by Lynn Hall
More than he had ever wanted anything in his life, Tom wanted to walk into that Dairy Queen, to squeeze into one of those booths and know that the kids wanted him with them. A year ago in Wheaton it would have been an easy, natural thing; even last spring with these same people.
Now it was impossible. “Here comes Tom the queer. Don’t let him sit too close to you.” Nothing would be said aloud, but the words would hang unmistakably in the air. Looks would be exchanged, and nudges under the tables. When he was out of earshot, they would relax again and the jokes would start flying. “Did you hear the one about the two queers walking down the street…”
The bus started up and headed back toward Buck Creek.
“I should get started on that homework,” he told himself. But the ache of his isolation demanded to be eased, and at the Sny Magill road the bus turned. It picked up speed as it drew near Sweet Ridge.
I couldn’t concentrate on homework right now, anyhow, he reasoned. I’ll just stay for a little while. Then I’ll go home and get to work.
16
For the next few days the bad dream continued through both his waking and sleeping hours. For the first time in his life, he was unable to cope with his schoolwork. He read page after page, chapter after chapter, of journalism, English, government, chemistry, college algebra, and when he finished reading, he realized that none of it had penetrated his understanding. While his eyes followed the lines of print, his mind was working on a different level, testing his body, his voice, his movements, for the dreaded signs that, all too often, he was beginning to see.
He tried to reason with himself. I’ve got to cut this out. I’ve got to get hold of myself or I’m never going to catch up with this work. I’ve got to. But the more frantically he tried, the more elusive was his power of concentration.
Finally, when he could no longer stand himself, he sat upright at the study desk in his bedroom, and, with tightly closed eyes and clenched fists, he said, “This has gone far enough. I’m letting myself come all unglued over some lie that someone started about me. It is a lie and I know it. All right. What I’ve got to do is meet it head on. Look them in the eye and deny it and quit skulking around as though it’s true. I’ll face it and I’ll beat it.”
The next morning he went to school like Richard to the battlefield. His head was up, his eyes clear and direct. But they met no challenge. No one came along and said, “I hear you’re a homosexual. Is it true?” No one said anything that gave him the slightest opening to state his case.
All day he moved from classroom to classroom carrying with him his challenge and his bravado. They went unused. Once, in government, Mr. McNamar came into the room to announce an impromptu pep rally after school, but although Tom stared at the principal with a current of honesty and innocence, Mr. McNamar was always looking somewhere else. Tom went home churning with frustration.
He tried to work it out on the piano, but the keys seemed to mock him by playing their own sour notes. The crashing chords of the Polonaise came out sounding grotesquely off-key. Furious at himself and at the piano, he stormed upstairs.
All right, he thought. If they’re not going to give me any openings, I guess I’ll just have to make the first move myself. He threw himself down on the floor so that he could look out at the blue ice of the river. So. What do I need to do to prove to them that I’m normal? Start dating some girl, I guess. Okay, who? Not Karen. Somebody I’m sure will go out with me.
He lay for a long time with his head cradled in his arms, trying to think of a girl to call. Then a figure came into his line of vision, a girl in jeans and a familiar blue jacket, walking over the dike and the railroad tracks toward the river. He jumped up and bolted down the stairs, grabbing his jacket on his way out the door.
She was far out onto the river by the time he caught up with her, walking over the ice toward a spot by the nearest island where her father was ice fishing.
“Amber. Wait a minute.”
She turned and waited with poorly concealed surprise. “Hi.”
“Hi. Hey, I was just wondering. Would you like to go to the show tomorrow night?”
A confusion of emotions flickered in her eyes. “What’s on?” she asked, stalling.
“Um, I don’t know. I could call and find out.” He watched her face intently. This girl, this plain dull girl with her small mind and her small eyes, was suddenly the most important person in the world. One date with her, a few dates with her, and the nightmare would begin to go away. He wouldn’t have to like her or have a good time or anything, just be seen with her. Just—
“I can’t tomorrow night. That’s my night to wash my hair.” She turned and plodded on across the ice, and Tom fell into step beside her.
“Your hair looks fine to me.”
She just shook her head and kept walking.
“How about Saturday night then?”
“Can’t.”
“Oh. Well, okay then. I just wondered.”
He stopped walking and stood in the full blast of January wind, while Amber grew smaller and darker against the blue-and-silver ice.
Gradually he realized that his feet were numb from standing on the ice in thin-soled school shoes. He turned and hunched himself against the wind and the rejection.
“I never could stand her anyway.”
The next morning on the school bus Amber told Meredith about the invitation. Floyd Schleffe leaned forward from the seat behind them, his arms along the top of the seat in a pseudo-embrace of both girls’ shoulders, his head looming between theirs.
“Why didn’t you say yes?” Meredith said in her matter-of-fact voice. “You used to fall in a dead faint every time he looked at you, so now he asks you for a date and you won’t go. I think you’re crazy, Am.”
Floyd said, “Yeah. At least you wouldn’t have to worry about him making a pass at you.” He snickered loudly.
Trying not to inhale any of Floyd’s breath, Amber said, “Shut up, Floyd. It isn’t any of your business. I was kind of tempted for a minute,” she said to Meredith, “but couldn’t you just hear what people would say if I did. ‘Boy, Amber sure must be hard up for somebody to go out with, if she’s dating queers.’ Heck, I’d be better off staying home.”
Meredith looked thoughtful. “I’d go out with him if he asked me.”
Amber stared at her, and Meredith flushed.
“Well, why not? You know, he might be very nice. It’s possible he might not even be what they say he is—did you ever think of that? You might be passing up a good bet.”
Amber shook her head. “Nah. I couldn’t take the chance.”
“Oh, Tom’s queer all right,” Floyd interrupted. “You know what I did a couple of times? I went out there where Ward lives, and looked in the windows. Tom stays all night out there lots of times. And you should of seen what I saw them doing.”
Meredith looked disgusted, but Amber twisted around in her seat and leaned closer to Floyd. “What?” she demanded in a stage whisper.
Relishing the chance to touch her hair, Floyd cupped his hand around Amber’s ear and whispered, drawing out the imaginary details as long as he could.
“Oh, they did not,” Amber said when he was through, but her face was alight with interest.
“Listen, I’ll tell you what. Next time I go out there you can go along and see for yourselves. You and Meredith. Want to?”
“Hah,” Meredith said. “If you think I’m going to play Peeping Tom with you, you’re nuts. I think you’re disgusting, anyway, spying on people like that.”
And after a moment of hesitation Amber said, “Yeah. If you think you’re going to get us out in the woods alone with you, you’ve got another think coming.”
All day Tom’s mind seethed. Abstract problems of chemistry and algebra were shoved aside while he planned his next assault on public opinion. By the end of the last period he had selected his target—Floyd Schleffe.
He waylaid Floyd just as Floyd was getting into the school bus. “Come
on, Floyd. Ride home with me. I want to talk to you.” His voice was hard, and Floyd followed almost meekly to Tom’s car.
When they were inside with the doors shut and the heater beginning to make itself felt, Tom began. He stared straight ahead, at the school building that was disappearing behind the fog of the windshield.
“Listen, Floyd, something’s going on, and I don’t like it. I don’t know whether you had anything to do with it or not, but somebody has started the story around school that I’m a queer.”
The word seemed brittle in the air.
Floyd said nothing, but his face reddened.
Tom went on. “I’m just going to say this one time, Floyd, and I don’t care if you believe me or not, but this is the truth. I am not, I never have been, and I never will be. So I’d appreciate it if you would pass that on to anybody who ever says I am.”
He turned on the blower, and as soon as the windshield was cleared in a small half-moon over the dash, he backed around and started for home.
“Gee, Tom,” Floyd said, “I never said anything like that about you. I think you’re just imagining it.”
“Don’t try to con me, Floyd. I’m not imagining it, and you know it. Why do you think McNamar’s not letting me go to state music? Because they’re afraid I’m going to contaminate somebody.”
For an instant Floyd looked subdued, but then his expression blanked again.
“I can’t even get a date,” Tom went on. “I’ve tried. I’ve asked a couple of different girls, and they turned me down flat.”
“So what’s new?” Floyd said softly, but Tom didn’t notice.
They drove in silence until they were nearly home. Then, abruptly, Floyd said, “I know a girl who’d go out with you. Meredith. She said so this morning on the bus.”
Tom raised an eyebrow and glanced at Floyd. He’d never thought about Meredith, but it might well be a possibility.
When he stopped to let Floyd out, he said, “You do believe me, don’t you? About—what we were talking about? You don’t think there’s anything wrong with me?”
Floyd’s voice was hearty, but his eyes veered away from Tom’s. “No, course I don’t. Thanks for the ride.”
Tom snorted softly as he eased the car down around the Post Office corner. Fat lot of good that did, he thought. I might as well have been trying to convince ol’ man river, down there. Well, at least I tried.
After supper he decided to call Meredith, but whenever he approached the phone, he began imagining the conversation that must have gone on this morning on the bus. Amber told about his asking her for a date. They all laughed about it. Floyd probably made some dirty remarks. No telling what Meredith might have said, but it was doubtful that Floyd had told the truth about her saying she wanted to go out with him.
Finally, about nine, he pulled on his jacket, checked his wallet for money, and drove up the Buck Creek hill to the Trost farm. It seemed easier, somehow, to drop in on her than to pick up the telephone.
Two bounding farm dogs escorted him to the door and stood expectantly while he knocked. He was glad for their support.
It was Meredith who answered the door. He was relieved at being able to bypass parents.
“Hi, Meredith. I was just on my way down to the Dairy Queen, and I wondered if you’d like to go along.”
If she was surprised, she hid it well. She stood aside to let him in, then became aware of her appearance. She was in old jeans that were far too tight for her stocky frame. Her hair was in rollers and her feet in socks.
She hesitated only an instant. “Sure, if you don’t mind the hair rollers. It’s too wet to take down. Just a second and I’ll get my boots.”
Inwardly Tom sighed with relief.
The drive to Great River was awkwardly silent. Tom could think of nothing to say to this unfamiliar round-faced girl beside him, and Meredith did little better.
The Dairy Queen was too brightly lit, too quiet. Tom fumbled as Meredith slipped out of her jacket. When he tried to hang it up beside the booth, it came off the hook and fell.
“I’ll get it.” Meredith twisted around and hung it again, firmly.
They ordered, and Tom was just beginning to relax when the door opened to let in a blast of cold air and Robert Short, Al Andersen, and their dates.
Meredith glanced at them and waved a small token wave, then turned resolutely back to Tom. “Well, how do you like Buck Creek by now?” Her voice was firm, but she was unable to combat the flush that crept over her face.
“Fine. Just fine.” Tom glanced toward the four in the other booth. Their heads were together, and one of the girls was laughing.
Probably not about us, he insisted grimly. But he didn’t believe it. Meredith was watching him.
She has a nice face, Tom thought suddenly. Not pretty, but kind. She’s going through this for me.
Her eyes held a kind of honesty that allowed him to say, “Being seen with me isn’t going to do very much for your reputation, is it?”
Meredith’s face was still red, but she answered in her usual matter-of-fact way. “No, but it’s not all that important. I didn’t have to come if I didn’t want to.”
By the time he took her home, Tom was beginning to like this sturdy, straightforward girl, and yet he knew he wouldn’t ask her out again. She was too nice a person for him to risk infecting her reputation in an effort to cure his own.
He walked her to her door amid the welcoming dogs. He held her hand and looked down into her eyes and thanked her for going with him. Then he got back into his car and slammed the steering wheel so hard his palm burned all the way home.
17
“I honestly believe I’m going out of my mind,” Tom said. “People say that all the time, but I’m really beginning to think I am. I hate to dump all this garbage on you, but you’re the only person I can talk to about it.”
It was Saturday afternoon. The sky was a cold gray lid over the clearing, and there was a taste of impending snow in the air. Tom and Ward had just finished putting chains on the Jeep and the Volkswagen bus. Now they sat on the patchwork-carpeted floor of the schoolhouse, their backs against the couch and their feet close to the oil stove. Their cold fingers were wrapped around mugs of steaming tomato soup.
Ward said nothing, but his silence was laced with understanding, so Tom went on.
“The worst of it is, I can’t fight it. Nobody ever accuses me of anything, so I can’t deny it. They just assume it’s true. It’s so damned frustrating.”
He was staring down into his soup mug, and didn’t notice that Ward’s hands were clenched so hard his knuckles were white. ‘‘How long are they going to go on hurting you?” Ward murmured.
“No,” Tom said, “the worst of it isn’t the fact that I can’t fight it. The worst of it …” He couldn’t go on.
Gently Ward said, “The worst of it is, you’re beginning to wonder if it might be true?”
Tom looked up, startled until he saw the compassion in Ward’s eyes.
“Yes. I’m beginning to wonder.” He moved his mug in a slow circle, almost but not quite sloshing the soup out over the rim. It required so much concentration that for a moment he didn’t need to go on with what he was saying.
“Why are you beginning to wonder? Is it anything definite, or just things you might be imagining?”
“Oh, I don’t know. Things like”—Tom sighed —“the way I feel about my music. I keep thinking about what people are always saying about musicians.”
“Is that all?”
“Well, I guess I’m pretty close to my mother. Sometimes I think I’m jealous of Harv, and that’s a pretty sick situation, don’t you think?”
“No, I don’t. Your mother’s a nice person, and I think Harv is kind of a horse’s tail myself, so I wouldn’t worry about that if I were you. I think it’s perfectly natural you’d think Harv wasn’t really good enough for her. What else?”
Tom’s voice grew lower, and his concentration on the soup mug grew more intense.
“To be real honest about it, I never really have been as interested in girls as the other guys I ran around with. I mean, you know, the dirty pictures and jokes and talking about what they’d done with different girls. It always kind of, I don’t know, made me a little sick. Like when I was a little kid, I remember if my mom and I were out somewhere and I got my face dirty, she used to take her handkerchief and spit on it and wash my face. It always made me feel about half nauseated, and that’s the way I used to feel sometimes, listening to the guys talk about sex.”
Ward was thoughtful for a long quiet moment. Then he said, “Let’s look at this thing objectively now. Suppose worst came to worst and you did have homosexual tendencies, as they say. You have to remember, everyone in the world is a mixture of male and female. In most people, one or the other predominates, but there are an awful lot of cases where the mixture is borderline to some degree. I think you’d be surprised if you knew the statistics. So it wouldn’t really be the end of the world for you, would it?’’
Tom gave a short hard laugh. “It wouldn’t exactly make me jump up and down and yell hallelujah. I always thought of myself as pretty manly. Figured I’d be getting married someday, having a home. I never thought I especially wanted children, unless my wife really wanted them. But I’ve always sort of had this idea of what I wanted my home to be like. I wanted to marry a girl who felt the same way about music as I did, kind of an intellectual type probably, but with a good sense of humor. And we’d have a really nice house, an unusual old house of some kind, all full of books and music things and art. And we’d travel a lot. But boy, now that this thing has come up”—he blew a long ragged breath—“I just keep seeing myself—alone—all the rest of my life, or else hanging around with—”