Bi-Normal

by M. G. Higgins

  But I do imagine it. And the picture stays. And it doesn’t feel wrong.

  It does not. Feel. Wrong.

  CHAPTER

  12

  By the time I leave my last class, my heart is racing. I’m sweating. I feel sick to my stomach. I swear I’m getting the flu, but I know it’s stress. I’ve never been this worried about anything. Even when Mom was diagnosed with cancer. At first I didn’t believe it. Two months later she was gone. It happened so fast. But Dad was there, and Grandma stayed with us for a while. We mourned. Then life went on. Except for the huge hole in our family, and Dad shrinking into himself, nothing really changed. I didn’t worry too much about the future.

  After losing my mom, I feel like I have a lot more at stake. I can’t imagine life without my friends. Without Jillia. I can’t handle losing anyone else.

  I stop at my locker. Try to focus on homework, the books I need to take home. Someone nudges my arm. I turn. Fermio says in a low voice, “Hey, you got a Sharpie?”

  It takes me a second to figure out what he’s asking for. I rummage through my backpack. Hand him the thick pen. “Return it, okay?”

  “Absolutely.” He grins. “You might want in on this.”

  There’s something going down. I slam my locker shut and follow him through the hallway. The school clears out quickly at the end of the day. There are only a few stragglers. Up ahead I see Josh and Keesy. Lorimar and Beckland. They’re leaning against the wall, like they’re just hanging out. The pair of them move apart when we arrive. Between them is one of the gay-club posters.

  Fermio uncaps the Sharpie. Scrawls FAGGOTS in huge letters across the bright blue paper.

  I feel kind of numb when I see what he’s done. I don’t snicker like the other guys do. But I don’t complain or get mad either. It’s just the way it is. It’s who we are. We’re the guys who write FAGGOTS across gay-club posters.

  Fermio eyes me and the others. “Are there more of these around?”

  I nod. Point down the hall. “Language arts.”

  His grin spreads ear to ear. “Let’s do it.” He nudges my arm. “You okay, bro?”

  “Yeah. I’m fine.”

  The five of them fast-walk down the hall. I hang back a little. Watch as they furtively glance around for teachers or students who might rat on them. Keesy says something. Josh slaps his head. They all laugh. They’re almost skipping, they’re so hyped up. Fermio turns and waves at me. “Come on, dude!”

  We get to the poster I saw earlier near English class. The guys gather around it like they did before, leaning against the wall. Fermio holds the Sharpie out for me. “Your turn.”

  I hesitate.

  “Come on, Miller! We don’t have forever. Write something funny.”

  I uncap the pen. The strong smell shoots up my nose. I shake my head. “Can’t think of anything funny.” I hand the pen to Josh, who’s standing closest to me.

  Josh takes the Sharpie. Shrugs. Writes FAGS across the poster.

  “Funny enough,” Fermio says, snickering. Then he says, “Come on, there must be more of these around.”

  “I can tell you where all of them are.”

  It’s Nate. He’s leaning against the wall on the other side of the hallway. Gripping a staple gun in his hand. He pulls a bunch of posters out from under his arm. “Here,” he says, holding them out for us. “It’ll save you the trouble of walking around campus.”

  None of us moves. I can’t believe Nate is confronting us. Does he have a death wish?

  Fermio breaks the silence. “Okay. Sweet.” He steps across the hall. Snatches the posters from Nate’s hand. Rips them in half. Reaches out as if to hand them back to Nate. Drops them on the floor. Bright blue rectangles float up and down the hallway.

  “Isn’t there some other school you and your faggoty friends can go to?” Fermio says.

  Nate crosses his arms. “Probably. Except every school has its bullies. We’re kind of attached to the ones we have here. We heart you guys.”

  I laugh. I can’t help it.

  Fermio eyes me. Then he says, “Come on. Let’s go,” like we’re leaving.

  Nate takes a relieved breath. Closes his eyes. He thinks it’s over. I know better.

  As Fermio takes a step, he reaches out. Grabs one strap of Nate’s neon-orange backpack. Nate’s eyes widen in shock. “Get away from me!” He slaps at Fermio’s hand, tries to pull away.

  “Man, this backpack is gay,” Fermio says. “What kind of gay stuff do you have in here anyway?”

  Now the other guys are joining in. Josh holds one of Nate’s flailing arms. Keesy grabs the staple gun. Lorimar and Beckland move behind Nate.

  I don’t budge. Part of me wants to join in. Be one of the guys. But I’m looking at Nate. At his beet-red face. His determination to hold on to his backpack. Which has just been roughly removed from his shoulders. And is now in Fermio’s control on the floor. Josh and Keesy are leaning over the pack too. To see what fun things are in there that they can throw or steal or destroy. Lorimar and Beckland are holding Nate’s arms. Fermio reaches for the zipper.

  They’re all laughing. Saying gross stuff about being gay. Nate’s quiet now. He’s not struggling much. Just eyeing his backpack with longing. I get a flash of him under the bleachers, skipping class. Not because he wants to, but because he has to. It’s sad. It’s just so friggin’ sad.

  I step in. Grab the backpack. Pull it off the floor.

  “Hey!” Fermio straightens and stares at me.

  I walk over to Nate. Say to Lorimar and Beckland, “Let him go.”

  “What?” Lorimar grunts. They’re the biggest defensive linemen on the team. They could crush me if they wanted to. I don’t care.

  “Just let him go,” I repeat.

  They do. I shove the backpack against Nate’s chest. Hiss under my breath, “Why do you have to be so obvious?”

  Our eyes meet. I can tell he’s holding back tears. I can also tell he’s too scared to say anything. He wraps his arms around the pack and holds it against his stomach.

  I turn around and look at my friends. My buddies. “Let’s get out of here before we get caught.”

  Fermio glares at me. “What gives, Miller?”

  “Nothing. Let’s just go. We’re taking too long.”

  At that moment a classroom door opens down the hall. A teacher walks into the hallway.

  Pointing and glaring at Nate, Fermio says, “Not one word.”

  As one, the five of us walk away. Like we own the place. Like we’re the kings of Elkhead High.

  CHAPTER

  13

  Fermio slaps my back when we get to the parking lot. “Good Spidey sense, Miller. I was worried about you for a second. Thought you were turning gay on us or something.”

  I shake my head.

  He backs away, smiling. “Say hi to Jillia the gorillia. I kinda wish you were gay. I’d totally move in on your girlfriend.”

  “Yeah. Hah.”

  I unlock the Nissan. Get in. Shut the door. Watch as Josh and Keesy load into Fermio’s rusty Chevy pickup. Lorimar and Beckland climb into Mrs. Beckland’s old Buick sedan. None of us have money. All of our families are barely getting by. We’ve known each other since grade school. They’re my friends. One after the other they peel out of the parking lot.

  I sit there a minute. Hold my hand flat out in front of me. It’s shaking. I don’t think I can drive yet. I rub my palms against my thighs. Take a deep breath. That really sucked. As I’m thinking about how much it sucked, I see Ms. Tierney trot down the school steps. She smiles at a car that’s pulling up. Jumps in. Leans over and kisses the woman driver. I see a couple of smaller heads in the back. A dog between them. They drive away.

  What is this, Gay Day or something? I shake my head. Stick the key in the ignition. Turn it. Click. Turn it again. Click. I shake my head in disgust.

  S——t! Stupid alternator. I unlatch the hood. Get out and look in the engine compartment. Check that the wires are tight. One’s
a little loose. I hope that’s all it is. I so want to go home.

  “Dead battery?”

  I know without looking it’s Nate. I hate that I recognize his voice. “No. Alternator.” I straighten.

  Nate’s unlocking the Honda Civic in the parking space next to mine. He throws his backpack onto the passenger seat. Turns and looks at me. “I guess I should thank you.”

  I don’t say anything. I don’t want his thanks. I was eighty percent with my buddies when we were in the hallway. Flipping down the hood support, I let the hood fall with a loud bam. Nate jumps. I smile a little.

  I walk around to the driver’s side to try starting it again.

  Nate says, “Hey.”

  I stop with my hand on the door.

  “The other day. Under the bleachers. You were talking about a friend of yours.”

  I stop breathing. “Yeah.”

  “That wasn’t a prank, was it?”

  I hesitate. Don’t answer.

  “Did your friend find the answers he was looking for?”

  “I … I don’t know. I haven’t talked to him in a while.”

  “Well. If there’s any way I can help.”

  I glance around the parking lot. It’s almost empty. But we’re totally out in the open. Exposed.

  Do I really want to do this? Now? Yes. I need answers. I look at him. “Can you get in the truck?”

  He nods.

  Nate listens as I stumble through my friend’s recent experiences.

  When I’m finished, he says, “First of all, I want you to know you can trust me. I won’t tell anyone what you’ve just said. Second, I’m not an expert. But this subject is important to me. So I know something about it.” He pauses. “It sounds like your friend might be bisexual.”

  I give him a blank look.

  Nate says, “That’s sexual and romantic feelings for both women and men.”

  “I thought you could only be gay or straight.”

  Nate shakes his head. “Or your friend might be questioning his sexual identity. He may be more attracted to guys than girls, but he’s still exploring.” Then Nate asks, “Do you have a notebook and a pen?”

  “Why?”

  He rolls his eyes. “We’re gonna play hangman. What do you think?”

  “Okay, don’t be a butthead.”

  I grab a pen and spiral notebook from my backpack. Hand it to him. He draws a long horizontal line. On the left of the line he writes 100% STRAIGHT. On the other side he writes 100% GAY. Then he says, “Gender and sexuality are on a continuum. No one is a hundred percent gay or a hundred percent straight. People don’t fit into neat little boxes. Most people fall on the left. But …” He draws a circle in the middle of the line. “It sounds like your friend is somewhere around here. In the middle.”

  I stare at the circle. “He wants to be straight. How does he move to the left?”

  Nate taps the pen on the page. “Um. It doesn’t really work that way. I mean, some people will argue with this. But sexual orientation is set when you’re born. It’s not something you can change.”

  “Well, that bites.”

  “Why? Your friend is who he is.”

  “But the church says—”

  “Look.” His cheeks turn red. “God is all-powerful. He/she knows what he/she is doing. Right?”

  The he/she part is stupid, but I say, “Yeah.”

  “So did God make a mistake with your friend? Why would God create homosexuality if it was wrong or a mistake?”

  I think about it. “I don’t know. Maybe to test us. To see if we can overcome sin or something.”

  Nate lowers his eyes. Takes a deep breath. “All I can tell you is I’ve been attracted to boys for as long as I can remember. This is who I am. Even if I could, I wouldn’t try to make myself fit somebody else’s version of normal. To me, I’m normal. I’m not a sinner.”

  He reaches for the door handle. “Any other questions?”

  “No,” I say quietly.

  He opens the door. “Tell your friend there’s lots of information online. Search on bisexual.” He gets out. Stands still a second. Looks at me. “Your friend is probably really struggling. Tell him to hang in there. He’s not alone.”

  I stare at the steering wheel. “Yeah. I’ll tell him. Thanks.”

  The door slams. I turn the key in the ignition. The engine starts.

  As I turn to look over my shoulder and back up, the notebook on the passenger seat glares at me. The chart Nate drew. I press my foot on the brake. Close the notebook and throw it on the floor.

  CHAPTER

  14

  Bisexual. The word stabs at my brain as I drive home. I hate it. Hate the sound of it. The feel of it. I’d heard the term “bi” before but didn’t know what it meant. Hadn’t cared. Because it had nothing to do with me.

  Now, maybe it does.

  By the time I’m parking in the driveway at home, I’m remembering more. Things from my past, like Jerry, that I’ve pushed out of my head. Like sitting in the dentist’s office when I was about ten. Reading one of those kid’s magazines. There was a men’s fashion magazine on a side table. I remember I kept glancing at it, staring at the cover. At the guy model. He was so handsome. I was attracted to him. I wanted to pick it up for a closer look. Flip through the pages and see if there were more pictures of him.

  But I didn’t. I was afraid what Mom would think. I knew it was wrong. The same way I knew my feelings for Jerry were wrong.

  I walk into the kitchen. Darla’s sitting at the computer.

  “Dad left a message,” she says, not looking up.

  I pick up the yellow notepad on the kitchen table. Under it is a ten-dollar bill.

  I’ll be home late. Take Darla to McDonald’s.

  Darla says, “I forgot to tell Dad I’ve got a 4-H dinner tonight. Larissa’s mom is picking me up at five thirty.”

  “Okay,” I mumble.

  “We’re eating one of Larissa’s hens.”

  “Ew.”

  “If you’re serious about animal husbandry, you can’t get personally attached. They’re not pets.”

  I set down the notepad. “Did you learn that at the farm on Saturday?”

  “Yes.”

  “You mean you could actually raise a chicken and not give it a name? And then eat it?”

  She squirms. “I could try.”

  I snicker.

  “If Larissa can, I can.”

  “Whatever. You know Dad doesn’t have a lot of money. He can’t afford animals and feed.”

  She twists around. “That’s not what Dad says.”

  “Dad doesn’t like to admit things.”

  She sighs. “Yeah. I noticed.”

  “Good. So don’t bug him about buying stuff.” On my way to my room, I ask, “How long is this dinner tonight?”

  She shrugs. “I think we’re supposed to be home by eight.”

  I stroll to my room. Close the door. Get out my cell phone. Text Jillia. “McDonalds and homework tonight? 5:30ish?”

  A few minutes later she texts back, “Sure. See ya. <3”

  I take a deep breath. Hug the phone to my chest. “Please be ready,” I whisper. “Please, please be ready.” I open my nightstand drawer. Reach far in the back. Pull out the mint tin. Open it. The condom Fermio stole from his dad is still there. It smells like peppermint.

  The second after Darla leaves at five thirty, I’m jumping in the pickup. Headed for Jillia’s. And I’m thinking, for every guy I’ve ever thought was hot, there are a bunch more girls I’ve thought were hotter. Jillia is it for me. She’s the one. I know it in my heart and brain and body.

  I park in front of her house. Run to the door. Knock lightly, like a gentleman. Her mom answers. “Hi, Brett. It’s a school night. Have her back by nine.”

  “Sure, Mrs. Frank.” I feel a little guilty. Not because I won’t get her home by nine, but if she knew what I was planning. …

  Jillia trots past her mom. “Later.”

  “Nine,”
her mom repeats. She goes back in the house.

  I open the passenger door for Jillia.

  “Oh, why thank you, sir,” she says.

  On the drive to Mickey D’s, the steering wheel glistens with sweat from my palms. “It’s so hot.” I roll down the window.

  “Really? I’m freezing.” She rubs her arms.

  “Oh. Sorry.” I roll the window back up.

  I pull into the parking lot and rush around to open her door. She’s already opened it and is stepping out. I hold it for her like a chauffeur.

  “Um, thanks,” she says. “Why are you being so polite?”

  “You don’t like it?”

  “It’s okay. Just … kind of weird.”

  We get to the glass door. Now I’m totally self-conscious. I trot in first and hold it open for her. “Is this okay?” I ask.

  “Yyyes.” She draws the word out. Stares at me.

  Ugh.

  We sit at a table with our food. I swirl a few french fries in a hill of ketchup. Think about Jillia’s body. Wonder if I’ll be seeing it naked in a little while. Then I get a stab of panic. What if I don’t do it right? What if I can’t do it at all? What if my mind wanders?

  “Are you going to eat those or just play with them?” Jillia asks.

  I flick the fries into my mouth. Ketchup flies across the table and splatters on her shirt.

  “Brett!” She dabs at the spot with a napkin.

  “Oh no. I’m sorry! Do you want me to get some water or something?”

  “No, I’ll clean it when I get home.” She squints. “Why are you acting so strange?”

  I drink a gulp of soda. Tap the cup on the table. “Am I acting strange?”

  She tilts her head and stares at me, like, Duh.

  I take a deep breath. Stare at my cup. Press my thumbnails into the rim. “Dad is out late tonight. Darla’s at a 4-H thing. The house is empty.”

  Jillia is quiet. Then she says, “And you’re thinking. …”