Game changer, p.17
Game Changer, page 17
The straight me didn’t have a real handle on the concept of “connection” yet. In my original world, I had dated a lot of girls. Last year I had been with Amy Anders for most of the school year, before she bailed on me and went for the captain of the goddamn debate team. I figured he had won her over with a persuasive argument. But now, I’m thinking maybe it was because I had never really let her in. I never forged that connection. If I ever got back to my old world and returned to my old self, I wanted to take that feeling of connection with me—and maybe I would find it there. Maybe with Katie.
But if that happened, I’d lose what I had with Paul—and even though I never asked for this, the thought of losing it was like an open wound.
Maybe Paul could tell my mind was in troubled places, or maybe my eyes had gotten a little moist, because he shifted to get a better look at me and said, “What are you thinking about?”
The word that came to mind only made sense to me after I said it out loud.
“Home . . . ,” I told him.
“You have to go?”
“No,” I explained. “Here. With you. Feels like home.”
He shifted. Maybe a little uncomfortably. At the time I didn’t know why. “Can’t live here,” he quipped. “Not enough room. Maybe under my bed, though.”
I grinned. “Wouldn’t fit. Your closet, maybe.” It was an implication you could have driven a bus through, and yet I missed it.
But Paul didn’t. He laughed, and said, “I’m sure yours has a lot more room—what with your mansion and all.”
School on Monday was, like everything else, different and the same. Walking down the hallway at school, I noticed people I had never noticed in my previous incarnations—and found others with whom I’d never had a problem to be vapid and irritating.
My friends in this world were mostly the same as the last one. That had to do with familiarity, but also keeping up appearances. I had some new friends, though. They were guys and girls who I admired. The ones who stood up for things and who weren’t afraid to speak their minds. The ones with all the qualities I wish I had. And then there were the friends that were still just plain gone because of the color of their skin, and that was the hardest thing to face . . .
. . . Which brings me to the SAS Club. The meeting during lunch helped to remind me what was at stake beyond just my own wants and desires. So many people have no interest in change unless it directly affects them. I couldn’t be one of those people anymore. Besides, after my father’s play against me at Friday’s game, now more than ever, I wanted to defy him, to stand up for what I knew to be right. See, in my old world, my dad had been knocked down a few notches by life. Maybe he saw himself as a failure, although I never had. But here, his success had given him a nasty arrogance. Here, he was a bully. I wondered if he had been that way when he was my age—but had been humbled, instead of being rewarded for it. It’s a fine line between being the hammer and the nail.
Paul was there when I arrived at the meeting. I sat next to him and pulled out my notebook.
“Did I miss anything?” I asked.
“They’re arguing about the playlist for the dance.”
The integration dance was still being attributed to me. The gym had been reserved for a Wednesday in November, and the administration supported it. It was hard for me to get excited about an event that seemed more about making the club feel good about itself than actually about doing something meaningful. Not only didn’t they see the big picture, they didn’t even know there was a picture to see.
“You should pick some songs,” I suggested to Paul, “or it’ll end up being nothing but Amber Wave and Wunderbred.”
“I thought you liked Amber Wave?”
I just shrugged and grunted. Yes, I had memories of liking them—but those fell into the must be quelled category. I could have given our club leaders one hell of a playlist; unfortunately the songs I’d give didn’t exist anywhere but in my head now. Thinking about that reminded me of the more important list I was making. I flipped my notebook open, tapped my pen for a few seconds, and added some names.
Nadir Williams . . .
Freddie King . . .
Kamisha Hicks . . .
“Who are they?” Paul asked.
“Just people we should invite to the dance.”
He looked a little confused. “Do I know any of them?”
I sidestepped the question. “They don’t go here,” I told him. But they used to, I wanted to say.
Lynnell Wilson . . .
Keagan Fry . . .
It was my friends and classmates of color from my original world. I had to believe they were still here, just like Leo was. Maybe he knew them.
Mateo Zuñiga . . .
Roberto Guzman . . .
Luz Delgado . . .
While I might find the Black kids across town, there was little hope of finding the Latinx ones. They had other lives in other places, denied “the American Dream” in a very different way.
Paul didn’t ask any more questions or comment further on my list. He wasn’t being all that talkative today. At the time I figured he was just listening to the main conversation.
Everyone was put in charge of something. I volunteered to spread the word in the Black community, hoping that Leo might help me. It all felt like play-acting, though, because if the world reset, none of it would happen. Paul was put in charge of finances. Again, he seemed distracted and muted when he accepted the position. Again, I thought nothing of it. But later that day I was blindsided by something that I should have seen coming.
“Ash, can we talk?”
Paul caught me at my locker at the end of the day.
“Yeah, sure,” I said, “what about?”
“About us.”
I looked around to see if anyone was listening. It was a reflex. There were plenty of others in the hallway. They all seemed to be into their own business, but still . . .
“You want to talk about that here?”
“Yeah,” he said, “I do.”
And before I could ask him to save it for a more private time and place, he went on. “Yesterday when you said all that about being ‘home,’ I couldn’t stop thinking about it.”
“Me neither,” I told him.
“But home isn’t where the heart is, Ash. It’s where you choose to be. How can you ever be home, if you’re pretending you’re somewhere else?”
“I know what I felt,” I said, as quietly as I could. “I know what I feel.”
He sighed. “Ash, here’s the thing . . .”
And that’s when I knew. I knew everything he was about to say. Because no matter who you are, or who you’re dating—no matter who you might be in love with—“Here’s the thing . . .” is a phrase that has only one outcome.
“Ash, your life is all laid out for you. A big football college like your father, an NFL team like your father—and even if you don’t get that far, your life is going in a direction that mine isn’t.”
“Wh . . . What are you talking about?” I stammered. “You get good grades. Whatever you do, you’re gonna be successful.”
“That’s not what I’m talking about . . .”
And then it hit me what he meant. I had no comeback line for it.
“You’re never coming out, Ash,” he said. “You know it as well as I do. Your life’s gonna be about secret ‘buds’ and passing for straight. If that’s the life you choose, hey, I won’t judge, it’s your choice to make . . . but it’s not what I want.”
I felt something welling up inside of me. Something powerful. I couldn’t remember the last time I felt it. It was loss. The loss of something so important to me, it was unfathomable. Did I say I thought I loved Paul? Who was I kidding? I did. I do.
“I’m joining the LGBTQ Alliance,” he said. “I’m joining, and I’m coming out. I thought you should know, so you could distance yourself before I did.”
Tears were building—I couldn’t stop them. “Why would I want to distance myself from you?”
I could tell that my tears were triggering his, but he wiped them away before they could fall. “Be honest with yourself, Ash—at least about that.”
And he was right. My brain was already running scenarios and escape routes. All the smoke and mirrors I would use to deflect attention when Paul came out. How I’d act all supportive, because it was the right thing to do—but from a distance.
Paul thought he had me pegged. Maybe he did. On the other hand, maybe not—because what came next erupted from a place in me I didn’t even know existed. And maybe it didn’t exist before, in any of the worlds I inhabited. Maybe it only came into being because of the way I now straddled the goddamn multiverse.
I turned to look around us. Lockers opening and closing. Crowded hallway. Good.
“Excuse me,” I said to the hallway, and when no one turned, I shouted it. “Excuse me! I have something to say!”
Paul’s eyes went wide. “Ash, what are you doing?”
But if I answered him, I knew I’d lose my nerve.
The crowd was now looking to me curiously, expectantly.
“You all know who I am, right?” I said—because lately, rather than just being some guy on the football team, I’ve been the guy on the football team. I didn’t have to say my name, because they all knew it.
I glanced back at Paul. “You don’t have to do this,” he said quietly. If he really and truly wanted me to stop, I would have . . . but I saw the slightest grin of anticipation on his face. The good squirm.
I looked around, meeting various eyes in the crowd to make sure I had their attention. “I want you all to listen very carefully,” I said. And, since actions speak louder than words, I turned to Paul, and planted one on him that was even better than the kiss at my front door.
The crowd around us gasped and tittered and whispered. Someone pulled out a phone and held it up, capturing the moment. Maybe I should have cared, but I didn’t. The part of me that wanted to grab the phone and smash it was otherwise occupied.
I broke off the kiss and turned to the astonished onlookers. Some of them were actually applauding. Others were gawking. And yet others were grinning like it was all very amusing.
“Now go,” I told them. “Talk amongst yourselves, gossip, tweet, alert the media—do whatever the fuck you want, I won’t stop you.”
And then, from out of the crowd stepped Norris, looking like he had just witnessed his home disappear into a sinkhole. I hadn’t known he was there, but what did it matter? If I had known I would have done it anyway.
“Dude, say it isn’t so . . .”
“It’s so,” I told him. “Either you’re good with it, or you can get the hell out of here.”
I probably don’t have to tell you that he chose the latter. He turned and toddled off, slowly shaking his head like a bull struck by a car.
I looked back to Paul, who was more than a little bit dazed by the total detonation of my big walk-in closet.
“That,” he said, smiling, “may have been the dumbest thing you’ve ever done.”
“Yeah, probably,” I admitted. I put up my hand for a fist bump, but then opened my fingers at the last second, and intertwined them with his.
And just like that, my world had changed again.
15
Counting Cows
I used to rarely skip football practice. It’s a cardinal rule that unless you’ve been abducted by aliens, or have been pronounced dead, you don’t skip practice. But I did today. I couldn’t deal with the prospect of two dozen Norrises gaping at me in disbelief. Instead I drove Paul home.
“This is not how I expected this day would go,” said Paul, as we neared his street.
“Are you sorry?” I asked.
It took a moment for him to answer. “I thought I was losing you today. I’m glad I didn’t. More than glad. Even so, this is uncharted territory for me.”
“Me, too,” I told him. “I guess we’ll chart it together.”
He smiled and gave me a quick peck as he got out, and I drove home.
I was terrified of what would come next, but maybe a little excited, too, and a little relieved—or at least looking forward to the moment I could actually feel relieved. Mostly what I felt was dread. An abiding sense of impending doom, like when you total your parents’ new car that you weren’t supposed to be driving. My head was pounding, but it wasn’t an interdimensional headache, it was a real one. Of all the situations I ever thought I might be facing in my life, the original me couldn’t even have imagined this being one of them.
When I got home, I drew myself an EMP bath, even though I didn’t really need one, and waited for the sky to fall.
It only took about an hour.
Through the magic of social media, the news went schoolwide and beyond in minutes. Someone told my parents—probably anonymously—about the video of me and Paul kissing. That video had already been posted and reposted until it was in so many places, it was the first thing that came up on Google when you entered the words “gay locker kiss.”
I want to be able to tell you that my parents surprised me with their reaction. That they were accepting and open-minded and we had a group hug and they told me it was all going to be okay. That does happen sometimes. I know it does. But it didn’t happen here.
They called me downstairs just after I had gotten out of the bath. Both of them had come home early. They didn’t make small talk or beat around the bush. They told me to sit down. I told them I preferred to stand. They asked me to explain the video. I explained it honestly. They asked me if I was serious. I told them I was. They asked me if I was sure. I told them it was a stupid question. After that, my father paced the kitchen and my mother stood at the granite island, looking down into her cup of coffee. Occasionally she would glance up at me with burdened eyes, as if, when she looked at me, all she could see were her unborn grandchildren dying before her eyes.
It turns out my father had a plan of action.
“You’re going to fix this,” he said. “You’re going to tell everyone that the video was a prank.”
“It wasn’t a prank.”
“I don’t care. You’ll tell people that it was.”
“Why would I do that?”
“Do you want the entire school—your entire team—to think you’re gay?”
“I am gay,” I pointed out.
“Stop saying that.”
“Just because I don’t say it, that doesn’t make it any less true.”
“I just . . . I just don’t want to hear it, okay? Not today. Not right now.” But of course what he really meant was “not ever.”
Then my mom spoke up. “Honey, you’ve had a lot of time to come to terms with this,” she said to me. “You can’t expect us to get there in a single day.”
My father’s phone vibrated, and he took his frustration out on it, hurling the defenseless iPhone into the family room, where it skidded on the coffee table, right between two porcelain candlesticks, and onto the floor.
“Goal,” I said flatly. No one was amused.
“Do you have any idea what this means for you?” my father said.
“I get the feeling you’re more worried about what it means for you.”
“Ash, you’re being unfair,” said my mother.
I heard a creak, and turned to see Hunter sitting on the stairs, watching. I tried to figure out how much he’d heard, then realized it didn’t take much to know the gist of things. He’d already heard all he needed to hear—maybe he had even seen the video, too. My parents demanded he go upstairs to his room. He grumbled, but left.
Once Hunter was gone, Dad sat down, took a long, slow breath, and looked at my mom. So what do we do now? said his gaze, but he didn’t speak the words. I didn’t catch what my mom gazed back. Then she turned to me.
“I want you to stay away from that boy,” she said. And here I thought she was being the sympathetic one. It made me furious, but I didn’t yell. That would have only made things worse. I had to stay calm and exist within the shell shock of it all.
“That boy has a name,” I said. “And it’s not like he did this to me—you can’t blame Paul.”
“You know what?” said my dad. “It doesn’t matter anymore. Do whatever the hell you want. Be with whoever the hell you want. Go take a goat to homecoming for all I care.”
“Robert, enough!” said my mom.
It was a horrible thing for him to say, but the good thing about shell shock is that you don’t feel things in the moment. You just feel them later. It was then that I made a poignant and important observation.
“No offense, Dad . . . but you’re a fucking asshole.”
I thought that would set him off, but it didn’t. He didn’t even deny the charge.
“You’ve set yourself on a difficult path, Ash,” he said. “I hope you’re ready for it.”
And that was it. At least for now. My parents had nothing more to say to me, and I had nothing to say to them. It could have gone better, but, as bad as it was, it could have gone worse. As I went upstairs, I found myself wondering how the original versions of them would have reacted. Then I remembered that in my original world, we never would have had this conversation. Maybe I should have just told them that we used to be in an alternate universe where I was an all-American vagina-loving straight boy. They would have thought I was nuts, of course, but maybe I could have planted the idea in their heads, the way I had with Katie and Leo. But you know what? I didn’t want to give them the satisfaction. It’s their job in all universes to support me whoever I am, and whatever I’m feeling, no matter who I’m feeling it for. They didn’t deserve to know there was a place where things were different.
I passed Hunter’s room on my way to mine. He was lying on his bed, looking at the ceiling.
“How many?” he asked me, when he saw me lingering by his door.
“How many what?”
“How many cows did Mom and Dad have? Because I figure if they had enough, we could open a dairy.”
