by Lena Prodan
"We've got to get out of this town."
"Amen to that. Pass the joint, will ya.” He took a deep drag, held it in his lungs, and exhaled slowly. “Wait. Do you hear something?"
I listened. Someone was coming. I quickly lit a cigarette and waved pot fumes out of the air. Sean stepped into the gazebo. “Oh, it's just you.” I quit fanning.
He put his hands on his hips, then crossed them over his chest, and then settled for hiding them in his jacket pockets. For the dance, his hair had been brushed out of his eyes, but he let it fall over his face again. Sean's shoulders were hunched, as if he expected us to yell at him.
Sean climbed onto the picnic table with us. “Thanks for telling me you'd be out here. I asked."
"We figured you'd know.” Eric passed him the joint.
Just like that, Eric forgave him. I admired the way the guys could let it go so easily. Part of it was growing up as a military kid. Friends were temporary luxuries, so there was no time to waste on hard feelings and feuds. No matter how much someone used you or drove you nuts, you only had to endure it a year, maybe two. Still, I would have given Sean a lot more shit than that before forgiving him.
"Good stuff,” Sean said. He held up the joint, as if inspecting a cigar. “You know what's better? You exhale the smoke into someone's mouth, so you both get high off the same hit.” He put the joint to his lips, inhaled, and turned to us.
I shook my head. “I'm as stoned as I wanna be for now."
Sean leaned across me. Eric met him halfway over my lap. Sean exhaled into Eric's mouth. Curls of smoke escaped from the corners of their lips. Eric drew it into his lungs.
"Now blow it back into my mouth,” Sean said quietly. His lips brushed Eric's, and I wondered if anyone would ever whisper words against my lips. I used the back of my hand to wipe a fat tear from my cheek.
Eric gazed into Sean's eyes as he slowly released his held breath.
Then they were kissing. Sean put his hand on the back of Eric's head, his tongue stabbing at Eric. I tried to scoot back so that I wasn't between them, but Sean grabbed my wrist. He mashed my hand against his groin.
Time looped in weird fits and starts. They seemed to be kissing forever. Hands groped under shirts.
I slid from between them and moved away a little at a time until I was in the deep shadows at the far end of the gazebo where the moonlight didn't reach. The guys seemed to forget me. I was holding my breath for Eric, wishing for him, wanting it for him, because at least one of us deserved something perfect. Watching them sent tight pulses between my legs.
Sean's fingers untangled from Eric's blond hair. His chest rose and fell with each deep breath.
For that moment, they were pure happiness, all sheepish grins and perfect peace. They hadn't broken eye contact.
Eric tried to pull Sean into a kiss without taking a hit from the joint, but Sean pushed him away with both hands.
I could feel the moment rushing to an end and wanted to capture it for them, to tell them it would never be the same again, but it was already fading, already gone.
When he saw me standing so far away, Sean jumped off the picnic table. I didn't understand why, but I could swear he was humiliated, as if we'd tricked him. Then his eyes got mean.
"Get away from me!” He shoved at Eric again and shouldered past him. He got in my face. I turned away because I didn't want to see fear that raw. “You two are sick. I'm not a faggot like you! Fucking queers!” He stormed off through the trees.
I'd felt it from the inside, so I knew the expression on Eric's face—heartbreak, shock, and absolute devastation. Think, MENSA girl, think. What's the right thing to say? Do I touch him? Hug him? I had no instincts for that kind of thing.
Eric pinched the tip of his nose. I thought he might be crying. He cast at glance at me and then looked away. After an eternity, he tossed his hair and shook out his arms, like a dog coming out of a bath.
"Sean's a fucking jerk,” I said. “He kissed you first, both times. Why did he get so freaked out when you tried to kiss him?"
Eric struck a pose, hand on hip, chin held high. His other hand flopped in mid-air, and he lisped, “Because he's not a faggot. He kisses boys and sticks his tongue in their mouths and puts his hands under their shirts, but he's not the fag, I am."
My hand flew to my open mouth. “Oh God, you did not say that!"
"I'm a faggot.” Eric drew the word out, making it sound even more absurd. He had to be aching inside, but if he wanted me to laugh with him, I would, so I giggled.
Eric sat down on the picnic table and opened the baggie of pot. “Want to smoke another one, faggot?"
"Who you calling a faggot, faggot?"
"You, faggot."
We got a bad case of the giggles. Every time I sobered up, one look at Eric made me lose it again. By the time the second joint crumbled to ash, my stomach hurt. Our giggles came in shorter bursts and died quicker.
Eric tucked his shirt back into his jeans and made his collar stand up just so. I flicked my cigarette onto the cement under the table.
He sighed and put his head on my shoulder. I sighed and stared out into the woods. We were pros at being lonely together.
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Chapter 21
"You can't go with me this time,” I told the dog. She stood at our front door, wagging her tail. As I bent down, the sleeping bag at the top of my pack crushed against the back of my head. “It's too long of a walk for you."
Of course she didn't understand. All she knew was that I was leaving, and she wanted out too.
I patted her and then gently pushed her aside. “I promise, when I get back, I'll take you on a short walk."
Even though the guys teased me about it, I kept training for the big hiking trip. There was no way I'd let blisters or a sore back ruin my two weeks on the Appalachian Trail.
For a long time, hiking the trail was the one thing I wanted to do before I died. I don't know why I was convinced I'd find God and confront him out there, but it was a fixed idea I couldn't shake. All I knew was that I needed to do something to change my life, and hiking the Appalachian Trail seemed like a grand enough gesture to deliver me from my fate.
As I trudged along though, doubts nagged at me. When I came back from hiking, nothing else would be miraculously solved. I'd have the same parents, the same life, the same dreaded major to face in college. And even if I were to face God in the woods, I knew he wouldn't magically turn me into a boy.
I tried to stop thinking because I was getting depressed, but my mind wouldn't shut off. When I failed my college courses—and I knew I was going to fail—would the University blame Pop? I'd heard that they posted grades in the hallways in college, so that everyone could see who got Fs. I'd be lucky if they let me come back the second semester.
Most of the college-bound seniors at my high school went for weekend visits to the schools they chose. I'd never even been on the University campus, but then again, I didn't pick the school.
I stopped in my tracks. Oh God, I was going to be living in the dorms. All those girls. I'd have to really watch myself, because if the school found out how I felt about girls, they'd kick my ass to the curb for sure.
It was all so fucking hopeless.
* * * *
When I started my hike that morning, I had no real destination in mind. I figured I'd walk for about an hour, simply going wherever my feet lead me, and then head back home. My feet led me to Fairborn's turn-of-the-century downtown.
I passed the small mercantile that had been open since Ohio was a territory. Hitching posts were sunk into the cracked sidewalk in front of the door. I could see the candy case near the big brass register. Beyond that, an old lady stooped to pick up skeins of yarn that had spilled across the creaky wooden floor. Orange fish darted in algae-caked aquariums along the back wall.
Next to the mercantile were several shuttered storefronts, and then an insurance agency that had been founded by the family of one of my classma
tes. When he graduated, he was going to work for his father, selling insurance. It didn't sound interesting or fun to me, but at least he knew what to do with his life. Eric had his shit together. Everyone else I knew who was headed to college seemed to have a clear idea of where they were going, who they wanted to be, and how to get there. Me? I had no idea what I was doing. That much I did know. I was completely unprepared for real life. Maybe my high school counselor was right; maybe I wasn't ready for college.
I didn't feel like walking back home. My pack pulled down on my shoulders, and short bursts of pain spread from the small of my back. Either I wasn't wearing the pack right, or the weight wasn't distributed. I sank down on a bus bench and started unpacking my stuff.
A bus stopped for me. I stuffed things back into my pack, ignoring the offered ride. The doors hissed closed and the bus pulled away.
When I looked up, I saw the storefront across the street. It was like a sign from God. The military recruiting center. I pulled my pack back on, jaywalked across the street, and went inside.
The reception area of the recruiting center was tiny. Three metal folding chairs sat with their backs to the plate glass window and faced a wood panel wall covered with posters of square-jawed, beef-fed youths in crisp uniforms. In all my years in the military, I had yet to see anyone who looked like that. Even the recruiter looked more like a tired basset hound than the Aryan ideal.
He glanced up at me when I came in, but continued to sigh over a folder on his desk. He wore Army green. I hesitated, because as an Air Force brat, I'd been trained to think of Army and Marines as mere muscle. Air Force was the place for intelligent people. Still, I sat down and put my backpack on the floor near my feet.
After several minutes, the recruiter finally decided to acknowledge me. He didn't say anything, but he looked me over and frowned.
"I wanted to talk to someone about enlisting. In the Air Force,” I added quickly.
He gestured to the chair in front of his desk. I'd expected we'd talk in the back room, but I dragged my pack over and sat down. Behind him was a picture of Ronald Reagan and a US flag.
"All branches of the armed forces have fitness requirements."
I sucked in my stomach, but nothing moved.
"How tall are you? What do you weigh?"
I told him. “But I can lose weight,” I added as he frowned over the height and weight charts.
We talked a little. Every mark he made in his folder made me sink down further in the chair. Even though he wasn't doing anything when I walked in, he made it clear that he felt I was wasting his time.
He put his elbows on the desk and clasped his hands together. “Are you a lesbian?"
"What?"
Those basset hound eyes flicked from my crew cut to my flannel shirt.
"I asked if you are a homosexual.” He said the word quickly, as if he couldn't get it out of his mouth fast enough.
"I like boys too,” I said meekly. My face had gone from warm to blazing.
"Let me be frank with you. The armed forces do not accept deviants into service."
That had to be a new rule, because I knew an awful lot of borderline freaks in uniform, unless they didn't count conspiracy theorists, wife-beaters, alcoholics, gun fanatics, or rabid evangelicals as deviants. Besides, the officers I knew accused every woman in uniform of being a dyke. Did that only happen once the uniform was on? I didn't think so.
I opened my mouth, and then shut it. I wanted to argue, to defend myself, but why? He had all the power, and he didn't want me. I wanted to melt, just disappear. I was so hot from embarrassment that I was sweating.
I put on my backpack and scuttled out onto Broad Street. As I walked, I stared down at the sidewalk and hoped no one I knew saw me, because I was sure that a visible cloud of shame clung to me. By the time I passed the mercantile, I was in tears.
* * * *
I'd never seen Eric so pissed. “We've spent our entire lives tying to get away from this, and you enlisted?” He paced and shot me hard looks as I sat on the picnic table under the gazebo.
"It was temporary insanity. Don't worry, it passed. I only tried to enlist. They don't want me."
"But why try?
I flung my arms wide. “What else can I do? Damn it! Everything is ending. You're leaving for MIT. School is almost over. As soon as Pop retires, we have to move out of base housing. My parents rented a one-bedroom apartment near the college. No mistaking that message. They made sure there was no room for me. I have to find somewhere to go, Eric. You tell me. Where am I supposed to go? The military is all I know."
Eric gave me a withering glance.
"They turned me down anyway,” I told him.
"There is a God."
"Of course there's a God. He just doesn't give a shit about me. Otherwise, he'd help me find my way."
Eric climbed onto the picnic table next to me. “Why'd they turn you down?"
"Too fat, for one thing. But that was just the recruiter's opening shot."
"What was his real reason?"
"He asked if I was a lesbian."
"No!"
If I'd thought about it before I went in, I would have let my hair grow out from the fresh buzz cut, and maybe I wouldn't have worn my jeans, flannel shirt, and hiking boots. It was probably okay to look like that after you joined, but not before.
"He just came out and asked that? Blurted it out?” Eric asked.
"I told him I like boys too, but he didn't like that either. What I don't understand is why they care. I could do any job they trained me to do. Why do they care who I date? It's not like I'd be giving secrets to Russian spies, because no one is going to trust a grunt with important information anyway. And you can't blackmail someone who has nothing to hide. I'd be perfect cannon fodder. I don't care if someone shoots me. Hell, I'd welcome it. Order me to march into crossfire, and I'll do it. Jump out of planes? Sign me up. Commando raids on enemy targets with no backup? I'm there."
Eric ran his hands up and down his thighs. I guessed I was making him uncomfortable.
"I'm perfect for the military. I wouldn't complain about moving all the time. Early morning surprise inspections and dawn-to-dusk chores? I already live like that. My entire life is following orders from my commanding officer, and I'm rarely insubordinate."
"Hah."
"Okay, so I mouth off to Pop, but I behave around other adults.” I put my hand to my mouth. “Oh shit! You don't think the recruiter will tell people what I said, do you?"
"Did he know who you were?"
"Yeah. He had my name. Fuck, Eric, what if Pop gets demoted because of me? He won't get the same retirement pay if he's reduced in grade. He'll hate me forever."
Eric looked me in the eye. “Do you care?"
"Yes!"
"Then you're a better person than I am. If I were you, I'd be screwing your parents over every way I could."
"You would not."
He relaxed from his pose. “You're right, but you should."
I flopped down on the table. “I am so screwed."
He swatted my feet. “You are not. You've been accepted to a college. Go there. Decide what you really want to do with your life, and then go do it. Think about living for once instead of death. You're MENSA girl, remember? Someone as smart as you should be able to come up with a plan. You have that first year of college to get your shit together. Use it."
"How come everyone else seems to know what to do? What am I missing? If it's so simple, why can't I figure it out?"
"Because you never tried."
He was pissing me off. “I'm trying now."
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Chapter 22
Eric and I sat in the front seat of his car as we rode to our youth group meeting. Eric's father and Sean sat in back.
Sean still hung with us, but he mostly talked to Mark and Tony. He acted as if he were angry at Eric and me, even though we were the ones who had the right to be pissed off. Fucking jerk. His newest thing was
fag jokes. We didn't say anything, but we didn't laugh either.
Tony and Mark knew something was up, but no one would tell them why we were fighting, so they played the role of demilitarized zone. We'd all seen it before. Eventually tension broke, or someone moved. Until then, everyone kept their heads down and waited for the fighting to end.
At the base chapel, Eric and I sat in the back row of folding chairs. Sean went to sit with the girls from the other high school. Their smiles were smug, as if they'd won Sean over to their side. Fine. They could have him.
The chaplain spoke for a long time with his wife in low voices. Our last camping trip had been a rainy, miserable experience. From the way groups gathered in tight circles, it was clear that tempers sparked that weekend still simmered.
"Okay. Your attention please,” the chaplain said.
We kept talking.
"Listen up! I have some important news."
Conversations slowly died.
"Due to some disturbing reports, we're afraid that we have to cancel the Appalachian Trail hike."
The bottom dropped out of my guts. “What kind of news, sir?"
"Two hikers were brutally murdered on the trail."
Was there any murder that wasn't brutal? Wasn't brutality a given? “When did it happen?” I asked. I hadn't heard anything.
"Last week.” I didn't like the way he looked at me, as if I'd done something wrong by asking.
"Where?” I asked.
He gripped the papers in his hand. “In Virginia."
Everything was slipping away from me. I had to save it. “Can't we hike a different section?"
"We're not going."
"But what are the chances that the murderer will happen to be in the same part of the trail we are? There are thousands of miles of trail. He can't be everywhere.” My voice got louder, as if it could fill the room and push out their doubts. It wasn't fair. I'd worked all year for that trip. People were murdered in Ohio all the time, but no one suggested we leave the state.
"We are not going. None of your parents would allow you to be out there alone—"
I stood. “Alone? There are twenty of us!” I pointed to the other kids, who wouldn't look at me.