Tris?" I saw him mouth. The window slid open. "What are you doing?"
"Jared," I said, suddenly finding myself very tired. I wanted to just let go. "Can I come in?"
"Of course!" He pulled off the screen and helped me through the window. "What're you doing here, Tris?"
I sat on the edge of his bed and was quiet for a minute. I let my bag slip to the floor. "I had nowhere else to go," I said.
"What do you mean?" he asked, popping the screen back into place.
"I'm leaving home," I said simply. "My parents don't want me there." I stared at nothing. Would everyone hate me for being gay? Garrett had rejected me. My parents disowned me. Would Jared do the same? I couldn't tell him. If he threw me out too, I didn't think I would be able to take it. It didn't matter anyhow; I would never see him again after tomorrow. He would never have to know.
Jared, bless his heart, didn't ask any more questions for the moment. No "Why?" or "Where are you going?" Instead, he sat down beside me on the bed and after a moment put a tentative hand on my shoulder. I reached up and grabbed his hand and held onto it as I had held onto the dining table earlier. I would have to let go, though, just as I had let go of the table. But not now. Now, I hung on to this last remnant of what I'd once had here. We stayed like that for a long while.
I never knew how much time passed, but presently Jared's head was against my shoulder and his eyes were fluttering closed. His hair had dried. I could hear his breathing fall into the gentle pattern of sleep and I let him stay there for awhile longer, shifting my body until I had an arm around his slender form and his head cradled against my chest. He didn't wake up, or if he did he fell back to sleep immediately. I sat, thinking, breathing in these last moments with him. The room was comfortably warm, the light a soft golden glow, the only sounds the rhythmic sighing against my breast. I breathed in the floral scent of his shampoo. As I looked down at him, I felt the same feeling I'd known when Garrett had turned and walked, then ran, away from me that night on the beach. It was different-this time it was me leaving, not Jared-but my heart burned with a love so painful in its sundering that it felt as though I were ripping away a living and vital part of me.
Finally, when I felt myself growing sleepy as well, I shifted, removing my arm. Jared stirred in his sleep. "Time for bed, Jared," I said softly as he opened his eyes.
He nodded sleepily and smiled at me. "Room on the bed," he murmured, gesturing beside him. Jared had a full-size bed with enough room and pillows for the both of us. He slid under the covers and I quickly changed into my pajamas and joined him. For a moment I wondered what his parents would think, but his door was locked and they were long abed. I reached over and turned out the light. The events of the evening had drained me of energy, and within moments I found myself asleep.
* * *
When morning came, I woke suddenly. The first thing I noticed was that it was cold. The sun was just starting to rise and the dawn air was as chilly as the night had been. Then I noticed that at some point in the middle of the night, Jared had snuggled against me for warmth; his head was on my shoulder and one arm was thrown across my chest. I smiled quietly to myself. At least this last night was like this, I thought. Warm and quiet and secure in each other's company. I had about an hour yet before I had to be ready for my flight, so I relaxed, watching the room turn from black to gray to blue and listening to the quiet breathing of the boy beside me. Finally, when the sun had taken possession of the sky and the room was white in the morning light, Jared stirred. He opened his eyes, focused on me and smiled.
"Good morning, honey," I said sarcastically. His soft smile changed into a grin and he slapped my arm. So much for a peaceful morning. Time was short, however, and I didn't want to waste it. I felt something huge and sad inside of me as I looked into Jared's green eyes and realized that these would be the last hours I spent with him. "Listen, I have a little less than an hour before I have to leave, so let's make the most of it."
"I don't understand, Tris," Jared said, sitting up in bed, his back against the wall. His hair was disheveled and he shook his head to get it out of his eyes. "I didn't want to ask last night-I could tell you were upset-but what's going on?"
I sighed and closed my eyes. "My parents and I got into a big fight. Later, when I came down the stairs to see what they were doing, I heard my dad talking to my mom and saying that he wanted me to leave by Monday." I took a deep, shuddering breath. "So I left. I walked here. Seth bought me a ticket to San Francisco some time ago, and today's the day I leave. It was supposed to be a weekend trip, but . . . it looks like that's my only place to stay, really."
"What!?" Jared was not happy. I knew he wouldn't be. "You're leaving for good? To San Francisco?" Wow. I didn't know he had it in him to get this mad. He was nearly shouting. "Why?"
"Because it's the only place I can go," I said truthfully. "I can't go home; everyone is mad at me except for you, and I can't stay here-"
"Why not?" Jared countered.
"Because . . . I can't impose on your parents like that," I said. "And your sister is mad at me. I can't do it, Jared. I'm sorry."
"Bullshit," he said. "You know my parents'll let you stay, Tris. They love you to death, man. And you can patch things up with Liza-"
"No!" Perhaps there was a bit more vehemence in that than was necessary. "Listen, Jared, I can't do that. No, I won't do that. It wouldn't be right, or fair. You know that. I can't ask them to do that for me."
"So, what, our friendship is just something you can drop?" Jared asked. His voice wasn't as loud, but it shook. "Is that what I mean to you?"
"No, Jared," I said. "Believe me when I say that I'm going to miss you like crazy. You're my best friend. But I can't stay. There's nothing for me here."
"I can't believe this," Jared said angrily. He got out of the bed. "I can't believe you're gonna just-just take off like this is some stupid adventure."
"I'm sorry," I said. God, I found myself saying that a lot. I felt very small and pathetic for a moment, because I knew that I was running out on my best friend. But what could I do? I meant what I had said. I couldn't impose on the Luceris like that; everything within me said that it was wrong. I got up and went into the bathroom connected to Jared's room. I dressed and came back out. Jared wasn't looking at me. He was staring out the window. "Jared?"
He didn't turn. "What was the fight about?" he asked.
I was silent for a long while. I knew I couldn't tell him. I couldn't end our friendship like this. I didn't want him chasing me out, too. Maybe it was selfish, maybe it was cruel, but I didn't want my last memories of Jared Luceri to be of him telling me to leave. "I . . . can't say."
"Don't you trust me?" My heart nearly broke on those words.
"Of course I trust you," I said. "There are just some things . . . " I fell silent.
He turned to look at me. Tears were streaming down his face. "Please, Tris," he begged. "Please, Tris, don't go."
I bit my lower lip fiercely and closed my eyes lest I, too, broke down. "I don't have a home, Jared," I said.
"This can be your home." He looked like he wanted to step toward me, then thought better of it.
"I already told you. I can't impose like that."
"Why not?" Jared asked, his voice breaking on the words. He was holding onto the windowsill for support and his shoulders were heaving with the force of his weeping. "What is it-you don't want to ask because you think we can't afford it, because we don't make as much as your parents? Because you think we're poor? Is that it?"
I couldn't believe Jared even thought that. I was totally at a loss for words. "I thought so," he said. "It's like we're not good enough for you or something." He finally collapsed back down onto the bed. "You don't trust me and you don't want to stay here," he managed to get out through his sobs.
I didn't want to leave him, not like this, but time was short. I steeled myself, willed my eyes to stop burning, and tried to see through the watery haze of tears that I refused to let fall. "I think I'd better go," I said. Jared didn't even look up. He was crying so hard I wasn't even sure he could speak. "I'm going to miss you, Jared," I added, my voice hitching on the last words. I opened his door. "Goodbye."
I let myself out, shutting the door behind me. Nobody else was awake; I walked silently down the carpeted hall and let myself out the front door. I walked for a few blocks, until I found a pay phone, then called for a taxi. It came within moments and I told the cabdriver to take me to the airport. I turned around and looked back at the life I was leaving behind. I could see my parents' faces, distant like something viewed through fog, and then the sobbing, broken little form of the best friend I was leaving behind. Finally, finally, the last barriers I'd been holding in place, the proud walls that kept the world outside, fell apart.
I wept the entire way to the airport.
* * *
John Wayne Airport was a little ways inland, but planes leaving the airport usually banked out over the ocean, where they could gain altitude without passing noisily over the sleepy homes of coastal Orange County. As the plane passed over Laguna, I imagined I could pick out individual details: first my school, then the place where once I'd lived, and finally I imagined that somewhere down below there was a blond-haired boy watching and perhaps waving as the plane flew over the water and turned northward.
I stared out the window throughout the entire trip. The airline attendants stopped to ask me if there was anything I needed, but when I didn't answer they turned away and didn't come back. The flight was over with quickly and soon we were cutting through the clouds and I saw my new home. San Francisco was covered in stratus clouds, as San Francisco often is, and the entire city had a gray pallor to it that made me clench my jacket more tightly around my body. When we landed, a light drizzle was misting the city. Seth was there as I stepped through the gate. "I called you," he said.
"I left my phone behind," I said. "Seth, we need to talk." I couldn't tell him right away that I was planning on staying. Through the trip, when thought pierced through the blanket of gray sadness that filled my mind, a sort-of plan had cobbled itself together. I figured I could ask Seth if I could stay with him for a week or so, then maybe get a small studio apartment in one of his parents' apartment complexes here or in Berkeley. I could pay a few months' rent before money started getting tight. By then, hopefully I'd have a decent job. School would have to wait, apparently. I figured I could just take my GED and get that over with, then maybe take night school at a community college after I got off work. I'd tell Seth all this later, though. Right now he needed to know what had happened; more importantly, I had to tell someone before I lost it again.
"Sure," he said. "Did you check baggage again?"
"No," I said. "Everything I have is right here." Literally, I thought bitterly. "Let's go. I need to get out."
"What's wrong?" he asked as he steered me in the direction of his Audi. I moved by rote, putting one foot in front of the other, seeing little of anything.
"I fought with my parents. They wanted me out, permanently. I left."
Seth didn't say anything for a moment. "What did you fight about?" he asked.
"I told them I was gay."
"Oh." A flicker of pain passed over Seth's face. I was surprised; it was the first sign of anything even remotely resembling sadness or upset I'd ever seen from him. He didn't speak the whole rest of the way through the airport. Finally, when we got near his car, he put on his sunglasses and turned to me. "Listen, I know just what you need."
"What's that?" I asked. I was ready for any solution. I needed it.
"We'll go out and get completely wasted tonight," he said. "We'll hit the clubs and just have a good time. That'll take it all away."
It sounded like as good a plan as any. Drunken oblivion was about as good as any other kind of oblivion, I figured. "Okay."
"Do you still have the fake I gave you?"
"Yeah, it's in my wallet."
"Good, you'll need that. I know just the place to take you. Let's get back to my place."
Half an hour later we were shirtless and groping each other on the bed. I needed this. I needed my mind off of everything that I was leaving behind. I needed to forget the life that I had burned away. I needed to forget the sobbing face of the only person who would miss me. I could forget here. I could lose myself in the motion of Seth's body against mine, in the exploration of flesh and the tangle of sheets. I let Seth slide my jeans off. I gasped, unable to breathe, as he licked and nibbled at my nipples and trailed kisses down the center of my chest and abdomen.
There were no words because we were entering a place where words were meaningless, small things, human constructs that would confine this act that was older than human thought or speech. This time, I did not hesitate when Seth slid off his own pants and tossed them beside mine; I did not flinch when he began to toy with the waistband of my boxers, nor when he placed his hand on my erection, which strained as I did to be free. This time I recklessly plunged my hand into his bikini underwear and grasped him, tugging, enjoying his face as he threw his head back and groaned his desire. My other hand ran across his muscled chest and stopped at each nipple. I felt the cleft of his butt and the rippling muscles of his back. And all the while I stroked him, bringing him closer to climax and using each upward thrust to forget a little bit more of who I once had been.
When Seth ripped off my boxers and put his hot mouth on me, that's when I knew there was no turning back. I watched his head slide up and down and suddenly the room grew so hot I thought my hair would burn and the sheets light aflame. He stopped for a moment, kissing me on the lips, and I moaned against him as I kept a steady pressure on my slow stroking. When he moved back down, it was as if each up-and-down stroke took another painful memory and set it in a high place where I couldn't reach. Finally, I couldn't last another moment; my back arched and my mind went blank and I stared at the ceiling, at his eyes, at nothing at all as everything within me tensed, drained out of me and left me shaking and cold with the force of what I had just felt. Simultaneously, my hand tightened involuntarily and Seth came across my chest and hand, screaming in ecstasy, and as his voice died away I realized his had not been the only cry of release.
Afterward, we lay together on the bed, Seth with his arms behind his head and me still trembling with the memory of what had passed through me and into him. The sheets were tangled around our legs, our clothes were scattered about the room, and the rain pattered gently on the window. "Pretty good, eh?" he asked, turning to me with a smile. God, those eyes were beautiful.
"Yeah," was all I could say. I listened to the sound of the rain, hovering between blissful dozing and wakefulness. The remnants of Seth's orgasm were drying on my chest.
"Wanna try something else?" Seth asked.
"What are you thinking?" I asked.
"I want to be inside of you," he said.
Whoa, whoa, whoa. The screech of mental brakes. Granted, Seth wasn't gigantic, but I didn't think I was quite ready for that step. "I don't know," I said.
"I'll do it gently," he said. "It won't hurt a bit."
"Do you have a condom?" I asked, stalling for time.
"Yeah, I do, and lube too," Seth replied.
"Let's wait," I said. "Let's go have fun tonight and see what happens."
I could tell he was angry when I said that, but thankfully he didn't push the issue. We spent the rest of the day at the financial district, first eating lunch and then shopping. He didn't ask about what had happened back home and I didn't talk about it. I had to tell him my plans at some point, though. I wondered if he'd be willing to let me stay even if I wasn't comfortable with the idea of going further in bed. Then I slapped myself mentally for thinking that; despite what Taylor had said, Seth wasn't like that. He would understand.
We ducked into the Saks Fifth Avenue in Union Square and I bought some clubbing attire, since I hadn't brought anything with me. I bought a watch, too, to replace the one I'd left behind. I felt as though I were shedding a skin. There was a new me underneath, one that wasn't battered and cast off. Soon, I hoped, that new me would emerge fully and I could fling aside the memories of what had been.
As the day grew long, Seth spent some time on his phone organizing the evening's events. When we got back to his flat near the Haight, we spent about an hour cleaning and getting the place set up for what Seth said would be "a few friends." While we did so, I brought up my plans.
"So . . . my parents threw me out," I said.
"What are you planning on doing?" Seth asked.
"I thought I'd find a place up here," I replied.
"You're welcome to stay here as long as you need," Seth said instantly. A glow suffused me; it was akin to the one I'd felt earlier that morning.
"Thanks, Seth," I said. "I was hoping I could find a job, actually, and then get my own place-maybe if your parents have an opening . . . "
"Well, I'm not sure, but I'll see what I can do." Seth sounded reluctant and I deflated a bit at that, but the fact that he'd invited me to stay was enough. I reached up and kissed him on the lips. Several minutes passed as we kissed and we were finally interrupted by the ring of the doorbell. Seth broke away from me and opened the door. A few boys came in and Seth introduced me to them. "Tris, this is Lionel," he said, gesturing at an incredibly handsome black guy a few years older than me. The next boy was just as beautiful, though where Lionel was dark he was a tall Nordic beauty. "This is Orri." The last two looked like brothers, or cousins at least, and Seth introduced them as Michael and Gabriel. Soon after they'd made themselves comfortable and poured themselves drinks, the bell rang again and a few more guys trickled in. Seth left the door open after that and by the time we were getting ready to leave for the club, there were about twelve people there, including my arch-nemesis, Rory Semel. He pointedly ignored me and just as pointedly gave Seth a full kiss on the lips. I shrugged it off. He might have his little imagined victories, but I had Seth's love, and that was enough for me. Rory would lose that battle, in the end.
I'd changed into the clothes I'd bought earlier that day, and several of the boys complimented me on my choices: tight black slacks and a black collared, button-down shirt, which I left half-unbuttoned at the chest. The shirt was silk, flared at the sleeves, which I left unbuttoned and pushed back slightly, and decorated with stripes and patterns in white, silver and several shades of gray. I had bought a silver-and-black necklace that rested just above the hollow where my shoulder-bones joined below my neck and around my wrists were my new watch, which of course was also black and silver, and the bracelet I always wore. The boys were gathered around the table taking shots, so I wormed my way in and tossed back four or five shots of vodka as well. Rory looked at me. "So, the little boy's decided he can drink with the big boys," he sneered.
I pointedly stared at Rory's crotch. "If you're an example of the 'big boys,' I'd hate to see where the little boys are," I replied. Several of the other boys laughed, but not too loudly; I got the feeling that they didn't really want to cross Rory. He, of course, was dressed like the village slut yet again, with a tight pink t-shirt that rode several inches above his navel; his jeans, meanwhile, buckled several inches below that. I left it at that and we made preparations to leave. I stumbled a bit as I walked down the stairs and Lionel and Seth steadied me. Perhaps I'd had those shots a bit too fast. Ah well, I thought fuzzily as we made our way through the crowded streets.
We took the bus to the club. When we got out, I took it in with a shudder: the crowd was decidedly different than the last club we'd gone to. Leather and bulky men were everywhere, and the club itself was small and dark and filled with a cold blue light. I glanced up at the name: "Alcatraz." I pulled out my ID with some degree of trepidation and followed the others inside. The room spun a bit as people jostled me about, and my stomach did a backflip. I'd have to be careful if I wanted to stay on my feet. The room was filled with men dancing to some of the most disturbing music I'd ever heard: a low, rumbing bass beat layered over with lighter percussion and high-pitched electronic screams. Most of the men were wearing leather or tight black clothing; many of them were fifteen, twenty, even thirty years older than myself. As I walked unsteadily from the front doors to the bar, not really feeling up to dancing at the moment, I had my butt grabbed no less than five times and my crotch fondled at least twice. I shuddered away from each contact and leaned heavily against the bar for safety. A heavyset man with no shirt and a hairy chest approached me. "Looking for your daddy?" he asked with a leer, leaning forward. His breath smelled of alcohol and something worse that I couldn't identify. My mind was a bit too foggy to respond right away, so he took my silence as permission and placed one hand on the inside of my thigh. "I could break you in real good, kid," he half-growled, half-whispered near my ear. My stomach revolted again and I almost fell to the ground.
Suddenly, Lionel and Seth were there. "He's with us," Lionel said calmly, looking the man in the eye. The hairy man was big, but Lionel was tall and built like a boxer; the man turned away in search of easier prey. I shivered as they helped me up against the bar again.
"Here, let me order you a drink," Seth said, although in my opinion that was the last thing I needed. "One Adios Motherfucker," he said to the bartender, who then checked his ID. Meanwhile, I listened to the horrible music issuing forth from the speakers all around the room. Now, real screams were tracked over the rest of the music, and each time a thin wail cut through the beat a set of dancers onstage would raise whips and lash them against each other. Men who had never learned how to properly dance were cavorting half-naked like savages around an invisible fire; in dark corners, lit by that cold blue light, pairs of men were making out or worse. I closed my eyes. "Here you go," Seth said. I heard the sound of a drink being pushed my way. I opened my eyes and wished I hadn't; even looking at the drink made me feel ill.
"He doesn't look so good," Lionel said to Seth. He had to shout to be heard over the screams.
"He's never been to a club like this," Seth replied. "We took him to someplace a lot less wild last time. There were more people our age there, too."
"Who picked this place?" Lionel asked.
"Rory and me," Seth replied. "We've been here once before, several months ago, on Toddler Tuesday, when this place is eighteen and up." He turned to me. "Drink some," he said.
I took a sip and breathed in deeply through my nose as the room spun. That was a mistake, I realized, as the smells of sweat and leather assailed me. The whole club smelled like one giant hairy man. I wanted to vomit.
"Will you be okay if we go dance a bit?" Seth asked me. I nodded slowly, trying to keep my head from falling off its shoulders. He ginned, kissed me on the cheek, and made his way through the press of man-flesh into the center of the dance floor. I couldn't help but imagine him in the center of the imaginary flames, with all these huge and slavering men dancing around him. I nursed my drink and slowly finished it off. My entire body was numb and everything was indiscernible in the overwhelming blue haze by the time Seth and Lionel, accompanied by a few of the other guys, made their way out of the press. By then, the parts of me that could still form conscious thought wanted out. "You doing alright?" Seth asked me. In the blue light it was hard for him to see how pale I was, I imagined. I nodded grimly again, though I was near to stumbling out on my own, if I could find where the door was and walk there unaided. They vanished again. This time, more men came my way and pawed me, often without even bothering to speak; they could see how drunk I was. The next hour was a blur of drums and screams and leather and leering bearded faces and calloused hands groping at my crotch and roughly inside my shirt. I was helpless, but the men usually moved on after the bartender gave them a stern look. A few of them bought me drinks and waited until I'd gulped them down before feeling me up and leaving. When Seth emerged again, even had I been sober I would've had a hard time counting the number of men that had approached me while they were away.
"I need to go," I said through suddenly-chattering teeth. I was so cold. Each scream hurt my ears and my heart was racing in my chest. Seth spent a few more minutes gathering everyone up-several hours had gone by at this point, though I was unaware of the passage of time-but he left Lionel to watch over me in his absence. Finally, after everyone was back around the bar, Seth and Lionel helped me outside. I couldn't walk straight, and my body was trembling uncontrollably, but eventually we all boarded the bus, which was empty except for two homeless men and smelled like urine, and stumbled back up into Seth's flat. The boys fell to drinking and I walked into the bedroom, falling across the bed. I had no idea how much alcohol I'd had, but I knew it was far, far more than I'd ever drank before. Images filled my mind as I sat there. There was Taylor, walking with me on the beach, and I heard him tell me that Seth would let me stay if he got to fuck me every night. Then there was a man from the club, his face ferocious as he pushed into me, and I screamed as the music started and he tore me apart. Then there was Julian, his face sad as he threw rocks shaped like tombstones into the sea, and then Jared, in the middle of a vast body of water, waving one suntanned arm at me helplessly as he drowned beneath the waves.
Midway through the evening's proceedings-I glanced at the clock and saw that it was after three in the morning-Seth came into the room. "So, you ready to take me inside of you?" he asked. I could see his erection straining against his jeans and a hungry look in his eyes. He ran one hand up the back of my leg and along my butt.
It took me near on a minute to form a coherent sentence. "Not now," I said, the words thick and slurred.
"Jesus Christ," Seth said. "Here we even left the club early cause you're so fucked up and now, when everyone's out there fucking on my floor and spilling all my booze, you still won't just lift your legs a bit and let me fuck you?"
"Dunno, Set," I murmured. "Need t' walk." I stumbled up from the bed and headed for the door.
"Fine, go fucking take a walk," Seth said. "Go on, get the fuck out." I nodded and stumbled out the door. My vision was fuzzy and tears were running down my face, but I managed to make it to the stairwell and I half, walked, half fell down to the ground level. I let myself out and took off in the direction of the Haight.
I have no idea how far I got before I was suddenly doubled over against a lamppost and retching into the gutter. I felt as through I threw up everything inside of me. I stumbled up and took a few halting steps further, crossed the street in a hunched shuffle, and threw up again at the next corner. After that, I couldn't walk anymore, so I laid down against the curb for awhile, until my body stopped shaking so badly. It was cold again, even though I had put on my jacket. Finally, the shaking subsided enough for me to fall asleep. My last thought before darkness swept in was that if a car came too close to the curb, I wouldn't mind at all.
Chapter Fifteen: Broken and Rising, Burning
A hard tapping against my shoulder roused me from my drunken slumber. "You, boy, wake up," a voice said. I groaned and rolled over, opening my eyes. I flinched immediately. A great shining light hit me full in the face and for a brief and wild moment I thought that maybe I'd died, until I realized that it was far more likely that any light at the end of my tunnel would be a roaring fire. My eyes focused and I saw a cop leaning over me, tapping me none too gently with his baton. "You can't sleep here."
"Sorry," I mumbled, sitting upright. I was far more sober than when I'd fallen asleep, I noticed. The vomiting had helped. Nonetheless, I had a splitting headache. "I guess I nodded off."
"Have you been drinking?" the officer asked pointedly, shining the light into my eyes.
"No, officer," I said. "I'm narcoleptic." It was a lie, but there wasn't any way for the cop to check.
"Listen, you look like a decent kid; get up and get moving. I'm coming back in five minutes and I don't want to see you on the streets, or I'm taking you in. And stay out of trouble, you hear me?"
I nodded attentively and hopped to my feet. Immediately I was awash in dizziness, but I held myself steady lest the police officer see. I'd gotten off far luckier than I deserved; the cop could easily have hauled me in and then I'd really be fucked. As it was, I was about ten minutes from Seth's flat; apparently I hadn't managed to get far in my drunken state. I made my unsteady way back to the flat, trudging up the stairwell. Even from outside the door I could hear the sounds of moaning. Yep, it appeared they were still at it. I opened the door and the sounds grew louder. In the darkness, I couldn't tell who was going at it; most of the guests had stayed, so there were easily a dozen boys sprawled in the darkness of the living room. I passed by and made my way to the bedroom, but the moaning noises only grew louder, accompanied now by the classic sounds of squeaking boxsprings. I was too tired to care, though; all I wanted to do was fall asleep on Seth's bed and then apologize to him in the morning. I opened the door to Seth's bedroom.
Seth was fucking Rory's brains out on the bed.
Neither of them heard the door open. I stood there in shock, my brain refusing to reconcile what my eyes saw: Rory, on his back, legs in the air, panting and screaming his little bitchy high-pitched screams, and Seth, sweat running down his back, moving in and out of Rory like a piston, a machine, something cold and dead and with no feelings at all. The room was filled with the humid scent of sex. This had obviously been going on for some time. I was filled with a cold rage and suddenly I wasn't sleepy or hung over anymore. Every sense and feeling rushed out of me, replaced with an implacable drive to end this. I walked up behind Seth, who still hadn't noticed me, and placed my hands on his shoulders. He barely had time to begin to turn his head before I was ripping him out of Rory and onto the floor. He flew backwards with a startled cry and spilled naked and damp across the carpet. "You worthless piece of shit," I growled between my teeth. "What the fuck are you doing?" Behind me, I heard Rory start to get up; I knew what was coming. Leave it to a coward to try to strike from behind. I stepped sideways, out of the range of the blow I knew was coming, and as I pivoted I saw Rory slap at the spot where I'd been. I ignored him.
Seth was getting up off the floor. I was pleased to note that his back and side were red from where he'd struck the ground. "You wouldn't give it up," he said coldly. "So I'm done with you. Rory, here-"
"-Is an easy fuck," I finished. I was still completely calm. Inevitability had settled across my shoulders and I felt only that great and frozen rage. "Suit yourself, Seth. Rory's slut trash and, well-" I gestured at the tangled sheets-"birds of a feather flock together, as they say. Or fuck together, in this case." I had to know something. "What I heard is true, then. You sleep with everything. You've slept with half of USC and now that you've made your way through LA, you've come to . . . this."
"So what?" Seth said. "Yeah, I've fucked around a bit. Yeah, I wanted to fuck you. Now it seems you don't, so-"
"Funny," I said, and I felt nothing but that anger as I continued, though I should've felt a torrential sadness, "and here I thought that just maybe you loved me."
"Give it up, kid," Rory said from the bed. "Obviously you're not good enough-"
"Oh, and you are, you stupid little whore?" I sneered. "I don't know who's a bigger tramp here-you or Seth." I turned in his direction, my face still twisted in derision. "It's no wonder your parents threw you out. " Seth moved toward me, red-faced and raging, and it was then I noticed that he was moving with the belligerence of the half-drunk. He would hurt me if he could. I forestalled this with a quick punch to his solar plexus, and down Seth went. It would take him a few minutes to recover his breath.
Rory tried to take another swipe at me, and this time my patience had worn out; I smashed a flat palm into that pretty face. His nose started bleeding instantly and he screamed "Fuck!" at the top of his lungs.
Angrily, I yanked all the sheets off of the bed and threw them at Rory. "Wipe your face with those, you cheap assfuck whore," I said. "They were gonna end up with your blood on them one way or another." Then I turned to Seth, who was still kneeling on the floor. "If I were you, I'd make sure you never saw me again," I said. I turned, shouldered my bag and walked out of the room.
I got on the bus and made it as far as the BART station at the Civic Center before my legs gave out. I sagged on the ground, back against a stone bench, and held my knees up to my chest. I would not cry. I wouldn't. Seth was a bastard and didn't deserve my tears. I leaned my head back and swallowed shallowly, pressing my balled fists against my eyes as though I could dam the tears that threatened to fall. They squeezed out around my hands, but I wiped them away as soon as they did. I rocked myself back and forth, holding my quivering body together through sheer force of will. I was able to stanch my weeping quickly, and soon it was as though I'd never broken down at all.
* * *
I had nowhere to go. The BART rolled through an endless succession of tunnels through the city; then the deeper descent came and we were under the bay, rushing under the surface with the sea above us and, beyond that, the sky. I wondered for a moment what would happen if a portion of the tunnel suddenly collapsed and all the water of the sea rushed in like blood to fill this gaping wound in the earth. I was moving toward nothing, really. The train made a high-pitched howling noise in the darkness, stretched and tortured, before the ground suddenly parted and we were exploding against the sky suddenly so blue and the railways crisscrossing above Oakland and, further on, Berkeley. Station after station blurred past the windows, marked only by the signs indicating which was which. I never glanced up. Eventually we came to the end of the line, in Richmond, and the train reversed direction, and it was as though I was moving through time backwards for a moment, the mindless sameness of the stations and the darkness of the underground tunnels interspersed with the flashing views of buildings like fingers raised and the crushing weight of the bay. When the train made it back to the station at Embarcadero, I figured this was as good a place as any to get off. Instead of heading toward the piers, I cut inward through the streets and the buildings visible from the BART. The sidewalks of Embarcadero Plaza were a sea of faces, of arms and hands wrapped and gloved against the cold, of businessmen walking quickly, trenchcoats over suits, and their female partners, in skirts and peacoats, of tourists with cameras and maps in hand, sometimes shivering from the cold-apparently they thought all of California had Malibu's weather year-round-and the native city-dwellers in their jeans and sweaters and hats and warm jackets. In this mass of people back and forth under the blue shadows of the buildings, I had never felt so alone. I stood still for a few moments in the middle of the sidewalk, pretending to study a building in the distance, where everything converged on a narrow strip of sky; really, I was feeling the crowd part around me as though I wasn't there, as the air parted around the skyscrapers without slowing. No one met my face. For a crazy moment I had an urge to scream just to see if anyone could hear me. I moved again, slipping through the crowd as something unseen, just another boy walking to somewhere where everyone had already been.
Around noon, I found myself growing hungry. My solitary walk had taken me toward Chinatown, so I ducked into the first restaurant I found, ordered the first thing on the little paper menu, ate it, and left again. I don't know if anyone took notice of me beyond accepting my cash and handing me my food. Out again into the streets, through the throngs of people, past the little shops with Chinese trinkets, rugs, clothing, under the archway that opened up into the gray city. Soon it would grow dark. I had maybe five hours before night fell, and with it weather colder yet. I stopped for a moment, leaning against the wall of a tall white building. I opened my bag, checking my flight ticket; the plane was scheduled for tomorrow afternoon. I wasn't sure if I'd even use the ticket. For as little as I had here, I had even less there. I stuffed the tickets back into my bag and kept walking. Two bus rides later, I was on the Golden Gate bridge; this late in the afternoon there were few joggers out, so the pedestrian path was fairly clear. The sun was setting. I stared out toward the ocean and remembered what it was like to lose Garrett. Face it-you've got no luck in the love department, I thought sourly. For a moment I gave in to the self-pity from which, I realized, I'd been running away all this time; the force of it made my knees weak. I had nothing. Literally nothing. I had the clothes on my back, a backpack that was half-empty, and a few thousand dollars in a bank account. I had no home; I had no friends; I had no diploma or work experience-what was I going to do? Realistically, what were my chances? I'd be better off just letting myself fall into the sea; certainly the collision of body against water would be fatal. I'd heard that falling into water from a great height is about the same as slamming into concrete. It would hurt for maybe a second or two, but I doubt that the fall would be frightening at all. Nothing was frightening if you wanted it badly enough.
If nothing else, though, the guardrails stopped me from flinging myself over. As I sat and thought, though, I realized that there was something more, the same something that had stopped me from seriously trying the same when Garrett had turned and walked away from me. I was angry. I'd been dealt a pretty shitty hand, and I was pissed. I'd fucked up in a few places, I know-I shouldn't have been so harsh with Taylor; he'd been right, after all. I shouldn't have gotten drunk and been cruel to Julian. I should've explained things better to Jared.
Jared.
Damnit, I bet he was hurting pretty bad right now. I'd run roughshod over him unthinkingly, without caring about his feelings, without doing anything to stop him from crying that morning, simply because I was too much of a coward to be honest. Jared had been true to me from day one, and at the first test of loyalty, I'd failed him. Shit. The anger that I was feeling at the world in general-at Seth, at Rory, at the sort of mentality that brought people to hurt other people, at my parents, at the casual cruelty of Garrett and Liza-was suddenly nothing compared to the anger I felt at myself for making Jared break down and weep.
My anger translated itself into motion. I crossed back the way I'd come and walked the entire distance clear to North Beach and then inward, back where I'd been this morning.
Now that it was later in the day, men and women walking to and from work had been replaced by families, couples, groups. I cut through these crowds as easily as I had the others. I wasn't entirely sure where I was-somewhere near the Embarcadero again; I knew that much, at least. At some point I'd have to find a bus and make my way . . . somewhere. I couldn't keep walking forever.
Or running, I suddenly realized, because that's what I was doing. I was running away from everything that was going wrong in my life, and since that was just about everything, there really wasn't any worth in running any longer. You can't outrun yourself. There were things that needed fixing, and there were questions I needed answered. And the only place I was going to get that was at home. I was done with Seth Lokine and Rory Semel and that crowd of hedonists, lovers of the flesh above all else; now, it was time to turn my attentions to the people that really mattered.
How long had I been ignoring everyone else, too obsessed with Seth to pay attention to what was going on around me? How long had I let him blind me, as though he were a creature made of light, when instead he was filled with deceit and indifference? How much had I thrown away in that time, my head too filled with dreams of Seth's body, Seth's eyes, Seth's empty promises, while all around me the things that mattered were slowly dying?
Although it was late in the evening, I took the bus straight to the airport. I knew now what I had to do. I was filled with one thing: purpose. I still had nothing and was returning to nothing, but even if I burned myself out in the attempt, there were mistakes I needed to correct. I would start with Jared and then, afterward, deal with my parents.
I'd read a lot of books and seen a lot of movies that suggested that people don't change. That we grow up to be a certain way and then, no matter what, that's it-if we start off nice and good, we stay that way, and if we're cruel and terrible, then there is no hope for us. A lot in life seemed to say that everything in this world is fixed and immutable, and that if we don't like who we are, then all of our life will be a battle to accept ourselves, because there is nothing we can do that will turn us into someone we are not. But I refused to believe that. The moment I believed that humans died just as they were born, never changing, never growing, everything I wanted would be lost.
God damn it, I can change.
* * *
I had to act before I lost my resolve. I needed to do this quickly because no matter how much I wanted to change, the doing was still like a knife through me. What I planned would go against everything I'd believed in all my life. I wasn't sure when I'd come to the decision that the easiest way to deal with life was to go through it as though nothing could quite touch me, reach deeply enough inside to hurt me. I'd built up some impressive walls over time. It was no surprise to me that most of the kids at school saw me as someone to fear, or at least avoid. It seemed a natural consequence that what friends I did have I had a hard time holding on to. And finally, it was almost an inevitability that I couldn't really let myself love. I'd been burned both times I'd let my heart open a bit.
And now here I was, winging my way southward again in this thing of cold steel, to go forth and bare my chest to the stabs of fate again. It had to be done quickly, as a gangrenous limb is cut off, or the way a doctor administers a shot-a quick piercing and drawing out of fluid and then a swab and bandage to patch the hole. The plane landed and this time the airport was empty, no one to greet me, and the utter wrongness of it struck me at the same time as the realization that I'd brought it upon myself. Well, I was sick of it. I didn't ever want to walk through an airport alone. I didn't ever want to feel that there was no one to greet me because there was no one left who loved me. It wasn't a good feeling at all.
I'd flown in a half-day ahead of schedule. It was near midnight and the city was quiet. Later, when all this was over, I'd realize how fortunate it was that I'd arrived early; had I come home on my scheduled flight, things might've gone much differently, beginning with the police car that would've been waiting outside. Now, though, I hailed a taxi and paid the fare for a brief ride to a nearby hotel. I would wait for morning, when Jared and my parents would be awake, and then I would set my plan in motion. I passed the night in fitful and restless sleep, and I was fully awake the second the sun, muted through a layer of clouds, streamed in through the window and across my face. I quickly showered and dressed in my jeans and a t-shirt. The clubbing clothes I'd been wearing I tossed in the wastebasket; they were a reminder of something I'd rather forget.
Another taxi ride later, I found myself staring up at the Luceris' house. I was desperately hoping that Liza would not answer the door; I would deal with her in due time, but that point was not now. First was her brother, and then my parents. But it was Mary Luceri who answered the door. "Hi, Mary," I said, remembering to use her first name.
"Hello, Tristan," she said, opening the door. "How are you?"
How in the world could I answer that question truthfully without opening up a very large can of worms? "Fine," I said instead, marveling at how that one word could gloss over the pain and loss and betrayal, all overlaid with this last and desperate hope born of anger and determination.
"Good, I'm glad to hear it," she said. She looked at me oddly. "Oughtn't you be in school right now?"
I froze. Shit. I'd totally forgotten that today was Monday. Jared wasn't home. I deflated in that moment and briefly my purpose deserted me. A long and awkward moment passed as I groped about for something to say. Mary finally filled the void, saying: "Jared has been really upset these last two days, though he hasn't said why. I'm glad you're here, but he went to school this morning with Julian and his mom, and Liza went with Garrett."
"Oh." Julian again. When had that friendship sprung up, and why? It was just another of the many things I'd missed while dazzled by Seth's dark charm. "Well . . . er, can you let him know I stopped by?"
She nodded. "Sure thing. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to get going myself, before I'm late." She smiled and I made for the door. I was standing in the street a moment later. Well, so far it was a swing and a miss. I didn't expect either of my parents to be home, but I figured I'd best make my way there next and then head to school. I could head off Jared there-possibly at the meeting of the club this afternoon, if not before. When I looked back on things later, I realized how lucky I had been to walk the entire distance home without getting picked up by the cops. But no police cars passed me on my route home-a slip subsequently brought to their attention, and with great anger. I walked home quickly, my breath fogging in front of my face. Clouds had gathered thickly, obscuring the sun; rain began to fall, at first gently and then harder, until I was soaked through and miserable. By the time I turned onto the street that led to our gates and the driveway, there wasn't any part of me that was not completely drenched. Apprehensively, I stood before the gates. Through them I could see up the driveway that led to our house. The last time I'd seen it the house had been bathed in darkness, as though a shroud had been drawn across it, with only those two forlorn lights looking out. I put both of my hands up on the gates for a moment, holding tightly to them. I wasn't welcome here. I knew what I wanted to do-what I had to do-but I was coming here as a stranger. I didn't like the feelings within myself. I didn't like feeling afraid to walk into the place where I'd lived almost all my life. I didn't want to see the cold and impassive faces of my parents, or, worse, their outright disgust. I tried to punch in the numeric code to open the gates, but my hands shook so badly that I couldn't do it. I took a deep breath, stilled myself, and tried again. The gates swung open-they hadn't changed the code, at least. Probably hadn't had time to call the security company out to do it. Once the gates had opened, I went in, but I couldn't make myself walk up that driveway. It was too long. But it was wet, and it was cold, and I needed somewhere to go before I froze to death in the rain. The place I might've once called home was as good as anywhere right now. I walked up the drive, every nerve in my body screaming at me to turn and run. And then, suddenly, my traitorous, shaking fingers were on the front door. I fumbled for my key. Would they have changed the locks? I held my breath as it slid in, clicked, and caught. I would've breathed a sigh of relief, but I still had to go inside; that would be the hardest part of all.
Several minutes passed while I sat there under the overhanging portico, my key in the lock and the knob unturned. I couldn't breathe. I had to lean against the column to my side to hold myself upright. Later I knew I would have to face them. But not now, I told myself. They won't be home now. Still, I can't describe what it took to turn the lock. It felt like something soft and beating was being ripped out of me. I pushed the door open.
They were here. Both of them. Here. My mom was on the couch in her morning robe. She looked so tired. The moment she saw me, she leapt off of the couch, her hands going to her face. My father, dressed in a business suit, was on the phone, turned away from the door; my mom's little shriek brought him around. In my surprise, my wet feet slipped out from under me and I fell heavily to the wood floor. My mom rushed toward me and I almost turned and fled. Tears started at the corners of my eyes and just as I was about to pick myself up off the floor to run, she knelt and scooped me, soaking and shaking, to her chest. "Don't you ever leave again," she told me severely, shaking easily as hard as I was. What was going on? "Don't, do you hear me?" she said, sobs finally breaking through. I felt her shoulders tremble through her robe much as small animals did when cold or afraid.
My father's voice suddenly registered. "No, no, I'm going; my son is here. Yes, he's here." There was a distinct note of joy in that last sentence. I was completely bewildered. Then my dad stepped over to me and put his hand on my head. I could feel it shaking too. "I'm sorry, my boy," he said, over and over. "I'm sorry."
Eventually, the need to know finally trumped my shock. I helped my mother rise and looked at them both. "What's going on here?" I asked, clamping down before my jaw started shaking with the force of the tears I was holding back. They didn't hate me. They didn't want me to leave.
"I'm sorry I didn't speak to you at the dinner table," my dad said, and my mother could only cry harder and hang on to my arm. "Tristan, my boy, I love you. I don't care about all that. I was going to go up and tell you after-"
"Then why did you say you wanted me out?" I asked, my voice cracking on the last word. Oh, God, one more moment and I'd be bawling in front of them as I hadn't since I was six and my cat had died. My dad looked utterly confused for a moment. "I heard you on the phone," I said once I had a bit of control over myself. Not much control-I was still holding myself tightly, crushing everything inward in order to keep from flying apart.
"Oh my God," he said, his face suddenly pale. "I didn't realize-"
"I heard the whole thing," I said, and I pulled my hand away from my mom. "I heard you talking to Mom."
"That wasn't Mom," he said. "She wasn't even in the room."
I glanced at her and she shook her head. "I was in the master bedroom," she said. And then it hit me. Two lights. Why would there have been two lights if they were in the same room?
"I was on the phone with a member of the Board," my dad said. "Today was final notice of termination for one of my district guys. I was talking about an employee, Tris." He looked so stricken. "I didn't realize . . . " he said again, this time in a whisper, as he sat heavily on the sofa. "I'm sorry you had to hear that."
The hand, slamming on the desk. That had been him slamming down the phone. It all made sense now. I had been a fool. "I thought it was me," I mumbled, and, unable to control myself, I brought my hands to my face as great and heaving sobs overtook me. My mother gathered me up then, and my father reached over to take me around the shoulders and hold me.
"We don't care about-the other stuff," he said, and I noticed it was hard for him to say the word. Gay.
"We love you, Tris," my mom murmured into my ear. She rocked me back and forth as I choked on everything that was flooding out of me in that moment. "We may not understand all of it yet, but we don't care, and we love you. That's what matters."
"I can stay?" I gasped out through my tears.
"Oh, God, Tristan, we love you so much. Of course you can stay; this is your home, and you'll always be our son."
Oh my God. They'd said it. I was safe now. I hadn't realized how much that mattered to me until that very moment. If anything, I cried harder, knowing that now they were on my side. After some time, I regained control; wiping my eyes and stumbling into the bathroom nearby for a Kleenex, I cleaned up a bit and sat back down between my parents. It felt so good to sit between them like this. Protected, loved. "Where are the twins?" I asked. I missed them with an intensity that startled me. We should all be here right now. I was filled with such a sense of belonging, of family, that I thought I might never leave this home again.
"We sent them to school," my dad said. "We didn't tell them you'd run away because they would've been too upset, and they wouldn't have understood anyway. They don't know yet, Tristan. About that you're-that you're gay, I mean. When they're older, we'll tell them, but right now they can't comprehend it."
"That's fine," I said. Anything was fine as long as they loved me.
"We would've told them if the police didn't pick you up when you got back in from San Francisco," my dad continued, and I felt a thrill of fear run through me. How did they know? How much did they know? Accept me they might, but I wasn't ready to tell them all the sordid details of this weekend's events.
"Police?" I asked stupidly.
"We called to report a runaway almost as soon as we realized you'd left," my mom said, and I imagined the scene in my head: they'd gone upstairs to talk to me, to apologize, and they'd found the room empty and my little travel bag missing. It wouldn't have been hard to track down the flight information; indeed, it would've been the first thing they'd checked. "The found the flight record and your return time. The San Francisco PD was also on the lookout for you." Funny, I thought, given that they hadn't seemed too concerned when they woke me out of my drunken stupor in the gutter.
"You caught a flight back early, I take it?" my dad asked. "You weren't even supposed to arrive for another forty-five minutes." He smiled faintly. "You would've been late for school, you know."
"I . . . had to leave early," I said. "I had to come back. I wasn't going to, you know. When I left. I thought that that was it-that I'd have to start over again up there, with Seth-" saying the name was painful, "-and get a job and skip school and stuff. But then I realized I had to come back." And maybe someday I'd tell them the full story, but not now. It would hurt them too much-not the sex part, but describing the loneliness, the confusion, the aimless wandering through places where no one gave a shit.
"That reminds me," my father said, suddenly businesslike again. "I'd better get in touch with them and tell them to call off the dogs."
I laughed just a little bit. It felt good to laugh-the same way it felt when swimming on a smoggy day and getting out of the pool. Pulling air into my lungs then was just the slightest bit painful, but so much sweeter for the ability to feel the air and the expanding of lungs so clearly through the dull ache. "I need to go to school," I said, remembering why I'd come home in the first place. I hadn't expected this conversation to take place until tonight. "There are people there I need to apologize to."
"Tristan, we want you home for dinner tonight, okay?" my mom said. "I'll make you whatever you want. Your favorite meal."
I grinned, and that too felt right. "You know what that is," I said.
My mom pretended to sigh. "Filet mignon, medium rare, in port-wine reduction with shallots, garlic and Roquefort cheese red potatoes, mashed, with organic mixed green salad, no endive, in a vinaigrette dressing with walnuts," she said, using the same bored tone of voice one used when reading a grocery store list. She raised an eyebrow and I laughed.
"Right in one," I said. "Do you have time?"
"Good thing I took the day off," she replied. "Now, go shower, you. You smell like a gutter."
I laughed crazily as I ran up the stairs, two at a time. God, it was wonderful to laugh.
* * *
It was after lunch when I finally made it to school, and the only periods that were left were history and then gym. Right before gym started I passed through the locker room and, as was customary these days, my eyes skimmed right over Garrett. And then stopped. There was something else that needed doing, something that was almost as important as talking to Jared. Before there was time for thought to supercede action, I walked right up to him; his back was turned to me, so I tapped him on the shoulder. "Garrett," I said.
Garrett jumped and nearly cracked his head right into the lockers in front of him.
When he turned, the look on his face alone was worth my breaking the silence. "Tris?" he said once he had mastered his shock. "Uh . . . what's up?"
The funny thing was that although this was totally unplanned, I knew exactly what I wanted to say. It was almost as if, somewhere in my mind, I'd been preparing for this long before I knew I even wanted to. I certainly hadn't planned any of this in my conscious thoughts. "I haven't talked to you since that night at the beach almost two months ago," I said, "and the reason for that is because you were the one that walked away from me. But we've been friends for a long time, Garrett. I don't want to throw all that away. If you do, that's fine, and you can just say that and it'll be on your shoulders. But I thought I'd give it one more chance."
"I can't believe you're talking to me," Garrett said. I could tell that he hadn't been expecting this at all. It made sense, though; I certainly wasn't the type to be the one to try to resolve fights. I didn't like having to swallow my pride first. Well, that was the old me. Garrett was in for surprises yet.
"Believe it," I said back to him.
"I really had given up any hope of ever . . . "
"You're the one that walked away, Garrett."
Garrett looked away uncomfortably. "I'm sorry, Tristan. Really sorry. I meant to tell you that a long time ago, but I didn't think you'd want to hear it. I was sure you hated me from the moment I turned and left."
"I never hated you, Garrett." Shit, but this was hard. Being so open, I mean. It was difficult to continue. Normally, I would've stopped at that, but a new sense of obligation compelled me to add, "I was hurt more than anything else. Hurt that you . . . just pretended we hadn't been friends for so long."
Garrett continued his study of the wall. "I . . . overreacted that night," he said.
I almost snorted and said "You think?" but instead I held my tongue. "Kind of," I said diplomatically. "I . . . it took me about a month . . . "
"I was going to talk to you the very next day," Garrett said, as though he hadn't heard me speak. I realized he needed to just talk right now, so I was silent. "I wanted to tell you that I was sorry for running, that I got scared and couldn't handle it . . . you know how I get . . . but you looked so angry, like if I were to talk to you you might've . . . and then every day I saw you you had this look on your face like a prison wall."
For a moment I felt a low undercurrent of frustration. Fucking hell, if Garrett had been so sorry, he should've had the courage to just come up to me and say so. As though he were reading my thoughts, Garrett continued: "You're totally unresponsive when you're like that, and I knew if I walked up to you to talk to you you'd tell me to fuck off. Tris, seriously, I've been regretting it every day. I mean, man, we used to practically spend every damn day together . . . do you know what it's like to have so much fucking free time and not know what to do with it?"
This time, I did snort. "It's not like I didn't go through the same thing," I replied. "Only add to that the hurt and confusion of watching your best friend leave you." I saw a look on Garrett's face as though he'd stuck his finger in a light socket and decided that now would be a good time to shut up.
"Tris, I seriously would've resolved this a long time ago if I thought you wouldn't have slapped me down," Garrett said.
"Whatever," I said, suddenly uninterested in throwing blame around and explaining away two months' wasted time. "It's over and done with now. I don't know if we can be the same, but at least we both know where you stand now."
"What do you mean?"
"About what?"
"What you said, about not knowing if it can be the same again. What do you mean?"
"Never mind. Listen, let's ditch gym and talk. I need to be back for the GSA meeting, though, so I'll drop you off at your car right after school's out."
I think that it was my statement that implied that our friendship had irrevocably changed more than anything else that led Garrett to say "No, I'll go to the GSA meeting with you."
I paused and raised an eyebrow. "You realize that the 'G' stands for 'gay,' right?"
Garrett started to blush, but came right back with "And the 'S' stands for 'straight.' "
"Touche," I said. Then, "Listen, I don't want you going if you think you have something to prove-that just because I'm gay you can be all 'rah-rah queers!' and shit. I really don't want to sit there and watch that if that's what you're going to do."
Garrett shrugged. "Liza and I have been talking about it a bit-"
"You told her about me?" I almost shouted.
"No, no, no," Garrett said quickly. "It was more of an abstract." He was definitely red now. "Listen, I swear to you that I didn't tell her, okay? She can draw her own conclusions. And I know you didn't tell her, because you two haven't talked for almost as long as we haven't. She doesn't know."
"Then why did it come up?" I demanded.
"Because it just did," he said hotly. "Listen, that part of it is between Liza and me, so leave it alone, okay?"
"Fine, fine," I said. I could already tell that the whole gay thing would be a sticking point with us for awhile. "But I mean it-don't come if this is you trying to be someone you're not."
"Well, honestly, I've done a bit of research in the last two months," Garrett said. "And everything I read mostly just confirmed what I knew right away after I left-that I'd been fucking stupid. I'm really sorry, Tristan."
"I forgive you, Garrett. I forgave you a long time ago, really." I left out that I had been doing everything I could to forget him, as well. It didn't need to be said now, or ever, perhaps. While talking, we'd managed to find our way down to the parking lot; when we got in my car and drove off, I asked, "What kind of research, anyway?"
"I was looking up information on homosexuality," Garrett replied, stumbling over the word a bit and glancing out of the corner of his eye at me, almost as if I would take offense to the word.
"Listen, if we're gonna make this work you have to be able to talk about it with me. I don't expect you to understand everything, and I want you to know that this isn't some hugely important part of me-it's not like now that I've told you, now that I'm kind of out, that I'm going to start wearing girls' clothes and skipping everywhere I go. It doesn't work like that." I turned down a couple of side streets. "Each person's perception of being gay, and their response to that, is a bit different."
"Alright," Garrett said. "And I want to understand, Tris. I really do."
"Good, because you'll need to if we're ever going to be as we once were. A lot has changed, Garrett, and a lot has happened to me in the last two months."
There was a silence for awhile, and then we pulled up to my house and got out. Garrett looked as though he wasn't sure if it was alright to grin. "Haven't been here in awhile," he said. "Kinda missed it."
I didn't respond as I opened the front door. That day he and Liza had been at Fashion Plaza and I had overheard them leapt up into my mind. "I have a question for you, Garrett," I said. Now, I could go two ways with this, I knew: I could make it a loaded question by first asking "Did you ever make fun of me?" and then following up with "So what was this incident all about?" Or I could just ask and allow him to explain. The old Tris would've opted for the first, and it was still my instinct to do so; for awhile, at least, it was going to take concentration to do what I hoped would eventually become instinct. Ah well. Rome wasn't built in a day. "I was at Fashion Island not too long ago and you were there with Liza. You two sounded like you were making fun of me."
Garrett looked surprised. "You were there? When? What did I say?"
"Well, you asked Liza about a pair of jeans and she said, 'It looks like something Tristan would wear' and then you made a face and put them back on the shelf."
Garrett was a bit red about the neck and chin again. "Little things that reminded me of you were kind of painful, Tris. I remember Liza saying that because it was . . . it caused that little twist of pain, and I was tired of it."
"So it wasn't you making fun of me?"
"No. I'm sorry if that's what you thought." Garrett laughed nervously. "I'm apologizing a lot. Then again, I owe you that, and in spades."
"It's not important," I replied. Then I figured I'd try to revisit an earlier topic. "Now, where does Liza fit into all of this? I really don't understand why she chose sides so readily." I left out that I wasn't sure why she'd picked Garrett's side over mine, either.
Garrett took a deep breath. "Well, really, Liza didn't know you were gay and why we'd fought, and she was actually mad at me when I told her it was mostly my fault-that was the very next day, after school. And then you snapped at her and she got mad at you and spent more time with me. It was bad, Tris. We seriously spent a lot of time complaining about how we should just go up and talk to you, but neither of us really had the nerve to do it." He waved a hand in the air. "Long story short-Liza wasn't really all that committed until I casually asked her one day what she knew about being gay. I told her it wasn't me, of course, and then Liza and I started doing research together. Into being gay, I mean. The funny thing is that she never suspected it was you."
"She can be kind of stupid that way," I agreed. "Well, I'm going to talk to her too, after the meeting today."
"You have no idea how nervous she was about going to that first GSA meeting," Garrett said. "She thought you'd scream at her and throw her out, her and Jared both, or that you'd-well, that's whatever. But she said you all looked pissed at each other, so she just bolted as soon as the meeting was over."
"They're still pissed at me," I said. "I owe them all a huge apology."
"What happened?"
"Well, I was sort of seeing this guy," I started, then felt myself turning red. It was one thing to admit to Garrett that I was gay; it was quite another to let him know that I was dating boys.
"Was he cute?" Garrett asked, and I was surprised until I realized how clever his question was: it was carefully designed to disarm me, to bring a bit of levity into what could potentially be an uncomfortable conversation. I wasn't sure if it was entirely natural-there was a bit of the forced air about it-but when it did become secondhand nature, that's when Garrett and I could be as close as we once were. We had to unconditionally accept everything about each other before we could be as we had once been; too, there was the issue of my friendship with Jared, who had, in essence, taken Garrett's place. But I would tell him about that in due time.
"He was . . . well, beautiful," I said. "But beautiful the way a sarcophagus is beautiful. Like, it's all gold and beautiful design on the outside . . . but inside, there's a mummy."
Garrett laughed. "So he wasn't the best guy, I take it."
"Not quite. But I'll get into that later, when I can apologize to everyone simultaneously. It'll be better than having to tell the story seven times." I paused. There was something that I needed to do. "In fact, you just reminded me of something. Hang on, okay?" Garrett nodded and I rushed up the stairs. Reaching behind my bed, I found the bottle of vodka Seth had given me. I took it downstairs, through the kitchen, out to the patio, and chucked it into the trash. "There," I said with satisfaction.
"Was that . . . a bottle of vodka?" Garrett asked, surprised.
"Yeah," I said.
"Was that . . . a half-empty bottle of vodka?"
This time, a little more shamefacedly: "Yeah."
Garrett was incredulous. "What was that about?"
"It's part of the long story with Seth-the guy. Long and short of it is that I was too wrapped up in this guy to care about anything else. I . . . said mean things to them and pissed them off. You know, typical Tristan. Except this time I pissed everyone off, so I had no one but the rotten boyfriend. And then he turned traitor on me."
"Good lord," Garrett said, sympathetic. "You've really been through life's food processor, eh? Hey, question," he said. "When did you become such good friends with Julian Lambowski?"
"Now that's a long story too," I said. "Listen, we have to get back to the school in a couple of minutes, so I can tell you about how Julian and I became friends on the way back. I don't want to be late for the GSA meeting. With you there, I can kill, like, lots of birds with one stone." So we got up to leave and I told him the story about how I'd "interviewed" Julian, leaving out the details about Julian's breakdown in the graveyard, and how that had led me to tell Garrett I loved him. And as we chatted and laughed, I began to hope that things really might once be the way they had been. Right now I wasn't entirely sure, and I didn't want to let go of the cautious sense that held me back from truly trusting unquestioningly. In time, I would. But not now. There was a difference between being more forgiving and being stupid. One day, though, perhaps Garrett would reclaim his place at Jared's side.
And now it was pretty much time to go wrap things up with Jared, Liza, Julian, Taylor and Sarah. They'd all be at the meeting, so I could talk to them all at once. As I drove, I found my insides were clenching like a fist in my chest. I crossed my fingers and hoped that all would go well.
Chapter Sixteen: Redemption
I pulled into a parking spot near Ms. Heimdall's room and cut the engine. "Are you sure you want to do this?" I asked Garrett for what must've been the umpteenth time.
"Would you stop asking me already?" Garrett said, sounding irritated.
"Fine, fine, sorry." I got out of my car. I was anxious to see Jared. I stopped and evaluated that thought for a moment; yes, I was anxious to explain things to Jared, but more than that, I was anxious to see him. We hurried to Ms. Heimdall's room. As we turned the corner, we heard the sounds of raised voices.
Oh, shit. There were about ten very large guys-some athletes, a few from the Christian club, and other randoms from various school cliques-standing threateningly in front of about six or seven of the GSA members. Things were about five seconds away from coming to blows. Julian was there, and Taylor, and, in the center-Jared. I broke into a run. As I ran, I saw Jared raise both his hands in a placating gesture and heard him say, "Look, there's no need to fight about it-"
"Fuck off, you little shit," one of the guys said, shoving Jared backwards. Jared fell backward against a few of the other GSA members and then hit the ground heavily. I was so angry that there was, quite literally, a haze over my vision. Not caring if Garrett was behind me or not, I pushed through the GSA members and stood toe to toe with the guy who had shoved Jared. He was my height, but broader across the chest. "What the fuck-" he started before I shoved him backward.
"You guys need to leave," I said. Spit flew from my mouth. I was barely keeping myself under control. "Right fucking now." Someone helped Jared to his feet, but there was no time to check if he was okay.
They looked as though they were about to fight me anyhow, but just then Ms. Heimdall rounded the corner. I saw her take in the situation with a dismayed glance and then say, "What's going on here, gentlemen?" Her voice was heavy because she already knew. She'd lived with this fear too.
"They were just leaving," I said in reply. I turned back to stare at them, still trembling with a barely-suppressed need to strike out. They stared at me for a few moments, and then at Jared and Julian, and I saw a promise of hatred in those eyes. What could cause such anger? I unclenched my fists and watched them walk away.
Garrett put a hand on my shoulder. "I have your back," he said in my ear. I nodded once as he squeezed my shoulder and turned to watch the attackers leave.
"Come inside, boys," Ms. Heimdall said softly. We all shuffled inside and before I had a chance to talk to Jared, Liza was darting over to see what was wrong. One side of his face was cut and bleeding, I saw, but the wound was nothing serious. I started to make my way over, but Ms. Heimdall held me back. "What was going on?" she asked.
"I don't know," I responded honestly. "I was just turning the corner when they were shoving Jared to the ground. Ask Julian."
She turned to Julian. "Well?" I turned and saw Taylor talking quietly to Sarah-obviously they'd patched things up-and I saw them both shoot surprised glances at Garrett, who was sitting down somewhat uncomfortably in the front row.
"They've been here before," Julian said. "There've been other days, other meetings, where they're sitting outside when we get out. I don't know what they want. To beat us up, I guess. Some of them are the religious ones, and a few are athletes, and some of the others are just a few of the loner type kids at school." I neglected to mention that Julian himself had been one of those "loner types" until he started the GSA.
"I'm sorry," said Ms. Heimdall. She sat down, looking like a balloon that had lost all of its air. "I will contact the office-you saw them all, I'm sure, and that was a hate crime." She reached for the phone. "We'll get them all suspended-"
"And then they'll just be back again, angrier than before," Julian said, laying a hand over hers on the phone. "And they'll do it again and get expelled. And then they'll be waiting for us, at bus stops and at parks and in malls, and each one of us they see becomes a walking target." He shook his head sadly. "I won't have that happen to these kids. They don't deserve that."
"What do you propose, then?" Ms. Heimdall asked. Her hand had not left the phone, but neither had Julian's, covering hers.
"The GSA can't meet here," he said simply. "Not on campus. It's not safe." His face was sad. I put a hand on his shoulder and he glanced at me, surprise warring with the sadness in his face. I realized I hadn't apologized to him yet and for a moment I feared he would throw my hand off, but instead he turned back to Ms. Heimdall and smiled sadly. "Thanks for letting us have these couple of meetings, though. Listen . . . maybe we'll organize at a coffee house or a park or something, if these kids can get away . . . most of them are closeted . . . but I want you to be there."
"Don't give up yet, Julian," Ms. Heimdall said. "Give it the weekend. Okay? Promise me that. You'll think about it over the weekend."
"Alright." Julian knew it was just a formality. I followed his logic: the kids would always be threatened here, so it didn't make sense to keep meeting here when the location could be moved. Julian was right; there were some kids who wouldn't be able to come to the new meetings, but better to lose a few members than to make all of them walking targets in a place where anyone could strike out at them. And in these days, it wasn't just fists one had to worry about. High school wasn't a safe place anymore.
And so, after only three weeks, Julian Lambowski presided over the last meeting of the Gay-Straight Alliance of Laguna Hills High. "I think you all saw what just happened outside," he said, turning to the kids. I watched their faces. Almost uniformly, they were frightened, their eyes on the door as much as they were on Julian. Unobtrusively, Ms. Heimdall got up and locked the door. The kids still glanced at it every few minutes. Julian spoke for awhile, outlining his reasons for disbanding the club. "We can still meet in an alternate location, away from people like . . . them. I know all of your names and I have your email addresses and your phone numbers. I'll contact you all individually and let you know where we'll be meeting from now on. Pass the word along carefully. Carefully, do you understand me?" Several members of the group nodded. "When you leave, I want you to leave as a group," Julian said. "Be careful. Keep your eyes open for any threats. I'm sorry to scare you, but that's just the reality of the situation." Julian barked a short laugh, but I think it might've been the most bitter noise I've ever heard in my life. "Apparently they could handle one gay kid, but get twenty together and suddenly . . . well, never mind that. I will be in touch with all of you. Thank you for coming." He glanced at me then, as though for support; I was surprised, but I nodded solemnly. He was doing well. "Be safe, and be careful, and know that I am always available to talk to you if you need me. Now, go. I'll see you all around."
The kids got up to shuffle out. I saw several of them, boys and girls both, give Julian hugs. Surprisingly, several of them came up to me as well. I hugged them all, feeling strange and yet somehow thrilled at the contact, and they all murmured their thanks as they shuffled off. I glanced over at Sarah and Taylor, who were standing together and talking to some of the members before they left. Sarah looked like a radiant Fury, and I could tell that she'd give Julian a piece of her mind later for declining to prosecute the attackers. Julian himself had sat quietly in a corner, making it clear that he didn't want to be disturbed. His head was in his hands. Ms. Heimdall was standing near the door, hugging several of the kids and watching worriedly as they left and then turned to wait for everyone before heading off down the hall. Julian did not look up, and I could tell by the heaving of his shoulders that he was near to breaking down. I stole a glance at Jared; he was sitting still with his eyes closed as Liza and Garrett put gauze on his wound. Torn, I looked back at Julian. Jared was taken care of, for the moment; Julian was the one who needed someone just then. I squatted near the desk. "You did well," I said to him.
He looked up at me. His eyes were red and puffy, but he was holding himself in. I knew he was waiting for the kids to leave before he broke down entirely. "Thanks," he whispered.
"I'm sorry," I said. "For the phone call. I mean. For being an asshole."
"I know," he said.
"Listen, I owe you all an explanation," I started, but then Taylor came up. I glanced at him and said, "Hi, Taylor." I cursed my voice when it came out as quietly as it did.
"Hi, Tristan," he said guardedly. "So you're talking to me again?"
"Yeah," I said. "I'm sorry, Taylor. Both of you. I'm really sorry. Look . . . let's go somewhere so we can talk."
"Okay," Taylor said, turning to Julian. "Julian, can I talk to you?" he said, and it was then that I realized that even though Taylor and Sarah were apparently on good terms, he and Julian had yet to patch things up. Knowing my presence was unnecessary, I shifted off to the side.
"I heard you talking to them," Sarah said, coming up alongside me. "We can go to my place. I'm the closest to the school."
"Thanks, Sarah," I said. "And you know I'm-"
"Don't say it," she said, laying a finger against my lips. "I know you are. I can see it on every line of your face." She watched me for a moment. "You're different somehow," she said. "There's . . . I can't put my finger on it just yet, but . . . "
I nodded. "I have a very long story to tell you all," I said simply. "Soon. Soon."
"Garrett?" she asked.
"We talked. I don't know if it can be the same, Sarah. I really don't. But I'm going to try, and more importantly, so is he."
"That's what matters," she said. I realized she was right. "What about Liza? Have you talked to her yet?"
"No, but invite her along for me," I said, suddenly reluctant to talk to her right then. Everything was collapsing together all at once, and much as it was a necessary collapse, I was dreading the moment when I finally sat down to face their judgment.
"Do it yourself," she said.
"Please," I begged. There was too much on my mind right now, and if I did everything that needed doing, my head would explode. I had to talk to Jared. Julian. Liza. Sarah. Taylor. Make sure the other kids were safe. No, no, no. "Please. I need to do it all at once, not piecemeal like this, or it'll never get done. I'm on the verge of it right now."
"Fine," Sarah said. She turned and talked to the three of them-Jared, Liza and Garrett-and I saw them glance my way quickly and nod. I turned aside, somehow embarrassed, and decided to stand outside. I leaned against the wall. Nervousness was eating at my stomach. I wasn't entirely sure why-all I had to do was apologize to everyone and explain what had happened with Seth; was it really that hard? Something about it was. I would be telling Liza and Jared for the first time that I was gay. Sarah, Taylor and Julian would hear how things ended, and Taylor would know he had been right. Garrett would hear all the sordid details of my first failed romance. Yes, it was hard.
Garrett came outside, joining me against the wall. "So we're all going to Sarah's house," he began.
"Yeah."
"Listen, I'll take Jared and Liza. You look like you need time to yourself right now."
I smiled faintly. "You were always good at reading me, Garrett."
He shook his head. "Not good enough at reading myself, though," he replied, and I did not deny the charge. He turned to go back into the room. "Let's get moving," he said to me as he went back inside. I started walking back to my car; I'd rather not see anyone before I met them all at Sarah's house. When I parked my car at Sarah's I waited until first Garrett's car, then Sarah's, pulled up behind me. Out of Garrett's car emerged Jared and Liza; Taylor, Julian and Sarah hopped out of hers.
And then two more cars, ones I did not recognize, pulled up in front of Sarah's driveway, blocking the other cars in. I opened my door, realizing what was about to happen. Julian was right, just like he said, here they are-the doors opened and six-seven-eight boys hopped out of the cars. They were heading for Jared and Julian. I was running around the front of my car as they came across the grass. "Jared!" I yelled just as the first of the assailants, a lacrosse player even larger than Kyle Faber, plowed into him from behind. Two seconds later, Garrett was springing into action, and I was a few steps behind him.
We weren't fast enough. The lacrosse player landed two solid blows to Jared's back and head and the boy crumpled in an instant. He hadn't even had a chance to turn around. Garrett kicked at the lacrosse player's knees, bringing him crashing down, and finished with a knee to the chin. He spun to face the next attacker. For my part, I cut off three of the guys heading for Julian and brought one to the ground before the others even realized I was there. All I could think about was getting to Jared. I'd have to cut through the attackers first. The other two rounded on me and came forward, but I knew that at least these were two less guys who would aim for Jared or Julian. I sidestepped and kicked out, catching one in the throat; he gurgled and fell backward while the other, more cautious now, kept his chin back and held his fists up in front of his face. I waited until he swung before dodging back and kicking him in the ribs. A flat hand smashed across his face and I suddenly saw Rory again, clutching at the fountaining of blood from his nose, and I felt vaguely ill. In the momentary lull, I saw Garrett hit a fifth guy in the solar plexus and groin. Taylor was involved in a fistfight with the sixth, but he was giving as good as he got. Julian, however, was sprawled out on the ground, clutching his arm and groaning, oblivious to the attacker nearing him. I ran past Garrett and threw myself between Julian and the sixth guy, who was rearing back for a kick to Julian's head. I darted in and struck the kick aside, but the force of it left my entire arm numb. From my position on the ground I took another kick to the side of my leg before I was able to roll aside and strike, stiff-handed, at the assailant's groin. He bent forward, vomiting, and as he did I struck at his chin. I got up, feeling the pain in my arm and leg, and whirled about. There were two attackers left. Garrett was up, his face and arms bloody. Jared was out cold, Julian's arm looked like it was broken, Liza was running to her brother's side, frantically talking on her cell phone-everything had happened so quickly that she hadn't even had a chance to get to him-Taylor was standing, but looking the worse for wear, and-where was Sarah? I turned again, but just then, Garrett cried out, "Tris! The last two have switchblades!" Indeed, the last two were holding back, arms outstretched and holding rather long knives. I took a step back. Fighting unarmed lacrosse players was one thing; fending off two determined guys with switchblades quite another. I knew Garrett and I could probably take them, but the likelihood of one of us getting seriously hurt was high. Liza finished giving directions-I realized she had dialed 911-and tried to shield Jared's body with her own, although we were between the ones who were hurt and the guys with the knives.
Everyone stood still for a moment. I wasn't sure what the guys with the knives were waiting for until I realized that both Garrett and I were in wide-legged stances, waiting for their attack, and Taylor was right behind us, doing his best to look ready to fight. "What the fuck do you want?" I shouted-possibly not the wisest idea, but thinking wasn't exactly a high priority at the moment. Survival was trumping just about everything else in that moment. Jared. Please be okay.
"What do you think?" one of the guys sneered. I recognized him; he was one of the social outcast types. "You queers better not come back to school again, you hear me?"
Fuck caution. I wasn't going to let anyone talk to me like that. "I bet you feel all proud, finally finding something you can belong to, huh?" I sneered. "First time in your life you can join a group, even if it is a bunch of worthless bigots."
"Don't talk back, you stupid faggot," the other one said.
"This 'faggot' will talk back all he fucking wants to," I shot back. It was then that one of them darted forward. I willed myself to stillness, quashing the fright and the need to flee, and moved forward, arm high in an attempt to block the raised knife. I knew even as I did it that I was likely to still get slashed. Garrett sprung into motion as the second attacker moved forward, and then suddenly both of them were throwing themselves back, looks of terror on their faces; puzzled, I half-turned and there was Sarah, standing in the doorway, her pistols in her hands. "Holy shit," I gasped.
Sarah ignored us and stepped onto the walkway toward the knife-wielders, both guns aimed at their heads. "Get down!" she shouted, and they obeyed. "Drop the knives and kick them away from yourselves, and then put your faces on the concrete!"
Liza, God bless her, had the presence of mind to say into the phone, "There will be a girl with two handguns. She's on our side; don't shoot or anything. When you get here, she'll put them down. Two of the guys pulled knives and she's got them under control." She listened for a moment, said a bit more, and waited. In the distance, we could hear the sirens. I darted to Jared's side; Taylor went to Julian's. Jared was facedown in the grass. He was not moving. "He's unconscious," Liza said-the first words she'd said to me in a very long time. Tears made long tracks down her face and she was near to collapse herself even though she hadn't been attacked. It seemed the assailants were gentlemen after all; they could sure try to beat up the faggots, but of course no self-respecting man would ever lay a hand on a girl. I suppressed a sudden urge to borrow one of Sarah's guns.
"He got hit in the head," I replied. "Don't roll him over." I put my hand near his nose; he was breathing. "He's breathing fine. I don't know what's wrong, but at least-" I was unable to continue. I put a hand on his head and ran it through his hair, as though it would help. Liza fell against my side and I held her as she wept, great gasping sobs that left her red-faced and shaking, not in little trembling motions like a cold person but in huge body-wrenching shudders closer to a seizure than anything else.
The police cars, three of them, rolled up just ahead of the ambulance. The paramedics took one look at Jared and rushed to his side first; as they stabilized his neck, they rolled him over and lifted him onto a stretcher. Sarah set her guns down on the ground beside her the second the police officers burst out of their screaming cars. The police officers cuffed the two conscious attackers and began collecting the rest, sitting or lying them along the curb depending on their condition. Only three of them were able to sit. The other five were on the grass along the curb. The cops were paying little attention to their comfort. "What happened here?" one of the officers asked.
"They attacked us," Sarah said. "Drove up to my house and attacked us." Julian was rising, his right arm held in his left and his shirt covered in vomit. I went to his side, but as I got there the paramedics pushed me aside and took him to a second ambulance. Shit, where was Jared? They'd moved him when I wasn't watching. I took my eyes off of him for a second and . . .
The officer jotted something down while the other five kept an eye on the attackers and started poring over the grass and sidewalk. "Do you know why they did?" he asked.
"Yes," I said. "We're members of a gay-straight alliance at our high school."
The officer stopped writing and raised his eyebrows, looking at me. "Is that so?" he asked.
"I'm the vice president," I said. "Julian's our president. Sarah, tell him the rest." I made my way over to the first ambulance, paranoia rising within me, and saw Liza watching as Jared's unconscious form was loaded inside. I ignored the raised voices of the paramedics and reached into to touch Jared. I squeezed his hand and I'd like to be able to say that he squeezed back, that the force of love was enough to ignore injury, even death, but the lonely truth is that his hand, pale and limp like wax, was cold in my own.
And then they were upon us, and there were flashing lights and radioed voices and the swift, sure movements of people who have done this a thousand times before; I was being helped into the backseat of a police car-"Watch your head there, kid"-and we were rolling forward and away, faster now, so I pressed my face up against the glass of the rear-view mirror to catch the last glimpses of everything I was leaving.
I had a feeling like something huge was ending. Or perhaps beginning. It was all one and the same, really. The ambulance's sirens went on and it pulled away in the opposite direction. The second, holding Julian, followed, and soon the street was empty. Then we were turning and Sarah's house was gone.
* * *
We spent five hours at the police station filing reports. Once they'd determined that there was enough evidence to prove in court that we'd all acted in self-defense, they released us without bail and told us that, regardless of self-defense or not, we'd be wise not to leave the city until we'd heard back from the district attorney's office. By the time we left the station, it was after nine. I sat against the brick steps of the station. Now that it was over, I felt almost dizzy. It wasn't an actual dizziness, though-it was more like everything around me was somehow wrong, or like I didn't fit quite right into everything else. Whatever it was, it was giving me a terrible headache. My parents would be on their way soon to pick me up; in the interim, I called the Luceris. No one answered the phone. I called Julian's house instead, but the answering machine came on right away, so I hung up and sat there, staring at the phone in my hands, until my parents came.
The lights were bright and flickered quickly as they fell across my face. Maybe I should close my eyes, or cover them with my hand. I was still thinking about it when my mom got out of the passenger seat. "Tris!" she called, rushing over to my side. She wrapped a long jacket around my shoulders, and it wasn't until that moment that I realized how cold I was. "Come on, let's go," she said, leading me to the backseat of the car. She helped me in. "Buckle up," she said, tapping the seat belt. I did. "What's wrong?" she asked. Nothing was wrong, so I just shook my head.
Well, my head hurt, and I couldn't find where Julian and Jared were. That was wrong. "I can't find Jared or Julian," I said after she'd turned back around to face the front.
"What did you say?" she asked, looking at me again.
"My head hurts," I said.
My mother looked at my father. "Hurts like what? Did you hit your head?" he asked.
"I have a headache," I said. "Jared was the one who hit his head. I need to see him."
My mom and dad looked at each other again and my mom shook her head quickly before saying to me, "Listen, Tris, we're going to take you home and you can rest, okay? You can stay home tomorrow and just sleep in. Okay?"
Their voices sounded funny and I couldn't figure out why. "I need to see them," I insisted. It was very important that I see them. "They're hurt."
"Where are they now?"
"The hospital. Can I go there?"
"Not right now, dear. Listen, we'll call the hospital for you while you rest. You can see them tomorrow, okay?"
This seemed reasonable. "Okay," I said. "Tell them I was sleepy." I was, I discovered. Without waiting for a response, I closed my eyes. I could feel the car moving all around me, but it felt like it was in reverse. I imagined that maybe the car was standing still and for the first time ever I could actually feel the earth turning, but it was too fast and it went from day to night to day again in my head. There were whispering voices around me. I saw as though I were looking through frosted glass white light and hospital gowns and there, small and blond against the bed, Jared. His eyes were closed, so with mine closed too I went over to his side and grasped his hand and together we got up and left.
* * *
When I woke up, I was in my own bed. My headache was gone and the sun was hot and golden through the slats over the window. I squinted and looked at the clock. School was starting in twenty minutes, but more importantly, I hadn't heard from either Jared or Julian. Jared. He'd been in my dream last night, but it was both him and not him-or, rather, both him and someone more than just him. I reached for my phone and called Jared's house again. When the answering machine picked up, I hung up in frustration. I dialed Julian's number instead.
"Hello?" Finally, an answer!
"Hi, this is Tristan," I said hurriedly. If I didn't respond right away, Julian's mom might suddenly turn into another answering machine, and right now I was kind of sick of that. I'm buying Jared a cell phone or something, I thought. "Is Julian home?"
"I'm sorry, Tristan, but Julian went to school today." I relaxed against my pillows. Whatever had happened to him hadn't kept him from going to school. "They put his arm in a cast and sent him on his way."
"They broke his arm?"
"Yes, but it's the kind of fracture that heals quickly, they say. Six weeks and he's out of the cast."
"And he went to school?"
Julian's mom sighed. "I tried to talk him out of it." I could hear frustration and worry in her voice. "He said he wouldn't run and hide."
Something hot and fiercely proud rose up, but with it was shame, too. "Julian's courage is . . . "
"Hard, sometimes," his mother said, and suddenly I saw things from her eyes. "We're lucky it was just a broken arm this time, Tristan."
"Yes, I know. Jared had it worse. Which reminds me: was Jared there?"
Julian's mother didn't respond right away; I assumed she was trying to remember if she'd seen Jared yesterday. I was gripping the sheet. "Julian mentioned Jared-the other boy who was there, right? Jared was in a different wing of the hospital, or at least he was after they left Emergency."
"I have to find him," I said without realizing I'd spoken.
"Julian tells me a lot about you, Tristan. You understand him, don't you? You've . . . you've been there, too."
"Where?"
"Not a place so much. More . . . you've been through things-the things that make you who you are."
"I don't know."
"No, you have. Or are. You have the sound of it. Aboriginal fire-walkers have very tough, calloused feet, Tristan. They may not be pretty, but they've been across the coals."
I understood. "Your son. He's . . . "
"And you, too. Maybe you don't see it yet. It takes time. But you have." There was a noise in the background, a fax machine perhaps, and when it stopped, Julian's mother continued. "Listen, you ought to get to school and I need to take care of some paperwork. I'd tell you to be careful, but you don't need warnings anymore."
"Thanks," I said. "For understanding, I mean." We said our goodbyes and I hung up, but I didn't get out of bed right away. Instead, I rolled onto my side. What about Jared? Fuck. I turned over again. Well, I couldn't just stay here. I kicked the covers off and opened my door. Surprisingly, I could hear the sounds of dishes being rattled; the smell of eggs rose up the stairwell. I put on a robe and went downstairs. My parents-both of them-were cooking breakfast. The table was set for three. "What's going on?" I asked.
"We took the day off," my dad said, catching toast as it popped out of the toaster. "You can too, if you'd like."
"I'll have breakfast, but I think I need to go to school," I said.
"You're feeling alright, then?" my mom asked.
"Better," I said. "I was . . . pretty bad last night, wasn't I?"
"You were," my dad confirmed. "We almost took you to the hospital, but you fell asleep right away and we figured we'd give you until morning to sort things out."
"I need to find Jared," I told them.
"We know." My mother set a plate of bacon in front of me. "Listen, eat first and get dressed, and then you can go to school and see if he's there. Did you try calling?"
"No one answered," I said.
"You'll find him," my dad said. "Just make sure to call us when you do."
"Alright." I discovered I had a huge appetite. "Did I eat last night?"
"Last thing you probably ate was lunch yesterday," my mom said. "There's more food coming; don't you worry."
"Good," I said. "I'm starving."
"That's a good sign," my dad said.
"Where are the twins?"
"I took them to school already," my dad said. "Now, quiet, and eat." I ate as quickly as I could and ran up to shower and get dressed. By the time I made it to school, first period had already begun, but I was waylaid by the principal before I could make it to class. I accompanied the principal to his offices. When he opened the door, Julian was already seated on a couch there; he looked tired and his arm was indeed in a narrow white cast, but he smiled when he saw me.
"Julian!" I said, hugging him. "I'm glad you're okay. You look tired! Did you sleep? Why'd you come to school today? Is Jared here? Are the others coming?"
Julian laughed. "One question at a time, Tris! Yes, I'm okay, and as for the others, Dr. Cavert is gathering them up right now."
I had forgotten that the principal was in the room. "You're looking for Sarah and Taylor and the others, then? Are they here today?"
"I'm checking on that right now," he responded. "The attendance sheets from first period aren't in yet, and the attendance office is sorting through the excused absences for the morning. Listen, just sit here for a few minutes while we try to take care of things from our end."
"The other student who was injured-"
"We are checking on Jared Luceri right now as well." Dr. Cavert sat behind his desk. "I presume you know why you boys are both here." We nodded. "I received the police report this morning. It's in the papers, too, although thankfully they don't mention any names. Everyone involved were minors. Now, obviously since the students went to our school, and they were on their way home from school or a school function-in this case, you were on your way home from the GSA meeting and they were leaving school grounds after the school day had ended-we have the right to prosecute them according to school guidelines. Boys, I'm looking at expelling every one of your attackers; this is, of course, on top of any criminal charges filed. We won't tolerate hate crimes here at Laguna Hills High."
"Good," Julian said. "They're a danger to everyone in the GSA. Who knows-they're probably a danger to other students as well. People like that tend to hate more than just one type of people different from them." He leaned forward and, I noticed, placed his casted arm on the principal's desk. "I was talking to Ms. Heimdall yesterday, though, and I told her I was disbanding the GSA-that we couldn't know if these guys, even if they were expelled, would stalk us outside of school, in malls or parks or walking down the street or whatever."
"That's the criminal end of things," Dr. Cavert said. "And I don't have any control over that other than my willingness to be a witness if it comes to trial. Ah, good, here come Miss Vergell and Mr. Darman."
"What about Garrett, Liza and Jared?" I asked.
"We're still waiting on them," Dr. Cavert said. "I should know if they're in school in just a minute here."
Sarah opened the door and came through, followed by Taylor. "Julian! I'm glad you made it," she said, giving him a hug. Taylor did the same and they both greeted me. I knew I still had to explain everything to them, but for the moment they looked like they'd set it aside. They hugged me and we all sat down. I had a sudden shameful feeling. Here were two friends I'd driven away from me and still they accepted me without question.
Garrett came through the door a minute later. He had a bruise on his cheek and a cut below his right eye, but other than that he looked none the worse for wear. "Hey, guys," he said, sitting beside us. "I guess we're here to talk about what happened, huh?"
"Exactly," Dr. Cavert said, launching into the same explanation he'd given Julian and myself. When he'd finished, he picked up the phone and called the attendance office. "It seems Jared and Liza Luceri aren't in school today," he said, hanging up the phone.
I couldn't take it anymore. I was itching to get up and leave, to drive down to the hospital and find Jared myself. The meeting wasn't over, though. Dr. Cavert had us all write down statements about yesterday's events; as I wrote, I realized I was pressing harder and harder down on the paper. The ink was starting to run. I found myself wishing I'd smashed a few of their faces in, maybe broken a nose or two. After a few minutes of this, I realized I was still the only one scribbling furiously. I finished and looked up; close to an hour had passed and the others were all done. "Sorry, guys," I said.
"It's cool," Garrett said. "Dr. Cavert said he'd be back in about ten more minutes anyway."
"Okay." The tip of the pen was ruined. I threw it in the trash. "Did anyone else get really pissed writing this?" Everyone kind of looked at me blankly. "I'm glad I signed up for the GSA, Julian," I said. "It's important. Beyond just what's going on at school, I mean." Julian nodded. "I got pissed because what happened yesterday was so fucked up. And it happens all over. Julian, we can't give up on the GSA. It means too much to those kids, you know. And what it stands for. It means too much to itself-you know what I mean? It's a fucking symbol, and we can't let it get torn down by the people we're trying to change."
I looked at everyone after I'd spoken, but no one said anything. After a moment, Sarah said, "You know what, Julian, he's right. I say fuck them. If we give up now, then, shit, we might've as well never had the club at all. Fight the system and all that. Seriously, we have to keep going."
"Anyone who really wants to come after us already knows who we all are," Taylor added. "So it makes no sense to cancel the meetings now."
"I don't know," said Julian, and he rubbed his hand along his cast unconsciously. "I'm tired. You guys are all excited by defiance and pushing expectations, but I've been doing this for years now, and it's hard."
"But now you're not just doing it by yourself," Sarah said. "And it's not just about you anymore."
Garrett grinned and raised his hand. "As the token straight guy, I say don't quit now."
"The token straight girl seconds that motion," Sarah said.
"Oh, come on; if you're not bi, I'll do the principal in the butt," Garrett said.
"Do it first and then I'll tell you," Sarah replied. "So, what of it, Julian?"
"Let's see what Dr. Cavert says first," Julian said.
Nothing further was going to get decided now, and I hadn't grown any less angry in the last few minutes. I needed to find Jared. I needed to be sure he was okay. "Listen, guys," I said. "I need to do this now. I really need to apologize."
"You and I already said our piece," Garrett said.
"Well, there's more, and I owe apologies to everyone here. And Liza, too, but I'll get her when I find Jared. Which is where I am going. So let me say this now. I'm sorry, all of you. I've done a lot of harm out of stupidity. I made a promise that I wouldn't do it again, ever. Maybe it's impossible to keep, but it certainly can't hurt to try. When I was in San Francisco and I thought I was totally alone . . . shit, that's when you really hit rock bottom."
"San Francisco?" Sarah asked.
Taylor shook his head. "Seth," he murmured.
"Yes, Seth," I said. "You were right, Taylor. Well, let me back up. Square one. I met this guy at The Bean and we started dating. His name was Seth. Well, he and I hit it off and I went up to San Francisco twice. The second time things were pretty serious. I really thought I loved him, I think. I was definitely infatuated." I sighed and took a deep breath. "Look, this is still really hard. Well, he ended up doing exactly what Taylor said he'd do. We'd gone clubbing and I'd gotten really smashed and he made me feel guilty for leaving the club early. We got back to his apartment and there was a party going on and I left to take a walk. I . . . passed out on the street, in a gutter. When I made it back to the apartment, he was . . . well, he was fucking a friend of his. He didn't seem to think it was a big deal."
Taylor nodded. "I'm sorry, Tris. I tried to warn you."
"I know, Taylor, and I'm sorry. I really am. I'm sorry I walked away from you on the beach. That I didn't believe you."
"Love is blind," Taylor said.
I laughed. It was harsh even to my own ears. "Yeah. I found that out." I pinched the bridge of my nose. I was getting a headache. "I left after that. I wandered the streets for awhile. At some point I realized I'd made a lot of mistakes here. That I had to come back. See, I'd alienated all of you and I pretty much ran away from home because I thought . . . well, I came out to my parents and I thought it didn't go well. I seriously thought about staying in San Francisco, finding a way to get a job and live up there, but I realized that if I did that I'd always wonder if I could've fixed things here, and I knew I had to try. So I'm sorry. I've treated you all like shit, and I can't even claim that I didn't mean to, because obviously I wouldn't have done it if I didn't. But I am sorry."
"It's alright," Sarah said. The others nodded. Just like that, they'd accepted my apology, but to me it still didn't feel like enough. I fumbled for a moment for something to say, but then Julian looked up at me.
"What?" I asked him.
"Go," he said. "We know what you want to do. Go find him. We'll let the principal know."
I glanced around; Taylor and Garrett nodded, and Sarah said, "Find Liza too and tell her what you told us."
"Call us when you find them," Taylor added. "Don't forget. Do you want one of us to go with you?"
"I should be fine." I headed for the door, then turned. " Thanks, guys. For understanding." I let myself out and ran for my car.
* * *
Hospitals were strange places. They were vast waiting rooms for humanity, one place that seemed to bridge the gap between the lands of the living and the dead. It was almost as if in some respect they existed in two worlds at once, and I imagined revolving doors at either end, one side leading back out into the wind and the sun and the sounds of cars rushing by on busy streets, the other leading to a quiet place where the feel of the wind and the sounds of life were a muted and fading memory. In those places where the moribund went and divided into two fateful lines-we were all dying in every second, sure, but it was in places like this that that distinction was made so clear. You go in, and you come out. The only question is which exit you take as you leave.
I don't know the last time I'd driven so quickly. I was sure I was going to get pulled over, but I figured I could tell the police officer what was going on and he'd let me go with a warning. I knew the nearest hospital was St. Mary's, so I headed there. I had to stop myself from running headlong through the emergency doors. The closer I got, the faster I felt the need to move. I went up to the counter and asked, "Where can I find a patient who came into Emergency yesterday and is probably upstairs now?"
"What is the patient's name?" the attendant at the desk asked me.
"Jared Luceri," I replied. "He came in here yesterday afternoon."
"Hang on a sec while I check," she replied. She reached for her keyboard and clicked a few times. I imagined her closing a game of solitaire or perhaps Minesweeper and I had an urge to scream at her as she typed so fucking slowly. If I shoved her out of the way, I wondered, could I make the computer search more quickly?
Finally, the nurse turned back to me. "My records show that they moved him up to a room on the fifth floor-506. You'll need to check in at-" the nurse stopped and looked surprised as I turned and began speed-walking away.
"Thanks," I hollered as I dashed down the hallway.
"You'll need to check in!" she yelled, but I ignored her as I followed the signs to the elevator. I could check in later. I needed to see him. I half-walked, half-ran down white corridors with signs pointing every which way. I hated hospitals. They were big, confusing and filled with the smell of nothing. Finally, I found the elevator, a big stainless steel thing that was deeper than an ordinary elevator. I understood why when two orderlies in scrubs wheeled in two patients in wheelchairs. We rode up to the fifth floor and I stumbled out the doors almost before they opened.
The hallway split into two corridors; I read the sign and turned the corner so quickly I almost ran smack into a nurse. "Watch where you're going!" she shouted.
I jumped backwards and let her pass, murmuring "Sorry" as she went by. My shoes squeaked against the white linoleum floor and the windows into the patients' rooms blurred by me in a streak of reflected fluorescence. Finally, I ran past room 506, doubled back and stopped in front of the door. Curtains were drawn across the window, so I couldn't see into the room. Suddenly, I was nervous; I paused for a moment before I set my hand on the handle. I had a hard time making my fist close around it. I took a deep breath and opened the door.
The room was empty. For a moment, I didn't believe what my eyes were telling me. There was the hospital bed, curtains drawn back and sheets tucked tightly in at the corners, but there was no Jared in it. I spun around and resisted the not-quite-sane urge to look under the bed. "Fuck oh fuck fuck," I muttered, feeling my breath come faster and faster. I held on to the rail attached to the hospital bed for a moment. I didn't think I could stand on my own. Where the fuck is he? All sorts of horrible possibilities unfolded, cinematic, each one worse than the last-doctors wheeling him at a run into emergency surgery, nurses yelling "Stat!" and pumping at his chest with defibrillators, orderlies shaking their heads sadly as they drew a clean sheet over an equally white face-"Help!" I shouted. I was clutching the bedsheets as though by ripping them off Jared would suddenly be there again. I couldn't remember the last thing I'd said to him. I couldn't remember the last time I'd touched him. If that was the last thing that would ever pass between us, I wanted to remember it, and I couldn't. All I remembered was the receding lights of the ambulance as it pulled away from Sarah's house. I'd wanted to chase it, to make time stop or run backward, but the lights and the sirens were pushing inexorably forward far faster than I could ever hope to run.
And now . . .
Pale sunlight through the narrow window cut a sharp diagonal across the bed. The light somehow emphasized the bed's emptiness, as though the presence of something as ephemeral as a beam of sunlight reinforced the fact that these beds held only transient things, people ever on their way to somewhere else. How many people had been in this bed, only to die the next day? Jared had been here, and now he had gone. The light was warm against the side of my face that was pressed against the bed. Jared, I'm sorry. I wasn't fast enough. God damn it, I'm always two seconds behind everyone else, and I'll spend my whole life paying for that.
Two nurses rushed into the room then and I was surprised to realize that it had only been a few seconds since I'd shouted. I felt as though I'd lived a lifetime's worth of fear in those few sunlit seconds on the neatly-made hospital bed. I raised my face from the bed. "Where is he?" I asked.
The nurses didn't answer my immediate question. "What are you doing? Are you ill?"
"Where is he?" I asked again, my voice louder this time. "Jared Luceri. The patient who was here. Where is he?"
The nurses glanced at each other and then at me. "I think you'd better step outside with us," they said, flanking the door. I couldn't tell if they thought I was sane or not. I wasn't sure if I was sane or not. I got up and moved in the direction of the door. They kept their eyes on me the whole time much in the same manner that one watches a vicious dog-the slow and heavy stare of someone wary of the unpredictable and potentially violent. I felt violent.
When I was standing outside of the room, I leaned against the wall and allowed myself to slide down until I was sitting on the floor, knees at my chest. "Tell me," I said. "I'm not going to do anything. Just tell me."
"Are you alright?" the nurse asked again.
"I am," I replied. "Just tell me."
"Jared Luceri was the boy who was here last night and earlier today, right?" the nurse who had done most of the talking asked the other.
"Yes," I responded, even though the question hadn't been directed at me. "Blond hair, about five-foot-four, thin . . . was in a fight."
"Oh, yes, him," the other nurse said. He reached for a chart. "It looks like he left at about noon today."
"Left for where?" I asked, my voice rising.
"He was discharged and sent home," he responded, closing the chart. "He should be there now, although he'll be back for a scheduled appointment tomorrow morning. There. Now, are you going to be okay?"
Relief lifted me off of the ground. The bed might've been empty, but its occupant had traveled back into the daylight. "Yes," I said as I stood. "I'll be okay now."
* * *
I stood again at the threshold of the Luceri house. I knew finally why I was here. Still, it was hard to walk up the steps to the front door. My boots echoed against the concrete path and in my mind I heard the staccato running footsteps of yesterday, saw the blood splatter along the sidewalk and grass. The wind sent dried leaves skittering in front of me; they leapt skyward one by one and, limp, fluttered down again. Those sad little broken things. The voice of a changeling boy pushed me on. His words were the leaves, a distant and windborne call, but I heard it all the same. I'd know it anyhere. We'd raced through the air in my dreams. My arm was almost too heavy to lift and my hand like stone as I reached for the doorbell. Mrs. Luceri answered. "Tristan! Come in. Liza's gone to pick up medication, but Jared was just released from the hospital today. He's resting upstairs. How are you? You look tired."
I leaned against the door. "I'm running on empty," I said. "There's nothing left in me now."
"Oh, Tristan." Mrs. Luceri stepped toward me and embraced me. "It'll be okay," she whispered into my ear as she pulled away. "Go upstairs," she said. "Jared'll be glad to see you. He's been asking me to call you all day."
"Thank you." I turned and when I got to Jared's door I opened it without hesitating, like the way one pulls out a splinter from a finger or severs a limb-quickly, with a sharp inhaled breath, so that the fear will be over in a moment. I must tell him why I am here. This time, the bed was occupied, the sheets rumpled and the room filled with everything that was Jared. He couldn't know it, but at long last I felt as though I'd caught sunlight and held it fast. I felt myself smile at him and he grinned back. Part of me wanted to launch myself at him, but leaden feet could not fly. Besides, I was worried about hurting him. When I got to the side of the bed, I reached for his hand. "Jared," I whispered. It wasn't much of a greeting, but it was enough.
Jared's hand was warm in mine. He shifted slightly and looked sideways at me. "Are you okay, Tris?"
"Now I am," I said truthfully. "They didn't really manage to hurt me too badly yesterday. I mean, my leg and arm are bruised, sore . . . what about you? I was worried about you, Jared. I . . . "
"They thought I had a mild concussion," Jared said. "I guess I woke up just fine, though . . . I don't remember much, really. But they said I could go home this morning, so I got back and fell asleep. I was just about to call you-" he shifted again, making room for me, and I sat at the edge of the bed, my hand still clutching his, "-but here you are. I was worried about you all night, Tris. I wanted to call you so badly, but they said I couldn't, not until they knew I would be alright . . . I'm sorry, Tris. I'm really sorry."
"There's nothing to be sorry for," I said back. "I'm glad you're okay. I'll be gladder when those guys get kicked out of school, though. The police are going to fuck them over, too."
Jared closed his eyes and leaned back. "Is it really worth it?"
"What do you mean?"
"Them getting arrested, expelled, all that. What's it gonna solve? They're just going to get angrier."
"Jared . . . they would've killed you."
Jared shook his head. "Stuff for later. I . . . thanks for coming, Tris. I mean, I knew you would. But thanks anyway."
"I've been looking for you all damn morning," I replied. "I went to the hospital, went to the room you were in, everything . . . took me forever to track you down." I stopped for a moment. The next words burned in my throat. I couldn't say them. I couldn't tell him the reason I was really here. I remembered all too well the quiet, the red of taillights like eyes, and the aloneness of the world at low tide.
Jared saw, though. He knew I was pulling something into myself. Maybe he could hear the gentle sounds of tearing as I buried swords in my heart. "What is it?" he asked. The connection, the link that was our hands frightened me. I held back from passing everything to him through that connection-if I did I would pour into him entirely, like a dam bursting, and the life would drain out of me. "What's wrong, Tristan?"
It almost sounded weird to hear him use my full name. "I don't want to say, " I whispered. I let go his hand and walked to the window. The trellis up which I'd climbed wrapped around the pane. I'd almost given in that night and the following morning. I couldn't give in now. I'd done it once, walked away once; I could do it again. It was better this way. Jared would thank me, one day. From somewhere. Even if the boy in my head was running faster than I could ever hope to follow.
"God damn it, Tris." I jumped. Jared was right behind me. He was trembling-whether from weakness or from anger, I didn't know-and he looked as though he were about to throw me out the window. "You did this once before, and you were wrong. Why do you want to do it again? How many times are you going to do this?"
"Jared, just . . . "
"Just what? Let you walk away again? Like it wasn't bad enough the first time? Like I didn't spend that whole day crying and trying to hide so no one would see?"
I sighed and turned. "Ever since I was a little boy, I've had this dream. It was always different, every time, but it was the same dream, too-or maybe a better way of saying it is that it was the continuation of one really long dream, one that's lasted my entire life." I sat on the edge of the bed and Jared sat in a chair across from me. He met my eyes and I didn't look away. If he wanted the truth, I would give it to him. "It didn't always pick up where it left off, but it always felt the same. Anyway, there was a boy in the dream. He wasn't ever the same, either . . . there were some times that I never saw his face, and then there were times that I did, and sometimes he had a narrow face, kind of foxlike, and other times he had eyes like an owl, or a deer, but his laugh and his smile were always the same, even if he had blond hair or black hair or whatever it was that night." I realized I was rambling a bit. "Anyway, I haven't had the dream in a long time . . . about a year, I guess. But then last night I dreamt that I was in the hospital, looking for you, and I went through sunlight and then doors-and when I finally came into a room, you were in the bed, but you were the boy." I took a deep breath, but I didn't look away. "Wow, talk about déjà vu. Listen, Jared, you're the boy, the boy that I've been chasing around in my head for years, and I'm gay."
This time, unlike all the other times, with Julian or Garrett or my parents, there wasn't that silent humming pause where the world seemed as though it might break apart. Instead, instantly and without thought, Jared said, "Oh, good, me too."
This time it was my turn to pause. "What?" I asked after I'd gotten breath back into my lungs.
"I said 'me too,' " Jared replied. And he grinned! "Why do you think I joined the GSA? Just because you asked me to?" Suddenly everything fell into place and I flushed a deep crimson: Jared's joy every time he saw me, and the mirror of that within me, Jared at the airport, tripping over the sign in his rush to meet me, his friendship with Julian, the funny look he'd given me at the swim meet-I remembered what I'd said then: "Hey, some guys like that"-even Jared's anger at my exit on that day when I thought I would leave this place forever . . .
"Does this mean that you-that we-" I was so red-faced and Jared was so calm, as though he'd been waiting for this all of his life, and then it struck me that perhaps he had.
"I think that's your decision as much as mine," Jared replied. I was silent then, and he who knew me so well read it instantly and said, "You're thinking about that guy in San Francisco you went to visit-Seth-aren't you. You loved him, right? And it-it didn't work out, and that's why you came back, right?" I nodded, and again he could read the lines of pain in my face. "He hurt you."
"Yes," I whispered. "Yes, he did." I couldn't do it. I couldn't risk it again. I'd been slapped down twice already; a third time would be more than I could bear. We would try and it would work for a little while-it had with Seth-and then it would fall apart and I would lose this golden boy that I loved so terribly that it felt as though my very heart would burst with this exquisite pain-
"That was Seth. I am Jared," was all he said. I glanced back at him, but his head was down; and then I heard Julian's voice-Every breath we take is another moment of a rare experience, and it won't come our way again-and finally, like the turning of a key in a lock, the words fit perfectly for the very first time. I might lose it all again, but if I didn't try, if we didn't try, we'd be committing our love to the flames before it had even had a chance at life. I would not go through my life empty and alone until the day when I was an old man ready to give over into death and still wondering at what might have been, had I let that stillborn love take hold. As though he could sense my conclusion, Jared met my eyes. I gasped at what I saw there, at what had been there all along, and I reached out to him and took his hand and then the door opened, light spilled through, and the dream child whose face and body had never been the same in the grassy fields of my mind suddenly took shape before me, here, alive and breathing and smiling back at me as he had so many times before in the split-second before we ran together in that place where time had no meaning.
"I love you," I said, trembling with the force of it. "I've loved you all my life, even before I knew you."
"I love you too," Jared said. We moved together, two parts of an inscribed circle, and then our lips touched and the circle was complete, one unit with no dividing lines, merged here in a kiss filled with innocence and passion and a sense that everything in our lives had led up to this moment, this moment and everything that comes after.
Epilogue: Moving
It has been a month since the attack and I am driving.
Being on the road makes me feel like I'm a part of everything, like I'm traveling along veins, or nerves, that link me to all of the other people in this world. Somewhere out there there are giant living cities of glass and steel, and in those cities are a million people, and right now I'm rushing toward them and they will welcome me as I am welcome everywhere, because I am one with them. And I'm part of this infinite living thing that is waiting for me to get there and shake those people, make them fall out of bed, take them from their torpid little lives into something brighter and greater than they have ever known.
I drive because everything around me suddenly feels so small and this helps me. It reminds me that these roads stretch everywhere and that there's never really an end, that there's always another intersection that leads to somewhere different.
And I know I need to get out. Maybe for college I'll go up to San Francisco, or even somewhere far away, to a place where no one even knows for sure where Orange County is. It won't be easier anywhere else. But I know that one way or another, I can't stay here.
The GSA club has gotten really big these days. There were a lot of kids who were outraged about what had happened, and we have three or four times the number of straight students than we do gay ones now. I like it that way. Julian's taken on the leadership role well, too. It's strange-I never would have imagined how much the fight that afternoon would have polarized things not just at school, but all over town. It was all over the papers. We were all interviewed several times; we even had to give speeches at city hall. Of course, the entire thing got dragged through court, too, and we had to be there to testify for that. As much as we'd all like to put it behind us, and as much as we have, it's taken longer than we've expected. I think emotionally, though, we've all moved on. As it turns out, the students that attacked us all got expelled, but they were able to have the criminal charges against them reduced to simple assault. They all are on three years' probation. Soon after the conviction, three of them moved out of town-I honestly think that, given all the bad press they got, they felt chased out-and that took the wind out of the others' sails.
There are still some kids who are openly hostile toward the GSA and its members. But nothing has escalated beyond the level of a few muttered or shouted insults, which we've all learned we can tolerate. If that's the worst that they throw at us, well, we have enough people that love us that anything else is small by comparison. I guess that for now we have to accept that not everyone is going to tolerate us. We have a long way to go, but every person who stands with us is one more person we can count on when push comes to shove. I still believe there will be a time when Julian's hopes will become real. That time is not now-not yet. There's still a lot of opposition out there.
But one day they'll all understand. You'll see, in time.
THE END
Please read the Afterword.
Afterword
First off, I want to thank everyone, all of you, for reading. It has been a long journey, this story-longer perhaps than anyone anticipated-and making it all the way to this page is as much as I could ever ask from a reader. It has been a pleasure writing Tristan's Redemption and an honor to receive so many complimentary emails on the novel. Thank you all again for your support and kind words. Please do not hesitate to email me now that the story stands complete.
As for a sequel: I have no immediate plans to write anything concrete set in Tristan's world, although I will admit that there are two things that have interested me: a sequel in which we find out what happens to Tristan and his friends after they graduate and move on to college, and/or a sequel told from another character's point of view. I have no drafts, notes nor plotlines for either of these ideas, though, so I won't say whether or not either will come to eventual fruition. I think there is still more to certain characters' stories, but as in life, there are times when we never really get to find out what happens in the end to people about whom we care. Besides, it is a firm belief of mine that the story is over the minute conflict is resolved. We shall see, however. If there's a character about whom you'd like to see more, I'd certainly appreciate the input. Maybe it'll influence my decision one way or another.
Before I get into sequels to this tale, however, I'll plug my next project: Aurora. Hopefully I'll be able to finish up the first chapter soon (I'm an incredibly busy person of late) and post it here, so please keep your eyes peeled for that. Aurora is darker than Tristan's Redemption and told in a completely different fashion. The story as such will be a series of journal entries and flashbacks in non-chronological order, and unlike Tristan's Redemption I make no promises at a happy ending. There is far more sex, though, for whatever that is worth. There is also no crossover between Tristan's Redemption and Aurora-there will be an entirely new set of characters in completely different locations. While I personally have grown attached to Tristan, Jared, Julian and the other characters that populate Tristan's little corner of Orange County, California, this will be a new opportunity to meet new people and places.
Now, before I grow long-winded (an easy habit for me), I'll say my goodbyes and add that I hope you've enjoyed reading Tristan's Redemption as much as I have enjoyed writing it. Please do email me with your thoughts. Thank you all once again.
Sincerely,
Nicholas Nurse
January 2004
|