Boy Shattered

by Eli Easton

  Coward.

  I folded my arms across my chest and stared Cameron down. “Landon saved my life. He’s the only reason I didn’t bleed out on the cafeteria floor. So yeah, he’s my friend.”

  “So now you have to kiss Landon’s ass?” Cameron huffed. “Who cares what he did? Say ‘thanks, fag’ and move on.”

  “Yeah,” said Gordo, his face red. “You’re friends with him or you’re friends with us. Pick a side, Brian.”

  I lost it. “Okay, how about this? I hung around with you guys because Jake did. All your bigoted, homophobic bullshit always made me want to stick a fork in your face. And now Jake is gone, and I don’t have to listen to it anymore. Any questions?”

  I turned and walked.

  “Fuck you, Brian!” Cameron called out, his voice shaky.

  “Yeah, fuck you!” said Gordo.

  I kept walking. I felt sick inside. That had been harsh. I didn’t need to start a war with Cameron and Gordo on top of what I already had to deal with. But I’d opened my damn mouth and spoke my mind.

  Now it looked like I had a war whether I wanted one or not.

  AFTER MY fight with Cameron and Gordo, I expected the worst. But what actually happened was this: for the next three weeks, I hardly saw them. Maybe they decided to leave me alone for old times’ sake. Or for Jake’s sake. But, knowing them, they didn’t want to look like assholes in front of all the girls.

  Because, weirdly enough, I was more popular than ever. Part of it was a surge in school solidarity. There was a lot less bullying and mean gossip. People were pulling together and being kind to one another. And also? I think people just felt sorry for me.

  I saw Cameron and Gordo a few times from a distance, watching me with tense, unhappy expressions. But their chosen response was to give me the cold shoulder and silent sneers. Guess they wouldn’t look too heroic punching the boy who nearly died.

  Whatever. I’d take it.

  Another thing I learned in my first month back at school: Girls love the idea of fixing guys. I had dozens of invitations to “sit with me”—like, what does that even mean?—bring me food, carry things for me, and “take me out and get my mind off things.” And I don’t mean a dozen over the course of the month. Like, there were a dozen a day. Jen was chatty and sweet, like she was trying to make good on my suggestion that we be friends. She was always inviting me to do stuff.

  I appreciated the thought. But it got old having to find polite ways to say, “No, thank you.” I felt pressured to start dating a girl just to get the “single shingle” off my forehead and stem the tide.

  Instead, I hung out with Landon and his friends and tried to look intensely absorbed at all times. When Landon and I walked down the hallways, we’d get into hand-waving conversations. And if we had nothing real to talk about, we faked it, making a big to-do over a homework assignment or even going with nonsensical blabbering. Blah blah. Blah blah, really? No way! Oh hell yes. Hundo-p serious. Blah blah blah.

  Landon seemed to find it amusing. In fact, he gave me a safe word. If I saw someone making a beeline for me who I didn’t want to talk to, all I had to do was say “incoming,” and he’d launch into what appeared to be the most important conversation in the history of the world.

  Every disaster has an aftermath, and slowly the new normal took shape. Landon met me after my morning classes. His first three morning classes were in the same halls as mine, in some random gift from the universe, so it worked out. And we always met after fourth period to go out to the bleachers for lunch with Madison and Josiah. If the weather was truly awful, we ate in Landon’s car.

  People accepted our friendship like it was just another blip on the radar. It was always “Hey, Brian, hey, Landon!” like we were a known entity. And if we weren’t in the midst of one of our faked conversations, there’d be hugs all around. Landon got this tiny patient smile and looked away or got out his phone and left me to the wolves while I tried to be nice. As if, clearly, I was the one they really wanted to talk to. But then I figured out that if I brought up gun laws, politics, or voting, Landon would switch on like a light and start dominating the conversation in his uber-earnest way.

  It was sort of cute. And definitely handy.

  After school, we always went to his place for a bit. Sometimes Josiah came over too. We played video games, studied less than we should, and just hung out and talked. Landon spent a lot of time online, researching legal stuff or chatting with activists from other schools. And I was developing my own obsession with the shooting, only mine was taking a different shape entirely. I made lists of names in my notebook. When I talked to people I always asked, “Where were you when it happened?” first thing. And then, I wrote it down.

  And I watched. I watched.

  Halloween weekend, the four of us had a movie marathon at Josiah’s house and watched all the Alien movies. So I spent Friday and Saturday night at Landon’s and didn’t go back home ’til after dinner on Sunday.

  I might have gotten more pushback about being gone so much, if it weren’t for my mom. I heard my dad bitching about it in the kitchen one night. And my mom said that I’d lost my best friend, and that I’d bonded with Landon because he helped me, and he came from a nice family, so they should just let me be as long as it seemed to be helping me.

  It’s always nice when your folks think they’ve got you all figured out. She didn’t have a clue about me and Landon. But whatever.

  As for my dad, he’d finally accepted that I wasn’t going to play football or basketball this year. The basketball season started early November, and the doctor and my mom both agreed with me that it was too soon. So he focused on his own obsessions, false-flag events, the deep state, hanging out with his conspiracy-and-gun-nut friend Bull, etcetera. The less time I had to be around that, the better.

  As for the bits and pieces of myself that rattled around inside me, all sharp edges and fangs and stuck panic buttons… well. It got a tad easier to be at school. I still had pain after I ate, but it was not as killer as it had been. The nightmares were less hairy too, especially the nights I could stay at Landon’s.

  And, hell. I bore the unbearable.

  Part III. Silver Lining

  “Lion” by Brian Marshall

  You smile at me

  And I can move mountains,

  Dive to the bottom of the sea

  Just to bring you a pearl.

  I keep my admiration inside my coat pocket,

  Buried deep with my other secrets,

  With the things I fear to say

  And the things too dangerous to feel.

  My friend.

  Barely older than me, you have

  The heart of a lion.

  Generosity, kindness, wisdom, humility, fire.

  The spirt of an ancient oak.

  But I don’t give you that praise.

  Those words are in the box with my secrets.

  To say them would reveal too much of me,

  And the stars are too far away

  To care for my compliments.

  You smile at me,

  And I think: Wow. I could love you.

  But those words, and that bit of terror-joy,

  Are also locked away.

  Turn the key.

  Shhhh.

  How can I give you those words when my own fire is barely alight?

  My heart is not a lion’s.

  I fear everything.

  Especially the truth.

  Maybe a day will come when I can tell you:

  This frightened heart is yours.

  Chapter 14

  November

  Brian

  “OKAY, ROOM 31 is Josiah, Simon, and Tray. Madison, Shondra, and Betts are in Room 29. And Room 32 is Landon and Brian.”

  “Thanks, Mom.” Landon grabbed the plastic hotel room key from her hand.

  “Don’t forget! Seven sharp in the lobby for breakfast!” she called out.

  Landon held out a fist to Josiah. “Sleep well, good sir.�
�

  Josiah bumped it. “’Til morrow, bitch.”

  He gave me a resentful look over his shoulder as he went into the hotel. He’d probably wanted to room with Landon. But that hadn’t been my call, and I wasn’t about to offer to switch.

  Landon slung his duffel bag over his shoulder and nodded at me. “Let’s go, roomie.”

  IT WAS the Saturday before Thanksgiving, and a bunch of us had driven for seven hours to Chattanooga, Tennessee, where we were meeting a group from Parkland. Landon was vibrating with excitement. He’d been emailing with them a lot, and he’d even had some Skype calls. I was excited too, but more for him than myself.

  Landon unlocked the hotel room door and pushed inside. We dropped our bags on the floor, and then I locked the door and added the chain for extra measure. I checked the single window, but the heavy blackout curtains were already drawn.

  I relaxed a little. Then I turned and saw Landon was frozen looking at the bed.

  His cheeks were red. “Um… I thought she’d get us a room with two queens. I’ll call her.” He took out his cell phone.

  “No, don’t. She’s got enough cats to herd this trip. We can deal.”

  “You sure?”

  I shrugged. “Dude. You have my cooties by now, so give it up.”

  Landon laughed. “True. Guess I’m good if you’re good.”

  I’d stayed over at Landon’s house a half-dozen times. But he had this trundle bed that pulled out from under his single bed, and I slept on that. Or I crashed in the guest room. We’d never slept on the same actual mattress.

  As I looked at it, there was a flutter in my belly. Shit. This could get awkward.

  But also potentially interesting?

  I grabbed some stuff from my bag and went into the bathroom to brush my teeth and change into the sleep pants and T-shirt I’d brought. When I came back, Landon was on the bed with his shoes off, propped up against the headboard. He had his laptop out and was typing away. He finished what he was doing—probably an email—and looked up at me. “It’s only ten. Want to watch something for a bit?”

  I crossed my arms over my chest. “Actually… can we talk for a sec?”

  He looked surprised. “Sure.” He closed the laptop and put it on the floor. “What’s up?”

  It felt weird to be standing in the middle of the room while he was lounging on the bed. So I went over to the empty side and stretched out, my back against the headboard.

  “If you post about this weekend, or if there are pictures, can you leave me out of them?”

  Landon shifted to face me, so I shifted to face him too. His expression was thoughtful. “Yeah. Of course we can do that. Is it because of your dad?”

  I nodded. “I lied to him.”

  Landon just watched me, waiting.

  “I told my parents this weekend was a support session for survivors of mass shootings, like a free therapy thing? My dad asked if those Parkland students were going to be here. And I said no, that it wasn’t about gun laws or protesting.”

  Of course, that was exactly what this weekend was about. The most visible Parkland students had become famous in their fight for saner gun laws. Landon loved them. To him they were kindred spirits, examples he wanted to follow, a movement he wanted to join. My dad and his buddies, though? They thought they were either crisis actors or whiny little snowflakes who should shut the hell up. My dad loathed them with a passion normally reserved for Hillary Clinton.

  “I didn’t want to lie. But he’d never have let me come if I told him the truth. He almost didn’t let me come as it was. He said no at first, but my mom talked him into it. I think the words free therapy were key.”

  I didn’t tell Landon that I’d gotten so upset during that argument, it had tweaked my gut, and I’d ended up on the bathroom floor for an hour with horrific cramps. That, in turn, had tweaked my mom enough that she’d pushed my dad to let me come.

  Landon frowned. He was silent for a moment. He scooted over, inching toward me a little. “I’m sorry your dad is like that. He’s really against any gun reform at all? Even after you were shot?” He sounded like he didn’t get it.

  “Yup. Which shows you how important I am to him.” It came out bitter. Dammit. I didn’t want to spend tonight whining about my dad.

  “There are a lot of people with that point of view who harass me on Twitter. There’s no way to argue with someone like that. But I’m sure he loves you. He’s your dad.”

  I thunked my head back on the headboard and looked at the ceiling. I hadn’t told Brian much about my dad. Only that he was a MAGA guy. But maybe this was a chance for me to say what I’d been wanting to say, what I’d been trying to say for the past few weeks.

  I glanced toward the door. The chain lock was on. The curtains were shut. But my anxiety didn’t go away. Nope. This time it had nothing to do with who might be lurking outside.

  I felt hot, like I might spontaneously combust.

  I’d been wanting to tell Landon. I’d really been wanting to tell him. But at the same time, it scared the crap out of me. What if he thought I’d been lying to him? Or what if he thought I was pathetic?

  I swallowed a hot lump in my throat. “It’s not just the gun stuff. There are a number of things about me that my dad would hate. If he knew. Before the shooting….” I hesitated, then pushed on, looking at the cracks in the ceiling as if crib notes were written up there. “I was just trying to keep my mouth shut and, um, pretend to be what he expected me to be. I figured I’d have to keep it up through high school at least. Then maybe someday, in college, or once I had a job, I could… be myself. Only I almost didn’t get that chance.” I chewed my lip, then forced a laugh. “Pretty chickenshit, right?”

  A beat of silence strung out. I finally glanced at Landon. He was staring at me intently, his expression a mix of sympathy and a kind of knowing I wasn’t sure I could bear. I looked back at the ceiling. My heart thumped so hard in my chest, I felt like it should be shaking the bed.

  “That day in the cafeteria…,” he started, hesitated. “You asked me to kiss you.” His voice sounded strained.

  “I’m gay,” I said. My voice was whispery, as if part of my brain had held the words back. I tried again, more forcefully. “I’m gay. That’s the first time I’ve said it out loud. You’re the first person I’ve told.”

  I laughed nervously, trying to sound like it was no big deal.

  I dared to glance at Landon’s face then. He wasn’t laughing.

  Landon

  I GAPED at Brian.

  I should have known. And I probably would have, if I hadn’t worked so hard for the past month to convince myself that Brian only wanted my friendship, that he would never be interested in me like that. It wasn’t easy to be around him all the time and ignore how beautiful he was, to feel his vulnerability, the way he struggled to suppress his fear, and not want to hold him and comfort him. Or, to be honest, do way more than that.

  But I’d shoved those feelings into a box and packed it off to a corner of my mind. And I’d succeeded admirably.

  And now Brian was telling me he was gay?

  What did I do with that?

  Be a friend, idiot. That’s what you do with that.

  “Wow,” I said. “Wow. I mean… wow.”

  Grace under pressure. That’s me.

  Brian blinked at me and crossed his arms tight over his chest, as if he was embarrassed. “I sort of knew when I was twelve? But I didn’t understand how screwed I was until my dad went on this rant about the ‘gay agenda’ after one of his radio shows. I have no idea what he’d do if he found out.”

  “Oh my God, Brian.”

  He was on a roll now, words pouring out of him, this normally quiet guy. “And it’s not only my dad. I was on the football team, baseball team, basketball…. Some of my teammates would be okay with it, I think. But—oh look!—I’m friends with the biggest bigots in school!”

  “Brian—”

  “Don’t even ask me how that happened
. Jake was a great guy, but I was afraid to tell him. I have no idea how he would have reacted. And then hanging around Cameron and Gordo made it worse. I felt trapped because I didn’t want to rock the boat, didn’t want to have to quit playing sports. It’s the only thing my dad and I still agree on. It makes him so proud when I play. And I guess I thought if I could make him proud enough of that—”

  “Brian.” I put my hand on his arm. “You don’t have to justify anything to me.”

  He finally looked at me, his face troubled. “I totally caved. You were out in, what, tenth grade? I always admired you for that. I was a freshman when you came out, and I was just… in awe of your brass balls, man.”

  I sat up straighter, feeling a spark of anger at the way he put himself down. “It’s not the same. I have a totally supportive family. My mom and dad don’t care. And I didn’t have much to lose at school either, because I wasn’t the star quarterback.”

  He looked doubtful. “You’re so confident, though. You’re who you are, and nothing can touch you.”

  That was so sweet. “Thanks. I try. But everyone has their own timing and their own reasons. Do you know how many gay kids end up homeless? A lot. Not coming out to your dad…. That’s not being a coward, Brian, that’s being realistic. You have your whole life ahead of you to be out. Hell yeah, wait until you’re at college! Wait until you’re safe. Anyone who says otherwise doesn’t know what they’re talking about.”

  His face relaxed, like he accepted what I was telling him. But his eyes were still troubled. He took a shaky breath. “Maybe. But… I could have died like that. Not knowing what it was like to be with someone I really wanted to be with. Lying about everything. I didn’t want to die like that, Landon.”

  “I know,” I whispered, feeling it down to my bones.