Adam

by Ariel Schrag

  Adam saw a gang of teenagers sitting on newspaper vending boxes, eating pizza, laughing and pointing at the people marching. He felt nervous. They were his age. He couldn’t tell if they were for or against them.

  “Show your tits for Gay Marriage!” one of them shouted at Casey. Adam thought Casey might go off on the guy, but she just looked embarrassed and marched faster.

  “Shut up!” Adam yelled, except it wasn’t really a yell, more like a cracked-voice stutter that no one but Adam seemed to hear.

  “June, tell me if you see Boy Casey or Hazel,” said Casey.

  June linked arms with Agnes. “Sure.”

  God, it was hot. Adam’s face was swathed in sweat and his eyes stung. When he looked ahead, the thousands of bodies blurred into a colorful pixelated sea. The chances of running into Calypso were pretty slim. He wasn’t even sure what he would do if he did see her. They were so drunk when they’d talked at The Hole, a sober conversation seemed impossible:

  “How’s your tranny cock doing?”

  “It’s good, doing good . . .”

  “EQUALITY!” shouted Casey next to him. “Say it, Adam!”

  “Equality!” he said.

  And then he saw her. Not Calypso. The redhead. His redhead. No fucking joke, all those other times he thought he saw her, he was on crack—this was her. She did exist. She was marching with a group and was wearing jean cutoffs and a gray tank top and had this unbelievably cute round face framed by red hair with bangs and the hugest smile. And if anyone ever did anything to make her stop smiling, Adam would ram his fist in their face. His heart was pounding. He took a step closer—a pack of fat hairy men shouting “Bears for Marriage!” barreled past, obscuring everything for thirty seconds.

  She was gone. He had lost her. Fuck—but she was here. Adam felt like he might throw up.

  “Hey, look at them, right on!” said June. She pointed to a pack of marchers all wearing white T-shirts with a picture of a crossed-out diamond ring printed on them and the words I DON’T. A few in the middle held up a banner that read: BOYCOTT STRAIGHT MARRIAGE—WE WON’T MARRY UNTIL EVERYONE CAN!

  “Yeah!” said Casey, pumping her fist at the group. Several members of the group pumped their fists back.

  “I love that!” said June. “It’s, like, seeing that means more than everything else.”

  “I know,” said Casey. “You should go join them, Adam!”

  “Uh, what?” said Adam.

  “You would get married when your sister can’t?” June cut in. She glared at him.

  “I don’t know,” said Adam.

  “Wait, what?” said Casey. She stopped marching and looked at him.

  “I don’t know!” said Adam. He felt hot and sick.

  “If that’s how you feel, I don’t think you should be here,” said Casey. She looked genuinely hurt. Unlike June, who seemed thrilled.

  “So you just get to stroll on down the aisle with your bashful bride,” said June, “your family so happy, everyone full of love, thinking how wonderful this is, such a beautiful rite of passage, while your sister sits and watches with her ‘girlfriend’ everyone likes to pretend doesn’t exist.”

  Adam wondered if in June’s fantasy Casey’s “girlfriend” was June.

  “You’re getting married?” said Agnes.

  “OK, I wouldn’t do it,” said Adam. “You’re right, it’s not fair . . .”

  “You’re just saying that,” said Casey.

  “I’m not,” said Adam. “Really, I wouldn’t . . .”

  “I wanna get married, too, you know,” said Casey. She looked away and continued marching.

  Would he get married? Adam imagined himself, age twenty-nine. He was handsome, a . . . lawyer. He’d been with the redheaded girl for years, knew it was time to get married.

  REDHEAD: “Adam darling, why haven’t you popped the question?”

  ADAM: “Well, you see, my sister . . .”

  REDHEAD: “I know, she’s gay. And I support gay marriage. We met at the Gay Marriage Rally, remember? In fact . . . I’m gay.”

  ADAM: “I know . . . that’s why I’m so confused right now . . .”

  Adam’s fantasy faded, unsure of where it was going. Would he get married if Casey couldn’t? He supported gay marriage—he was here marching with this dumb-ass sign—but did he have to sacrifice getting married himself, too? Why should he give it up, just because she couldn’t? It wasn’t his fault it was illegal. But he didn’t want to hurt Casey. Hopefully gay marriage would just be legal by the time he wanted to get married, so he wouldn’t have to think about it.

  “Hey, there’s Boy Casey,” said June. There was a weird tone to her voice. “What’s he doing?”

  “Where?” said Casey. Her head spun, frantic.

  June pointed to a small table set off to the side of the march. There was a banner over the table that read: QUEERS AGAINST GAY MARRIAGE. Boy Casey, Schuyler, Jimmy, and some others stood behind the table. Casey, June, Agnes, and Adam walked over.

  “Uh, hey,” said Casey.

  “You’re marching?” said Boy Casey.

  “Uh, yeah,” said Casey. “I thought you were, too . . .”

  “I said I was going to the march,” said Boy Casey. “I thought you knew what was up.” Boy Casey pulled his baseball cap down over his eyes, “Man, it’s fucking hot out. I hate it when it’s too hot.”

  A girl with spiky hair, holding a pamphlet, came up to Adam. “Hey, you want a copy of our statement? We’re Queers Against Gay Marriage.”

  “Uh, sure,” said Adam. He took the piece of paper and tried to scan it. It was too hot out; he couldn’t read.

  “I don’t get it,” said June. “Why are you against gay marriage?”

  Adam saw Casey glance nervously at June. He could tell Casey was quickly realizing there was something not cool about being for gay marriage. She didn’t know what it was yet but did not want to be aligned with June. Casey stepped behind the table, next to Boy Casey.

  “At least you guys have this banner for some shade,” said Casey. “And a cooler? Damn. Can I get a Coke?”

  “We are against the prioritization of gay marriage in the queer political movement,” said the spiky-haired girl to June.

  Adam looked down at his pamphlet again. It began: “We are against the prioritization of gay marriage in the queer political movement.”

  The girl continued, “The gay marriage agenda is about assimilation. It’s about granting rights to an exclusive, privileged group of people, while the more serious problems our other marginalized allies face are de-prioritized. We should be focused on keeping trans people safe, immigration reform, changing the prison system—not whether or not rich white gays get to have the wedding they always dreamed of.”

  Adam looked at Casey. Her face was bright red.

  “OK, I get that,” said June. “But gay marriage isn’t just about weddings . . . I mean, whether we like it or not, marriage holds a lot of symbolic and economic weight.”

  Adam was surprised by how calm June was. Unlike Casey, she didn’t care what this group thought of her.

  “I like being different because I’m queer,” said Spiky Hair.

  “I like being different now,” said June. “I didn’t like it when I was fifteen, got beat up, and had to have my jaw wired shut for three months.”

  Jimmy came out from behind the table and sidled up next to Adam.

  “Lotta pussy at this rally, huh?”

  “Uh, yeah,” said Adam. All he could think was, Your name is Francesca diSessa, and you’re twenty-six years old.

  “I’m ’bouts to get lucky tonight!” said Jimmy. He cocked his head over at spiky-haired girl.

  “So are you, like, against gay marriage?” said Adam.

  “I’m against getting blue-balled again like last time,” said Jimmy.

  “Check it out,” said Spiky Hair. “Embarrassing.” She pointed to a tall, skinny, blond-haired boy wearing short pink shorts and nothing else. He was cheering and wav
ing a sign that said: WELCOME TO SELMA.

  “It’s, like, the fucking greatest day of his life,” said Spiky Hair.

  “Gay rights are civil rights,” said June. “He’s making an analogy.”

  “It’s a fucked-up analogy,” said Spiky Hair. “We should not be equating the gay rights movement with the African American civil rights movement. It’s insulting, divisive, and alienating to queers of color.”

  Adam noticed that all the people behind the Queers Against Gay Marriage table were white. The majority of the people at the whole rally were white. Why?

  “I hear that,” said June.

  “Gay is NOT the new black,” yelled Boy Casey at a woman carrying a sign proclaiming the inverse. Casey stood behind Boy Casey, sipping a Coke, looking troubled.

  “You guys coming to the party at Carlisle’s tonight?” asked Schuyler.

  “Yeah, we might stop by,” said Casey. “Where is it again?”

  “Upper East Side. His parents are out of town. Perfect timing. Get ready for some Cristal and shit . . . Carlisle’s such a little faggot.”

  “Awesome,” said Casey.

  “Yo, what the fuck be happenin’,” said Jimmy, pointing.

  Everyone looked over at a police car stopped in the middle of the rally. People were crowded around the car, chanting, and some were climbing on the hood.

  “Dude! Let’s go check it out!” said Schuyler.

  A woman by the police car shouted into a bullhorn, “Lawyers! Lawyers! We need some lawyers!” One of the hood jumpers was getting arrested.

  “Schuyler, it’s your turn to stay behind the table,” said Boy Casey.

  “What?! No.”

  “I’m in law school,” said Spiky Hair. “They might need me.” She and another girl behind the table took off.

  “Come on!” said June to Adam, Casey, and Agnes. They all started jogging toward the scene. Boy Casey and Schuyler were beside them.

  “Hey, Jimmy, watch my bag!” Boy Casey yelled back at the table.

  “What! I gotta stay here?! Suck ass . . .”

  Over at the police car, two gay-looking boys were getting arrested. People had formed a circle around them and were shouting, “Let—Them—Go! Let—Them—Go!”

  “Man, I cannot fucking risk getting arrested,” said Boy Casey. “They’d fucking throw me in the bitch cell. You know they would.”

  Adam didn’t get it. Wouldn’t Boy Casey rather be with the women? If he was with the men, he could get raped. Adam took a few steps back.

  “Fuck that,” said Casey. She looked at Boy Casey, serious. “I’ll stay right with you. I won’t let them.”

  “But in case they do,” said Boy Casey, “take these.” He put a pack of cigarettes in Casey’s hand. “I want you to put one in my mouth and light it while they’re cuffing me. Then take a photo of me just fucking standing there smoking while they lock me up.”

  The commotion died down. The two hood-jumpers were in the back of the police car, and it slowly moved forward.

  “Failure to disperse,” said a butch lesbian standing in front of them. “It’s all bullshit so the police can flex their dicks. They’ll let them go where no one can see them and just give them a citation.”

  “Hey, you’re . . . Hazel,” said Casey. “I’m Casey!”

  “I know,” said Hazel. She grinned and winked.

  This was the disabled girl? Hazel had short, curly hair and was wearing a black tank top, black cargo pants, combat boots, and had a utility belt around her waist holding a police baton, two knives, and what looked like a can of Mace. She also had a long black tube slung over her back. She whipped the tube around and extracted a thin black cane, which she twirled between her fingers.

  “Play party at Dungeon tonight. You coming? I promise to beat the shit out of you.”

  Apparently Casey had been confused about the use of Hazel’s “cane.” Adam glanced at Casey, but she was ogling Hazel. He knew that look. Casey was in love.

  “We’ve got the party at Carlisle’s,” said Boy Casey, stepping in. He slung his arm over Casey’s shoulder.

  “You should come,” said Casey to Hazel. She stepped out from under Boy Casey’s arm and took out her phone. “What’s your number? I’ll text you the address.”

  Casey and Hazel traded phones and exchanged numbers. Casey had a huge glowing grin and was doing that twisting-her-hair thing. Adam thought Boy Casey might say, “Fuck it,” and walk away. That was the sort of thing Brad or Colin did if a girl rejected them. They’d act as if they couldn’t fucking care less. But Boy Casey looked nervous. He hovered.

  “Hey, we’re Queers Against Gay Marriage.” Spiky Hair again. “Here’s our statement.” She tried to hand Hazel the pamphlet, but Hazel didn’t take it. Spiky Hair awkwardly retracted her hand, saying, “We don’t believe gay marriage is the solution.”

  “What do you mean ‘gay marriage is not the solution’?” said Hazel. “It’s the solution to gay people not being able to get married.”

  “Hey, honey.” A black girl came up and kissed Hazel on the mouth. “I lost you.” The girl was carrying a sign that read: SLAVERY WAS TRADITION TOO. Adam wondered if Spiky Hair would inform the black girl that “gay is not the new black.” She did not.

  Hazel took the black girl’s hand. “Maybe I’ll stop by that party,” Hazel said to Casey. “If you come to Dungeon afterward.” She stared straight at Casey with this really intense look.

  “Um, maybe,” said Casey, flustered.

  “You’re coming back to my place afterward, right?” said Boy Casey.

  “I’m not sure what I’m doing,” said Casey.

  “Come on,” said June. “We’re stuck in the dregs of the march; let’s get back up to the front.”

  “I gotta get back to the table,” said Boy Casey. “I’ll see you at the party.” He turned his head to Adam. “You coming to Carlisle’s, dude?”

  “Sure, yeah,” said Adam.

  Of course now Boy Casey acts like he exists.

  ***

  The sky turned dark and the rally dissolved. No Calypso. No reappearance of Redhead. Adam had a sinking feeling but tried to fight it.

  “It’s almost eight-thirty,” said June. “Shouldn’t we just head up to the party?”

  “Eight-thirty? Are you retarded?” said Casey. Then caught herself and put her hand to her mouth.

  “Ha-ha,” said Adam.

  Casey flipped him off. She was in a bad mood. All she’d done the past couple hours was complain, switching off between “It’s too hot” and “I’m hungry.” Adam knew what she really meant was: “I wanted Boy Casey, but now I want Hazel, but she’s with someone else, at least I think she is, and now Boy Casey wants me back and I don’t even care.” He wondered if Casey was reading his mind, too, right now. I mean, how difficult could that even be? “I wish I was having sex, I wish I was having sex.”

  “So . . . should we get some pizza or something?” said June.

  “Right. ’Cause what I really need right now is to get fat,” said Casey.

  “You’re so skinny,” said Agnes.

  “Let’s just go to Starbucks,” said Casey.

  There was one on the opposite corner, and the group pivoted en masse and headed in that direction.

  Adam remembered how the night of The Hole he’d had that crazy, elated feeling that something was going to happen. And something had happened. How crazy was that? Did it mean he was psychic? Could he actually predict what was going to happen in the future by how he felt in the present? He tried to focus really hard to see if he was getting that same feeling now. If something would happen tonight. But the harder he focused, all he could feel was himself focusing.

  They got Starbucks, then June, Agnes, and Adam got pizza, then they browsed Barnes & Noble, got Starbucks again, and walked aimlessly until finally it was 10:19 and Casey decided it was OK for them to make their way uptown to the party.

  The subways were air-conditioned, and now that it was night, they were surpr
isingly cold. Casey and Agnes, who were wearing shorts, shivered and tried to cover the goose bumps on their legs. June reached into her backpack and pulled out a sweatshirt to drape over Agnes’s knees. Agnes smiled and leaned in closer to June. Adam thought about their dog Lucy and how she’d always liked to sleep on the heater grate. Casey read the subway ads.

  ***

  The party was in a super-fancy building with a giant marble lobby and a doorman.

  “We’re here for, uh . . . Carlisle,” said Casey. The doorman gave her a look like: Really? Because I couldn’t tell.

  “Floor seventeen,” he said.

  They waited for the elevator, and another group of “Carlisle” people came up behind them. The elevator dinged, and they all crammed in.

  “We got room for everyone!” someone shouted. “This elevator is inclusive.”

  Adam got pushed against the wall. More people were squeezing in, and as Adam shifted to try to make room, he realized right in front of him was the redheaded girl. The elevator jerked, and Redhead’s back slammed up against him.

  “Aaah! Sorry,” she said, turning her head around briefly.

  Her body was fully pressed against his as the elevator chugged slowly up. He could smell her hair. It smelled delirious. Adam moved his hand to cover his crotch. Oh god, his dick was totally sticking out. He fixed his eyes on her tiny little soccer ball ear stud.

  *Ding*

  Everyone flooded out. Redhead followed her crowd. Adam stayed in the elevator, his hands around his crotch.

  “What are you doing, Adam?” said Casey. “We’re here.”

  “I think I dropped something in the lobby,” he said. “I’m just gonna ride back down and come back.”