Thinking Straight (11 page)

On the other hand, I was getting a good taste of what it would feel like to be ostracized. Isolated. Remember that? It was supposed to be the worst consequence for behavioral violations. And I'd thought I knew what it was. In a way, I do; being gay is its own form of isolation. But unless you do something really queer, or unless someone's shouting that word at you or beating you up for it, it's quiet. Unspoken. You can hide from it. Pretend it isn't happening, or that it isn't real, or convince yourself that you could decide to change it by changing yourself. You can pretend you're one of the “normal” people.

Not here. Gay or not, you wear this sticker and you're isolated. You can't communicate with anyone, you've got to just take what anyone gives you. It's like you're not really there, or not really important. You're someone whose opinions don't matter. Whose thoughts and feelings no one wants to know.

But then I thought, “If I got expelled from this place, how could they ostracize me?” I considered my life outside this prison. Who would ostracize me? My parents? There are worse things than that.

But I knew that wasn't true. That would be terrible. I hadn't allowed myself to think about it so far, but if I let my thoughts go in that direction, I knew that underneath, I was homesick. My mom is one of the sweetest women alive. And since her God is like her, it's almost like I miss God as much as I miss her. And my dad—well, he's gruff, no doubt there; look how hard he's been on me. And like his God, he's a little narrow-minded about some things, but I could do a lot worse than him. Who else? I supposed Dr. Strickland could tell everyone in my church to ostracize me.

So I wouldn't go to church.

But what if he told my teachers and the kids at school why I was in the Program, and how evil I am? There are only a few kids who know I'm gay. Like Nina.

After Will had told me she knew about him, I'd figured I should tell her about me. YR. Easier said than done. I even went so far as to ask her to go out for sodas with me one Saturday afternoon, and she turned it into a whole mall thing, which was fine with me, but when we finally sat down in the food court, it was all wrong. I mean, it felt wrong to say it there, in that mecca of American standardization, which definitely does not include being gay. I tried to. I really did. But after the third or fourth time I looked around to see if anyone I knew was nearby, Nina said, “Taylor, what's with you? You're acting kinda weird today.”

I just shook my head. “Nothing. I'm okay. Anything else you need before we split?”

It ate at me that I hadn't told her. I've known Nina since…jeez, since elementary school, I guess. She knew everything else about me by now. And yet this one thing, this really really really important thing, I was keeping from her. Didn't I trust her? She'd been cool with Will; why was I worried?

I finally realized that my problem was that although the words “I'm gay” had just come spilling out of me to Will, that had been easy, because he's never known me any other way. And that would have made it easy for Nina to accept him as gay, because since he was new here, she didn't have a history with him. So whatever he told her just went into the pile of data she was still collecting about him.

She'd already collected all the important stuff about me. So what would she do, what would she say, what would happen to our friendship, if all of a sudden the entire platform underneath all the other stuff she knew about me turned out to be—I don't know, maybe round instead of square? Maybe oak instead of plastic? Would it shift all the stuff that was sitting on that platform?

A few nights later I called her. I didn't plan it. I'd just gotten off the phone with Will, and we'd had phone sex again, and—God, but everything about him felt so fucking
right—
I knew I couldn't lie to Nina anymore. And I couldn't call her my best friend and have her think false things about me. Especially really important things.

“Hey, Taylor! D'you need help with math homework?”

I often did. It wasn't my best subject. “Sweet of you, kid. But no. I, uh…I need to get all serious on you.” It sounded stupid, but if I didn't do something to let her know more was coming, I'd never get to that “more.” We'd start chatting about our usual stuff, and I'd crap out like I'd done at the mall.

“Ooh, sounds heavy. Should I sit up?”

“Up to you. But don't stand up yet.”

Silence. Then, “Are you okay, Taylor? Nothing's wrong, is it?”

“I wouldn't exactly say that, no. I, uh…Okay, that's the second time I've said ‘I, uh.' I'll try and stop now. Do you want me to lead up gradually, or should I just spit it out?”

“You've known me how long?”

“Right. Okay, then. Here goes.” Shallow breath. “I'm gay.”

Laughter. Then, “Oh, Taylor, I'm sorry. I really am. It's just that…Did you really think I didn't know?”

Stunned. I felt stunned. “How could you know? My God, Nina, I didn't even know! Not until last summer, anyway.”

“So you haven't been gushing to me about Will Martin? You haven't spent every spare minute at school scouring the horizon for any sign of him? And besides. What kind of heterosexual boy would you be if you could be ‘just friends' with a vamp like me?”

She had me there. She was a vamp. Not that I minded. She was a lot of fun, and much more—maybe irreverent?—than my parents would have approved of, if they only knew. Which they didn't. They know her, but she's very careful about how she presents herself when it doesn't suit her to be outrageous. What boggled my mind about what Nina had just said wasn't the vamp comment.

“I've hardly mentioned Will to you! What do you mean,
gushing?
”

“Let's see. It's been, ‘Will Martin is, like, some kind of history genius.' Or, ‘Did you finish the English Lit assignment? Will Martin mentioned he wanted to be a writer. Historical fiction. Wouldn't that be cool?' Or how about at the mall, just the other day. You were all, ‘Will Martin wears a leather thong like this on his neck. Do you think it would look good on me?' Do I need to go on?”

I could barely breathe. Had I really done that? After all that fury about how I couldn't?

“Nina, I—I don't know what to say.”

“Just tell me your folks, and all the tight-ass people in your church, aren't giving you grief about it. You know, I often hear comments from Gentiles about how fierce the Jewish God is, but I don't think he can hold a candle to yours.”

“My folks don't know. They don't have the kind of access to my innermost thoughts and feelings that you do. And besides, y'know, Will is one of those people in my church.”

“Mmm. And how's his ass?”

“Nina!”

But she was laughing again. “Taylor, listen. Thanks for trusting me. What made you decide to tell me?”

Will said he'd never out anyone else. But I knew he'd told Nina. “Will. He's braver than I am. He said he'd told you.”

“Ah, so you really do know a little something about his ass, then? I was only guessing that something was actually going on, other than you drooling. I'm glad, you know. It's about time you met someone you could fall for. And I like Will.”

She must have liked the idea of Will and me together a lot, because a couple of weeks after this revelation—confession—whatever, she handed me an old
Die Hard
VHS cover she'd found in this used-everything store she loves, saying, “Can you think of a better place to hide condoms and lube in your room?”

And just after Christmas, the strangest thing happened. Will and I were at a Burger King that was, like, nowhere near our school or anyone we knew, in a booth way in the back, when it wasn't crowded. We were sharing a soda and holding hands across the table. And suddenly there was this girl from World History, Maureen West, standing there.

“Hey, guys! What are you two doing way out here?” I tried to snatch my hand back, but Will hung onto it. She saw that. “Oh, I'm sorry. Am I interrupting? I'll go away….”

“No, please,” Will said. “Have a seat. Are you here alone?”

“No, my mom is back there someplace. I'll sit with her when she's got everything she wants. She's so fussy, I'm surprised she'd even eat here. I just saw you and thought I'd come over and say hi. And, um, don't worry. I won't say I saw you. Some of the kids are pretty Stone Age, aren't they? See you!”

I reclaimed my hand and propped my head up with it, fingers rubbing. When I finally looked up, Will was grinning at me. I said, “That was a huge risk.”

“Not really. I'm friends with Maureen. She might not have known you were gay, but she knew I was.”

But Maureen had been right. Stone Age was about the right time frame for the outlook most of the kids I knew had on what I was. Partly that's because so many kids in my school also went to my church. If Strickland spread the word about me at school, it would be—hell. It would be hell.

So this ostracizing thing is about separation. Being in SafeZone is supposed to give me a taste of that. Make me want connection badly enough to take it on their terms. Again, that hard line between one thing and the other. All or nothing. Good or evil.

Oh, Will!

“Taylor, I'm back.” I sat bolt upright to see Charles standing there, a worried look on his face. “Have you been talking this whole time?”

Talking? Was I talking? I shook my head and shrugged at the same time. I felt like crying, but I was damned if I'd do it in front of Charles the Drama Queen. I dropped my head back down again, breathing sharply in and out through my nose to keep the tears away.

“Pray with me.”

I sat up again and saw that Charles had knelt at his chair like last night. He looked at me, his eyes kind of soft and pleading. I stood up, shaking my head hard, and grabbed my towel and bathroom kit. I left him kneeling there, alone.

In the shower, as long as I was quiet, I could hold my face in the streaming water and no one could see my tears. I wanted Will so badly! I wanted to hold him, to have him touch my face and smile his magical smile, and laugh gently and tell me that almost nothing is ever quite as bad as it seems. I wanted to hear his voice, to fill my hands with his hair and my mouth with his dick. I wanted all of him, no separation. I wanted his touch, his voice, his scent, his taste, and most of all I wanted his love. It was a real love. A love for me, Ty—his special name for me—the real me. Not a love for some kid named Taylor who had to be trained to leave this huge part of who he is in the gutter someplace. Not a love for the new penitent no one knows anything about even though they have to say “We love you, Taylor.” That wasn't love.

They were trying to separate me from love, all of them, by offering this false substitute. And Charles was the worst, because he was honest. Because he really believed it.

Suddenly I welcomed the dishonesty of everyone else. It would help me remember how fake their love was. And if their love was fake, then any separation they forced on me must be fake, too.

I took a few deep, shuddering breaths and picked up the soap. May as well get clean while I'm in here. Plus it would keep me away from my room that much longer.

But when I got back there, Charles was gone. He'd left a note on my desk that said he'd gone to the library, and it also reminded me to keep the door open. I'd forgotten about the library. I sort of thought everyone was supposed to go to bed after the meeting, but there was over an hour left before lights-out. Charles must have sacrificed his own free time last night to come right back and stay with me.

Damn him, anyway, sacrificing for me. Who asked for that? Who the hell did he think he was?

So what was I going to do next? Did I want to go pitter-patter behind my role model, Charles Courtney, and follow him to the library? Did he expect that? Well, no, his note sounded like he kind of assumed I'd stay here. But I could go to the library if I wanted to.

Did I want to? What was in there? There were PCs with Internet access, but you had to get special permission to use them, and the Booklet is very clear that said access is extremely limited. And the filters on them are fierce.

I decided to leave exploration of the library until another time. Right now I just wanted to sleep. It felt like I'd lived through two or three days since Reverend Bartle had dragged me, limp and bleeding spiritually, to this room last night—Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, was that only last night?

I turned on Charles's desk light—partly to keep Ray's ghost away and partly so Charles could see when he got back. I turned out any others and got into my pajamas—the full set this time so Charles would have no reason to haul me out of bed—and crawled between the sheets. At least, I told myself, these were not the same sheets Ray would have slept on. But I hadn't been there more than a few minutes when I remembered the other thing Charles had made me do last night. I sighed aloud to no one in particular and climbed back out of bed again. I knelt at the bed, though, not my desk chair this time, and started my prayer.

Or I got ready to pray. But I felt like there had been so much talk of God this, God that, and Jesus the other that nobody up there needed to hear anything more from me today. And as for me? Anything more I needed to say? Beg? Whatever it was, it had to be silent.