Guyliner

by J. Leigh Bailey

  Connor only took enough time to grab one of his crutches and ran-skipped to Graham, who hissed between his teeth, a hand grasping at his back.

  “Oh my God! Are you okay? What happened?” Since kneeling in the knee brace was out of the question, Connor put his weight on the single crutch and leaned as close to Graham as he could while maintaining his balance.

  “Stupid. That was me being stupid.” Graham sat up, massaging the muscles along his side.

  “Stupid?”

  “There are some things that I used to be able to do that I can’t do anymore.”

  “That flip thing is one of them?”

  “Yep. But, you know, I’m able to do a lot of things the doctors warned me against. According to them, the scarring and muscle loss in my back and torso should have made it hard to play goalie. Other positions would have been better…. They don’t require the same level of stretch and reach. But I did it. I dedicated every waking moment for months to get back the range of motion I needed to play goalie, and I did it. I’m still one of the country’s best young goalies.” This was said in a matter-of-fact way that didn’t sound like bragging.

  “I used to be able to do this flip thing,” he continued. “The guys on the team would line up a couple of soccer balls down the field. I’d be able to do a running handspring and toss all of the balls toward the net, one right after the other. It was pretty cool.” He smiled as he remembered. “But now, I can’t even do one. The skin, the muscles, the scars, they’re all too tight, too rigid.”

  “When you landed?”

  “It felt like someone was tearing my skin, just ripping it along my back.”

  Connor cringed. “Ouch. So, why’d you do it?”

  “Mostly to see if I could. I… it makes me mad sometimes that a few assholes were able to ruin that part of me. I get that I’m lucky. I know that handsprings don’t mean anything. But they were part of me, something that made me special. Now it’s one more thing that I’ve lost.”

  “You’re not as well-adjusted as you pretend to be, are you?”

  “You ought to know. You fake it more than anyone else I know.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Graham got to his feet and reached toward the sky, stretching the muscles in his back. “Don’t even pretend. You do what everyone expects, you present this perfect exterior to the outside world, but inside you’re falling apart.”

  “I’m going to break up with Allyson.” Connor hadn’t known he’d made that decision until the words burst out of his mouth. It was the right thing to do now, though.

  “You’re… excuse me?” Graham goggled at him.

  What he’d said really had nothing to do with what they were talking about. Or did it? If what Graham said was right, which it probably was, then Connor wasn’t being fair to Allyson. He was using her. He’d known for a while he didn’t feel for her what he should as her boyfriend. What he felt for her was pretty much identical to what he felt for Becca. After Chicago, after what he’d done and what he’d admitted, he should have ended things with her. But she’d represented normalcy, and he’d desperately needed some kind of normal.

  “What does that mean?” Graham asked cautiously.

  Connor swallowed. “I… I don’t know. I only know I can’t pretend anymore. Of course, after last night, she’ll probably break it off with me before I can talk to her. She’s not taking my calls, so I can’t apologize.”

  “Do you blame her?”

  Connor snorted. “No, not at all. I realized something last night.”

  “Before or after you downed a bottle of rum?”

  “During. Definitely during. I’m tired of acting like an angsty teenager. I want to be with you. And I can’t be with you if I’m dating Allyson. It’s not fair to any of us.” Connor started talking faster, as though he was afraid that if he didn’t get the words out now he never would. “That is if you want to be with me. Either way, I can’t keep stringing Allyson along. So, do you want to be with me too?” His nerves jangled and shimmied like he’d had too much caffeine. He held his breath while he waited for Graham’s answer.

  Graham stepped closer until barely a half step separated them. He reached up and cupped Connor’s cheek. “You know I do. Are you sure you’re ready for that, though?”

  “I think so. It’s the only thing I’m sure of right now.”

  Graham’s smile nearly blinded him. His ice-blue eyes gleamed behind dark lashes, and, unusually, there was no sign of the eyeliner. Connor didn’t have time to think about that, though, because Graham leaned forward and kissed him softly. Connor smiled under the press of Graham’s lips and wrapped his arm around Graham’s waist. There was something so right, so energizing, about being with Graham this way.

  “Hey, Connor! Are you out here?”

  Blood rushed from Connor’s head and he stopped short, pushing Graham away with enough strength to make him stumble back a step.

  “What the hell, Connor?” Graham threw up his hands and glared at him.

  “Shit, that’s Marc. What’s he doing here?” Connor tugged his shirt to make sure it hung straight and wiped the back of his hand across his mouth. Then he ran his hands through his hair to smooth out any out-of-place strands.

  Graham’s face was a cold, expressionless mask when he looked at Connor. “Really? You want to be with me, but the minute your friend—your best friend—comes near, you act like I’m pushing myself on you. Better wipe your mouth again. I’d hate for Marc to guess that I’ve been forcing my gay germs on you.”

  Connor’s heart pounded in his chest. What was Graham talking about? That voice, that look, conveyed such disgust. Something bad had happened. When the meaning finally penetrated the panicked fog blurring his thinking, he reached out and grabbed Graham’s arm.

  “It’s not like that, I swear.”

  “You know what? Forget it. I can’t keep doing this, Connor. You should go home. I’ll finish up the shed, and then you don’t have to worry about being seen in my presence.” Graham took off at a jog toward the parking lot. He reached the chain-link fence the same time as Marc, who came from the other direction.

  They were too far away for Connor to hear what they said to each other. Marc was frowning when he met up with Connor. “What bug crawled up his ass?”

  Connor stared after Graham, impatient. He needed to catch up to him, to explain, to do… something. He dragged his eyes to Marc. “What are you doing here?”

  “Whatever crawled up his ass apparently crawled up yours too. I hope it’s not contagious.”

  “Marc, why are you here?”

  “Allyson called me—”

  “Shit.” Connor so didn’t have time to deal with this.

  “—and said that she thought you needed someone to talk to. I swung by the shop and your dad said you were here. I’d have waited until later, but Aunt Yessenia’s coming tonight and Allyson made it sound important, so I tracked you down.”

  Connor shook his head. “I don’t need this right now. Seriously, Marc.”

  “Hey, you know I’m not down with all this touchy-feely crap, but Allyson made it sound important. So, let’s make the little redhead happy, keep the talk short and sweet, and go back to pretending we’re macho men who don’t do anything as gay as talking about emotions and shit.”

  “Don’t use that word!”

  Marc looked nonplussed. “What?”

  “Gay. Don’t use that word that way. It’s… ignorant.”

  His friend stared at him as though he’d lost his mind.

  “Sorry,” Connor said. “It’s instinctive. Mom’s been all over Kory for using derogatory words. I didn’t mean to snap.”

  “Look, I know it’s not a good time for this, and it’s awkward as shit, but dude, you know you can talk to me, right?” Marc kept his eyes averted and jammed his hands into the pockets of his cargo shorts.

  “Yeah, I know. Not now, though, okay? I promise I’ll tell you what’s going on, but now really isn’t a good time.” H
e had to talk to Graham. See if he could explain. His attention was focused on a pissed off Graham in the shed. He was really stacking up the uncomfortable but necessary conversations: Graham, Allyson, and now Marc. How could he explain to others what he didn’t even understand himself? “Man, I’m sorry, but I’ve got to go. Can we do this later? I’ll call you tonight, I swear.”

  Marc gave him a hard look and didn’t say anything for a moment. Finally, when Connor was afraid Marc would insist on talking now, his friend nodded. “Okay. If I don’t hear from you tonight, I’ll come by and drag your ass out. If only to get Allyson off my case. She’s completely convinced something earth-shattering is going on.”

  “I promise, I promise.”

  When they reached the parking lot, Marc hopped on his bike and sped off, leaving Connor facing a mostly organized equipment shed and a pissed off soccer player.

  Chapter 32

  ANGRY MUSIC blared from the equipment shed. He didn’t recognize the artist, but pissed off lyrics and a violent beat thundered. Connor felt the reverberations of it in the handle of the steel door when he opened it.

  The astringent smell of fresh paint assaulted his nose as he walked in. He looked around in awe. The storage shed didn’t remotely resemble the building he’d last seen. Walls and shelves were painted a clean, though generic, beige color. Wire bins and wooden storage crates lined the walls, with plastic tubs neatly stacked on shelves above them.

  Graham didn’t react when Connor came in. He faced away from the entrance and pushed a large dust mop down the center aisle to catch up any lingering debris.

  “I can’t believe how much you got done,” Connor shouted over the music, looking around the organized space.

  Graham glanced up from the path of the mop for a second. His face was set in a neutral mask.

  “When did you do this?”

  “Well, I had the time pretty well set in my schedule on Saturdays, so I kept coming.”

  Graham took the dust mop to a closet and returned to the debris pile in the middle of the aisle with a dustpan and handheld broom. He squatted and scooped the rubbish into the dustpan and dumped the mess into a trash bin.

  “What do you want, Connor?” The weariness in his voice caused Connor’s gut to clench.

  “I wanted—want—to tell you that I’m sorry.”

  “For what?”

  “What do you mean ‘for what’?”

  “What are you apologizing for?”

  What did Graham want him to say? He was sorry that Graham was angry, or hurt, or whatever. He was sorry for whatever he did to cause it.

  “That’s priceless.” Graham laughed bitterly and tied off the top of the garbage liner. “You don’t even know what you did.”

  “Then tell me.”

  “You wiped your fucking mouth. Like I was infected or nasty or something. You say you want to be with me, but you don’t want to be seen with me. So, what, you want me to be some kind of dirty little secret? When we’re alone we can talk and kiss and whatever, but in public you’ll continue to pretend that you barely know me, right?”

  “God, Graham, I’m not ashamed of you. That’s not it at all.”

  “Then you’re ashamed of yourself. I deserve more than that. You deserve more than that.”

  “I don’t know what you want me to say here. I’m not ashamed of me or you. But things would be a lot easier if we kept them on the down-low, you know. It’s nobody’s business.”

  “I believe that, in theory. If you want to hang out in the closet for the rest of high school, or even the rest of your life, that’s your business. But I can’t do that. I won’t do that. You can’t say you’re with me one second and push me away the next.”

  “I didn’t mean to do that. It was knee-jerk. He caught me off guard.”

  “And next time? When it’s your dad? Are you going to push me away again?”

  “No, of course not.”

  Graham packed his phone and the speakers into his backpack. “Are you gay, Connor? Really gay?”

  Connor’s throat seized and no words came out.

  “I guess that answers that.” Graham swung his backpack over a shoulder then headed to the door.

  Graham had only taken two steps when Connor finally found his voice. “Damn it, this is your fault. Before you showed up, I was fine with living in denial. But you showed up and that wall I’d built to hide behind started to crumble. No, not crumble. It was blasted to fucking smithereens. Now I know, and I can’t do anything about it. I can’t… can’t….” His voice broke. He paused and sucked in a breath, trying to loosen the hold grief had on his throat. Connor paced the room as well as his crutches would allow, heedless of the tears streaming down his face. “I was perfectly content to stay buried in denial, buried so deep in it that the truth couldn’t reach me. Then I met you. And now, now I don’t want to live that way anymore. But I don’t know how not to.”

  “You try so hard to be this person that you think you need to be. Everything you do is specifically planned to fit the image, the goal. But is this person you? Are you happy?”

  “Yes!” Connor burst out. At Graham’s even stare, he shrugged. “Well, I’m not unhappy. I’m satisfied. That’s enough for now.”

  Graham didn’t say anything for a moment. Shaking his head, he finally said, “You know, that’s not enough for me, and it shouldn’t be enough for you. I’m not going to hide who I am or who I’m with. If you want to be with me, I want the real you, in public.”

  Connor’s mouth dried out. “All or nothing? Is that it?”

  “Yeah.” Graham turned and walked away.

  Connor just stood there. Pressure built inside him until his skin and bones could no longer contain it. Like Vesuvius, he erupted. With an inarticulate roar, he reared back and punched the aluminum cabinet closest to him. It had no impact on the cabinet, but at least the pain in his hand distracted him, even if it was only a shadow of the pain in his chest.

  Chapter 33

  CONNOR STOOD on Allyson’s doorstep, staring at the doorbell. He didn’t know where else to go. He needed to talk to a friend, but Marc wouldn’t understand, not really. Allyson was, if nothing else, one of his best friends, and the most understanding. That was if she could forgive him. Sucking in a breath, he pressed the doorbell. A minute later, Allyson opened the door and took one look, then said, “Good Lord, Connor! What happened to you?” She pulled him into her house.

  “Is your dad here?”

  She nudged him to the couch. “Not right now. Do you need to see him?”

  “No. Needed to talk to you.”

  “What did you do to your hand?”

  He looked down. His knuckles were scraped raw and already he could see swelling. “Something stupid.” He tried to bend his fingers. The movement caused him to hiss in pain, but at least everything bent the way they were supposed to. No broken fingers. “I think I need some ice, though.”

  “I’ll be right back.” She darted out of the room. He could hear her moving around in the kitchen and the rattle of ice cubes. She returned a few moments later, a plastic baggie filled with ice and a towel in her hands. She wrapped the ice in the terry cloth towel and set it gingerly on his sore hand. She sat next to him on the couch, and he leaned back, closing his eyes.

  “I need to talk to somebody.”

  “You know you can talk to me, right?”

  “Even after last night?”

  “Yeah, even after. I shouldn’t have ditched you at the party. I was up all night worried about how you were going to get home.”

  “I called Graham, and he gave me a ride.”

  “I’m glad. I had visions of you hopping down the highway.”

  He needed to get it out. Soon, or he never would. “So, I need to tell you something, but I don’t know how. I guess there are actually three things I need to tell you. First, I’m so sorry about last night. I don’t know what got into me, and I have no excuses. If I were you, I’d have knocked me over the head with one of my
crutches. And then called my father. He’d have made sure I never had the chance to do something so awful to someone again.”

  “I forgive you,” she said, patting his good leg.

  Connor looked at her in shock. It was that easy?

  She leaned forward. “Are you going to tell me what it was all about?”

  “Soon. But the second thing I need to tell you is we need to break up.”

  “Why?”

  To his relief, she didn’t sound hurt or angry, merely curious. “Well….” He searched for a way to convey “it’s not you, it’s me” and “we can still be friends” without actually using those words. Nothing came to mind. It looked like he was stuck with clichés. “It’s nothing you did, I swear. You’re the best girlfriend—hell, the best friend—a guy could have. It’s all my fault and I really, really want us to be friends, but I understand if you don’t want to.”

  “There’s someone else, isn’t there?”

  At her question, Connor deflated. God this was hard. He looked down at his hand, which was now turning a deep magenta. “Sort of.”

  She sat back in surprise. “I didn’t think you were going to admit it. I sort of figured it out. It happened when you went to Chicago with Graham, didn’t it? That’s when you started acting so strange.”

  “I didn’t mean for it to happen, Allyson, you’ve got to believe me.” He didn’t know how she could possibly have figured that out, but he was glad she had. It made things somewhat easier.

  “You met someone there. At the game? Or you guys went out somewhere, and you met a girl there.”

  She thought he met some girl? Bitter laughter bubbled out of him. “No, Allyson, that’s not what happened.” The laughter edged toward hysteria. “No, no girls. Graham.”

  “Graham? What do you mean?” Then it hit her. “Oh my God! Graham? Are you… you’re…?”

  “Gay, Allyson. I’m gay. And that’s the third thing.”