The Importance of Being Kevin

by Steven Harper

  “Even if you don’t have a dick,” Sonia put in.

  “And you gotta laugh,” Jess said. “Otherwise you cry. We’ve all been kicked like fifty times, so we laugh about it. If you cry, they win.”

  “I hit the motherfuckers back,” said Sonia.

  “And you laugh afterward,” David said. “Who’s your boyfriend?”

  I felt better. I told them a little about Peter, leaving out the billionaire parents and the murder problem. I even showed them his picture.

  “Wow.” David whistled. “If you throw him away, can I have him?”

  And out of my mouth, from nowhere, came a high-pitched voice like Eutha’s. “You couldn’t afford him, honey.”

  A second marched past. I couldn’t believe I said that. God, I was turning into Jake! I was such a dumbass.

  Then all three of them died laughing. I mean, died. They were holding their stomachs and pounding the table. Larry and Ronna glanced at us. People walking past the booth stared. I got sucked into it too. Laughter burbled out of me. Jess whapped me on the back. Sonia swallowed her gum. David ripped a loud one.

  “Fag fart!” he shouted, and that set us all going again.

  “Hey!” Larry said. “Public face, David.”

  At last we settled down and went back to playing cards and talking. I took a bunch of pictures and selfies with them. Sonia wanted to study graphic design and get a job at an ad agency, but she didn’t know if she’d be able to afford college. “Or maybe I’ll draw a comic strip,” she said.

  Jess played five instruments and worked at a pizza place. “Seriously,” she said, “don’t ever order the sausage special.”

  David lived with four brothers, a sister, two aunts, and his grandparents. Their house was never empty. He didn’t know how to make a bed because his mom wouldn’t let him. “My family is very traditional. Girls stay home, boys work. I’m thinking about joining the army just to get away.”

  I told them about trying out for the play and how everything felt like home in the theater. We weren’t gay teenagers. We were teenagers who happened to be gay. It was sitting in a living room with instant friends. That was suddenly the most awesome feeling in the world. It was drinking sunlight or dreaming rain.

  Outside the booth, four guys in identical red polo shirts jogged past, and two women pushing a stroller laughed at a joke of their own. Music from one of the stages drifted in. I was sitting in a giant living room with all of them. All these people were my friends. My community. They didn’t care if I was queeny or not, if my family wanted me or not, or even if I was gay or not. We were all together. The feeling rushed over me, powered through me. I wanted to run and sing and laugh and dance and let all the fabulousness come pouring out. No one cared what I was, but everyone cared about me. It was better than the cast party.

  My phone buzzed right then with a text from Wayne. Time to meet him. I didn’t want to go, but you always have to leave just when the party’s most fun.

  I gave my card-mates a hug each, and if David’s hug was a little longer than the other two, so what? We were family.

  A few minutes later I met up with Wayne and Jake, and on impulse, I gave both of them a hug. “Thanks for bringing me,” I said.

  “You’re more chipper,” Wayne observed.

  “Yeah!” I said. “It’s…. I’m not…. I’m all buzzy and shit. It’s great!”

  “You’ve been struck by the festival fairy,” Jake declared and tapped the top of my head. “Ping! You’re one of us now.”

  “Just in time for us to head out,” Wayne said with a glance at his watch.

  Something in the crowd caught my eye. “Hold on a sec.”

  I ran over to where Eutha Nasia was laughing with some guys. On the way I grabbed a Pride flyer from a booth. “Hey, Eutha!”

  She turned. “If it isn’t that tender young thing I met earlier. What’s up, honey?”

  “Can I get your autograph?” I held out the flyer to her. “My friend forgot to ask before.”

  “I’m honored, sweet thing.” Eutha signed and drew a big flower under her name. “Enjoying the festival?”

  “Absolutely.” I took the flyer back. “I’m letting all the fabulousness out.”

  “I’m thrilled!” She batted her eyelashes at me, and this time I grinned at her. “Kiss, kiss, darling!”

  Wayne admired the autograph all the way back to the car.

  ACT III: SCENE I

  KEVIN

  WHEN WAYNE and Jake dropped me off, I thanked them lots, and Wayne reminded me rehearsal started in less than an hour. Jake kissed me on the cheek, and the Jeep sped off.

  Dad’s truck was gone, but Peter’s car was still parked in the driveway, and my heart did a backflip at the sight of it.

  Someone had cut the grass. That was usually my job.

  Inside, the trailer had been totally cleaned—floor mopped, carpet vacuumed, bookshelves dusted, even the windows washed. Dad and I kept stuff pretty clean, but this was level-one OCD. Peter was in the kitchen unpacking bags of groceries. I kissed him hello, feeling like a husband getting in from the office. It was a real “Honey, I’m home” moment.

  “I got your texts,” Peter said. “How was it?”

  “Weird at first, awesome at the end.” I looked through the bags. Full stock of food, more than we ever had in the place at once. “You didn’t have to do all this.”

  “Gotta do something,” he said. “Your dad left just after you did, and I had to keep busy, you know?”

  I nodded. You’re not supposed to let people buy you food when it’s your own house, but hell if I was going to turn down a full fridge, clean windows, and a mown lawn.

  “Well… thanks,” I said awkwardly.

  “Keeping my man fed.” He put a jar of peanut butter in the cupboard. “Show me more pictures.”

  We sat on the couch and thumbed through the photos I’d taken of my Euchre friends.

  “He’s cute,” Peter said about David.

  “Hey!” I said, even though I’d been thinking the same thing. And then I wondered if Les had thought the same thing about me, and then I started to feel creepy, and my good mood faded away like fabulousness on a hot sidewalk.

  Peter had no idea what I was thinking, and he snorted. “Just because we’re seeing each other doesn’t mean we don’t notice other guys. But you’re the only one I want to kiss.” He did, and out of the blue, I flashed on Les again. “Infinity!”

  It was a total reversal. Suddenly I didn’t want Peter there. A whole hive of bees was buzzing inside me. I was going to fly in a thousand directions, blasting pain wherever I went. I wanted to be left alone. I wanted to yell and scream and punch and kick. When Peter was there, I couldn’t do any of those things.

  “What’s wrong?” Peter asked. “Is it that remark about David? Look, I’m not—”

  “No.” I shook my head. “Long day, long drive. Going to my room.”

  With the door shut, I flopped down on my bed and stared at the picture of Robbie on my nightstand. Did he feel the same way about me that I felt about Les? That made it worse. I was filled with blackness, worthless and broken. I shoved my face into my pillow and yelled and yelled and yelled. I didn’t stop until my voice was scratchy and my eyes were sandpaper.

  And then Peter was there. He wrapped his arms around me, but I pushed him away. “Don’t.” I sat up. “I’m not worth it. I’m not worth anything.”

  “You’re worth everything to me,” Peter said quietly.

  I just sat there, feeling heavy and stupid, but Peter stayed with me until it was time to leave for rehearsal.

  That evening at rehearsal, I couldn’t get anything right. I flubbed lines. I blew entrances. I wrecked my accent. The beehive was still buzzing angrily inside me, and I couldn’t concentrate. Iris looked unhappy, which only made things worse. I was a shitty actor, and I should never have been cast in the first place.

  Finally when I screwed up the same left-right move three times in a row, I exploded. “I’m
leaving!” I snarled and stormed off the stage. I stomped into the green room. The pop machine glowered at me, reminding me I didn’t even have a dollar for a fucking soda. I kicked it and hurt my foot.

  “Gonna break something, buddy.” Wayne was leaning against the doorframe.

  “My whole fucking life,” I said with my back to him. Why couldn’t he just go away? Why couldn’t everyone just go away?

  “When I was a kid—and by kid, I mean a little younger than you—I got into some bad shit,” Wayne said. “I was mad all the time, and I hurt people. My parents. Iris. My best friend. I wasn’t angry at them, even though I acted like it. I was angry because I didn’t like who I was.”

  “You think that’s what this is about?” I snapped. “You think you can tell me some nice story about when you were my age, and I’ll break down and reveal what’s wrong with me?”

  Wayne shrugged. “You’ll tell me or you won’t. But you’ll feel better if—”

  “I was raped, okay?” I yelled at him. “Les Madigan didn’t just attack me in the park. He raped me. He made me into a little pervert, and then he died.”

  Wayne closed the door and sat on the aging red couch with his hands folded.

  “I’m so sorry,” he said quietly. “That was a horrible thing he did to you. No one should have to go through that. I’m very sorry.”

  I’d been expecting shock. I’d been expecting horror. I’d been expecting disgust. I didn’t know how to respond to an apology.

  “It wasn’t your fault,” I said after a second.

  “I don’t think it was my fault,” he said. “I don’t think it was yours either. I’m sorry this happened to you because it was a crime against you, and I wish it hadn’t happened.”

  I sat on the other end of the couch. My nose was running, and I sniffed hard. Wayne just sat. Finally he said, “Have you told anyone else?”

  “Peter,” I said.

  “Is that why the police think he killed Les?”

  “No.” I wiped my nose with the back of my hand. “They don’t know about me. And you can’t tell them.”

  “I won’t.” Wayne slid a dollar into the pop machine, pulled a can out, and handed it to me. “Have you thought about telling the police?”

  “I can’t tell the cops,” I shot back. The can was cold in my hands. “They’ll figure out about me and Peter, and then they’ll think Peter killed Les even more, and he didn’t. Besides, what would it matter? Les is dead. He can’t go to jail or anything. And….”

  Wayne waited a second. “And?”

  “And I’d have to tell people,” I whispered. “Everyone would know what happened to me.”

  “You didn’t do anything bad or shameful,” Wayne said. “Les did. It wasn’t your fault. It was Les’s. But it’s your decision what to do.”

  “I don’t know what to do,” I said helplessly. “It’s stupid. I’m stupid.”

  “Les wanted you to feel stupid and powerless,” Wayne said. “Guys like him get off on that shit. But he’s dead, and the only power he has is what you give him. If you live in fear and anger, he wins.” He paused. “Do you know the Parks Community Center a block over? By the police station?”

  “Yeah,” I said suspiciously.

  “They have counselors who work on a sliding scale. You can see someone for free. And it’s totally confidential. No one has to know.”

  “Counselor won’t help me.”

  “You’d be surprised,” Wayne said. “Beats being pissed off all the time and wrecking your acting. I can tell you love theater, but what goes on the behind the scenes affects you onstage. You can’t escape it.”

  “I just want to be alone for a while,” I said. “Thanks for the pop. Don’t tell anyone.”

  He got up. “If you do want to talk to someone, you’ve got my number. I’ll go make excuses for you and play Algy for an evening.”

  After he left, I drank the pop and stared at nothing until Peter came in and said rehearsal was over. He seemed uneasy. I didn’t care right then. We rode home without talking.

  In the morning Dad was working again, which was great, but the trailer seemed empty. Peter said he was going to find an apartment somewhere. “I can’t sleep on your couch forever,” he said. I didn’t disagree. He asked if I wanted to come with him, but I didn’t. Instead I watched videos on my phone most of the day in kind of a dull haze.

  Then I remembered Les’s phone. A little shock went through me. Peter had cleaned the whole house. Had he seen it? Had Dad? Scared, I searched for it. Peter must not have vacuumed under the couch, because the phone was still there. The broken screen made a dark mirror that cracked my face into a hundred pieces. It was pieces of Les, and I was one of the last guys who had seen him alive.

  Another thought—Peter said he’d deleted the video of him and me, but did Les have anything else about me on there? Pictures? Other videos? Had he talked about what he’d done? Taken selfies while he….

  I couldn’t throw the phone away without knowing. The cops probably weren’t watching the phone’s GPS every second, right? Besides, Peter said that he put the phone in airplane mode, so no one could see it anyway. I pressed the power switch.

  The phone came to life. A little jet plane in the upper corner told me it was still in airplane mode, so I felt safer. I called up the photos and scrolled through them. He didn’t have a lot. A bunch of photos of a random cat for some reason. Some more of a really messy apartment—Les’s, I supposed. No photos of me. No videos at all.

  I let out a long, shaky sigh. I don’t know what I’d been expecting or hoping for, but I hadn’t found it. Yay?

  Then I checked the text messages. A cold spear went through me.

  son of a bitch

  I hate u

  u should die, fuckwad

  They all came from different numbers. No names attached to them—just phone numbers.

  I shut the phone off. Now what? I had planned to throw the phone away, but now… what if the messages were clues? Or evidence? My mouth was dry. If I wanted to give the phone to the cops, how would I explain that I had it? I could get in trouble—and I was still on probation. I’d land in juvie. I had no idea what to do.

  I paced a circle in the tiny living room. The messages might not be clues either. They could just be hate stuff. Or prank texts. Didn’t everybody get those? I might turn over the phone and go to juvie for nothing.

  Peter still had lawyers too. His family wouldn’t let him get convicted of murder, even if they were pissed at him. Come to that, though, his lawyer wasn’t following him around anymore. Damn it, why was all this shit getting dumped on me? I didn’t know how to decide. Suddenly I wanted my mom, even though I hadn’t seen her in years.

  I shoved the phone under my mattress. I’d figure out what to do later, when I’d had more time to think.

  Three days passed. Things got strained in our little trailer. Dad’s under-the-table job ended way sooner than he expected. Other work all dried up, which was weird in the middle of construction season, but what can you do, right? So he was home all the time.

  Peter was having trouble finding an apartment—there isn’t a lot of stuff to rent in Ringdale because Morse Plastic sucks up almost everything for their temp employees. Ironic. And sometimes the landlords didn’t want to rent to him—no murder suspects allowed. Peter tried to keep quiet about it, but I could see it hurt him. So the three of us were in the trailer a lot. I asked Dad if Peter could move into my room instead of sleeping on the couch, but he just stared at me.

  “If Peter was your girlfriend, what do you think my answer would be?” he said.

  And I had nothing to say to that.

  Rehearsals stank. I still couldn’t concentrate, though I didn’t freak out again. Wayne didn’t say anything about what I told him, but I could tell he was thinking about it, so I avoided him. The rest of the cast was screwing up too. Melissa lost her accent completely. Meg giggled whenever she had to kiss me. Thad missed two rehearsals—something about his mom
—and Wayne had to fill in for him. Iris wasn’t happy. Only Peter didn’t seem concerned.

  “We’re supposed to open in two weeks,” I raged on the way home after one really bad night. “We’ll never make it, Peter Finn.”

  “We will,” he said.

  “How do you know?” I asked. “What makes you so wise?”

  “It happens in every single play,” Peter said as we turned down my street. His headlights pierced the night, and bugs splattered against the windshield. “There’s always a point halfway through where everything becomes a disaster. And then, about a week before opening night, suddenly everything snaps together, and boom.”

  “Boom?”

  He snapped his fingers. “Boom. We have a play. Do you think Jack and Algy have a thing for each other?”

  “Pffff. Completely.” I checked my phone for messages. It was becoming a habit now. “I mean, the only thing the women care about is whether Jack and Algy have money and if their names are really Earnest. Jack and Algy talk about all kinds of shit together. They have fun together, and they argue and make up, just like… like….”

  “Like we do?” Peter finished with a smile that was so cute I wanted to put it in amber and keep it forever.

  The next day, Peter and me didn’t have rehearsal, so he went apartment hunting. He came back a few hours later—no luck. Dad still hadn’t found work, so we hung around the trailer playing cards and shit the rest of the day. Peter offered to go out and buy us a TV, but Dad wouldn’t let him.

  “I can handle a cell phone for Kevin,” he said, “but a TV’s too much. And you need to save your money, young man.”

  Just before suppertime, a strange car pulled into the driveway. I got all tense. I didn’t feel any better when Mr. Dean, the lawyer, got out. Peter and I exchanged looks, and I could see he was a little panicky too.

  “What now?” Dad muttered. He flung the door open and called, “This isn’t going to be a good-news visit, so let’s get it done.”

  Mr. Dean said, “First I need to talk to Mr. Morse.”

  “Yeah?” Peter moved next to Dad in the door, so I had to stand on tiptoe to see over them.