“Besides, we have to start somewhere. Yeah, there are gay talk-show hosts and TV characters. Even movies. But sometimes that doesn’t trickle down into the everyday walking-down-the-hall-people-looking-at-you kind of thing. But if I don’t do it, then who is going to? If I wait for someone else to be brave and come out to make it safe for me, then it might not ever happen.
“You know that Gandhi quote, ‘Be the change you want to see in the world’? I think it’s true,” Diego said, shrugging his shoulders.
He stopped talking after that, then bent down and grabbed a stick near the bench. He dragged it around in the dirt for a while and threw it into the creek. Amos hopped up from where he was lying on the ground and pulled at his leash.
“Oops, I forgot about you. You wanted to go get that, boy, didn’t you? Didn’t you?” Diego teased, scratching Amos behind the ears. The dog whined and shivered, caught between Diego’s attention and the stick.
“My turn for a question?” Diego said, looking at Charlie, who had been staring down at the water in the creek, lost in thought.
“Yeah. Go ahead.”
“Why are you asking me all of this? You seem kind of different about it today than you did Tuesday night. Or even yesterday. I don’t know. Like you’re trying to figure something out,” Diego said, glancing into Charlie’s eyes for a brief moment before looking away.
Charlie didn’t answer for a long time. He listened to the cars driving across the bridge overhead, sending rumbles into the dirt beneath their feet. He watched a leaf swirl and spin in an eddy near the creek bank.
He thought about what Malcolm had said, about telling lies, about how he couldn’t be a witch and hide this part from himself. Or others. He was scared. He wasn’t sure what to do.
“I think I might be gay too,” Charlie said, his voice abrupt and clear, as if he were announcing something normal, something easy, like a test score in geometry. But he hadn’t really meant to say it. Had he?
He began to feel light-headed. He remembered the first time he ever jumped off the high dive at the Clarkston Community Pool. He stood at the end of the board for a long time. He knew it was twelve feet high when he was on the pool deck looking up at it. But from the top of the board, the water’s surface looked miles away. He almost jumped off the board in the first thirty seconds or so of standing there. But he stopped at the last minute, grabbed on to the railings and tried to catch his breath. He became light-headed, contemplating that he had almost jumped.
He felt the same now, except that this time he really had jumped, he had opened his mouth and said the thing he was most afraid to say, to himself or to anyone. His face felt fuzzy, as if there were insects crawling all over it. He scratched at his chin.
He could tell Diego was looking at him, but he couldn’t turn to face the boy. He looked down at his feet, then up at the sky, wondering if something in the clouds would help him know what to do.
“Whoa. I mean, well … whoa. Just like that?” he heard Diego ask.
Charlie turned and looked at him. And nodded.
He didn’t expect what Diego said next.
“You may be, you may not be. I think it’s just important to talk about it.” The boy’s voice had lost its excitement. He sounded like he was trying to be a serious adult.
“Don’t you want me to be gay? Don’t you want there to be others? Wouldn’t it make it easier for you?” Charlie asked, finally looking into Diego’s face.
The boy smiled. “Of course it would make it easier for me. But only if it’s true. And making it easier for me isn’t the only reason it would be great for me if you were gay. But it’s a big deal, Charlie. Can’t we just talk about it a bit? I mean really, there’s no rush.”
“Yes, there is! You don’t understand! I have to figure this out before …”
Charlie stopped himself. He had almost spilled the beans about Malcolm, about the community. What was he doing, flapping his lips like this? If he wasn’t careful …
“No, you don’t have to rush it. Not at all. Let’s just talk about it.”
CHAPTER 43
Me Too
AND SO THEY DID. They sat there on the bench, talking about the boys Diego thought were hot at school. (Charlie didn’t know who he thought was hot at school. He never let himself think those thoughts, so he wasn’t sure. Or at least he wasn’t sure if he was sure.) They also talked about what it was like to tell family members, about the cool programs and groups there were that offered support.
“Really, it’s a great time to be gay,” Diego said. “So many things have changed in the last five or ten years. And they keep changing. You can now even get married in Washington State. And more states will follow, I just know they will.”
They talked about everything … everything, that is, except the part about them, about their friendship, about how things were …
Charlie just couldn’t bring it up. Diego was too close, too near. He didn’t even know what he thought, did he? Or what he wanted? I want to sit closer to Diego, his own body seemed to be saying to him. I want to touch his skin, I want to …
What if he did say something? Then what? What if Diego laughed at him? The boy hadn’t named Charlie on his list of hot guys at school. Maybe that was a good thing. Maybe Charlie didn’t want to be on that list.
But maybe he did.
What if Diego wasn’t attracted to Charlie at all?
Or worse: what if he was?
Would he have to do something about it? Would that mean they were going out? Would everyone at school see them together? Would they have to hold hands in between classes? Would Diego try to kiss him? That would be so gross, that would be …
Charlie thought about it. He thought about the other boy’s lips, darker than his own, full, the way they moved fast when he talked. He had wondered what it would be like to kiss someone before. But he had always thought about kissing a girl. He mostly worried what her lipstick would taste like. But a boy? This boy, who spoke Spanish and Chinese, who used to teach kissing lessons as a kid, sitting here on the bench next to him. This boy who was handsome and popular and tall and seemed to know everything? What would it be like to kiss him?
I want to know, Charlie heard that same voice say inside of him.
He stood up. This was too much. He started pacing back and forth in front of the park bench.
So that was true too, was it? He, what? Liked Diego? Loved him? He didn’t think he loved him. But then again, how did you know if you loved somebody? You let them kiss you? You wanted to listen to them talk all day, even if they talked too much, even if they were silly? You felt shy and excited and worried and ready, each and every time you saw them?
Maybe he was just attracted to the boy. Maybe that was it. He didn’t love him. He was just attracted to him.
What did that mean? Did it have to mean anything? Couldn’t he be attracted to other boys too? And other girls?
Did it mean he had to tell Diego? It didn’t, did it? Didn’t Malcolm say that it could stay a secret? Didn’t that priest say it was between Diego and God? Couldn’t it be between Charlie and God? Did he even believe in God?
Argh! This is too hard! he yelled inside his head. I mean, Diego isn’t telling me that I have to make a decision, and he’s not trying to get me to say anything I don’t want to. But still. He’s just sitting there on that bench, looking at me, watching me walk back and forth like he’s at a tennis match. Just waiting for me.
“I don’t know!” Charlie yelled, causing Diego to jump at his sudden outburst. “I don’t know! Okay? God, why does this have to be so hard? I don’t know what I’m supposed to do, or say, or …”
“Hey, take it easy, Charlie. No one is telling you to do anything!”
“Yes, you are. You want me to be gay. God, I hate that word. You want me to like boys. Everybody always wants something from me, and I, I’m just, I’m just sick and effing tired of it all!” he screamed into the afternoon air.
“All … all … all … all …
all …” bounced back and forth across the creek bed.
He stood quietly, his hands at his sides, ashamed at what he had said. Here Diego was trying to help, and all he could do was yell at him. The outburst didn’t feel good. It felt dirty on his lips, like he had drunk spoiled milk and couldn’t get the taste out of his mouth.
Amos was on his feet, harrumphing into the dirt, tail wagging, looking at Charlie with his tongue hanging out.
Charlie looked over to the bench expecting to see Diego’s face crumpled with hurt, or even worse, smiling that fake smile he had done in the car the other night.
Instead, Diego’s eyes were wide open, and his mouth hung agape.
“Dude! That was awesome! Awesome! Do it again. Yell it!”
“What? Are you crazy? I don’t want to … . That was, like, totally embarrassing. I shouldn’t have …”
“Shut up! That was amazing. Ms. Barry, the GSA faculty member, says that sometimes we just have to yell stuff out loud. I want to try it!”
And with that, he stood up, threw his head back and yelled, “I am sick and effing tired of it all. I am sick and effing tired of it all!”
Amos began to lurch between the two boys, trapped by the leash. Finally he leaned forward on his front paws and offered up his own “Aroof!” to the sky.
The boys took one look at the dog and erupted in laughter. All the anxiety and confusion in Charlie turned into hard laughter, pouring out of him like soda fizzing from a bottle. Charlie bent over, trying to point at Amos and keep himself from falling over at the same time. Diego fell back on the bench and howled, drawing his knees up to his stomach and hitting the dirt with his free hand.
“Maybe he’s gay too!” Diego choked out between gasps. This made Charlie fall to his knees. As he tumbled forward, he threw his hands out to keep from landing face first on the ground and accidentally blew a rather large bubble of snot out of his nose.
“Gross! Gross!” Diego yelled, pointing at Charlie’s face, then dissolving into more laughter and clutching at his stomach.
Charlie was giggling too hard to be embarrassed. Amos yelped a few more times, which set the two boys off again for a good ten minutes, forcing more snot and more tears, more gales of laughter from their tired vigilant bodies.
CHAPTER 44
Hen Weixian
IT SEEMED TO CHARLIE THAT he spent the rest of that Friday, as well as all of Saturday, on the phone. He and Diego talked several more times each day. It wasn’t as if they spent the whole time talking about being gay. They talked about school, about California, about Diego being Mexican-American. They spoke of what Diego respected about his mother Lydia: that she was a single parent, that she was a successful lawyer at a downtown law firm. Diego also mentioned what he didn’t respect about her: that she was a Republican, a fact that led to endless debates between her and her Democrat son. They talked about Charlie’s mother and her quiet capable ways, and Charlie found that it was easy to talk about her as long as he kept to general details. They talked about his aunt and uncle as well as cool things to do in and around town. It was as if, now that Charlie had admitted to himself and Diego that he was (might be? could be?) gay, it gave the boys a chance to talk about everything else.
Maybe it wasn’t completely out in the open. It didn’t feel that way. But as he stood in his bedroom that Friday night with his cell phone to his ear, hearing the multitude of words spilling from Diego’s mouth like bird chatter, he caught himself staring at his reflection in his full-length mirror and wondering if he looked any different.
I’m gay, he would try out in his mind as he looked at himself. Did that feel right? I’m homose- … No, he couldn’t say that word yet. It felt weirder, more scientific. More definitive, somehow. I’m gay … I’m gay …
“And then I was all, ‘Whatever, and she was like, ‘Yeah.’ So I was like, ‘You sure, mom? You, sure?’ And she was all, ‘Diego Alejandro Ramirez,’ which totally means I’m in trouble when she uses my full name …”
“Uh-huh,” Charlie heard himself saying.
It was nice that Diego did most of the talking. He could just add a few words now and then and the boy would keep going.
The one thing Charlie hadn’t talked about were his feelings for Diego.
After he had eaten dinner with his aunt and uncle and while they were downstairs watching TV, Charlie went back upstairs and found the card Malcolm had given him. He had never really considered not becoming a witch. Now that he had talked to Diego, though, he was ready to commit. His hands only shook a little as he entered Malcolm’s number on his phone screen and hit “call.”
“You sure, Charlie?”
“Uh, yeah. Look. I thought about what you said. And I talked to the guy at school who’s gay, the one I think I like. I told him I thought I was gay. We, uh, we talked a lot about it.”
“Wow, kid, nothing like a little pressure to get the ball rolling, huh?”
Charlie nodded, forgetting that Malcolm couldn’t see him on the phone.
“Malcolm?”
“Yeah?”
“Um, I didn’t tell that kid, Diego, about, you know, how I feel about him.”
“Why not?”
“I don’t know.”
“Nope. That’s not gonna cut it.”
“Well, because what if it means I have to do something about it? Like, I don’t know, hold his hand at school or something? That would be so weird. And everybody would find out.
“Plus,” added Charlie, “what if it changes things? He’s my new friend, and I really like it that way. I don’t want things to change.”
“I see. Any other reason?”
Charlie paused. He didn’t want to answer the question. But in a way he felt forced. If he wasn’t up front with Malcolm, the man might not let him become a full-fledged witch. Plus, getting all of this off his chest wasn’t as bad as he had feared it would be. It actually felt kind of good.
“What if he doesn’t like me? In that way, I mean? He’s so popular, and everybody at school likes him—well, almost everybody—and he’s just so, you know, handsome and smart and can talk to anybody about anything.”
“Are you basically wondering why someone like him would be attracted to someone like you?”
“Yes! Yes! That’s it. I mean, really, I’m just some stupid kid from some stupid town who doesn’t know anything.”
“That’s how you see yourself?”
“Come on, Malcolm. I know this is where you give me the little pep talk, about how great I am, about how I really can succeed in life. People have been doing that ever since I can remember, ’cause I’m shy and get tongue-tied when I get scared. I hate it! I always feel so stupid.”
“I’m sure you’re exactly right, Charlie, that people only say those things about how great you are because you are a hopeless charity case and they’re only doing their community service to boost you up a notch or two.”
“It’s true! You don’t know. You don’t know what it’s like to feel so, so clueless all the time, to not understand stuff, to have people expect me to …”
“Charlie,” Malcolm interrupted, “You’re right. I don’t know what it’s like to be you. I came from a witch family who told me all about it when I was very young, about what it would mean to grow up in a community of similar people. I had lots of time to think about it. So that when the time came to get popped, I’d had more time to prepare than you did. It happened in the town where I grew up in New England. I already knew everybody involved. I didn’t have to live in a new house, go to a new school where I didn’t know anyone. My parents didn’t leave me with strangers. And most of all, I didn’t have to come to terms with two big things: that there was witchcraft in the world, because I already knew about it and had seen it growing up, and that I was gay. I liked girls, Charlie, so I fit in. In that respect, all of that stuff was way easier for me. Of course, there were girls who didn’t like me the way I liked them, which was hard, but all in all …”
“Why are you say
ing all of this?”
“Because, kid, you need to go easy on yourself. You keep comparing yourself to people who aren’t in a similar situation to you. It’s apples and oranges. Give yourself a break, okay?”
“But I’m not being honest about things with Diego. You said that I couldn’t lie. And that if I lied, I couldn’t be a witch.”
“I said you couldn’t lie to yourself, Charlie, or it wouldn’t work. And you can’t lie to me, or I can’t teach you what you need to learn. You get to decide what you tell other people. That’s your business, not theirs. If you want to talk to Diego about it, great. If you really should, but you chicken out and avoid the whole thing, well, that might cause some problems. But if you aren’t ready to do it and you’re still being honest with yourself, then I think you’re good to go.”
“What do you mean, ‘good to go’?”
“I mean you’re ready to get popped. And I’d be more than happy to do it.”
“Really? Honestly?”
“Really. Honestly. You’ve done your work, young man, and you’ve shown me how seriously you’re taking this. You’ve got a good head on your shoulders. And you’re using it. That’s all I ask for.”
Charlie held the phone to his ear and looked out the window. Several leaves on the maple tree in the front yard had begun to turn yellow. When had that happened? He thought he had been looking at the tree every day. He had spotted the beginnings of fall colors on the tree at school, but …
Time seemed to be pressing down on him, pushing him forward. Malcolm said he was ready, and Charlie wanted to be popped, but was he ready? Was he ready for all the things coming his way?
“You still there, kid?”
“Yeah, I’m here. Sorry.”
“Look, we’ll do it this Sunday. Probably Sunday night. Beverly will give you the details.”
“This Sunday? Like in two days?”
“Well, yeah. When did you think it would be?”
The Boy Who Couldn't Fly Straight: A Gay Teen Coming of Age Paranormal Adventure about Witches, Murder, and Gay Teen Love (Book 1, The Broom Closet Stories) Page 24