Totally Joe

by James Howe

  Oh. My. God. Does this mean Kevin Hennessey might be gay?

  Anyway, it turned out Kevin wasn’t even talking to me. He was calling out “faggot” to this new kid I’d never seen before. I guess that’s Kevin’s way of saying welcome. The new kid is in our grade. In fact, he’s in most of my classes, so I learned a few things about him by the end of the day.

  1. His name is Zachary Nathaniel.

  2. He wants to be called Zachary, not Zach. (Kevin’s idea of being funny is to put his hand over his mouth and cough/say “faggory” for “Zachary”) (Will the hilarity never cease?)

  3. He moved to Paintbrush Falls from New Jersey over Christmas. (I’ll have to ask him if he knows my grandparents.) (They live in New Jersey.)

  4. He’s short and kind of muscle-y, which is because he was into gymnastics at his old school. He was not very happy to find out there’s no gymnastics program here. Personally, I think he should be glad, because when he told one of our classes he was a gymnast, Kevin “whispered” to Jimmy, loud enough for everybody to hear: “Only faggots do gymnastics.” (Maybe Kevin is gay?)

  5. He’s smart. Every single time a teacher called on him, he knew the answer.

  6. He isn’t what you’d call seriously cute. However, he does get these way cool dimples when he smiles.

  7. He has this tendency to say “Oh, my goodness.” (Why doesn’t he just stick a target on his chest and hand Kevin a box of darts?)

  8. He told Tonni DuPré he loved her hair. Twice.

  9. He giggles.

  10. Maybe Zachary is gay?

  Anyway, he seems really nice, and if Roger Elliott hadn’t asked him to sit at his table at lunch the first day, I would have asked him to sit at ours, because to be honest, he seems to belong more at our table than Roger’s. I’m guessing that Roger thinks Zachary is a jock or something. I’m also guessing that even with the gymnastics thing Zachary is so not a jock.

  I know I’m supposed to be talking about names, but I just have to say one more thing about the first day back at school: Pretty much everybody (with the obvious exceptions) liked my earring. Even Colin. He came right over to my locker first thing and said, “I heard you got an earring. It looks great!”

  I didn’t ask him how he heard, but it made me feel good to know that he had. Like maybe he’s got spies or something. We told each other all about our vacations and Christmas and all (I kept wanting to let him know I had a present for him under my bed, but I didn’t because I didn’t want to see the look on his face telling me he didn’t have a present under his bed for me), and then the bell rang and Jimmy Lemon walked by and said, “No kissing in the halls, girls,” and Colin turned bright red. That was the last time Colin and I talked for the rest of the day. But at least I found out he liked my earring.

  Anyway, today (the fourth day back at school) we had the first meeting of the student council and the No-Name Party (that’s Bobby, Addie, Skeezie, and me) to talk about creating a No-Name Day. We decided to have it during the first week of March, to give everybody lots of time to work on it.

  It was very weird being at this meeting. We put our chairs in a circle, and Mr. Kiley and Ms. Wyman acted like we had come from all over the country or something for some big conference. We had to go around the room and say our names. Duh. As if we all didn’t know each other already. I looked over at Colin right before I said my name. (Remember, he’s on the student council.) He was half looking at me with that shy, secret smile on his face. And, I don’t know why, but it kind of bugged me. I opened my mouth to say my name, and what came out was, “JoDan Bunch.” Colin’s smile went away so fast it practically snapped. It was like I’d said a dirty word.

  After we introduced ourselves, we got talking about the kinds of names kids are called in school and what we can do to stop it. I was talking, too, but in my head I was thinking about how I’d called myself JoDan and how that had made Colin look all constipated. I thought about all the names I’ve called myself over the years—Scorpio and GoJo (don’t ask) and J.D. and Jody (first grade and only for a day) and a whole bunch of others. I’ve always invented names for myself because, like I’ve said, I think “Joe Bunch” is seriously boring. (Although I started liking it after Colin told me he liked it.)

  That’s when I figured out why I’d called myself JoDan at the meeting. I wanted to get back at Colin, to show him that I wasn’t going to call myself Joe just because he said I should. It was that dumb smile of his that made me do it. The way he smiled, it was like he wanted to tell me he still liked me but it was going to have to be our little secret. Well, you know what secrets can do to you—they’re the worm that eats the rose.

  By the end of the meeting, Addie was going on and on about all the plans for No-Name Day. I think there’s going to be a poster competition between classes or something like that, and maybe a student essay contest about the origins of different words that are used in name-calling. To tell you the truth, I wasn’t paying careful attention. I was thinking about Colin and the way his face had changed. Like one minute he was secretly telling me he liked me, and the next minute he was all disapproving. I mean, who is he to tell me what my name should be?

  After the meeting, he came over to me and said real soft so that only the two of us could hear, “I like your earring, Joe, and I like how you’ve toned down your act, but why did you have to say your name was JoDan? Why do you have to be so out there all the time? That’s why people make fun of you.”

  Well, thank you, Dr. Colin. Except I don’t remember you having a talk show and me calling in and asking for advice.

  Oh. My. God. And I always thought Colin was so nice. Not to mention that I thought he wanted to be like me.

  Wrong and wrong.

  What did he mean about toning down my act, anyway? What act? And since when did I tone it down? Colin may be cute, but he is way more Ralph Lauren than I ever realized. What can I tell you? An original like me cannot be seriously involved with a logo-clone.

  Addie wanted to do some research on words at the library and since we were walking home together, I went with her. The truth is, I didn’t feel like being alone, because all I could think about was Colin, and that just made me feel sad and angry and confused.

  I started looking through this name book Addie had pulled off the shelf. I couldn’t find JoDan, but I did find Joseph. It’s from the Hebrew and it means “He shall add.” Which makes me think I should be good in math, which I am totally not. However, it is a cool name in some ways, mainly because of Joseph who ruled in Egypt and had that amazing Technicolor dreamcoat. (That is one wardrobe item I would so wear!) (Seriously) (I mean it.)

  Anyway, Daniel (my middle name, remember?) is also from the Hebrew. I guess my grandma Lily (my mom’s mom, who’s half Jewish) must have had something to say about naming me! It means “God is my judge.” Bo-ring. (No offense to God or anything.) But then there’s Daniel in the Bible, who was miraculously saved from the lions’ den. Now, there’s something I can relate to.

  Paintbrush Falls Middle School. Lions’ den. Oh, yeah.

  Since I was into it, I looked up Kevin, which is Irish and means “handsome.” Riiiiiiight. Excuse me while I stick my finger down my throat.

  Colin should mean “handsome” (or at least “cute”) (or “hot”) (but maybe also “not as nice as everybody thinks he is”), but it’s not clear what it means. The most I could figure out was that it’s from the French and is a nickname for Nicholas, which makes no sense at all. The book also says it means “victory.”

  Uh. No.

  I don’t know why, but I looked up Zachary, too. It’s from the Hebrew, like my name, and it’s a variation of Zecharya, which means “memory.” I like that. It’s kind of mysterious. Although anybody who says, “Oh, my goodness” all the time is about as mysterious as a glass of milk.

  LIFE LESSON: You can’t judge a person by their name.

  O is for

  OY

  MY GRANDPARENTS ARE NOT ENTIRELY CONVINCED I’M GAY.
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br />   Grandma Lily said to me, “You’re twelve years old, bubeleh. What do you know?”

  “I’ll be thirteen next month,” I reminded her.

  “Still.” She looked at me meaningfully, as if “still” actually means something.

  I don’t know what the other half of Grandma is, but she sure loves the Jewish half. The next thing she said was, “Oy, what do you need this tsuris for?”

  Tsuris means “trouble.”

  “It’s no trouble being gay,” I told her.

  She laughed at that. Joe Bunch, stand-up comic. Next thing, I’ll have my own special on HBO.

  “No trouble?” she said. “Tell that to Lester Rifkin.”

  “Is he here?” I asked. “I’ll tell him.”

  She laughed again. Even harder. I made a mental note to write this stuff down, in case I do have my own special someday.

  Grandma is always saying you should tell what you just said to somebody you never heard of. Like, “So you think going outside without a jacket is funny? Tell that to Herman Lowy, may he rest in peace.” (For two years I never went outside without a jacket because I thought Herman Lowy died from the cold. Then I found out he died in his sleep at the age of ninety-seven and never wore a jacket a day in his life.)

  Anyway, Grandma and Grandpa were visiting from New Jersey this past weekend. Whenever they stay with us, Grandma spends a lot of the time asking my mother how she could have moved to a godforsaken place like Paintbrush Falls. My mother says, “Godforsaken? You live in Short Hills.”

  Grandma: So?

  Mom: I rest my case.

  They talk like this. Half the time, no one else has a clue.

  When Grandma and Grandpa leave, my mother always takes a hot bath and tells everyone to stay out of her way for at least two hours.

  I love my grandparents, even if they are a little dense at times. Grandma Lily can be a piece of work, but she means well, and Grandpa Ray is a softy. The only problem with Grandpa is that there’s a whole list of things he can’t talk about (which means he doesn’t want to hear about), and at the top of the list is anything to do with s-e-x. In Grandpa’s book, being gay has to do with s-e-x.

  I hadn’t really planned on coming out to them, but they asked me about the earring and why I was wearing rainbow shoelaces (part of my Christmas present from Aunt Pam) and, well, what could I say?

  Grandpa immediately got out of his chair and headed for the kitchen. He said he needed a glass of water, but he looked more like he needed oxygen.

  That was when Grandma told me I was only twelve years old and what did I know. (For the record, this may be the one and only time she called me bubeleh and did not pinch my cheeks.)

  Later that night, I overheard her saying to my mom that she could not believe Pam would give me such inappropriate presents, pushing that lifestyle on someone so young. She then went into her usual rant about how Pam had always been a problem and she hoped one day she would come to her senses (meaning, live a life Grandma could understand) and settle down. Mom told her that Pam was a problem only to some people, that she was a wonderful influence on me, and that being gay was a life, not a lifestyle. She also said that Pam’s gifts helped me feel good about who I was, instead of giving me the message I should be someone I wasn’t.

  I ran upstairs and put on my BEING WHO YOU ARE ISN’T A CHOICE pin. I was thinking of putting on my I’M NOT GAY BUT MY BOYFRIEND IS T-shirt, too, but I wasn’t sure Grandma would get the joke.

  Sometimes I wonder how come my mom is so understanding and cool about who I am, considering that her mom goes oy and tsk and sigh over everything from how the table is covered with clutter to how the kids are being left to raise themselves. (We should be so lucky.) Grandpa isn’t judgmental like that; he just kind of lives in his own universe. If it were up to him, I would still be getting trucks and catcher’s mitts for Christmas.

  But just when you think you’ll never get through to them, they’ll do things like hug you when nobody’s looking or kiss the top of your head and say, “You’re something special, kid” (Grandpa), or, “Sweetheart, you know I just want you to be happy” (Grandma).

  Sunday when they left, Grandpa winked at me, which was his way of saying, “I may not love the fact that you’re gay (or even believe it), but I’m not going to have a heart attack over it (if it’s true, which I’m not saying it is).” And before she shut the car door, Grandma looked up at me, wagged her finger, and said, “I still expect great-grandchildren. Don’t think this being gay business is going to let you off the hook.”

  Which means that it won’t be long before Grandma is saying to people who don’t even know me, “You don’t think you can be gay and live a normal, happy life? Tell that to Joe Bunch.”

  They’re funny people, my grandparents.

  Oy.

  LIFE LESSON: Even when they give you trucks or pinch your cheeks, grandparents can be pretty cool.

  P is for

  POPULAR (NOT)

  I SO DO NOT GET POPULARITY. MAYBE THAT’S BECAUSE I’VE NEVER BEEN POPULAR. AND FOR THE MOST PART THAT’S BEEN OKAY. Except for that brief time in the fifth grade when I tried to figure out how to be a guy-guy, I never really wanted to be anything but myself.

  Okay, in the interest of full disclosure, this last statement is not entirely true. About three weeks into the sixth grade, which is so different from the fifth grade they should give you a passport, I started spending a lot of time in the nurse’s office with these mysterious stomachaches. While I was lying there on that little bed, thinking about whose head had been on the pillow before mine and if they had coughed a lot and what disease they had, and while I was also trying to look pitiful enough not to be sent back to class, it occurred to me that the real reason for my stomachaches was that not being popular actually hurts! I didn’t want to have to change in order to have everybody like me, but that didn’t stop me from wanting to be liked. When I thought about what it might feel like if everyone did like me, my stomach hurt even more because that was so far from ever really happening. I mean, I might as well have imagined what it would be like to be the star of a trapeze act (which is ridiculous even to imagine, since those trapeze acts all have names like The Flying Fedoras, and mine would be called The Flying Bunches, which sounds like a couple of guys throwing bananas at each other). Anyway, the point is that there was a time when I really, really, really wanted to be popular, and I just didn’t understand why that had to be so totally impossible.

  I still don’t.

  But I don’t care anymore.

  I guess.

  This is on my mind because DuShawn was saying at lunch the other day that Tonni (Tondayala Cherise DuPré, whose name, like her hair, is fabulous) is the only one of his friends who is giving him a hard time for going with a white girl, but that a number of his friends were all, like, Eww, what are you doing with Addie Carle? She’s such a loser. DuShawn didn’t say “loser” because he didn’t want to offend Addie or anybody else at the table, but everybody knew what he meant. Especially when Skeezie came right out and said it.

  What DuShawn actually said was, “You know what’s weird? It’s less of a big deal for a black guy and a white girl to go out than it is for somebody who’s popular to go with somebody who’s … less popular.”

  That’s when Skeezie said, “You mean somebody who’s a loser.”

  Miss Politically Correct (Addie) said, “We don’t call people ‘losers,’ Skeezie.”

  And Bobby chimed in with, “Remember, we’re trying to stop name-calling.”

  Skeezie smirked and said, “Right. Please turn in your hymnbooks to number one-fifty-two.”

  I’m not sure Skeezie is taking this no-name-calling thing seriously.

  Anyway, we all got laughing, but DuShawn wouldn’t let go of his point, which was that it’s easier for any two people to go with each other than somebody who’s popular and somebody who’s not.

  I said, “What about two girls? Or two boys?”

  I don’t know what m
ade me say that. My heart was pounding like crazy.

  “Like Bert and Ernie?” DuShawn asked, looking right into my eyes.

  Addie jabbed him with her elbow.

  I wasn’t sure what to say next (Hello? Script department? Dialogue, please!) so I just kept staring at DuShawn. I guess this forced him to actually think, and you’re not going to believe what he said. Well, I couldn’t believe it, and it actually made me think.

  He said, “If the two girls or the two boys were popular, they could get away with it. The problem is that most of the time the girls who’d want to go with girls or the boys who’d want to go with boys aren’t popular.”

  Oh. My. God. It was the whole earring thing all over again! If you’re cool, you can get away with anything. If you’re not: Fuh-get about it! (I have no idea what cheesy movie I picked that up from.)

  So here’s an example of irony: Colin is popular. He could get away with going with another boy (according to DuShawn’s theory). But he won’t go with another boy because he’s afraid he won’t get away with it. But he would get away with it because he’s popular. Meanwhile, here I am—Mr. Single and Available and Out (to my family and friends, at least) and Proud—and I can’t go with anybody because I am unpopular!

  See why the whole popularity thing is confusing? And why it totally sucks?

  LIFE LESSON #1: Popularity is a win-win for the popular kids and a lose-lose for everybody else.

  LIFE LESSON #2: In real life (when you’re grown-up and out of school) popularity doesn’t matter.

  Q is for

  QUESTIONS

  What did Colin mean when he said he liked that I’d toned down my act?

  Why can’t I hate him?

  Why do I wish he was still my boyfriend?

  Why are the following such a BIG DEAL?