I thought about Josh. It was silly, but I still loved him, or thought I did, or was holding on to it because it would hurt too much to give it up or give up on him entirely. But after a week of silence, somewhere deep down I knew all hope was gone. I wasn’t what he wanted, and that was that.
I wondered what he would think if he heard the news. Would he blame himself? A small part of me kind of hoped he would.
I thought about sending him a text, saying simply “bye.” But I couldn’t do it. What if he responded?
I thought about Nate and how much I missed him. I’m not in the least bit religious, and I knew that there was next to zero chance that I’d magically be reunited with him, but at that moment, next to zero chance still seemed better than what I was going through here.
I thought about the pain I had just caused Nate’s mom. How could I have texted her that? Is that what I’d become?
That was maybe the worst. Everything else had been out of my control. But that was on me. Entirely.
I thought how about how it would destroy my parents; I wondered who would make it up the stairs first when they heard the gunshot. I could hear their screams and see their looks of horror when they found me. They were downstairs watching TV, and part of me knew I should go down and talk to them and tell them what I was feeling and thinking about doing so they could tell me why I shouldn’t, taking the choice out of my hands, but I couldn’t.
I thought about leaving them a note to try and explain why I had done it. But if I couldn’t fully explain it to myself, what could I say to them?
This was me, alone, thinking I was taking control of my life by ending it. I’d be gone; they would have to deal with it.
I suddenly realized I didn’t know how to even shoot the thing. Back to Google to learn how to take off the safety and make sure it was loaded.
Now I could do it.
The gun was at my temple, my hand was shaking and sweating, and I was afraid if I didn’t do it, then I’d never do it. I closed my eyes and then suddenly remembered: Phillip Moller. Poor sad Phillip, who had done exactly the same thing I was going to do.
The gun fell out of my hand.
If Phillip’s suicide had put the fear of coming out into me and Nate and who knows how many other scared kids, what would my suicide do?
How could I do that, knowing what Phillip’s suicide had done to me?
And how strange is it that I had no problem hurting my parents and Clark and what few friends I had, but when it came to potentially hurting strangers… that’s what stopped me.
I stared at myself in the mirror for a long time.
I grabbed my backpack, put the gun in it, and texted Ziggy to come get me.
He was there in five. I had a joint in my hand in seven. A vodka slushie in my hand in twelve. And the gun had been returned to Ziggy, with thanks, in fifteen.
“I can’t have this, Zig,” I told him, hesitating before I went on. “I almost….”
He looked shocked and pained. “I’m glad you called me” was all he said. And all he needed to say.
And through my stoned drunken haze, which I so badly needed, it hit me.
Things would have to change.
I knew what I needed to do.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
I FIGURED, as I heard people say on television all the time, that I’d hit rock bottom.
It could only get better.
I’d stop drinking. I’d stop smoking so much pot.
It was time.
And I had an idea. One I’d been thinking about since writing my college application essay, but which now suddenly seemed clear.
If I wanted to make a difference, if I wanted to help others stand up for themselves, if I didn’t want there to be any other Phillip Mollers, why did I need to wait until after I got out of college?
Helping out at the center was a start, but I knew there had to be something I could do now. Something I could do for the kids at Eisenhower who were like me, who felt alone and wanted to know that they weren’t.
Who might not put down their gun.
On Monday, I made an appointment to speak with Principal Hernandez during lunch.
“How are you doing, Collin?” she asked. “Better?”
“I am,” I said. “It’s still tough, but I feel like I’m starting to get a better handle on things. More or less. Well, sometimes at least. You know?”
“Good, good,” she said. “Your grades have come back up, so I’m guessing you’re able to concentrate on school better. Are you still volunteering at the LGBT center?”
“Yeah,” I said. “I am. And that’s kind of what I’d like to talk to you about.”
“I’m all ears,” she said, leaning back in her chair.
I took a deep breath.
“Ever since I started high school here, I always felt like I was all alone, like I was the only gay person here. And I know Nate… I know Nate did as well. I mean, I knew I wasn’t, and he knew he wasn’t, but that’s what it felt like.
“And I’m sure that’s what it feels like now for lots of kids.”
Principal Hernandez nodded. “I’m sure you’re right,” she said. “What do you suggest?”
“I’d like to start a group where gay kids, lesbians, transsexuals, and bi kids can come and feel welcome.
“But I’d like to make it open to everyone, straights included.”
She smiled. “I’ve been thinking the school needs something like that.
“Would you be interested in getting things started? Do you think you could put it together, find members, organize and run the meetings… all of it?”
“Absolutely,” I said, adding, “and I think I know what we should call it.”
She raised an eyebrow.
“The Nate Jonson Gay/Straight Alliance.”
“Perfect,” she said. “I’ll find a space for you to hold your meetings in.”
“And, well, while I’m here, there’s one more thing,” I said.
She half grinned and shook her head. “That’s not enough? Okay… what?”
“Senior Prom will be coming up. I don’t think most people would be ready at this school for… so what if we had another event?”
Her eyebrows arched. “Hmm.”
“I don’t mean it as a gay prom, but one open to everyone. Like our club. Where everyone can dance, everyone can bring the date of their choice, and nobody has to feel uncomfortable.
“We can do it the weekend after, so no conflicts.
“What do you think?”
“I think we can make that happen. That is, again, if you’re willing to put in the work.”
“I am. So let’s do it. Please?”
I was so excited about it I was almost bouncing down the hall. And probably would have if I could have.
I ran to Laura, who promised to do everything she could to help. She’d even interview me again to help publicize the group.
I told everyone at the LGBT center, and let them know that I’d help anyone who wanted to start one in their own schools.
I told my parents when I got home. Mom hugged me, telling me how proud she was of me. Dad did the same.
It felt good.
I felt good.
Or better at least. I missed Josh, or at least the idea of Josh. Or maybe just the idea of Josh and me, something a part of me was not ready to give up on. I was still stalking him on social media, still wanting to text him to… what? To convince him he’d made a mistake? To see if we could try again?
No. I couldn’t go back.
Something had changed the night I almost… the night I almost blew my brains out.
And for what?
Because I’d been shot and survived? Because I’d been dumped by some guy I barely knew because he wouldn’t or couldn’t deal with who I really was?
Because I’d lashed out at my best friend’s mother in a way I knew wasn’t me. That couldn’t be me. And that I refused to accept was me.
I was seeing things in a dif
ferent light now.
And I saw what I could do. And what I had to do.
Chapter Thirty
BUT HERE’S the thing: first things first.
With Laura’s help, I got the word out about the alliance. I did another interview for the school’s TV station. The school’s paper ran a story about us. Principal Hernandez did her part as well; she helped publicize it, found us space in the school we could use, even helped find a small amount of funding, from her own pocket I’m guessing, to help us get started.
Our first meeting was scheduled for the first Friday of the month at four. That gave me time to gather some materials together:
Brochures I took from the LGBT center on HIV prevention.
Information on other support groups.
A dry-erase board borrowed from another room.
Not much, I know, but it was about the best I could do. Now it was a simple question of just waiting and seeing how many people showed up.
I was there at three thirty, nervously pacing around the room, sticking my head out the door, and wondering if anyone would show up.
People did start slowly filtering in. Some looked excited. Some looked nervous.
One guy walked in, took a look around, and quickly left.
When the last person came in, I counted twelve people, a mix of genders.
All eyes were on me.
After clearing my throat once and then a second time, I read the welcoming speech I had been working on:
“I want to thank you all for coming out today—no pun intended.
“Or maybe there was.”
There was a bit of nervous laughter. Not quite as much as I had hoped for.
But I pressed on.
“I know that for some of you, if not most of you, it’s an act of courage just to be in this room. Maybe because you’re gay or bi or trans or something else and you’re maybe revealing it publicly for the first time. Or maybe because you’re straight or curious or just aren’t sure and you want to be supportive and you’re afraid that people are going to think you’re gay or actually call you fag tomorrow because you were in here with us.
“Here’s the thing. Being here, in this room, shouldn’t be thought of as an act of courage. It should be as normal and everyday as joining anything else.
“That’s part of what I hope to achieve here, that I hope we achieve here. To make being gay a thing not worth talking about at all. No more worthy of interest than your eye color or how you like your burgers.
“Medium rare, please, for me. No ketchup.”
There was another round of laughter, louder this time, and I briefly thought about how much Josh had laughed when I had told a similar joke.
Oh, Josh.
And damn it.
I continued.
“But until that time comes—and I really hope it happens in our lifetimes, because of people like us in schools around the country and maybe even around the world—we still have a lot of work to do. And we’re all going to have to work together to make it happen.
“I read somewhere that groups need a mission statement, making it clear what it is we’re all about.
“I’d like to propose this:
“By fostering awareness, and providing a safe place for open and frank discussion about issues of sexuality, and by breaking down the silence that surrounds these questions, our goal, here at Eisenhower, is to create a place of support, respect, pride, and safety for gay, lesbian, bisexual, transgender, and allied members of our community.”
One or two people applauded, and then a few more joined in.
Which made me feel better about going on.
“But we need to do more than that.
“Our mission is and should always be to work toward a world where everyone is accepted for who they are, a world where people feel safe and comfortable being themselves. To build a world where no matter your sexual orientation or gender identity, you are free to be yourself without fear of harassment or violence.
“And in order to achieve that, we will work. We will, if I’m going to be honest, need to work our butts off, through education, social action, and advocacy, to make our schools, our community, our states, and our nation a place where everyone’s rights are protected, and where everyone is respected for who they are.”
More applause.
I took a breath.
“You all know who I am. You all know where I was. You all know I saw my best friend Nate killed right in front of me along with twenty-seven other young men and women. I’ve seen what one guy, just one angry homophobic guy with a gun, can do.
“I’ve seen hate staring directly at me. And if I hadn’t gotten shot and publicly outed, I honestly can’t stand here and say that I’d be in this room right now speaking to all of you.
“But I was and I am.
“And I honestly and sincerely believe deep down that we can do this.
“So let’s get started.”
And they all applauded. Fully and loudly.
They applauded me for what I said. Me.
I have to admit it felt really cool.
It felt like I was doing something I was meant to do. Which is probably why it seemed to come so easily.
Six months earlier, I couldn’t have imagined myself speaking to a crowd about anything, much less about being gay.
And now I could hardly wait to do it again.
I went on.
“This isn’t the Collin show. I’d like to go around the room. Each of you, if you’re comfortable doing so, please introduce yourself, and if you’d like, share with us why you’re here, and what you hope to get out of being here.”
After a moment of everyone looking at everyone else to see who was going to start, that Vietnamese kid from soccer with the hot body and trail and shy but adorable smile and a lock of dark shiny hair that never stayed in place, who kept making eye contact with me, stood up.
I’m glad he did, that he was brave enough to be the first.
Especially when, after a moment’s hesitation, he began. Nervously at first, then growing in confidence.
“Hi, I’m Nguyen,” he said. “I’m here because I think… well, I think I might be gay. No, let me correct that. I don’t think, I know I’ve always liked looking at hot guys, but… I don’t know how to make that next step, or even what that next step might be. And my parents, especially my dad, would lose it if he knew I was even thinking about it—” Here he paused. “—and my grandfather… I think it would be awful. But… I’m hoping that being here will help me figure things out.”
And he looked directly at me and gave me a shy but kind of sexy smile. I nodded and smiled back.
“Hey, guys, I’m Kelly. I’m a lesbian, which my parents are totally on board with. I’m here to learn what I can and to get involved. And maybe even find someone… ’cause I am available… hahahahaha.”
“Hi, I’m Mark. I’m straight… very straight… but my older brother is gay, and I don’t get it… I think it’s gross.”
“Hi, I’m Mascha… I have a really hot boyfriend, but there’s this girl I can’t stop thinking about….”
“Hi, I’m Ernesto, and I’m gay and all that, but I haven’t done anything yet because my parents keep telling me that if I do, I’m going to go to hell….”
“Hi, I’m Scottie, and I just want to make friends with other gay guys….”
“Hi, I’m Brian… although… um… I have friends who call me Brianna.”
“Hi, I’m Maria, and I’m Louisa….”
“Hi, I’m Beth. I’m bi. And proud.”
“Hi, I’m Teresa. I think my younger brother is gay, and I want to make sure that he’ll be safe and comfortable and welcomed here.”
Gay, lesbian, bisexual, friends and allies… they all stood up.
And then finally from the back, one of the gang of jocks who had been sitting behind me at the assembly at the beginning of the year stood up. The guy who seemed to want to tell me something when I did the interview.
/> Broad shoulders but with a look in his eyes that seemed to be searching for something.
“Hi, I’m Rafael.
“My dad is my hero, came here with nothing, total macho Latino, runs his own construction company, cojones the size of grapefruits. It’s just been me and him since Mom died a few years ago. The pressure is on me to be like him, to be the strongest jock out there, to bang as many girls as possible, to take no shit from anyone, to take over his business when it’s time….
“I hear him talking about gay people, telling me how the fags are taking over. I see how he reacts when he sees them on TV. I remember seeing how furious he was when the Supreme Court said it was okay for fa… I mean gay people to get married a couple of years ago. He even wrote a letter to the paper saying how awful it was, and how it would destroy this country and, and, and….
“Collin”—he looked at me—“when he… I can’t believe I’m saying this to you, but I have to… when he saw the news coverage of that night… that night at Pacific Coast, all he said to me was ‘Good. I only wish he’d killed more of them.’”
I flinched. No, it was more than that. I could actually feel my body react and jerk like I’d been slapped across the face or maybe even punched in the gut. He looked at me pleadingly, silently begging me to forgive him. Or his dad. Or someone.
“Dad added, ‘Mi hijo, promise me you’ll never be one of them. Promise me. I swear to God, I swear on your mother’s memory that if I ever find out you’re a fag… the only question will be whether I kick your ass out the door or break your neck with my own hands. Understand, mi hijo?’
“He hugged me and promised me that he’d love me no matter what. Except for that.
“What am I supposed to do?” he asked. “What am I going to do?
“How can I tell him that I am gay, that I’ve always known I’m gay, that I do like guys, that I do want to have sex with guys, that all I can think about is having sex with guys and finding a boyfriend who can love me and who I can love and have sex with and cuddle and kiss with and get married with and start a family?
What Happens After Page 13