by Laurent Linn
It’s a relief—speaking the truth.
We’ve been driving for almost half an hour now. I sit back and sink into the seat. It’s bliss to have some distance from Rock Hollow.
“After a while,” Lev says, “you would think you’d get used to it, right? Staying under the radar, I mean. As far as I know, no one at school knows I’m gay, thank goodness, at least not Doug or his crew.”
“Is that why you’re in the Pep Club, to throw them off since you do stuff for football games?”
He gives me a sideways glance. “No! I actually like being a part of that—it’s fun. Maybe they assume Kathleen’s my girlfriend like you did, or something. But they must think I’m straight. Otherwise I’d definitely get all the homophobic crap too. Well, far worse than ‘crap.’ ”
“Yeah, tell me about it.”
Lev sighs. “Adrian, what you did at Boo was fucking incredible. Beyond amazing. Freaked me out, though, the whole thing. Of course. And when you didn’t come back to school for a few days, that weirded me out even more.”
“Really?”
“Yes. But you going to help Kobe that night blew me away. You’re a hero.”
Wow.
Lev turns at the next intersection. “Almost there!”
My stomach spins. I’ve never been to the gay neighborhood, but from what I’ve seen of it online, it’s all party party party, going shirtless and getting smashed. Lev isn’t really some secret party boy, is he? Please, no. But you never know who someone is under their mask. Hell, I thought he was straight.
We turn off the highway and, well, we’re here. Rainbow flags are practically everywhere and lots of people are out, ready for a big Saturday night. I check out the cars driving by and the people on the street. Little clusters of men and some women amble down the sidewalks.
Lev notices me sitting back from the window and says, “If you’re worried about seeing anyone we know, I can’t imagine they’d be around here.”
“What about at bingo?”
“Ha! Not from our school. Although I did see Kobe there one time.”
“Really? He knows about you?”
He nods. “Doesn’t know much—it’s not like we have anything in common. But he knows I’m gay. And that I’ve played bingo.” Cute smile.
Looking closer at people on the sidewalk, I spot some nerdy guys here and there. Everyone seems to be having fun. Just regular people. No wasted shirtless clichés yet, but the night is young.
Lev turns a corner onto a more residential street. We get farther away from the crowds and enter the parking lot of a low, spread-out building. Oh, boy, here we go. It’s kinda old but with lots of windows and white brick lit by floodlights mounted on the walls. Seems like a normal building. Maybe a bit too normal. “You’re not secretly taking me to some Bible class, are you?” I say.
“Ha! That’d be a fun first date for two guys.”
My ears hum hearing him say those words. First date for two guys.
I spot a subtle lit-up sign by the entrance that says ROBERT SESSIONS LGBT COMMUNITY CENTER.
So it’s for real.
A few teen guys hang by some cars but no one dressed in drag.
This tiny lot is already full, so we have to park on the side street. We get out and he locks the car with a beep-beep.
We’re right under a streetlamp, so Lev’s car almost glows neon yellow.
A man in a hoodie walks toward us from the shadowy sidewalk, hands in his pockets, squinting at the yellow Beetle. I hold my breath, but he doesn’t stop. Keeps walking. Then he turns back, looks right at us, and says, “Love your car! It’s adorable.”
“Thanks!” Lev says a bit too loud. Watching the man move on down the street, Lev says to me, “At school I only hear the opposite. Every freakin’ day.”
I exhale and say, “I bet.”
Already this neighborhood is full of surprises.
As we approach the building and my pulse speeds up, I scan the faces of the other teens arriving. No one I’ve ever seen.
Lev stops and leans into me. “It’s okay. Everyone’s cool here.” He tilts his head, looking right into my eyes, but I pull back. Can’t do a public kiss, as amazing as those lips look. He’s clearly disappointed but nods and keeps walking, so I follow.
The LGBT community center. While I vaguely knew it existed, I’ve never had the urge to even look up this place online. Never felt part of this community, but now I’m walking right into its literal center. And I’m about to play bingo. All so this hot and sweet and adorable guy will like me.
We head through the front doors and my eyes have to adjust to the brightly lit little lobby. The walls are covered with colorful posters and flyers. One bulletin board says HAPPY LGBT HISTORY MONTH! across the top in rainbow-colored letters, with photos tacked below of famous gays and lesbians through history. A lot I don’t know, but some I do.
“Hey!” I point at the board. “They’ve got Ian McKellen as both Gandalf and Magneto. Very cool.”
“And there’s Cole Porter. I’ll play you his music.”
All sorts of posters layer another wall. Speed dating, suicide prevention hotline, lesbian poetry readings, Coming Out Day . . . and Teen Drag Queen Bingo. The design is horrendous and it’s not a great photo, but there’s LaTrina. Just her face, but she looks intriguing, like a cross between a Barbie doll and a clown. Still, I’m not ready to get picked on by her yet.
Behind a tiny circular desk in the middle of the room sits a large woman in a lime-green polo shirt.
Her face lights up when she sees Lev. “Hey, hon!”
He waves at her. “Hey, Maria.”
We continue past and down a hall.
“How often do you come to this?” I ask.
“Oh, I’ve only been to bingo three times. I know Maria from the summer I volunteered here. Mailing flyers, making posters, stuff like that.”
He notices my eyebrows shooting up and sighs. “Yeah, I have trouble saying no.”
“Oh?”
His face turns red. “To volunteer work, I mean. Not, uh, to other things.”
I squeeze his shoulder and whisper, “You’re cute.”
Little kids’ squeals come from an open door ahead and bounce off the brick walls around us.
“Gay kindergarteners?” I ask.
Lev cracks up. “No, they have classes here for little kids of gay parents.”
My cheeks heat up. Should’ve figured that one out.
A tiny boy runs into the hall and holds up a painting. “Looky!” he squeals. He’s filled every inch of a piece of construction paper with a scene, using purple crayons and green tempera paint.
“Wow,” I say, “that’s a cool unigiraffe.”
He beams. “I know. It’s like a regular giraffe but magic.”
Lev studies the art. “Where’s a unigiraffe? How’d you see that so fast?”
A teacher with bright-red hair piled on top of her head comes out of the room. “Come along, Jimmy, let’s not bother anyone.”
Jimmy points at me. “He likes my unigiraffe.” He dashes back into the room to join some other kids.
I peer in. Little art tables are grouped in the center and big drawing tables line the walls. Art hangs all over. “There’s a studio here?”
“Yep,” says the teacher. “Teen drawing classes are Tuesday nights, if you’re interested. They meet—Jimmy, leave her alone!” She turns from us.
A few easels hold some serious paintings in one corner, and on a wall above a big craft sink, someone’s started to stencil a mural of the castle from Spirited Away.
“This is awesome,” I say to Lev.
“Hold on. How did you see that unigiraffe? It looked like a mess of color to me.”
“Well, I like to draw. A lot. I’m actually . . .” I swallow. “I’m an artist.” I glance at him. It’s scary but a relief all at the same time, telling him at last.
“You’re an artist? How come I haven’t seen anything?” His eyes get wide. “No wonder
you acted so weird in French when I gave you my lame drawing.”
“Your drawing wasn’t lame!”
“It so definitely was. What kind of stuff do you draw? When can I see?”
“Sorry, I . . . I will show you sometime.” Not sure if I trust him enough to share Graphite yet.
Little Jimmy bounces back over. “Here!” He holds up his art.
The red-haired teacher smiles. “He wants to give it to you to keep. Feel free to say no.”
“Oh, but I’d love to have your unigiraffe, Jimmy.” I take it. “Thank you.”
“Uh-huh.” He runs off squealing, the teacher trailing after him.
“Wow,” I say. “This place isn’t anything like I expected.”
Lev tilts his head. “What did you expect?”
“I don’t know, but not all this. I bet the teachers don’t make fun of what kids draw here.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, this sure ain’t no Rock Hollow High.”
Lev holds up his hand and says, “Halleloo to that!”
We make our way down the hall, where about five guys are lined up and laughing with each other. At a folding table set up along the wall with a sign saying TEEN DRAG QUEEN BINGO IS 15 TO 19 ONLY, a college-looking guy with purple hair checks our IDs and collects the money.
“No no, my treat,” Lev says, waving my money away and paying for us. “I dragged you here, after all.”
Following buttery popcorn smells, we step into a big, colorfully lit room with Beyoncé blasting from speakers along the walls. Long pieces of red velvet hang crooked on either side of a small platform, and Mylar streamers are taped up here and there around the room, kinda haphazard-like. About seven round tables with mismatched folding chairs are clustered in the center.
I speak loudly into Lev’s ear so he can hear me over the music. “This place was decorated by gays?”
He busts out laughing. “Gays who definitely don’t watch do-it-yourself decorating shows. Still, A-plus for effort.”
Three mirror balls spin from the ceiling. Little stars of light dance across his face, making his eyes sparkle.
Those eyes almost make blaring pop music and mirror balls okay.
Two muscle boys, wearing sweaters so tight they might as well not wear them at all, push past us. Looks like thirty or so people are here. Except for a couple of adults standing around keeping their eyes on things, all teens. It’s mainly guys but a few girls, too, with everyone’s chatter competing with the music.
At a table right in the middle sit three guys in various states of drag. One is so pretty he could almost pass for a girl, but the other two, no way. I elbow Lev. “Is one of them LaTrina?”
He cranes his neck to see. “No. Haven’t seen them before.” He smiles at me. “Fun already, right?”
Uh . . . jury’s still in deliberation.
I follow Lev to the drinks table, which has a popcorn machine next to it. He pays for one massive bag of popcorn and two cans of 7UP. “Guess this is our official drink, huh?”
I cover my face. “Least this time we don’t have to wrestle it out of a machine.”
We scan the tables, which have four chairs each and are all pretty full.
Lev points. “There—two seats together.”
“Right up front? We’ll practically be onstage.”
He shrugs. “No other choice.”
There are two guys about our age already at the table. I grab a fistful of popcorn—salty, buttery comfort food.
Okay, Obi-Wan, we can do this.
Everyone’s taking their seats, so, cradling his drink and the popcorn bag in one hand, Lev grabs my hand with the other. “C’mon.”
His hand squeeze wins and we make our way through the tables. Some of these guys look like they could be college freshmen, but most are definitely high school. I don’t spot anyone I recognize. A few are funkily dressed, others not. Some are super-cute. If I were to see most of these guys anywhere else, I’d never guess they were gay.
I’m right in the middle of—
Holy crap. I stop.
Almost everyone here is gay.
Practically everyone in the whole building.
So this is what it’s like to be in a room—an entire building—of people like me.
Wow.
“You all right?”
I blink at Lev. “Uh, yeah. Just taking it in.” The mirror ball reflections swirl in unison, jumping from face to face, body to body, making the room spin.
People are checking us out, so I look down and keep walking to the table.
“These taken?” Lev asks the two guys seated there. They shake their heads, so we put down our drinks and popcorn. So it doesn’t get bent, I place Jimmy’s rolled-up paper next to me. The banged-up metal chairs squeak as we sit. We’re right up against the little stage platform. Oh, boy.
The kid next to me has a bowl cut, bleached almost white but with dark roots, bangs practically covering his eyes. Even with really bad acne he’s cute.
The other guy wears a black T-shirt that says SHANTAY YOU STAY in bright-pink letters that glow in the colored lights. He’s got close-cropped, tight, curly black hair and at least two earrings in each ear.
Silver sequins are sprinkled all over the purple plastic tablecloth. In the center is a stack of bingo cards and, whoa, I’m guessing those are bingo markers?
Seeing my expression, Lev laughs.
The guy next to me says, “I know. They look like multicolored, shiny-topped dildos, don’t they?”
I smile even as my face gets hot.
The guy in the T-shirt rolls his eyes. “Everything looks like a dick to you.”
“But it’s true!” Bleached-hair guy reaches over and rubs the back of his friend’s head, keeping his hand there.
Under the table, Lev squeezes my knee.
Okay, wow.
“What color do you want?” he asks me.
“Huh?”
He takes his hand off my leg to grab us a few bingo cards. “What marker color?”
“Oh,” I squeak. I go for the red, but holy crap, it really is so phallic it’s like grabbing a, well, yeah. I fumble with it, sending silver sequins into my lap and onto the linoleum floor.
I glance at the two guys, expecting another joke, but they’re only paying attention to each other now. They kiss. At the tables around us, if anyone notices, they don’t care. Other guy couples have their arms around each other here and there. Cuddling. Laughing. Everyone acts like it’s normal, like nothing bad is going to happen.
This is . . . I don’t know. I stare down at zooming spots of light glittering off the sequins. It’s like floating in space.
“What is it?” Lev says.
I look up, bringing his sweet face into focus. Then I put my hand in his and smile.
He leans in to kiss me, but all at once the music stops and the lights go off.
Showtime.
“WILLKOMMEN, BIENVENUE, WELCOME,” BOOMS A voice from the speakers in the dark. “The crappy old rec room at the gay center brings you . . . Teen Drag Queen Bingo!”
Everyone claps and whoops, and I scoot my chair closer to Lev.
Except for the mirror balls, the lights come back on, but the little stage is still empty.
The speakers crackle. “Here she is, our hostess with the leastest, our lady of lame, our mistress of, well, no one—”
“Cut the bullshit, honey!” From out in the hall comes another voice, loud and gravelly. “These tits are already startin’ to sag.”
“Please welcome . . . LaTrina!”
Framed by the doorway, a tall figure backs into the room, then spins to face us. Her eyes go wide and she covers her mouth with her hands, pretending she’s shocked we’re here.
Across the room I can only see her from the shoulders up, but already it’s quite a sight. Surveying the crowd, she bats what must be many layers of fake eyelashes, surrounded by dense black eyeliner, sparkly green eye shadow, and arched eyebrows penciled on her
forehead. Her red overly painted lips stand out, but it’s the massive fiery copper wig that really pops. And defies gravity.
She wouldn’t pass for a girl, but she is pretty . . . in a beauty-pageant-meets-circus kinda way.
Blowing kisses all around, her emerald-green dress flowing, she makes her way through the tables to the platform. Right where I’m sitting.
Holy wow, she’s tall. As a guy he must be big already, but with those six-inch-heeled boots and the massive wig, she’s a giant.
Lev rubs my back. “Don’t look so freaked.”
I nod and take a breath. As LaTrina steps onto the platform I hunch over and put my hands in my lap, like when you don’t want a teacher to call on you.
Audience participation and I have never gotten along.
Everyone is laughing, so I look up to see why. Towering over us, she’s in profile, rubbing her weirdly round belly—the front of her dress is stuffed to make her look pregnant. She shrugs. “Who knew? Incubation for baby drag queens is only a month.”
Scanning the crowd, she says, “Hmmm, wonder which one of you is the daddy?”
Please don’t notice me please don’t notice me.
She puts her hands on her hips. “Y’all are babies yourself. Such a young group tonight.”
“You’re only twenty, bitch, so don’t get sassy,” one of the drag queens at that center table yells. Giggles spread around the room.
LaTrina smirks. “Some of my drag sisters came to harass—I mean support—me tonight. Don’t pay attention to any of those hos.”
She pats around all over herself, layers of silver bracelets jangling. “Have any of you good people seen my balls? Where are my—oh, here they are!” She reaches down under her skirt and, now no longer “pregnant,” pulls out a clear plastic globe filled with little numbered balls. A bingo baby.
“Can’t do bingo without my balls, you know.” She flips back her hair. “In fact, can’t think of anything I’d do without my balls.”
Lev laughs and bumps my shoulder. “So funny, right?”
I realize I’m smiling.
She clutches the plastic globe to her padded chest. “Oh, such dirty minds! I meant these bingo balls.” Then, looking right at Lev, she says, “You don’t wanna know where the other ones are tucked away.”