The Boy Who Couldn't Fly Straight (The Broom Closet Stories)

by Jeff Jacobson

  “When I got back upstairs, I saw your light on under the door. I could hear your voices. I shouldn’t have stopped and listened, but sound carries from the heat vent in the hallway.”

  “I didn’t know that!” Randall blurted, looking embarrassed.

  “Keep going,” Beverly said, ignoring her husband.

  “I heard you two talking. About Diego and me. About…”

  “Oh no!” his aunt whispered, her hands flying to her face.

  “What? What did you say?” Rita demanded, looking at Beverly.

  “Charlie, what did you hear?” asked Randall.

  He took a deep breath. He felt his resolve wavering. He didn’t want to be having this conversation right now, in front of people he barely knew. He didn’t even want to have it with his aunt and uncle. He wished he could be outside with Diego somewhere, looking at the Olympic Mountains. Not talking. Just sitting.

  But he looked up again and saw the faces of the adults watching him. Save for Randall, they had all put themselves in mortal danger tonight. For him. It didn’t matter that they’d escaped relatively unharmed. He knew that one or more of them might have been killed. All because of his stupid, selfish mistake.

  He ran a shaking hand over his forehead, then rubbed hard at his eye sockets, trying to summon as much nerve as the witches sitting before him had shown when they’d attacked Grace.

  “I heard Beverly say she didn’t want me to be gay.”

  “No, Charlie, that’s not what I meant! I…”

  “It’s okay. I don’t want it either. I’ve tried for a long time not to be, but…” His voice caught in his throat, and his eyes filled with tears. He looked down at his knees, at the color of the denim on his legs, at how the toes of his stockinged feet were digging into the carpet, trying to grab hold of something solid.

  ‘Don’t cry, you big baby, don’t be such a…’ the angry voice chided in his head.

  But he found that he didn’t care anymore what that voice said. He was too tired to worry about it. Hiding things from everyone didn’t work anymore. Even Grace knew his business.

  So he cried. He just sat on the couch and cried. And blessedly, the others didn’t rush in to hug him. They didn’t try to cheer him up with their loud voices. They just watched and waited.

  After a moment, he wiped at his eyes and coughed a few times to clear his throat. “I’ve tried for a long time to make it go away. But it never seems to work. Back home in Clarkston, I wasn’t sure what to do about it. I ignored it. But the day that it all happened, when that dog, or that man or whatever, broke into our house, earlier that day,” he exhaled, “I saw a story, a story on the news. There was this kid, this local kid who was…was found…”

  He began to cry harder. He waited, letting the shaking wash over him. When it settled down, he wiped his nose on the back of his sleeve. He could tell that momentum was building, momentum that might help him get the whole story out, if he just kept talking and didn’t listen too much to what he was saying.

  “Some people beat him up and left him by the side of the road. They didn’t kill him, but…but they almost did. He was a football player at this other high school, you know? And he had told his coach and his team that he was gay. They just…somebody just…the cops didn’t know who…”

  He paused, gulping for air, unable to get enough oxygen in his lungs. He could hear the breathing of the other adults.

  “I don’t want to be like that. Like him. But it won’t go away, you know? I don’t, don’t really know what to do. And then, well, Mom and I came up here. It was all so fast and intense, that I even forgot about it for a while. But then Diego, he saw me at the farmers market, and he thought I was, you know, he thought I was…”

  He looked up at Rita, who was nodding, hanging on every word he said. Her face was gentle, not as ravaged-looking as his aunt’s and uncle’s. It was easier to focus on her.

  “Diego’s this kid at school who’s gay, you know? He’s open about it, to his mom and to people at school. Everyone knows about him. He’s really popular and cool. A few kids hassle him, but most of them don’t.

  “I just thought he was nice, though I was surprised that he wanted to be friends with me. I mean, he’s so popular and stuff. He invited me to this party, and then that night he told me he thought I was gay. I couldn’t believe it. I mean, I don’t do anything, I never… say anything, I try to hide it…”

  More tears, more shaking. Someone handed him a tissue. He blew his nose, then kept going.

  “When I met Malcolm the first time he asked me who the girl was. I didn’t know what he meant. Then he said, ‘Oh, what’s his name?’ Malcolm knew too. He even knew more than I did. He told me that he didn’t care, but that if I lied to myself, I wouldn’t be able to be a witch. I wouldn’t be able to hear the things I needed to hear, to, you know, concentrate, if I kept this big secret. He said I didn’t have to tell anybody else, just myself.

  “He told me he didn’t use any witchcraft on me to find out. He just knew, you know? Even he could tell.”

  He took another deep breath. Tears were falling down Beverly’s face, but he knew he couldn’t do anything about it. He was tired of trying not to hurt people. It didn’t work anyway. He just hoped she could forgive him for tonight. He didn’t deserve her forgiveness. It wasn’t an excuse for what he did, but maybe if she understood the whole story, then…

  “I don’t know if I like Diego. I mean, like that. I don’t know how it all works. I think he wants to be my boyfriend or something. But that’s…that’s just…that’s just so gay.”

  Charlie heard someone guffaw. Everyone looked over at Morty, who turned bright red.

  “Sorry. Sorry,” he said, looking down at his lap.

  Charlie continued. “I keep wishing everything would slow down. But it doesn’t. I can’t keep up with it all. It’s like I’m in a race, like at track at school. I thought it was the hundred-meter dash, but then it turns into the four-hundred, then the eight-hundred, then long-distance. Somebody keeps pulling the finish line farther and farther away from me.”

  Charlie turned to his aunt. “I know I wasn’t supposed to go out on my own like I did tonight. Even if you hadn’t told me not to, even if Malcolm hadn’t drilled it in to us over and over that time at his cabin. I know I shouldn’t have done it. But when I heard you say you didn’t want me to be gay, I just…”

  He paused, thinking that he was going to cry again. But no tears came. Maybe he’d cried them all out.

  “I just gave up. Nothing seemed to work anymore. Maybe it never did. That’s why I, uh, why I left. I couldn’t figure out anything else to do. I just wanted to run away.”

  He stopped talking. Rita and Beverly were both crying. Daniel looked as stern as ever. His mustache twitched slightly. He and Morty exchanged a glance. Joan stared up at the ceiling, her teacup and saucer resting on her belly. Randall looked back and forth from Beverly to Charlie. Then he opened his mouth.

  “Charlie, it sounds like you didn’t hear the whole conversation between your aunt and me. Just in case you think everyone knows your secret, they don’t. Beverly didn’t. When I told her I thought that you and Diego might be more than friends, she was surprised. And yes, she said she didn’t want it to be true. I got mad at her. I thought she was being closed-minded. But that’s not accurate. She thought…”

  “I thought,” interrupted Beverly, raising her head and looking at Charlie, her eyes red and puffy, her cheeks wet, “that I really loved you and I was tired of all the things you were having to go through. It didn’t seem fair to me that such a good kid had to deal with so much. This world doesn’t seem very kind to people, people who…”

  She paused, searching for words.

  “People like me, Charlie,” said Daniel, from across the room. “People who are gay. The world doesn’t always like us.”

  Charlie’s jaw dropped open. Daniel Burman was gay? That couldn’t be possible. He looked so normal. Charlie couldn’t imagine him wearing w
omen’s clothes, or running around fluttering his eyelashes, or whatever else gay men were supposed to do.

  None of the other adults seemed surprised by what Daniel said.

  “That’s right,” continued Beverly. “The world doesn’t always treat gay people, people like Daniel and Diego…”

  “And Maureen,” said Joan from the couch.

  Randall rolled his eyes. “Uh yeah, Joan. Thanks. Charlie has no idea who you’re talking about.”

  “Just trying to help. Jeez.”

  “It doesn’t always treat gay people well. I wanted you to have a break. Charlie, you have to understand. It’s not that I think there’s anything wrong with you liking Diego or wanting to be more than friends with him. He’s a great guy. I just got scared for you. I was worried that people would tease you or hurt you. I figured that I wouldn’t be able to stop that from happening. I felt helpless. That’s not a feeling I’m used to.

  “Don’t you see, Charlie? It’s not you. What I mean is, it’s not that there’s anything wrong with you…it’s that I love you.” More tears.

  “I don’t know how it happened. You’ve only been here for such a short time. I didn’t know I had a nephew until a few weeks ago. I didn’t even know if Lizzy was alive or dead. But then she comes here, you come here, and you’re so, you’re so sweet, and good, and I was scared I didn’t have what it takes to be your guardian, or your aunt, or your mother, or whatever I’m supposed to be. I didn’t know I if I could do it. And then this unexpected…love, slipped in and grabbed me before I saw it coming. It happened to both of us,” she said, indicating Randall, who nodded back.

  “And when Randall told me about you and Diego, I got even more scared. I didn’t know if I could be the right kind of aunt for you. What if you asked me questions about being gay? I feel so clueless. I don’t know anything about it. What if I said the wrong thing? I mean, look what happened tonight. I did say the wrong thing. Or at least, you took it the wrong way. And look how much it hurt you. I just, I don’t know…I want you to know how much I love you and care about you, and if Grace ever even thinks about getting her goddamn claws on you again…”

  The couches began to shake as if in an earthquake, while the food platters rattled on the coffee table.

  “Okay, okay, honey,” said Randall, standing up. “Let’s all just take a deep breath. No more broken furniture.”

  The shaking subsided. Rita laughed, and soon the others were smiling too.

  “Sorry. What I’m trying to say is that I will come rescue you again if something happens. But I’m afraid. What if I can’t be there next time? What if…”

  Her words stopped, and she took a deep breath.

  Charlie felt his own tears again as he heard what his aunt was saying. At first he thought she was just talking to say the right thing, but somewhere in there, as more and more of her words tumbled forth, he began to believe her. It was as if her words snuck into him - the same way that the ‘unexpected love’ had slipped into her. He believed her. He believed his uncle, and he could tell that the other adults weren’t disgusted or angry with him for liking Diego.

  He still couldn’t believe that Daniel Burman was gay. He didn’t know you could be a detective and be gay at the same time.

  But he believed Beverly. And this helped to calm him. The final vestiges of his desire to run away disappeared. He looked at his aunt and uncle.

  “So you’re really not mad if I, well, if I like Diego? Or if I don’t like girls that much?”

  “No, we are not mad, Charlie,” said his uncle. His look was so earnest that Charlie could feel his own heart breaking open.

  “No, we are not mad, Charlie,” repeated his aunt. “We love you just the way you are. Oh my God.” She crinkled her face as if smelling something foul. “That sounded really corny.”

  Morty broke out into song. “We love you just the way you are.” The others joined in. It was completely embarrassing.

  Charlie wanted everyone to stop singing, but he found himself laughing. Laughing because he had spoken out loud the biggest secret he had, so big he hadn’t even been willing to tell himself. And nothing bad had happened. Nobody called him a dirty little fag. Nobody beat him up. Nobody got up and left. The skin on his face felt strange, as if it had been stretched out over his chin and down his shoulders. He wanted to touch it, to see if it was real. He wanted to look at himself in the mirror and see if he recognized the reflection. Maybe he would look like normal, scared Charlie. Maybe he wouldn’t look any different. But maybe, just possibly, he would look like someone brave.

  Chapter 66

  Tony, Claudia, and Thomas the Dog Man sat together at a table in the basement of a dark, elegant bar in Belltown. The décor imitated a 1920s laboratory, dimly lit by overhead rods pulsing blue with electricity. Hammered bronze tubing covered most of the walls, and each of the myriad sitting nooks pocketed throughout the bar displayed tributes to the spiritualism of the era, including crystal balls in glass cases, and black and white photos of mediums with headdresses, holding séances.

  The patrons that night were enchanted by the collective charm of the three witches, and bought them round after round of bright cocktails in vintage glassware. Plates of tapas continued to arrive at the table, courtesy of the chef, or a bartender, or a shy, besotted member of the waitstaff.

  Upon each delivery, the witches smiled, nodded their thanks, and then continued their conversation, not inviting a single person to join them. No one dared approach the table.

  “Think she’ll be back after midnight?” asked Claudia. She wore a purple, flapper-era cocktail dress. The tassels shimmied as she breathed, raising the blood pressure of her many male and female admirers.

  “Nah,” said Tony, watching his reflection in the glass case of an exhibit featuring Nikola Tesla, the Russian electrical engineer. Stubble accentuated the sharp length of his jawline. He turned his head left, then right, looking at his face from different angles.

  “She’ll be here any minute. Knowing her, she went full out.”

  Thomas ran his hands through his curly blond hair. “Jesus, Tony, do you know how annoying you are? Believe me, your face hasn’t changed since you looked at it five minutes ago.”

  “We Americans could learn more art appreciation, my friend. I’m just leading the way.”

  Thomas and Claudia exchanged looks.

  “For some reason,” Thomas continued, “I’m not feeling as confident in our leader as you two seem to be. The boy hasn’t given us anything but trouble. His whole family, for that matter, has been nothing but…”

  “Such a doubting Thomas,” said a soft voice from behind them.

  Grace walked around the corner and sat down at their table. Her hair was smoothed and shaped into its usual chignon. Her peach dress, complimenting Claudia’s period clothing, was soft and unruffled. Her elegance and beauty outshone all three witches. A collective intake of breath could almost be heard as the bar’s patrons took in the newcomer.

  Grace’s companions examined her. Her usual glow seemed diminished. Her eyes shone with a predatory light, and there was a tiny cut on her right temple. It wasn’t bleeding, but it was the first blemish any of them had ever seen on her.

  That, combined with the fact that she arrived empty-handed, made them nervous.

  “Are, uh, are you okay?” Claudia asked, trying to hide the worry in her voice.

  “I’m fine. What does a girl have to do to get a drink around here?”

  A waiter appeared at their table.

  “What do you have that is especially perfect for an evening of revenge?” she asked. The waiter was tall and golden-skinned, his black hair oiled back from his brow. His eyes had the double epicanthic fold common in East Asia. He smiled, and two perfect dimples formed at his cheeks.

  “Besides you, that is,” said Grace.

  The other witches fidgeted. Her light flirtation meant that she might have plans for him later. They hoped that her plans might include them, too.

/>   Grace’s eyes lingered on the waiter as he walked to the bar to put in her order.

  “The boy got away,” she said, turning to face her underlings. “I had him. He was ready to follow me and learn what I had to tell him. But there was a surprise attack from Beverly and friends, and…”

  “What?!” said Tony, mouth agape. “But she’s nothing compared to you. How could she…”

  His words were cut short as Grace balled her hand into a fist. He clutched at his chest. His eyes rolled into the back of his head and he made sharp grunting sounds.

  “Don’t!”

  A grotesque expression of pain marred his perfect face.

  “Question!”

  Drops of spittle spilled over his lips.

  “Me!”

  Tony gasped, then wheezed in breath as Grace relaxed her fist.

  He mumbled a quick “sorry” and grabbed for his martini. His shaking hands spilled some of the drink. Claudia took the glass from him and brought it to his lips so he could take a sip.

  “You,” Grace said, turning to Thomas.

  “Grace?” the man asked, his voice thinner and reedier than before Grace had appeared.

  “Ever think about all of this when you decided to get us involved?”

  Thomas held his head in shame. There was no reason to play-act in front of Grace, and she wouldn’t permit a defensive stance. He tried to think of a way to apologize.

  “No matter,” Grace said. “Now we know that Charlie might be able to help us, which makes it all worthwhile. Besides, we’ve all tried to catch him, and we’ve all failed. We’re members of the Losers Club, apparently.”

  The three tried to laugh at her joke, but the quivering lips and the forced chuckles stopped once they realized she wasn’t laughing with them.

  “Here we are,” said the waiter, returning with a tall champagne flute filled with a clear blue liquid, which he placed in front of Grace. “I hope this helps with your evening revenge plans.”

  The other three noticed how he stood a little too close to her, how his smile lacked a server’s formality. How he seemed slightly drunk himself.