by Eli Easton
Here’s how that happened: My Aunt Beth visited for New Years a few years ago when I was a freshman. She took me clothes shopping in Madison, in the hipper, on-campus shops. She helped me pick out some really rad stuff (well, mostly I picked it out, and she agreed to pay for it). I got kind of lost in this one men’s underwear department which had things I’d never seen before outside the pages of GQ—Calvin Klein, Andrew Christian, and Ginch Gonch. I was in love. Aunt Beth thought they were “super cute,” especially once I tried on some jeans and showed her how the high briefs stuck up above the low riders. She bought me six pair. And ever since then, she keeps an eye out for the most colorful, coolest ones in the new lines and sends me a care package a few times a year. I’ve got ones with motorcycles on them, big hearts over the crotch, red stars, cowboy designs, tubas, you name it. It’s like she switched from Matchbox to Ginch Gonch with hardly a break in stride. Instead of collecting Hummel figures, like most women, Aunt Beth collects gay underwear for her nephew.
Does Aunt Beth know I’m gay? I’m pretty sure, even though I never said the words. But in Wisconsin the look I rocked might have been thought hip-hop, if you were so straight you didn’t know any better.
Anyway, what I’m trying to say is that, even if I wasn’t as obvious as the little freshman guy, I was far from normal for Jefferson, Wisconsin. I probably would have gotten a lot of shit over the years if it weren’t for the fact that I was in the golden light cast by Owen Nelson. As it was, most people seemed to think I was kind of cool. And if they didn’t, they knew better than to risk Owen’s disfavor by saying so.
Maybe that was why the three football players didn’t punch me out that day.
“Well?” I said, when no answer was forthcoming. “What are you guys doing?”
“None of your business, Carson. We were just talking to the faggot here,” one of them said. He pushed the freshman’s shoulder with a hard finger jab. The kid was sent back a few steps, but he stopped and held his ground.
“I see. You’re giving a kid half your size shit because he’s gay,” I said, stating it as a fact. “Why does this sound familiar? Oh, yes, suspension, probation, emergency assembly…. It’s all coming back to me now.”
The guy who pushed the kid looked at me. He got a guilty flush.
“Shut up, Carson. We weren’t going to hurt him,” he said, half-sarcastic, half-defensive. “Much,” he added. His friends found that supremely amusing and laughed.
I stepped between two of the jocks and turned, putting my back to the kid, getting between them. I was a little scared, but mostly I was pissed off. Really pissed off. I mean, had they learned nothing from Raymond Toleman? My hands were shaking.
“It would be a shame to waste this display of enlightenment in the bathroom. Why don’t we take this to the central lobby where your profoundly witty hate-crime banter can be heard by all?” I snapped scathingly.
“Fuck you, Carson,” the jock spat out. “It’s none of your goddamn business.”
“It is my goddamn business,” I said, “because I’m gay.”
And just like that, I came out at Jefferson High.
The football players gaped at me. I could see the dawning realization of how huge this was wash over their faces. They looked at each other, and with a nod from one of them, started to leave.
“Carson…. Fuck, you are so screwed,” one of them muttered as he left.
My knees started to fail me. That had really not been the life-affirming moment I’d hoped it would be.
“Are you okay?” the freshman said, touching my arm. He was looking at me like I was Batman and Aquaman and Sandman all rolled into one. Whereas actually, I felt about as powerful as my mom’s green Jell-O mold.
“Oh my God,” I said. “I just fucking came out.”
“Sorry,” he said, grimacing.
I shook my head. “I need to tell Owen.”
Owen
I was taking a shower after PE when I started to get a whiff that something was wrong. There was a lot of whispering going on, and guys were staring at me. I felt my face burn, but I took my time, kept getting dressed.
I’m ashamed to admit it, but I had a moment of fear that what Jordan and I had done a few weeks ago had gotten out. I knew that wasn’t likely. I mean, it’s not like a sex tape was going to end up on the Internet, and I knew Jordan wouldn’t tell anyone. But that was immediately where my mind went. I’d felt so guilty and confused since it had happened. In fact, it was hard to stop thinking about it.
Second thought—something about Emily. Third thought—something about the wrestling team.
Never let them see you sweat. I tied my shoes with great care, then grabbed my backpack from my locker.
By the time I left, three of our best wrestlers were waiting for me in the hall along with a couple of football players I knew vaguely. They straightened up the minute I appeared. They didn’t look happy.
“Owen, over here.” It was Vince Baker, the second-ranked wrestler on our team. We’d always been rivals but also friends, or so I’d thought. He nodded his head toward an area under the stairs that was a little more private. I went over.
“What?” I asked, adjusting my backpack and trying to look like I wasn’t worried.
Vince looked around to see if anyone was listening. “Your pal, Jordan, just told Mike and Rob here that he’s gay.”
The football players nodded their agreement. Their faces were grim. It snapped into focus in an instant. That’s what this was about. Jordan had outted himself by telling Mike and Rob? What had he been thinking?
“We’re telling you because we respect you, man,” Mike said. “You should know what’s coming down.”
I felt a chill of fear, but I stood taller. “So? It’s not exactly news to me.”
“You knew?” Vince said in disbelief.
I gave a put-upon sigh and stared at him. “Jordan and I have been best friends since second grade. What do you think? Yeah, I knew he’s gay. That’s his business, nobody else’s.”
Vince grew red. He looked like he was trying to figure out what to say, like it was just incomprehensible. “You realize that the guys are not going to be happy about the fact that you hang out with a gay guy all the time. Are you gay?”
“Being friends with a gay person does not make you gay,” I said, faking boredom.
“Answer the fucking question, Owen,” Vince insisted loudly.
I thought about what Jordy and I had done. Why had I done it? Now I had it on my conscience. I’d had sex with Jordan—and I really liked it. Even if I hadn’t touched him or kissed him, even if I’d promised myself that it would never happen again, was I really any different than Jordan?
No, I thought. Jordan knows he’s gay. He’s always known it. I wasn’t like that. I liked girls. Besides, Jordan had no reason to be ashamed of what we’d done, and I didn’t either. It was nobody’s business. But I was also sweating, my heart pounding.
“I’m not gay,” I said firmly. “What do you think, Vince? You know I’ve been dating Emily for over a year. You think I’m just playing with her? You think I would do that?”
Vince breathed out a sigh, though whether it was relief or disbelief, I didn’t know. But I was starting to find my bearings. I went on.
“And you also know that I’m very involved with the anti-bullying club.” I pointed down at my T-shirt which had a BULLY in a “not” sign on the front. “I don’t have a problem with people being gay. I don’t have a problem with Jordan being gay. And if you want to be a bigoted asshole,”—I shot a glare at Mike and Rob—“you can go talk to some skinhead who gives a damn.”
Somebody in the hallway cheered. I didn’t turn to see who.
Vince was not that bad, really, but he was macho up to his eyebrows like a lot of wrestlers.
“I don’t give a shit if Jordan Carson is a fairy,” he said, low, as if he didn’t want to be overheard. “He can wear a fucking tutu for all I care. But you’re our number one wrestler. Do you think
guys are gonna want you crawling all over their asses if there’s even a suspicion that you might be gay?”
I moved into a spread leg stance and folded my arms over my chest. I narrowed my eyes. “I don’t like repeating myself,” I said, threateningly.
By now, we’d attracted three more wrestling guys who’d been walking by and noticed us and a few more football players. It was becoming a freaking pep rally.
“Yeah, well… you’re not gay,” Vince admitted. “But hanging out with a fruit all the time is going to make everyone wonder, and the team doesn’t need that shit. It’s bad for morale.”
I tilted my head and looked at him. He was talking about Jordan. Big mistake. Suddenly, I was practically growling. “I want to be crystal clear on this, Vince. Are you calling my best friend a fruit?”
He licked his lips nervously and didn’t say anything.
“And while you’re at it,” I continued, “explain how it is that you think you can tell me who I can and cannot be friends with?”
Vince flinched a little. “You should dump Carson,” he said, but he muttered it, like it was just his opinion.
“Yeah? Is that the kind of friend you are?” I asked him. I looked around at the other wrestlers. “You’d just drop someone because other people tell you to? Because I’m not like that. I don’t let my family down, I don’t let the team down, and I don’t let my friends down.”
Vince would no longer meet my eyes. I should have stopped there, but I got a little nasty. Maybe it was the residual fear talking.
“And as for anybody worrying about me getting off on wrestling, I’m not the guy who pops wood on the mat, am I?”
Vince had been starting to cool down but now his red flush came back with a vengeance. He glanced at the others, embarrassed. We all knew it happened, but as part of our macho code of honor we didn’t talk about it. I really didn’t think it was a big deal, but that didn’t mean I wasn’t prepared to use it. Fortunately, it never happened to me, maybe because I’m so focused on my moves, on finding any tiny advantage. Besides, if I did like guys at all, they’d be lean guys like Jordy, not big, sweaty wrestlers like me. But I’d seen Vince pop wood a few times.
“F-friction,” Vince stammered. “Everyone knows it’s normal.”
I patted his arm. “Yeah. Well, if there ever comes a day when you need to worry about me, I guess it will be obvious, won’t it?”
I turned and walked away.
That night, when I got home, my parents were in the kitchen. It was clear from their faces that they’d heard. Somebody must have called them.
It had been a really, really bad day. Besides that little show of love from Vince, I’d had another half dozen “conversations” with teammates and people who thought, for some reason, that my life was public property. Even the coach talked to me, giving me a wandering, supposedly supportive lecture about not risking my chances of fulfilling my dreams and getting a scholarship and all that. I told him, as politely as I could, that I wasn’t gay, there was no problem, and I wasn’t going to risk anything. He patted me on the shoulder like we’d reached an understanding.
I felt awful. I just wanted to go to my room and check out for a while, go to sleep. But that didn’t appear to be an option.
“Come and sit down,” my dad said, leading me into the dining room. Mom had some cookies and three cups of herbal tea set out, so that gave me hope they weren’t going to crucify me.
They looked at me while I ate a few cookies.
“Guess you heard,” I said, just to get it over with.
My dad looked at my mom. “We need you to talk to us.”
I rubbed my eyes. “Jordan came out at school today. Yes, he’s gay. Yes, he’s always been gay. Yes, I knew it. No, I’m not gay.” I wrapped my hands around my mug. “Any other questions?”
“Don’t get smart,” my mom said.
“This is serious business,” said my dad.
I didn’t say anything.
“We just want you to think about how this is going to affect your wrestling career,” my mom said.
I groaned. “Why is everyone worried about that? Jordan is just a friend. He’s not me and I’m not him. I have a girlfriend. I’m the number one wrestler for my weight class in the state. How is this going to affect my wrestling career?” I was trying to keep a handle on my anger, because I didn’t talk to my parents like that. But I was getting really sick of having to defend myself. You’d think I was the one who’d come out with all the grief I was getting.
My parents looked at each other meaningfully but didn’t say anything.
“Please don’t tell me you want me to stop being friends with Jordy,” I said, ready to crack. “Please tell me that you haven’t loved Jordy like he was one of the family since we were seven years old and now, suddenly, he’s not welcome here.”
My mom looked guilty. She put her hand on mine. “Of course Jordan is welcome. We know how close you are, and we’re not asking you to stop being friends. Just consider spending more of your time with other people, that’s all.”
She glanced at my father. He nodded. Clearly they thought they were being amazingly open-minded. But I could sense a strange tension in them, something in the gazes they sent back and forth that I didn’t like, at all.
“Spread yourself around a little more. Spend more time with Emily,” Mom said brightly, as if that was a hidden bonus to this whole stinking mess.
“And no more sleepovers,” Dad added firmly.
I stared at him. “What? We’ve been having sleepovers since elementary school. Do you think he or I are any different now? We’re the same as we’ve always been.”
“It is different, bucko,” my dad barked. “I’m different. I’m going to look at things differently now that I know Jordan is… that he prefers boys.”
“Do you think we’d let Emily sleep in your room?” my mom countered.
I put my head in my hands. Actually, they probably would let Emily sleep over in my room, I thought morosely. Especially now, as long as I had condoms. They’d probably be relieved if they thought we were having sex.
“That’s a bad analogy,” I said, “because—” I was going to say becauseJordy and I have never done anything. But that was a lie.
To be honest, Jordan and I hadn’t had a sleepover since Halloween, the night that had happened, which was the longest time we’d gone without one, ever. I’d made excuses—homework, my parents wanted to watch some show together, I was tired. But we both knew I was avoiding it. The truth is, I didn’t understand what I was feeling, and I didn’t trust myself. Still, I hadn’t planned on avoiding it forever. I missed it, him. And I figured we’d return to the old status quo soon. Plus, I was a teenager. I wasn’t going to let any privilege go without a damned good fight.
“That’s not the same thing because I like girls,” I said, not bothering to go any further with that sentence. I looked up. “We don’t have time for many sleepovers anymore anyway, but when he sleeps over, we’ll set up the camping cot and sleeping bag in my room.”
My mom and dad looked at each other. My dad tapped his finger on the table.
“Door open,” my mom said.
I gave a grunt of exasperation. “We play video games and stuff—you guys hate the noise. Door unlocked, and you can come in any time, like always.”
My dad frowned. I knew I was losing him. I threw in another bone. “And before we go to sleep, I’ll open the door. Look, either you trust me or you don’t.”
My dad looked down at the table where he rubbed a thumb over a seam. But he relaxed.
“Does Jordan have a boyfriend?” my mom asked brightly, which seemed like a change of topic but wasn’t.
I shrugged. “No. But I think that’s one reason he came out. He’s hoping to meet someone.”
“That would be nice.” My mom took a sip of tea. I knew what she really meant was, then he’d start hanging around someone else, and people would know you aren’t gay.
I went to my room
and lay down. I felt like I was covered in some invisible disgusting substance. Yeah, I was. It was called ignorance. It sucked. The day had been eye-opening, that was for sure.
Jordan would be fine. He was an artist. At the end of the day, who really cared if he was gay?
But there was absolutely no iota of doubt what people expected from Owen Nelson.
Jordan
Things got very weird very fast, but it could have been worse.
Word spread like crazy and everyone stared at me in class and in the halls. A few people, people I was sort of friends with, asked me—is it true? I said it was. Mostly the people who actually asked were okay with it. The ones who weren’t just stopped acknowledging that I was on the face of the Earth, like I was the invisible man.
I told my parents. I don’t think my mom was surprised. My dad was pretty rattled, though. He clammed up and didn’t talk about it, ever. It became a hanging sentence in our house: “So I’m gay. And your thoughts about that are….” Nobody ever finished that sentence. I guess I should be grateful it wasn’t worse; they could have disowned me or shaved my head and sent me to boot camp. Hung me out on the clothesline to be picked over by crows. Took away my crayons. Hey, I was counting my blessings.
They still adored Owen, maybe more than ever. Owen’s coming over? Great! I think they held out hope that his manliness would rub off on me somehow. Oh, how I wished.
During lunch, Owen and Emily and I sat in our usual spot. We tried to act like we always did, but it was clear they were supporting me with their presence, like barricading the door. I appreciated it. I was so, so lucky to have friends like them.
I got muttered at in the hall and restroom—faggot, fairy, homo. You think you don’t give a shit, but it stings when random people hate you. But I also had a few people, even people I didn’t know, come up to me and say they thought I was brave and good luck and all that. There was even this one cheerleader who seemed to take it as a personal challenge—she’d never looked at me before, but now she couldn’t walk by me without winking and licking her lips. What was up with that? Extra points for nailing the gay boy? I ignored her.