Rachel didn’t even blink. “Helping somebody clean out her basement is not my idea of a hot date, Steven. And neither is playing Scrabble.”
Had every girl I dated given Rachel a play-by-play, post-date report? Was there nothing about my private life that was classified information?
“Okay,” I said. “So what if I haven’t been that interested in girls? That doesn’t prove anything!” I had come to tell Rachel I was gay, and now I was trying to convince her otherwise.
“You’re right,” said Rachel. “It doesn’t prove anything at all. What’s important is who you really are interested in.”
And for that, I didn’t have a rebuttal.
“Steven, this is nothing to be embarrassed about. In fact, it’s the best news I’ve heard in a long time. I’ve been worried that you didn’t trust me anymore. Now that you’ve told me, we’re going to be closer than ever.”
She stretched out on her stomach and cupped her chin in her hands. “For example, we can discuss boys together. Which guy in our class do you think is the sexiest?”
“I have no idea.”
Actually, it was Victor Sanchez.
“I know,” said Rachel. “Let’s go through the yearbook and pick out other guys who might be gay.”
There were no other gay guys at school. I was sure of that.
“Wait! I almost forgot!” She reached for the bookshelf on her headboard. “I bought this a couple of months ago so we would have plenty to talk about when you finally came out.” She pulled out a magazine and spread it open on her quilt. “It’s all about being gay. If you want, we can split the cost and share a subscription.”
In spite of myself I leaned forward for a closer look. A lot more words than International Male, but maybe still of interest.
“This article is one of my favorites: ‘What’s Your Queer Quotient?’” She pointed to an article accompanied by a photo of sophisticated-looking young men having an in-depth discussion. “I’ve already read it twice, but I can ask you the questions.”
Did I even have a Queer Quotient? Was this a good thing to have?
Before Rachel could start on the quiz, her mother called in through the door.
“Dinner’s ready. And Fred’s defrosting one of his carrot cakes so we can all celebrate Steven’s big news.”
Rachel closed the magazine. “You can take the quiz after we eat. Then we can look up gay celebrities on the Internet.”
“No,” I said. “I think I’m going to go home.”
Rachel looked surprised. And then she looked worried. “Steven, are you okay?”
I didn’t answer right away.
I felt shaky and exhausted, and, yes, even a little excited.
But was I okay?
“I’m not sure,” I said.
Rachel slid off the bed and sat alongside me, next to the beanbag. The kittens emerged from under her dresser and began playing with my shoelaces. “That was a big step you took today,” she told me. “Congratulations. You should be proud.”
The muscles throughout my body relaxed a little, and I settled a bit deeper into the chair.
“And don’t worry. Everything is going to be fine. I promise.”
Her words sounded nice, but they were also difficult to believe.
“Are you sure you don’t want to stay for dinner? My dad’s carrot cake is the best. One hundred percent organic.”
I shook my head no. If I stayed around much longer, Rachel’s father would probably start passing out condoms.
Rachel walked me to the front door. As I pulled on my jacket, the family’s golden retriever came racing around the corner and leaped at my chest. I slipped on the throw rug and ended up sitting on the floor. The dog began covering my face with wet kisses.
Rachel helped me back to my feet. “See, Steven. We all think it’s great that you’re gay!”
Maybe Rachel’s family did, but the rest of the world was a different matter.
Then I thought of an important question.
“Rachel, you and your parents figured out I was …”
“Gay.”
“Yeah. Well, what about my folks? Do you think that they know?”
Rachel laughed, then quickly covered her mouth. “Sorry, Steven, but I don’t think your parents even know that Elton John is gay.”
She was probably right about that.
We said good-bye and I started down her sidewalk, keeping an eye out for icy spots and pulling dog hair off my tongue.
So Elton John was gay, huh?
School the next day was tense. Who else had figured out that I might be gay? Was that clique of freshmen girls in the hallway gossiping about me? Was that guy in biology giving me a dirty look because I had secretly noticed his sexy chin stubble? I was afraid to meet anyone’s eyes for fear that GAY was scribbled in fluorescent marker all across my face.
Rachel and her family knew, but that was enough for now. More than enough. Perhaps in thirty or forty years, when both my parents were in nursing homes and I was living hundreds of miles away from Beaver Lake, I might possibly be ready to tell another person that I was gay. But until that time, being gay would be my secret identity. Clark Kent had one; so would I.
I was hoping to ask Rachel if she thought anyone else at school suspected, but she wasn’t in homeroom that day. She wasn’t at lunch either. She surprised me by showing up just as I was heading for the bus to go home.
“Steven! I’m glad I caught you!”
She jostled her way through the flood of students leaving the building and pulled me into the alcove where the custodian kept his snow shovels. “I promised you that everything was going to be fine, and I meant that. Here, look!”
She reached into her backpack and handed me a flaming pink sheet of paper the exact same shade as her freshly dyed hair.
Announcing the Formation of the
Beaver Lake Gay/Straight Alliance
Join other open-minded students for enlightening
discussion about this hot, hot topic!
Fun! Friendship! Healthy Refreshments!
It’s time to discover why GAY is GREAT!
For more information, contact Steven or Rachel.
Our names were followed by our phone numbers.
I would have screamed, but I was afraid of attracting attention.
Before anyone else could see what I was holding, I crammed the paper deep into the bottom of my coat pocket.
“A group like this is exactly what you need, Steven. It’s the perfect place to continue your coming-out process.” She withdrew a second flyer from her pack.
I grabbed that one as well and shoved it next to the first.
“I’ve been on the Internet all day doing research. Gay kids everywhere are starting clubs like this. It’s a chance for them to open up and talk about their emotions. It’s a chance for you to feel empowered.”
Rachel’s voice was getting louder and louder. I glanced into the hallway to make sure that nobody was listening.
“We can have guest speakers. We can discuss gay-themed books. We can even sponsor a Gay Pride Awareness Week. Plenty of schools all across the country are doing that now.”
Maybe in New York. Maybe in Los Angeles. Not in Beaver Lake.
“Of course we’ll have to get our club approved first, but that’s just a formality. If the principal refuses, we’ll take him to court. Or better yet, we’ll hold a protest rally.”
I saw my face splashed across the front page of the Beaver Lake Beacon: “GAY STUDENT AGITATOR JAILED FOR INSURRECTION.”
“Nobody uses the Spanish room after school, so we can meet there, and if the club gets too big for that, we can use the auditorium.”
She pulled a stack of flyers as thick as a dictionary from her pack. I grabbed them all and hugged them close to my chest, printed side against my coat.
“Your worries are over, Steven! This club is going to make you feel fantastic!” She paused for a moment to catch her breath. “So, what do you think?”
“Do you want to go with me when I talk with the principal? If we catch him today, I bet we could get the club up and running by next week. Who knows, we might even get a mention on tomorrow’s announcements.”
I counted to ten, then spoke calmly and clearly.
“No club.”
Rachel looked confused. “What do you mean?”
I thought I had been pretty direct, but I repeated the words again, this time even slower.
“But how can you not want a club?”
Did I really have to spell it out for her? “Don’t you get it, Rachel? I don’t want anyone else to know that I’m …”
My throat constricted. How could Rachel expect me to join a club like this when I still had difficulty saying the “g” word?
“But Steven, that’s the beauty of this club! It’s for gays and straights. Unless they come to the meetings, nobody will know if you’re gay, straight, or whatever. I’m not gay and I’m in the club.”
“I don’t care,” I said.
“But it will be fun.”
“No!”
“But think of the boyfriend potential.”
“ABSOLUTELY, POSITIVELY NOT!”
I kicked one of the snow shovels leaning against the wall and three fell over in a clattering chain reaction. Rachel opened her mouth to say something, then shut it again. For the first time in our friendship, I had left her speechless.
I handed her back the stack of flyers.
“Sorry,” she said after a moment. “I didn’t mean to make you angry. If you don’t want a club, then we won’t have one.”
“Good.”
She zippered the flyers back into her pack, then picked up a shovel and leaned it against the wall. “I only thought it would make you feel better.”
“Well, you thought wrong.”
She lowered her head and stared at the floor. Then she tugged at her lock of pink hair. “Would you mind if I started the club without you?”
I didn’t even have to speak. The look that I gave her was plenty loud.
It isn’t often that I win an argument with Rachel and I should have been thrilled. Instead, I was miserable.
What was wrong with me? If other gay kids across the country were happy to start clubs at their school, why wasn’t I? Didn’t I want to feel empowered?
I climbed onto the bus and slumped into a seat. It was only my second official day of being gay and I already felt like a failure.
Thank goodness for the Bees. At least there was still one place where everything was simple.
It was Beginners’ Night that evening. Five prospective Bees showed up, all of them well into their Social Security years. When it came time for the lessons, Hank paired me up with a tiny woman named Bernice.
I had once seen a picture of the oldest woman in the world, a shriveled lady from Eastern Europe wrapped in a shawl and head scarf. Bernice looked like she could have been this woman’s mother. Her arched body seemed ready to snap in two if touched. She was mostly deaf, which required me to shout Hank’s instructions directly into her ear. She had difficulty seeing, so I gently guided her through each move by wrapping my hands securely around her waist.
Fortunately, we had just learned CPR in health class. I was sure I’d have to use it by the end of the night.
I was wrong. When Hank played his final song, Bernice was still going strong. She raised her hands above her head and called, “More! More! More!” Then she whispered something to Mavis that made both of the women giggle like second graders.
Mavis was not one to keep a secret.
“Bernice told me that dancing with a sexy man makes her feel like she’s sixty again.”
My face grew warm, but I bowed toward Bernice and escorted her to her grandson, who was waiting to drive her home.
“Nice job with the newcomer,” said Morris. “Looks like you’ve got yourself a girlfriend.”
We were in the coatroom putting on our jackets.
“That’s just like Steven,” said my mother. “Always attracting the ladies. Every day he brings home another date. Girls can’t keep away from him.”
“Actually, I’ve decided to take a break from dating.” My mom might as well get used to the fact that the parade of future daughters-in-law had come to an end.
“You mean you’re no longer dating that girl we saw you with at the movies?” asked Mavis.
“Nope,” I said. “I am not.”
“There’s no special girl you’re seeing on a regular basis?”
“None.”
I had dated my last girl, and the decision felt good.
Mavis rubbed her wrinkled hands together. “I was hoping you’d say that. I have something I want to show you.”
Morris leaned toward me and whispered, “Take my advice, Geezer. Make your getaway now, while you still have the chance.”
Mavis opened her purse and pulled out a photo of a girl my age. “It’s our granddaughter, Belinda. Isn’t she pretty?”
The Busy Bees were always flashing pictures of their grandkids, godchildren, and pets, but this time I knew it was different.
“Yes,” I said. “She’s very pretty.”
What else could I say?
“And she’s not seeing anyone special either.”
“A pretty girl like that doesn’t have a boyfriend?” said my mother. “Such a shame.”
“That’s what I think,” said Mavis.
My mother turned toward me. “Don’t you think that’s a shame, Steven?”
“It’s a real shame,” I said. “Tell her I hope she finds a boyfriend soon.”
I tried to push my mother toward the door, but she refused to be pushed.
“I heard there’s a big dance coming up at your school,” said Mavis. “Belinda loves to dance.”
“Why, so does Steven!” said my mother.
I nodded my head meaningfully toward the exit. “Isn’t it time for us to go, Mom?”
“Too late,” whispered Morris.
“I know you would like her a lot,” continued Mavis. “She’s every ounce as nice as you are. Plus, she likes to fish. I’ve heard that fishing is your latest hobby.”
Over Mavis’s shoulder I saw Mr. Bowman putting on his leather jacket and getting ready to leave. Rescue me, I thought. Rescue me right now.
“Nobody is asking you to marry the girl,” said my mother. “It’s just a simple dance.”
Mavis moved even closer, trapping me between her and my mom. “I’d consider it a favor.”
How could I not do a favor for one of the Bees? All I had to do was say yes and everyone would be happy.
Everyone except me.
Everyone except Belinda.
“I’m sorry,” I said. “But no.”
The disappointment on Mavis’s face made me wince.
“I’d love to. I really would, except …”
Both Mavis and my mother waited for me to continue.
“… except I’m going to the dance with somebody else.”
A small, tactful lie. Nobody gets offended. Nobody gets hurt.
“With who?” asked my mom.
“With Kelly.”
It was the first name that popped into my head.
“I thought you weren’t dating anyone,” said Mavis.
“I’m not,” I said. “We’re just good friends. But we’ve already agreed to go to the dance, and I can’t break my promise.”
“If you and Kelly aren’t dating, then maybe some other evening —”
“That’s enough,” said Morris. He took Belinda’s photo out of her hand and dropped it back into her purse. “I’ll hold her here, Geezer, while you make your escape. But you’d better move fast. She’s stronger than I am, and I don’t know how long I can restrain her.”
Mavis slapped her husband on the side and he laughed. I pulled my gloves out of my coat pocket and nudged my mother toward the door. “C’mon, Mom, it’s la
te.”
Once in the parking lot I took an extra-long time scraping the frost from our car’s windows. If I took long enough, maybe my mom would forget about the school dance and my fictional companion. When every window and sideview mirror was perfectly clear, I tossed the ice scraper into the backseat and took my place on the driver’s side.
“Kelly,” said my mom. “I like that name. Did you know that my best friend in college was named Kelly?”
I pretended not to hear.
“You’ll have to get your yearbook and show me what she looks like.”
“She doesn’t go to our school,” I said. “She’s homeschooled.”
“Then I bet she’s bright. Just like my friend Kelly, who was our class valedictorian. Tell me some more about your Kelly.”
I described the Kelly that I knew best.
“She has long, blond hair and chestnut brown eyes. She’s very affectionate, not to mention impeccably groomed and good with kids.”
She also happened to be Rachel’s golden retriever.
“My friend Kelly was a blonde too!” said my mom. “What are her parents like?”
Kelly’s mother was a bitch and her father was run over by a motor home when he chased a squirrel into the street, but I figured that was more information than my mother needed to know. “You’re distracting me, Mom. Do you want me to run off the road and hit a tree?”
“Of course not,” she said. “I’ll be quiet.”
And she was.
Until we pulled into our garage. “Your first high school dance. I can’t wait to tell your father.”
She was already out of the car and going for the door. “And I can’t wait to meet your date.”
Of course you’ll need a new suit … and new shoes … and a haircut….”
As the night of the dance drew closer, my mother’s obsession with the event intensified.
“I loved going to dances when I was your age. Those were some of the happiest moments of my life.”
Then maybe she should be the one getting the makeover and not me.
“And Edward, your son is going to need money. He’s got to buy the tickets, and a corsage for his girl.”
I told my mother that Kelly was not my girl, in any sense of the word, but she wasn’t paying attention.
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