Openly Straight

by Konigsberg, Bill

  “What the fuck is happening?” I asked no one in particular, as Toby began singing a song that neither rhymed nor made sense.

  “Feed the world.

  Give the children Slankets

  because Snuggies are too big

  and they are hungry.”

  “His mom streamed that Michael Jackson movie on Netflix over Thanksgiving,” Albie said in a monotone. “Now he thinks he’s a pop star and a humanitarian. I’ll admit it’s one of his more annoying phases.”

  “And you get a car. And you get a car,” Toby was saying, pantomiming handing out small cars to an audience that perhaps only he could see.

  Albie went to his refrigerator and took out a Coke. He popped the top and sat down on his bed. “It’s been happening off and on since he got back. I don’t know how to make it stop.”

  “How does Oprah Winfrey fit into this?” I asked, watching as Toby seemed to be in deep conversation with one of his audience members. He was showing the person how to steer a car, it appeared.

  “I don’t know,” Albie said, sighing. “Racism?”

  “Philanthropy!” Toby yelled, back in his own voice. “I am the great philanthropist with many faces.”

  Albie and I looked at each other. There was nothing to say, nothing to do but shrug.

  “And how was your Thanksgiving?” I asked Albie. I found that as much as I was still bothered by our messy room, I was bothered less than I was at the beginning of the semester. Progress?

  Toby sat down on the floor, dropping his character completely. He took a huge swig of Coke. “Thank you for finally asking. God. It was AMAZING. Mom and Jenny disappeared all morning and David — that’s my stepdad — took me to a shooting range. He taught me how to shoot a gun! It was so awesome. He is by far my favorite of the dads. He’s number three. It was, like, when you aim the gun, you could be like in a movie, and that’s what I did. I pretended I was like James Bond.”

  Toby pantomimed lifting a gun and shooting. He still was wearing the oversize glasses. He was an amazing guy, really. Totally himself. Totally unapologetic about having all these different sides of his personality that didn’t quite mesh. He didn’t care what people saw, and at that moment, the envy was so powerful, I wanted to punch him in the face.

  “How was yours?” Albie asked me.

  “We had fun,” I said. “Ben liked Colorado, I think.”

  What I didn’t say was that Ben had gotten superweird on the flight back to school. Something had happened between our conversation in my room the previous night and my parents’ driving us to the airport this morning. Ben was very polite to them, but really distant with me. On the plane, he told me he should probably get some homework done. Which was fine, because I had to as well. But it felt wrong that we weren’t talking at all.

  “Did you ski?”

  “Yup.”

  “He meet Claire Olivia?”

  “Yup,” I said.

  “You seem extremely talkative about this,” Albie said.

  “Did he have a thing for Claire Olivia?” Toby asked. “Did they make out in front of you? Was it like, ‘Bromance partner, meet ex-girlfriend’?”

  I ignored him and turned to Albie. “Yours?” I asked.

  Albie shrugged. “Watched TV a lot,” he said. “Are you staying in here again?”

  It had been a while since I’d slept in my assigned dorm room, but given the fact that Ben had barely mumbled “good-bye” when the shuttle dropped us off at campus, it seemed like yeah, I’d probably be sleeping here.

  I was so confused.

  “Yep,” I said.

  “Lovers’, oh, I mean, brothers’ quarrel?” Toby said.

  I stood, walked over to where he was sitting, took the huge yellow glasses off his face, dropped them on the floor, and stomped on them.

  Toby looked down at them, and I wondered if he might cry. Instead, he turned philosophical.

  “It was bound to happen,” he said.

  I dreamt that Bryce was back. That he was back and moved in with Ben, and that it had happened while I was in my other room with Albie and Toby. Ben seemed relieved that I wasn’t there, and he pretended like I’d never even slept there. Bryce asked him what he did for Thanksgiving, and Ben said he’d had a great time in New Hampshire. I spoke up then, because that was a flat-out lie. But when I opened my mouth to speak, no words came out. My voice was totally gone. I tried to pound on the ground to get their attention, but the sounds were muted, like the ground devoured them, and I broke into a sweat. I wanted to say: Listen to me! Listen to me! But I had no volume. And then Toby started walking across a high wire with a pair of huge yellow glasses for shoes, and I woke up, because some things are not worthy of dream time.

  Monday was hugely, surreally weird. I saw Ben walking across the quad toward the dorms while I was heading to my calc class, and I felt this huge wave of relief, like a settling in my soul, the return of an old, dear friend from battle or something. I smiled, and I wanted to reach out and hug him, and turn around and head back to East and skip math and hang out with him and just talk again. Because really, there was no reason not to talk; we hadn’t had a fight or anything. Maybe it was all in my head that anything was off.

  And as we approached I told my feet to slow down but they didn’t, and my face contorted and I said, “Hey,” but didn’t stop or smile, and Ben’s face also did some sort of flicker of something and he said, “Hello,” but he too didn’t stop.

  Or maybe it wasn’t in my head.

  I walked on to math class, feeling like I was trying to pull myself into a boat from a freezing river, but the current was strong, and I couldn’t get my balance to hoist myself up. I didn’t hear a word all math class, and not in history class after either.

  Ben wasn’t in his usual carrel in the library — back row, next to the wall — and I looked for him in the cafeteria at dinner. Again, not there. After dinner, I went back to my room to study, but it was impossible. My heart was pounding, and I began to think about how Bryce had gotten depressed and wandered off campus. What if Ben was depressed now? He certainly wasn’t himself since we’d gotten back. If something happened to Ben, I wouldn’t be able to forgive myself, so I hurried over to his room.

  “Hey,” he said when he opened the door. He was wearing a red flannel robe over navy blue sweatpants. Such a Ben outfit.

  “Hey,” I replied.

  We just stood there, as if frozen.

  “Can I come in?”

  “Oh, yeah,” he said, stepping aside. “Come on in.”

  I sat down on Bryce’s bed, which had sort of been mine, but now I wasn’t sure. It didn’t feel right, not the same way it had before we’d gone to Colorado.

  “How you doing?” I asked.

  “Busy,” he said. “Clarkson decided two days after Thanksgiving break would be a good due date for a lab report. The effect of concentration on the rate of a reaction. Snore.”

  “Sounds scintillating,” I said. “How was your day?”

  “Good, good,” he said. “I mean. Not good. Okay, I guess. You?”

  “Fine,” I said.

  We sat there, straining for words.

  “Why are things so weird?” I said.

  He exhaled. “I really don’t know. I don’t feel weird, exactly.”

  “Yeah, me neither!” I said. “I mean, I’m totally fine. I miss hanging out with you.”

  “Well, you don’t have to miss it. Maybe we can hang out but also, like, I don’t know.”

  “Right,” I said, too quickly. “Wait. Like what?”

  “I don’t know,” he said. “Just not, you know. Maybe you should sleep in your room now and we’ll just hang out during the day.”

  “Sure,” I said. “That’s probably a good idea. That was pretty weird and all. Our agape got all eros-y.”

  He laughed. “Right. I guess when the girls are away …”

  “I guess.”

  We were quiet again, and Ben finally stood, so I stood too. I wondered if
this was his way of saying he wanted me to leave. My heart felt unglued, like it might drop into my stomach if I took another step toward the door and Ben said, “See ya.” But I didn’t know how to make him not say it.

  “I better get back to the lab report,” he said. “We’ll talk tomorrow?”

  “Sure. Definitely.”

  We didn’t make eye contact as I left the room. And when he closed the door, I stood in the hallway, totally hollowed out. Fractured. Stranded.

  In the middle of the night, my eyes flashed open. There was evidence in Ben’s room. In an ornate wooden box with a red handle. He’d wake up in the middle of the night, spot it, open it, and he’d know everything. He’d never talk to me again. Never.

  My heart pounding, I sat up in a hurry. The dark room spun, though I could barely see a foot in front of me. Albie’s light snores were the only sound. I focused on my digital clock: 3:49.

  I realized I had been dreaming. There was no evidence. It was a dream. But it was like I was naked, terribly naked, this horrendous, vulnerable way I felt. A combination of lust and panic made breathing hard, and the tingles. Someone had set every nerve ending in my body on fire.

  The bathroom seemed like a reasonable place to go to release at least some of the pressure. I padded slowly down the hallway, wondering if anyone else was awake.

  And when I was about six steps past Ben’s door, an amazing thing happened: The door opened. There he was, in his flannel robe, sweatpants, no shirt. He opened the door and the desk lamp was on and our eyes met and nothing had to be said. But Ben said something anyway.

  “Those footsteps. I know those footsteps,” he whispered. I stopped and went inside.

  He closed the door and it was so quick, I couldn’t tell you who instigated what. Our foreheads together and then our noses and then our lips entwined and opened slightly, a tip of a tongue probing and I wasn’t sure which way, whose was what. He tasted like orange sports drink and vodka and a slight hint of garlic, like Ben. My fingers caressed under his flannel robe, and then it was on the floor and we were on his bed. And Ben, sweet Ben, underneath me, his strong arms around me and then side by side, exploring each other with our lips and fingers.

  No words. And thoughts went away for those moments too, and we did what had been in my mind for months.

  After, words weren’t as hard to come by. It was like something had opened up in Ben, and he could say things that were hard for him to say before.

  “I missed you,” he said. “I just missed you.”

  “Me too. Are you drunk?”

  “A little. Maybe we’re bi?”

  “Maybe.”

  “My uncle was bi.”

  “Oh!”

  “Yeah, and I mean, I know that like with Cindy, I definitely, you know, I like that. With her. But with you too, it’s like. That was pretty okay.”

  “Yeah,” I said.

  “The same? With you? Like you and Claire Olivia?” He sounded breathless, manic, which wasn’t something I was used to hearing from Ben.

  “Sort of,” I said. “I liked this a ton more.”

  “Oh,” he said, and he was quiet. I felt at peace too. Finally, a step in the right direction. Something approaching true, a pathway fully visible to where I wanted to be. With Ben.

  “Maybe,” he said. “Maybe you’re not even bi?”

  “I dunno,” I said. “Maybe not.”

  And we fell asleep, my chest curled into Ben’s back, and this time, I was able to close my eyes and drift off. I was finally, totally, home.

  When I woke up, Ben was gone.

  The clock said 8:13. That meant I had gotten maybe three hours of sleep in Ben’s bed, and that meant he had gotten even less. My eyes felt heavy but at least my head felt lighter. I knew he was probably at his chemistry class, turning in his lab report and trying to stay awake while Clarkson babbled on and on about the periodic table.

  I pulled his sheets over my head. His scent was still there, and I inhaled. Ben. My boyfriend. I finally had a boyfriend. I thought back to the way the muscles of his back felt as I touched him. Warm and smooth. The kind of feeling I could get addicted to, and I was pretty sure I didn’t care who knew it.

  The air felt frosty when I finally pulled his covers off. And then I realized: December 1. I would never, ever forget that date. I looked out the window, and the sky was an odd purple gray that made me want to spend the day hibernating. Waiting for Ben to return. Ben. My Ben.

  I took a shower and went to breakfast. Steve and Zack were sitting together, and when they saw me, they called me over to their table.

  “Hey,” they said, and I put my tray down across from them. I had gotten an omelet with Swiss cheese and tomato and mushrooms. They were eating pancakes.

  I dug into my breakfast without much more than a grunt hello. My brain was elsewhere by far, orbiting around something that I knew these guys wouldn’t understand.

  “Whassup?” Steve said. He was wearing a Red Sox jersey inside out, which I guess was their new thing. I’d noticed some of the guys doing that recently. Like maybe Steve did it the first time by mistake, and suddenly because he had done it, everyone was following.

  “Nada mucho,” I said.

  “You have a good Thanksgiving?” asked Steve.

  “Took Ben back to Colorado,” I said, sipping orange juice.

  “Awesome,” Zack said. “You gotta take us next time. Would love to ski out there.”

  “Sure.” I knew that would never in a million years happen.

  “You remember that chick Amber, the one you ralphed on?” Steve said.

  I laughed. “Kinda sorta.”

  “Saw her over break. Had a party and some of the kids from Joey Warren drove up,” Steve said. I knew he lived in Newton, which was somewhere east of us. “She’s still talking about you. Thinks you’re cute or something. You wanna hook up with her?”

  “Do I wanna hook up with the girl I threw up on?”

  Zack laughed. “Colorado’s got a way with words.”

  “Yeah,” said Steve.

  “Nah, I’m about a thousand percent not interested.” I forked a piece of my rubbery omelet up and put it in my mouth.

  Steve and Zack looked at each other. “She’s pretty hot, you know,” Zack said.

  “Not my type.”

  They looked at each other again.

  “Oh-kay …” Steve said, the same way he’d said it to Bryce before the softball game.

  I couldn’t have cared less. These guys had about nothing I wanted in a friend. I’d known that for a while now. No personality, not particularly nice, not terribly smart. I looked up at Steve, who was staring at me with what might have been pity in his eyes. This Schroedster just wasn’t like the old model, I guessed, and I finally didn’t give a shit if anyone knew.

  “Hey, Steve,” I said. “Your shirt’s on inside out. You look like a dork.”

  And with that, I stood and picked up my tray, brimming with a type of pride I hadn’t felt since I’d lived in Colorado.

  After English, I went to the library. Ben was there, in his usual carrel, and I snuck up behind him and put my hands over his eyes. He tensed up. I pulled my hands away, and when he turned around, I smiled and whispered, “Surprise!”

  He surreptitiously looked both ways. He was wearing his glasses and reading his philosophy textbook. He looked so handsome in his blue cashmere sweater, with those thick, hipster glasses over his owl eyes.

  “Hey, what’s up?” he said. He stared at me like he was waiting for me to tell him what I was there for, why I’d bothered him in the library.

  I opened my mouth to say something funny about how he was acting, but nothing really occurred to me. It wasn’t funny. This was the second time, it seemed to me, that he’d gone from hot to cold on me. It sucked.

  He saw the hurt in my eyes. I could see it registered in the corner of his eyebrow, which buckled. He took a deep breath, then sighed.

  “I just need some time,” he whispered. “Som
e space. Figure this out. Okay?”

  I shrugged. “Fine,” I said, and I turned and walked away. I heard him say, “Rafe,” under his breath, like I was making a big deal out of nothing. I wasn’t going to listen to this shit. No way. How come every time I got physical with a guy, they got all weird? Why was it that the simple act of messing around with me automatically led to this, every time, this moment where the guy needed to figure it out, or get away? I would never do that to someone. Never in a million years. I stormed out of the library and sprinted across the quad, the freezing wind biting at my forehead.

  I didn’t stop running all the way up the stairs to the fourth floor. I hurried down the hall, hoping I’d have the room to myself so that I could scream, or whatever I’d have to do to stop feeling this way.

  No such luck. There was Albie, in his usual position at the desk. It was like, Are you ever NOT in the room?

  “Hey,” he said, not looking up as I walked in and slammed the door.

  I didn’t answer. All I did was throw my book bag on my bed, drop my coat on the floor, storm over, and reach under his bed for a beer.

  “You mind?” I said as I pulled one out.

  “Help yourself.”

  I popped the top and chugged. And chugged. And chugged. I just wanted beer in my bloodstream. Something, anything, to knock this pain out of me. I finished the beer, burped, and reached down and felt for another, which I grabbed and took to my bed. I collapsed on my stomach.

  “I said, ‘Help yourself,’ not ‘Get insanely drunk,’” Albie said.

  I wanted to say fuck you so bad. But I didn’t want to have a fight with Albie.

  “Sorry,” I said.

  “Apologize to your liver.”

  I looked up at him. He had turned his chair away from his desk and was facing me. I wasn’t much up for conversation.

  “I thought you slept here last night?” he said.

  “I started here,” I said, rubbing my head and then taking another sip of beer. It tasted awful, like warm, carbonated piss.