by Marie Sexton
I probably should have seen that coming. Still, it surprised me when Matt agreed.
Once he was gone, I tried not to look at Lizzy, who was practically bouncing on her toes, wearing the goofiest smile I’d seen in a long time. She has blonde hair that seems to fly all over the place when she moves, and blue eyes, which at the moment were shining with excitement. I suppose she falls somewhere between “lovely” and “cute as a button,” and I swear she could charm the stars down out of the sky if she tried.
“Well?” she finally asked.
“Well, what?” I knew I was blushing and hated myself for it.
“You know what.” She smacked me on the arm. “He’s hot! And he asked you out. Aren’t you excited?” The fact was, I didn’t have many friends. Most of my buddies from high school were married with kids. The ones who weren’t married were all troublemakers who spent their nights drinking at the bar. Lizzy was probably the best friend I had in the world, and I knew she hoped I’d find somebody.
“I don’t think he meant it as a date.”
Her smile faltered a little. “You don’t?”
“Does he look gay to you?”
“Well, no. But neither do you, so that obviously doesn’t mean anything, and you know it. He wanted to take you out and was disappointed that he wasn’t going to have you to himself. I think he’s interested.” The smile came back in its full glory.
I knew better than to get my hopes up. Needless to say, I never planned to be in my thirties and still alone, but being gay in a town this small isn’t easy. Colorado isn’t exactly a gay mecca; it’s not the Bible Belt, but it’s not San Francisco either. Most of the town knows about me, and most of them even accept me, but a few still look the other way when I pass them in the grocery store or refuse to deal with me when they come into the shop.
People always ask me when I knew I was gay. I guess they think I had some epiphany—lights flashing and horns blaring—but it wasn’t like that for me. It was more of a culmination of events.
I suppose the first clues came early in puberty as I compared myself to my brother, Brian, two years my elder. While he was hanging up posters of Cindy Crawford and Samantha Fox, I was putting up only cars and the Denver Broncos. I knew he found girls enticing and fascinating in a way I didn’t understand, but I didn’t worry about it much.
One weekend when I was fifteen, my dad went to a Broncos game and bought me a poster showing the whole team with the cheerleaders arrayed around them in various provocative poses. Brian helped me hang it up, and then we stepped back to admire it.
“Which one do you think is the best-looking?” Brian asked me.
“Steve Atwater,” I said without even thinking about it.
He laughed, but it was a nervous kind of laugh, like he wasn’t sure if I was pulling his leg or not. When I glanced his way, I found him staring at me with a look on his face that would eventually become very familiar: part humor, part confusion, part concern. I was embarrassed. I knew my answer was wrong, and yet, I wasn’t really sure why.
“No,” he said, “I meant which one of the cheerleaders?”
In truth, I’d barely noticed them.
Soon my friends were swapping skin magazines with shaking hands and boastful laughs. I wasn’t exactly sure what they felt when they looked at them, but it was pretty clear it wasn’t the same as the mild embarrassment they elicited in me.
It wasn’t until I met Tom that I realized exactly how different I was. Tom played football with Brian. They were best friends. I was sixteen; they were eighteen. From the moment he walked through our front door, I was infatuated with him. I could barely speak to him but couldn’t keep my eyes off him. His laugh was enough to elicit physical responses that caused me to always have a schoolbook in my hand when he was in the house—not because I was such a good student, but because I needed to be able to cover myself quickly. I walked a fine line between wanting to see him as much as possible and wanting to stay out of his sight. I caught Brian watching me again with the same looks he had given me the day I blurted out Steve Atwater’s name: concern, bemusement, embarrassment. It was something of a relief when the two of them finally graduated and went off to college.
After that, I was pretty sure, although I never said anything to anybody. I faked my way through high school. I never tried out for football because I was afraid of the complications that could arise in the locker room, if only in my imagination. I had a few dates with girls, but they were mostly group dates; we held hands a few times, and a couple of them even kissed me. The kisses were, for me at least, completely uninspiring, bordering on disturbing, and it never went further than that.
Once I made it to college, away from home, I finally allowed myself to experiment. I met guys at the club or at the gym and had a few brief but meaningless affairs. Never found anything I would have called love, but I knew after that, without a doubt, that I was gay. Maybe I should have moved somewhere else after graduating, but no place else would have felt like home. Still, hot new cop or not, chances of finding a partner in Coda were almost nonexistent, and chances of me ending up alone seemed depressingly high.
Chapter 3
SO THAT night, Matt met my family. Lizzy went home from work early, ostensibly to get a head start on dinner, but I think the real reason was so she could fill in Brian and Mom before Matt arrived. Brian, of course, was courteous. Mom was sizing him up but seemed to approve.
“Are you into mountain biking too?” she asked him as we ate dinner.
“I sold my bike before I moved here. I liked riding, but in Oklahoma, there aren’t really any mountains to bike in. Why?”
“Jared’s up there every time he has a day off. He goes alone. I keep telling him he shouldn’t. What if he got hurt?”
“Mom, cool it. Have I ever been hurt?”
“You get hurt every time.”
Oh boy, here we go. I resisted the urge to roll my eyes at her. “I meant I’ve never been seriously hurt. Bumps and bruises don’t count.”
“But you don’t even wear a helmet.”
“I do if it’s a hard trail.” She was starting to whine now. I hate the guilt trip, but I hate helmets more. “I wish you wouldn’t worry about it so much.”
“But there’s nobody with you, in case you need help.”
“Talk to your other son, then,” I teased. “He’s the one who won’t ride with me anymore.”
Brian threw up his hands like he was surrendering the fort. “I can’t keep up.”
“It’s not the trails I worry about,” Lizzy cut in. “It’s here in town that scares me. Crazy drivers talking on their cell phones and never watching where they’re going.” She shook her finger in my direction. It was not the first time I’d heard this speech. “You ride to and from work every day, and you never wear your helmet. It’s not safe. I bet Matt can tell you about all kinds of terrible accidents involving bicyclists who weren’t wearing helmets, right, Matt?”
He looked amused. “I know better than to get in the middle of a family argument.”
“Brian,” I entreated, “save me from your wife.”
Brian laughed but took pity on me and changed the subject. “So, Matt, are you a football fan?”
“Of course.”
“You’re from Oklahoma? So who do you root for? The Cowboys?”
Matt actually grinned a little, and I could tell he was getting ready to let some big cat out of the bag. “Kansas City Chiefs.”
“Oh no!” The whole table erupted. We’re a hard-core Broncos family, and declaring allegiance for our division rival, the Chiefs, was tantamount to heresy in our household. Lizzy threw a roll at him. “Get out, loser.”
“And you seemed like such a nice boy too,” Mom said, shaking her head.
“Jared,” Brian scolded, “you know better than to bring a Chiefs fan into my house! I should throw both of you out on your asses.”
I laughed. “Hey, I didn’t know! I assumed anybody smart enough to live in Colorado would k
now who the better team was.”
“All right, all right,” Matt said. “Everybody calm down. You Broncos fans are so high-strung.” That got him another round of razzing, and Lizzy threw another roll at him. He saw it coming, caught it, and turned to throw it at me. “You know, it could be worse. At least I’m not a Raiders fan.”
And of course we all had to agree on that.
Right after dinner, Mom went home. I sent Matt out onto the patio while I went to fetch beer from the kitchen. When I walked in, Lizzy beamed at me.
I tried to ignore that look. “You coming outside with us?”
“Sure,” Brian started to say, “as soon as—”
“No.” Lizzy cut him off, slapping his arm playfully. “We’re going to give you boys some time alone.”
Brian looked a little troubled by that. I had a sudden Steve Atwater flashback. Obviously, knowing I was gay was one thing, but this was the first time he’d ever really had to think about me with a potential suitor. I hadn’t ever had a boyfriend serious enough to introduce to my family.
“I don’t think that’s necessary,” I assured them. “I’m pretty sure that’s not what he has in mind.”
“I think you’re wrong. You two couldn’t take your eyes off each other all through dinner. I’m going upstairs, and Brian will clean up.”
“What am I supposed to tell him?”
“Are you kidding? Tell him the pregnant lady got tired and had to lie down. It’s not even a lie. I’m exhausted. But”—and she pointed a finger right at me—“I expect a full report in the morning.”
Two beers later, we were sprawled in patio chairs, enjoying the unseasonably warm evening.
“So, are you married?” I asked him.
“Nope.”
“Divorced?”
“Nope.”
“Ever come close?”
“No.”
Well, that seemed odd. At our age, I would at least have expected a near miss. Unless….
“Why not?”
He fidgeted with the label on his beer bottle. “Guess I just haven’t found a girl I felt that way about.”
“What about a guy?” It was out of my mouth before my good sense could stop it. And, of course, I really did want to know.
“What? No.” He sat up straight, looking alarmed and a little bit angry. “Of course not. Why would you ask that?”
That tiny flicker of hope that Lizzy had lit within me died. “It was just a question. It’s no big deal. Sorry I brought it up.”
“I’m not gay.”
“Okay.”
“Why?” It sounded like a challenge. “Are you?”
“Yes.” He would have found out soon enough anyway.
He was taken aback. He frowned at me, looking me up and down. “You are? I mean, I was kidding. I didn’t really think you’d say yes.”
I laughed uncomfortably. “Well, I am.” I looked him square in the eyes. “Is that a problem?”
“Well….” To his credit, he stopped and thought about it. He fidgeted with the label on his bottle again. “I don’t know. I never….” The label came off, and he seemed confused about what to do with it now that it was free.
“You know, it’s not contagious.” I was teasing now and hoping he’d realize it. But I was also pretty sure he wouldn’t be asking me out for dinner or beers anymore.
“I know. Of course I know.” He sighed, and his shoulders relaxed a little. He shook his head. “I’m being an ass. It’s none of my business who you sleep with.” A pause, and then, “Just, I want you to know”—his eyes met mine again—“I’m not.”
I smiled. “Hey, I’m not gonna kiss you or anything.” Although the thought of doing exactly that was enough to make my pulse speed up a little. But it was apparently what he needed to hear, because he relaxed the rest of the way with a sigh. “Anyway, no self-respecting Coloradan would date a Chiefs fan.” That made him laugh, and after that, we were back on safe ground. The conversation seemed to be forgotten.
LIZZY CALLED me first thing in the morning. “Well? What happened?”
“He’s straight.”
“Oh.” She sounded as disappointed as I felt. “Are you sure?”
“He was pretty adamant about it.”
“Oh, Jared, I’m so sorry.”
“Lizzy, it’s okay. Really. I barely know the guy. It’s not like I’m in love with him or anything.”
“I know, but you were so happy last night. I just want you to have that again. You know. Like, on a permanent basis.”
“I know. I’m not gonna say I wasn’t hoping. But he’s straight, and I guess that’s the end of it. I think I’ll live.”
Chapter 4
“GET A haircut already, you friggin’ bum!” Harassing me about my hair was one of Lizzy’s favorite pastimes. “Really, Jarhead, whatever that look is, it’s out.”
I’m not a Marine. Lizzy finds it amusing to call me “Jarhead” instead of Jared any time she thinks I’m being particularly obtuse. Which is often.
The truth is, haircuts present something of a problem for me. There are only two places in Coda to get one. There’s Gerri’s Barber Shop, where most of the men in town go. But Gerri’s old-school, one of the few people in town who treat me like I’m a pariah, so I can’t go there. Then there’s Sally’s, the beauty salon that most of the women go to. I’d been there a couple of times, but it was miserable. The girls seemed to think me being gay meant I wanted to gossip with them about who was sleeping with whom or debate the merits of Brad Pitt over Johnny Depp (neither is exactly my type). I let Lizzy cut it once, but that was a disaster neither of us wanted to repeat.
My dark blond hair is thick and coarse and naturally curly. If it’s too short, I end up with curls sticking out every which way. But if I let it grow, the curls at least hang down. I could have shaved it, but that seemed like too much maintenance. So what I end up with is a wild mass of curls. Even I have to admit it bears more than a passing resemblance to an old-fashioned mop. I try to tie it back when we’re at the shop; if I pull the curls straight, it’s just barely long enough to reach the rubber band. But by the end of the day, half of it has always escaped.
“Lizzy, I like being shaggy. This way you and I match, see?”
Her hair is about the same color as mine but longer, and her curls are more like soft waves. She flipped it over her shoulder and gave me the finger before turning to Ringo.
“Ringo, tell Jared he needs a haircut!”
Ringo looked up in alarm from his schoolwork on the counter. Lizzy let him work on homework as long as we didn’t have customers. “What? Are you talking to me?”
She rolled her eyes good-naturedly. “Honestly. Nobody listens to me. What’s got you so perplexed over there?”
“Advanced algebra.” He threw his pencil down on his book and pushed his hair off his face with both hands. “How can anybody do this stuff?”
“You’ll figure it out,” Lizzy assured him.
“How? I don’t understand any of it. My teacher just follows the book. My parents can’t help me. Nobody can explain it to me in a way that makes sense.” He picked his pencil back up and put his head in his hand as he bent back to his task. “I hate it.”
“Jared can help you.”
“What?” Ringo and I exclaimed in unison. I was horrified that she’d suggest it, and he obviously was too, judging by the look on his face.
“Jared’s really good at math. He’s supposed to be a physics teacher, aren’t you?” She gave me a piercing gaze, which I turned away from. “Maybe he can tutor you.”
“Maybe.” Ringo looked skeptical. I didn’t say anything.
Lizzy left shortly afterward since she’d opened the shop that day. We didn’t have many customers that afternoon, and Ringo spent most of his time trying to puzzle out his math problems. There was a lot of erasing going on, and I could tell he was getting frustrated. Every once in a while, he’d glance over at me, and I knew he was debating whether or not to ask for help.
I ignored him.
Finally, as I was closing out the register, he said hesitantly, “Jared, you really know how to do this stuff?”
“I really do.”
“What did she mean, you’re ‘supposed to be’ a teacher?”
“That’s what I planned to do when I went to college.”
“So why didn’t you?”
I could have given him the same answer I’d given Matt, but for some reason, I told him the truth. “The same reason you don’t want me to tutor you. Some people think that just because I’m gay, I’m going to molest every young boy who crosses my path.”
He was quiet for a minute, and I could tell I had embarrassed him. I felt a little bad about it, but I couldn’t exactly take it back.
“That’s what my dad says.” His cheeks flushed red, and he wouldn’t look at me. “He says I shouldn’t be alone in the shop with you. I tell him Lizzy’s always here. He doesn’t know that she leaves sometimes.”
My hands started shaking. I resisted the urge to throw something across the room. “I’ll be sure to keep my distance, then.”
“The thing is, you’ve never tried anything with me. I’ve never seen you hit on anybody.”
“Kid, I’m gay. I’m not a pervert, and I’m not a pedophile.”
“I’m not a kid,” he said indignantly.
I took a deep breath to calm myself down. Of course, being seventeen, he didn’t think of himself as a kid, even if he seemed like one to me. “I know. I’m just saying, just because I’m gay doesn’t mean I can’t control myself. Or that I don’t have standards. Do you hit on every single girl you see? Even the ones that are only fourteen? Or the ones who’re dating other people?” Well, he’d just turned seventeen, so maybe that was a bad example. “What about Lizzy? She likes men too, but you don’t worry about her making a move on you.” I saw the wheels turning as he thought about that. But I didn’t want to talk about it anymore. Either he’d figure it out or he wouldn’t. I didn’t feel like staying on my soapbox. “Forget it. I’m locking the doors. Turn the lights off when you leave.”