Tilt (5 page)

My desire for regular escape.

My best friend, Tara, usually

provides it. But her parents

are touring Europe. Without her.

So she’s spending the summer

with her aunt Dee in San Francisco.

Tara and I have been friends since

before I outed, and she was the first

person I told.
Well, duh,
was what

she said.
I’ve known that forever.

“Really? How come you still hang

out with me? I don’t embarrass you?”

It’s who you are. And I love who

you are. Just the way you are.

Tara is a big reason I am proud

of who I am. She’s smart. Pretty.

If she can love me, other people

can, too. Exactly the way I am.

I Actually Met Tara

In Sunday school. When I was a kid,

Dad was a decent Christian. I’d say

it’s funny his name is Christian, except

his parents were hard-core Methodists,

who named him that for a reason.

Tara and I were drawn to each other

right away, like we knew we were

destined to be friends, even though

we were only eight. That was B.S.,

of course—Before Shelby. Mom

was all about having a little girl,

something I didn’t understand.
All

women want daughters,
Tara counseled,

as if she could know that in second grade.

Don’t be jealous. You’ll always have me.

Except for today. And there are things

I want to tell her. Developments.

I text her:
INTERESTING STUFF GOING

ON. CALL ME WHEN YOU GET UP, OKAY
?

I don’t say I think I’ve met someone great.

I Want Her Opinion

And I really want out of here.

Later, I’ll call someone for a ride.

Somewhere. Anywhere. For now,

I’ll distract myself with some

fine medicinal green and a little

porn of the guy-on-guy variety.

You can get anything you

want online. It’s crazy, really.

All you have to do is lie and say

you’re eighteen. Well, you need

a credit card, but I borrowed one

of Dad’s once when he passed

out, totally drunk, before lunch.

That’s not a rare occurrence.

This time, I managed to store

the numbers from one of his Visa

cards on my computer. Pretty

sure it wasn’t one of his company

expense account cards, or I’d

have heard about it by now.

Then again, maybe Dad has

a porn allowance. Don’t most

mega-corporation vice presidents?

Whatever. So far, I’ve had no

problem at all satisfying

my sleaze curiosity. These

guys have freaking amazing

bodies, especially Mr. Top. God!

If I ever have
that
kind of sex,

I hope it’s with someone like him.

Okay, kind of unrealistic, but

still. So far, I haven’t had any

kind of sex, with any kind of guy.

Nothing but fantasy boinking.

I’m saving myself for true love.

And that’s never easy to find.

Till Cupid Comes Calling

I’ll make do with this. I finish

off a fat blunt and am almost ready

to finish myself off when I hear

footsteps come down the hallway.

Clip-clip. Clip-clip.
They pause

at my door. Shit. Not now, Mom.

My window is cracked, but it reeks

in here and I really don’t need grief.

Shane!
A fist volley tests the wood.

Open up right this minute!
I stay quiet.

I’m not leaving until you open the door.

Quiet.
I know how to unlock it, you know.

What the hell. If she insists on

being privy to my every move,

fine. I don’t even turn off the movie.

“Yes, Mother? What can I do for you?”

She blows through the door, stomps

to my desk, double-takes the roach,

still leaking a thin stream of stink.

What, exactly, do you think you’re doing?

It’s comical how she stands there,

hands on hips, pretending to be

tough. I try to hold the laughter

back, but it snorts from my mouth.

“I would think that’s obvious, Mom.

I’m smoking weed and checking out

a little guy-on-guy action.” She never

even noticed! Her eyes go wide at

Mr. Top drilling Mr. Bottom.
God,

Shane!
She clicks the mouse and

the screensaver pops up as she launches

a rant about how am I paying for porn

and pot and now she’s onto Grandma’s

good china, which I remind her she

never uses anyway. But when I joke

about hooking her up with my connection,

she rails about not smoking in the house

and asks if I want to kill my sister.

“No, Mom. I don’t want to kill her.”

Deep breath. “But I wish God would.”

Too Far

I pushed too far. Mom’s face goes

white and she folds up into herself.

I know you don’t mean that

is all she says, before leaving

me listing in a wake of sadness.

I wish I didn’t mean it. But I do.

I love my sister. Wish her inner

light could somehow make her whole.

But her only chance at perfection

is on the far side of death. And until

that door opens for her, those of us left

on this side can’t get on with living again.

Instead, we stumble through our days,

barely connecting, and when we do,

it’s often with misplaced anger.

Happiness seems just out of view.

I won’t find it here. But that doesn’t

stop me from searching elsewhere.

Lately I’ve Been Searching Online

It’s not like I can reasonably look

for a boyfriend at school. Same-sex

hand-holding is frowned upon at Reno

High. And while I don’t exactly

hide my queerness, I don’t flaunt

it, either. Anyway, if heteros can

find love on the web, I don’t

know why I can’t, too. I’ve cyber-

met several, weeded out the total

pervs and ding-your-warning-

bell creepsters. That left a few

possibilities, which I’ve narrowed

down to one incredible boy.

Alex is seventeen, smart as hell,

and his webcam shows him Goth-hot.

I hope when we meet in person

that he likes me as much for real

as he seems to like me online.

Alex

When We Finally Meet

How much do I confess?

Our bond is tenuous.

Frail as a drift of moon-

light on open sea.

Would

the truth crash us

apart? Some secrets

can’t be kept too long.

No matter how hard

you

try to hide them, sooner

or later, they scurry out

from your cupboards,

cockroaches on the

run.

No way to grow closer

with deceit wedged

between us. Should I tell?

Or should I hide it

away?