Authors: David Levithan
Kyle got the key to her memory book from the keeper and has been jotting excerpts into his biology notebook. I lean over to see, but he quickly closes the cover and shuffles the notebook away in his bag. I look around at the candles he's lit. They, too, are all blue.
"I wish we could have the dance in here," Kyle says, nodding to a portrait of the dowager that hangs over her tomb. It is nearly identical to the portrait that is partnered at the dance. "I think she would have liked that."
Next to the portrait is a piece of sketch paper. Kyle must have been trying to duplicate it. I walk forward for a closer look.
"I'm sorry again about interrupting," Kyle says from somewhere behind me.
"Don't worry about it," I reply, my eyes not leaving the drawing. He's changed the perspective--it's now a portrait looking slightly down. The candlelight makes her expression waver, her lines blur. The thing that strikes me the most is the portrait's silence.
I feel a hand on my back. When I don't move, Kyle turns me gently around. Then he leans in and kisses me. Softly, at first. Then embracing.
My instinct kicks in, and it isn't the instinct I'm necessarily expecting. After the surprise wears off, I quietly step away. I let go of the kiss, and he lets go of my body.
"What?" he asks soothingly. "It's okay."
"No," I whisper back. "It's not."
"But it is." He takes my hand in his. I used to love it when he did that, just casually holding my hand as we had a conversation. I don't pull it away now. "I know I messed up last time,"
he says, "but that won't happen again. I know you're scared. I'm scared, too. But this is what I want. This is how it should be. I love you."
"Oh no!" I say. Out loud. I don't mean to. It just comes out.
Kyle laughs, but I can see his scaredness grow.
I squeeze his hand lightly. "Seriously, though. I just--" I can't find the right words.
"You just what?"
"I just don't want to. Not like that. I love you, too, but as a friend. A good friend."
He lets go of my hand. "Don't say that," he insists.
"What? I mean it, Kyle. You know I'm not just saying 'let's be friends.'"
"But you are, Paul. You are."
There's shock in his eyes now. I actually have to reach out for him because he's about to back into a candle and set his shirt on fire.
"Thanks," he says. His voice has lost all certainty. "But why did you kiss me? I thought that meant something."
I can't tell him it meant nothing. But I can't tell him it meant what he wanted it to.
"Do you regret it?" he asks, after I haven't responded.
"No," I say, even though I do.
"But you don't want to do it again?"
"I don't think we should."
"And you know what you want."
I nod.
"You always know what you want, don't you?"
"That's not true," I say, thinking about the last two weeks. "And that's not fair."
"No," Kyle agrees. "It's not fair at all." He is back by his book bag now, gathering his things.
"I thought this would work. I thought it would be a perfect way to start again. But I forgot about you. I forgot how easy it is for you."
"Easy?"
"Yes," Kyle says, punctuating the phrase by throwing down his things.
"Easy.
Paul, you don't know how lucky you are."
"How am I lucky?"
"Because
you know who you are.
Most of the time, Paul, I have no idea what I want. And then when I do, something like this happens. You make me feel so low, when all I want is to be with you."
I could point out that he used to make me feel the same way, but I've already forgiven him for that. I could point out that it isn't always easy knowing who you are and what you want, because then you have no excuse for not trying to get it. I could point out that right now--
even now
--I am still thinking about the few words I just exchanged with Noah. I could point out any number of things. But I am entirely disarmed, because now Kyle is shivering in front of me, holding in his tears as he picks up his bag. "I'm sorry," I say, but I know this isn't enough. There isn't a single phrase for all the things I need to say--there isn't a single sentence that will explain how I want to hug Kyle into security but don't want to kiss him. He is walking around the crypt now, not looking at me, not saying another word. He blows out the candles one by one. I stand where I am and say his name. The last candle is on top of the dowager's tomb. Kyle leans over and extinguishes it. We are left in a darkness of blues. I say his name again. But the only response comes from the sound of his leaving.
Tony
I ask Amber to call Tony's house for me. When he answers, she passes the phone my way and I ask if I can come over. He says there's about an hour before his mother will be back from her prayer circle.
Emily gives me a ride. From her respectful silence, I can tell that she's pieced together Kyle's departure, my agitation, my own departure, and my need for respectful silence. She's probably figured out a close variation of the real story.
Tony's front door is unlocked. I head right to his room. After one look at my face, he asks me what happened, and I tell him.
As I talk, clocks chime throughout the house. A floorboard creaks under ghost steps. Alert, we listen for the sound of the garage door opening or a key turning in the back door.
I tell Tony about Noah. I tell Tony about Kyle and all the things he said. I show him my confusion, my hurt, my anger--I don't hold anything back. As usual, Tony reserves his words until the end, prompting me with nods and listening.
I expect him to tell me that Kyle is off base, that he'd been speaking out of confusion, hurt, and (yes) anger, not truth. But instead Tony says, "Kyle's right, you know."
"What?" I heard him the first time, but I want to give him the option to change his mind.,
"I said, Kyle's right. I know exactly where he's coming from."
I'm so taken aback by what Tony's saying that I look away from him. I look at all the chaste decorations in his room, all the childhood relics--baseball cards, sports car ads--that he hasn't been able to replace with the telltale signs of his present life. Everything that's visible in this room is exactly the same as when I first saw it. Only the hidden parts have changed.
"Paul," Tony continues, "do you know how lucky you are?"
Of course I know this. Although I have to admit I always tend to think of other people as unlucky rather than thinking of my own life as charmed.
"I know I'm lucky," I say, perhaps a little defensively. "But that doesn't mean it's easy. Kyle said it's easy for me."
"That's not a bad thing, Paul."
"Well, the way he said it, it was. And the way you're saying it, too.
Tony is sitting cross-legged on the floor, playing with a thread from his sweater.
"The first time I met you," he says, not directly to me, not directly to the floor--somewhere in between, "I honestly couldn't believe that someone like you could exist, or even a town like yours could entirely exist. I thought I understood things. I thought I would get up every morning with a secret and go to sleep every night with the same secret. I thought my life would start only when I was out of here. I felt that I had learned something about myself too soon, and that there was nothing I could do to undo the truth. And I wanted to undo it, Paul. I wanted to so bad. Then I met you in the city and on the train, and suddenly it was like this door had been opened. I saw I couldn't live like I'd been living, because now there was another way to do it. And part of me loved that. And part of me still hates it. Part of me--this dark, scared part of me--wishes I never knew how it could be. I don't have the courage that you do."
"That's not true," I say quietly. "You are so much braver than I am. You face all these things--your parents, your life."
"Kyle feels lost, Paul. That's all he's saying. And he knows that you're not lost. You've never really been lost. You've
felt
lost. But you've never
been
lost."
"And are you lost? Do you feel lost?" - Tony shakes his head. "No. I know exactly where I am, what I'm up against. I'm on the other side, Paul."
I can hear all the emptiness in the house. I can see the way the pennants droop away from the walls of his room. I know that he's not happy, and it breaks my heart.
"Tony," I say.
He shakes his head again. "But this isn't about me, is it? It's about you and Noah and Kyle and what you're going to do."
"I don't care about any of that," I tell him. "I mean, I care about it. But not right here, right now. Talk to me, Tony."
"I didn't want to bring this up. Forget I said anything." "No, Tony. Tell me."
"I don't know if you want to hear it."
"Of course I want to hear it."
"I love being with you and Joni and the rest of the group. I love being a part of that. But I can never really enjoy it, because I know that at the end, I'll be back here. Sometimes I can forget, and when I can forget, it's bliss. But this past week has been hell. It's like I've been pushed back into the shape of this person I used to be. And I don't fit into the old shape anymore. I don't fit."
"So leave," I say--and the minute I say it, I'm full of the idea. "I'm serious. Let's pack up your things. You can live at my house. I'm sure my parents will take you in. Then we can figure things out. We can find you a room somewhere -- maybe in that room over Mrs.
Reilly's garage. You don't have to be here, Tony. You don't have to live like this."
I'm getting all excited. It's like an airlift. Tony is a refugee. We need to get him to a better place.
It seems so simple to me. But Tony says, "No, I can't."
"What do you mean?"
"I can't, Paul. I can't just leave. I know you won't understand this, but they love me. It would be much easier if they didn't. But in their own way, they love me. They honestly believe that if I don't straighten out, I will lose my soul. It's not just that they don't want me kissing other guys--they think if I do it, I will be damned.
Damned,
Paul. And I know that doesn't mean anything to you. It really doesn't mean anything to me. To them, though, it's everything."
"But they're wrong."
"I
know. But they don't hate me, Paul. They honestly love me."
"Part of love is letting a person be who they want to be."
Tony nods. "I know."
"And they're not doing that."
"But maybe they will someday. I don't know. All I know is that I can't just run off. They think that being gay is going to mess up my whole life. I can't prove them right, Paul. I have to prove them wrong. And I know I can't prove them wrong by changing myself or by denying what I really am. The only way for me to prove them wrong is to try to be who I am and show them it's not hurting me to be that way. In two years I'll graduate. I'll be gone. But in the meantime, I have to find a way to make this work."
I am so scared for him. I realize that what he's saying is beyond my scope of comprehension.
What he wants to do is more than I've ever had to do.
"Tony," I say, "you're not alone in this."
He leans back against his bed. "Sometimes I know I'm not, and sometimes I really think I am.
I don't like to get into the middle of things, but sometimes I stay awake at night, petrified that we're all scattering apart. And I know I'm not strong enough to keep us all together and keep myself together at the same time. Plus, you're in love, Paul. You might not call it that, but that's what it is. And I don't want to be the downer to your upper. I know there are only so many things you can float at once."
I don't let him finish the thought. "I'm here," I tell him. "I will always be here. And I know I've been overwhelmed by the past week. And I know you can't always count on me to do the right thing. But I want to help.",
"I don't know if I can do it, Paul." I can tell he wants to. He's decided he wants to.
"You have a much better chance than I would," I say. "You are so much braver than me."
"That's not true."
Yes it is.
The garage door opens. Both Tony and I tense up.
"I'll go," I say, gathering my things, planning a quick escape.
Tony looks up at me and says, "No, don't."
The garage door is closing now.
"Are you sure?" I ask. I don't know what kind of trouble this will bring. All I know is that whatever he wants me to do, I'll do it. I m sure.
The door to the basement. Tony's mother calling his name.
"I'm in here with Paul!" he yells.
Silence. Keys on the front counter. A pause. Footsteps on the stairs.
All those years of us pretending. All the "bible study groups" and midnight curfews. All those times we had to wash the scent of a basement rave out of Tony's clothes, or let Tony onto our computers to go places his parents wouldn't let him go. All those moments of panic when we thought we wouldn't make it back on time, when we thought that Tony would come home and the door would be locked for good. All those lies. All those fears. And now Tony's mother coming into the room--not even knocking--and seeing the two of us sitting on his floor, him cross-legged and leaning on the side of his bed, me kneeling by the bookcase, not even pretending to be looking for a book.
"Oh," she says--the kind of word that falls like a stone.
"We're going to do some homework," Tony says.
She looks straight at him. "I'm not sure that's a good idea."
All those silences. All those burning thoughts kept hidden. And now Tony is letting them out, carefully. Now Tony is standing his ground.
"Why?" Tony asks --- the kind of word that is thrown like a stone.
"Why?" Tony's mom repeats -- an off-guard echo, an uncertain response.
"Paul is my best friend, and we've been doing homework together for a long time. He is my
friend
--nothing more, no different from Joni or Laura or any other girl. I am being totally honest with you, and I want you to be totally honest with me. Why could you possibly think it's a bad idea for Paul and me to do our homework together?"