by Beth Goobie
“Dylan,” said Dad. Taking my face in his hands, he turned it toward him. “Listen to me, sweetie,” he said. “This isn’t all your fault. It’s partly mine and your mother’s. When we first told you about sex, we didn’t mention the possibility that you might be lesbian, and we should have. We should’ve mentioned it right at the start, so you had that possibility in your mind from the very beginning. No one ever talks about being lesbian or gay in this house, do they?”
I shook my head.
“Well, I can see how that would make you want to hide it,” said Dad. “It’s completely understandable. And don’t you worry too much about Cam. Lots of couples break up in high school. He’s a smart strong boy, he’ll work his way through it. No matter how much you cared about each other—”
“Care about each other,” I interrupted.
“Yes, you do,” Dad said firmly. “But you probably wouldn’t have ended up marrying Cam even if you were straight. People rarely marry their high school sweethearts. They go on to university and meet someone else, or get out and do some traveling and come back changed. I had several girlfriends before I met your mother, remember? Dating different people is an important way of finding out who you are and what you like. It’s not wise to marry your first serious boyfriend.”
He paused, then added quickly, “Or girlfriend.”
“Oh,” I said weakly. Then I just sat there, staring at his soggy shirt. I mean, it had never occurred to me that Cam and I might have broken up for another reason—that if I’d been straight, we still might not have gotten married. A weight lifted off me then, and I glanced quickly at Dad’s face. It was shadowy, but I could see him smiling at me.
“I feel like such a shit,” I said, my voice wobbling. “Like no one else will ever love me as much as Cam did.”
“Just you wait,” said Dad. “They’ll be lining up. You’ll be fighting them off.”
I had to smile a bit at that. I mean, he was obviously still thinking guys, not girls.
“So you’re not...disappointed because I won’t give you grand-kids?” I asked.
“Sweetie,” he said, touching my cheek. “I’m going to get to meet some very wonderful girlfriends that you’re going to bring home to meet your family. If there’s one thing I know about you, it’s that you have great taste in dating partners. And I think you’re going to lead an unusual life, different from most people. An important life and a unique one. And I’m going to be right here watching you live it.”
Jeeeezus, he was really making me want to bawl now. But I didn’t. Instead I took a shaky breath and got a grip.
An unusual life, I thought, staring out the window. Important and unique. That sounds interesting.
Slowly I stood up, wincing at the stiffness in my muscles. Then I reached down and took Dad’s hand.
“This important and unique person is very hungry,” I said. “Let’s go eat.”
Dad grinned, then made a face. “Fair warning,” he said. “It’s Danny’s night to cook. Maybe we should stop in at the bathroom and dose up on some Alka-Seltzer before we go down.”
He waited outside the door while I washed my face and did my thing. Then, giggling like two maniacs, we opened the medicine cabinet and snuck a few Alka-Seltzer tablets into our pockets. And then Dad put his arm around me, and we went downstairs to join the rest of the family for supper.
For a week I didn’t do much of anything except sleep, eat and stare out my bedroom window. If there were Foxfire rumors going around at school I didn’t hear them, but that was probably because I was avoiding everyone. No way was I going anywhere near Cam’s usual haunts, and when it came time for English, I slouched down in my seat and kept my eyes fixed on whatever page we happened to be on in 1984. The hurt inside me was too big, I guess—I needed to go deep into myself and just be there for a while, waiting the whole thing out. Sometimes it’s important to let yourself hurt and find out what sadness means.
But not forever. Gradually, as Tuesday and then Wednesday plodded by, the dullness began to lift. My body didn’t feel like such a dead weight anymore, and it no longer seemed impossible to pick up my hairbrush. By Thursday food had a taste again, and I could smell the air coming into my nose. So when I woke Saturday morning to find Keelie’s face poked into mine, her little voice saying, “Wake up, Dylan. It’s going to be a busy busy day today,” a tiny crouching smile crawled onto my face and I actually felt like getting out of bed.
Keelie sure noticed the difference because she stuck around while I got dressed, chattering like mad as she picked out socks and a T-shirt for me to wear. Then, when I was dressed to her satisfaction, she led me triumphantly downstairs and pulled out a chair, saying, “Sit here, Dylan. I’m going to make your breakfast now.”
Well, I was willing to trust her with my socks, but not my french toast. So we did a quick role reversal, and I plunked her into the chair and tied a bib around her neck. Soon she was chowing down some fairly decent french toast, and the smell was dragging everyone else downstairs, still sleepy-eyed and mumbling. As I fried them up a few slices, I could feel Mom and Dad watching me carefully, obvious relief on their faces. Even Danny kept giving me ear-to-ear grins and actually volunteered to do clean-up.
So I left him to it, threw on my jacket and went outside. Over the past week I’d been too depressed to pay attention to the weather, but now I noticed that it had gotten noticeably warmer. For a moment I just stood with my jacket open, looking around the yard. After my week in the land of the dead, it felt as if I was coming back to a place I hadn’t been in quite a while. And during that week, while I was lost wandering around in my thoughts, things seemed to have changed in some mysterious way. I mean, the sun was up in the sky the way it always was and the trees were growing in the same places, but at the same time everything felt completely new. Moving slowly around the yard, I started touching things—a tree, a large rock, even the side of the house—just feeling how alive the world was, how it opened to color and softness.
Abruptly the back screen door slammed open and Keelie came tearing down the porch steps. Hurtling around the yard, she started hollering at the top of her lungs. “I want to go swimming!” she yelled, spinning a pirouette. “I want to go to the zoo, I want to fly Daddy’s big kite.”
As I watched her spin another pirouette, bellowing about all the things she wanted to do in the next five seconds, it hit me— the million dollar question: What do I want to do? In the next five seconds, the next three hours—what do I want, more than anything in the world, to do?
The answer was as obvious as heartbeat. Quickly, before I lost my nerve, I hauled open the door, called Keelie back inside, and told Mom that I was going for a bike ride. Then I grabbed my bike out of the garage and took off down the driveway. As I sped along the street, the neighborhood was just a smudge of colors going by. So I didn’t have time for second thoughts before pulling up at the curb in front of the Hersches’ place, and the relief that hit me when I saw Tim’s car was gone was massive. I mean, we’re talking sky-wide here.
“Thank you, thank you. Whoever you are, I love you God,” I whispered. Still, to be on the safe side, I wheeled my bike around the side of the house and locked it to the back fence. Then I ran up the front porch steps and knocked on the door.
Ms. Hersch answered, a newspaper in one hand and a lit cigarette in the other. “Dylan,” she smiled. “I haven’t seen you for ages.”
“Is Joc here?” I asked, trying not to pant absolutely all over her.
“In her room,” said her mom. “She’s had breakfast, so she should be civil.”
Kicking off my shoes, I took off down the hall. And then, suddenly, I was standing in front of Joc’s closed door, wondering what to do next. I mean, I could do anything.
With a deep breath I knocked on the door, and when there was no answer, eased it open. The curtains were still drawn, but in the dim morning light I could see Joc lying on her bed, wearing headphones. Her eyes were closed, her lips moving, and she was b
alancing a lit cigarette on an ashtray that sat on her stomach.
A wave of longing hit me. I mean, we’re talking hypersonic sweetness here. So I waited, riding it out, then slipped into the room. As I closed the door Joc’s eyes didn’t open, but it would have been impossible to hear anything over the volume she had going on those headphones. Taking hold of her dresser, I shoved it slowly across the door. When I’d gotten it levered into place, I turned toward the bed to see that she’d finally opened her eyes and was watching me.
She wasn’t smiling, but she was definitely interested. For a long moment we stayed like that, just looking at each other. Then, without saying anything I walked across the room, climbed onto the bed, and straddled her hips. Joc still didn’t smile, just quirked an eyebrow and held up her cigarette, offering me a drag.
Shaking my head, I leaned forward and took off her headphones. Sound blasted from them, vibrating my hands. Just like I’d thought, it was “Fear of Bliss.”
“I quit,” I said, keeping my expression in neutral, to match Joc’s. “I figured that would make me healthier, and that would improve my sex drive.”
Joc raised her other eyebrow, but didn’t say anything.
“Are you drunk?” I asked, leaning forward slightly.
Joc’s eyes glimmered. She shook her head.
“Are you stoned?” I asked, leaning forward a little more.
Again, she shook her head.
“When was the last time you brushed your teeth?” I asked, and finally, finally a grin hooked one corner of her mouth.
“Fifteen minutes ago,” she said. “Nature’s Gate toothpaste. Wintergreen flavor.” Pursing her lips, she puffed some air at me.
“Wintergreen,” I said. “My fave.” Then I leaned through the last few inches that separated us and kissed her. It was a soft slow kiss, a whispering, wanting, question-mark kind of kiss, and Joc definitely answered the question, her lips opening gently against mine. So when we finished that kiss, we started another and another. After the fifth, Joc put a finger to my lips and pushed me away. Stubbing out her cigarette, she set the ashtray on the floor.
“C’mon,” she said, pulling back the bedcovers. “It’s warmer in here.”
Right away—gut reaction—I stiffened. “Uh,” I mumbled uneasily. “Joc, uh...”
I could feel it, a goddamn kick-ass power blush taking over every inch of my face.
Eyes narrowed, Joc collapsed onto her back and stared up at me. “What is this, Dyl?” she asked, her voice very cool. “You come over here to jerk me around?”
“No!” I said, my flush deepening. “I wouldn’t do that, you know that.”
“Then what?” she asked, her expression softening.
“Well,” I said, then stopped. Why is it always so hard to think when you need to? “I want to...,” I muttered nervously, “you know...”
Before I could stop them, my eyes slid to Joc’s chest. Still in the T-shirt she’d worn for sleeping, she obviously wasn’t wearing a bra.
“Well,” I said again, stammering a little. “I mean, I want to touch you, but...”
“So touch me, Goofus,” said Joc, smiling at me.
I took a very long, very shaky breath. Slowly, the way you reach out in a dream, I placed a hand on one of Joc’s breasts. The sweetness I felt then—well, you can forget heartbeat, this was heatbeat. Joc’s eyes closed, her lips parted slightly, and I just had to lean forward and kiss her again.
Then I took my hand away.
“No, Dyl,” said Joc, opening her eyes. “That’s not the way it goes. C’mere.” Taking hold of my wrists, she tried to pull me down on top of her.
“Wait,” I said, pulling back. “Can we just wait with that for a bit?”
“What—you don’t want to?” asked Joc, staring at me in bewilderment.
“Yeah, I want to,” I said. “But can’t we, well, get used to this first? You know—you and me, just being like this?”
“I know what I feel,” said Joc.
“Yeah,” I said, “I know what I feel too. And I also know that we’ve been friends forever, and we know each other inside out. But this is something different, something new. I just want a chance to get kind of used to it first, y’know?”
Joc grinned, exasperated, then said, “I hope you’re not going to say you want to wait until we’re married.”
“No,” I grinned back. “Not until we’re married. But right now I just want to get used to being madly in love with your little finger. Because I am—totally. I am totally, madly, completely in love with this little finger here.”
Lifting her left hand, I kissed her pinkie.
A definite blush swept Joc’s face. “Gosh darn, Dyllie,” she mumbled, her eyes flitting away. “You’re a romantic.”
“Well,” I said, hardly able to believe that for once she was blushing more than I was. “It’s like that globe Ms. Fowler has in her office. You ever seen it?”
Joc shook her head.
“She told me she bought it because it was bigger than her head,” I said.
Obviously not getting it, Joc just looked at me.
“Well,” I said, struggling, not quite getting it myself, “that’s the way this feels to me. Y’know, sex, love—it’s so big. Bigger than my head, my groin, my entire body. And I want...I mean... well...”
I paused, trying to figure out what exactly I goddamn meant. “Well,” I stammered finally, “I want sex...with you...”
My eyes flicked across Joc’s, and I saw we were both in power blush mode. “Well,” I stammered on, “I want it to be the most incredible experience of my life. I mean, I want it to be really us, something we’re sure of, not just something we did. Because...”
Suddenly it was all welling up inside me, the whole fucking mess—Cam, Sheila, Joc, me, even Dikker—and tears started sliding down my face.
“I don’t want either of us to get hurt, okay?” I blurted. “Because I love you, Joc. And I want to feel as if whatever we do, it’s love, y’know? True love, the kind that can just let itself be.”
“Oh my god,” mumbled Joc, and I saw she was crying too. “C’mere, Goofus,” she whispered. “I promise I won’t ravish you. Just c’mere.”
This time I did let her pull me down beside her. And then, slowly, as if we were in some kind of incredible parallel universe, we put our arms around each other and nuzzled into each other’s hair. And then we just lay there like that, getting used to the feel of it, the whole astonishing impossible sweetness.
“Y’see,” I mumbled into Joc’s neck, “I figure, if I work at it, it’ll take me maybe one or two months to get used to being in love with your little finger. And then maybe in half a year or so, I’ll be able to give you a hickey—”
“Half a year!” wailed Joc, directly into my ear.
“Okay,” I said. “A couple of weeks?” “Only if you promise to autograph it,” smiled Joc, brushing the hair back from my face.
Y’know, when Joc is smiling, she has the softest, most absolutely beautiful face in the universe.
“Deal,” I said, and we kissed on it.
Chapter Twenty-three
After we’d finished shoving the dresser back into its original position, Joc grinned at me over the top and said, “Tim, right?”
“Yeah,” I said emphatically. “His car was gone when I got here, but...”
I shrugged.
“He went over to a friend’s place,” said Joc, looking thoughtful. “He might be back for lunch though.”
“Crap,” I said, ducking a wave of panic. “What should I do? Sneak out the back?”
Joc grimaced, considering, then said, “Why don’t we pretend we’re back to being just friends? He should be okay with that. The way you took off the last time you were here, he pretty much figured you agreed with him anyway.”
“Agreed with him!” I said, astounded. “I was fucking scared. I never would’ve thought Tim could get so weird about something like that. And then when you weren’t in school Friday,
and Monday you just stopped talking to me, I wondered...”
I paused, not quite sure how to put it.
“I didn’t know what to say,” Joc said hastily. “Like you said, the whole thing was weird. It’d be weird with anyone, but with you...”
She faltered, her eyes flicking past mine, then added, “The best friend thing, you know.”
“Yeah,” I said softly, “I know.”
We were silent for a moment and then Joc said, “I’ve always felt this way about you, y’know. Well, since grade seven. Dikker turned me on too—I’m bi-curious, I guess, like they say on the net. But it’s always been stronger with you.”
“Could’ve fooled me,” I said. “What the hell did you see in Dikker, anyway?”
A huge grin split Joc’s face and she giggled. “He pissed you off,” she said. “Every time you saw me with him, you practically levitated off the ground. I could always count on it. Besides, Dikker was fun, at least until he got into that Hamlet shit. Holla bolla, moron.”
Opening the door, she poked her head into the hall. “It sounds quiet,” she said, listening. “Tim’s probably not back yet. C’mon, let’s get some lunch.”
Cautiously we started down the hall, but came to an abrupt halt as laughter broke out in the kitchen.
“Tim,” hissed Joc, shooting me a nervous glance. “He is back. He’s with Mom.”
I swallowed hard. “It’ll be okay,” I said. “Your mom’ll help us.”
“Maybe,” Joc said dubiously. “I haven’t told her yet—about us dancing and Tim freaking. If we go in there now and he starts freaking, she’ll freak too.”
“C’mon,” I said, “she’s a librarian. Librarians don’t freak.”
“She’s my mom,” said Joc. “Moms freak.”
“My mom didn’t,” I said. “Neither did my dad. Even Danny didn’t.”
“No?” Joc said hopefully. “Well...” She took a deep breath. “Okay, let’s get it over with.”