Don't Judge a Book by Its Cover (7 page)

“Nice,” he said. “Can you excuse me for a moment?” he asked as he rose from the table and disappeared around the corner out of our sight.

My mom and I started to clear the dishes off the table. When Bill returned a moment later he saw what we were doing and he said, “No. You cooked this feast. The very least I can do is clean up. You go sit down and relax. Watch some TV.”

She was pleased. She secretly believed that this is how things should work, but very, very rarely did others volunteer to help clean up. It was more than a year later that I learned that was why she didn’t want to invite people into her home.

Bill collected dirty dishes from the dining room table and moved them into the kitchen. I repacked things for the refrigerator or the freezer and got things ready to wash. Bill washed, I wiped, and my mother supervised. She did sit down, but she chose a seat at the counter so she could stay and talk with us while we worked—well, no, she stayed to talk with Bill while we worked.

It was a good thing she was there because there were a lot of things I didn’t know where to put. She had hauled out serving dishes I only saw a few times a year, so I didn’t have a clue where they lived between times. She of course knew and got them put away immediately.

The only thing we had left was the carcass of the turkey. When I started to move to throw it away, she stopped me and protested. “No! I’m gonna cook the carcass and make turkey noodle soup.” So, per her instructions, we left the carcass. Our work was done so we changed shifts. She moved back into the kitchen and started breaking up the carcass and getting it ready to cook for soup. I do have to say that there are few smells more heavenly than poultry cooking down to make soup. The wind might be howling outside, but it was warm and toasty inside.

Bill and I sat on the couch to let dinner settle a bit. He disappeared into the bathroom, which gave me a moment to look at his sketchpad again—it was sitting in his backpack, which was wide open. I simply pulled it back out and started flipping through the pages. And, oh my! There were sketches I hadn’t seen before. I gasped in surprise. I had found another male nude. No surprise there, but not only was this one naked, but the way Bill had drawn the guy with his eyes closed and his head thrown back was masterful. I felt as if I could feel what the guy in the drawing was feeling. His work was awesome. And inspirational too.

When Bill came back I was so engrossed that I didn’t notice him return. “Put that back!” he ordered. “Don’t look at that!”

“Sorry,” I said, immediately handing the sketchpad back to him. “You do really good work, Bill. You should be really proud of your work.”

“They’re just doodlings. Nothing special. And they’re private. If my dad saw them….”

“He’s not here, Bill. It’s just us. And I think your work is amazing. You’ve got extraordinary talent. Before last week I didn’t know you at all. Sure, I knew of you—everybody knows who you are. I’m glad to get to know you. You’re a pretty awesome guy.”

He eyed me suspiciously, finally breathing a sigh of relief. “They’re nothing special. Just some quick sketches I do when I’m alone. I don’t want anybody to see them. I’m not allowed to do them at home. I should just tear them up and throw them away.”

I didn’t want to continue this conversation so I suggested we watch some TV. Bill readily agreed. We spent a couple of hours watching some entertaining but mindless television. I should more accurately say that Bill watched television and I watched him. I was determined to gather some more data. I studied him discreetly to see who he paid more attention to on TV—women or men. One show featured a number of actors and actresses in beach attire. Some of the guys were just smoking hot, but of course the networks focused more on the women, even though I wanted to see more of the men. Bill’s eyes were glued to the TV when a shirtless guy was on screen, but his attention clearly wandered when a bikini-clad woman was on the screen. I was beginning to get a clear picture of Mr. William Cromwell, and I was surprised.

A
BOUT
ten o’clock, I suggested that we move to bed; both my mom and dad had gone to bed earlier. I was tired and knew Bill most likely was as well. After nighttime bathroom routines we both crawled into bed. Bill had shed his shirt but kept his briefs on. I did the same out of respect for my guest, even though when alone I slept naked.

Rather than just turn off the light beside the bed, I left it on and rolled over onto my side, facing my guest. “Bill, can I ask you a question?”

“Sure,” he said, probably because he didn’t have a clue that I would ever be ballsy enough to ask the question I was about to ask him.

He was lying on his side facing me, and I was lying on my side facing him. We each had the sheet and blanket only up to our waist. We were no more than a foot apart.

“How long have you known that you liked guys?”

“
What?
” he practically shouted.

I had expected that sort of reaction so I didn’t move. He had pulled himself upright, but I put my hand on his arm and told him to lie back down. I said it as an order, which seemed to work.

“Bill, relax. I just asked a simple question: how long have you known about yourself?”

There was a look of absolute panic in his face, but at least he didn’t try to flee again.

I pushed a little harder. “It’s a simple question: how long have you known that you were gay?”

“What makes you think I’m gay?” he asked, clearly terrified.

“Bill,” I said, as reassuringly as possible. “Some people are straight. Some people are gay. Some people fall somewhere in between. It just is what it is. There is nothing to get upset about.”

“My dad would beat the crap out of you if he ever heard you even suggest something like that.”

“Well, I’m quite sure your dad isn’t here right now.” I looked around the room and then made a show of lifting the blankets. “Nope. Not here. It’s just you and me. Just the two of us. No accusations. No innuendo. No condemnation. No guilt. No blackmail. Just one friend asking another friend about something he probably has never discussed with another living soul. How long have you known about yourself?”

Bill didn’t say a word. His eyes were closed, and I was afraid Mr. Super Jock was about to start crying. He was shaking slightly. I had my answer even though he had not been able to put it into words. I didn’t think he would be able to say the words easily, so I was determined to do my utmost to help him out.

“It’s just you and me. And I vow to you right here and now,” I said as I put my hand over his heart, “that anything you and I say to one another will never leave this room. Period. Anything we discuss tonight here in this bed is just between the two of us. Period. Forever. Your secrets are safe with me.”

Bill looked seriously freaked. “What makes you think I’m gay?”

I looked at him and said, “Bill, I know what to look for where most people don’t.”

He processed those words for a moment, and then his eyes went wide with surprise. “Are you…?

“I asked you first,” I said with a smile.

He was quiet for several minutes before he spoke. When he spoke, his answer was barely a whisper. “Forever.”

“So it’s been clear in your mind for a long time?”

“For as long as I can remember,” he whispered. More quiet. “But everything everybody says—all the jokes, all the epithets, everything—tells me that it’s wrong, that there’s something wrong with being gay and that you have to hide it, bury it, cover it up to stay alive, to survive.”

“That’s true,” I said, struggling to keep my voice even. “It’s sort of hardwired right into who we are, but then society teaches us to keep our mouths shut or risk exile. It’s not right, but it’s survival. But we also survive by finding one another and leaning on one another when times are tough so that we can all survive and thrive.”

He stared at me with eyes wide, as if he had suddenly found himself in the presence of the Buddha or something. “How did you know? I’ve never said a word or given a hint or done anything… I’ve spent my whole life covering up.” He sighed. “My whole life has been a lie.”

“Like I said, I know what to look for. I know the subtle signs that 90 percent of people pay no attention to.”

“Like what?”

“The pronouns you use when you talk about dating.”

“Okay.”

“Your sketches, which are all male—really
hot
males too, I should add. The one of the erect guy jerking off was about the hottest thing I think I’ve ever seen. It’s a good thing you weren’t in the room when I was looking at that because I had to… um… readjust myself, shall we say.”

He looked surprised, so I was more explicit. “Yes, Bill, your sketch gave me some major wood.”

“What else?”

“When we were watching TV earlier tonight, you only had eyes for the guys in that one beach show.”

He didn’t say anything for a moment. “What else?”

“Your reaction to the cheerleader that wanted to practically hump you in the back of the truck last week. She would have done you in back of the school in a heartbeat, but you were a gentleman and showed no interest in her whatsoever.”

“What else?”

“Waking up with you wrapped around me this morning, which by the way was one of the best experiences of my life to date.”

“You’re joking, right? I was mortified. I was so embarrassed.”

“Don’t be! It was one of the highlights of my life.”

“What else?”

“The general vibe I was getting from you. It was sort like I had radar that was pinging ‘gay’ to me. I’d read that we are supposed to have ‘gaydar’ and be able to sense one another’s presence. I’ve never really believed it, but now I’m gonna have to rethink that whole idea. It was really confusing, because I never thought that someone as smart and handsome and as athletic as you could ever be gay.”

We were quiet for a moment as we continued to stare at each other in disbelief. Him in disbelief that his deep, dark secret had been discovered by someone, and me because this Greek god of a man was nearly naked in my bed and I had just discovered that he was gay too.

“Have you ever…,” Bill started to ask, but seemed too hesitant to put his question into real words. I figured he was asking if I’d ever had sex with a man, or at least that was the question I was going to answer.

“Have I ever been with a man?” He nodded to indicate that I had read his question correctly. “No,” I answered truthfully, “but I’ve read about it and it sounds wonderful. I look forward to the day when I get to try it. You?”

“Kind of,” he said.

“Kind of? Okay, I need more words on that one.”

“A guy gave me a blowjob once. It was dark and he was a stranger. Never saw him before and I’ve never seen him since.” He smiled at the memory. “Felt phenomenal, though.”

“Wow!” I thought for a minute and realized that I had another big question for him. “But you’ve had sex with women, right?”

He shook his head. “Never. I’ve just learned to listen closely to the other guys and talk a good game. Teenage guys are so horny that they will fill in a lot of blanks on their own if you sort of steer the conversation in a particular way.”

“Really? Not about the guy thing—I knew that—we’re all horny and have good imaginations. But about the women thing. You have a reputation as quite a ladies’ man. I’m pleased to hear that it’s not true.”

“Really? Why?” he asked curiously.

I was a little embarrassed. “I guess it means that you’ve been true to who you really are.”

“Why do we have to be this way? Are we freaks? It’s tough enough being a kid, but everyone else has it easy compared to us. Do you think we’re meant to
be
the way we are? Aren’t we wrong? Aren’t we messed up? I mean, everybody else wants to be with the opposite sex. But I have zero interest in being with a woman. To me, being with a woman feels
wrong
. Being with a guy feels
right
.”

“I’ve done a lot of reading online. The way I see it is that some people are born one way and some people are born the other, and that’s just the way it is. I don’t know why anyone is born the way they are, but that’s what they are. A lot of guys seem to spend a lifetime running away from who they are, hiding it from everyone, even trying to hide it from themselves. I don’t see it that way. Like you said, the idea of being with a guy is the
only
thing that feels right to me. It would be contrary to my nature to be with anyone other than a guy.

“I have absolutely no intention of telling that to anyone other than you—and I wasn’t even gonna tell you. I’m certainly not gonna advertise the fact that I like guys to anybody around here. But when I’m out of here I intend to live a life that makes me happy. I have no intention of conforming to somebody else’s definition of what normal is. Their idea of normal might work for them, but it certainly isn’t true for everybody. Each person has to find what works for them and then be true to who they are.”

Bill stared at me with eyes wide open. “How did you get so wise?” he asked. “And why didn’t my radar work to tell me that I wasn’t the only one?”