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Authors: John Goode
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was morning because the sun was streaming though my windows like the beginning of a fucking Disney movie. You know that really bright and aggressively cheerful sunlight that tries to get you to do dishes with cartoon bluebirds and shit? Yeah, well, that was what I saw when I poked my head out of my covers. Like every other Emo Teenage Groundhog in the world, I knew an overly cheery sun meant eighteen more years of misery. I promptly ducked back under the covers. Before I fell back asleep, I jumped up and locked my door.
Then I went back to my blanket coffin.
I woke up when my mom tried to open my door. She knocked twice. “Kyle, are you up?”
“Feel sick!” I yelled from under my covers. “Not going to school.”
I could hear her sigh on the other side, but what could she say? I was acing all my classes, and before this whole gay thing, I had been a model student. If I wanted to cut a day or two, she really couldn’t scream at me; I had a few banked by now. “Did you tell Brad that? Because he’s outside waiting for you.”
Fuck.
I threw on some clothes and unlocked my door. My mom stood there, and I could tell she was forcing herself not to laugh out loud at the way I looked. “Did you go to bed with wet hair?”
I touched the top of my hair and could feel most of it standing straight up. One look in the bathroom mirror showed me I looked more like a troll doll than I cared to admit. I threw water on my bed head until it calmed down before walking to the front door. I swung it open and saw Brad leaning on his car with his phone in hand. He broke into a huge smile when he saw me walk out. When he saw I wasn’t dressed, his smile broke.
“I’m not going,” I said as he walked over to the door.
“Kyle!” he half whined. “Come on, you can’t let them—”
I had heard this too many times already. You can’t let Them get you down. You can’t let Them win. You can’t let Them make you the victim. I had heard every single motivational statement about being gay and not letting assholes do this and that to me, and I was sick of it. “I’m not letting them do anything,” I said, cutting him off. My skin felt like it had been pulled too tight, I was so upset. I still wanted to scream out loud, I still wanted to break down and cry, and I didn’t want to be having this conversation. “I just need a day off. One day to collect my thoughts.”
“Well, then we take a day off,” he said quickly.
“Alone.”
Damn, I sounded like a dick.
“Please, Brad, I am in a foul mood, and if you were here I would just take it out on you, and I don’t want to do that. Just let me be miserable for a day, and I will be okay. I promise.” He looked at me like his puppy had just died, and it was killing me, but I knew how my mind worked. I was in the mood to beat myself up, and Brad wouldn’t let me, which would just lead to me beating him up. And neither one of us wanted that.
“It feels like you’re mad at me,” he said. His eyes were bright green, and he looked like he was on the verge of crying.
“I swear,” I said, walking closer to him so I could hug him. “I am not at all mad at you. I am just having my period.” He cocked his head questioningly, and I kissed him on the cheek. “I just can’t handle it today. Tomorrow I will be back bright and early, ready to be spit on and kicked and everything. Just give me one day to lick my wounds, okay?”
He put his arms around me, and I felt a chill go through me as if the rest of the world faded away and it was just the two of us alone in the middle of nowhere. And though I longed to stay safely under the Brad force field, I knew I had shit to work through in my head, so I took a half step back and gave him a smile. “I love you.”
“I love you too!” he answered with the same exuberance a dog does when it wants to jump up on you but knows it can’t.
“Call me when you get out of practice,” I said, backing toward the door, not wanting to turn
Then I went back to my blanket coffin.
I woke up when my mom tried to open my door. She knocked twice. “Kyle, are you up?”
“Feel sick!” I yelled from under my covers. “Not going to school.”
I could hear her sigh on the other side, but what could she say? I was acing all my classes, and before this whole gay thing, I had been a model student. If I wanted to cut a day or two, she really couldn’t scream at me; I had a few banked by now. “Did you tell Brad that? Because he’s outside waiting for you.”
Fuck.
I threw on some clothes and unlocked my door. My mom stood there, and I could tell she was forcing herself not to laugh out loud at the way I looked. “Did you go to bed with wet hair?”
I touched the top of my hair and could feel most of it standing straight up. One look in the bathroom mirror showed me I looked more like a troll doll than I cared to admit. I threw water on my bed head until it calmed down before walking to the front door. I swung it open and saw Brad leaning on his car with his phone in hand. He broke into a huge smile when he saw me walk out. When he saw I wasn’t dressed, his smile broke.
“I’m not going,” I said as he walked over to the door.
“Kyle!” he half whined. “Come on, you can’t let them—”
I had heard this too many times already. You can’t let Them get you down. You can’t let Them win. You can’t let Them make you the victim. I had heard every single motivational statement about being gay and not letting assholes do this and that to me, and I was sick of it. “I’m not letting them do anything,” I said, cutting him off. My skin felt like it had been pulled too tight, I was so upset. I still wanted to scream out loud, I still wanted to break down and cry, and I didn’t want to be having this conversation. “I just need a day off. One day to collect my thoughts.”
“Well, then we take a day off,” he said quickly.
“Alone.”
Damn, I sounded like a dick.
“Please, Brad, I am in a foul mood, and if you were here I would just take it out on you, and I don’t want to do that. Just let me be miserable for a day, and I will be okay. I promise.” He looked at me like his puppy had just died, and it was killing me, but I knew how my mind worked. I was in the mood to beat myself up, and Brad wouldn’t let me, which would just lead to me beating him up. And neither one of us wanted that.
“It feels like you’re mad at me,” he said. His eyes were bright green, and he looked like he was on the verge of crying.
“I swear,” I said, walking closer to him so I could hug him. “I am not at all mad at you. I am just having my period.” He cocked his head questioningly, and I kissed him on the cheek. “I just can’t handle it today. Tomorrow I will be back bright and early, ready to be spit on and kicked and everything. Just give me one day to lick my wounds, okay?”
He put his arms around me, and I felt a chill go through me as if the rest of the world faded away and it was just the two of us alone in the middle of nowhere. And though I longed to stay safely under the Brad force field, I knew I had shit to work through in my head, so I took a half step back and gave him a smile. “I love you.”
“I love you too!” he answered with the same exuberance a dog does when it wants to jump up on you but knows it can’t.
“Call me when you get out of practice,” I said, backing toward the door, not wanting to turn
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