“Are you watering your tomatoes?” I asked.
“Um, I am now.” She laughed. “God, we’ll have to see whether or not this garden is going to last. Let’s face it. I’m not the best at this kind of stuff.”
“You’re fine.”
“What did you eat for supper last night?” she asked.
It was my turn to laugh. “Kale, hemp and flaxseed pesto.”
The door behind me opened, and out came Mr. Keeler with the watering can. He didn’t even look at me as he walked to the spigot. He chose careful footsteps through the uneven, rocky garden. He sounded like his lungs had to work hard. Probably from all the smoking.
Mom was laughing into the phone.
“I’ll talk to you later,” I said.
“Love and kisses, Jer Bear!”
I hung up, blushing a little, but Mr. Keeler didn’t seem like he heard anything.
As he poured water over the first shrub, I walked over the rocks to him.
“I can help,” I said, holding out my hand.
He narrowed his eyes. “I’ve been watering these bushes for fourteen years.” But he handed me the watering can and walked back to sit on the stoop. His breathing evened out while I finished the job.
“Lousy garden,” Mr. Keeler said. “These bushes haven’t grown much since they put in the plastic and rocks. Some idiot landscaper.” He pulled out a cigarette and lit it. I set the watering can down by his feet.
Just then, Michael stepped out of the building. He wasn’t in his paint clothes now. He wore a teal tank top and short-shorts. An empty canvas bag hung from his shoulder like a purse. He looked at me, then Mr. Keeler. He pulled a tight smile across his face.
“Good morning, Mr. Keeler.” Michael said, his voice sounding as forced as the smile.
I looked over at Sage’s building, hoping she wouldn’t see Michael.
“Pansy,” Mr. Keeler muttered at Michael. Mr. Keeler ground the end of his cigarette into the concrete stoop, then flicked it onto the sidewalk.
Michael stared at the cigarette butt. “I’m sure you haven’t seen this, but they have a receptacle right here for you,” said Michael pointing at a coffee can half filled with sand and cigarette butts.
Mr. Keeler leaned back against the rough bricks. “I’ve seen it,” he said.
Michael glared at Mr. Keeler for a long time. Mr. Keeler just stared right back, half a smirk on his face.
Eventually, Michael turned to me. “I was just about to hop out for a few groceries,” Michael said. “Care to join?”
“I think I’ll sit here for a while,” I said. “With Mr. Keeler. He was telling me about the garden.”
Michael frowned. “I’m sure that’s enlightening. You have your apartment key?”
“Yes.”
Michael looked concerned. “You’re sure you’ll be okay here by yourself?”
“Yes.”
Michael sighed and walked down the sidewalk.
Mr. Keeler turned to me. “That’s your dad?” He asked.
“No,” I said. I was quiet for a minute, then made myself add, “That’s his boyfriend.”
Mr. Keeler nodded. “You don’t like him, eh?”
I shrugged. “I don’t know.”
“You know,” he said. “If there’s one thing I’ve learned in this lousy world, it’s that you’ve got to stand your ground. If you don’t like him, get rid of him. If you’re not careful, he might be around for good.”
“Yeah,” I said.
Mr. Keeler hauled himself to his feet. “Too bad about this garden,” he said. “It used to be full of daylilies. Every August it looked like the garden bed was on fire with all the blooms.” He fumbled with the door before going inside.
Later that day, Sage and I met up with our bikes in the alley.
“Watch out for potholes,” I told her, thinking of Michael’s warnings. I meant to say it as a joke, but Sage rolled her eyes.
“That’s what Mom always says.”
We rode up and down the streets of our neighborhood, passing other brick buildings. We rode past Open Arms, Michael’s church that he dragged Dad and me to. We passed Marzetti’s Hardware.
As we rode, I tried to piece together a map in my head of all the things I saw. It would be useful to know where things were in the neighborhood. We rode until Sage said her legs were tired. So were mine. We stopped at General Dollar for drinks. I bought a bottle of iced tea. Sage chose fruit punch.
We brought our drinks back to the park. As we sat on the grass, Sage kept naming clouds, but I was distracted. I wondered whether Mr. Keeler was right. Should I do something to get rid of Michael? What would I do?
I was still thinking about this when Dad and I went for another ride that night. My legs ached. I didn’t use a bike much during the school year. This week, I had already used it a ton. Still, the ache felt good. My muscles were getting stronger.
I followed Dad down the alley. He didn’t feel the need to tell me to watch out for potholes.
The tall buildings cast long shadows over the road. I followed Dad as he led me straight down Stevens Ave. The tires hummed. I was thankful I had been riding around with Sage. Dad’s long legs kept a steady pace that was difficult to match.
Eventually, we pedaled down Nicollet until it dead-ended, and Dad led me onto a ramp. We coasted down into a sort of bicycle highway.
“Midtown Greenway,” Dad said.
We merged into the bicycle traffic. We rode west, surrounded by other cyclists, joggers, and skaters.
The Greenway was down in a rut that ran beneath roads up ahead. It probably used to be train tracks or something that they paved over.
We passed several ramps, then pulled over. Dad got off his bike, pointing to the sign. The Girard Street exit.
“This is where I first met Michael face to face.” he said. “Last year, during the art festival, remember? We both rode in because he said the parking would be insane. He wanted a quieter place to meet.”
Last year. I remembered the day Dad left for the date. He had spent weeks emailing Michael, after they met online. When they finally decided to meet in person, Dad had been all jittery.
I had spent the day with a friend at Lake Nokomis. It wasn’t unusual for Dad to have occasional dates back then, but when he came back from this one, I knew something was different. Dad was a little lighter on his feet. His eyebrows and the edges of his mouth were just a little bit raised.
Standing here a year later, his face was all lit up with the memory.
“I remember,” I said. Dad was happy. He was really happy with Michael. I couldn’t take that away from him. I couldn’t try to get rid of Michael. Still, there was no reason I had to like Michael. All I had to do was tolerate him for the rest of the summer. I thought I could probably do that.
Dad swung his leg up over his bike. We merged back onto the Greenway until we came up to Lake of the Isles. We followed a smaller trail around the lake, then went through a tunnel that led out to another lake. The sign said it was called Bde Maka Ska. Dad said it was a Dakota name, and that you said it like, “beh-DAY mah-KAH skah.” Wind blew over the water. It glittered so bright I wished I had brought my sunglasses.
We rode until we came to a beach. We locked our bikes and walked down to the water. Dad pulled off his shoes and socks. So did I. We stood on the edge of the lake. Gentle waves licked our toes.
“Tomorrow’s the Pride Festival,” Dad said.
“Since when do you go to Pride things?” I said.
Dad smiled. “Since Michael. It’s important to him.”
I hesitated, looking out over the sparkling water. “Is it important to you, too?”
“Yeah,” Dad said. “It’s becoming more important anyway.”
“Why?” I asked.
Dad picked up a stone and skipped it out over
the water. “Lots of reasons. Michael, first of all. But I haven’t really had time in my life where I expressed that part of me. My bisexuality. It’s always been there, something I wanted to think of as normal. I guess now I’m starting to think important stuff shouldn’t just be normal. It should be special.”
We walked across the sand, back to our bikes. As we unlocked them Dad said, “What do you think of Michael?” Dad’s face was bright, obviously expecting Michael and me to be best friends after a whole week together.
I thought about Michael’s perfect hair, the way he blared his Motown music, his stupid Uni-cycle, his constant factoids and reminders. “He’s fine.” I said. Then I remembered the name thing. “He calls you Allen.”
Dad smiled. “Yeah, I know.”
“You don’t like it when people call you that.”
Dad blushed a little. He scratched behind his ear. “I guess I don’t mind. It’s different coming from him.”
I made myself smile. “Good. I’m glad it doesn’t annoy you.” But it sure as heck annoyed me.
Chapter
5
Michael owned an entire crate of rainbow stuff that he slid out from under the bed. A vest, several hats, caps, visors, lanyards, shirts, even feather boas. Of course, I probably shouldn’t have been surprised by this.
Michael smiled at my wide eyes. “Just collected a little here and there over the years. It’s hard not to at these festivals.” He picked up a pair of rainbow pompoms, shaking them like he was about to give a cheer. “Sometimes, you’ve just got to wave that pride. You can pick something out to wear to the festival today.”
Although I already knew I was going to say no, I couldn’t help digging through the bin. It was like stirring a giant bowl of sprinkles. I found several bracelets, one with horizontal rainbow stripes, one with a rainbow of hearts, one made out of rubber with the word PRIDE stamped into it.
I looked at Michael’s wrist resting lightly on the edge of the box. He wore a rainbow bracelet made of sparkling stones.
“You should wear a hat.” Michael picked out a bucket hat with a rainbow flag stitched onto it.
“What’s all this?” Dad asked, walking into the room. I dropped the bracelet I was holding.
Michael waved his hand over the items. “A box of wonder and magic. Pick something for the festival.”
Dad chuckled. “You got any bi-pride in there? You know we have our own flag, right?”
“The rainbow is broad.” Michael said. “I was trying to get Jeremiah to wear one of these hats, and I haven’t heard that he’s gay. Rainbows are all about pride and alliance. Anybody can join.”
Dad just walked towards the door. “I’m ready when you are. Onward, troops!”
I stood up.
Michael sighed. “Alright,” he said. “I suppose.” He rummaged through the box. “Here’s something for you, dear.”
He threw a feather boa at Dad. Dad took it and tied it around his neck. It drooped from his shoulders.
Michael sighed. “Not an ounce of glamor in you.” He pulled the boa off Dad’s neck and we walked down the steps.
“We could ride our bikes,” Michael said.
I thought of the Uni-cycle down in the basement next to my bike. “Let’s walk,” I said. “My riding muscles are sore.”
The day was warm and humid, probably going to become hot. By the time we were walking down Nicollet Avenue, I realized I should have brought a water bottle.
Michael started another one of his tour guide talks.
“The first Twin Cities ‘pride festival’ was held way back in 1972,” he said. “It was just a group of students hosting a picnic in Loring Park celebrating the 3rd anniversary of the Stonewall Riots. It’s grown to way more than 100 students now. It lasts three days, and now there’s the Ashley Rukes Pride Parade down Hennepin on Sunday.”
As he started talking about the role of corporate sponsorships in the festival, I tuned him out. A few more blocks and we were at Loring Park. It was already full of people wandering around between the booths and tents. Several stages were set up. Bands plunked out loud notes.
As we walked into the festival, I realized we probably didn’t look much like a group. I had my blue t-shirt and cut offs. Dad wore a brown t-shirt and jeans. Dad looked extra big walking next to Michael. Michael wore his rainbow bracelet, Born This Way tank top, and short shorts with the types of holes and wrinkles that only happen in expensive factories.
Right away, Michael bought one of those huge festival lemonades, cherry flavored.
“Want one?” he asked.
“I’m fine,” I said.
“I’m buying,” said Michael.
“I’m not thirsty,” I lied.
“I’ve got the money,” Michael insisted. “And it’s already so muggy.”
“Really,” I said. “I’m fine.”
After buying his lemonade, Michael held it in one hand, holding Dad’s hand in the other.
Dad leaned toward him for a sip. “Radiant,” he said. They both laughed.
I trailed behind them a little as we walked between the booths. Unlike the Stone Arch Festival, these tents weren’t filled with art, but with all sorts of community resources and organizations: PFLAG, Out Front Minnesota, Gay Straight Alliance. I had to work to stay close to Dad through all of the people now filling the park.
Michael was the kind of person who was at home here. He pulled Dad along from table to table, tossing his head to the music that now seemed to come from everywhere, crowding the park with noise. Dad stayed next to Michael, sharing the stupid cherry lemonade.
At the Human Rights Campaign table, they were giving out blue bags with large yellow equals signs on them. Michael made me take one.
“You’ll need it,” he said. “You can pick up some serious giveaways here.”
We passed banners from churches, gay rights organizations, and all sorts of others, including the city transit system and several politicians. My bag started to collect candy, fliers, bracelets, and tattoos with store logos stamped into a rainbow pattern. Michael made sure I took each of the promotional granola bars from the Real Foods booth.
We stopped so Dad and Michael could chat with the people at the Open Arms table, Michael’s church. Pastor Veronica shook my hand and even remembered my name.
Finally, we approached a large booth that was all pink, purple, and blue.
“Here you go,” Michael said. “We should stop here. Get you some swag.”
The banner said, “Bisexuals of Minnesota.” When Dad had said bisexuals had their own flag, I thought he had been teasing, but they really did. It struck me how little I knew about Dad being bisexual. I always just kind of lumped it in with gay. Or maybe gayish. Mom called it “Diet Gay,” but it wasn’t.
Dad and Michael walked under the cover of the tent. I was about to follow them when someone called my name.
I recognized that voice. It was Sage. What was she doing here?
Suddenly she was standing right next to me. Her black hair was huge in the humid air and tied behind her head in a bunch about the size of a soccer ball. Seeing that she wasn’t wearing any rainbows, I was extra thankful that I wasn’t either. Her shirt said HMONG PRIDE in big bold letters above a flower-like symbol. Like Michael, she carried a giant cherry lemonade.
“What are you doing here?” she asked. “Are you here with your dad?”
I was about to point him out to her, but when I looked over, Michael and Dad were standing arm in arm looking over all the bi pride stuff. For some reason I froze up and didn’t want Sage to see them.
I stared at her. Would she be weird about it? Maybe I should wait until I knew her a little better before trying out information on her like that.
“I’m here with my Dad.” I looked around, like I didn’t know where he had gone. “He’s around here somewhere.”
> “Is he…?” her voice trailed off.
I knew what she was asking. I tried to think of some way to casually change the subject. I looked down at my feet, frustrated at myself for not being open and matter of fact.
“So,” I said, still looking for a way to change the subject. I pointed to her shirt. “What’s Hmong Pride?”
“It’s a group for Hmong people on the LGBTQ spectrum.”
“The what?” I hated admitting that I didn’t know these things.
“LGBTQ.” Sage repeated. “Lesbian. Gay. Bisexual. Trans. Queer.” Sage looked at me intensely, like she was trying to read me. “My Hmong mom is a lesbian. My other mom is queer.”
Moms. Sage had moms.
I just stood there staring at her. A million things bubbled up inside me. I thought of how I had tried to hide the fact that Dad was bi. How I did my best to ensure she wouldn’t know about Michael. How thankful I had been that I wasn’t wearing any rainbows.
I opened my mouth but couldn’t think of anything to say.
“I’ve got to get back to the booth,” Sage said, turning to go. I watched her until she disappeared into the crowd.
Chapter
6
I stood there for another minute. Sage had moms. Like I might have dads one day. Why was I so stupid, trying to hide Dad like he was something to be embarrassed about? Now Sage probably thought I was a person who couldn’t handle it.
I joined Dad and Michael in the Bisexuals of Minnesota booth. The woman at the table was trying to get Dad to add his email address to a list. When she saw me, she gave me a sticker with the bi flag on it. Like I was a little kid who was supposed to like stickers or something. I slid it into my bag.
As we moved on, Michael turned to Dad. “You’re sure you don’t want to get something?”
Dad shrugged. “Nothing caught my eye.”
I wanted to point out that not everyone had to flaunt themselves like Michael did but thought better of it. Again, we joined the river of people flowing through the park.
One of the families we passed had a boy about my age wearing a shirt that said “I Heart My Dads.” The boy and I nodded at each other, like we knew each other on some level. Then we walked on, not speaking. Did Sage share that type of knowing, too?
Second Dad Summer Page 3