by Beth Goobie
With a grim look she continued down the hall, and we entered the kitchen to find Tim and Ms. Hersch sitting at the table and talking in relaxed easy voices. Until Tim saw us, that is.
“Goddamn it!” he said, jumping to his feet. “I told you, Joc— not in this house.”
A flush hit Joc and her chin went up, but she held her ground. “It’s my house too,” she snapped back. “I’ll do whatever I want here, and you can just shut up about it.”
“I won’t shut up!” said Tim, his voice rising. “I’ve got a right to say—”
“Just what is going on here?” interrupted their mom, staring at them both. “What the hell has gotten into you two?”
“It’s them,” said Tim, pointing a dramatic finger at us. “They’re fagging around together. I caught them at it the other day and I told Joc not in this house.”
“Fagging around?” repeated Ms. Hersch, shooting Joc a bewildered glance. “What’s he saying, Joc?” Her eyes shifted to me. “You’re not...?”
Joc shot me a helpless glance. “Uh,” she said hesitantly, her flush deepening. “Mom, y’see, it’s kind of like...Dylan and me, we’re...”
I stood beside her, wincing as she tried to stammer out the impossible. I mean, I knew the feeling. The words, what were the goddamn words?
Grabbing her hand, I held on. Then I looked Ms. Hersch square in the eye.
“Joc is my girlfriend,” I said carefully. “We’re going out together, dating—her and me.”
Ms. Hersch’s eyes widened and she stared at me in complete silence. “Oh,” she said finally, her voice flat, the expression draining from her face. The kitchen got very quiet, and for a moment we all spent time just breathing.
But then the feeling came back into Ms. Hersch’s face. “Dating a girl, are you, Joc?” she said slowly. “Well that’s all right, I suppose. I always thought you were a nice kid, Dylan—just the kind of friend I wanted Joc to have.”
“You can’t be serious,” said Tim, grabbing her arm. “They’re both girls.”
“Yes, Tim—I can tell a girl from a boy,” snapped Ms. Hersch, rounding on him. “And furthermore, it is none of your blessed business what your sister does in this house. It’s my house, not yours, and if she wants to have her girlfriend Dylan in to visit, that’s fine with me.”
“You’re kidding,” said Tim, his voice skyrocketing.
Ms. Hersch crossed her arms and glared at him. “What exactly is it that has you so upset about this?” she demanded. “Is she pointing a gun at someone, or setting off a bomb, or hijacking a plane? Just what is so terrible about what she’s doing?”
Tim’s face screwed itself up in utter disbelief and he snorted loudly. Then he crossed his arms and sat down with a thump.
“Actually,” said Ms. Hersch, sitting down too, “if I had it to do over again, I’d choose a woman as a lover. They’re a lot easier to get along with, believe me.”
A grin leapt onto Joc’s face. “You still can, Mom,” she said.
Tim’s eyes bugged and he sank back in his chair. “I think I’m moving out,” he said faintly.
“Well fine,” said Ms. Hersch. “If you’re not prepared to respect your sister and live by my rules, then you’re certainly welcome to find somewhere else to live.”
“I might just do that,” snapped Tim. Getting to his feet, he stormed toward the door. As he passed, Joc and I took a simultaneous step back and turned to watch him stomp into the front hall. Emphatic muttering followed as he pulled on his shoes, and then the front door opened and slammed shut behind him.
Joc let out a whoop. “So much for Big Brother,” she grinned. “Actually, make that Big Bother.”
“Has he been giving you trouble?” asked Ms. Hersch, patting the table. “C’mon you two, come and sit down here with me.”
With a glad smile Joc scooted into the chair beside her mom, and I sat down across from them. “He yelled a bit when he first found out,” Joc said eagerly. “But other than that, he’s mostly been grunting and glowering.”
“You took him by surprise, that’s all,” said her mom, lighting a cigarette. “He’s taking a bit of a fit, but he’ll come around. Probably just scared, that’s all.”
“Scared of what?” demanded Joc. “Dylan is hardly Frankenstein.”
“You’re his sister,” said her mom. “He’s afraid that if you’re lesbian, he might be gay.”
Another flush hit Joc and her eyes darted toward the window. I knew what she was thinking—Lesbian! The word took some getting used to.
“It’s not contagious,” she shrugged finally, her eyes flicking across mine. A smile wobbled across her mouth, and I wobbled one in reply. “Anyway,” she added, turning back to her mom, “he should know himself better than that.”
“Should doesn’t have much to do with real life,” Ms. Hersch said thoughtfully. “As long as the people you spend time with are just like you, you don’t have to ask questions about yourself. It’s only when you meet someone different that the questions start. Anyway, Tim’ll get over it. I know my son, he’s straight as a pin. And as prickly. Now, you two must be hungry. How about a grilled cheese sandwich?”
“Let me make you one, Mom,” said Joc, half-rising out of her chair, a huge grin on her face. I could just about see the relief coming off her in waves. Happy—Joc was happy.
So was I.
“No, no, no,” said her mom, lifting both hands. “You’ll burn the top and drip melted cheese everywhere. I don’t have half the afternoon to clean up after you.”
As Ms. Hersch started to get up, Joc caught her arm and held on. “Are you really okay with it, Mom?” she asked. “I mean, really?”
For a moment that nothing expression came back onto Ms. Hersch’s face and she stood motionless, looking down at Joc. “Honey,” she said finally, “you’re my daughter. Whatever you are and whatever you do, you’re mine. You’ve been full of surprises since day one, and I’m sure this isn’t the last curve you’ll throw me, but what the hell, I’m a big girl now and I can handle it. So you just concentrate on figuring things out for yourself and don’t worry about me, okay?”
Blinking rapidly, Joc ducked her head. “Okay,” she whispered, brushing at her eyes. “It’s just...it matters, y’know—what you think.”
Ms. Hersch stood, looking down at Joc as she dragged on her cigarette. Then she gave Joc’s shoulder a quick pat.
“Well, now you know,” she said gruffly, “what I think. Okay?”
Joc nodded, not looking up, and they stayed like that for a bit. Then Ms. Hersch straightened, heaved a sigh and said, “What would you like, Dylan—one grilled cheese sandwich or two?”
“Two please,” I said, standing up. More than anything I wanted to go around the table and give Joc a hug, but she was still sitting with her head down, rubbing her eyes. Sometimes a person needs a private moment. So instead I asked Ms. Hersch, “Can I help make lunch? I’m not a burny drippy kind of cook.”
Ms. Hersch gave me with a broad smile, and I could feel the warmth of it reaching back through all the years I’d been coming to this house.
“Sure you can help, hon,” she said. “I’d like that.”
Opening the fridge, I took out a block of cheese.
The following afternoon I was outside, raking leaves from the front lawn, when the sound of a familiar engine came rumbling down the street. Open-mouthed, I turned to see a blue Firebird with leaping orange-red flames pull up in front of the house. For a long moment I stood frozen, my heart in an absolute kick-ass thud as Cam sat motionless in the driver’s seat, staring straight ahead. Then slowly he opened his door and got out of the car. Coming through the gate, he walked over to me.
“Hi, Dyl,” he said quietly, his eyes not quite meeting mine.
“Hi,” I said hoarsely, then just stood frozen again, not knowing what to say. “I...tried to call you,” I said finally. “Last night.”
He nodded. “I turned the ringer off my cell,” he said, studying his feet. “
I didn’t...feel like it, I guess.”
My throat tightened. “I’m sorry, Cam,” I blurted miserably. “You don’t know how bad I feel about this. I’m just really really sorry.”
“I know you are,” he said quickly. His eyes flicked across mine and I saw them redden. “I’ve thought about this a lot,” he said, glancing away again. “The whole thing between us, from the very beginning. At first I was mad. I thought how could you do this to me, waste my time for ten months leading me on like this? But after a while I could see how hard you were trying...to care about me, I mean.”
“I do care about you,” I said, the words bursting out of me. “I love you, Cam. I really do.”
“I know,” he said gruffly. Ducking his head, he rubbed a hand over his eyes. Then he took a shaky breath. “So, after that I thought maybe there was something wrong with me,” he continued grimly. “I hadn’t tried hard enough, or—”
“No,” I burst out again, but he lifted a hand and I saw that he was working his way toward something. So I just shut my mouth and waited.
“I guess,” he said heavily, “that was the way I’d felt all along— that you weren’t, y’know...turning on...because I wasn’t good enough. It was always there in my gut—the feeling that I wasn’t doing it for you, that there was something wrong with me. But then I realized that you were probably feeling the same thing about yourself. And how could anything ever work between us if we were both feeling that way?”
He stared past me, his shoulders slumped. “I mean, it just wasn’t working, even though we both cared about each other. And we were both too scared to admit it. Until you finally got the guts to say it. You had the guts, not me.”
He looked at me then, and I could see the sheer courage in him, how hard it had been to come over and tell me this. Suddenly the impossible space between us evaporated. Dropping the rake, I grabbed hold of him and hugged tight.
“Jeeeezus,” I whispered.
Cam stiffened, then let his arms slide around me. “I can’t believe I let those guys talk me into that bedroom thing at Gary’s,” he said into my hair. “That’s how wrong I was getting inside, Dyllie—I actually went along with that.”
His arms loosened, and I realized that I couldn’t hang on forever, I had to let him go. With a sigh I let my arms drop, and he took a step back.
“I guess the whole thing was getting me really twisted around inside,” he said slowly. “When you said those things in the car afterward, you saved me from something, Dyl. I dunno what exactly—a way of thinking and being, maybe. There’s more space inside me now. I can breathe better, y’know?”
“I know,” I said fiercely. Oh, how I wanted to hug him again, just grab hold and never let go. Instead, I stood smiling weakly at him as he smiled weakly back. Then, as if on cue, the front door burst open behind us and Keelie came barreling out, her shoes half on and her jacket sliding off her shoulders.
“I’m ready, Cam,” she hollered. “I’m ready to go driving now.”
“Keelie,” I said, turning quickly. “Cam’s not here to—”
“Actually,” interrupted Cam, putting a hand on my arm, “I am. I called ahead and asked Keelie if she’d like to come driving with me. I haven’t seen her in a couple of weeks, y’know. C’mere Keelie, let me do up your jacket.”
With a grin he got down on his knees, zipped up Keelie’s jacket and fastened her shoes. Then he straightened, took her hand and turned toward the car. Abruptly he stopped and turned back.
“You can come too if you want, Dyl,” he said. “There’s lots of room.”
A giant ache reared up in me, but I rode it out and let it fade, a last sad breath. “Maybe next time,” I said reluctantly. “I’d really like to next time.”
The same ache came and went in his face, and he turned and continued toward the car. As he opened the passenger door, Keelie glanced back at me.
“The queen of the Sirius galaxy isn’t coming?” she asked doubtfully.
Suddenly then, it hit me—happiness, exuberance, jubilation. The queen of the Sirius galaxy! I was finished with that bitch forever.
“No, she isn’t!” I called, the words bursting out of me in a glad shout. “But you’ve got the once and future king to take care of you, Keelie. And you know you’ll be all right with him.”
A quick grin crossed Cam’s face and his shoulders seemed to straighten. Helping Keelie into the car, he closed the door. “See you later, Dyl,” he said, walking around the front.
“Hey—you can always come in for hot chocolate when you get back,” I said.
His grin widened. “Yeah okay,” he said. “Should be about an hour.”
Getting in, he started the engine as Keelie waved frantically from her window. Then the Firebird pulled away from the curb with a loud rumble, its bright hand-painted flames leaping across the sides and hood.
Firebird, I thought, watching it go. Foxfire. All along we’d each had our own private fire—different kinds maybe, but enough sweet heat to keep us warm as we went our separate ways.
Picking up the rake, I got back to clearing leaves.
Chapter Twenty-four
Monday morning before classes, I went to the front office and asked to see Mr. Brennan. Eyebrows raised, a secretary told me that he was busy but would be free soon. Ten minutes later I was called into his office. With a questioning smile Mr. Brennan gestured to a chair and asked, “What can I help you with, Dylan? Something to do with the library display?”
Taking a very deep, very polite breath, I sat down. “I decided,” I said, not quite meeting his eyes, “that I wanted to tell you why I put Foxfire in the girl silhouette’s groin.”
As soon as I said this, of course, a flush started creeping up my neck. Groin—it’s such a...well...groiny kind of word, y’know? Not the easiest thing to say to your high school principal.
Fortunately Mr. Brennan didn’t appear to notice. “I’d be interested in hearing about it,” he said warmly.
“Well,” I said, “okay. It was actually the same reason that I had for using The Once and Future King. Foxfire is about some girls who saw that everything around them was wrong. Society had the wrong priorities, people weren’t being treated right, that sort of thing. So they decided to do something about it. Sure they made mistakes, but what they were really interested in was justice and fairness. And because they were all girls, I figured it had a lot to do with...well, with being a girl. I mean, we live in our whole body, right? Our whole body is our heart and mind, maybe even our soul. So I think our heart and soul and mind live in our groin, just like anywhere else. And we need to make that part of us be about truth and respect and love, just like our heart.”
As I spoke Mr. Brennan leaned slowly forward in his chair, his eyes glued to my face. “I like that, Dylan,” he said, as soon as I’d finished. “I think you’re absolutely right. And I also think that if you wrote that up as an explanation and posted it beside your display, you could take down the censor strips and put Foxfire and The Once and Future King back into their original positions.”
A huge grin split my face. I mean, I was jubilant. Mr. Brennan grinned jubilantly back.
“That’s great!” I said. “Except tomorrow is the last day of October. So Ms. Fowler has to put up a new display on Wednesday.”
“Oh, I think she’ll be quite happy to leave this one up for another month,” said Mr. Brennan. “Putting up displays isn’t her favorite pastime, y’know.”
“Yeah,” I said. “She mentioned that.” Then a new thought hit me and I blurted, “Hey.”
I paused, wondering how far to push things.
“Hey what?” prompted Mr. Brennan.
“Well, The Joy of Sex used to be in the boy silhouette’s mouth,” I reminded him.
Mr. Brennan shook his head. “Sorry, but I don’t think that one is appropriate for this setting. Keep it in mind for later, when you’re studying graphic design at college.”
“Graphic design?” I repeated, staring at him.
“Sure,” said Mr. Brennan. “You’ve got the mind for it, Dylan. I could see you coming up with some interesting professional work some day.”
“But I don’t take art,” I stammered.
“Well now’s a great time to start,” said Mr. Brennan. “You’re in grade eleven, so you’ve got almost two years here. That should be enough time to work in some art courses.”
“Huh,” I said. Stunned, I just sat there, then noticed him glance at his watch. “Well thanks,” I said, getting up. “I’ll write up that explanation tonight and post it tomorrow.”
“Great,” he said. And then, to my surprise he stood up, reached across his desk and shook my hand. “Thanks for coming to see me again about this,” he said. “I’m glad we had a chance to sort it out.”
“Me too,” I said, doing the red thing all over again—story of my life, on repeat, every five seconds.
Leaving Mr. Brennan to his busy schedule, I headed through the crowded halls to homeroom. In spite of the fact that our conversation had turned out positively, a decidedly grim feeling was taking over the pit of my stomach. Over the next few hours I had a decision to make regarding another possible conversation with Dief personnel, only this one wouldn’t be nearly as pleasant. So I sweated out my morning classes, mulling it over, and then just before lunch, slipped into the girls gym. Leaning against a wall, I waited as a flood of grade-nine girls left for the locker room, then walked over to Ms. Harada, who was collecting loose volleyballs.
“Ms. Harada,” I said, “do you have a minute?”
“Certainly, Dylan,” she said, straightening with a smile. “What’s up?”
“Well,” I said, glancing around the gym. At the moment it was empty, but any second someone—as in a member of the phone patrol—was likely to come walking in. “Would it be possible to talk in the gym office?” I asked.
Ms. Harada gave me a startled look. “Sure,” she said. “There’s no one in there right now so we can talk privately.”
Crossing the gym, we entered the office and she closed the door. “I was hoping you would come see me last week,” she said, sitting down behind her desk. “A position opened up on the senior volleyball team, but it’s filled now.”