Chris nudges me with his knee again.
“Hm?”
“A penny for your thoughts.”
“Please,” I say in mock indignation. “A penny? You think I’m that cheap? Make it a dollar and we’ll talk.”
He chortles. “Aren’t you cute, Matthew Dunstan.” Then he leans into me and plants a kiss on my cheek. A week ago that would have been enough to send the butterflies in my stomach into a frenzy. Today I find this plump display of undetermined affection annoying and almost offensive, but I don’t say anything.
Because hey, he’s just messing around, right?
* * *
As we exit the tunnel that connects the locker room with the track, we’re met with an angry rant in a familiar, high-pitched voice coming from the bleachers. Sandy is standing by the fence at the top of the bleachers, shouting abuse at four sophomores on the sidewalk below. They’ve surrounded a miserable looking little figure and keep pushing him around, taunting and ridiculing him. One of them takes away his umbrella and abuses the next lamp post with a pathetically inept Gene Kelly impression while the other three keep pummeling Phil.
“Sissy boy!”
“Where’s your boyfriend, Ching Chong?”
“Not Ching Chong! His name is Chop Suey!”
Sneers and laughter.
“Your lips are so pretty, Chop Suey!”
“What’s in your purse, little geisha? Tampons?”
“Tampons and lipstick!”
“And a vibrator!”
“Let’s have a look, sissy boy!”
“Yeah, let’s get your lipstick out and make you pretty!”
The guy tosses away Phil’s umbrella and joins his three friends as they tug on Phil’s bag. He clutches it with both arms, trying to shield it from the attackers with his skinny body as they keep pushing him and pulling on the bag.
“Hey! Stop it!” Chris shouts, rattling the chain link fence that separates the track from the sidewalk. “Leave him alone, you assholes!”
As they keep pummeling Phil, one of them turns to Chris and flips him the bird.
“Come on,” Chris says and runs back towards the tunnel. Jason, Jack and I follow him. Through the tunnel and locker room, we make our way outside. As we turn the corner and approach the crime scene, Phil is on the ground, surrounded by the bullies. He’s still desperately holding on to his bag as two of the guys are pulling on the handles, continuing their laughter and verbal abuse. When they see us coming, the cowards finally let go of Phil and make a run for it.
While Chris and Jack chase after the bullies, Jason and I tend to Phil. When we get to him, he’s still lying on the ground, clasping his handbag, his eyes closed, his body motionless. His shirt and pants are dirty from the dusty sidewalk. One of his sleeves is torn, and there are bruises and abrasions on his face and hands. When I kneel next to him and put my hand on his shoulder, his body twitches and he tightens his grip around his bag.
“Phil,” I say. “It’s me, Matt.”
He slowly opens his eyes and finally begins to relax. Jason and I both grab one of his arms and carefully help him sit up. He coughs and shakes his head, blinking rapidly, trying to remove dust particles from his teary eyes. When he lifts his hand to his eyes, I hold it back.
“Don’t touch your eyes,” I say. “Your fingers are all dirty.”
I sit on the ground, putting one arm around Phil’s shoulders to hold him steady while I use my other hand to carefully wipe the dust from his face and his blinking eyes. I turn my head, looking up and down the street. There’s not a single Tesla in sight. Where the hell are the feds when you need them?
As Chris and Jack come walking back to us, Sandy joins us from the other direction.
“Did you guys get them?” Sandy asks.
Chris shakes his head. “No, but I’ve seen these guys before. I’ll recognize them, next time I see them, and then …”
Sandy squats in front of Phil, putting one hand on his knee. “Are you all right, Phil?”
Phil nods, blinking slower now as his silent tears wash the remaining dust from his eyes.
Pulling a bottle of water from her bag and unscrewing the cap, Sandy says, “Those stupid assholes! Should we call the police?”
Taking the bottle and having a few sips of water, Phil shakes his head.
“Or at least take you to the school nurse, and let the principal know what happened?”
Shaking his head more emphatically, Phil hands the bottle back to her. “It’s nothing. I’m fine.”
“Like I said,” Chris says, “I know these guys, and I’ll report them to the principal first thing in the morning.”
“Can you stand up?” Jason asks Phil.
Phil nods. As Jason and I help him to his feet, Sandy takes his handbag from him. It looks mangled, the shiny surface scratched and dirty, and one of the handles has been torn off. As soon as Phil is standing, he takes his bag back and examines it closely as I dust off his shirt.
“I’m so sorry about your bag,” Sandy says. “It must have been expensive.”
I shake my head. “It’s just a cheap knockoff, Sandy.”
“Well, even so.” She looks past my shoulder. “Here comes your dad.”
Frowning I turn and look down the street.
She was of course talking about Phil’s dad, not mine.
Mr. Thongrivong pulls up in his clunker and gets out. Looking serious but not overly concerned, he approaches us and asks, “What happen?”
As I bring his dad up to speed, I see the look in Phil’s eyes, begging me to not make it sound too dramatic, so I just give a quick roundup, leaving out delicate details like lipsticks and homophobic taunts.
When I’m finished, Mr. Thongrivong just nods, looking strangely indifferent, almost apathetic. He doesn’t ask any questions, nor does he do anything to comfort Phil. In the end, he shakes everyone’s hands, saying, “Thank you helping guys.” Then he pushes Phil toward the car. They both get in, and as I’m standing on the curb, Phil keeps looking at me with his big, brown fawn eyes until the car finally pulls out into the traffic.
* * *
I’m about to put my key into the lock when the front door swings open and Zoey pulls me inside. She must have been standing by the window, waiting for me to return home.
“Where is the little turd?” I demand.
“They’re in the dining room,” she whispers, putting her hand on my chest. “Mom and Dad already know. It’s a major drama. It looks like he didn’t do it on purpose, so try to remain calm, okay?”
“Not on purpose my ass,” I say, dropping my bag and pushing past her. I have no intentions to remain calm. I have no reason to remain calm. If anything, the fact that Zoey seems to be defending Greg riles me up even more.
They’re sitting at the table, Greg sandwiched between Mom and Dad, and none of them are looking happy. Mom’s eyes are red, and in her hand she’s holding a crumpled Kleenex. When Greg sees me appear in the doorway, he jumps to his feet and raises his hands in defense.
“I’m sorry, Matt!” he says in a pathetically whiny voice. “I didn’t do it. I didn’t want this to happen. I’m so sorry!”
His words don’t even register with me. As I make a few strides in his direction, he hides behind Mom like a coward, and Dad stands up to block my way.
“You little piece of vermin!”
“Matthew!” Mom scolds me, as if I’m the villain here.
Dad puts his hands on my shoulders to keep me from charging at Greg. “Buddy, you need to calm down!”
“I’m so sorry, Matthew,” Greg says again, almost on the verge of tears now, his voice cracking.
Half-heartedly, I try to shake off Dad’s hands and make my way past him, but of course I don’t stand a chance against him. Tightening his grip and raising his voice, he says, “Matthew, I mean it! Let’s sit down and talk about this.”
Letting out a deep breath through my nose, I take a step back. As Dad lets go of me, I grab a chair and sit down.
“Sit down, Gregory,” Mom says, her hand on his arm because clearly he’s the one in need of moral support.
Dad and Greg both sit back down, Dad acting as a human shield between me and Greg.
“All right,” he says. “Now let’s all take a deep breath and deal with this thing like adults, okay?”
A derisive snort escapes me, but being the prudent, discreet person that I am, I refrain from addressing our little Model UN peace conference with a few extremely adult remarks.
“Matthew,” Mom says, “I think your brother would like to tell you something.”
Oh, I’m sure he would. He’s so excited to talk to me, he can’t even look me in the eyes.
“I’m listening,” I say.
Mom gives Greg an encouraging nod. “Gregory?”
His head bent, his eyes fixed on his fingers that are nervously playing with each other, Greg starts his testimony in a low, miserable voice.
“I showed the video to Luke, nobody else. Just for shits and giggles. And I didn’t want to show it to anyone else, honestly. But then Luke told Gary and Michael about it, and they wanted to see it too, so I told them they couldn’t. Then they jumped on me and wrestled the phone out of my hands, and while Michael was holding me in a headlock, Gary posted the video on Vine. And Instagram and YouTube.”
Oh great, we’re on Instagram and YouTube, too.
“And Facebook.”
Facebook. Of course!
Where else? MySpace?
IC-freaking-Q?
“I hope you understand,” Mom says, “that it was very stupid of you to show that video around in the first place.”
“Yes, Mom.”
“And couldn’t you have deleted the video?”
“I probably could have, if I’d gotten my phone back. But they kept it.”
“They still have your phone now?”
Greg shrugs. “I guess.” He looks at me. “I’m really sorry, Matt. I didn’t want this to happen.”
“You don’t even know what you did, do you?” I say. “Do you know what happened at school today when the video went viral? A bunch of bullies pounced on Phil. At first they only pushed him around. Then they beat him and kicked him. They tore his clothes, broke his umbrella and his bag, and then they left him lying in the gutter like a dead rat. All thanks to you!”
Greg averts his gaze, looking at his fingers again. His eyes are filled with tears, which is kind of heartbreaking to look at because I actually believe his account of what happened, but if he’s feeling miserable now then only because he deserves it. Besides, I’ve been on the verge of tears myself the whole day, so my compassion for Greg is pretty limited.
“Who’s got your phone now?” Dad asks him. “Gary or Michael?”
“I don’t know. Michael, I think. I’m not sure.”
While Dad gets up and disappears into the kitchen, Mom looks at Greg and says, “All right, I think we’ve heard enough. As you can imagine, we cannot let you go unpunished. It may not have been your fault that these guys posted the video online, but you had no business shooting that video in the first place, and you definitely shouldn’t have shown it to anyone, you understand?”
Greg just nods, tears running down his face now.
I hate him for tapping into my most primal brotherly urges that make me revel in his misery.
As Dad returns from the kitchen with a notepad and pen, Mom continues, “You’re grounded indefinitely. In addition to your own, you will do Matthew’s chores for a month. No Internet, no TV, no phone privileges. Do you understand?”
“Yes,” he says in a low, choaking voice.
I’m enjoying this way too much.
Dad puts the pen and notebook in front of Greg. “Write down their addresses so I can go and get your phone back.”
When Greg has finished scribbling down his friends’ addresses, which takes a while because he has to keep wiping away his tears, Mom says, “All right, off to your room.”
He pushes his chair back and gets up. When he passes me, he stops and says, “I’m sorry, Matt.”
I don’t acknowledge him. My arms crossed, I don’t even grace him with a look.
“Give him some time, Gregory,” Mom says. “Go to your room.”
As he turns to leave, I say, “Yeah, give me a couple of years.”
Mom raises an eyebrow at me. “Matt, please.”
“All right, all right,” I say, getting up.
“Hey, buddy,” Dad says, “where do you think you’re going?”
“Shower,” I say. “I’m all sweaty and sticky.”
“Nice try, bud, but I think your shower can wait a couple of minutes. Come on, sit back down. Let’s have a little chat.”
Dang! I thought with all the focus on my evil little brother I could avoid the inevitable talk about the elephant in the China shop that caused this whole mess in the first place.
I guess it was worth a try.
As I take my seat again, Mom and Dad look at me expectantly, but hey, let’s play Jeopardy! Since they already know the answer, let them try and come up with the right question.
“Well?” I say.
They exchange awkward looks, as if neither of them wants to go first. Eventually, Mom clears her throat and plucks up all her courage. “Is there anything you’d like to tell us, Matthew?”
“Oh yeah,” I say. “We set a new personal best in the hundred-meter relay today, and the coach thinks we got a really good chance to win the Schoolympics next month.”
“That’s awesome, buddy!” Dad says and raises his hand to high-five me. When Mom casts him a disapproving look, he clears his throat and puts on his being-a-father-is-serious-business face. “However, that’s not what we mean. Anything about your recent use of lipstick, maybe?”
“Oh, that,” I say with a deliberately camp wave of my hand. “You see, that wasn’t my lipstick. It was Zoey’s, so yeah, no worries.”
More awkward looks. Coming out to my parents was never going to be easy, so given today’s events, who can blame me for trying to share some of the burden?
“It’s okay, Matthew,” Mom says. “You can tell us.”
“Tell you what?”
One final moment of hesitation before she finally takes the leap. “Matthew, are you gay?”
I’ve been enjoying this little skirmish up until this very moment, but now that the word gay is out and circling over my head like a military drone, hiding under a rock is no longer helping. It’s time to face the music.
Let’s hope it’s a show tune.
“Yes?” I say with a voice as steady as I can muster, finally daring to look my parents in the eyes.
That’s it. It’s out. I’m out. It’s as if a huge weight has been lifted off of my shoulders, and not only my shoulders, apparently. Mom and Dad both exhale deep breaths, and a diffuse tension seems to depart their bodies. Dad reclines in his chair. First he crosses his arms, then he uncrosses them and holds the open palm of his hand under Mom’s nose.
“Oh for crying out loud,” Mom says, pulls a ten-dollar bill out of her pocket and slaps it into Dad’s hand.
Stumped, I look at them both. “You’ve got to be kidding me. You had a bet going on?”
Dad leans forward and pats me on the shoulder. “Sorry, buddy.”
“How long?” I ask.
He looks at Mom. “How long’s it been, honey? Five years? Six?”
“Five,” Mom says, wiping her nose. “We were sitting here and you said, ‘Honey,’ you said, ‘I bet you ten dollars that one day we’ll be sitting at this very table listening to our son coming out to us.’”
I facepalm. “You are literally the worst parents ever.”
“Nah,” Dad says. “I think we’re pretty awesome. Right, honey?”
Mom responds with a wry smile.
I’m at a loss for words. Apparently I was indeed the last person to find out I’m gay.
And the only one bothered by it.
My life is so freaking ridiculous.<
br />
“All right,” I say, “you’ve had your fun with me. Can I go now?”
Mom looks at me. “Actually, honey, can we talk about your … boyfriend for a minute?”
“My—” I shake my head emphatically. “Oh, no, no. That’s not … Phil is not my boyfriend!”
“Oh,” Mom says, looking puzzled. “That’s …”
“You kissed him, but he’s not your boyfriend?” Dad asks.
“Okay, look,” I say. “We were talking about his cleft lip and I asked him if he’d ever tried covering it up. He said no, so I went to Zoey’s room to borrow one of her lipsticks because I wanted to see if we could, you know, cover it up. But he wouldn’t let me do it unless I put it on too, and then one thing led to another and … then we kissed. It was our first kiss. There’s nothing going on between us. We were just … messing around.”
I can’t believe I just said that.
Casting glances at each other, Mom and Dad both seem kind of relieved.
“Why?” I ask, alerted by their looks. “Would that be a problem if he were my boyfriend?”
“Oh, no,” Mom hurries to say. “No, honey. Not at all. I mean … no.”
“Good.”
“Yeah.”
“But he’s not, so …”
“Okay.”
Now move in for the kill.
“Well, in that case I’m sure you won’t mind if I invite Phil over for a sleepover on Saturday. We’re lagging behind with our English papers. We need some time without distractions so we can catch up.”
As expected, this is a bombshell.
“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Dad says very eloquently, and Mom looks at me as if I’d just announced I’m leaving home to live in a hippie commune.
Cupid Painted Blind Page 24