Crush

by Laura Susan Johnson

  But it's my last line of defence. Now I'm just as curt to Tammy as he has been to me whenever we come into contact in any way. Whenever he and Ray and any of the other jocks walk up to us to ask us if we want to go to The End or to the mall or to a movie, I always mutter, "Look, Stacy, here comes Tammy and his nerd herd." I refuse to acknowledge him, turning my face away at every opportunity.

  I'm decent. I thank him for helping me when I was jumped by those three shitheads (who were expelled by the way).

  But I'm careful. I have to be. The way he's treated me (especially screaming at me over that stupid soccer ball) has made it arduous for me to dare to open myself to any more hurt. Better to just enjoy what little I can get.

  I'm still in love with him.

  I still love the very sight of him.

  And I know he cares a little...

  At this juncture though, I've had enough of the mean looks and the Jekyll and Hyde mood swings. I can't let him hurt me anymore. I won't. Passive weapons I had stowed away are taken from their holsters, dusted off, and put to use again.

  But there's something else. I'm shamed. I'm horrified that Tammy has seen me like that, beaten and bloodied and humiliated. I've been free from my childhood dungeon for a year, and now, I feel like I'm being thrown back in, the locks engaged with echoing clicks and snaps. I'm irreversibly damaged, and the jagged pieces are precariously hanging together. I'm on the verge of losing hope. The beatings I've recently suffered are threatening to set loose those feelings that pound and claw against my chest, screaming to escape, to be recognised by their host—feelings that I am hated, hated by everybody, hated by my parents, hated by God, hated by all decent, godly society, that I should never have been born. It's easy to forget that Lloyd and Stacy would give their lives for me. I only know that I have to protect myself. I can't have any more hurt, any more rejection.

  I must remember the lessons I learned. I must remember the value of control...

  In moments of unguarded softness, when I look at Tammy, I cannot believe my eyes when they detect an emerald nanosecond of tenderness before he looks away. I protect myself by looking into mirrors, reminding myself of my eternal ugliness, and by treating him coolly.

  But no matter what icy methods I employ, I'm always, without failure, startled over and over again by what I see shimmering in his dark teal eyes.

  Can it be?

  No. No way! I might be a little flaming pervert, but Tammy's straight. I should know by now who he likes to sleep with. I can't have him, and I have got to stop torturing myself. He's going to L.A. and he's going to be a famous news anchor. Women will be all over him. That's that.

  "You don't fool me for a minute," Stacy says with stern sweetness.

  seven:

  tammy

  (approaching the end

  of high school)

  Their fists pummel him into a bloody pulp as they call him, "Flaming faggot", "Pervert", "Pussy-boy". I scramble out of my car and charge at the three pukes, but they're already on the run. He yelps when I shake his shoulder, and gently as I can, I gather him up and put him in my car.

  I've been following Jamie since the first time they jumped him. He makes his way home on foot, walking the mile from the high school, down a stretch of paved road, past the town limits, to his house. I follow, my car slowly crawling a few hundred yards behind, keeping enough distance to monitor him without making my presence known.

  I've caught those sonsabitches red handed, and they're going to pay.

  I keep one eye on traffic and one eye on Jamie. God, he's so little. Fucking cowards beat the holy shit out of him. I hate seeing him like this.

  He stirs. "What's...?"

  "It's okay. I'm taking you to the hospital."

  Slurred words squeeze their way through his swollen lips. "Why does everyone hate me? What have I done? Even Tammy hates me. Why did he scream at me? I wasn't going to steal that ball... I don't understand what I've done to make him hate me!"

  Remorse assails me as tears and blood begin to ooze out of his nose. I find an old napkin from Burger King or someplace and dab at the mess carefully.

  "Nobody loves me." The way his breath hitches in his chest makes my eyes sting. "Nobody will ever love me."

  "I don't hate you, Jamie. I'm a prick. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to yell at you."

  But he doesn't hear me. He's passed out. I smooth my hand over his forehead, cheek and chin, and he recoils. I think his jaw's busted.

  I stay for two hours. His jaw isn't broken, but his arm is.

  When I get home, I shut myself in my room and cry.

  It's not just that he's small for his age. He's different, and it makes him an outcast, a target. Until Queen Bitch spread that shit around town about him, he's been overlooked. He'd probably be invisible if not for Stacy and Ray and the girls.

  I want to be his friend...

  I'm "popular". I'm constantly surrounded by people—football teammates, fawning girls, the journalism staff—but I have no real friends. Ray and Benny are the closest thing, but I can't say that I'm "friends" with either of them.

  I don't have friends. I have laughs in the locker room. I have groupies, each hoping they're next on my list of conquests. I have colleagues that I discuss the latest campus news with.

  That's all.

  I haven't known how lonely I am.

  I want Jamie to be my friend. And I want to be his.

  I've always wanted to be his friend.

  I could never hate him.

  But I've been a prick to him.

  Because I'm scared.

  I'm fighting a losing battle with my attraction to him, and I don't want to fight anymore.

  If he likes me and I like him, why shouldn't we see where this leads? Why should we care what the world thinks?

  But, I do care. I am afraid of what people will think.

  There isn't a person on earth besides my mom who truly cares about my happiness in life. Yeah, she's flubbed up and made me mad at her, but all her actions have had the best intentions. Nobody else gives a shit whether I'm happy or not.

  But they're sure going to have something to say if I let them see I love Jamie. The Asshole, Queen Bitch, Ray, Benny, the guys at school, the girls... they'd crucify me if I dared to reveal my crush on the petite freshman with the bright red and yellow hair and the spectral blue eyes.

  I'm worse than the ones who openly hate him, because I'm a poltroon. I'm afraid to face the truth, afraid to stand up and tell the world.

  That I want Jamie.

  The Panther plans an article about Jamie's bashing. I recommend to our advisor, Mrs. Collins, that the piece should mention that the beating was motivated by false rumours spread about the town, that it's a hate crime, and that the victim should not be named, because he has already been bashed twice, and to name him would put him in danger of being attacked yet again.

  She disagrees, "We don't know it's a hate crime."

  "He was beaten up once before this! It is a hate crime!"

  She shakes her grey head stubbornly. "I'm not going to publish an article based on your opinion, Tam. We're mentioning you as a hero, because you drove the boy to the ER We will keep him anonymous for his protection, but we're not going to call it a gay-bashing when we don't even know if the boy is gay, or if those rumours even were the cause!"

  I argue with her for half an hour, but the entire journalism staff ends up overruling me. They're yellow down the back.

  Just like me.

  After the latest battering, Jamie's not the same. When he's released from the hospital, his right arm encased in hard plaster, he approaches me, guardedly says, "Thank you for getting me to the hospital."

  "Are you alright?" I ask.

  He nods. "Yeah."

  "Sure?"

  He shrugs.

  "I'm glad they didn't mention Jamie's name in the paper," Stacy says.

  "I told them they shouldn't, for his own safety," I reply.

  Jamie speaks up then, "Who cares?
! Everyone knows it's me!"

  I feel so bad for him, and I feel stupid.

  A short time later, Ray begins driving Stacy and Jamie, negating my need to follow him.

  Weeks go by, and whenever I look his way, expecting to see him gazing at me, smiling at me, and then averting his eyes, he's looking elsewhere.

  Enough dirty looks and grouchy snarls have worked. I've finally gotten through. He can't have me.

  So why do I feel so fucking wretched?

  After all, I can't stay here. I've gotta go, and follow my dream... there's no real opportunity here like there is in Los Angeles, and I've been planning to leave right after graduation forever.

  It's best this way. I can't have any attachments here. Besides, we'll never make it. Nobody around here will abide it. Everyone we know would be opposed, except maybe Mr. Tafford and Stacy.

  I'd like to think my mom would be supportive about it.

  But I don't know. No. Probably not...

  There's no way for Jamie and me, not in this town...

  Not in this life...

  Best to just leave it alone...

  That afternoon in my room after the beating is just the start. I find myself in tears at odd moments as my senior year draws to a close. I'm sad, lonely—I don't bother asking anybody to the prom. I turn down three or four invitations from generic tarts I care nothing about.

  I keep hoping, in spite of myself, that his definitive sweetness will resurface, that he'll smile and make my insides tighten and melt the way I secretly love.

  But he doesn't. He's cold. Aloof. Subdued. And the sadness I've always sensed in him is amplified.

  At The End, a few nights before graduation, I spy him sitting at a table with Stacy. He doesn't sing that night. He's doesn't even talk. He's just sitting there, in self-imposed exile, and it chews at me. My eyes catch Stacy's and I see a concern there that mirrors my own. I pull her aside. "Is he alright?"

  She observes me steadily before replying, "He will be."

  "Get him up there and sing something. Maybe it'll help."

  Still looking at me strangely, she shrugs, then goes over to their table. Jamie only shakes his head listlessly. "He doesn't want to."

  Frustration leaps inside of me. "It might cheer him up."

  "Why are you so worried?" she challenges, and just a hint of a grin twitches across her face.

  I think she's on to me.

  I leave The End as hastily as I can.

  eight:

  jamie

  (graduation night)

  On the last night of school, my resolve not to let Tammy into my heart goes sailing out the window. Ray invites just the few of us to party and swim in his parents' pool. He invites Stacy and me, strictly to piss off Lard-Ash, who brings her furloughed husband and makes out with him in front of everyone. Stacy wears her blue bikini. I wear a t-shirt and tan cut-offs, even though I don't intend to swim.

  There's a lot of food, thanks to Ray's mom, who's bought bags and bags of chips, along with dips, candy, and a great big graduation cake for Ray, Tammy, and Yvette (even though Lard-Ash didn't get to officially graduate and is still at least two months from getting her GED). I look around, wishing they had red liquorice among all the snacks and candies. Ray's dad loves to barbeque, so he fires the old thing up and cooks hot dogs, hamburgers, chicken and steaks. The evening is mild, balmy, a little muggy. The aroma of savoury meat makes our stomachs rumble.

  It's the perfect evening on the brink of summer. I'm so pleased to be here that I can almost try to forget that soon Tammy will be leaving Sommerville behind him.

  He helps Benny smuggle alcohol in, and we drink beer and wine coolers and sign each other's yearbooks. When Ray and Stacy are done signing Tammy's, I take it, making sure he's turned away, and write:

  Dear Tammy, thank you for being my friend, Jamie Pearce.

  I wish he'd ask to sign mine.

  There's no girlfriend in sight tonight. I watch how Tammy's wet red cut-off tweed shorts cling to his penis, beautiful and semi-erect from the cold, bouncing, in spectacular slow motion, as he springs off the diving board. A hot flash engulfs me.

  Abruptly, Ray and Benny grab me by my hands and feet and throw me in. As the water closes over me, I hear Stacy scream, "You assholes! He can't swim!"

  Someone grabs me from below and pulls me back up to the surface. It's Tammy. As I hold onto him, I blow the hot, burning water out of my sinuses.

  "You okay?" he asks.

  "No!" I sputter, perturbed and electrified by the fact that he's holding me, that his arms are around me, that my cheek is brushing his chest, that his arms are under my knees.

  That he's holding me, in his arms...

  "You asswipes!" I scream at Ray and Benny, who are already scampering back over to the chips and dips.

  "I'll teach you to swim," Tammy smiles, bouncing me playfully.

  Every sound around us is suddenly muted, except for the water, splashing softly. His smile—Oh my God—incredible, compelling, I'm powerless... My heart begins to tremble and skip as I feel my lips stretch wide in response. The palpitations tickle my ribs as we stare at each other, our smiles unchanging, but our eyes transforming. I see it in his, I feel it in mine. Our smiles follow the course of our eyes. Tammy gazes down at me, his eyes and lips gentle, soft, dreamy. He's in a trance—it's the same look I've caught in his eyes so many times lately. It's here, now...

  From my periphery, I can see Stacy grinning at me like the devil.

  My eyes are locked with his, and this moment expands into a small forever.

  Then Tammy blinks, looks flustered, says, "Come on!" in an overly loud, edgy yowl, and pulls me under with him. The moment is over.

  Within fifteen minutes, I know how to swim. We dive down and touch bottom, and on the way up, he grabs my hands, pulls me to him and takes me back up.

  After a bit, Yvette and Benny call him over, and I'm forgotten. Stacy and I sit at the pool's edge, talking with our legs in the water.

  I feel fingers tickling my feet.

  Tammy surfaces, grins at me, his green eyes twinkling, then he goes under again. As soon as I'm back to talking to Stacy, his fingers trickle over the soles of my feet, making my legs twitch and my heart quicken.

  Stacy squeezes my hand and nods at me. "Go talk to him."

  I don't trust life enough to believe he's really enjoying all of this, teaching me to swim, vying for my attention, playing with me, talking to me, teasing me, touching me. I mean, I can't fathom this. I'm afraid that what I've always wanted is what is happening to me tonight. He's flirting with me. The hours pass, and he's staying with me.

  I imagine he's just lonely because he left his girlfriend at home, whoever she is this month. He's bored. Why else would he be wasting time talking to me?

  He tells me this crazy story about having met me. Me! In a grocery store when I was two and he was four. "I know you," he smiles. "I've known you for years." His deep baritone turns me into jelly. "Do you remember?"

  "N-no," I stammer apologetically.

  "I know you," he murmurs. "I do..."

  Lord, what is he doing to me?!

  We splash each other between swimming lessons, and we talk about his going to L.A.

  "So you're going to be famous," I pout. "The next Barbara Walters."

  "Noooo," he corrects me. "The next Walter Cronkite."

  We climb out of the water for a while, and I bring my yearbook to him, feeling much more comfortable with asking, now that we've talked quite a lot. "Tammy?"

  "Yeah?"

  "Would you sign my yearbook?" I ask, bracing myself for one of his unforeseen mood swings.

  "I did already."

  "You did?!" I start trying to flip through the pages.

  "No!" He grabs it and tries to wrest it from my fingers. "Don't read it!"

  "Why?"

  "Read it later," he says, with the most amazing smile I've ever seen. He's blushing!

  We tug of war gently. "I wanna see what you wrote!"<
br />
  "No, read it later, please!" He won't let go.

  "Oh, alright!"

  "Will you sign mine?" His cheeks are dark red, his hair is beginning to dry, forming little spikes across his forehead.

  "I did... a while ago," I confess, biting my lips.

  He gazes at me. "You did?"

  "Are you mad?" I dare to ask.

  His smile makes my temperature go up several more degrees. "Why would I be?"

  "I didn't ask you first." I'm feeling more daring, more flirtatious.

  "I'm gonna read it!"

  "No!" I cry, grabbing him.

  He stares at my fingers digging into the skin of his forearms, then looks so deeply into me that I almost swoon.

  "You have pretty eyes," he whispers.

  "Shut up!" I whisper shakily.

  Back in the pool, I'm so grateful that Stacy has the radio up so loud. His smile doesn't change, not one tiny muscle of it. I read his lips, I want to be alone with you...

  My heart gallops ahead of the rest of me, straight into him. The water can't cool my joy and desire, and I bite my mouth until it's bleeding. I want to be with you, too, I inform him telepathically.

  He blinks and asks, "Did you spell my name right?"

  "T-A-M-M-Y. I know. Ray told me you hate it when people spell or pronounce it wrong!" I snicker.

  "That's right," he nods precisely.

  "So why is it pronounced different than it's spelled?" I challenge.

  He responds to my cheek with a warning smile. "Because I'm not a girl."

  No shit.

  "Why do they call you 'Baby'?" he asks. Ohhh boy. I'm so embarrassed. "Because I'm... small... They used to keep the bullies off me. I'm their Baby, they say." I turn away, feeling flames wanting to leap from under the skin of my face.

  "Can I call you 'Baby'?'"

  "No!" I laugh anxiously.

  "Please? Make up a name for me, if you want..."

  "I don't know what to call you!" I burst out laughing. "I like your name anyway. Tammy. It's pretty. It's different. Tammy..."

  He stares at me, obviously recognising the quandary I'm having thinking out loud and adoring him at the same time. "You like it?"