Authors: David Levithan
Amy and Emily stay a little late--they want to work some death poems into the DJ's mix.
When they leave, it's only me and Kyle in the room. I feel a little awkward--the last time I saw him, I ran out of the building. I expect him to ask for an explanation. But instead he surprises me by saying, "You're really good at this, you know."
"It was your idea," I point out.
"I guess so." He pauses and studies his sneakers.
"How are you doing?" I ask. "I mean, with your aunt and all."
He looks back up at me. "Okay, I guess. My mom is really sad. I don't know what to say to her. Nothing is easy, you know?"
Some things are easy. But I realize he might not be experiencing them now.
"Thanks for asking," he adds, and it's entirely genuine. -
I -ask him a little more--about home, about the funeral that morning. I don't touch him, and he doesn't seem to need to be touched.
The second bell rings. We're both late for seventh period. We pack up our bags and leave together. As we do, we talk about life being unfair and the idea of a death-themed dance. We don't talk about the kiss or anything after. And I find myself thinking how strange it is--once upon a time, when we were going out, all I wanted was for Kyle to open up to me and tell me what he felt about us. Now I am grateful to him for letting us talk without having A Talk.
As far as I know, nobody besides Noah knows about what happened with Kyle and me. So it's not at all awkward to walk with him through the halls -- as long as we don't bring the issue up, and as long as Noah is nowhere to be found. Since seventh period has already started, we have the hallways pretty much to ourselves. I walk him to his classroom. Once we get there, he thanks me.
I thank him back. I don't tell him what for.
More Than, Equal To, Less Than
I only see Noah once, at the end of school. He's about thirty feet away from me in the hallway.
I can't decide whether to go up to him or leave him alone. By the time I choose to make a move, he's already gone.
This, it seems, is the new story of my life.
With Joni, it's even worse. She has our friend Laura tell me that she thinks I'm a jerk, and that if I'm going to be angry about her and Chuck, I might as well stay away.
"What is this, third grade?" I ask Laura.
She sighs. "To be honest, Paul--yes, it is. I didn't want to do this in the first place. I told her to talk to you herself. But she's in a mood. I can barely talk to her anymore. And if you think it's bad with you, triple that and you can begin to see how bad it is with Ted."
"Is that supposed to cheer me up?"
"No, it's meant to clear you out."
"But you don't really think I should give up, do you?"
Laura looks me right in the eye, but still it's not a direct look. I can see all of her thoughts canceling one another out.
"I don't know what to say," she says, which I take to mean that she knows exactly what to say, but she's afraid if she says it, it'll get back to Joni and she'll be joining me on the blackout list.
It's not like Joni and I haven't fought before. But it's always been about stupid things--which soda goes best with pizza, or how early you have to get to a movie if you want to be sure to get tickets. Once we didn't talk for a week because she didn't think an outfit of mine matched, when I swore up and down that it did. (Under very specific circumstances, it
is
possible to wear white socks with dark pants.) That time and all the other times we both knew we were being silly, even as our pride got caught up in the argument. We got so into it that by the end we were both at fault, which made getting back together much easier.
This time, though, it's different. This time I know she's being silly, and I know she doesn't think she's being silly at all. I blame her for blaming me. And that kind of game is hard to kick.
I decide to get all contradictory on her. I know I'm supposed to avoid her, so I search her out.
I don't want Chuck to be around, so I wait until she has gym class. When there's a few minutes before the bell, I sneak into the girls' locker room.
"What the hell are you doing here?!?"
This is Joni's reaction. The rest of the girls are nonchalant. They all know I'm gay, and that their boobs mean as much as their elbows to me.
Joni's already dressed, so I know the problem is me.
"I want to talk to you," I say.
"Didn't Laura tell you to stay away?" Joni asks. She doesn't see anything weird about this sentence.
"I'd rather hear it from you."
"Stay away."
The other girls are giving us space. One comes over to back Joni up, but she waves her away.
I can recognize her anger so well. There's the way her eyes shoot fire, and the perfect D her arm forms when her fist parks against her hip.
You don't want to do this,
I want to say. Which is really me saying, /
don't want you to do this.
I've witnessed this scene before. I've heard about it a thousand times. And now here we are, and there is no question where her tone is taking us.
"Are we breaking up?" I ask quietly. Because that's what it feels like. She's dumping me as a friend.
"We were never going out," she replies sarcastically. There's a little hurt in her voice, a little bitterness. That's what I latch on to. That's what I'll take with me.
A locker door slams. Then another. Bags are slung onto shoulders. Towels are folded away.
The girls around us begin to exit. I try to hold on to Joni's glance for as long as I can, hoping there will be another word to take all the other sentences back. She looks at me for a beat. . .
and then she turns away. She starts putting things in her locker. She closes it. She puts on the lock (I know the combination). She is pretending I am no longer here. I had expected her to rage. I had expected her to be snide. But I hadn't expected her to make me invisible. She knows that's the thing that hurts me the most. So from her, it destroys me. I don't say another word. I want to cry in both senses of the word--I want tears, and I want to shout out. I push my way out of the locker room, out to a silent corridor between the gym and the nurse's office.
I find a fire extinguisher and stare at the glass that covers it. I stare into my own washed-out face, into my own reflection. I want to break it, but I don't dare.
We were never going out.
I wonder if things would have been different if I could've gone out with her, if we had been a couple at some point in our lives. We always said we had the best deal of all--friendship without sexual tension. We thought it was so uncomplicated.
"I hate the phrase 'more than friends,' " Joni told me one night not long ago. We were bundled on her couch, flipping to strange channels. "It's such nonsense. When I'm going out with someone, we're not 'more than friends'--most of the time, we're not even friends. 'More than friends' makes no sense. Look at us. There's nothing more than us."
I snuggled in close to her 'and vowed to never use the phrase again. But now it comes back to me, and I wonder if she's used it with Chuck, told him that they're more than friends, more than Joni and me. The only thing I can't give Joni is sex. The only thing Chuck
can
give her is sex, from what I can tell. I never thought it would be a contest between the two. And I never, ever thought that it would be a contest I would lose.
I miss Joni. I miss Noah. I don't really miss Kyle, but he's the one who finds me. Not right then, not in the halls. But later, after seventh period.
"I heard what happened," he says.
"How did you hear?" I ask.
He looks at me like I'm a freak. "You had a scene in the girls' locker room. You didn't think word would travel from there? You might as well have broken up over the PA system."
"Well, I wasn't planning on us breaking up. I was planning on us being okay."
Kyle spins a little on that one. It's like he knows he should be consoling but is unfamiliar with the language of consolation. I appreciate the mental attempt on his part, and at the same time I am relieved that he doesn't take it any further. I don't know how I'd take kindness right now.
Because of Joni, I feel deserving. Because of Noah, I don't feel deserving at all.
There's something else Kyle wants to say, I can tell. But he holds that back, too.
"I was thinking we could go to the cemetery," he tells me. "All of us;. For the dance. To get ideas."
"Now?"
"Um . . . tomorrow?"
I'm in no mood to argue. And I figure if our dance is going to have a death theme, there are few better places to go for inspiration than a cemetery.
Kyle goes to spread the word of our deliberately morbid field trip. I try to focus on class for the rest of the day, which is a new experience for me. In history, I try to rearrange the words on the board into a poem.
no treaty but trenches all quiet years to years home in no man's land
This helps pass the time, but it doesn't do my spirits much good.
After school, I turn a corner and find Infinite Darlene talking to Noah. I can't even hide my surprise -- I nearly drop my books as I pull back for a hidden view. Neither of them sees me.
They talk for no more than a minute. Infinite Darlene puts her hand on Noah's shoulder and smiles. He smiles back, looking a little confused. His hair is messier than usual, his shirt half tucked. I wish for the thousandth time that I could take back all the emptiness I've given him.
As soon as he's out of the picture, I leap toward Infinite Darlene.
"Have you been spying, honey?" she asks. "You know, good girls don't spy."
"What was
that
about?"
"What was
what
about?"
"Why were you talking to Noah?"
"Darlin', it's a free country."
Now, "it's a free country" has to be the lamest reason ever invented. It's something people say when they have no other good excuse for what they've done. Hearing it come from Infinite Darlene doesn't inspire confidence.
"What are you up to?" I ask, somewhat severely.
"Don't use that tone with me," Infinite Darlene snaps. I've pushed her too far. "You're going to have to trust me on this one, okay?"
God, I wish I could trust her.
Seeing that I won't argue any further, her face brightens. "I heard what you said to Joni today.
Thank you for trying."
"I wasn't trying for you. I was trying for me."
"I know. But we're all in this together. Against Chuck."
Now it's my turn to snap. "Don't you see? We're not going to win that fight. We can't be against Chuck. Being against Chuck is like being against Joni right now."
"That's how she sees it. But that doesn't mean that's how it is."
"How she sees it is
exactly
how it is. She's the one calling the shots."
"You're upset."
"Duh! Of course I'm upset."
"So you're taking it out on me."
"I am NOT TAKING IT OUT ON YOU. Sometimes it's actually not about you."
"Well, to me it is."
"Aaaaaaggggggh!" I don't want to fight with Infinite Darlene. She knows I don't want to fight with her. So I just throw my hands up in the air, scream my frustration, then move on. I can hear her laughing--
supportively
laughing--as I leave.
I want to laugh, too.
It hurts me that I can't.
To Bring You My Love
I'm walking through town on my way home from school, the sun on its way to down, the streets decorated with mailbox shadows and just-fallen leaves. I have nowhere to go (but home, eventually) and no one to see. My backpack is heavy, my thoughts even heavier. So I focus on the shops and the sky, expose my face to the wind.
I stop at the tune store, where I'm greeted by Javier and Jules. Half the store is Javier's, half is Jules's -- they have entirely different musical tastes, so you have to know going in whether the tune you're looking for is more like Javier or Jules. They have been together for more than twenty years, and today as they offer me cider and argue the blues, I want to ask them how they've done it. To be together with someone for twenty years seems like an eternity to me. I can't seem to manage twenty days. Twenty weeks would be a stretch. How can they stand there behind the counter, spinning songs for each other day in and day out? How can they find things to say--how can they avoid saying things they'll always regret?
How do you
stay together?
I want to ask them, the same way I want to ask my happy parents, the same way I want to go up to old people and ask them,
What is it like to live so long?
Ella Fitzgerald croons through the speakers, then PJ Harvey lets out a forlorn cry. I flip through Javier's sale bin and see he's sneaked some of Jules's tunes in there, too. Javier jokingly tells me to be careful what I wish for. Jules warns me against having too many PJ
Harvey dreams.
It's colder outside when I leave, or maybe that's only because I felt so warm inside. I stop in the coffee shop to get my mother some grounds. I look to the funky puff-couches in the corner and see Cody (my first elementary school boyfriend) hanging with his new boyfriend, whose name is either Lou or Reed. They have sunk into the cushions, sharing a single cup of latte, sip by sip. Happiness rises from them like steam. Cody sees me and waves me over. I smile and gesture that I can't. I pretend I'm running out of time.
Their companionship makes me think of Noah. It makes me think about how I'd never felt that close to someone before, in that exact way.
I slip into the five-and-dime, where things still cost a nickel or ten cents. I pick up some chocolate clusters for my brother and a strand of strawberry shoestring licorice for Tony. The root beer barrels are Joni's favorite. I have to stop myself from buying those.
Next stop: the thirdhand duds store down the block. I'm searching for combat boots when I see a woman who looks almost identical to Noah. I don't want combat boots for combat; I want them because I think they'll make me feel grounded. The woman is looking at a set of slightly chipped flower pots, asking if they'll fit geraniums. Her hair is longer than Noah's, well-mannered. But the eyes are almost the same.