I listen quietly, wishing I hadn’t been such a dope in the bushes. There are so many things I want to know about him. But I already know the most important thing, the thing that bonds us.
When he downs the last of his sandwich with milk, Delia sets the tray on the ground and tells me, “Get in with him. I’ll push you.”
“The thing’ll collapse,” I argue, but Cliff tugs my arm.
“Aw, come on.”
The frame groans as I pack into the seat facing him, wedging our knees between each other’s thighs.
Delia pushes us, the swing moans and whines and the lawn and trees drift past. He and I are so close it’s hard to look anyplace other than his face. And in his eyes I see a different world. Neon lights. Broadway marquees. Soaring skyscrapers. The hustle and bustle of sidewalks. A world with a place for him and me.
“Delia?” Mom’s voice calls from the kitchen window. “Come back inside, please.”
“Coming,” Delia calls back. Then she wags her finger at Cliff. “Take good care of my brother. He’s the only one I’ve got.” And she gives me a wry little smile. “Send me a postcard.”
I narrow my eyes and grit my teeth at her: it’s my “shut up” look. Wanda toddles after her toward the house.
“What did she mean by all that?” Cliff asks.
“She’s kind of kooky,” I say and wedge my hands beneath my arms. Beneath us, the swinging carriage whines and wobbles and stops.
The sun is making his skin golden and his lips turn rosy pink. I imagine again what it would be like to press my mouth to his.
“Which is your room?” he asks, glancing toward the house.
“The one on the corner.” I point and imagine it’s night. He’s whispering through my window. I hurry to him, quietly remove the screen, help him climb inside. And our arms entangle like in the azaleas.
Bringing myself back to the present I ask, “Why do you want to know?”
He grins. “So I know where to find you.”
I try to keep my voice from trembling. “Are you going to come back through here?”
“Maybe,” he says. “If you want me to.” Something suddenly occurs to him, and he tugs off his peace ring and presses it into my palm. “Here. I want you to have it.”
“Really?” At school, guys and girls give each other rings all the time, but it’s the first time anybody’s ever given me one. And inside I feel a sensation I’ve never felt before. A closeness that’s beyond physical.
“Which finger should I put it on?” I ask.
“That’s up to you.”
I slide the band onto my wedding-ring finger. I know that’s cheesy, but I want to feel like I’m his, like I feel right now.
“Can I go with you?” I ask. I know it’s a crazy idea, but the words tumble out of my mouth. “I could help you with stuff like rehearsing your lines for plays.”
He leans back in the carriage. “I doubt your parents would go for that.”
“We don’t have to tell them. I’ll just go with you. They can’t stop me.”
“What about your school?”
“I’ll go to school while you’re at work, and then come home and clean and make dinner for you.”
He rubs a palm across his cheek, like Dad does when he’s trying to figure me out.
While I wait for Cliff’s answer, my body feels like it’s going to snap in two. And when his fingers stop over his mouth, I grab his hand, yank it away, lean into his sun-drenched face.
It’s my first time to mouth kiss. His lips feel as soft as camellia petals, and his breath tastes sweet as milk. For an instant, nothing exists but us. The sun, the wind, the clouds, the sky. It’s all here just for us. For this one moment. And when at last we pull away, I ask again, “Can I go with you?”
He shakes his head no, but his eyes twinkle yes. “I don’t know who’s crazier, man—you or me.”
“Does that mean yes?” I ask. And in the distance, a truck horn honks.
“Julio?” Mom calls out from the house. “The mechanic is here.”
I clutch Cliff’s hand. “Please?”
He nods and whispers, “Yes.”
“Yes?” I ask, to be sure.
“Yes,” he says louder, more urgently.
I jump up after him. The swing chain finally snaps with a clack! The carriage crashes beneath us. He takes hold of my hand and keeps me from tumbling to the lawn. A guy is holding my hand. Strong. Firm. Tender. I never knew a hand could feel this good.
Together we run to the side of the house, past Dad’s tomato plants, bumping into each other in a giddy rush. Escaping.
I’m escaping as we fly down the driveway and a bird dives down, fluttering in front of us. I’m escaping as I hear Mom call to me. Everything around me becomes a blur. I’ve spent so many hours imagining running away that to finally be doing it feels like I’m in a dream.
In the street ahead, Becker races by on his bike again. Whips his head up the driveway toward us. Sees Cliff and me holding hands. His eyes spring wide.
I drop Cliff’s hand and instantly regret it. Why should I care what Becker thinks? I’m on my way out of here, and I’m no longer alone.
Cliff’s car is a Ford Galaxie: red with a white hardtop, chrome trim, scabs of rust along the bottom. The hood is propped open and Bubba’s grown son, Charlie, in oil-stained overalls and a baseball cap, stands bent over the engine.
When Cliff strides up, Charlie stares at the earring. Then he looks at me. I stare back at him, no longer caring what anybody thinks, and Charlie mutters to Cliff to start her up.
“Cool car,” I say, sliding in next to Cliff. I run my hand along the fraying vinyl dashboard and picture us taking off down the road, the wind gusting in through the windows, whipping our hair around. He and I are the road. While he drives, I lean into his shoulder and wave to people as we speed past. Before today, I felt like I would never belong anywhere. Now I feel like I belong everywhere.
Cliff flicks the ignition and the engine cranks, and cranks, and...cranks. The motor won’t turn over. Charlie leans out from under the hood motioning him to cut it, and Cliff hops out to talk with him.
I glance in the side mirror, back toward the house; no sign of the sergeant.
From under the hood, Charlie says something about the carburetor. Whatever that is. Cliff nods like he understands.
Switching my gaze from the side view to the rearview mirror, I lean in, trying to see myself like Cliff does. Does he really think I have nice eyes? I wish they were blue like his. Does he like my too-wide smile? I wish I had his jawline.
In the distance behind me, I see Wanda trotting down our driveway, followed by Delia and Mom. Delia’s arms are crossed—she’s arguing, shaking her head at Mom. Mom looks toward me in Cliff’s car, her brow furrowed in a mix of anger and worry.
I fidget with the peace ring on my finger. Will she try to stop me from getting away? What if she calls the cops? What if they charge Cliff with kidnapping? I’ll say the whole thing was my idea. I put him up to it. Except what if they lock us both up?
Next to Mom and Delia a blue Chevy wagon pulls into the driveway. I slink down in the seat. It’s the sergeant major. Dad.
“Say a prayer,” Cliff tells me, climbing in again. He turns the key. The engine cranks...and catches. We have liftoff. Cliff lets the motor keep running and hops back out to talk with Charlie.
I slide up in the seat and look in the rearview. Dad is joining Mom and Delia. Mom explains to him about me, shaking her head and motioning toward the car. Her face is full of resignation. Dad adjusts his glasses and rubs his chin, once more trying to figure me out.
Delia unfolds her arms and from below her waist she gives Cliff’s car a secret invisible push: hurry up, go!
A pang hits my stomach; I don’t want to leave her behind, this girl who’s seen me through taunt
s and tears, heartache and anger. If it weren’t for her, I’m not sure how I would’ve made it this far. The least I can do is stick around till I graduate.
Everybody’s watching me, waiting to see what I do. They’re leaving it up to me. Tears rise in my throat. I don’t want to leave them. Not like this. How can I expect them to understand me when I haven’t let them know who I am? It’s me who’s made myself a prisoner. And only I hold the key to my release.
Charlie lets the hood slam, Cliff doles out his payment and I smear the tears from my cheeks.
“Ready to roll?” Cliff says, bouncing into the seat. Then he sees my expression. “Whoa, man, what’s going on?”
“I can’t go with you,” I say, trying to keep my voice steady.
He glances back at the crowd on my driveway. “If you want me to go talk with them—”
“No, it’s not that. I want to go with you. I really, really do. It’s just...”
He shoves his bangs out of his eyes, staring hard at me, trying to understand. “You want to go say goodbye?”
“No, that’s just it—I don’t think I can. Not yet. I’m sorry. I’m just a dopey kid.”
He leans back, staring at the road ahead. Then he lets out a big puff of air and returns to me. His hand brushes across my head, patting my hair. His blue eyes are watery as he cracks a lopsided smile. “It’s okay. You’ll know when you’re ready.”
I thought he’d get angry; the fact that he’s not makes me wish more than ever that I could go with him. I lean across the seat. He lets his eyelids close. I keep mine open.
I know I shouldn’t do this in front of everybody, but I’m doing it. I’m letting the whole world know.
I take it slow, feeling his lips, inhaling his breath, taking in his scent, letting one sensation pour into the next, lingering in the heat of the moment. I want to remember this for the rest of my life. I’ll remember him forever.
When he drives away he toots his horn and I keep watching till his car becomes a red speck on the horizon. Then I wipe my cheeks and turn toward the driveway, eager to show Delia the ring Cliff gave me and ready to tell Mom and Dad the thing they already know.
* * * * *
WALKING AFTER
MIDNIGHT
BY
KODY KEPLINGER
Upstate New York, 1952
“Sorry, sweetheart. The next train to New York doesn’t leave till morning.”
I hurried down the platform, chasing after the conductor as fast as I could in my heels. “But I was told I’d be able to transfer here.”
“You would’ve if we’d been running on time. But we got here late, which means you missed the train you wanna transfer to. It’s halfway to the city by now. Sorry. There’ll be another train at six a.m.”
“And what am I supposed to do until then? It’s the middle of the night. I don’t have anywhere to go.”
He stopped and turned to look at me. He was more than twice my age, with gray and brown hair poking out from under his hat. He looked me in the face for a minute, and I thought there was a good chance he might recognize me. I stood straighter, tried to look more regal and refined. But it was all wishful thinking. Because a second later his eyes slid lower.
“Well, sweetheart, you could always come home with me.”
I took a step back and folded my arms over my chest. “Train leaves at six, you said?”
He nodded before turning and walking away.
I sighed and picked up my suitcase, trying to think of what to do. It was close to midnight, and I was stuck in some no-name town in upstate New York, still a couple hours outside of the city. I headed toward the end of the platform, hoping I might be able to find a hotel.
But when I reached the sidewalk outside the train station, all I could see were sweet little houses, their windows already dark. I walked beneath the streetlamps, unnerved by how quiet this town seemed on a Saturday night. Back in Hollywood, I knew Wally and his friends would just be getting the night started.
And I should’ve been there.
I shook my head and kept walking. I turned on the next block and saw a diner on the corner, empty inside but with the lights still on. I hurried toward the door, and bells jingled as I pulled it open. The place was bright and clean, with a checkered floor and a silent jukebox in the corner. It wasn’t glamorous by any means, but sitting here for a few hours was certainly better than a park bench. Maybe I’d even get a milk shake. It’d been years since I’d had one.
I was about to slide into one of the booths when I heard a voice call, “Sorry, but we’re about to close.”
I turned to look toward the kitchen just as a waitress in a light pink uniform came through the doors. She looked like she was about my age—eighteen or nineteen—with big brown eyes and golden blond hair tied back with a white ribbon. She moved toward one of the tables, wielding a wet washcloth, but stopped dead in her tracks when she saw me.
“Oh.”
“Sorry,” I said, backing toward the door. “I know. You said you were closing. I’ll just—”
“You’re Betsey Burns.”
I smiled, trying not to worry whether or not there was red lipstick on my teeth. People didn’t recognize me quite as often as they used to. Over the past couple years I’d stopped looking like that little girl who got famous in all the pictures. But every once in a while, some stranger would know my name, and I had to admit, it always felt good.
“That’s me,” I said. “And what’s your name, sugar?”
“I, um... I... Hi. I’m Laura.” She cast an eyeball around the joint, like she was expecting to see the rest of Hollywood walk in behind me. “But what... Miss Burns, what are you doing here?”
“Betsey,” I corrected. “I was supposed to be on a train to Manhattan, but the next one isn’t until morning. And you’re closing up, so I’d better get out of your hair and find somewhere else to—”
“I can walk you to the hotel,” Laura offered.
“This town has hotels?”
“One hotel,” she clarified. “And it’s just a few blocks from here. I can walk you. That is, if you want me to. Just let me close up.”
“That’d be peachy. Thanks.”
I sat down and waited while Laura wiped off a few tables. Once she was done, she untied her apron, tossed it over the counter and retrieved a set of keys from a drawer by the cash register.
“You’re the only one here?” I asked.
“Normally my boss helps close up, but he had to leave early to go out of town with his wife, so it’s just me.”
I stood and followed her to the door as she shut off the diner’s lights. Once we were out on the sidewalk, Laura spent a minute fidgeting with the keys.
“So this hotel. It’s not far? I can’t walk too far in these shoes.”
Laura finished with the door and dropped the keys into the pocket of her dress. “Really? I guess I always see actresses wearing heels like those in the magazines. I figured you were practically born in them.”
“Born in them or not, they sure hurt after a long day.”
“Well, don’t worry. The hotel is close. It’s right downtown.”
I glanced around at the quiet street. Besides the diner, all I could see were houses. “Downtown? Where exactly might that be?”
Laura laughed. It was one of those musical laughs. The kind you heard and couldn’t help smiling yourself. “Come on,” she said, leading the way. “Oh my gosh. I still can’t believe you’re here. Betsey Burns! What is a star like you doing taking the train anyway? Don’t you all have private planes and limousines and such?”
“Maybe when you’re making the big pictures, but I’m not exactly a star these days.”
“Of course you are. You’re Betsey Burns!”
“You don’t have to keep saying my name.”
“Sorry. I can’t help it.
I just can’t believe you’re here, in my town, talking to me. What are you doing in New York?”
“I’m starring in a play in the city. Costarring. It’s more of a supporting role, but it’s a great show and I’m honored to be a part of it.” I sighed, realizing this was the same line I gave to reporters when the news broke a few weeks ago.
“That sounds great,” Laura said, and I think she meant it. “But I’ll miss seeing you in the movies.”
“Yeah. But it’s fine. Swell, even. Hollywood’s kind of a mess right now anyway. Everyone’s talking about communism and a blacklist. Being in New York for a few months will be nice.”
“Still doesn’t explain what you’re doing here.”
“Oh, I was visiting my grandparents. They live a few hours from here. I flew into Manhattan last week to get settled in before taking the train up to see them.” I could see more lights now, though it still didn’t look like much of a downtown to me.
“That’s so nice,” Laura said, rounding the corner at the end of another block. “Your parents must be excited for the change of scenery. I read in the magazines that they go everywhere with you. Are they in the city? Getting your apartment set up for you?”
“Not exactly.” I cleared my throat and pointed to the building straight ahead. “Say, sugar, is this the hotel?”
“Sure is.”
It was a cute but small building. Bigger than the rest around it, but still only half the size of some of my friends’ houses back home. Still, it seemed like a cozy place where I could rest for the next few hours.
Except that wasn’t going to happen.
“I’m so sorry, Miss Burns,” the concierge said. He hadn’t recognized me at first, but he’d definitely perked up once I’d given my name. “But we’re all booked up. There’s a wedding in town and the guests have taken over pretty much every room.”
“There’s nothing available?” I asked.
He shook his head. “I really am sorry.”
“So what will you do now?” Laura asked once we were outside again.
“Is there anything else open? Restaurants? Anywhere I could just sit?”
All Out--The No-Longer-Secret Stories of Queer Teens throughout the Ages Page 20