“Well, guys.” Matt stood with his tray. “I’m gonna go cruise the campus for chicks, I’ll catch you later.” He grinned.
“Later,” I replied and Brad repeated.
As soon as he walked off, I gave Brad a concerned look. “Are you sure you’re okay, buddy?”
“Yeah.” Brad stood. “I’m fine. Just dreading working with John this weekend, but I’ll be okay.”
“If you need to talk I’m here,” I offered.
“I’m good, but thanks. I’ll catch you later,” he said before standing up and heading to the tray return counter.
As he walked away, I glanced at Roger again, whose eyes were locked on Brad. I narrowed my eyes. Something was up.
• • •
Saturday morning I woke with Brad on my mind. The look that Roger had given him the previous day puzzled me. Brad didn’t know Roger and as far I knew, he’d never even spoken to him, but that look was not one two complete strangers give each other. I made up my mind that I was going to find out what was going on.
I got up, showered, and dressed. I ran down to the kitchen, ate a quick bowl of cereal, and rode my bike over to Brad’s house.
Knocking on the door, I waited patiently for it to open. A few moments later, I heard the knob turning and the door opening. A teenage girl with short black hair, thick-lensed glasses, and braces on her teeth stood in front of me. I groaned at the sight of Brad’s slightly older stepsister, Belle.
Seeing me, her eyes narrowed. “Oh, it’s you.”
“Hi, Belle,” I greeted, my voice full of disdain.
While I normally got along with most everyone, Belle was one of the few people I did not. She had hated me since I had kicked her under the table letting her know I wasn’t interested in her.
“He’s busy helping Dad.” She glared at me and started to shut the door.
I stuck my hands out and stopped it from closing. “I don’t care. I’ll wait,” I said as my eyebrows narrowed.
“Fine.” She sighed and stepped aside for me to enter.
“Stuck-up rich boy,” she mumbled as I passed by her.
“Bitch,” I mumbled back.
“What did you say?” she yelled angrily.
“Nothing.” I gave her a cocky grin.
She pointed her finger at me. “You better watch it.”
I ignored her and headed for the sound of voices coming from the far end of the house.
As I rounded the corner, I observed Mr. Norris at the end of the hallway squatted down in front of the exposed furnace. Brad stood next to him with a wrench in his hand, awaiting further orders. As soon as he saw me, his eyes widened.
“Hey,” he mouthed silently so as not to disturb his stepfather’s concentration.
“Son of a bitch!” John cursed at the exposed wiring. “It’s the fucking coupler.”
Brad fidgeted nervously at the sound of John’s yelling as I stopped mid-way down the hallway.
“Three-quarters inch wrench,” John demanded and held out his hand waiting for Brad to hand it to him.
Brad bent down and picked up a wrench then handed it over.
John took the tool, placed it over an exposed bolt, and tried to turn it.
“Goddammit, Brad!” he yelled. “This is a half-inch! I said three-quarters!”
“Sorry,” Brad replied timidly as John handed it back to him.
Brad picked up another wrench and gave it to him.
John attempted to loosen the bolt again.
“Son of a bitch!” He suddenly threw the tool down on the floor and looked up at Brad angrily. “Are you listening to me, boy?”
“Yes sir.” Brad’s voice quivered.
“I said three,” he held up three fingers, “quarters. Are you that stupid? God, you’re useless.” He reached into the toolbox and pulled out a wrench and went back to the work.
Hearing John’s words and seeing the look of pain on Brad’s face made my blood boil. I glared at John furiously, wanting to say something to put the cruel bastard in his place. While I’d heard John yell at Brad like that before, he never did so with that degree of hatred. My mouth opened to say something I knew I would regret, before Brad looked at me pleadingly.
His eyes looked wet, and I knew he was begging me not to make matters worse, so I backed down.
“Son of—” John yelled as he struggled to loosen the over-tightened bolt.
“Do you need another tool, John?” Brad interrupted in a small voice like that of a child.
John leaned back, glanced up, and spotted me. He then looked at Brad. “Just go. I’ll do it myself,” he said in a much calmer voice, obviously not as bold in front of an audience.
Brad looked at me again, before maneuvering around John and joining me at the end of the hallway.
“I need to get out of here,” he said as he passed me, heading to the front door. I glared at John who was kneeling in front of the furnace. The thought of shoving his bald head straight into the metal panel in front of him ran through my mind.
Knowing I’d never have the courage to actually do it, I turned and ran after Brad, who was already out the door.
“Where you going?” I yelled as I ran down the steps.
Hopping on his bike, he answered. “Anywhere but here.”
I grabbed my bike and pulled up beside him. “Treehouse.”
Brad nodded, before we took off down the street.
• • •
After climbing to the top of my treehouse, Brad sat down against the wall, pulled his knees up, and wrapped his arms around them before lowering his head. I took a seat against the opposite wall. Not exactly knowing what to say, I waited for him to say something; my anger at John growing every moment of the silent bike ride to my house.
Quiet sobs slowly began filling the air, growing louder by the second. My heart aching, I moved over to sit next to my best friend.
I put my arm around his shoulders. “I’m sorry, man.” I rubbed his shoulder. “John is a fucking asshole,” I said angrily.
“I hate him!” Brad yelled.
“I know, buddy.” I continued trying to console him as I searched for the right words to say to give him comfort.
His sobs became louder. “He’s…right…I’m useless,” he said sadly, his whole body shaking.
“No, you’re not!” I raised my voice. “Don’t ever say that!”
“I’m…just…a poor white kid and that’s all I’ll ever be,” he cried.
“You listen to me, Brad De Vries, you are not just a poor white kid.” I shifted my anger to him for thinking such a thing. “You are kind, smart, handsome, and funny. Not to mention a great guitar player and singer.” I gathered his long hair and draped it over his shoulders so I could see the side of his face.
He stopped crying and bore his eyes into mine; they were red, puffy, and full of fear. Immediately, I knew something was terribly wrong. “I’ve done something really bad, Shawn.”
“Huh?” I raised my eyebrows.
“I…I…” he stuttered. “I’ve…I’ve…been letting Roger Coltrane blow me.”
“What?” My eyes bulged as I jerked my arm back from around his shoulders.
“I’m sorry. It’s just…he…I couldn’t…control the urges,” he stuttered.
“Oh God! Brad!” I took in a deep breath and let it out.
“Please don’t hate me.” He shook his head pleadingly.
“Please tell me no one else knows.” I stared at him, praying no one found out for his sake. If it got around that Brad was like Roger, his life would be a living hell.
“No. Roger does guys on the football team.”
“Ughhh…gross.” I wrinkled my nose as I thought about the hypocrisy of those so-called “straight” guys.
“Oh God!” He covered his face with his hands and began crying again. “I’ve done him, too.”
“Why Brad?” I asked, shaking my head in disbelief.
“I wanted…to…know…what it felt like to…do…it.” He sobbed,
refusing to look at me. “I’m gay, Shawn. There’s no doubt in my mind anymore. I like being with guys.” His cries became louder.
While I wanted to be angry for my best friend’s careless actions, I couldn’t be. My heart broke for him. In all these years, I’d never seen him like this. He was in so much pain. All I wanted to do is to make him feel better.
I leaned forward and put my arms around him and pulled him to me. He uncovered his face and put his arms around me, and I held him while he cried.
“It’s okay, buddy,” I whispered and hugged him tightly.
“No, it’s not.” He shook his head.
“We’ll figure this out. I’m here for you.”
Right at that moment, a feeling overcame me, and all I wanted to do is let him know he wasn’t alone. I moved my face against his, until our cheeks were touching and without a second thought I tilted my head slightly to the right and pressed my lips against his.
I closed my eyes and gave in to my feelings. My own pent-up confusion came rushing out in one long passionate kiss with my best friend. I felt warm all over as Brad began reciprocating just as passionately. Suddenly, it hit me what I was doing. I opened my eyes and jerked away, slamming my back against the opposite wall of the treehouse.
“No!” I yelled. “I can’t do this! This isn’t right!”
Brad’s jaw dropped and his eyes became big as golf balls. “Shawn?”
“No!” I yelled. “No! No! I won’t do this!” I pulled my knees up and hugged them tightly. “I’m not gay!”
“Shawn?” He tilted his head to the side. “I don’t…understand.”
Confronted directly, I blurted the first thing that came to my mind. “I fucked Susan in New York!”
Brad sat in stunned silence. A few moments later, his mouth slowly opened.
“You had sex with Susan?”
“Several times! It was the greatest experience of my life. I like girls!” I yelled at him, trying to rationalize my feelings.
“But you kissed me. I don’t understand.”
“Do you think you’re the only one that’s confused?” I glared at him angrily for making me have these feelings toward him.
“Can you like both girls and boys?” Brad hit me with the question I’d been asking myself for weeks. I didn’t care about the answer to that question at the moment. All I knew is that I had to deny that gay side of me.
“No, Brad! No!” I yelled angrily. “I have to like girls. I can’t let this other side of me come out. It scares me, don’t you understand?” I rocked back and forth.
Brad nodded. “It’s okay, man. We’re both confused.” His eyes dropped.
“There is no confusion. I will not allow myself to do this.” I shook my head, determined that that part of me would never see the light of day. I would suppress the feelings until eventually they’d fade away.
“But, Shawn—” His eyes begged.
“No, Brad!” I interrupted. “I don’t care if you’re gay. I’m here for you, but I’m not like you. You understand?”
“But, Shawn—” he tried again.
“Stop, Brad! Just Stop! I don’t want to talk about it anymore,” I said as I placed my head between my knees.
Wednesday, November 14, 1973
Dear Journal,
Since the incident several days ago in the treehouse, I’ve tried to push it out of my head. Brad has tried several times to bring up the kiss, but I’ve quickly cut him off. Today, I had enough and yelled at him not to bring it up again. I did convince him to stop messing around with Roger and I believe he has, or at least he tells me he has. He seems to be much happier lately, but I think that’s because he’s looking forward to our traditional family Thanksgiving at our condo in the Bahamas, for which he came along with us for the past seven years.
I could say that my feelings for him are the same as they ever were, but I would be lying. The other night, we were in the den with my mom watching Love American Style. It’s a stupid sappy show, but Mom loves it. Anyway, there was a kissing scene between this couple and I looked at Brad who sat next to me on the couch. I had noticed how he had kept inching himself closer to me while trying to get comfortable. Finally he was so close, his upper leg pressed against mine. I started to move, but then a sensation shot directly from my knee to my crotch. While I should have moved, I couldn’t make myself do it. Finally, Mom got up and offered to fix us all popcorn. Brad then jumped up excitedly and volunteered to help, leaving me unable to stand without completely embarrassing myself.
I swear, if I didn’t know any better, I’d think he did it on purpose.
~ Shawn
Chapter Eight
A few flakes of snow floated in the air around me. I pulled my wool coat tighter around my body as I waited on the tall steps outside the cafeteria for Brad to get out of his class. Normally, I would go ahead and get my lunch tray, but Matt had been getting on my nerves lately with his “Tales from the E.R.” as I called them. His mother was a nurse and he found it absolutely hilarious to tell her gross hospital stories, while we were trying to eat the already disgusting cafeteria food. At least with Brad present, he and I together could steer Matt away from the topic.
I glanced in the distance and spotted the familiar long blond hair whipping wildly in the chilly breeze. I pushed my own hair back over my head.
“Hey.” He looked up at me, stopping at the bottom of the steps.
“Hey,” I returned, checking out his new black leather coat. “Where did you get the coat?”
“Oh.” He looked down. “Mom found it at the Salvation Army Thrift Store yesterday. You like it?”
“Yeah. It looks really good on you. Looks like it’s hardly been worn.”
“Yeah.” Brad’s face lit up. “Five bucks!”
“I like it.” I grinned as the image of Brad sitting on his bed playing his guitar wearing it with no shirt underneath ran through my mind. God, I need a girlfriend to get these sexual thoughts of Brad out of my mind.
“Thanks.” He flashed me those pearly whites that made me feel warm all over. Stop thinking about it, Shawn!
My mind was in the gutter. The kiss in the treehouse replayed in my head like a broken record and each time my body would tingle all over making me crave the touch of his lips again.
“Are you okay?” Brad tilted his head slightly.
“Oh…yeah.” I struggled to pull my thoughts away from the wonderful feeling of his hand on my cheek as he kissed me.
Making our way into the busy cafeteria, I glanced at a flier on the wall behind the usual lunch line. It’s time for a change: Penelope Crosley for Student Council President. I elbowed Brad and pointed.
“That has to be a joke.” Brad laughed.
“I don’t think it is.” I chuckled thinking of Poison Penny with her robotic demeanor in front of a group of students arguing over the need for more student parking.
Brad lifted his index finger. “Oh yeah, my mom said to tell you that she put your hair dryer in the cabinet above the toilet in your bathroom. In case you couldn’t find it.”
“Oh. I found it this morning.” I groaned. Having Brad’s mom cleaning my bathroom was just as awkward as I imagined it would be.
“What’s wrong?” He furrowed his eyebrows.
“I don’t know.” I shrugged. “It’s weird having your mom cleaning my bathroom.” I lowered my voice and leaned in so the other people in line couldn’t hear me. “She walked in on me in my underwear the other day.” I had realized it was my fault for not closing my door, but my parents rarely came upstairs, so I usually treated the entire second floor of our home as my own private bachelor pad. Of course, running around the house in my underwear in front of my parents wasn’t a big deal. In front of Brad’s mom it was embarrassing.
Brad chuckled. “Yeah, she told me.”
My eyes went wide. “She told you.”
“Yeah, she thought it was cute the way you got so embarrassed about it.”
“Jesus.” I groaned.
After grabbing our delicious meal that consisted of gray meatloaf, runny mac and cheese, mushy purple hull peas, brick-like cornbread, wilted coleslaw, and fresh-from-the-can fruit, we took our seats at our usual table.
“Wonder where Matt is,” I said as I picked up my piece of cornbread and knocked it against the side of my tray. It made a clacking sound.
“He has the flu,” Brad replied as he opened his milk.
“How do you know?” I crinkled my nose before dropping the cornbread square back onto my tray.
“Mrs. Barlett told us in Chemistry this morning. Lots of people out with it,” he said as he glanced across the cafeteria at Roger Coltrane.
I frowned as I followed his eyes. “Well, at least we won’t have to hear about the old woman with the puss-filled boil on her back.”
“Dude!” Brad wrinkled his nose.
I chuckled, trying to distract him from Roger. “Or the dude that cut off his finger with the table saw. You know, the one whose dog grabbed—”
“Would you stop?” Brad cut me off.
I tossed back my head and laughed loudly.
About that time, I felt a slight breeze on my neck as someone plopped down beside me. Immediately, my mind went to Tabitha and my mood did a complete one-eighty. I cut my head to the right and eyeballed a girl I had never seen before in my life. She dressed like your typical hippy: a loose flower-print blouse with matching bell-bottom pants, the frayed leather coat, and the two small flowers tucked in her long blonde hair. The only item that didn’t fit the stereotype was the pair of men’s combat boots on her feet.
“Ooh. Cute boys!” she said as she made herself at home.
“My name is Tara.” She scooted her chair up to the table. “I’m named after the plantation from Gone with the Wind. It’s my mom’s favorite movie. Have you ever seen it? I think it’s too long and boring, myself. Who wants to watch a four hour movie? Not to mention the fact that it proliferates racial stereotyping. Besides, I’d much rather be reading,” she rambled then stretched her hand toward me, waiting for me to shake it.
A Gay Polyester High School Romance Page 12