by Dirk Hunter
I paused at the threshold long enough to give Principal Hayes my most mischievous grin. “See? Things are back to normal already.” With that, I let the door slam shut, relishing the look on Hayes’s face.
I felt a little less cool when I got to the parking lot and could not for the life of me find Kai’s car. Turns out I’d never actually paid attention.
I’d follow Kai to the car, get in, wait to get where we were going, follow Kai out. So I ran up and down the aisles, pressing the unlock button on Kai’s keys until I finally saw his flashing lights. I opened the door, got in, and….
Stopped.
I was in the passenger seat. Not a big deal. Sheer force of habit, right? Not like anyone was looking to see me make a fool of myself. I got out, switched sides, put the keys in the ignition, and….
Stopped.
I had no idea how to drive a car. You turned the keys — I knew that much, so I did. It started. So far so good. Right pedal, go; left pedal, stop.
Put the car in “D,” for Drive, presumably…. HAH! No, wait, reverse, first.
See? I got this. What could go wrong?
Steering, it turned out. Didn’t hit anything, though, so I decided to log that one under “success.” Now drive. How hard could this be? I played Mario Kart — same idea, right? I played well, I usually won, I….
Stopped. Or, braked, rather.
I thought of all the times I crashed in Mario Kart. Sure, like seventy percent of those were from being run off the road by a vengeful Kai-as-Toad, but there was a good number of just swerving out for no particular reason.
“Come on, Dylan,” I whispered to myself. “You can do this. It’s not like there’s going to be shells thrown at you every few seconds, or banana peels scattered on the road.” I didn’t sound very confident, even to myself.
Carefully, I put the car back into drive and slowly pulled out of the school parking lot. “Hopefully.”
What followed next was a very stressful, but ultimately uneventful fifteen minutes. The hardest part was probably figuring out how to make the windshield wipers work when it started to snow. I pulled up to Adam’s secret spot completely unscathed, if with significantly higher blood pressure.
Adam watched as the car jerked to a stop. He stood outside his car, key in his hand, clearly about to leave. I’d made it just in time. I turned off the car, scrambled out and, standing there face to face, all the speeches I had been frantically practicing in the car suddenly fled my brain. We just stared at each other over the hood of Kai’s car.
Adam was the first to think of something to say. “How’d you know I’d be here?” His face gave no indication of how he was feeling.
“It’s where you go. I figured you’d need to get out of your house, so….”
His voice was soft, almost distant. “I take it you know, then, about —” His voice clouded with emotion, and he paused. When he spoke again, he sounded calm once more. “About Mom.”
I nodded.
“Why are you here?” he asked.
“I — I know things between us were… you know. But I thought you shouldn’t be alone right now. So I came.” His face didn’t change. “I’m sorry. That was stupid of me. Selfish. I’ll leave you alone.” I started to get back into Kai’s car.
“Wait,” he said, and I did.
The silence stretched on.
“Is that Kai’s car?” he finally asked.
“Yeah.”
“What, did you steal it and run out here the second you heard?”
“Pretty much.”
“I thought you couldn’t drive.”
“Oh, I can’t. But I had to come.”
“’Cause you were worried about me?”
I shrugged.
“Thanks,” he said, and for the first time, his expression changed. He smiled. I smiled back. “Aren’t you going to ask if I’m okay?” he asked.
“That’s a dumb question. Of course you’re not okay.”
“It’s what everyone else keeps asking.”
“Everyone else is dumb. This isn’t news,” I said. He laughed, and I felt a part of me relax that had been tense for months. At the same time, we both moved forward, stepped halfway around Kai’s car until we were a mere few feet apart. I ached to close the distance. I think he did too.
“I really should go,” he said.
“Oh.” I wasn’t quite able to contain my disappointment. “Okay.”
“I left pretty early,” he explained. “Pete’s probably all alone. I don’t want him to think I just ran off, like… you know.”
Like his dad. “Of course. You should probably get back.”
“The funeral is tomorrow morning. It’s just for family. But, um, there will be a wake in the afternoon for everyone. It’s at my house.” For some reason, Adam had fixed his eyes firmly on his toes.
I wasn’t really sure how to respond. “Sounds nice.”
“Will you come?”
“What?”
“You don’t have to,” he rushed to explain, still staring at the ground.
“I’m not trying to guilt you. You don’t have to feel obligated. I know how you feel about me….”
“I’ll be there.”
“You will?” He was the portrait of relief.
“Great. Well, um, I should probably go….” Before he could move, I stepped forward and threw my arms around him.
“Listen,” I said, hugging him tight. “I’m here for you, okay? Whatever you need, however you need me. As long as you need me. I promise. Understand?”
“Thanks,” he said, hugging me back in one brief squeeze. He pulled back. “I’ll see you tomorrow, then?”
“Definitely.”
Adam glanced at Kai’s car. “Maybe have someone else drive you, huh?” “Nah, it’s cool. I’m a quarter crash-test dummy, on my father’s side.” I was graced with another smile for my efforts, though it might have seemed a little forced. Then Adam got in his car, and I waved as he drove away. “Well,” I said to Kai’s car. “It’s what, almost time for second period? Guess I might as well get that detention out of the way.” I climbed back into the car, this time remembering to sit in the driver’s seat. “Wait, how does this thing work again?”
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
THIS WAS the first time I’d ever been to Adam’s house. It was a small, two-story building nestled in the woods near the edge of town. It was absolutely packed with people. I had been a little nervous before I came.
What if the entire football team was there, and I spent, like, an hour cornered by Will Davis? But when I got there, all I could see were adults standing around in too nice clothes, eating off small paper plates and talking solemnly amongst themselves, and small kids running around, ignoring their parents’ pleas to behave and not dirty their brand-new clothes.
I wasn’t sure whether I should ring the doorbell or come right in. I saw a bunch of people going in and out the front door, so I assumed the latter. A number of men stood on the front porch, smoking. They were old men, mostly overweight, with large unkempt beards and ill-fitting suits. It was pretty warm for February, but I was still surprised that none of them wore jackets. I had this sense that the only jackets they owned were ratty old things, which had been forbidden by wives who had also forced them into the suits they had worn when they were much thinner men. I assumed they were friends of Adam’s father, though I didn’t see him among them. They made me nervous in that way groups of old men with that air of conservative masculinity had always made me feel. I was very self-conscious of my neat new suit, my polished shoes and styled hair. After all, these were probably the kind of men Adam had grown up around, grown up feeling like he could never come out.
They nodded to me as I stepped onto the porch, a respectful hello.
One of them held the door open for me. Honestly, I was a little surprised they didn’t turn me away, tell me to leave like they could sense the gayness rolling off me.
Maybe I was being unfair.
I found
Adam toward the back of the living room. I waited as he talked with two old — bordering on ancient — women. He noticed me as I got closer. He spared me a quick smile, but then turned back to his conversation with, I’m guessing, his great-aunts.
They did most of the talking. Mostly comments on how short life is, how unfair, taken too young, etc., all interspersed with tsk ing noises and ponderously shaken heads. Adam barely got a word in edgewise. It was obvious that, despite being the one who’d just lost a mother, he was the one doing most of the comforting today.
The little old ladies finished, and I finally had my chance to talk to Adam.
“You look nice,” he said as I stepped up.
“Thanks. You do too.” He really did. Dark suit, a tie. He cut a really dashing figure. It was a shame he didn’t dress like this more often. “I, uh, brought a casserole. ’Cause apparently that’s what you do.” “Thanks. You can set it over there with all the others.” He pointed to a table already laden with food. I saw at least four other casserole dishes, as well as a few cakes, several plates of cookies, and what looked to be an entire turkey. Apparently the idea that sadness could be somehow mitigated with food was universal.
We stood there awkwardly for a moment. At least, I felt awkward. It was a little hard to tell what Adam was feeling. I’d never really interacted with him before in public, so I was kind of at a loss as to what I could say.
I probably couldn’t give him a hug in front of everyone. I mean, I’d noticed a good amount of interguy hugging in there already, but that was clearly more platonic, “we’re obviously cousins or something” kind of hugging. I couldn’t shake the probably irrational fear that everyone would notice the gayness radiating off any overt affection coming from me.
“Listen,” Adam eventually said. “I should probably mingle with my family. Almost all of them are here from out of state.”
“Yeah, totally. I’ll just set this down with the others,” I said, indicating the casserole. “I guess.”
Adam reached out and gave my arm a tiny squeeze, then stepped away to talk with some guy holding a baby. I was a little ashamed that he was the one giving me a reassuring arm touch. Good God, I was terrible at this. Not knowing what else to do, I set my casserole with all the others, snuck a cookie from one of the opened cookie tins (okay, it was like nine, don’t judge me, I was stressed) and started walking around Adam’s house. People who I passed gave me restrained smiles and polite hellos. None of them seemed to care who I was, or why I was there. Looking around, I noticed several other people — usually in couples, but sometimes alone — who also didn’t seem to know anyone else there. People who showed up to pay their own respects for a neighbor, or a coworker, or something. Noticing this made me feel a little more comfortable. A little more anonymous.
In the hallway by the stairs, I found a row of pictures. Many of them were of Adam and his brother Pete throughout the years, two little blond boys roughhousing, grinning at the camera, or posing with various sports equipment. It was a very weird experience for me. I remembered Adam at all of these ages, but in my memories he was usually sneering, this imposing figure who always loomed over me and terrorized me. Even after everything that had happened between us, I realized I had still held on to this image of him — of us — as kids.
In reality, he had been a small kid, cute, and often overshadowed by his older brother. In one picture, he was trapped in a headlock, though he smiled.
In another, his brother stood holding a new toy on Christmas morning, while little Adam sat on the floor amid the wrapping paper, waiting his turn. In many he stood right behind, always letting Pete be the focus, almost like he was trying to hide. He looked out of those pictures with a sadness I knew all too well — the sadness of knowing you’re different, and trying not to show it.
Eventually, the pictures began to show Adam as he was now. That sadness seemed to lessen with each passing year, but I knew better. He’d merely gotten better at hiding it. His smiles started to seem more genuine, and he rarely stood in his brother’s shadow. But I knew that, inside, he was still that sad little kid. I knew it, ’cause he had shown it to me, in those times we were alone. I realized that, without me, he probably didn’t show it to anyone.
Then there were the pictures of his mom.
This was the first time I’d seen her. She was a small woman, very thin and very blond. She was practically dwarfed by her children, but despite that, she seemed to dominate the picture. She had an aura of warmth that I could almost feel through the frame. Her smile made her glow, and I recognized it instantly. It was the same smile I’d seen on Adam’s face those times when he’d been truly, happily carefree. Those few times we had been alone together.
In fact, the more I looked, the more I could see how much Adam looked like his mother. Pete, on the other hand, clearly took much more after their father. His hair had grown darker after puberty, and he sported an almost identically square chin. I couldn’t find very many pictures of Adam’s dad to make some more comparisons. There didn’t appear to be any of him, outside of the few with the whole family. There were a few lighter spots on the wall, where it looked like pictures had once hung. I wondered what they had been of, why they had been taken down.
Short of going upstairs, I ran out of house to explore. So I watched Adam as he moved effortlessly from person to person throughout the room. Each time I couldn’t shake the sensation that he was the one doing the comforting, never receiving comfort. He radiated strength, even warmth, that I could now recognize as coming from his mom. He was clearly trying, with all his heart, to be like her today. In his attitude, I saw that sad little boy, spending years imitating his mother, only now he was forced to go on without example. I doubt anyone else noticed. He made it seem so effortless.
A few times, I saw Pete across the room. I remembered Pete from school, and though he had graduated two years ago, he might have recognized me. He might have questioned why I was there when no one else from school was. Not only that, there had been quite a stir when I came out, the only kid at Oak Lake to do so in memory. It would be even worse if he not only recognized me as a kid from school, but as that fag Adam had bullied for all those years. Best-case scenario, he would think I was there to gloat at my bully’s pain. Worst case, he would guess the truth. So I played it safe and kept groups of people between us whenever possible. There were a few times when I could almost swear he was looking across the room, right at me. But most of the time, he was gone, somewhere or other, leaving Adam alone to mingle with all the guests.
The day passed. I didn’t get another chance to talk with Adam. He never had a spare moment. Occasionally I’d notice him frantically scanning the crowd, looking like the facade he had so carefully crafted was about to slip. His eyes would find mine, he’d smile and turn back to his conversation. It was like knowing I was there gave him the strength to continue, or at least that he didn’t want me to leave.
Eventually, as night fell, the crowd thinned as people started to leave. I finally got to sit on the big armchair in the living room. I’d been eyeing it for the last two hours, but it hadn’t been unoccupied until now. I sat and watched as Adam consoled his aunt.
Adam’s glances in my direction became more and more frequent, until barely a minute passed between them. It was obvious he wanted to come over to me, but he never did. One by one, the remaining guests interrupted their conversation to give Adam their good-byes. His aunt barely paused in her monologue of grief each time, and soon she was the last one there — except for me, of course. Adam remained dutifully attentive throughout. Pete was nowhere to be seen.
After what felt like another hour, Adam’s aunt finally finished, and he walked her out. A minute later, her headlights disappeared down the driveway and Adam stepped back inside. We were finally alone.
The mask of strength was gone. Adam looked exhausted. He collapsed, eyes closed, onto the couch across from me.
I stood up and looked around, half expecting Pete to show up, but
we were truly alone. I sat at the opposite end of the couch. I listened hard and heard only the sound of Adam’s breathing. I scooted over until I was sitting next to him. Adam’s head dropped on my shoulder. His breathing deepened. I began to fret that he had fallen asleep, that Pete would barge in any second.
Adam’s fingers brushed mine. I looked down at him, but he still gave no sign that he was anything but asleep. I struggled to be half as relaxed.
“Aren’t you afraid Pete will see us?” I asked softly.
Adam’s eyes snapped open, and he lifted his head. “Do you see Pete anywhere?” He stood up, crossed the room, and grabbed a picture frame off the bookshelf. I’d looked at that picture earlier in the day. It was a picture of Adam and Pete, when Adam was around ten years old, sitting on their mom’s lap.
“Adam?” I asked. “What is it?”
He didn’t look up from the picture. “Will you stay tonight? I don’t want to be alone.”
Immediately, my stomach clenched. Say no, oh God, say no, said the part of me still hurting from his betrayal. He’s only looking for some life-affirming comfort sex. It had a point. “Of course,” I said instead. The look of relief on his face was immediate.
Fuck, I thought, I hope I don’t regret this.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
HE LED me upstairs to his room. He started changing out of his nice suit. I didn’t quite feel comfortable with watching, so I occupied myself with exploring his room. It was extraordinarily clean. Not even a few abandoned pieces of clothing on the floor. His suit immediately went on hangers, and his used undershirt into a small hamper hidden in his closet.
It seemed almost clinical.
The walls were a very plain off-white with no posters anywhere. The furniture was unremarkable, the bedding plain. The desk was the only place in the room that felt at all lived-in, with its scattered homework assignments and textbooks. His trophies were lined on the back of the desk, and also along the windowsill. There were over a dozen of them, across several different sports and ages. They must have represented his entire life’s achievements, at least those he wanted to remember and display. But what caught my eye most, perhaps because it was the only color in the room, outside of the burnished gold of the trophies, was a stained glass pendant, about the size of a small cell phone, hanging by a ribbon from one of the trophies on the windowsill. It was beautiful, deep blues, brilliant reds and greens forming no particular pattern, becoming instead a sort of calming chaos. From the way it was hanging, I could tell that, had it been day, it would have caught the light perfectly from the window.