is.”
I never expected to see utter shock on that face. “You…think I’m gay?”
Horror dawns. “You’re…not?”
And then he laughs. He breaks wide open and laughs, laughs, laughs. It comes straight from the core of him, it’s honey and warmth and deep sweetness and I could sink into it like the world’s most comfortable bed, wrap myself up in it like a quilt.
I love the sound of his laugh.
When he finally finishes, there are tears in the corners of his eyes. He catches his breath gasp by gasp. “No, I’m definitely not gay…why are you staring at me?”
“I just realized you really are human, that’s all.”
He wipes his eyes. “What did you think I was? Besides gay?”
“A robot, maybe. Or a vampire. Or a vampire robot from space.”
“I am unfortunately one hundred percent human.”
“Why unfortunately?”
He raises an eyebrow. “Do I really have to answer that?”
No. No, he doesn’t. Being human kind of sucks. I know that better than anyone.
And, as the car moves on, I’m struck by one question—
If he’s not gay, what the hell was Baldy getting so worked up about?
~5~
RG: So I have a question.
Sam: Ode to joy.
RG: If someone were to teach you how to be a nice person, how would you want them to go about it?
Sam: Is this about that guy again?
RG: Maaaaybe.
Sam: One wrong number text and suddenly I’m your personal authority on some guy I’ve never met.
RG: You probably know him as well as anyone else does.
Sam: I reiterate. Never met him.
RG: Exactly.
Sam: You can’t teach someone how to be a good person like you can teach a dog how to fetch. Once people become something, they don’t change. Ever.
RG: I don’t believe that. :<
Sam: What does that punctuation have to do with it?
RG: It’s a frowny face. I am frowny facing on your pessimism.
Sam: It looks like a deranged bird with a reverse beak.
RG: Fine, I’m deranged-birding-with-a-reverse-beak on your pessimism.
Sam: I don’t have to answer these texts.
RG: Yes you do! Or I’ll send you a thousand deranged birds until you have to change your number. And even then the birds will follow you. The birds always know.
Sam: Fine. I’ll give you advice on your douchebag boyfriend. I hate birds.
Sam: And douchebag boyfriends, incidentally.
RG: He’s not my boyfriend.
Sam: But you want him to be. Otherwise you wouldn’t bother trying to change him.
RG: :< :< :< :< :< :< :< :< :< :< :< :< :< :< :< :< :< :< :< :< :< :< :< :<
Sam: Would you look at that. It’s a flock of obnoxiousness. Why does this feel like an Alfred Hitchcock movie?
RG: Because I’m going to show up outside your shower with a giant knife?
Sam: Changing my number now.
RG: No, wait! What if I show up outside your shower with a tray of cupcakes instead?
Sam: I’d prefer it if you didn’t show up outside my shower at all.
RG: That’s no fun.
Sam: Debatable. I find it lots of fun to take showers without the threat of being murdered.
RG: Or pastried.
Sam: That’s not a verb.
RG: Anything’s a verb if you try hard enough!
Sam: What did you major in in college? Being annoying?
RG: I didn’t go to college.
Sam: What a surprise. “Anything’s a verb if you try” doesn’t usually fly on the Reading section of the SATs.
RG: Never took the SATs either! I dropped out of high school! :>
Sam: Why does that warrant a happy bird?
RG: Because high school sucked.
Sam: Look, I’m not that interested in your personal life. I just want to give you your jerk advice so you’ll stop texting me and I can get on with my life.
RG: Your exciting life, full of lonely showers.
Sam: Who says they’re lonely?
RG: …
RG: Okay no, they’re definitely lonely. “Who says” is a thing people pull when they want to act like something’s not true without having to lie.
Sam:
I never expected to see utter shock on that face. “You…think I’m gay?”
Horror dawns. “You’re…not?”
And then he laughs. He breaks wide open and laughs, laughs, laughs. It comes straight from the core of him, it’s honey and warmth and deep sweetness and I could sink into it like the world’s most comfortable bed, wrap myself up in it like a quilt.
I love the sound of his laugh.
When he finally finishes, there are tears in the corners of his eyes. He catches his breath gasp by gasp. “No, I’m definitely not gay…why are you staring at me?”
“I just realized you really are human, that’s all.”
He wipes his eyes. “What did you think I was? Besides gay?”
“A robot, maybe. Or a vampire. Or a vampire robot from space.”
“I am unfortunately one hundred percent human.”
“Why unfortunately?”
He raises an eyebrow. “Do I really have to answer that?”
No. No, he doesn’t. Being human kind of sucks. I know that better than anyone.
And, as the car moves on, I’m struck by one question—
If he’s not gay, what the hell was Baldy getting so worked up about?
~5~
RG: So I have a question.
Sam: Ode to joy.
RG: If someone were to teach you how to be a nice person, how would you want them to go about it?
Sam: Is this about that guy again?
RG: Maaaaybe.
Sam: One wrong number text and suddenly I’m your personal authority on some guy I’ve never met.
RG: You probably know him as well as anyone else does.
Sam: I reiterate. Never met him.
RG: Exactly.
Sam: You can’t teach someone how to be a good person like you can teach a dog how to fetch. Once people become something, they don’t change. Ever.
RG: I don’t believe that. :<
Sam: What does that punctuation have to do with it?
RG: It’s a frowny face. I am frowny facing on your pessimism.
Sam: It looks like a deranged bird with a reverse beak.
RG: Fine, I’m deranged-birding-with-a-reverse-beak on your pessimism.
Sam: I don’t have to answer these texts.
RG: Yes you do! Or I’ll send you a thousand deranged birds until you have to change your number. And even then the birds will follow you. The birds always know.
Sam: Fine. I’ll give you advice on your douchebag boyfriend. I hate birds.
Sam: And douchebag boyfriends, incidentally.
RG: He’s not my boyfriend.
Sam: But you want him to be. Otherwise you wouldn’t bother trying to change him.
RG: :< :< :< :< :< :< :< :< :< :< :< :< :< :< :< :< :< :< :< :< :< :< :< :<
Sam: Would you look at that. It’s a flock of obnoxiousness. Why does this feel like an Alfred Hitchcock movie?
RG: Because I’m going to show up outside your shower with a giant knife?
Sam: Changing my number now.
RG: No, wait! What if I show up outside your shower with a tray of cupcakes instead?
Sam: I’d prefer it if you didn’t show up outside my shower at all.
RG: That’s no fun.
Sam: Debatable. I find it lots of fun to take showers without the threat of being murdered.
RG: Or pastried.
Sam: That’s not a verb.
RG: Anything’s a verb if you try hard enough!
Sam: What did you major in in college? Being annoying?
RG: I didn’t go to college.
Sam: What a surprise. “Anything’s a verb if you try” doesn’t usually fly on the Reading section of the SATs.
RG: Never took the SATs either! I dropped out of high school! :>
Sam: Why does that warrant a happy bird?
RG: Because high school sucked.
Sam: Look, I’m not that interested in your personal life. I just want to give you your jerk advice so you’ll stop texting me and I can get on with my life.
RG: Your exciting life, full of lonely showers.
Sam: Who says they’re lonely?
RG: …
RG: Okay no, they’re definitely lonely. “Who says” is a thing people pull when they want to act like something’s not true without having to lie.
Sam:
Similar Books
