Exiled to Iowa. Send Help. And Couture

by Chris O'Guinn

  Shawn absorbed that information over a minute or so. “I think Dad just doesn't want you to feel lonely. He knows how much you miss L.A. He doesn't want me to go and leave you here….”

  “He thinks I'm going to set the school on fire or run away with the circus or something.”

  “No.... He just.... You've always been a little high-strung, Col, and you know it. He's worried about how you'll cope with the move, the new school and everything without me here.”

  I could tell from his tone that he understood Dad's logic from a purely intellectual standpoint, but that he vehemently disagreed with it. If that was because he thought I really could stand on my own two feet or just because he desperately wanted to get back to his team in Los Angeles … I had no idea.

  There comes a time in a young man's life when he truly and for the first time starts to think of other people instead of himself. This was that moment for me. I had relied on Shawn my whole life, looked to him for protection and guidance and never considered any cost to him. The idea of him leaving for college had always left me unsettled.

  But now I knew, in my heart, that I had to let him go. What was more, I had to prove I could take care of myself and didn't need a big brother shielding me—even if the little boy inside me wasn't sure that was actually true.

  “Season starts in January.... So we have a couple of months to convince Dad,” I said suddenly, the resolve in my tone surprising even me.

  Shawn ruffled my hair and smiled at me. He didn't mean to be condescending and I knew it, but he just could not accept that I was going to be able to hold onto an idea long enough to see it through to the end. I had a sort of bad history with projects. He had compared my attention span, unfavorably, to that of a butterfly.

  I grabbed my backpack and pulled out the club sign-up sheet. “I'm going to start up a Drama Club. That will keep me busy after school. It will also get the principal off my back.”

  “Col…. I appreciate it....”

  “No,” I told him firmly. “You've taken care of me my whole life. Now it’s my turn.”

  Shawn looked genuinely perplexed. “You know it's not me wanting to ditch you, right?”

  I grinned at him. “Like you could ever get rid of me.”

  Shawn seemed cautiously hopeful, and that was a start. At least he was willing to accept the idea that I was going to try and help. He glanced over at the phone I had tossed aside and then looked back at me, trying to find some way to bring up the awkward topic.

  “There was a party in L.A. when I left,” I said glibly. Being sarcastic about it made the pain a little less severe. “So, I'll be saving tons of money on cell phone bills.”

  “I'm sorry, Col,” Shawn said with an irritated look on his face. “Some people.... Some people aren't as good at being a friend as they think they are.”

  I thought of Keith and Nick and actually smiled. No, the shallow, selfish people I had thought were my friends had all turned on me. But there were a couple of cool guys who I knew would stick up for me right here in Buford. I had no real idea how they would react to finding out their newest pal was a friend of Dorothy, but my gut told me they would be fine with it.

  I was not going to test that theory any time soon, of course.

  Strangely enough, with a plan of action, a purpose and a couple of friends I was actually feeling much better about life. With the two of us working on him, Dad would buckle and we would get Shawn off to Los Angeles by Halloween.

  The inevitable misery that would follow for me at not having my big brother around was a concern for another time. There was plenty of time in the future to mope about not having Shawn around and indulge in extensive bouts of self-pity.

  I started off by contritely apologizing for yelling at my dad.

  He let me off easy, smiling even. “It’s okay, son. I know you suffer from the same Irish curse I have.”

  As we ate, I brought up the subject for discussion. Somewhere between “Yes, more peas please” and “Is there any more bread?” I looked at my dad and told him I didn’t think it was fair for Shawn to be stuck here when he didn’t have to be, especially if it was hurting his future.

  “That’s a pretty mature attitude,” my dad responded carefully.

  God, he didn’t have to sound so surprised? Did he?

  “We just don’t think he’s ready to be on his own, Col,” my mother chimed in.

  I smiled at her. I wasn’t sure which of them were more determined about this issue, so I had to work on both of them at once. “Mom, it’s okay. I know he’s here to keep me from flying apart at my very fashionable seams. I heard Dad and Shawn arguing.”

  My mom and my dad looked at each other and then at Shawn, who seemed to be paying more attention to his mashed potatoes than was strictly necessary. Any help he offered would only be seen as self-interest, after all, so he had to keep his mouth shut—or at least otherwise occupied.

  “It’s not that we don’t trust you, Col,” my dad said.

  “Not at all,” my mom agreed.

  “It’s just, this move was hard on you, we know. You’ve lost a lot and that’s not easy at your age. If Shawn goes back to Los Angeles, well…” My dad shrugged.

  “Well, breaking news, I don’t have anything to go back to in L.A.”

  That all by itself was such a massive concession that I felt it should have been marked by angels trumpeting a chorus of celestial horns. I was for all intents and purposes conceding completely on the move and forgoing all future leverage on tantrums, whining and guilt-trips related to it. It was the only way to get them to take me seriously, however.

  “What happened?” my mom asked.

  “Oh, you know, teen drama. The details are all gory and the plot twists are astounding.”

  “Collin…” My mother can be a little insistent when she feels a need.

  “Not important, Mom. Just understand I’m not pining away for L.A. anymore. Now, if Dad gets a transfer to New York, let’s go.”

  My mother’s expression told me we were not done with this topic, but I had excellent talents for obfuscating my angst when I needed to.

  “As it happens, Col, your mother and I did talk about this after the conversation I had with Shawn. It’s not like we don’t care that things aren’t working out for your brother here,” my dad explained. “But that’s our problem to solve and not yours.”

  “Well, you kind of make it my problem when you say the reason he has to stay here is because I might climb into the nearest bell tower.”

  My mom and dad exchanged another serious look. “Shawn, do you think there’s any chance your coach will change his mind?” My mother fretted visibly.

  “I don’t think so,” Shawn told her cautiously. “It’s tough working a new guy into the team.”

  That made her frown even more. “We can maybe find another way to get you into a good school.”

  I glanced at her skeptically, wondering if she even believed that herself. “Come on, all this family has talked about is Shawn getting a free ride to some big school. There’s no reason he has to give that up. I can be good. I can even prove it.”

  “Oh?” My mother’s disbelief was tinged with her sardonic amusement.

  “When I was in with the principal today, he hooked me up with a club sign-up form. You’re looking at the founder of the Herbert Hoover High Drama Club.”

  To say my parents were not excited would be an understatement. My father’s look was a tad patronizing and my mother just seemed like she was waiting for the punch line.

  It’s possible I had never actually given them any reason to take me seriously before. Entire lawn sales had been dedicated to selling off the remnants of my abandoned projects.

  “No, for real,” I told them.

  “That’s a lot of work,” my dad said.

  “And a ton of responsibility,” my mom added.

  `“Yes, well, it will give me something to do besides writing bad poetry and learning how to apply eyeliner,” I responded.
>
  They were still clearly not convinced. “What if it doesn’t work out?”

  “Then I’ll find something else to do. Come on, what’s the risk here?”

  “Well, we did say if Collin started to do better that we could let Shawn stay with Jack and his family,” my mother said to my dad.

  Slowly, my father nodded his agreement. “Then here are the terms. Make this club and stick with it, keep up your grades and stay out of fights. If you can do that through Thanksgiving, we’ll make arrangements for Shawn to transfer back to L.A.”

  My brother looked up in surprise. “Really?”

  “Yes,” our mom told him. “If that’s what you want.”

  Shawn was all over happy, and that made me happy. Of course, now I was saddled with a gargantuan task that would directly impact my brother’s whole future, so a small amount of pressure was felt. Those quibbles were insignificant when compared to how happy I was that I was helping Shawn for once.

  Live for the moment. For tomorrow you could be dead; or worse, you could be back in high school.

  Chapter 6

  I SUPPOSE IT DOESN'T SPEAK very well of me to admit that I awoke the next morning with the profound desire to fake some sort of illness. It wasn't that my resolve to help my brother had flagged; it was just that I was really not looking forward to the chore ahead. Noble intentions were fine and everything, but then came the actual work of following through and who needs that kind of stress?

  After a shower and some Cocoa Puffs, though, I was ready to do battle once more. I approached the school as one would any adversary; cautiously, with a steely gaze and a fair amount of reluctance in one's heart. It had become the enemy. It had to be defeated now. No, more than that, it had to be conquered. One might even say I had to make it my bitch.

  Once I was able to start laughing about it again, I felt ready to face off with Herbert Hoover High. First and foremost, I had to be on high alert. I could not afford to come within ten feet of Jerkasaurus Rex or his cronies. I needed to make absolutely sure that I didn't even get caught looking at them, since even that could be turned into some sort of affront by him.

  Second, I had to find an advisor for my Drama Club. That was a challenge all on its own even when a guy actually knew the teachers somewhat at his school. I was flying blind. I would have to give each of my teachers a serious amount of thought and then maybe talk it over with Becca.

  I ran into her on my way to English, and it made me happy to see she was wearing another of the ensembles I had picked out for her. She definitely made a better girl than she did a boy, which might sound strange coming from me. In any case, she was looking very worried when she approached.

  “Hey,” she said without any of her characteristic bravado.

  “Uh…. Hi.…” Her nervousness infected me and made me equally uneasy. “What’s up?”

  Becca fidgeted unhappily. “I just wanted to see if we were okay, you and me.”

  The fact that my feelings mattered to her seemed to be a difficult confession for her, though I couldn’t fathom why. “Why wouldn’t we be?”

  Her brow furrowed. “Because I was having lunch with the jerk who punched you in the face.”

  I shrugged casually. “It’s fine.” I smiled at her. “No, seriously. I mean, it kind of shows you have zero taste, but that’s not my problem.”

  Becca managed a wry grin at that. “Okay, that’s fair. I totally deserved that.” She eyed me seriously. “I didn’t know he hit you when he started talking to me.” She shyly tucked a lock of hair behind one ear. “I mean, he never even noticed me before, and then he just came up to me at lunch and asked to sit down.”

  It would have been foolish of me to admit that if a cute guy came up and wanted to have lunch with me, I wouldn’t ask questions either. I was not ready to give her that to chew over

  “It’s okay, Becca,” I told her. “I had lunch with Keith and Nick. That was cool.”

  “I just didn’t want you to think I thought what he did was okay,” she told me earnestly.

  That did make me feel better. “Thanks, Becca. Like I said, don’t worry about it.”

  “I also told the big ape he could go to hell, after I heard,” she added.

  That was a sweet gesture, but there was an alarm going off in my head. If Billy was interested in her and found out I was in the way, well … how could that possibly end well for the little gay boy? Of course, I didn’t think she should go out with him just to keep me from getting pulverized, so I didn’t object to her shooting him down.

  “So, since Keith has you for lunch, you think maybe we can hang out some other time?”

  I nodded eagerly to her. “Absolutely.”

  The bell rang and we had to get to class. I felt a lot better after that chat, though. I hadn’t really been thinking about it too much, but seeing Becca with Billy had really hurt. It had made me feel like maybe she and he were laughing about me being my back; which was stupid and paranoid and that was why I hadn’t let myself think too much about it.

  My crazy English teacher, Mr. Lundquist, asked me to stay after class, which frankly alarmed me. As psycho as he was with witnesses, what would he be like with no one around to testify in court? Would they ever find my body?

  “Mr. Kretchmer mentioned to me you're thinking of starting up a drama club,” Lundquist said as he stacked some papers together.

  “Er....” It wasn't a question, and I enjoyed living too much to risk venturing some sort of unasked for response.

  “I guess he told me because I taught Drama for the last three years.”

  “Oh....”

  I was baffled. Was he offended that I was trying to replace his class with a club? That seemed like a strange way to behave, but then, this was the guy who was often spotted having animated conversations with thin air, so I had to allow for some strangeness.

  “Is it going to be a Drama Club or just a bunch of kids sitting around yakking about what shoes are the coolest these days?” he demanded.

  I struggled to figure out where this was coming from. “I don’t think anyone will join, so it will probably be a very short-lived club.”

  “You’d be amazed. A few of my students have talked about creating a club, but none of them have taken the time.”

  Dimly, I began to understand why he was interrogating me, though that realization was laced with my usual caveats of worry about my personal safety. Honestly, Lundquist had never been a serious candidate for an advisor. For one, I was too scared of him to ask him. For another, I was worried that if he did agree, he would run off any prospective members … or throw them down a flight of stairs.

  However, the offer— if it was an offer and it seemed to be— was welcome simply because it freed me from having to go begging. However, it would mean hitching my wagon to him and so if it failed, he would probably kill me.

  The rather odd thing was that the hard-bitten old codger was not really asking me and wouldn't even look me in the eye. It was like he didn't want to seem too interested or something.

  Impulsively, (I know, me, impulsive, what's the world coming to?) I gave him a big old smile and asked, “Would you be our advisor?”

  “Are you going to be serious about this?”

  “It’s Drama. How serious can it get?”

  That earned a very sharp look from him and I made a mental note to stop trying to be funny in his presence. I instead just shut up and waited for him to yea or nay me.

  “Okay … but if we're going to do this, we're going to do this. That means I want to see us actually do a show. I'm not going to waste my time if you kids aren't serious.”

  And suddenly, I understood him. He loved the theater. Under the gruff exterior— most likely way, way under— was a genuine thespian who had had his department taken away from him. Maybe that was even why he was so bitter…. No, I thought on reflection…. No one got that bitter that quickly. It took years of practice to get as bitter as Lundquist was.

  It was likely a contribut
ing factor, though.

  I took out the form and gave it to him. He signed it and we set a date for the first meeting—Thursday at lunch. Then he assigned me with the task of creating fliers and putting them up around the school. How like a teacher to hand out homework outside of class.

  I was in the bathroom doing a little midday image-maintenance when my next encounter with Billy occurred. I suppose I should have expected that he would find some way to corner me, but somehow I had forgotten that the bathroom is the perfect private place for a little beat-down. I turned off the faucet and swallowed hard, preparing for a world of pain.

  “Oh, stand down, loser,” Billy told me. “I’m not going to beat the crap out of you, but I should for the trouble you’re causing.”

  I was terribly aggrieved of course that I was somehow causing him problems. My heart was absolutely bleeding for the poor guy. Fear and Prudence put Animosity in a full-nelson, though, so any searing commentary I might have been tempted to unleash on him did not escape.

  “Then … what?” I asked cautiously.

  Billy glared hard at me. “Becca is pissed at me.”

  “For nearly giving me a concussion? How unreasonable of her.”

  Billy rolled his eyes to dismiss my snide remark. I noticed he was sporting a split lip, which was a curiosity. “I didn’t even hit you that hard,” he said callously. “Look, what happened, it wasn’t personal, so just let it go, okay?”

  I really had no idea what the big jerk wanted from me. “I know it wasn’t personal,” I told him quietly. Doesn’t make it hurt any less. I did not voice that bitter thought, however. “And it’s not like I’m poisoning her against you. She doesn’t like bullies. Sorry if that sucks for you.”

  Billy grabbed me by my shirt front and slammed me against a wall, his eyes burning with impending violence. “Let me put it another way. You make sure she knows all is forgiven, and I’ll leave you alone. Otherwise, you’ll be getting your ass kicked from now until graduation.”

  He was now speaking a language I understood. I was far too fond of my limbs to make any sarcastic comments at that point. I nodded meekly at him, desperate to get him to calm down. If I could just get him to let me go, I could run. When you’re a scrawny gay kid, running away is something you grow very comfortable with.