Autoboyography
Page 18
“I don’t even know if he’s gay.”
“Well, for argument’s sake, let’s assume he is and your feelings are reciprocated. You know the church thinks it’s okay to have same-sex attraction but you aren’t allowed to act on it?”
“Yeah, I know.”
“Would you be able to be with him without touching him?” It’s rhetorical, so she doesn’t need me to answer. “If not, how would you feel being a secret? Would you be okay going behind his parents’ backs? What if his family is as close as we are? How would you feel if his parents cut him off because of his relationship with you?” This time she waits for me to reply, but I don’t honestly know what to say. This feels like putting the cart before horse—hell, before the entire stable. “How would you feel if he lost his community, or if the two of you genuinely fell in love, but in the end he chose the church over you?”
I deflect with a joke. “We’re barely texting. I’m not ready to propose just yet.”
She knows what I’m doing and gives me a patient, sad smile. “I know. But I also know I’ve never seen you this intense about someone before, and in the excitement of all the firsts, sometimes it’s hard to think about what comes after. It’s my job to look out for you.”
I swallow. Logically I know she has a point, but the stubborn part of my brain insists that the situations aren’t exactly the same. I can handle this.
• • •
Although Mom means well, my thoughts about Sebastian are a runaway train: The engineer is gone and the engine is basically on fire. My attraction is beyond control.
But once I’m up in my room, thinking about what she said, I calm down enough to realize that she’s shared more with us than I gave her credit for. I know how devastated Aunt Emily was when she worked up the courage to come out to her family and her parents told her she was no longer welcome at home. I know she lived on the street for a few months before she moved into a shelter, and even there it wasn’t very welcoming; she tried to commit suicide.
This was the final straw for Mom. She dropped out of school at the University of Utah and took Emily with her to San Francisco. There, she enrolled at UCSF and worked night shifts at a 7-Eleven to support them both. Mom went on to get a master’s at Stanford. Emily eventually got her own master’s from UC Berkeley.
Their parents—my grandparents, who I know live somewhere in Spokane now—cut both of their daughters out of their lives and their will, and have never tried to find them.
Mom tries to pretend like it doesn’t still hurt, but how can that possibly be true? Even though they make me insane sometimes, I would be lost without my family. Would Sebastian’s really kick him out? Would they disown him?
Jesus, this is getting more intense than I expected. I thought it would be a short crush, a curiosity. But I’m in it now. And I know that Mom isn’t wrong that my pursuing Sebastian is a terrible idea. Maybe it’s a good thing he’s going to be gone from class when he’s in New York.
• • •
I head up to visit Emily and Shivani for the weekend and—strangely—don’t even feel the desire to text him. I’m sure Mom told Emily all about what’s going on, because she tries to talk to me about my “love life” a couple of times, but I skirt the issue. If Mom is intense about it, Emily is nearly vibrating.
They take me to see some weird art-house movie about a woman who raises goats, and I fall asleep in the middle somewhere. They refuse to let me have wine with dinner, and I ask them what the hell having two heretic aunts is good for anyway, but Emily and I play pinball in the garage for about four hours on Sunday, and I eat about seven plates of Shivani’s chickpea curry before driving home, feeling pretty damn great about my family.
It’s amazing how a bit of distance and perspective seems to help clear my head.
But then Sebastian comes to class the following week wearing a dark gray henley with the button open at the throat and his sleeves pushed halfway up his forearms. I’m faced with a landscape of muscle and vein, smooth skin and graceful hands, and how am I supposed to handle that?
Besides, he seems more than happy to come over and look at my first few pages. He even laughs about the reference to Autumn’s pussy poster and asks me with thinly veiled curiosity whether the book is autobiographical.
As if he didn’t already know.
The question hovers in his eyes—Am I in it?
That depends on you, I think.
Obviously my “distance” and “perspective” didn’t last very long.
I had a fleeting thing for Manny when we first met—even had a moment or two of alone time imagining what it might be like with him—but it didn’t last, and my attention was snagged by the next person who came along. Kissing boys feels good. Kissing girls feels good. But something tells me kissing Sebastian would be like a sparkler falling in the middle of a field of dry grass.
Outside of school and a few Snaps of her meals, I haven’t seen much of Autumn lately. When she stops by around dinner one night, my mom doesn’t even try to hide how excited she is to see her and invites her to stay. Afterward, we disappear into my room and it’s just like old times.
I lie on my bed, trying to organize the day’s worth of Post-it notes into something coherent for my next chapter, while Autumn goes through my clothes and gets me up to speed on school gossip.
Did I know that Mackenzie Goble gave Devon Nicholson a blow job on the balcony of the gym during the teacher basketball game last week?
Did I hear that some kids went through the ceiling tiles in one of the bathrooms and made their way to the area above the girls’ locker room?
Did I hear that Manny asked Sadie Wayment to prom?
This gets my attention, and I blink up to see her standing in one of my T-shirts. My parents have a strict door-open policy whenever anyone is over—boy or girl—but it doesn’t seem to apply to Autumn. Which is honestly hilarious, because in the time I’ve been staring at my notes, she’s been undressing and trying on my clothes. “I forgot people are already talking about prom.”
She gives me the look that tells me I’m being slow. “It’s less than four months away. I brought it up in the car last week.”
I sit up. “You did?”
“Yeah, I did.” She looks at herself in the mirror, tugging on the shirt. “It’s like you don’t hear anything I say anymore.”
“No, I’m sorry. I’ve just . . .” I push my pile of Post-its away and fully face her now. “I’m sucked into my project and distracted. Tell me what you said.”
“Oh,” she says, annoyance extinguished for the moment. “I asked if you wanted to go together so we didn’t have to make it a big thing.”
Wow. I am a jerk. She essentially asked me to prom and I didn’t say anything. I haven’t given it any thought at all. It’s true Autumn and I have gone to dances when neither of us had dates, but that was before.
Before Sebastian?
I am an idiot.
She studies me in the mirror. “I mean, unless there’s someone else you wanted to take?”
I look away so she can’t see my eyes. “No. I guess I just forgot.”
“You forgot about prom? Tanner. It’s our senior year.”
I grunt, shrugging. Abandoning my closet, she sits on the edge of the bed next to me. Her legs are bare and my shirt hits her about midthigh. It’s in moments like these I realize how much easier my life could be if I felt for her the way I feel about Sebastian. “You sure you don’t want to ask someone? Sasha? What about Jemma?”
“Well, for argument’s sake, let’s assume he is and your feelings are reciprocated. You know the church thinks it’s okay to have same-sex attraction but you aren’t allowed to act on it?”
“Yeah, I know.”
“Would you be able to be with him without touching him?” It’s rhetorical, so she doesn’t need me to answer. “If not, how would you feel being a secret? Would you be okay going behind his parents’ backs? What if his family is as close as we are? How would you feel if his parents cut him off because of his relationship with you?” This time she waits for me to reply, but I don’t honestly know what to say. This feels like putting the cart before horse—hell, before the entire stable. “How would you feel if he lost his community, or if the two of you genuinely fell in love, but in the end he chose the church over you?”
I deflect with a joke. “We’re barely texting. I’m not ready to propose just yet.”
She knows what I’m doing and gives me a patient, sad smile. “I know. But I also know I’ve never seen you this intense about someone before, and in the excitement of all the firsts, sometimes it’s hard to think about what comes after. It’s my job to look out for you.”
I swallow. Logically I know she has a point, but the stubborn part of my brain insists that the situations aren’t exactly the same. I can handle this.
• • •
Although Mom means well, my thoughts about Sebastian are a runaway train: The engineer is gone and the engine is basically on fire. My attraction is beyond control.
But once I’m up in my room, thinking about what she said, I calm down enough to realize that she’s shared more with us than I gave her credit for. I know how devastated Aunt Emily was when she worked up the courage to come out to her family and her parents told her she was no longer welcome at home. I know she lived on the street for a few months before she moved into a shelter, and even there it wasn’t very welcoming; she tried to commit suicide.
This was the final straw for Mom. She dropped out of school at the University of Utah and took Emily with her to San Francisco. There, she enrolled at UCSF and worked night shifts at a 7-Eleven to support them both. Mom went on to get a master’s at Stanford. Emily eventually got her own master’s from UC Berkeley.
Their parents—my grandparents, who I know live somewhere in Spokane now—cut both of their daughters out of their lives and their will, and have never tried to find them.
Mom tries to pretend like it doesn’t still hurt, but how can that possibly be true? Even though they make me insane sometimes, I would be lost without my family. Would Sebastian’s really kick him out? Would they disown him?
Jesus, this is getting more intense than I expected. I thought it would be a short crush, a curiosity. But I’m in it now. And I know that Mom isn’t wrong that my pursuing Sebastian is a terrible idea. Maybe it’s a good thing he’s going to be gone from class when he’s in New York.
• • •
I head up to visit Emily and Shivani for the weekend and—strangely—don’t even feel the desire to text him. I’m sure Mom told Emily all about what’s going on, because she tries to talk to me about my “love life” a couple of times, but I skirt the issue. If Mom is intense about it, Emily is nearly vibrating.
They take me to see some weird art-house movie about a woman who raises goats, and I fall asleep in the middle somewhere. They refuse to let me have wine with dinner, and I ask them what the hell having two heretic aunts is good for anyway, but Emily and I play pinball in the garage for about four hours on Sunday, and I eat about seven plates of Shivani’s chickpea curry before driving home, feeling pretty damn great about my family.
It’s amazing how a bit of distance and perspective seems to help clear my head.
But then Sebastian comes to class the following week wearing a dark gray henley with the button open at the throat and his sleeves pushed halfway up his forearms. I’m faced with a landscape of muscle and vein, smooth skin and graceful hands, and how am I supposed to handle that?
Besides, he seems more than happy to come over and look at my first few pages. He even laughs about the reference to Autumn’s pussy poster and asks me with thinly veiled curiosity whether the book is autobiographical.
As if he didn’t already know.
The question hovers in his eyes—Am I in it?
That depends on you, I think.
Obviously my “distance” and “perspective” didn’t last very long.
I had a fleeting thing for Manny when we first met—even had a moment or two of alone time imagining what it might be like with him—but it didn’t last, and my attention was snagged by the next person who came along. Kissing boys feels good. Kissing girls feels good. But something tells me kissing Sebastian would be like a sparkler falling in the middle of a field of dry grass.
Outside of school and a few Snaps of her meals, I haven’t seen much of Autumn lately. When she stops by around dinner one night, my mom doesn’t even try to hide how excited she is to see her and invites her to stay. Afterward, we disappear into my room and it’s just like old times.
I lie on my bed, trying to organize the day’s worth of Post-it notes into something coherent for my next chapter, while Autumn goes through my clothes and gets me up to speed on school gossip.
Did I know that Mackenzie Goble gave Devon Nicholson a blow job on the balcony of the gym during the teacher basketball game last week?
Did I hear that some kids went through the ceiling tiles in one of the bathrooms and made their way to the area above the girls’ locker room?
Did I hear that Manny asked Sadie Wayment to prom?
This gets my attention, and I blink up to see her standing in one of my T-shirts. My parents have a strict door-open policy whenever anyone is over—boy or girl—but it doesn’t seem to apply to Autumn. Which is honestly hilarious, because in the time I’ve been staring at my notes, she’s been undressing and trying on my clothes. “I forgot people are already talking about prom.”
She gives me the look that tells me I’m being slow. “It’s less than four months away. I brought it up in the car last week.”
I sit up. “You did?”
“Yeah, I did.” She looks at herself in the mirror, tugging on the shirt. “It’s like you don’t hear anything I say anymore.”
“No, I’m sorry. I’ve just . . .” I push my pile of Post-its away and fully face her now. “I’m sucked into my project and distracted. Tell me what you said.”
“Oh,” she says, annoyance extinguished for the moment. “I asked if you wanted to go together so we didn’t have to make it a big thing.”
Wow. I am a jerk. She essentially asked me to prom and I didn’t say anything. I haven’t given it any thought at all. It’s true Autumn and I have gone to dances when neither of us had dates, but that was before.
Before Sebastian?
I am an idiot.
She studies me in the mirror. “I mean, unless there’s someone else you wanted to take?”
I look away so she can’t see my eyes. “No. I guess I just forgot.”
“You forgot about prom? Tanner. It’s our senior year.”
I grunt, shrugging. Abandoning my closet, she sits on the edge of the bed next to me. Her legs are bare and my shirt hits her about midthigh. It’s in moments like these I realize how much easier my life could be if I felt for her the way I feel about Sebastian. “You sure you don’t want to ask someone? Sasha? What about Jemma?”
